“What’s the matter?” Jax asked tersely while settling Tyler in his arms.
Pickett rubbed the back of her neck. “I don’t know. I just want to get off this pier.” She shrugged helplessly. “It doesn’t smell right. I keep thinking I smell gas.”
Jax lifted his head, inhaled sharply. “I don’t smell it.”
“I don’t either right this minute, but …”
“Okay, let’s head out.” Though spoken in a flat calm drawl, there was no doubt the words were an order.
Was that how he sounded on an operation? Did he weigh his men’s input and come to instant decisions, confident that he was the one who decided, who told others what to do? Pickett’s work gave her exquisitely developed intuition, but rarely did she communicate what she intuited, and even more rarely did she expect someone else to act on it.
There was no time to stand in bemusement, however. Even if Jax’s tone had not assumed instant obedience to his softly worded command, her feeling of unease was growing stronger. Pickett could see nothing but a wall of people between her and the safety of the beach. Jax’s hand, warm and firm, came down on her shoulder urging her forward.
“Wait, Daddy!” Tyler craned his head around. His perch in his father’s arms put his head above Pickett’s. “Where’re we going? This isn’t the way to the fireworks.”
They were definitely going against the flow of the crowd, which parted for Jax as they never would have for her. She patted Tyler’s leg. “We’ll watch from the beach.”
“No! I don’t wanna go to the beach.” Tyler could see for himself that people were streaming toward the far end of the pier to get a good position to view the fireworks.
Grateful for Jax’s bulk at her side, Pickett pressed toward the bait shop and the exit just beyond it. Tyler saw the exit sign, one of the many signs he could read, and started pushing at his father’s shoulder, twisting to be put down. “No!We can’t leave. We didn’t see the fireworks yet! Put me down!”
“It’s okay, son,” Jax’s voice was a soothing rumble, but he didn’t let up the pressure on Pickett’s shoulder. “If everything’s all right, we’ll come back.”
Suddenly there was a sizzling whistle and pressure on her ears as if the noise extended far beyond the audible range. Pickett had the confused thought that the fireworks must have already started when a hand twisted the neck of her windbreaker swinging her around, and into the opposite direction.
“Run!” Jax didn’t loosen his hold on her jacket, but instead, pulled her with him as he ran, holding Tyler against his chest, back toward the end of the pier.
It was a sensation between flying and being strangled. Pickett wasn’t sure how often her feet actually touched the rough planks. With Jax holding her, pulling her, almost picking her up, she was running faster than she had ever run. Other people were beginning to run now, yelling. Pickett ignored the jacket’s zipper cutting into the base of her neck.
There was a loud boom and the hand on her back shoved her roughly down and something, someone heavy, fell on top of her. Under her, the pier rippled and heaved like a carpet being shaken in the wind.
The breath knocked out of her by the fall, it took a moment to sort the extreme heaviness of her chest as Tyler lying on her back, sandwiched between her and Jax.
Pickett tried to lift her face away from the splinter digging into her cheek only to feel Jax’s arms cross over her head pushing it back down. “Stay down!”
More booms. The pier shook again. There was the unmistakable whoosh as fire roared for oxygen.
Tyler gave a thin scream and began to struggle, digging sharp little knees and elbows into her back and the side of her neck. His rubber-soled sneakers were amazingly hard when they connected with the backs of her thighs. Suddenly he was lifted off her, but before Pickett could relish her renewed freedom to breathe she was hauled to her feet with more strength than ceremony.
“Move it!” Jax pushed her relentlessly toward the ocean end of the pier.
THIRTY-FIVE
Even if the hand clamped to her collar would have allowed it, there was no need for Pickett to turn around to know that the pier was on fire behind them. The fitful land breeze enveloped them in smoke and sent sparks dancing past them. A lurid orange light competed with the mercury vapor lamps that were set at twenty-foot intervals.
There was no way off the pier.
