Page 4 of Every Deadly Suspicion

Hanna followed, just now hearing the blare of the approaching fire truck sirens.

Jared expertly aimed the suppression liquid at the flames. A spurt here and a spurt there as he doused all the flames. The acrid odor of airplane fuel assaulted her nose, causing a grimace. Could Scott have survived such a horrendous impact? Hanna looked back to where he’d first hit the ground. The plane’s debris stretched at least a hundred yards across the field.

Jared got down on his hands and knees and peered into the wreckage. He peeled away what would have been the door, and Scott’s body was exposed. Hanna knelt next to Jared and gasped at the sight of poor Scott. He was still strapped into his seat, his body completely limp. Blood smeared the instrument panel and was dripping from his head.

“Scott, can you hear me?” Jared asked.

No response.

All she could think wasHow am I going to tell his father?

The arriving fire truck cut its sirens, leaving the rumble of a diesel engine and the pop of air brakes to announce its arrival. Uniformed firefighters exited the rig and set about preparing their equipment for the task at hand.

Jared pressed his fingers to Scott’s carotid artery. She doubted he would find a pulse, but the step was necessary. She pulled back, stabilizing herself on her knees.

Jared sat back as well. “I got no pulse.”

“It was quite an impact.” Hanna coughed as the smoke and fumes seared her nose.

Jared coughed as well and swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Saw it on my way to work. He flew straight into the ground.”

“You checked it out, Hodges?” Paul Stokes, a senior firefighter, jogged up and asked.

Jared faced Stokes. “I couldn’t find a pulse. We need to move him. I think the fire may flare up again.”

Stokes signaled for the men manning the hose to start the water flow before returning his attention to Jared. “Okay, stand back. You’re not geared up.”

“Yes, sir.”

Hanna stood and moved back with Jared to let the on-duty firefighters finish their work. Two of them brought up a hose and began to work on the fire, which as Jared had warned was already flaring back up. The ambulance had been on the heels of the pumper, and the medics climbed out, pausing only to remove their rescue equipment from the sides of the truck. Once on the ground next to Scott, they carefully cut the harness holding him in the crumpled plane and then gently removed him from the fire danger.

They did their assessment and began CPR. In a few minutes, they put him on a gurney, slid it into the rig, and drove away code 3, using lights and sirens. The closest trauma center was in Sonora.

Maybe there was hope. Scott was engaged to be married. She prayed that he’d live to see his wedding day.

A crowd started to gather along the fringes of the field. The chatter on her radio told her a patrol unit was almost on-scene. She got on the air and requested mutual aid from the sheriff’s department. Hanna’s department was competent but small. And the sizeof the area they needed to contain would keep all her personnel busy. They needed help.

“Half the town probably saw the plane go down,” Jared noted, following her gaze.

“I wonder how many people filmed it.”

Jared let out a rueful laugh. “That’s kind of a given nowadays, isn’t it? How are you, Hanna?”

She turned away from the wreck and the crowd to face Jared. Her feelings for him were complicated. They were close friends from seventh grade through college, then Jared left town ten years ago—breaking Hanna’s heart. He’d only recently returned, and he was immediately hired by the county fire department. The four-month-long fire academy had kept him busy.

Jared was several years older than most fire department rookies, and she’d wondered how he’d do. From everything she’d heard, he’d done well. While she’d made no effort to rekindle their friendship, when he’d been assigned to the only station in Dry Oaks, well, it was a small town. Hanna’s hearing gossip about him had been unavoidable. She still didn’t know what to make of his return.

When he’d first left, she prayed and prayed that he’d come home. With time, her hope had faded and she’d moved on. At least she thought she had.

I’m thinking about him an awful lot for someone who has moved on.

“I’m fine, Jared. How’s the job?”

“Suits me, I think.”

Stokes called out to Hanna, and she stepped toward him.

“We need to make the wreckage safe,” Stokes said. “Clean up the fuel, make sure nothing flares up.”

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