Face the Flames

by Jo Davis

  “No. He was a mean bastard and made your life hell. He also made his choices, and they led him to his fate.” Clay took her hand. “I’m just sorry you had to witness it.”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever get that horrid scene out of my head.”

  Neither did he, but he didn’t want either of them to dwell on it. “How’re your guys? Everyone okay? Shit, how’s Tonio?”

  “He’s doing pretty well, considering. Bitching up a storm about wanting to go home, which is much better than the alternative. Thank God he was wearing his vest.”

  “Yeah.” The man would be dead right now if he hadn’t been. “I know Julian has to be losing his mind.”

  “He was, but he’s calmed down a lot,” she said. “Seeing that his brother is going to be fine has helped.”

  “When will the doctors let him out?”

  “In a couple of days, barring infection or some other complication.”

  “That’s great news.” He couldn’t fathom how Julian would’ve recovered had he lost his brother. Last year, Tonio had barely survived a beating by a gang led by his girlfriend’s brother. The man must have nine lives.

  “Hey,” she said, tugging on his hand with a soft smile. “No need to look so broody. Everyone is fine. Our side ten, bad guys zero. Game over.”

  “Sure.” He smiled at her. But was it? An unsettled feeling churned in his gut, and he wasn’t sure why. It all seemed too neat and tidy, and it was hard to believe her uncle’s vendetta had come to an end.

  But he’s dead. We saw him burn. His men are either pushing up daisies, too, or in jail.

  “That’s still too serious a face, handsome.”

  Suddenly he found himself with a lapful of warm, soft woman. Gentle hands cupped his face and drew him in for a slow, passionate kiss. His swift reaction proved that not every part of him was bruised and sore.

  The kiss went on for several moments, their tongues tangling together as he breathed in her sweet scent. His fingers buried themselves in her hair and he relished the slide of the silky tresses through them. When she finally pulled back, they were both panting. He was hard as a rock and there was no way she could’ve missed it, sitting on his lap like she was.

  “Let’s retreat to your room,” he murmured.

  “Your head—”

  “Aches horribly, I assure you.” He ground his crotch into her for emphasis.

  “You’re incorrigible.”

  “You wouldn’t want me any other way.”

  “You’re right.”

  He stood, and she clung to him with her legs around his waist and arms around his neck as he headed back into her bedroom. Once there, he laid her carefully on the bed and pulled off his shirt. Next went his shoes, jeans, and underwear as she watched hungrily.

  “I’ll never get tired of seeing you get naked,” she told him.

  “You might when I’m old and fat.”

  “You’ll never be either of those things to me.”

  “You’re so damned good for my ego. But you’re the gorgeous one.” Crawling onto the bed, he started working on her jeans.

  Unzipping them, he slid them down her hips, revealing the lacy red panties underneath. He adored this woman and her love of feminine things, which seemed so at odds with her no-nonsense, sometimes brash, cop personality. She could hold her own against any man.

  But she was all woman.

  All mine.

  Clay couldn’t wait to plunge deep inside her, but he didn’t want to rush this. He slid her panties down her legs. Then with his fingers, he parted her folds and began to stroke, getting her ready for him. In moments she was slick and wet, writhing against his touch. He loved how responsive she was, never shy about expressing her desires. Unable to draw things out, he positioned himself at her entrance and pressed inside.

  “Sorry, baby,” he breathed. “This isn’t going to last long.”

  “Just move, please.” Her breath came in short gasps, her green eyes heavy-lidded.

  He began to slide in and out of her wet heat, relishing how she hugged his cock. Wrapping her arms around him, she clung to his shoulders as he picked up the tempo, soon pounding into her with abandon. From her hoarse cries, she didn’t mind the fast and furious fucking at all. This was a celebration. They were alive, and together.

  Too soon, Clay felt himself quicken, and he didn’t want it to end. However, he was powerless to hold back the orgasm that barreled through him like a nuclear blast. He felt her follow, clenching around him. Stiffening, he pumped his seed deep inside her welcoming body, on and on until they were sated.

