Blaze

by Joan Swan

  Kakee andras.

  They both looked down at the boy. He peeked up at them from his hiding spot against Keira’s chest.

  Kakee andras.

  “What is he saying?” Luke asked.

  Keira’s head jerked toward Luke. “You can hear him?”

  Realization hit him with a jab to the sternum. The boy hadn’t spoken aloud. Now, not only was she reading minds, she was putting shit into Luke’s head.

  She tightened her arms around the boy, her hand drifting over his long, gold-dusted curls. “I’m not putting anything into your head. Do you see me drilling holes into your already-Swiss-cheese-like brain and pouring words in?”

  She turned to yell at the pilot over her shoulder, dislodging Luke’s arm from where it was still wrapped around her. “Where are we going?”

  “Mercy Medical Center,” he called back. “Closest trauma center with a burn unit. ETA five minutes.”

  She settled back against the metal wall and glared at Luke. “And—just for the record—I’m not reading your mind. You’re projecting. I can’t help it if you’re thinking loud enough to be heard over a goddamned atomic bomb.”

  “Sure, let’s make it my fault. That’s easy.” He sat up and angled to get a better view of the destruction receding in the distance as the chopper cut through the sky. “But speaking of atomic bombs, you can start explaining now.”

  He pinned her with his don’t-fuck-with-me glare, but followed her lead on volume. “I want to know what this kid has to do with all that chaos. What the hell is really going on down there. And how the hell I got wrangled into this mess.”

  THREE

  Luke only half-expected a valid response to his demand, so it didn’t surprise him when Keira pushed back instead.

  She narrowed her eyes and leaned away, as if the distance gave her a better perspective. “Who the hell are you? You sure as shit never talked to me like that before, and you have even less right to talk to me like that now. So curb your attitude, Agent, unless you want a big fat harassment write-up in your personnel file.”

  “Save it for someone you scare, Agent, ’cause it sure ain’t me. We both know something ugly is going on here. Considering this involves me on a personal level, I’m owed an explanation.”

  She snorted a disgusted laugh. “Good luck with that.”

  “You’ve still got a talent for top-shelf sarcasm.”

  “Reserved for the privileged few who earn it.”

  He’d had enough banter. “Listen—”

  “No, you listen. I am not one of your ATF groupies. I do not respond to your orders. You have obviously forgotten that you are no longer my supervisor—not that I ever listened to you when you were, but that’s beside the point. You have also forgotten that I don’t like being bossed around.” Her voice dipped in warning. “Let me assure you, that hasn’t changed.”

  A wave of respect washed his anger down a notch. He couldn’t remember the last time someone talked back to him on or off the job. All his relationships after Keira—if they could be called that—had been more about distraction than challenge. And watching her eyes sparkle at him with attitude and force now, he realized how much he’d missed it. Damn, he’d loved that spunk. That independence. The way she never let him get away with any bullshit. It still pissed him off, but with an edge of excitement that flipped a switch on his sorry-assed life.

  He took a slow breath to tame his temper. “You have also, evidently, learned the politically correct way to tell someone to fuck off.”

  One edge of her mouth kicked up. “And you have evidently learned to read between the lines.” But as quick as it came, the humor died away, leaving a suspicious frown. “How did you get in on this incident?”

  “I was deployed with our ATF Special Response Team. We were notified early this morning.”

  Her eyes went distant. He’d already tried to figure out how they’d ended up here together. Tried to make the pieces fit the moment he’d recognized her face, a second after the shock of her boss’s introduction had worn off. But he needed a lot more information to make the connections. Connections he would try to pry from her again at the hospital.

  Out the open doorway, the medical center’s helipad came into view. Before the chopper even hit the ground, personnel swept in and a rush of triage ensued as transporters whisked the injured children through the open emergency room doors.

  Once all the critical patients had been taken to the trauma bay, Luke, Keira, and the boy were hustled into a curtained cubicle in a deserted section of the ER and temporarily abandoned.

  Grateful for the break, Luke stood at the curtain and watched the action down the hall. He needed a minute to get his head on straight. Only the more time he had to think, the more questions and suspicions cropped up.

