Hidden Fire

by Jo Davis

  “Hey, Eve! So . . . are you still seeing that nice guy you brought to the Waterin’ Hole a while back? The teacher?”

  Pausing in the act of filching a slice of cucumber from the salad bowl, she eyed him with suspicion. “Why do you ask?”

  “Just making conversation. You two made a good-looking couple.”

  “Uh, thanks. But Drake and I are just friends,” she said, cutting a quick look at the captain, who strolled in right at that moment.

  Sean zeroed in on Eve, scowling. “You and who are just friends?”

  “Drake. The teacher I was seeing.” She shrugged, a blush coloring her bronzed cheeks.

  “Oh? You’ve never mentioned dating anyone,” he said irritably.

  “You met him, for God’s sake. Oh, wait—you must’ve been too toasted to remember.” Eve rolled her eyes and moved away, but Sean followed, the unhappy pair arguing in quiet whispers, leaving Julian staring after them.

  O-kay. What the devil was up with that?

  Zack strolled in next, running a hand through his short black hair, spiking the damp strands in every direction. Julian sent him a smile, putting as much sincerity into it and his tone as humanly possible. “So, how’s Cori? Everything still great with you guys?”

  Zack rested an arm on the counter, cocking his head. “She’s fine and so are we. Why?”

  Shit, I really must be a jerk. “I’m happy for you, that’s all. Is the lady going to make an honest man out of you?”

  The tensing of the other man’s shoulders was subtle, but clear. “We’re tying the knot the fourth Saturday in July, before she starts showing too much. Everyone knows invites are going out this week, and so would you if you cared enough to pay attention.”

  Ouch. The hurt, although deserved, speared deep. “I cared enough to continue CPR on you long after even Six-Pack believed we should call it,” he said quietly.

  Zack’s reserve crumbled, and he glanced away. “I know, man. I owe you my life, and there’s no way to thank you enough for that kind of gift.”

  “You owe me nothing. Just . . . give me a chance. Please.”

  “To do what?” Confusion and wariness battled in his laser-blue eyes.

  “To prove I’m not a shithead.”

  Zack shook his head. “No one thinks you’re a shithead, Jules. You just waffle between trying too hard or not at all. You’re fantastic at your job, but personally? You need to ease up some, give people a chance if you expect them to give you one.”

  “That’s what I’m doing. I want to try.”

  “I hope so, because you’re among friends here, if only you’d see it.”

  Tommy, bless him, cleared his throat and interrupted their heart-to-heart. “Who’s hungry?”

  Six-Pack joined them and they settled at the table, digging into the food. They were so famished boot leather would’ve tasted like filet mignon, but the lasagna was really good and Julian told Tommy so, the sentiments echoed by the rest of the team. By some miracle, they were actually able to finish their meal before the three loud tones on the intercom system shattered the blessed peace and warmth.

  Another frigging traffic accident. In the rain. But by now, he welcomed the chance to escape the close confines of the station and the tumult in his own head. Out on a call was the one place he didn’t have to question where he fit in the world, where people were glad to see his face. Where his existence had meaning. A man could live off that high for weeks. Years.

  A man could forget.

  The wreck was on I-49, always a bitch to work because the two-lane highway snaked through the hills, surrounded by forest and numerous sheer drops into valleys that Tennessee natives like the lieutenant called “hollers.” And wouldn’t you know, the accident was situated on a curve, oncoming traffic unable to see the activity until they were almost on top of it.

  Zack pulled the quint in behind the two vehicles, as far onto the shoulder as possible. Six-Pack drove the ambulance around the whole mess, parking in front of the cars. They could see more of the oncoming lane from here, at least.

  “Just a fender bender,” the lieutenant said, his relief apparent. “The car in front must’ve hit the brakes for an animal or something.”

  “Yeah, we’ll be out of here in a few.” Julian swung out of the ambulance to see the captain speaking with the occupants of the two cars, moderating a heated discussion on who was at fault. Zack and Tommy were at his back, ready to intervene if need be.

