Men on Fire [Men for Hire: Firemen 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Jane Jamison

  Curt rarely said anything unless spoken to directly, and yet, he’d taken a liking to her and would speak to her more than to anyone else. Not that he’d become a chatter box or anything. She still had to pry things out of him. She’d tried to get him to open up about the abusive home he’d come from, but so far, she might as well have been talking to a brick wall.

  Although some of the other kids had attempted to make friends with him—at her quiet urging—he’d remained aloof, staying by himself whenever he wasn’t forced to join in a group activity. He was surly and ready to throw himself into a fight at the slightest provocation.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She bit her lower lip, determined not to add, “What did he do this time?” Someone had to give the kid the benefit of the doubt and it might as well be her.

  “He and Lenny Johnson got into it again. Of course, he’s not talking and Lenny’s gone silent, too. That tells me Lenny probably started the whole thing, but it’d be nice to get Curt’s side of the story.”

  Another fight. Why did he have to strike out so much? He was angry and she couldn’t blame him after coming from a home like his, then having spent more years in foster homes that weren’t much better. But at some point, he had to realize he couldn’t take his anger out on the entire world.

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “Good. If anyone can get him to talk, it’s you.”

  She liked that Elbert had so much faith in her. Faith she didn’t have in herself. But she’d try her best and that was all she could do. After checking the mirrors for anyone around her old Chrysler station wagon, she pulled onto the road.

  The tension that had stiffened her neck before the phone call was gone. Yet the worry still remained.

  Will the firefighter who saw her tell someone? Just in case, she’d have to come up with a good alibi.

  Chapter Two

  Michelle stood outside Fire Station No. 2 and reconsidered going inside. She was taking a risk doing what she was doing, but she didn’t have any other options. Her closest friend, Jordan Franklin, had talked her into coming. Had, in fact, made her promise to come. She could still hear Jordan’s voice as though her friend were standing right next to her.

  “I’m telling you. Rochelle swears by these guys.”

  Michelle refilled her glass of wine so she wouldn’t have to respond right away. What Jordan had told her about the men seemed not only far-fetched, but downright ridiculous.

  A group of firemen who spent their spare time helping women? Really? Where had these guys been when she was growing up with a father who was out of work and ready to take out his frustrations on his wife and two small daughters?

  “It sounds like she’s pulling your leg, Jordan.” She took a sip of her wine. “I mean, seriously? Firemen for Hire? The name sounds like something from a Lifetime movie. Corny, much?”

  “Who cares what they’re called as long as they do what they say they’ll do?”

  As much as Michelle wanted to drop the subject, she knew Jordan wouldn’t let it go. She’d met Jordan at her old job at the realty office and knew she was as tenacious as a bulldog. Which, of course, made her an excellent realtor.

  “I’m telling you. They helped Rochelle. I saw the results for myself. If they hadn’t come to her aid, that lousy ass-wipe of a boyfriend would’ve killed her.”

  Michelle had no doubt that was true. The story had been all over the news. “And they’ll help without going to the cops?”

  “That’s what they told her. And without taking any money. All they ask is that you pay it forward and help someone else later on.”

  “I can’t have them telling anyone. Not even their boss. Or whatever you call their supervisor.”

  “Michelle, will you get it through your head? You say you can’t go to the police, but that you need help. These guys will keep whatever information you tell them confidential. They’re there to help.”

  God knew she needed help. Trying to fix the problem on her own wasn’t working and she was at her wit’s end as to what to do next. But could she really trust the Firemen for Hire not to call the police?

  “You know, I might be able to help more if you’d tell me what’s going on.”

  Michelle could see the hurt in Jordan’s eyes. They’d never kept secrets from each other. Until now. She’d like nothing more than to confide in her friend, to lean on her for more support, but she couldn’t. The less Jordan was involved, the better.

  But how could she walk into a fire station when the firemen who chased her might be there? Somehow, she had to find a way.

  “So? Are you going to contact them?”

  She swallowed another sip of wine. “Yeah. I will.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  Jordan took her hand and squeezed it. “And promise me you’ll call me if you need anything. Anything at all.”

  “I promise.”

  In the two weeks that had followed, she’d found out that the fire engine crew that had shown up at the last house fire was a different one than where the Firemen for Hire worked. That made it unlikely that she’d run into the firemen who had chased her. If she could only get her nerves to believe that, she’d feel a lot more confident about seeking help.

  Michelle gripped the note and took another look at the names scribbled there. Rochelle’s “firemen heroes” were Paul Winchester, Troy Chambliss, and his brother Wade. She shoved the paper into her pocket and started for the wide open door of the engine bay. If she got lucky, she’d contact them, set another time and place away from the station to meet and talk more about the problem, then get out fast.

  A couple of the men wearing the combination firemen boots and khaki pants held up by yellow suspenders stood by the racks of gear hanging on the wall. Their conversation was loud and boisterous, a testosterone-filled noise that made her instantly take notice. She scanned the large room, checking for the firemen who had chased her, then felt a surge of relief when she didn’t see them.

