Shift’s End

by A. R. Barley

  Shit. Before this the saboteur hadn’t gone after anything bigger than a pair of boots, but when he’d targeted the ladder truck he’d kicked things up a notch.

  A knot twisted up inside Jack, but he didn’t let it get in the way of what he had to do. Saving Diesel had to be the priority.

  The hospital smelled of old linens and cleanser. Troy was moving back and forth from foot to foot like a kid who’d been caught doing something naughty. The squeak of his shoes was almost enough to overpower the beeping equipment.

  Jack kept his focus on Reese. “You here to tell me the good news? I’m fired?”

  “The guys at City Hall definitely not happy that you tried to deal with this problem by yourself.” Reese scratched at the open collar of his shirt. “They want me to go through your records, let them know if there’s anything else out of the ordinary. I thought it’d be easier to ask you.”

  “And you’re just going to trust whatever I have to say?”

  “We’ve worked together for almost thirty years. Your boy used to play soccer against my girls. If you say there’s nothing else going on, I’ll believe you.”

  That was something at least. Jack took a deep breath and started filling him in on everything he knew. When he finished his head was spinning and he wanted a glass of water, but it felt good to get it all out.

  “You made a judgment call,” Reese said. “It was wrong, but I don’t know if I’d have done anything different.” His eyes were dark and piercing. “Anything else going on at your place that I need to know about?”

  “Nothing,” Troy answered for him.

  It’d be so damn easy to leave it at that, but Reese wasn’t an idiot. If he started digging he’d figure out the truth sooner rather than later. Fuck it. Jack didn’t want to keep a secret anymore. If it meant losing his retirement then so be it. They could move someplace else, find a job somewhere with a more permissive policy on interdepartmental dating.

  “I’m seeing one of my firefighters.”

  “Seeing?”

  “The terminology’s probably changed since the last time you went on a date. How is Laurie?”

  “Pretty as the day I met her.” Reese’s mustache twitched. “This relationship been going on long? Is it serious?”

  “A couple of weeks. We’re keeping things casual.”

  “Not too bad as long as you’re not giving her special treatment. Your girl got a name?”

  “Diesel Evers.”

  The sharp intake of breath was audible, even if he couldn’t tell whether it had come from Reese or Troy. Maybe both. Big bushy eyebrows slammed together. Reese’s hands dropped to his side. He took a half step backward. “That’s going to be a problem.”

  “Because he’s a man?”

  “Doesn’t make a difference to me, but not everyone’s so accepting.” Reese’s eyes flickered. “No one ever tell you not to screw the rookie?”

  That earned him a snort. “And he was talking from personal experience. Trust me.” Reese’s head twitched, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to look him head-on. Like he knew something and he wasn’t going to say.

  Something about Diesel.

  He wasn’t the only man in the room. Jack jerked his head to stare Troy down. His lieutenant had faced off against armed insurgents in the Middle East, but shoot an ugly look in his direction and he blushed like a schoolgirl. “Where the fuck is Diesel?” No answer. “Lieutenant, report!”

  “Don’t yell at him.” Reese huffed. “You’ve got a good man there. He’s been sticking up for you with the pencil pushers. You had someone else in his position, things could have gone a hell of a lot worse.”

  Peachy. “Where is Diesel?”

  “The police have him.” Troy finally broke, his words hurried and cracked.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Maybe Jack’s head had hit the ground harder than he thought. “Eric said I was only out for a couple of hours. Why do the police have Diesel?” He needed to find his clothes. Tracking down and retrieving his lover wasn’t going to work if he was bare assed and barefoot. The hospital definitely wouldn’t release him without any pants.

  Hell, he didn’t know if they’d release him at all—his arm still hurt and his head was pounding—but they couldn’t stop him from leaving.

  “Messing with the truck isn’t something they’re taking lightly,” Reese explained. “The fire investigators called in the police to help find a suspect. They’re looking into everybody’s background. Your boyfriend—” He cleared his throat. “They’ve got a valid line of questioning.”

  A valid line of questioning. The lights were back now, blinking and whirring, but this time they weren’t attached to anything. The police thought Diesel was the bad guy. They’d looked into his background. They had evidence. His stomach rolled. He was going to throw up.

  “No.” It wasn’t freaking possible. He might have been keeping Diesel at arm’s distance, trying to abide by their bullshit agreement to keep things casual, but that didn’t change the facts or negate the time they’d spent together. Diesel was warm and happy. He was a cozy blanket on a cool summer’s eve. He wasn’t a damn criminal.

  He was someone Jack was beginning to see a real future with.

  “I need my pants.”

  “I’ve checked myself out against medical advice before,” Troy said. “It’s not the best idea. You fractured your arm in two places and you hit your head. You’re going to need another X-ray. Probably a cast.” He shrugged. “I’ll get you the name of my physical therapist. The woman’s a damn genius, but you’re still going to have to put in the work.”

  “Some other time.” Jack stood up again. At least this time it didn’t feel like his legs were made out of Jell-O. “I’m not leaving Diesel alone in a box.”

