by Piper Stone
Wham!
Cringing, she jumped when she heard the front door slam.
“Fuck!” Stoker exclaimed as he stomped toward the bedroom.
Jessica shrunk back, pulling her knees to her chest.
When he appeared in the doorway, his features were twisted, anger furrowing his brow. “That was Cooper, but of course you already knew that.”
“Stoker, I was trying to tell you that—”
“That what?” he interrupted. “That you went behind my back to talk to the single man I don’t want to see? That you convinced him to drive over here and try and reconnect?”
“That’s not what happened,” she said weakly.
“Oh, no? Really? Then please tell me exactly what happened because I need to know. I want to try and understand why you’d take a very personal subject, a damning moment of my life and try and extort my feelings.”
“Extort?” she snapped as she rose to her feet. “You know better than that. I was trying to help you because I give a damn about you. Cooper cares about you and you know what? I think you give a damn about him as well. You just needed to be reminded.” Mac was whining, pressing his face against her leg.
“This is my life!” he exclaimed as he inched closer. “My. Fucking. Life. I don’t need you meddling in aspects you have no understanding of.”
“Then tell me about your life. Share with me. Tell me so I can help you!” The words hung in the air.
Stoker bristled and laughed as he paced the floor, his face reddened from rage. “I can’t confide in you. I’m not able to share my feelings because you’ll tell everyone. You just don’t understand.”
She took two steps forward until he held out his arm, his look full of vengeance. “Stoker. I adore you. I want to share this with you. Please, let me. Please.”
Shaking his head, he stormed out of the room.
Breathing out, she wanted to chase after him but knew better. “Help me, Mac. Help me find the right words to say to your daddy.”
Woof. The sound was guttural and so very sad.
When she heard Stoker moving back toward the bedroom, she braced herself for another barrage of fury. Seeing the guitar in his hand, she was terrified he was going to smash the beautiful instrument against the wall. “Stoker.”
“Here. Take this. I want you to have this damn thing. It no longer belongs to me.”
“No. I can’t take this. This was a special gift.”
Stoker closed the distance, thrusting the piece forward. “Some fucking gift. Take the damn guitar or I will destroy it. Do you understand?” He took a step forward. “Do you?”
Nodding, she wrapped her hand around the neck, pulling the instrument toward her. “I…”
“No. We are through talking. As a matter of fact, I want you out of here now.”
“I’ll give you your space,” she whispered. Tears slipped past her lashes. Please. Don’t do this.
“That’s not what I mean.” He moved forward until they were only an inch apart. “Hear me clearly because I will not repeat myself. I want you out of here and out of my life. I never want to see you again.”
The moment Stoker parked in the lot surrounding the hanger, he noticed two separate news trucks hovering near the entrance. Cursing, he gathered his things and jumped out of the truck, determined to shove his way through the bastard reporters.
“Hey, are you one of the smokejumpers?” the young girl asked as she walked in his direction.
“Get out of my way,” Stoker snarled and continued on his path, his strides long, his heart heavy.
“We’re just trying to get the facts, dude.” He peered out from behind his camera, his expression full of amusement.
Stoker stopped short, glaring at the overweight minion who’d chosen the wrong day to pick a fight. He walked closer, narrowing his eyes. “Get the fuck out of my way or I’m gonna smash your face into the building. Do you understand?”
Several of the reporters gasped.
“Big he man thinks he’s all that,” the cameraman huffed but refused to move away.
Hissing, Stoker was unable to control his rage and took a step back, prepared to take a swing.
“Whoa. Let’s just all calm down,” Garcia said as he smiled and grabbed Stoker’s arm. “The Captain will have a prepared statement for you in about ten minutes. If you guys will just wait. Okay?”
Stoker jerked his arm away and strode into the hanger. “Fuck this shit.”
Seconds later, Garcia followed, closing the door before he spoke, the words whispered “What the hell are you losing your cool for? I warned you this was going to be the case. They’ve been here for hours.”
“I don’t give a fucking shit,” Stoker snapped. “They have no right.”
