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truck. The smell of fresh snow drifted along with the snowflakes that landed on her long lashes, and a soft hush blanketed the town. The clouds were an ash-gray smudge in the sky but it couldn’t dampen her spirits today. She was a woman on a mission.
    She had no idea where Cort was staying, but she was certain that she needed to figure out a way to fix the rift between them. Since tomorrow was Valentine’s Day, she had several options to choose from. Sexy lingerie? Dinner? Hot sex? All of the above? It would be a work day so technically she’d have to wait until the day after to show him that her heart was still his for the taking.
    With hope in her heart for the first time in a year, she stopped at Starbucks for the morning cup of Joe she needed to ease the haze of last night’s wine. She groaned in disgust that she’d eaten every last piece of chocolate from the heart-shaped box, wondering if there was a special place in hell for such gluttonous behavior.
    Next she stopped at Victoria’s Secret to score a sexy red bra-and-thong combo. She was already going to hell for the chocolates, may as well not skimp on the pleasures of the flesh.
    At the grocery store she picked up Cort’s favorite — filet mignon — and ingredients for side dishes and cheesecake, and more wine. Hearts, flowers and heart-shaped balloons were displayed everywhere but it didn’t bother her now. Instead, those things gave her a zing of excitement and anticipation. She wasn’t deluded into thinking they’d pick up where they left off. These things take time, and she had plenty of that.
    After a quick trip home to refrigerate the perishables, she spent the rest of her day at the spa, getting scrubbed, waxed, buffed, and her nails polished to perfection. By the time evening descended, her skin was soft and smooth and her wallet was empty. Her body was a wet noodle, limp from extreme relaxation, and she looked forward to settling by the fire with a good book.
    At nine o’clock she was ready to call it a night and was halfway into her bed when the phone rang. Caller I.D. clued her in and she answered curiously, “Chief Clay. What’s up?”
    “All hands, Jess. Five-alarm. Get to the station and get your gear ASAP.”
    “Yep.” Her terse reply wasn’t heard — he’d already hung up.
    Scrambling back into her jeans and shirt, she grabbed a hair tie and slipped into her snow boots. Apprehension and adrenaline had her heart thumping faster. She’d never been called in when off-duty. This one must be a doozy.
    Her pickup roared to life and she gunned it around corners and through nearly empty streets, making the station in record time.
    Her team was already there waiting for her. “Hurry Jess,” they called out as she raced to the turn-out room where she yanked out her gear, kicked off her boots and stepped into her work boots and pants, pulling the suspender straps up to her shoulders, then she ran for the chief’s office. She’d need to “requisition” another helmet, which was just a fancy word for take it now, pay for it later.
    Down the pole she slid, then hefted the rest of her gear onto her body, and Danny was waiting with her SCBA tank, helping her into it even though they both knew she didn’t need the help. They hopped onto the firetruck and it left the station, sirens wailing like banshees.
    The lights of the town blurred by and Jess looked at her newly manicured nails without really seeing them, wondering what kind of horrors awaited, thinking once again of the Ramsey baby. She began nervously braiding her hair as the truck made its way to the fire.
    “Where are we headed?” Jess asked.
    Mark replied, “You know the Standard Arms Apartments down on Peachtree?”
    Shit.” She shook her head in dismay.
    The Standard Arms Apartments complex was five stories of one- and two-bedroom apartments. Residents were packed in like sardines because of the cheap rent. The building itself, a brick structure built in the 1950’s, was