  Reese and Troy exchanged sharp looks. Neither of them looked happy. Reese’s cheeks were red, and his mouth was half open in a harsh sneer. Troy just looked like he wanted to tie Jack to the bed. Too damn bad.

  “Get out of the way,” he said. It wasn’t a question. It was an order. No one moved. His bare feet slapped against the linoleum. “Now.”

  “We’ve got a pretty good relationship. I’ve worked for some bastards over the years—this first lieutenant outside of Kandahar was a real fucker—but you’re one of the good guys.” Troy’s boot scuffed across the ground. “If the police picked me up, you might call over and curse a blue streak but you wouldn’t come flying in like air support to save me.”

  “Pretty sure you could save yourself.”

  “You’re saying Diesel can’t?”

  “I’m saying he shouldn’t have to,” Jack said. “Not when he has me.”

  The room went quiet. There was a moment’s pause. Reese sighed. “So, not casual?”

  “That’s up to him,” Jack said. “Now, are you two going to help me? Or, are you going to stand around nattering like a pair of old women?”

  “Alex is in the waiting room,” Troy said. “He can smooth the way with the nurses, get them rolling on your paperwork.”

  Reese pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket. “I’ll find out what station the police took Diesel to. I have a contact in the department.”

  “If they don’t want to tell you, call one of my guys,” Jack said. “Luke Parsons.”

  That got him a hard look and a cold sniff. “They’ll tell me or they’ll regret it.”

  Eric was the real MVP. When he got back to the room and realized what was happening, he managed to steal Jack’s clothes back from wherever they’d been stored away. Then he tossed them in the nearest trash can and ran out to get him a clean pair of jeans, a white T-shirt, new tennis shoes, and everything else necessary to make a decent impression. He’d even stripped off his button-down with its crisp red pinstripes and passed it over without a word.

  The shirt smelled like teen body spray, b
ut it was good quality and with the cuff unbuttoned it just fit over Jack’s temporary cast. He did up a few buttons and checked himself in the mirror. Neat and tidy, even if he had soot in his hair and a bruise under his right eye.

  It took forty minutes for Troy and Alex to get Jack signed out against medical advice, and even then the charge nurse threatened him with bodily harm if he didn’t check himself back in within twenty-four hours. In that time Reese tracked Diesel down to a station house near Central Park. “You want me to go with you?”

  “Not necessary.” Jack was a captain of the FDNY. If he couldn’t handle a couple of know-nothing cops he didn’t deserve that title.

  Reese sighed. “The bigwigs aren’t going to be happy. I don’t know whether you’ll keep your job or not, but if it were my Laurie being questioned by the blues?” He flushed. “I’d take every bit of help I could get.”

  “Thanks.”

  Time to get Diesel and go home.

  God save anyone who tried to get in his way.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Six hours. Diesel’s head was ringing. His skin felt like it was buckled on too tight. Everything smelled like smoke. His clothes were stiff with sweat and blood.

  Most of it was his. He’d sliced open his arm when they fell from the second floor. The nurses at the hospital had cleaned it up and given him sixteen stitches. They’d been in the process of tracking down some extra-strength ibuprofen when the police grabbed him.

  Jerks.

  Not that he could blame them.

  All they’d had to do was put his name through their database and they’d been able to connect him with Chase Phillips, a convicted felon with a history that included corruption, fraud, and—suspected but never proven—arson.

  The police had spent four solid hours asking questions, how long had he known there was something wrong at the fire station? Why had he sabotaged the truck? Was he angry at the department? Was he still working with Chase?

  Denying everything had been easy at first. He might have gone steady with a sociopath, but he wasn’t a criminal. The problems at the firehouse had started before he got there. He hadn’t sabotaged the truck. He wasn’t angry at anyone. If he never saw Chase again, it would be too soon.

  Over and over again, they’d asked the questions until his voice was raw and he found it hard to believe his own words. Maybe it was loss of blood or maybe they were right. Maybe he was the reason everything had gone wrong.

  When he wouldn’t confess, the cops decided to get creative.

  They’d left him alone long enough to get nervous before sending in a detective in an off-the-rack suit who only had one question: did anyone at the fire department know about your history with Mr. Phillips? He’d asked the same question at least a dozen ways before finally settling on the right combination of words: did Jack Tracey know about his connection with Mr. Phillips?

  Diesel hadn’t said a damn word, but the detective must have seen something in his expression because he leaned back in his seat. “If Mr. Tracey knew about any of this, his career will be over. Forget early retirement, any of that other crap the department usually trots out for troublemakers, they’ll toss him out on his ass and the union won’t be able to do anything. He’ll be lucky if he can get a job as a damn crossing guard in the Adirondacks.”

  “Captain,” Diesel said.

  “Excuse me?” The cop’s cheeks were gaunt. His suit hung off a narrow frame. Diesel didn’t meet many men who were taller than him, but he had a feeling that if they were standing side by side he’d be looking up.

  “You said Mr. Tracey. He’s a Captain.”

  “Not anymore. Not if he’s involved with you.”

  Shit. Everything was spinning out of control. Diesel dropped his head and locked his gaze on the chipped linoleum. It wasn’t just his head ringing now. Sirens blared over and over again in his mind.

  He needed to breathe.

