by Kathryn Shay
Ah, now he understood. He scanned his men. Okay. He needed to handle this as Chelsea’s lieutenant. Not as her lover. In his mind he replayed the previous morning. Chelsea got to the station house later than usual. She’d gone right to the bay, but they’d had a call in minutes.
Focusing on her, he saw her bite her bottom lip. He struggled for objectivity. His men would be watching, too. What would he say to any of them? “You were later than normal, Whitmore.”
“I went to the bay as soon as I came in.”
“We got a call right away.”
“I still had time to check my air pack and get my goods on the rig.”
True, her gear was in place.
“You’re positive you checked it?”
“Yes, sir.”
He stared at her hard. He was about to drop the whole thing when he remembered something.
Chelsea, didn’t you turn the stove off before we left?
Of course I did.
It was difficult for him, but he said, “A couple of weeks ago, you thought you turned the stove off, too.”
Shock registered on her lovely features. And hurt. It pained him more than his legs. “I admitted I could have made a mistake with the stove, though quite frankly, I still remember turning it off. I know I checked my air tank.”
The room was silent. He could hear clattering in the kitchen two stories below; larks chirped in the trees outside his window.
Jake thought for a minute. “Maybe we should discuss this privately.”
“No,” she said firmly. “I’ve already talked to the guys about it.” She enunciated clearly as she repeated, “I checked the air tank. It was full.”
He surveyed his men. They looked conflicted. He realized they wanted to believe her. And, he knew in his heart, he’d believe one of them if he made the same claim. “Fine. You say you did it, I believe you. Send the equipment to maintenance tomorrow for repair.”
“I sent it today,” she said stiffly.
“Good.”
Discomfort hung like a rain cloud over them. He felt a responsibility to defuse it. “Things like this happen,” he told them. “My Nomex hood got misplaced once, and I ended up in a fire without it.”
Catching on, Joey added, “Remember the time my gloves fell off the truck? You were pissed off as hell.”
Jake smiled. Mick, Don and Peter chimed in with their own stories of mistakes, malfunctions, things that hadn’t gone right. After ten minutes the tension was gone.
When the phone rang, Jake was chuckling at yet another story as he picked it up. “Scarlatta.”
“Jake, this is Francey.” She sounded upset. Or was it just excited?
“Hi, kiddo.”
“I’m at Our Lady of Mercy. I’ve got Suzy Mayfield.”
“What?”
“Jeez, Jake, Dylan and I were just patrolling and I saw her sneak in here. We followed her and cornered her in the foyer.”
Jake gripped the receiver. “She’s not alone, is she?”
“No, Dylan’s charming her socks off.”
“Oh, God, this is great.” He covered the mouthpiece.
“Dylan and Francey found Suzy.”
Cheers rang out.
He told Francey, “I’ll call the hot line, have them get in touch with her parents.”
Francey said, “I don’t think that’s the first thing she should do. She talked to me awhile. When she realized my father was a firefighter, she broke down. She ran away because she’s afraid of losing her father. Of course, it doesn’t help that her mother drinks because of his job.”
“France, you okay with this?” he asked. “I’m thinking of what happened with your parents.”
“Hell, yes. Dylan says fate had me find her. She and I talked for a long time about it. But I think she should see Reed before we bring in her parents. She’s agreed.”
“Wow. You guys are miracle workers.” He sighed. “I wish I could come down.”
“Tough luck, buddy. I’ll call Reed, then let you know tonight what’s happening.”
“Thanks.”
Jake’s grin was broad when he hung up the phone. He told the crew the story. Chelsea, Mick, Don and Joey all talked at once about how great it was that the fire department had found her.
Beyond them, Peter sat, leafing through a magazine. He didn’t appear to be listening.
Pictures flicked into focus. How silent Peter had been when they’d decided at lunch to do the search. His unusual absences in the days after. How he’d never once participated in Operation Suzy.
After a few minutes Mick glanced at his watch and got to his feet. “I gotta baby-sit tonight.” He sounded disgruntled.
