Blaze

by Joan Swan

  Alyssa’s brows rose. “Looking into counseling?”

  Keira sighed. “I think it’s about time.”

  “Smart move.” Alyssa reached out and squeezed her arm. “It’s really helped Teague and Seth. I’ll get you names and numbers. Anything else you want me to check?”

  She hadn’t known Teague and Seth had been to counseling. That knowledge somehow eased her mind. “Not unless you can crawl inside my crazy head.”

  “You’re going to be just fine.” Alyssa gave her one of those reassuring smiles that made Keira feel she could do anything. “If your shoulder swells, we’ll need to take you in for an X-ray, maybe an MRI. Gentle stretches if you don’t want it to freeze up on you.” She put her hand on the doorknob and turned back to Keira with a wink. “I like the belly button ring. After the baby, you’ll have to take me to get one. Surprise Teague for his birthday.”

  Keira grinned. “Deal.”

  “Come in my office when you’re dressed. I’ll get you some painkillers and we’ll look at the CT.”

  The door closed and Keira finally felt as if she’d found some sort of balance again. She dressed in the spaghetti-strap, formfitting cami and tissue-thin silky pajama pants Alyssa had left for her. The soft fabrics felt nice on her bruised, torn skin.

  Keira wandered down the hall toward the living room, open to an airy kitchen on one side and a family room on the other. The house was warm, and the men’s low voices floated from the kitchen, where they stood talking.

  Beyond, a light shone from a partially open office door, and Keira could just make out the fall of Alyssa’s long, black hair where she sat at the desk. As promised, a fire burned in the hearth across the open space in the family room.

  Keira crossed the foyer, passed through the kitchen on the way to the office. The men’s conversation stopped dead. All three stood at the counter, a drink in one hand, the other pressed against the tile, stance negligent as if they had nothing more important on their minds than the latest playoff game. And all three stared at her as she walked toward the office.

  “What happened to your shoulder?” Teague asked. “Why didn’t you tell me about that earlier?”

  Mitch, who had just taken a swallow from his glass, choked on the liquid and shot Luke a grin. “Going to be a long night for you, Ransom.”

  Her skin tightened with sudden self-consciousness. “I know. I look like hell. I don’t want to hear it. Would one of you pour me a drink?”

  Like hell and sin and Satan all in one package. My God, what was Alyssa thinking?

  That thought had come from Luke and heated her from the inside out.

  “Mitch.” She picked up an empty glass from the counter and tapped it to get his attention. “Alcohol, please.”

  Mitch was still grinning that poor sonofabitch grin when he reached for the vodka bottle in front of him and tilted it toward Keira’s glass.

  Alyssa stepped up to the counter and put her hand over the rim, then offered her two pills instead. “You can’t have both.”

  “Lys?” Luke muttered with a quick glare before starting for the office. “Can I have a word with you?”

  Jocelyn leaned forward in the plush chair in the sitting room of her office. Her assistant had started the gas fireplace and ordered Jocelyn’s favorite Thai takeout before she’d left for the night, now nearly ten hours ago. But Jocelyn hadn’t touched the food, nor had she taken notice of the fire. She’d been engrossed in the files pulled from one of the confidential vaults and couriered to her office the prior afternoon upon first word of the siege. Files on every member of that godforsaken firefighting team.

  She’d had access to them last year, when all that shit had broken with Creek escaping prison. But since only Creek and Ransom had been heavily involved at the time, she’d glossed over the rest of the team’s information. Currently, she was halfway through Keira O’Shay’s dossier, and her stomach was knotted so tight that if she’d eaten that Thai, she’d have puked it up by now.

  Movement blurred to her left. She started, twisted toward the shadow, hand at her hip, a natural response after so many years carrying a weapon. But no metal lay along her waist anymore.

  Owen stood at the door separating her office and sitting room, one hand in the front pocket of his navy slacks. His pretty eyes darted to the file, then back to her face. “That must be interesting. You were lost. I knocked, called your name.”

  His voice, smooth, warm, immediately calmed her.