  Julian shot Six-Pack a faint smile as water began to drip from the brim of his own hat. “No injuries, then; just waiting on the police to get here.”

  “I’ll check to be sure. Why don’t you help Eve set out the cones?”

  “Sure thing.” He jogged to the back of the quint and grabbed a stack, then returned to the front of the ambulance. He spaced out the cones at regular intervals in an arc from the shoulder to the center stripe as a warning to the east-bound vehicles.

  A warning drivers sometimes chose not to heed. Like the truck coming on way too fast for conditions, barreling straight for them all. Julian turned, shouting, waving his arms.

  “Eve, get out of the road!”

  Looking up, she frowned in his direction. “What?”

  “Move!” Shit, she couldn’t see the truck from her angle, looking up the rise. And a glance backward as he took off toward her told him the guy wasn’t slowing down.

  Julian raced for her, heart in his mouth. He heard the whine of the truck’s engine, tires on the rain-slicked pavement, bearing down. Heard Eve’s scream as he shoved her toward the shoulder. He spun, planted his feet to run.

  And saw nothing but grille.

  The glancing blow caught the right side of his body with a sickening thud, sent him airborne. Flailing, helpless, over the edge of the gully. Falling.

  He hit the steep slope on his back, so hard the air rushed from his lungs, and tumbled, ass over elbows. Down, down. Limbs and brush scratched at his protective clothing, his face. His head slammed into something hard, his hat long gone.

  Gradually, the incline leveled off and he slid the remaining few feet on his stomach . . . and stopped. The whole thing was over in seconds.

  Alive. The patter of rain on the foliage sounded so normal and incongruous with what had just happened. The rich, pungent scent of the earth invaded his senses, and he dug his fingers into the leaves and mud. You’re fine; get up.

  Gathering his strength, he lifted his head—and agony exploded behind his eyes, crashed through his chest and hip. Blinding pain, so bad his brain spun, the forest floor whirling around him. His gut heaved and he vomited, unable to prevent it and not particularly giving a fuck at the moment.

  Okay. Moving? Not a good plan. Voices sought him, calling his name from somewhere up the gully. How far had he fallen? Weird how the shouts seemed to be getting farther away instead of closer. But the crunch of boots reached his ears, and the urgency in the voices told him that he’d been spotted.

  “Julian? Can you hear me?” Sean barked, sharp and worried.

  “Yeah, I—” His stomach rolled and he got sick again, closing his eyes against the misery. “God, my head . . . everything hurts,” he rasped.

  Careful fingers probed his scalp, searching for the wound. “Here,” Tommy said, parting his hair near the back of his head. “Damn, that’s going to need stitches.”

  Julian swallowed hard. “Eve,” he managed.

  “She’s fine, thanks to you. Don’t try to talk anymore,” Six-Pack said, low and soothing. “Let us do all the work. Your biggest job is to stay awake, okay?”

  They turned him over, gently, onto a backboard. Working together, they opened his coat to check the rest of his injuries, jostling him as little as possible, though the movement was still too much. He fought down the nausea as pain shot through every nerve ending. “Oh—oh, Jesus.”

  Tommy laid a hand on his shoulder. “Easy does it. We’re getting you out of here. Just don’t go to sleep, buddy. Julian?”

  God knew he
tried to obey. The buzzing in his ears drowned out their insistent voices as he struggled against the cloak of darkness.

  And lost.

  5

  Call him, you lily-livered chicken.

  Four days. Well, five if you counted Sunday. Most of the week wasted by procrastinating, telling herself she’d been busy. Which was the truth, but she hadn’t been too swamped to pick up the phone and hold out the olive branch.

  “You’ve never been a coward before,” Grace told her reflection in the bathroom mirror. “Nothing’s changed.”

  Except for the object of her interest being just a little too dangerous. A bit of a bad boy.

  Part of her wanted too much to be, for once in her well-ordered life, a very bad girl.

  With a sigh, she pinned her hair up into a twist, not because it looked elegant, but because it annoyed her less this way when she was working. She eyed her crisp, pale blue power suit, dissatisfied. “You look like a buttoned-up bore.”