Don stood abruptly. “Oh, damn, me, too. I told Lucy I’d be home by six.”
Joey rose, also. “I have a hot date, so I’m outta here.”
From the bottom of the stairs, Jess yelled, “Chelsea, can you come down here a second? I can’t figure out how long to heat Dad’s supper.”
In minutes he and Peter were alone. Huff had put down the magazine, crossed his arms and stared into space.
Jake said, “Wanna talk about it?”
“Not really.” But his bleak expression said otherwise.
“It might help.”
Huff swallowed hard. “Nothing helps this.”
“Give me a shot, buddy.”
A long silence. Then Peter sank back into the chair and sighed. “I left the police department four years ago because my partner was killed in an undercover operation.” He didn’t meet Jake’s eyes. “I was in it with her.”
“Her?”
“Yeah.” He smiled. “Marla Mason. She was this gorgeous, stacked blonde. Married. Two kids, but she looked about sixteen.” He closed his eyes. “I got involved with her. I tried not to, but it was too hard to spend all that time together and fight the attraction.”
Jake understood Peter’s dilemma all too well.
“What happened?”
“We were working in a bad section of the city.” He stared at Jake. “She was posing as a runaway. Pimps preyed on the girls who hung out there. Got them into prostitution.” He stood up and paced. “She took a bullet in the head from one of them when he realized she was undercover.”
“God, Peter, I’m sorry.”
“I witnessed it.”
“Oh, no.”
“I was posing as a caseworker at a shelter.” He swallowed hard again. “They shot her right out front.” His voice broke.
“I’m sorry.” After a silence Jake asked, “Did you catch them?”
“Yeah. We broke up the whole ring.” He shook his head. “I was offered a lieutenancy after that.”
“Why’d you leave?”
“I went a little crazy. Marla died. I had a lot of contact with her husband and little boys and felt guilty for having had an affair with her.” He went to the window to look out. “I decided I couldn’t handle women in the department for a lot of reasons. I felt too protective of them, mostly.” He faced Jake. “So I joined the RFD because there were only a handful of women here and I didn’t think I’d have to deal with this issue.”
“Surprise, huh?”
Peter jammed his hands into his pockets. “Whitmore’s okay. But I have to stop myself from jumping in front of her in a fire, lifting things for her—that kind of thing.” He shook his head. “She’d really appreciate that, wouldn’t she?”
“She might understand if she knew the circumstances.”
“No, I’d rather no one knew. I’m only telling you because…it’s been plaguing me lately. Maybe because of this runaway thing.”
“You could talk to Reed.”
Peter shrugged. “Maybe.”
“I’m glad you told me.”
“I’m gonna go. I’m whipped.” He smiled sadly. “The world just isn’t what it used to be, is it?”
“No, I guess not.” Jake was wondering about Peter’s rather cryptic remark when Chelsea entered the room with Jess.
“See ya lat
er,” Peter said to them all as he crossed to the doorway. Jake heard his footsteps pounding down the stairs.
Jess said, “Chelsea’s gonna stay and give you dinner. Is that okay?”
“Fine by me.”
Jessica walked over and kissed him goodbye. “I’ll be back in the morning.”
“Jess, I don’t need baby-sitting. I’ll call you when I get up.”
She looked hesitant; he looked stern.
“Okay. Talk to you then.” She faced Chelsea. “Don’t let him boss you around.”
Chelsea smiled at his daughter. The smile died when Jess left and she faced him. Crossing her arms, she asked bluntly, “Were you and Peter talking about me?”
“No, but let’s get this out now.” He reached over and yanked her down to the bed. “Before it’s blown out of proportion.”
Chelsea was surprised at the temper she could see simmering in Jake’s gray eyes. She tried to extinguish it. “I’m not upset or angry.”
“I know.” His voice was cold. “You look like you looked before, every time you talked about Milligan.”
“No, I—”
He held up his palm. His other hand was still clamped around her wrist. “Damn it, I’m not Milligan. Do you understand that?”