“Jesus Christ. What the hell happened on that date of yours?”
Stoker jerked around to face him, his body stance ready to battle.
Garcia took two steps back and held up his hands as he shook his head. “My God. I’m sorry. I was just trying to keep you from getting into a fight. Fuck me for giving a shit.”
Several seconds ticked by.
Exhaling, he eased down, angry with himself for taking out his rage at his friend. He noticed two of the jumpers watching their every move. Be cool. Shut it down. “I’m sorry. Just a fucking bad day.” He strode into the locker room, refusing to acknowledge the team.
“I guess so. Look, the Fire Investigator is here and wants to talk to all of us. The Captain can deal with the press. Just calm down,” Garcia said under his breath as he followed close behind.
“Yeah. I get it.”
Garcia flanked Stoker’s side, his eyes full of concern. “Don’t lose your cool. You’re still on probation here. I know you don’t want to fuck this up.”
No, the truth was he didn’t. Exhaling, Stoker tossed his gear into his locker and headed toward the Captain’s office, easing behind the rest of the team.
“Glad to see you made it, Hansen,” Captain Phillips said as he glanced in Stoker’s direction. “in case you don’t know the investigator, this is Frederick Nelsen. He’s the best in the business.”
Stoker was only half paying attention as the man introduced himself. He’d worked with supposed experts before and didn’t have a good feeling about any of them. They were usually political lackeys performing duties like a chained dog.
“Thank you, guys. I’ll make this quick,” Frederick said as he folded his arms. “The rumor mills are flying and we are dealing with arson. There’s no doubt. I’ve located part of the detonator. The bomb is fairly sophisticated and from what I’ve learned, can be set off remotely. That means our arsonist can be anywhere at any time and create havoc.”
“Don’t these assholes usually like to get close to their fires? Join in the fun, take in the parade?” Stoker said, disdain in his voice.
Captain Phillips shook his head, a deep sigh escaping his lips.
Frederick nodded. “Very good. That’s absolutely correct, which is why I believe our guy either lives close to the fires or positions himself near the origin of the fire, perhaps in his vehicle. He wants to see the action. He feeds off the blaze in more than one way.”
“Then he probably leaked the information to the press,” Garcia added. “Makes sense he’d want his fifteen minutes of fame.”
“Good assumption,” Captain Phillips stated. “Only the arsonist would know the details of the bomb.”
“Or someone who understand fires from the inside,” Stoker said casually, twisting his head to see Antonio’s reaction.
Everyone looked at him, surprise on their faces.
“Another good thought,” Frederick said as he kept his eyes on Stoker. “There are few who understand exactly what a fire can do once an accelerant hits. I don’t think the fires that have been set were meant to head into a firestorm.”
“Then what?” Antonio asked, narrowing his eyes as he gave Stoker a glance.
“They were meant to be contained. They were just a warning,
at least in my opinion,” Frederick said as he looked from one to the other.
“Let me guess. The big one is coming.” Boone shook his head.
Frederick nodded. “That would be my guess. One thing is for certain. When he or she does start the next fire, be prepared for the worst-case scenario.”
Stoker sucked in his breath. Anger furrowed in his gut. He was going to take down the motherfucker who was threatening what was left of his life, one way or the other.
“All right, guys. We need to stay on high alert even though we’re taking some time off. I’ve been talking with Captain Banyon from the Fire Department. Their men are also ready. Keep your eyes and ears open. Let’s stop this guy before he destroys our city. We may have a visit from the illustrious Sheriff asking questions. Just answer him as frankly as you can. We want to do everything to aid in catching this freak.”
“Aye. Aye, Captain,” Sawyer said before nodding to Frederick.
“Will do,” Antonio said and walked away.
Stoker had nothing to add, but he had more than one idea given his ridiculous conversation with Cooper that morning. He was going to find out what he was dealing with and if he had to, he’d remove the enemy. As far as the Sheriff was concerned, he wasn’t going down that road again. Snorting, he headed out of the office.
“Not so fast, Stoker. We’d like to have a word with you,” Captain Phillips said as he sat down on the edge of his desk.