The fire was between them and the beach and once they reached the tip where it widened into the fantail fishing platform, they would be as far as they could get from the blaze. They were trapped.
Frantic yells punctuated the fire’s steady crackling, Tyler howled without let up, while unbelievably, the pier’s music system continued to blare the Beatles.
“Hey Jude, don’t be afraid. Take a sad song and make it be-eh-eh-ter …”
Pickett swallowed back a half-hysterical laugh and concentrated on maintaining her footing on the planks made bouncy by so many running feet.
A child careened into her legs, clipping her behind the knees, instantly followed by a much larger person. Before she could even attempt to recover her balance Jax had clamped her to his side with an iron arm.
Jax guided them toward one of the crude benches built at intervals against the railing. Most of the crowd, in an effort to get as far away as possible from the fire, had packed into the fishing platform. Jax pressed her into the bench with Tyler between them.
Not taking his hand off his son, Jax reached with his other hand for his cell phone. Tyler immediately scrambled to Pickett, wrapping his legs around her waist and clutching her neck in a strangle hold. Pickett pressed his wet face into her neck, murmuring reassurances and rocking him.
Flames leapt forty feet into the air behind Jax. The bait shop was fully ablaze now and spreading toward the walkways that ran on either side. The land breeze had picked up and was blowing steadily from the northeast pushing stinging, oily smoke, sparks, and flaming bits down the pier.
Under the roar of the fire, loud even this far away, Tyler sobbing, and the Beatles endlessly repeating nah nah nah nahnahnah nah, Pickett heard Jax calling 911.
A fireman had told her once that a pier, baked dry by years of sun, burned incredibly fast. The nearest fire station was fifteen or twenty minutes away. Pickett fought back her rising panic, and focused on Jax’s voice. How could he sound so calm? His tone was flat, almost emotionless, as he assessed the situation for the 911 dispatcher.
Tyler squirmed against her arms as if he wanted to get down. When she tightened her hold, not daring to let him get away from her, he began to hit and kick. He twisted a fold of skin on her neck and she gasped in pain.
The sudden intake of breath dragged the chemical-thick smoke deep into her lungs, making her cough until her eyes steamed.
Tyler screamed, “I want my mommy!” as he kicked. Her heart went out to him but she could do nothing but grimly try to hang on to him as she coughed and gasped.
Jax snapped the cell phone closed. What the hell? He thought Pickett was getting Tyler calmed down. Most of the time she was better at it than he was. Suddenly the kid seemed to be going ballistic. Pickett tried to keep her face from his flailing hands but he noticed she didn’t slacken her hold even when she caught a knee to the solar plexus.
Tyler was hurting Pickett. Jax snatched the child off her lap, more furious than he remembered being, maybe ever.
He felt the tiny rib cage shudder and his stomach turned over in self-disgust. He should just put him down right now and walk away until he got a hold of himself. A glance at Pickett wiping her streaming eyes told him she was not recovered enough to keep Tyler safe if he walked away.
What the hell was he thinking? Tyler was his responsibility. Completely. Whatever was going on with Tyler, whatever he needed right this minute, was between him and Tyler and nobody else.
Jax had very little idea what he was supposed to do about the shocked white face, streaked with tears, or about the child’s meltdown, so he dealt with the part he und
erstood with the skills he had. He pulled Tyler to him until he was holding the little boy’s face to his face and in a voice more deadly than loud said, “Don’t. Hit. Pickett. Ever. Do you understand, mister? Never hit Pickett. Ever.”
Two icy little hands gripped Jax’s ears, sharp little fingernails digging in. Tyler pulled his face even closer to Jax’s, gray eyes glaring. “I’m scared! I want my mommy!” he screamed.
Oh shit. His mother was dead. He knew that. Didn’t he? Did he know she was dead and she was never coming back? Little kids were so little. On the other hand, he had guts. He was willing to get right in the face of someone four times his size and tell them what he wanted.