  After a few moments, he shifted to the side and pulled her with him, snuggling her back against his chest. He kissed her hair and inhaled her scent, beyond grateful they’d made it through the confrontation with her uncle.

  “How are you feeling?” she murmured.

  “I’m fine.” His head throbbed and he was sore, but he’d live. “Let’s nap, baby.”

  Pressing closer, she muttered something unintelligible and he let the warm peace envelop him, and carry him away.

  • • •

  Clay wasn’t sure what had awakened him.

  The room was dark now, and a glance at the clock told him they’d slept past dinner. It was almost eleven. They must’ve been more tired than he’d thought.

  Suddenly he became aware that light was flickering through the window. Strangely, it was dancing in a yellow-orange glow. “What the hell?”

  Rolling out of bed, he padded to the window—and gaped at the sight, stunned. “Shit!”

  Spurred into action, he turned from the window and rushed to the lamp by the bed, flipping it on. Then he yanked on his jeans, calling to the still-sleeping form huddled in the bed.

  “Melissa! Wake up!”

  His shout immediately had her sitting up, blinking toward him in confusion. “What? What’s going on?” Her gaze cleared as she took in his panic.

  “The barn’s on fire! Call for help!”

  “Oh my God,” she moaned, face paling, eyes wide. Quickly, she slid out of bed and reached for the cell phone he tossed at her.

  “I’m going down there to get the horses out and see if I can stop the blaze.”

  “Be careful!”

  He gave her a quick kiss, then turned and ran for the door, shirtless and wearing only his jeans and boots. In the background, he could hear her talking to a dispatcher, and prayed that whichever station got the call, they would hurry. It had been a rough couple of days for the Sugarland Fire Department—and it was about to get worse.

  Bounding down the stairs, he hit the bottom and kept running without even stopping. Through the living room, toward the back of the house, through the kitchen and out the back door. As he dashed down the steps of the porch, he saw flames licking up one side of the barn, heard the panicked whinnies of the horses desperately wanting to be free.

  Heart in his throat, he bypassed going for the water hose—the modest stream of water it would provide wasn’t going to help now—and went straight for the barn. It was the height of stupidity to run into a burning structure without the proper gear, but he wasn’t going to let the animals die. Not if he could help them.

  Shoving the big rolling door aside, he peered into the thickening smoke. He could just make out the shapes of the three horses whirling frantically about in their stalls. One of them was kicking at the stall door, but he couldn’t tell which one.

  Clay darted inside and ran directly to the nearest stall, working quickly at the latch. The flames were spreading and the terrorized animals were going to hurt themselves trying to get out if he didn’t hurry. And he was going to be in trouble too, very soon. The heat and smoke were stinging his eyes, clogging his lungs.

  The latch gave and Clay swung the gate open, moving out of the way as the horse bolted from the stall, out of the barn t
o safety. He’d managed to save one, but relief was short-lived. Two more to go.

  Next up was the big bay gelding. By the time he made it to the stall, he was coughing up a lung. Quitting wasn’t an option, though, and he worked fast on that latch, too. Thank God that one opened easily, and the bay was soon galloping to freedom. One more to go.

  As Clay turned, he caught a glimpse of a figure moving toward him through the smoke. At first he thought it was Melissa, and he yelled out in fear. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

  But it wasn’t his lover who appeared in front of him. The figure of a man approached through the murk, and Clay was relieved that help had arrived. The sneer on the man’s face and the long board clutched in his hand quickly disabused him of that notion.

  Clay barely had time to avoid the makeshift weapon swinging at his head. He ducked and it sailed past his ear, crashing into the wall behind him. “Hey! What the fu—”

  The board swung again, this time catching him hard in the right thigh and sending a shockwave of pain clear to the bone. With a shout, he threw himself into his attacker, sending them both to the hard-packed ground. They rolled in the dirt, the other man doing his best to get Clay pinned. Not gonna happen.