  Why couldn’t she be more free and fun-loving like Kat? Just take a chance, roar off on a motorcycle with the hottie of her dreams, and find a love to last a lifetime?

  The phone rang, interrupting her pity party, and she strode into the bedroom. Nobody ever called this early, unless . . . leaning over, she peered at the caller ID and a rueful laugh escaped, her secret hopes dashed. Not the hottie of her own dreams, but her sister.

  She picked up. “Hey, Sis. What’s up?”

  “I’m sorry to call so early. I know you’re getting ready to leave,” Kat said, sounding strange. Using that tone, the one with the quiet edge loved ones can’t help but project when something is terribly wrong.

  Grace’s fingers gripped the receiver, all sorts of horrible thoughts flooding her mind. “What’s wrong? Is it Daddy? Do you need me there?”

  “No! No, nothing like that. Daddy’s fine.” Kat hesitated. “Sweetie, did you ever call Julian this week?”

  Grace frowned in confusion. “Not yet, but I was planning to. Why? Oh, wait,” she said, sitting on the edge of her bed. “Let me guess—he got tired of waiting around on a lost cause like me, and Howard told you he’s dating someone else.”

  The idea made her want to strangle someone. Very unsettling to feel like doing violence to another person.

  “No, I . . . Grace, Julian was hurt last night. They were working an accident on I-49 and he was struck by a car,” she said quietly.

  The air left Grace’s body, cold washing over her in a rush. She gazed at the tasteful watercolor on her bedroom wall, trying to comprehend her sister’s words. Julian. The beautiful, charming rogue who’d pursued her for months, hurt. Or worse. “Oh, my God. How bad is he?” Was that her own voice, hoarse and choked with tears?

  “He’ll be okay,” her sister assured her quickly. “Howard said he’s pretty banged up, though. His right side, mostly his chest and hip, caught most of the brunt of the impact. Nothing’s broken or bleeding internally, but he hit his head on something when he rolled down a gully for about forty yards. He’s got a nasty concussion and an even worse disposition. Seems he threw up for hours and they kept him overnight for observation, even though his CAT scan came back clear.”

  Grace pressed shaking fingers to her temple. “Thank God. About the tests being good, I mean.” Why was this hitting her so hard, as though she’d been socked in the gut? She knew the man only casually, and she found her strong reaction baffling. “Is he still in the hospital?”

  “Not for much longer. He’s at Sterling, but they’re releasing him today—hang on a sec.” Kat muffled the receiver, responding to something her husband interjected. After a few seconds, she came back on the line. “Howard says they won’t release him unless he’s got someone to watch over him for a couple of days. The problem is, he refuses to let anyone babysit him, to rephrase his protests mildly.”

  “Stubborn idiot,” she muttered.

  “Tell me about it. Howard offered to bring him here, let him stay in our guest room, but that went over like a turd in a punch bowl.”

  “Gross, Katherine Frances.”

  “Well, I’m just saying!”

  Grace blew out a breath, too out of sorts to rise to her sister’s bait. “Is he in a regular room?”

  Kat spoke to Howard again. “Yes, they admitted him. He’s in room 609.”

  “All right.” Damn, she had to call her office.

  “Are you going to see him?”

  “What do you think?”

  “No clue. You’re the one who’s been avoiding him like he’s a fatal disease.”

  “What? And who’s been encouraging me to stay on the other side of the county from him?” Another thought occurred to her, and she grimaced. “So much for keeping this thing with Julian—whatever it is—from your hubby. I’d hoped to lie low a while longer before you spilled.”

  “I didn’t say a word—it was Howard’s idea to call to let you know what happened.”

  Grace digested this. “Why the change of heart?”

  “I haven’t had a chance to ask him yet. So, you going?”

  “You know I am, you little witch,” she snapped, without any real heat.

  “I know you too well.” The smug satisfaction was evident in her sister’s voice. “You always think everything to death before you act. So this once, don’t.”

  “You must’ve read my mind,” she said, smiling. “I was having the same thought earlier. You know, while I was thinking it to death.”