Summoning her professional self-respect, she raised her chin. “Yes.”
“Good. Now let’s talk about the air pack. I handled you just as I would have handled Mick or Joey. You say you checked it, then you did.”
“You don’t know me as well as you know them.”
His face softened. “I know enough. You laid foam and didn’t blink an eye when the red devil reignited. You didn’t panic in the ceiling collapse. You’re an excellent firefighter.”
She sucked in her breath. “Thank you.”
“I want your trust, Chelsea.”
“As an officer or as a man?”
His grip on her tightened fractionally. “Both.”
“I’m trying.”
That seemed to make it worse. “I’m not Milligan,” he repeated. “That you’d lump me in with him is insulting.”
Again she elevated her chin. “All right. I’ll remember that.”
He held her gaze, then said, “Are we done with this?”
“Yes. I’ll let you know what maintenance says.”
“Fine.” He released the vise around her wrist. “Now go lock the door. And when you come back to this bed, come as a woman, not as a firefighter.”
IT WAS SUPPOSED to be different, separate, but it wasn’t. A hot tide of passion rose within Jake, muddying the roles. All he knew was that waves of desire were thrashing though him by the time she returned to the bed. He could tell from her eyes, which blazed amber fire, that she felt it, too.
“Take off the uniform.” His voice was gruff with sexual need.
She didn’t hesitate. In an instant boots were kicked off, shirt and trousers gone. She reached up and yanked the rubber band out of her hair; her glorious flaxen mane fell in wild waves around her shoulders.
She was a goddess, standing before him, strong, beautiful, mirroring the hues of the earth—honey-colored hair, tawny eyes, golden skin. Scraps of toffee silk bound her breasts and stretched across her hips.
“The underwear, too.” His voice was hoarse.
She flicked open the front closure of the bra. Dragged down the panties. Again, like a goddess, she looked at him haughtily. “All right.” Her words were husky, demanding. “Now you.”
Chelsea watched as Jake flushed, darkening his tanned skin further. Everything about him was dark tonight—his gray eyes had turned charcoal; his hair looked sable against the beige pillowcases. A beard stubbled his taut jaw. She shivered involuntarily. He was dark—and dangerous.
And just what she wanted.
Roughly he ripped the T-shirt over his head. A little more carefully, given his burns, he shed the gym shorts. Her eyes searched his body with hungry need.
He reached out and hauled her to her knees beside him. Locking his hand at her neck, he took her mouth. Both were ravenous.
“Straddle me,” he ordered.
She obeyed.
She was so sleek and so firm, he thought as he explored her with his hands. The suppleness under his fingers thrilled him; the muscles leaping in response to his sent hard shocks of desire through his body. He couldn’t stem the passion within him to possess this woman, nor did he want to. And she obviously felt the same.
He flipped her onto her back, then covered her, mastered her with his body, his mouth.
“I love you,” he said savagely against her swollen lips.
“I love you. Too much.”
“I’ll never hurt you, I promise.”
“Jake, I—”
He took her then, before she could deny him, thrusting possessively into her. She arched to meet him, twisted to get closer.
“Say you trust me, Chelsea. Say it.”
Helplessly, hopelessly under his control, she abandoned all caution, all self-protectiveness. “I do, I trust you. I need you.”
Her words, and the violent orgasms that claimed them simultaneously, burned away the doubt and anxiety.
For now, at least.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
IN WORKING ORDER. No repair needed.
Jake swore at the maintenance worker’s scrawl on Chelsea’s air pack. The damn problem wasn’t over with, after all. It was back like flames missed in salvage and overhaul.
He sank down at his desk. He was alone at the firehouse for the first time. It was four o’clock, and his crew, headed by Ed Knight for one more day, was at a call. Jake had come in because he was going stir-crazy at home and wanted to check his mail, clean up his desk and get ready for his next shift.