  “Owen.” She spread her hand over her heart. “You scared me.”

  “You? Scared?” He smiled. “Not possible.”

  “You’re in early.” She glanced at her watch, ignoring the charming grin, and shored the defenses already weakening at their foundation. “What pried you out of Libby’s warm bed at this hour of the morning?”

  The twinkle in his eyes died. “Just got some news. Thought you should know.”

  “What now?”

  He strolled toward the fire. She purposely kept her eyes locked on his head. That head full of dark hair she’d never gotten to feel. Not once.

  “Kai Ryder just went wheels up in Wyoming.”

  Her mind sharpened. “With what? He doesn’t have a—”

  “Yes, he does. His shadow just called. He’s borrowed his boss’s private jet. A Hawker Six Hundred with a capacity of eight. Filed a flight plan for an overnight stop in Redmond, Oregon, with a final destination of Truckee, California, which means he’s picking up Seth Masters on his way to Teague Creek’s place.”

  Jocelyn spread out the files in front of her. That meant the whole team would be together. All their powers clustered in one place. “Damn. I was afraid of this.” She looked back up at Owen. “Who the hell does Ryder work for that he can borrow a Hawker Six Hundred? And where did he learn to fly one?”

  Owen leaned in and opened Ryder’s file to a headshot. Tousled brown hair, serious rugged features, eyes squinting against the sun, Ryder stared straight back at Jocelyn, and even through the photo his sky-high sexuality quotient stung her gut.

  “Works for a retired air force general now doing security contract work for some big corporations,” Owen said. “Ryder served under him for six years before leaving service for civilian firefighting.”

  Jocelyn rubbed at the tension in her forehead. “Get someone on that general. See what he’s working on, what Ryder’s working on, what clearances he’s got.”

  “Your wish . . .” Owen said, letting the is my command go unsaid, but Jocelyn didn’t miss the innuendo in the undertone and hated the way her body tingled.

  “And Seth Masters?”

  “Still licking his wounds from his wife’s incarceration at the mental facility. He’s never given his shadow much to report. I guess when the woman a man thought he loved cracks, kills someone, and sends a lifetime friend to prison just to get a kid . . . it makes a man question himself.”

  Tara Masters’s instability had come in handy when they’d needed to shut Creek up, but it had become a huge liability once he’d escaped.

  “Is Masters working?” she asked.

  “Yes. He’s a battalion chief for Placer County Fire. That’s all he does. It’s his life since Tara went into the loony bin.”

  “Fine. Masters has never been a big problem. Now, Jessica Fury I worry about. Definitely a sleeper. She has some tight ties to very powerful people in Washington. If she were to pick up interest in the team’s mission . . .”

  “She hasn’t,” Owen assured her. “She’s got three shadows, two of which are in Italy with her at the moment where she’s in the middle of some international hazardous materials conference with the partner in her lobbying firm.”

  “It’s not that long a flight,” Jocelyn said.

  Owen shook his head. “Only one call was placed to her hotel in Rome. By Ryder, and he didn’t reach her. He left a message that we killed. She won’t be jumping on any flight back to the States to join this powwow. Besides, with the distance she’s created between her and the te
am over the last five years, I doubt she’d dive into the deep end now.”

  Oh, yes, she would, if she knew what Jocelyn knew. But that could never happen, which was only one reason Jocelyn needed to get that kid back.

  She slapped the file she’d been reading down on the table. “Have you read this? O’Shay’s file?”

  “No, but I pretty much know . . .” Owen glanced at the file. His eyes skipped to the corner of the table. Jocelyn followed his attention—to the envelope from Jason’s attorney. Dammit. “You haven’t opened it yet?”

  “Focus, Owen.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t want to be distracted. Because this”—she tapped the file—“is my mission. And it’s a damn good thing, because if I was even a millimeter off my game, O’Shay would take her shot and nail me right between the eyes. Did you know she won Top Shot at the National Inter-agency competition this year? She beat the man who’s held the title for seven years.”

  “I know she’s the region’s best sharpshooter.”

  “Not just the region, Owen. The nation.”