  Keira sat on the gurney, still holding Mateo. The developing glaze in her eyes made Luke uncomfortable, as if she were turning inside herself. He’d seen it before. And he’d experienced firsthand her panic attacks that usually resulted.

  Distraction had always worked best to divert her attention from whatever had dragged her in. What that had been, he didn’t know. She’d never wanted to talk once she’d emerged from the terror. In the past, his distraction of choice had been sex. But as nice . . . amazing . . . as that would be now, it was no longer an option.

  “How old is he?” Luke asked.

  “Um . . .” She looked up, dazed. “Five. I think.”

  “You know there’s something wrong with him, right? No normal kid is this quiet.”

  “He’s been through hell and back—literally.” Her eyes cleared, but her fire was still missing. “I don’t expect him to act like a normal happy-go-lucky kid.”

  “Not happy, just normal. He hasn’t so much as squeaked and he doesn’t have a scratch on him.” Luke crossed his arms. “So let’s start at the beginning. Who is he? Where is he from? And how did you get caught up in . . . whatever this really is?”

  “I told you.”

  He ticked off arguments on his fingers. “One, nobody risks their life for the kid of a coworker. Two, this kid was in some type of commune where the same chemicals that fucked us up were burning. Three, he’s not normal. Four, us-here-together, after three years?” He lifted his hands and let them drop against his thighs. “Come on. You think I’m—”

  “An idiot?” she finished, that familiar energy renewed. Finally. “You don’t really want me to answer that, right?” Her chin dipped in a sign of dwindling patience. He’d seen that before, too. “My coworker, an FBI analyst, was in a custody battle for his son when his ex-wife abducted the boy and ran from commune to commune, seeking protection behind religious walls. We tracked him here, and when social services served a warrant for Mateo’s return, Rostov went ballistic. And here we are.”

  Bullshit.

  “If you aren’t going to believe anything I say, why ask in the first place?” She stood, dug in the pocket of her cargo pants, and pulled out a cell phone. “I’ve got better things to do than argue with you.”

  He swiped her phone away. “You can’t just read my goddamned mind and act like it’s nothing. When did that start?”

  She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling in mock thought. “Hmmm, let’s see. Oh, yeah . . .” She looked him right in the eye. “Today. With you. Not exactly what I needed, Ransom.”

  “Now it’s my fault that you can read minds?”

  “How about you? You heard Mateo’s thoughts. When did that start?”

  She didn’t wait for an answer. Her hand snaked out and snatched the phone back.

  “Who are you calling?”

  “My boss. That okay with you, Agent?” She punched numbers and put the phone to her ear.

  “Hey, Angus, it’s me. No, I’m okay. Few bumps, bruises, you know. ”

  She listened as her boss spoke. Luke watched her shift to a more professional persona as she straightened her shoulders, tightened her jaw.

  “Yes, sir,” she said. “The target has been eli
minated. Yes. Thank you, sir. Yes, I have the boy. I’ll call Tony now and—He is? But I told him not to come until I knew for sure—Yeah, I know he’s excited.” Another shift. A little smile on her mouth. “He’s a really cute kid. I know. Tony’s going to flip when he sees him. Yes. Thanks. Okay. Will do.”

  She hung up, still smiling. Jealousy slammed Luke like a fist. He had no right to badger. No right to question. No right to anything. But he couldn’t keep it in.

  “Tony?” he scoffed. “Coworker, my ass. Tony’s your—what would you call him? Boyfriend? Lover? Fiancé, maybe? You can’t be married. I would have heard about that. And Mateo is his kid. Yeah. This all makes more sense now. Why don’t you just call it like it is?”

  She stared at him with brows drawn tight. “Maybe because you think you’ve got it all figured out already, and once you’ve got that stubborn mind of yours wrapped around an idea, no explanation will pry it loose. Ever think of that?”

  “There is one thing I’d really like to know.” And it gnawed a hole in his gut. “Why risk everything for this kid, but abandon Kat? What does he have that Kat didn’t?”

  What does Tony have that I didn’t?