  “Ugh! You’re impossible. Call me later and give me the scoop.”

  “I will. Bye, sweet pea.”

  After calling her secretary with a directive to cancel her morning appointment, Grace was on her way. The twenty-minute drive to Sugarland ended up being forty with the morning traffic, and she was ready to chew nails when she finally arrived and pounced on a parking spot. She hurried inside, took the elevator to the sixth floor, and rushed to Julian’s room.

  To find it empty.

  She stood blinking at the mussed, empty bed, wondering where on earth he could’ve gone. A quick check of the bathroom revealed it to be unoccupied, as well. Lord, what if something awful had happened?

  Worried, she marched back to the nurses’ station she’d passed on the way in, and cleared her throat to gain the attention of a woman behind the counter. “Excuse me.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.” The nurse sent her a pleasant smile. “How may I help you?”

  “The man in room 609, Julian Salvatore—is he all right? Has something happened?” What if his injuries were worse than they’d believed? The idea caused her to go weak in the knees.

  The nurse’s serene expression vanished and she pursed her lips to the size of a raisin. “Mr. Salvatore decided our services were no longer required.”

  “What?”

  “In short, he left. Without the doctor’s okay, I might add.”

  Grace sagged against the counter, the wind taken out of her sails. “Unbelievable. Stupid, stubborn man.”

  “Most are, dear. I assume you’re a friend of his?”

  “I . . . yes,” she said, suddenly hoping it was true.

  “Then maybe you can talk some sense into the man, or make certain he rests, at the very least.”

  She nodded, resolve stiffening her spine. “I will.”

  Thanking the nurse, she left. Outside, she used her cell phone to call her sister back, but Howard answered instead.

  “Hey, Gracie! Kat’s gone to work. Did you already see Jules?”

  “I got here to find out he went AWOL. Can you believe that?”

  “No freakin’ way.” A sound of disbelief drifted from his end. “Damn, the guy goes miles out of his way to create more trouble for himself than anybody I’ve ever known.”

  “And here I am chasing his tail.” She colored at how that sounded and pushed on. “Anyway, I wondered if you had his address handy. I’d rather drop by than give him the chance to hang up on me.”

  “I doubt he’d do that to you, but
sure. Hang on and I’ll peek in our address book.” After a few seconds of rustling, he spoke again. “Got it. Ready?”

  She slid into her car and dug in the glove box for a scrap of paper and a pen. “Okay.” She scribbled furiously, then repeated the information back to him.

  “Yep, that’s it. I’ll be home, so call if you need me to come over and beat him to a pulp,” he joked. “Won’t take much effort, considering.”

  “I happen to know some wicked self-defense moves, but thanks for the offer. Smooches,” she sang by way of good-bye.

  Her brother-in-law chuckled as they disconnected. And drat, she’d forgotten to ask him why he was no longer grousing about her getting closer to Julian. An intriguing puzzle, since Howard was as steady as a mountain and ten times as immovable when he set his mind for or against something, or someone.

  In short order, Grace turned into Julian’s complex and located the correct building with little difficulty. The buildings were set back in the trees, older and not as fancy as her own, but the landscaping was very well sculpted, trimmed, and neat. Parking a couple of spots down from his lower-level unit, she hoped she wasn’t taking up anyone’s assigned space. Maybe she should move.

  “Quit stalling,” she muttered to herself, grabbing her purse. What was the worst he could do? Shut the door in her face? Wasn’t as if it hadn’t happened before, although it had been with clients and witnesses, never with friends or lovers.

  What am I doing here? He wasn’t really a friend and wasn’t likely to ever be more. They had nothing at all in common.

  Save for one lovely kiss on a beautiful fall night, months ago.

  Even so, she found herself knocking on his door, fidgeting with her purse strap, breathless with anticipation like a silly fifteen-year-old girl. The seconds crawled, became a minute and more, as she bounced between concern and the urge to flee. Glancing at the cars parked in the closest spots, she realized she didn’t know what he drove. Had he made it home yet? What if he was inside, sick or unconscious because he’d left the hospital too soon—