He hadn’t expected this. He thought it was done with. Leaning back in his chair, surrounded by an eerie quiet, he recalled the lovemaking with Chelsea, her telling him she trusted him; his body hardened at the thought. He’d had her in a way that bound them together irrevocably. And now this.
Unbidden, Danny’s long-ago words haunted him like a bad dream….
Hell, no, Jake, I wasn’t drinkin’…. I didn’t leave the truck unattended…. I’d never disobey a direct order….
The recollection forced Jake to think like an officer. He fingered the maintenance report. Had Chelsea made a mistake? Had she lied? The answer to those questions was unequivocal. Neither was true. He’d stake his life on it. So he wouldn’t think about Danny, and he’d treat the situation as he would for any of the men on his group.
His group. What would they do? How should he handle this?
Well, he’d listen to their views. But he was going to drop the whole thing, as long as it wouldn’t cause World War Three.
He didn’t think it would. Chelsea was getting along with them. They respected her firefighting skills; they liked her, too, shown in their teasing and their concern when she was endangered.
What wasn’t to like? She was bright, quick, brave and funny.
And sexy as hell. He could still feel her under him, like she’d been last night and the night before, whispering she loved him, needed him, believed in him.
God, he’d never been happier.
Distracted from his thoughts by the bay door going up, he watched the rigs back in. Chelsea drove the Quint and edged it expertly into place. The crew bounded off the trucks, razzing each other. Mick called something to Chelsea. She rounded on him, grabbed him and brought his arm up behind his back. He yelped. Peter pulled her off and said something that made her laugh.
They were still laughing when they threw open the door and found him in the watch room. Ed Knight waved on his way past into the kitchen.
“Hey, Jake, welcome back.” Peter’s smile was his usual reserved one. But his eyes were uneasy. From their discussion the other night?
“Couldn’t stay away, huh, Scarlatta?” Joey asked.
Jake smiled, made small talk.
Mick edged toward the desk. “I told Ed I’d fill out
the incident report.”
“Hang on a minute, will you?” Jake picked up the maintenance report. “Chelsea, look at this.”
She took the paper, skimmed it. Raised troubled eyes to his. “I don’t understand.”
“What?” Joey asked.
Scowling, she passed him the paper. It went from him to Mick to Don to Peter.
Huff read it and crumpled it in his hand. “I’m sick of this. Chelsea said she checked the air pack, so she did. Let’s bury it.”
Nodding their assent, the other three firefighters looked to Jake.
He faced her and was heartened by the lack of wariness on her face. By the trust. “My sentiments exactly,” he said with the confidence of a military leader who believed in his men.
In contrast, her smile was sweet. And soothing. His heart bumped in his chest.
“Let’s go have coffee,” Huff said. “Mick can tell Jake his sexist joke.”
“Oh, please,” Chelsea drawled.
“You can tell him your male-bashing one.” Obviously the group had been trading barbs.
In the kitchen, they got coffee; Mick sank onto a chair. “Me first.”
“No, me,” Chelsea said, then faced Jake. “What do they call all that flesh around the penis?” She grinned. “A man.”
Jake groaned. “Lame, Whitmore.”
Mick asked, “Why do women fake orgasms?”
Jake sputtered into his coffee. “Isn’t this getting a little chancy here, guys?”
“Nah, Chelsea’s one of us.” Mick’s grin was broad. “Why?”
With feigned disgust, Jake shook his head.
“Because they think we care,” Mick said.
Chelsea rolled up a newspaper and threw it at him. Jake laughed and sat back in his chair. The firehouse was warm with the late summer afternoon air and the easy camaraderie.
Voices came from the hallway—Ed Knight’s low rumbling and someone else’s. It was too early for the next shift, so it must be a visitor.
A tall, broad-shouldered man filled the doorway. Familiar blue eyes zeroed in on Jake. Dark hair, once thick and a little too long, was cut short; it was receding a bit, and shot through with gray. Expensive clothes draped a frame that had more meat on it than the last time Jake had seen him.
Danny DeLuca said simply, “Hi, Jakey boy.”