Garcia gave Stoker a look, raising his eyebrow before patting Stoker on the shoulder. “We’ll talk later, buddy.”
Seething, Stoker did everything he could to control his anger. He needed to see clearly, focus so he knew what he was dealing with.
The Captain waited until the men had left. “I heard you went to see the Sheriff.”
“Yeah, thought it was best,” Stoker said and thought about his conversation with the man.
“He mentioned you’d made an appointment. He also said you had some interesting thoughts about our arsonist. Would you care to share and I hope to hell you didn’t try and implicate one of our team?”
Sighing, Stoker moved closer. His thoughts drifted to Cooper. His ex-friend was certainly angry enough to take out his own brand of revenge. “All I did was mention my concerns about arson and possible bombs. Nothing more.”
“Since you seem to be so certain, do you have any thoughts on who might be setting them?”
He exhaled as he shifted from Antonio to Cooper. Either man had the knowhow and the capability. No. This wasn’t Cooper. He knew the man inside and out. Then again, did he any longer? “I think you’re right. Someone in the field.”
Tap. Tap.
The Captain sighed. “Shit. Hold on. Yes?”
Katie stuck her head inside. “Sorry to bother you, Cap’n but Tom Masters is here to see you.”
“Yeah. He called. Tell him I’ll be just a minute,” Captain Phillips said as he nodded.
“Will do,” she said before closing the door.
“You were saying?” the Captain asked.
Stoker wasn’t prepared to answer the question. He honestly didn’t want to know the truth, if there was such a thing. “Someone close and the last person you’d expect.”
Chapter 13
“Fuck orders. They’re people down there needing our help. We can’t let them die.” Cooper gave him a haunted look then donned his helmet.
“You can’t go yet. You gotta wait, Cooper. This isn’t the right location!” Stoker insisted. “We can’t save them if we don’t have back-up. You know that.”
“Damn it. You’re always the one telling me I have to take a chance, fight for the right reasons. I’m doing that now. Leave me alone. Jump with me or not. I don’t give a shit, but I’m going.”
“He’s right, Coop. Stop. The mission has changed,” the voice said from the back.
Cooper adjusted his equipment then lifted the flap on his helmet, he shook his head. “I’m doing this one way or the other. This is my destiny.”
“I won’t let you,” Stoker rushed toward his friend. As Stoker trudged, determined to stop his friend from jumping, he heard Cooper’s last words just as he reached out, grabbing Cooper, his finger snagging the ripcord.
‘See you in paradise.’
“Cooper!” Screaming out, Stoker fought the men holding him down. He had to get away. He had to go after his friend. “No!” Shoving out, he managed to move and rolled.
Wham!
He hit the deck with a hard thud, the wind knocked out of him.
Woof! Woof!
A warm body straddled him, a face peering at him in the dim light. Stoker blinked until his eyes adjusted to the darkness. “MacGyver?” Unsure of his surroundings, he concentrated on his breathing, the thumping of his heart. He wasn’t in the war. He wasn’t overseas. He was in his home. “Shit.”
MacGyver licked his face, his tongue moving methodically over the face of his master.
“I’m okay, boy. Just a nightmare.” He groaned as he tried to sit up, his muscles still tense. The dream had come back with a vengeance. Wiping sweat from his brow, he leaned against the bed, the images still vivid in his mind. This was the first time the nightmare had changed, adding details he’d forgotten about.
He nuzzled against the pup and sighed. “I was the one to blame. No matter what Cooper did, I fucked up his jump. Perhaps he’d known all along. If only he’d been able to stop Cooper before leaving the plane, then neither man would be forced to live with the aftermath.
If only…
He shifted and climbed to his feet. His discussion with Cooper hadn’t gone the way either man had hoped. Then again, what had he expected? The shit came out of the blue. He’d had no time to prepare. As if preparations would have helped. They’d both been living a lie, pretending since the horrible event. The confrontation had brought everything back, every damning moment.