  “You’ve never been impressed by titles or ribbons, Joce.”

  He wasn’t getting it. She returned her attention to the file and summarized. “She had an absent father and an abusive, alcoholic mother. Went into foster care at age five. Had a dozen different sets of foster parents by the time she was released from the system at eighteen.” Jocelyn turned to another section of the file. “There are various signs of mental and physical abuse, yet she made honor roll every year in school. Top of her class at the fire academy—”

  “I’m getting nauseous, Joce. Were you going to nominate her for citizen of the year or make a point?”

  “I’m making it.” Idiot. “Don’t you see a pattern? She excels against all odds. When she sees an obstacle, she doesn’t back down, she fights harder to overcome it. When someone attacks her, she doesn’t succumb, she fights back. Unlike her brother, who has an amazing IQ of one hundred seventy-two, she’s an above-average one hundred twenty-nine. She’s not a genius. She’s a fighter. Which would be great if she was on our side—”

  “You sure you’re not identifying with her just a little, Joce? The alcoholic mother. The absent father—”

  “Are you missing my point on purpose or just trying to piss me off?”

  “I’m trying to give you another perspective. But as always, you’ve got your blinders on.” He leaned his shoulder against the fireplace. “She’s not on our side, which makes her dangerous. And the longer she has the kid, the more chance they have of discovering what he can do, who he is.”

  “I don’t see how.” Though this was her biggest fear. “He’s only five years old, he only speaks Greek, and even he doesn’t know who he is.”

  “You have no idea what abilities Rostov developed in him.”

  “That’s ridiculous. The informant inside the ranch—”

  “Was relatively worthless,” Owen finished. “She was only with him a few hours a day and is now dead. My point, Joce, is that nothing where this kid or this team is concerned is ridiculous. We have limited information on their abilities, and they’ve proven their fierce loyalty when one has been threatened in the past. And by the way they’re staging in Truckee, it’s obvious that hasn’t changed.”

  She bit the inside of her cheek, staring at O’Shay’s file. Jocelyn knew the secrets surrounding that kid would be devastating in O’Shay’s hands. Not to mention Foster’s. At a loss, Jocelyn folded her hands in her lap, straightened her shoulders, and lifted her face to Owen.

  “What would you suggest I do?”

  Owen shrugged, pushed off the fireplace, and sauntered toward her. He’d gained grace over the years, his body smooth and strong, the kind that a knowing woman could spot regardless of the clothes he wore. And Jocelyn definitely knew his body. Couldn’t forget it no matter how hard she’d tried.

  He stopped next to her chair, reached down, and lifted the soft fringe of bangs off her forehead, smoothing them to the side. Jocelyn couldn’t keep her eyes from falling closed.

  “Might have to take a chance, Joce.” His voice was low and soft, his finger caressing her temple. “Might have to just jump and take the risk of exposing yourself for the chance of gaining something even better.”

  She leaned into his hand, then nudged it away. When she looked up at him, he was smiling, his mouth and eyes soft.

  “Cash,” she said.

  He shrugged one shoulder, slipped his hands back into his pockets. “It’s an option.”

  “It’s a huge risk. We’d be completely exposed.”

  He turned toward the door and slowly made his way across the office, giving her plenty of time to look at his ass. Jocelyn didn’t mind. She rarely let herself indulge, and it was such a fine piece of male flesh.

  “The bigger the risk, the bigger the payoff.”

  “Or the bigger the fall,” she said.

  “True. But if you never try, you’ll never know.”

  He put his hand on the door handle, and Jocelyn’s chest tightened. Dammit, she didn’t want him to go. Didn’t want him to stay. So she stalled with, “Headed back home?”

  “Uh, no.” He lifted his hand from the door, wrapped it around the back of his neck, and turned halfway toward her. “I’m . . . not living at my house anymore, Joce. I moved out.”

  Her mouth fell open. “But . . . You . . . What . . . ?” Her heart pushed air out of her lungs on each hard, heavy beat. “Why?”