  Her thick-lashed eyes narrowed. “Abandon Kat? Abandon. . . ?” She clenched her jaw. “How dare you? I love Katrina. I tried to be what she needed, what you needed. You’re the one—”

  She sucked in air and held it a long second. Then shook her head. “I’m not doing this with you. Not here, not now. Not ever.”

  “Excuse me.” The soft voice sounded distinctly out of place. In the curtained opening, a young woman stood holding two duffel bags. She was in her mid-twenties, dressed in scrubs. “Sorry to, um, interrupt, but, someone dropped these off for you. Agents Ransom and O’Shay, right?”

  “Right,” Keira said. “Thanks.” She cleared her throat and moved forward with forceful, angry strides, taking her own bag.

  The woman flinched as if she thought Keira might bite her. “Okay. No problem. There’s a shower in the doctor’s lounge that you can use, right down the hall and around the corner. Dietary is sending up some meals, and um, and the volunteers are looking for some clothes for the little boy.”

  Keira gave one swift nod. “Sure. Appreciate it.”

  Luke waited until the girl disappeared, then said, “Jesus, Keira. The poor thing nearly peed her pants.”

  Keira whipped his way. Even tattered, bloody, and carrying a little boy, she still looked as formidable as any one of Luke’s fellow ATF agents at their fiercest. “I’m going to get this boy cleaned up for his father. Then I’m going to take a very long, very hot shower, which will hopefully relax me so I don’t rip your damn head off when I get back. I suggest you also think about taking a powder, because if that attitude is still in place when I’m done, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

  With her duffel slung over one aching shoulder and Mateo cradled in the other throbbing arm, Keira strode toward the doctor’s lounge.

  “Goddamned sonofabitch,” she muttered under her breath. “Pissant piece of shit. Stupid, smartass, arrogant fucking asshole .”

  She pushed the lounge door open and, thankfully, found it empty. Then she turned toward the bathroom door on her left, tucked between two vertical rows of metal lockers, fighting the tears glazing her eyes.

  One hard shove and she closed and locked the door at her back, then turned and collapsed against it. Slow deep breaths. That’s all she needed to hold it together. Slow deep breaths.

  Mateo’s hand settled against her cheek. “Min kles, Thia.”

  Maybe it was his sweet voice or the understanding tone, but those unknown words from this unknown boy broke her last barrier. The tears she’d been holding back rushed forward, filled her eyes, and spilled over her lashes.

  I won’t do this. I won’t.

  But the emotions washed through in a tidal wave. She’d killed a man—without second thought, without hesitation. She’d almost fallen to her own death off a fiery roof. She’d nearly watched the boy she’d spent a year searching for burn to death. Luke had been shot right in front of her eyes. And to top it all off, after not seeing him for the three longest years of her life, they couldn’t stop sniping at each other for ten damn seconds.

  Nothing made sense. Everything was out of control. Her tight, cohesive world was falling apart.

  “Dammit,” she whispered, burying her face in Mateo’s soft curls.

  As if sensing she needed him, the boy clung tight. He remained silent, but she swore compassion and sympathy and a certain calming essence radiated through his little body and melded with hers. Or maybe it was just the flood of tears that left her feeling wrung out.

  Either way, after a five-minute crying jag, her thoughts cleared. She was left with the migraine-type hangover of blurred vision, a head like a sandbag, and a dull, steady throb in her brain.

  Keira squeezed the wetness from her eyes and took in the room. Sparse, utilitarian, clean, and stocked with hospital-grade white towels and washcloths. Even a rolling cart of first-aid supplies.

  She sat Mateo on the counter, wincing at the pain in her arms and torso.

  Keira glanced over the boy’s head toward her reflection in the mirror and paused at the zombie-like image. Her skin was covered in soot, streaked with sweat and blood. A few nasty lacerations made her wince: one on her forehead over her eyebrow, another angled down the opposite side of her chin, and a nice, deep one across her cheekbone.

  “Crap.” She pushed her hair out of her eyes and turned her head to get a better look. The cut was jagged and filled with grime. “That is so going to scar.”