  He needed to focus.

  He could practically hear his therapist’s voice now: “You’re going to panic. There’s nothing you can do about that. Maybe it’ll get better with time, but for now you need to be able to manage the symptoms. Concentrate on something that makes you feel good. Something that matters.”

  Jack made him feel good. He mattered with his silver fox good looks and his square jaw. The bruises that he’d left on Diesel’s skin were real and the pleasure they’d shared.

  That was something worth fighting for.

  His hands clenched tight into fists. He raised his head to look the detective straight on. “Captain Tracey is a good man. I’m lucky to have him as a boss.” He’d be even more lucky to have him as a boyfriend. Jack was the kind of guy anyone would be happy to plan a life around. That wasn’t going to happen. “He doesn’t know anything about Chase.”

  Because Diesel hadn’t had the balls to tell him. Damn. His gut lurched. It was too late now. If he got out of this mess, they were done. Jack would never forgive him for keeping it a secret, and—even if he did—Diesel’d never forgive himself for putting the rest of the crew in danger. Jack was a good captain. He went above and beyond for his men, and their relationship meant all that could change in the blink of an eye.

  It was selfish of Diesel to want to keep it going.

  Selfish and petty. Small and mean. A dozen horrible thoughts swirled around inside his brain, but none of that stopped the yearning in his heart.

  Shit.

  “Open the door.” The voice in the hallway wasn’t familiar. But it was loud. “Now. You’ve asked him your questions, you’re going to let him go or I’ll call his union. You might not have talked with their lawyers before. I have. If you boys have put one toe out of line, they’ll have you for lunch.”

  Voices echoed and argued.

  The cop sitting across the table from Diesel got halfway out of his chair, and the door swung open.

  Jack.

  Diesel swallowed hard. He’d never seen a more gorgeous sight in his entire life. Jack was big and tough. He was alive. Diesel had asked the cops if Jack was okay. They hadn’t answered. Asking again would have drawn too much attention to their relationship.

  “You look like shit,” Jack said. It wasn’t exactly a love sonnet, but then he stepped forward and held out a hand. “Come on, we’re leaving.”

  “Yes, please.” Diesel wasn’t about to grab Jack’s hand, not when the police officers were still lurking. Instead, he stood up and stumbled hard, catching himself against the edge of the table. “Is the world supposed to be spinning?”

  “Shit.” Jack darted forward to put a hand on his arm. “You need to sit back down?”

  “I’ll be fine.” Steadying himself was easier with Jack standing beside him. Maybe if he used him for support? But if he did that he might as well take out a neon sign advertising their relationship to the NYPD. One of the cops would write it down in one of their little notebooks and it’d go on the record. The fire department would find out next, and Jack would lose his job.

  Diesel couldn’t let that happen. He forced himself to take a careful step in the opposite direction.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” the detective said.

  “Yes, he is.” That pronouncement came from the door, where two people were standing. Leisure wear Santa Claus and a heavyset woman in a pomegranate suit. The woman huffed. “You’ve been questioning him for hours and you haven’t gotten anywhere. Maybe it’s time you tried something else.”

  She motioned Diesel out and through the door. Jack and Mr. Claus followed him. None of them said a word until they were out on the street. “I’m putting the two of you in a cab,” the white-haired man said. He looked like he should be belting out ho-ho-hos, but his voice was sharp and reedy. He’d been the one yelling in the hallway. “Take it to the damn hospital.”

  “No,” Diesel said. “No hospital.” He wouldn’t say no to a
few dozen painkillers, but bright lights and lots of people all telling him what to do? His breath was coming faster. The sun was shining out on the street, but it couldn’t chase the chill from his bones.

  “What about you, Tracey?” The newcomer snorted when Jack shook his head. He raised up a hand and gestured toward the cars passing on the street. “The two of you deserve each other.”

  “Thanks so much for coming.” Jack’s voice was dry, and then he was threading his arm around Diesel’s waist. His head dipped into the curve of his neck. “You can go now.”

  “Uh-huh.” The white-haired man managed to wave down a taxi. He leaned through the front window to say something to the driver, then yanked the rear door open.

  Jack and Diesel got into the cab’s back seat.

  It shouldn’t have been that hard to bend that way, but when his butt hit the worn pleather he couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief. He’d made it. That didn’t stop his heart from beating double time until Jack was nestled in beside him. Selfish. Small. All the thoughts he’d had in the police station came rushing back, but that didn’t stop him from taking comfort in the other man’s presence.

  Leisure Santa nodded at the pair of them. “I’ll call you as soon as I know something.” He slammed the door shut.

  Jack nodded at the cabby. “Staten Island.”

  “Your buddy said... You know how much that’s going to cost?”

  “I’ll pay it,” Jack responded automatically. “And a tip to cover you getting back.”

  The cab’s engine rumbled to life. A neon light was flashing on the corner. He should probably say something now, tell the driver to stop and take him to his apartment. Fuck. By the time they got to Staten Island rush hour would be well over and it’d take forever to catch a ferry back to Manhattan.

  Instead, he nestled his head in closer to Jack’s chest.

  Casual, they’d said. Just a little fun.