  They were handsome just like all the heroes of her dreams. She wasn’t sure why, but she’d always had a fascination with hero-type men, but especially with firefighters. And yet she’d never told anyone, not even Jordan, about the wild wet dreams she had. How could she admit to wanting more than one of the handsome, sexy men? And even more, that she wanted them to take charge during sex, ordering her to do whatever they wanted her to do. Things that would give her as much pleasure as it gave them.

  When she entered, they stopped and centered their attention on her. She almost melted under their heated scrutiny.

  “Um, could I speak to a Mr. Paul Winchester?”

  The young blond man slapped the taller, dark-haired man on the shoulder. “Damn, man. You don’t even live here anymore and you still get more action than I do.”

  “Wilson, shut your mouth.”

  The blond held up his hands, warding off the other’s hard glare. “I’ll let you two have some privacy. And don’t worry. I won’t tell Daisy that you had a lady visitor.”

  “You’re a regular laugh riot.” The tall man with the dark eyes crossed his arms and snaked his gaze over her like he was sizing up a prize cow. “I’m Paul Winchester. What can I help you with?”

  She had to force herself not to turn tail and run. What was she thinking walking into any fire station? Did she think they’d hear what she had to say and not call the police? What if they had a legal obligation to do exactly that? An obligation that would override their Firemen for Hire credo to help? Why hadn’t she thought of that before now? And yet she’d come to the end of her rope. It was either take a chance with the Firemen for Hire or give up.

  “I heard”—she lowered her voice and glanced around—”that you help women like me. Is that true?” It was time to either fish or cut bait. Problem was, she felt more like the fish about to get a hook through its mouth than she did the fisherman.

  He did his own check around them, then took her by the arm. “Let’s ta
lk in the break room where we can have some privacy.”

  She let him lead her past two red fire engines and into a small room on the farthest side of the building. The room contained several vending machines as well as a small galley kitchen and long metal table with chairs. Once inside, he closed the door, then crossed his arms again.

  “How did you get my name?”

  He acted defensive like she was about to accuse him of stealing money. Or burning down a vacant house.

  Don’t go there.

  Instead, she threw back her shoulders and tried to act like she was more confident than she felt. Tried being the operative word. “A friend of a friend gave me your name along with a couple of others. She said you helped her when no one else could.”

  “Does this friend of a friend have a name?”

  “The lady you helped is Rochelle Gelman.”

  He nodded, only then giving her an indication that he knew what she was talking about. If she didn’t get to the point soon, she’d lose her nerve and bolt.

  “Rochelle said that you’re part of the Firemen for Hire group. You are, aren’t you?”

  “Nope.”

  “No?” Had she gotten the name wrong? She pulled out the paper and checked again. “But you’re Paul Winchester. And you work with Troy and Wade Chambliss, right?”

  “Yes to both questions.”

  “But you don’t know anything about the Firemen for Hire?” She was confused. More than that, she was afraid she’d lost her only hope of getting help.

  “I didn’t say that. The thing is that I don’t work out of this station any longer. I’m only here taking care of personal business. Troy, Wade, and I moved to a small town outside Tulsa.”

  Her heart sank to churn with despair in her stomach. “Oh.” What more could she say? They couldn’t help her. “I guess that means I’m out of luck. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  She jolted as another fireman opened the door. “Hey, Paul. Cap’s looking for you. Pronto, man.”

  Paul hesitated, then pointed at the couch shoved against the far wall. “Tell him I’ll be there in a sec. In the meantime, ask Brody to head over here. And keep everyone else out for the time being. Got it?”

  “Sure thing.” The other man nodded, then closed the door.

  “Listen, Michelle…”

  “Rossin. Michelle Rossin.” At once, she stiffened. Why did she tell him her name? And how had he known her first name?

  “Michelle, I’ve got to see the captain. Until then, take a load off and help yourself to a soda or water. You can hang out here until I get back.”

  She’d already started shaking her head, ready to bow out when he took her by the arms and made her look at him.

  “Hey, I understand. It took a lot of guts to come here and start asking for help.” His gaze dropped to the name tag she still wore on a lanyard around her neck.

  That’s how he knew my name.

  She’d forgotten that she’d left it on. Elbert never put the staff member’s full name on their name tag. He thought it made for a friendlier atmosphere. That and he didn’t want the boys knowing the staff’s last names. It was a privacy issue that Michelle didn’t agree with, but he was the boss and made the rules.

  “Since you work at Linkin’s Hope House, I figure you’ve helped your share of people, too. Stick around. I promise you it’ll be worth your time.”

  He understood and wanted to help her. That much was certain. Even if he no longer lived there. Her nerves were still playing havoc with her body, but since she’d gone that far already, she might as well keep going to the end. Besides, if he really could help, then it’d all be worth it.

  “Okay. For a little while. Then I’ve got to get to work.”

  “No problem.” He was at the door in a flash. “I’ll be right back.”