As if to emphasize his father’s thoughts, Tyler twisted on the ears and dug in his nails a little deeper. “I. Want. My. Mommy!”
Not near as much as I do, kid! He’d give anything to be able to turn Tyler over to Danielle right now. No, that wasn’t true. He wouldn’t hand Tyler to her right this minute even if she was here. Danielle was a good and caring mother but she didn’t keep her head in a crisis.
But a sudden pang of grief took him by surprise. Though he was more relieved than anything else when he and Danielle called it quits, he’d never imagined her beauty and butterfly charm lost from the world. Utterly gone from his life and from Tyler’s. He had failed to love her, failed at being married to her, but not because she was unlovable.
Now that situation was forever unfixable and Tyler—Tyler was left loving and wanting someone who was never coming back. He couldn’t give Tyler what he wanted. Shit. He knew how Tyler felt. He wished he could hit something, too.
Jax gently dislodged the rough little hands, one ear at a time. “You want your mommy and everything is messed up and it makes you want to hit something. Okay. I understand. You can’t hit Pickett, but you can hit me.”
Tyler took him at his word and began to flail arms and legs. He was using more energy than science; nevertheless, after a sneakered foot connected with the only soft spot below his waist, Jax pulled his son to his chest and wrapped those little feet behind him.
Then it was only natural to rub the skinny back and stroke the silky head, even if it was a little hard to talk through the tightness in his throat.
He stroked and soothed and murmured the same words over and over. “I’m so sorry your mommy’s gone, but I’ve got you.”
Trust me, Tyler.
“I’m not going to let go. You don’t have to be scared.”
Trust me.
“I’ve got you.”
And I’m not going to let you go.
Over and over as the wails turned to sobs, and the sobs to shudders.
THIRTY-SIX
A window exploded in the burning structure and a woman screamed. The breeze was blowing steadily now, pushing the smoke their way—inevitably driving the fire toward them as well. Fire departments and the Coast Guard were on their way. Unfortunately, the pier was situated at the farthest possible point from any of the surrounding towns. Fire trucks would be there in twenty to twenty-five minutes, Coast Guard vessels would take longer. How long would it take for the fire to burn to the end of the pier?
Even as he calmed the frightened child, Jax reviewed his options. The fire was advancing too quickly to wait for help to arrive. If he were alone, he would organize the people into an orderly evacuation, and he would jump only when the last person was safe. He could take care of himself in any situation.
But having Tyler and Pickett with him changed everything. For some of the people on the pier, waiting as long as possible and giving help time to arrive offered the best chance of survival, but so long as they were with him, Tyler and Pickett were safest in the water. And the sooner he got them there, the better. Every minute of delay meant more hazardous debris in the water. Sooner or later some of the crowd would panic. Panicked people, whether on the pier or in the water, could overwhelm Pickett easily.
For a SEAL, no failure could be more shameful than letting people he was tasked to protect come to harm. His need to protect Pickett and Tyler went even deeper than hating to fail. Every element of the love he felt for them, and every part of himself that he loved with, focused into one determination—to see them safe.
For Jax, there was only one imperative. Get Tyler and Pickett into the water as quickly as possible.
Jax slid onto the bench beside Pickett. She was pale and her eyelashes were spiky with tears but she was no longer coughing.
“You okay?”
She rubbed away wetness on her cheeks with the back of her hand, and nodded. “The smoke got to me for a minute.” Her voice was a little hoarse but she gave a tender smile that included him and Tyler. “You calmed him down. He was having a really hard time.”
Pickett glanced toward the fire which had advanced in the moments since Jax had taken Tyler.
“What are we going to do? The fire department isn’t going to get here in time, is it?”
“Come on.” He pulled her to her feet and began walking toward the end of the pier and the fishing platform.
“How well do you swim?”
“I can keep from drowning. I passed swimming in college, but mainly because I’m pretty good at treading water. Why?” Pickett dug in her heels suddenly. “Wait a minute. You’re planning to jump in, aren’t you?” She warded off the idea with one hand, fingers spread wide. “Uhn-uh. I can’t jump.”