  “Who the fuck . . . are you?” he panted, grappling with the big bastard. Looking up, past the man’s head, he saw the roof was on fire. “Shit! We’re both going to die, you stupid asshole!”

  “You’re the one who’s gonna die,” the man growled, trying to get his hands around Clay’s throat. “For getting me sent back to prison!”

  “What?” For a few seconds, he couldn’t compute his attacker’s meaning.

  And when it dawned on him, his blood ran cold.

  “You’re Foster Ryan,” he said, coughing. He could barely make out the man’s form, but what he could see of his face was enough. Foster was so like his father—filled with hatred. “You’re the one who hit my ambulance and robbed me of a year of my life, you son of a bitch!”

  “If you hadn’t pulled into that intersection, I wouldn’t have been caught with my stash and sent back to the joint.”

  “Typical scum,” Clay snarled. “Your fuckups are always someone else’s fault.”

  “I’m gonna kill you, and then I’m going to make my traitorous cousin pay. Or maybe I’ll torture her first while you watch, make her scream before I kill her, then I’ll take care of you after.”

  The horror of that threat gave Clay the strength he needed to break the man’s hold. Surging up, he shoved at Foster hard, throwing him off and rolling out from under him. Staggering to his feet, he lurched for the last stall door and slammed his hand into the stubborn latch twice, finally managing to slide it open. He barely jumped out of the way as the last frantic horse burst from the stall and galloped out of the barn.

  That accomplished, he started for the wide door, legs like rubber. Just short of his goal, he was tackled from behind. Twisting his body, he punched his attacker in the side of the head—once, twice—and stunned the bastard enough to free himself once more. Scrambling forward, he made it outside, fell to his knees, and heaved the fresh air in gulps.

  “Clay? Oh my God, are you all right?”

  Melissa. She dashed out the back door, the firelight illuminating her in its glow. Barefoot, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, she was intent on getting to him.

  Panic had him surging back to his feet. “Run,” he croaked. “Get back in—”

  “Foster?” Her eyes widened as she skidded to a stop a few feet away, staring at a spot behind him.

  Clay whirled to see the man had followed him out into the open and was gazing at Melissa with undisguised venom. In return, fury masked her face.

  “You bastard! What have you done?” she yelled, hands balling into fists.

  “I’m settling a score,” he called back, smirking. “You didn’t believe Dad was working alone, did you? Ooh, he didn’t tell you.”

  “How did you escape from prison? When?” Anger warred with disbelief in her voice.

  “Been out long enough to do some of Dad’s dirty work. Who do you think took the shot at you? Didn’t you recognize my voice that night?”

  “You were the one in the cowboy hat,” she whispered.

  “Bingo! And who do you think actually ran you and that other pig off the road?” His laugh was low, dark, and angry. “You and your boyfriend need to pay, and I won’t miss again.”

  With that, Foster reached around to the small of his back. Clay was moving, sprinting across the few feet between him and the other man before Foster swung his arm around, gun in his outstretched hand—pointing it at Melissa.

  No!

  Clay slammed his body into Foster’s just as the weapon discharged with a deafening bang, making his ears ring. Driving the other man to the ground, he took stock of himself. I’m not hit.

  But what about Melissa? Please, no.

  Foster attempted to bring the gun up and point the muzzle at Clay, but Clay levered himself over the other man to pin him, grabbed his wrist, and beat his hand on the ground repeatedly, trying to dislodge the weapon. Panting with exertion, he risked a glance toward Melissa and was relieved to see her disappear inside the house again.

  Please, call for backup. And stay inside, baby.

  He knew his lady cop better than that, though. In the time he’d known her, she’d never backed down from a fight and he doubted she’d change that now.

  “Let go of that gun, you fucker,” Clay wheezed, slapping Foster’s hand to the ground again.

  “Eat shit,” the man snarled. And promptly hurled a fistful of dirt into Clay’s eyes.

  Cursing, he shook his head and tried to wipe his face on his sleeve, but the dirt stung his already smoke-irritated eyes. It was just the opening his attacker needed.