  She immediately thought of Teague and relaxed. Her former teammate’s healing abilities had come so far in the last year. If anyone could speed her recovery and limit the scarring, Teague could.

  The thought of healing brought all her other aches and pains into focus, and she had the urge to strip and shower to uncover all the damage. She should have a couple things x-rayed, too—like her entire spine, rib cage, skull . . . hell, might as well just radiate her entire body. Those chemicals she’d been exposed to years ago had surely already ruined her.

  But first things first, she needed to examine the boy beyond a simple once-over.

  “Okay, buddy. Let’s get a look at—”

  He smiled directly into her eyes, and Keira lost every thought. This was the first time she’d gotten a really good look at him.

  Achingly adorable, he reminded Keira of a cherub, complete with round cheeks and bow-shaped lips. Long, thick eyelashes trimmed wide eyes. A dimple indented his chin. And his hair, a golden brown beneath the soot, created a fierce halo of curls, the strands as soft as fleece.

  She didn’t see the boy’s father, Tony, anywhere in his features. But something about the little guy . . . felt . . . familiar. An intangible warmth created a dull glow beneath her breastbone, a feeling she’d only had in the best of times with the friends she’d adopted as family—the members of her former firefighting team and their families.

  “Stand up, buddy.” She lifted him until his bare feet landed on the countertop, leaving black smudges. “This place is going to look like a fire scene when we get out of here. They’ll be sorry they let us use it.”

  She focused on his body, scanning his bony shoulders, his thin chest where his skin outlined his ribs, the indentation of his flat belly that should have been round and healthy. “Little scrawny, aren’t you? Didn’t they feed you in that sick place?”

  She knew about going hungry as a kid. About being left alone, in the dark, in the cold. About being hit, kicked, cut, burned. And she didn’t even want to consider how poorly he’d been treated.

  After inspecting him, she found no hint of previous abuse, no scars or misshapen limbs. And even after today’s trauma, she couldn’t find a bump, a cut, not even a bruise.

  Protect Mateo with your life. Chemicals. Purple flames. Blue sparks.

  An eerie ice developed at her core and spread outward.

&nb
sp; “Iremise, Thia mou.” Mateo touched her face. Heat spread from his fingers, penetrated her skin, drifted to the cold spot, and warmed it immediately, leaving her with a pleasant buzz, as if she’d had one glass of wine too many.

  Luke’s gift and Teague’s gift rolled into one?

  The thought held for less than a second before she laughed at herself. Mateo laughed, too, even though he had no idea what he was laughing at. Unless he also had her gift.

  “No.” She drew out the word, smiling into his eyes. “I’ve fried too many brain cells today.”

  She grabbed a handful of washcloths, ran the water in the sink until it warmed, and tossed them in. At her feet, she rummaged in her duffel and pulled out her travel toiletry bag.

  “Sorry about this, but I’d rather you smell like a flower than an operating room.”

  She went through a dozen washcloths, scrubbing every bare piece of skin before she had to do the inevitable: get the kid naked. Damn, what did she know about five-year-olds—period—let alone a boy? Why couldn’t Tony’s kid be a girl? At least Keira could have stumbled through this with a girl. She’d done it for a year with Kat, the last day as awkward as the first.

  The thought brought back all her guilt from the past, all the turmoil she’d fought within herself those last months, all the arguments with Luke trying to make him understand. And damn him for questioning her love for Kat. Damn him.

  The only way she was going to get through this, the only way she’d gotten through every day of the last three years, was to focus. Mourning the past did nothing but cause pain. Crippling, debilitating pain.

  She scooped Mateo from the counter and set him on the floor. “Let’s put you down here. It may not change the reality of the situation, but it will change my geographic location to your little boy parts, and the less I see the better. No offense, buddy.”

  She peeled off his plain tan shorts and the tiniest pair of tighty whities she’d ever seen and wiped him down.

  Something on his skin caught her eye. Before she had even focused on the pale purplish scar spreading over his right hip, down his thigh, and around his buttock, a concentrated fiery throb threaded through the matching scar at the base of her spine.