Jax tightened his grip on her arm and put her in motion again. She would walk or be dragged.
“Jax, I mean it. I can’t jump. I couldn’t walk onto the diving board. I even hated diving off the edge of the pool.” Her voice took on a note of pleading. “Please, Jax, there’s got to be some other way. Are you listening to me?”
“No.”
“No? You’re not listening to me?” Pickett’s rising panic snagged on her ever-present sense of humor. Maybe it was hysteria, but wasn’t it just like a man to choose a moment like this to admit he wasn’t listening.
When SEALs get into trouble they always go to water. Jax could swim literally with both arms tied behind him, and his feet tied as well. Swimming Pickett and Tyler safely to shore was a piece of cake, no worries, as long as she did exactly what he said. He had to convince her to do what he said.
But it involved making her sit and wait for him. There would be time for her to panic, to do something stupid.
Jax pushed her, not roughly, but very firmly, onto a bench. The smoke was not as intense out here. He squatted in front of her so that they were eye to eye.
Despite her fear-dilated eyes and pale cheeks, a tiny smile played around her lips. God, he loved this woman. He could feel an answering smile in his eyes, even though he had no idea what they were smiling about. He cocked his head in inquiry.
“You admitted you weren’t listening to me.”
He didn’t see what was so funny about that, but let it go. “I’ve always listened to you about Tyler. Now you listen to me because this time I’m the expert. I’m going to take Tyler to shore, then I will swim back for you. When you see me in the water, you are going to jump to me and I’ll take you in.”
“Can’t I just wait and maybe the fire department will get here? And what about the other people?”
“Anything I can do for the others only increases the danger to you and Tyler, and that I will not do. Nothing is more important than you and Tyler. Do you understand me? Nothing.”
There was no time to argue. “You will jump, Pickett.” He strove to project with absolute con -fidence that anything else was unthinkable. “You know what they always tell SEALs when we have to do stuff we hate?” He locked his gaze with hers. “Remember, you don’t have to like it, you just have to do it.”
Every color, every sound seemed enveloped in a pellucid clarity and Pickett’s mind seemed able to assimilate huge pieces of information. Moments like this sometimes happened in a therapy session. Every word, every gesture took on significance that Pickett understood with wisdom far more profound than mere knowledge.
In the iron grip of his will, Pickett nodded. The slow heavy thudding of her heart told Pickett she was still afraid, and at the same time she felt absolutely safe trapped on a pier that was on fire. Because of Jax.
She trusted him the same way she trusted her wisdom. And with the sudden clarity of that wisdom, his arrogance transmuted to absolute confidence. Whatever this situation required of him he knew he could do, and furthermore, he would let no harm come to her or Tyler.
Secure within himself precisely because he was dealing with danger. Secure within himself because being trapped on a burning pier gave him the opportunity to be fully himself.
Nor could she deny that for him part of the appeal of the situation was its violent raw edge. Life was stripped to its essentials. The choices were about living or dying. He was alive, vibrant, magnificent. The molten light of the fire licked and burnished his skin with red and gold, delineating the sinews of his forearms, outlining the power of his thighs.
An icy hand gripped her heart, squeezed. He was even more different from her than she had allowed herself to know. He was alien. Not just her natural opposite in that he was a man. He was utterly other.
Just when her mind would have rejected him, her heart broke free of its icy bond and expanded in a surge of warmth that rivaled that of the fire crackling slowly and inexorably closer. Hot, almost burning her chest, her throat, her eyes, it stole her breath, consuming everything in its path.
He was exactly as he was supposed to be, as perfect and as inevitable as a mountain. Changing him, even wishing him different, would be a sin against his soul and her own.
This was love. Knowing that the other person was other, and not some idealized reflection of herself—and finding that perfect.
Mary Margret Daughtridge SEALed Bundle Page 27