As he walked to the window, studying the slender moon high in the sky, he wondered what Cooper was thinking. Instead of moving toward a path of healing, he’d pushed them further away. His rage, his bitterness had pushed away a man he still cared about. And why? Because neither wanted to face the truth. What could he do now?
He was no longer certain of anything. What he did realize is that he could no longer hide behind the lie, but facing his personal demons he was ill-equipped to do. Jessica had spun a web, creating the need to end the ugliness. Yeah, as if he could.
What he did know is that Cooper was a different man, just as anger and bitter, but forever changed in a way Stoker was terrified of. Was he capable of the heinous acts that were threatening Missoula? Maybe the Sheriff would be able to weed through the information he’d provided. He prayed to God he was wrong.
But what if he wasn’t?
Jessica had trouble getting out of bed and had the last few days. Her body aching, she had to wonder whether she was coming down with the flu. The condition might answer her sore muscles but not her crushed heart. She forced herself into the kitchen, glaring at the coffee pot. With no energy and even less fortitude, she was prepared for another day of hiding under the covers. At least she hadn’t been riddled with the damning nightmares, even after being ripped to shreds.
She glanced out the kitchen window toward the barn. Snow had fallen sometime during the night, leaving the ground lightly covered in a beautiful dusting of white powder. From where she stood, she could just make out the top of a mountain, already snowcapped, inviting vacationers to the gorgeous mecca. Grunting, she no longer wanted to be here. She needed to make certain the horses had food and water. Stoker wasn’t coming to their rescue either.
Get on with life. He’s just a man. Stoker, just a man. She rubbed her shaking hand through her hair and decided to skip the coffee. She hated the taste of the bitter brew anyway. Holding her arms, she walked back into the living room and her eyes were drawn to the guitar. She had only touched the instrument since leaning it against the wall the moment she’d burst into the house, her entire world reduced to a wh
ole lot of bullshit.
She wasn’t surprised at Stoker’s reaction, but his vehemence was strangling. Whatever dark secret lurked just beneath the surface was killing him. For about two seconds she’d thought about going back to see Cooper, demand he tell her what was said. Then what was left of her rationality yanked her by the throat. Neither man wanted her interference.
Disgusted, she stormed toward the guitar, yanking the piece up by the neck. “You. Why did he think I’d want anything to do with you?” Because the gift was from Stoker’s enemy. She wanted nothing more than to toss the thing into the fire, destroying the single connection, but the instrument had managed to dig its way into her very soul.
“Matilda, you are beautiful and meant to create music, incredible music.” Laughing, she shook her head as the sound echoed in the room. She was as lonely as she’d ever been in her life. Running her fingers across the strings gave her heart a flutter and she realized she was smiling. Life was a pain in the ass. After moving to the couch and sitting down on the edge, she placed the guitar on her knee and closed her eyes.
Within seconds she was strumming the same tune from days before, the song unfinished but crying out in need. She swallowed and concentrated on her breathing, counting backward from one hundred. The exercise had been used hundreds of times. Maybe today the expensive tool, one bought and paid for to the tune of thousands of dollars with her psychiatrist, would work.
Jessica hummed and struck a chord. The sound was awful, horrid, like cats scratching down the side of a blackboard. She adjusted the guitar and started again, this time falling into the beautiful melody. The words and the chords came easily, flowing from the deep recesses of her mind into a breathtaking song. With every note, every syllable, words of love and forgiveness, her heart beat more rapidly, thudding against her chest. When she was finished, tears were silently sliding down her cheeks.
“Oh, Stoker,” she choked and allowed the tears to fall. She’d come half way around the world to fall in love with a man who never wanted to see her again. What in the hell was she going to do? Lowering her head, she sobbed as she held the guitar to her chest, rubbing her fingers back and forth across the strings. He’d never trust her again, would never allow her to offer any kind of explanation, as if there was one that could matter. She’d interfered. She’d planted both feet in the middle of two lives and for what? Because she cared, wanted to show him how much. Hell, she was ready to give up her entire life to move here, no matter what she lost. Was she out of her freaking mind?