  “Libby and I . . .” He pushed his hand back into his pocket. “We haven’t been happy for a long time. I don’t know if I’ve ever really been happy in the marriage. But that doesn’t matter anymore. We just decided to stop pretending. We’re getting a divorce.”

  “I . . . I . . .” Her mouth went dry. Her loss of Jason seemed to boomerang out of nowhere and smack her at an angle she hadn’t experienced before. “I’m so sorry, Owen. Really. Truly sorry.”

  “Like I said, it’s been over. Maybe it never started for me, because, honestly, Joce, I never really got over you.”

  Oh, God help her. “Owen—”

  “I know it hasn’t been long since Jason died. But I’m not in any hurry. I’ve waited twenty years for you, Joce. I can wait until you’re ready.” He pulled a card from his pocket and dropped it on a bookcase near the door. “My new contact info. Just in case you decide . . . you want me.”

  Jocelyn stared at her office door long after Owen exited. Finally, she wiped her fingers across a damp brow. “I don’t need this.”

  But now that she was distracted, she might as well open the letter from Jason’s attorney. Get all distraction of the male persuasion out of the way at once.

  Jocelyn reached across the table and picked up the envelope. Heavy. Something was inside other than paper.

  She wedged her thumb under one unsealed corner and ripped along the seam. Poured the contents into her other hand. A key hit her palm. Light, thin, gold. Familiar, because she had one of her own. A safe-deposit box key.

  Her eyes closed for a brief second. “Great.”

  She unfolded the letter. The sight of Jason’s handwriting did something to her guts. They clenched, quivered, went cold, then warm, and kept changing with each emotion like a kaleidoscope.

  Jocie,

  I hope this makes your future choices easier.

  I wish you every happiness.

  All my love,

  Jason

  ELEVEN

  Keira wanted a drink. Needed a drink. Would give her next paycheck for a drink.

  If she got another paycheck.

  Crap, she needed to call her boss. First thing tomorrow. Wait, it was tomorrow. Okay, as soon as she got some sleep.

  She watched Luke walk toward the office and lifted her chin to his retreating back. “But he’s drinking.”

  “Water.” Luke lifted his glass as he disappeared around the corner, still talking. “The drugs are way better than the booze. Guaranteed.”

&nbs
p; “But they take longer,” she muttered as she took the heavy-duty pain relievers from Alyssa, then the glass of water she offered. “Where are the kids?”

  “Watching a movie.” Alyssa walked to the office with Keira. “Mateo’s already asleep on Kat’s bed. Kat will be out any second. A soldier is stationed outside their window.”

  “This is crazy.” Keira rubbed her forehead.

  Mitch was the last to file into the office, a pair of scissors and a comb in one hand, a spray bottle in the other. He grinned and held them up to Keira. “I have something to keep your hands busy. I’m past due on my cut, pixie.”

  “I’ll say,” Alyssa muttered, and plopped into the big black leather chair in front of two huge flat-screen computer monitors where X-ray images already filled the space.

  Keira cut Mitch’s hair every time they got together. Had even accused him of calling her every six or eight weeks for dinner as an excuse. To date, he’d never denied the allegation. And she loved his company. He was fun, intelligent, sharp, insightful. And he never made moves on her. This bark was all for Luke’s benefit. Or, rather, torture. She and Mitch loved each other differently. The same as she and Teague loved each other. Or she and Kai. Or she and Seth. They were friends. They were family.

  “You sure?” she asked. “I haven’t slept in . . . I don’t even know how many hours it’s been.”

  She took the supplies from Mitch. With a triumphant grin, he pulled a desk chair from across the room, dropped it in the middle of the office, and straddled it. “I trust you, babe.”

  “Are we all settled now?” Alyssa asked.

  “Sure, sis. Go ahead.” Mitch picked up a remote from the nearby coffee table and pointed it toward the flat screen in the corner. “ESPN2 is replaying the—”

  “No.” Alyssa swiped the remote and took it with her to the desk.

  “You can mute it. I just want to—”

  “No.”

  “I can do more than one thing at a time, Lys—”

  “No.”