  The blow caught him on the side of the head, sending him toppling sideways. Foster immediately took advantage, punching him hard again, in the temple. Stunned, Clay fell onto his back, grasping blindly at the other man, to no avail.

  He heard the sound of scuffling boots and looked up in time to see Foster scrambling to his feet, levering his arm downward. And Clay found himself staring straight up the muzzle of the man’s gun.

  “Good-bye, Montana.”

  Oh, God. To survive all he had and then die like this? What would happen to Melissa? His blood went cold as he anticipated the gunshot.

  “Foster!”

  Melissa’s shout caught the other man’s attention, and he turned to face her, eyes wide. Heart in his throat, Clay snapped his gaze to his lover. She was standing a few feet away with her legs braced apart, her own gun pointed at her cousin.

  “Drop the weapon!” she yelled.

  A split second of indecision flashed across his features before he returned his attention to Clay. The hatred blazing in the bastard’s eyes told Clay the man wasn’t going to be swayed from his decision. He thrust the gun toward Clay’s face, finger tightening on the trigger.

  Clay’s heartbeat stuttered in his chest.

  A gunshot split the air—and crimson spread across Foster’s chest as his eyes widened in surprise. The man crumpled to the ground with a sickening thud, and Clay stared, gorge rising in his throat as Foster breathed his last.

  “Clay! Are you all right?”

  At Melissa’s frantic voice, he pushed himself up to a sitting position, wincing in pain. His head and leg throbbed where Foster had struck him, but all told, things could have turned out much worse.

  It could’ve been his brains splattered all over the ground instead.

  “I’m okay,” he said. Then Melissa dropped to her knees beside him, the gun falling from her hand, and he found himself with an armful of soft woman. Burying his face in her hair, he groaned and held her tight. “Thanks to you, I’m better than okay.”

  Sirens sounded in the distance, drawing closer. About
fucking time.

  “I wasn’t going to stand there and watch him shoot you,” she said fiercely. “He deserved what he got for trying to destroy what’s mine. For trying to take you from me.”

  “My tough cop.” Drawing back some, he caressed her face. “You’re not going to get in trouble for this, are you? It was justifiable, right?”

  Her expression softened, and she kissed him gently. “Everything will be fine. I’ll have to complete a lot of damned paperwork and I’ll probably be put on leave for a few days as a formality, but in the end I won’t be penalized.”

  “Good to know.” After glancing at Foster’s body again, he looked back at her and swallowed hard. “He came here with the intention of luring us out with the fire. He was going to knock me out in the barn, leave me to burn, and then come after you. Makes me sick to think of how close he came to getting his wish.”

  “But he didn’t. We’ll be fine now, honey.”

  Red and blue flashing lights drew closer, the familiar noise of the fire truck’s horn blasting through the night, heard above the raging fire behind them. The barn would be a total loss, but the structure could be replaced.

  The quint pulled into the yard and Clay was gratified to see his own team in charge of the scene. Right behind them were two police cars moving fast up the drive. He’d never beheld a more welcome sight than the cavalry coming to the rescue—even if his lover had already dispatched their would-be murderer.

  “Clay!” Six-Pack called, jogging toward them as the rest of the team started rolling out the hoses to battle the blaze. The captain stopped dead in his tracks, looking sick at the sight of Foster lying dead on the ground. “Jesus. Who the fuck is that?”

  Clay pushed to his feet, helping Melissa up as well. “Cap, meet the late Foster Ryan. The man who cost me a year of my life in recovery after he hit our ambulance, and the asshole who broke out of prison and came back to settle a score.”

  The captain whistled softly and gave them both a sympathetic look. “Damn. I’m glad as hell he failed, but I’m sorry it had to come to this.”

  “Me, too,” Melissa whispered.

  Clay felt her tremble and tucked her into his side. He knew what was happening. The shock was hitting her hard now that the incident was over, and she was going to crash. Unfortunately, they had to wade through giving her colleagues in the PD a report, seeing her through the suspension of duties, and making sure the barn fire was out. Being able to rest was hours away.