  Maybe she hadn’t made a mistake in coming. Exactly what she’d tell them still wasn’t clear, but she’d do her best to give them enough information to go on without telling them too much.

  She opened the small refrigerator and took out a small can of soda. Popping the lid, she took a long drink.

  “Michelle Rossin? I’m Brody Russell. Paul sent me to speak with you.”

  She turned around, a smile on her face, and dropped the can. Soda splattered on her shoes and legs as she gaped at the man standing inside the door.

  “It’s you,” he whispered.

  It’s him. The fireman who chased me.

  Neither one of them spoke for several moments. Then he was in front of her, flattening his hands on the counter behind her and capturing her. His face was only inches from hers and she could feel the warmth of his breath and see his enlarged pupils.

  What’s he doing here? He’s supposed to work at the station that came to the fire.

  Like a frightened rabbit, she tried to dodge away from the predator, but he kept her snared between his arms. “Not a chance, lady. First, you’re going to tell me what you were doing at that house fire the other day.”

  “Please. Let me go.” Her voice sounded whispery, tenuous.

  “Like I said. You’re not going anywhere until I get an answer.” His cocoa colored eyes flashed.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “That’s bullshit and you know it.” He jutted out his chin. His strong, very chiseled, very masculine chin. “You were there. I chased you, but you got away.”

  She couldn’t look him in the eyes any longer. If she did, she was certain he’d see that he was right. Instead, she studied the wet floor at their feet. “I need to clean up the spill.”

  “Don’t try and change the subject.”

  “I told you. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Again. Bullshit.” He took hold of her chin and lifted her head. “Tell me what you know.”

  She wouldn’t tell him. Couldn’t. She’d planned on getting Paul’s help and that of the other members of the team that helped women, but that didn’t include him.

  Or did it?

  The thought broke her gaze to his. “Are you one of them?”

  He blinked, thrown. “One of who?”

  Instead of answering, he jerked his attention to the door when it opened again. To her dismay, it wasn’t Paul.

  Oh, shit.

  Standing in the doorway was the other fireman who had chased her.

  “Bro, what’s going on?”

  * * * *

  Wiley wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen anyone as frightened as the woman Brody had cornered next to the refrigerator. Or any woman as beautiful. Perhaps it was a perverse way of thinking, or maybe it was part of the knight-in-shining-armor syndrome Brody kidded him about, but the terrified glint in her eye made her even more alluring. Her blue gaze fixed on him and he had the overwhelming urge to come to her rescue. She was as trapped as one of the people he’d rescued from a burning building last year.

  “It’s her, Wiley.”

  She tried to push Brody away, but his brother wouldn’t let her go.

  “It’s her? Who are you talking about?”

  Brody craned his head around, then squashed another of her attempts to get past him. “The woman we saw outside the last house fire.”

  “You’re kidding.” He was by their side in the next moment. “The blonde that took off running? You’re her?”

  Strange how much he’d thought about her since that day. He’d chalked it up to getting hooked on a fantasy caused by seeing the golden hair shining against the backdrop of a bright red hood. He’d even told Brody about his dreams and had joked, calling them his “Red Riding Hood” fantasies.

  “Please, let me go. You don’t have any right to keep me here.”

  “Like hell I don’t. You were there at the fire.”

  “Take it easy, bro.”

  She shook her head, making her luxurious hair dance around her sweet oval face. If any face could make a man march through flames to save her, it was hers.
r />   “We don’t know why she was there.” He put on a pleasant face, playing good cop to his brother’s bad one. “Are you a reporter? Is that it? Were you taking pictures and ran because you didn’t want us to confiscate them?”

  His gaze took in the nameplate. Michelle.

  He liked the sound of her name rolling around his mind and knew he’d like it even more on his lips.

  Michelle what?

  The name tag held only her first name along with the name of a local facility for disadvantaged and wayward young boys called Hope House. Working there meant she had to have a good heart.

  She jumped her attention from him to his brother, then back again. “I want to leave. Now.”

  The urge to help her was matched by the urge to touch her. No, that wasn’t right. The urge to touch her was more. How would her hair feel against his fingers? Was her skin as smooth and soft as it looked? It wasn’t like him to get infatuated, but he had to admit that he was. He wanted to know more, but not merely why she was at the house fire. He wanted to know more about her life, her work, her hobbies, her everything.

  Brody was on her, digging his heels in as he always did whenever he was bound and determined to get an answer. “Why were you there? Did you set the fire?”

  Fuck. They’d discussed the possibility that the mysterious blonde was the fire bug, but he’d thought that was only a theory they’d thrown around along with many others. “Brody, hold up.”

  Her eyes widened, making them more intoxicating than before. “What? No. Of course not.” She shoved at Brody’s arms. “Turn me loose or I’ll scream.”

  “Go ahead. Then you can tell everyone what you were doing at the fire. Including our captain who’ll give the police a call. I’m sure they’ll have plenty of questions.”