McQueen's Heat

by Harper Allen

  “And if it was me instead of him trapped there, Joey would take the risk,” she rasped unsteadily. “I’m a firefighter, too. We don’t let each other down, dammit!”

  As she raced back toward the flames she heard his footsteps pounding behind her. She felt him grab at her once more and she spun around, fury and fear spilling through her, but as she turned she saw something out of the corner of her eye.

  She whirled back to face the fire in disbelief. Then she broke free, and this time he didn’t attempt to stop her but instead ran with her to the figure emerging from the flames just as it took one last staggering step and crashed face forward onto the floor.

  “Joey!”

  Falling to her knees, Tamara turned him over. In the instant before she shut her mind to what she was looking at, she felt stark horror sweep through her. The bitch had gotten him, she thought frantically. His face was badly burned, and as she clapped her air-mask over his mouth she saw his eyes open dazedly to meet hers. He pushed the mask away and she saw with shock that he was trying to speak.

  “Don’t talk, Joey. Don’t try to talk, for heaven’s sake,” she gabbled, fighting to get the mask back on him. “The hose crew’s on their way.”

  His hand in its still-smoking glove swatted the mask away with a strength she hadn’t anticipated, and his eyes glared up at her. His seared lips stretched open.

  “For God’s sake, Joey, don’t—”

  “What the hell is it, buddy?” The big man shot her a look. “He’s trying to tell us something. What is it, pal?”

  Joey’s eyes bulged with strain. He drew in a shallow, rattling breath and raised his head a few inches from the floor, clutching urgently at Tamara’s coat. “Child,” he wheezed. “Mother…dead. The child ran. Too much smoke to see her…flashlight broke.” He fell back, his desperate gaze holding hers a moment longer before his eyes lost focus.

  What she’d told him hadn’t been a comforting lie, Tamara thought, tearing the air-pack from around her neck and affixing the mask over his face. From the main corridor she could hear shouts and the splintering sound of axes sinking into wood. But if there was a child trapped behind that wall of fire she couldn’t stand around waiting for help to arrive. As she got to her feet, she glanced over her shoulder.

  “You stay here with him. I’m going—”

  She blinked. The stranger wasn’t there anymore. Her head jerked up and her disbelieving gaze flew to the encroaching fire just in time to see a broad-shouldered, sweatshirt-clad figure run into the devouring flames.

  “King, thank God! Where’s—”

  Crew chief Chandra Boyleston turned to bark out an urgent command. “Man down here! There’s a man down here, dammit!” She switched her attention back to Tamara. “Silva wasn’t wearing his air-pack?”

  “There’s a civilian in there, plus at least one 10-45 already.” Her own voice edged as she used the code that veiled the harshness of the word body, Tamara ignored her superior’s question. “Joey said he also saw a child, but the kid ran away from him. He was coming to get my flashlight when he…when it…”

  She flicked a glance at the wall of fire dividing the hall. Bending down, she picked up her helmet from where it had fallen and crammed it onto her head.

  “The civilian went in for the child. I’ve got to go after him.”

  Without waiting for Boyleston’s reply she took off down the hallway, covering the lower half of her face with her glove as she got nearer to the roiling mass of crimson and orange. Beside her a wall burst into flame, but instead of increasing her fear, she felt an eerie calm settle over her.

  “You want me. You want me, the man and the child,” she ground out. “You might get one of us. You might even get me and the man. But if there’s a child in there, either he or I will make sure you don’t take a life that hasn’t even had a chance to begin yet.”

  Just ahead of her was solid fire. She took a last desperate breath, put on a final burst of speed and nearly stumbled in shock.

  He came toward her from out of the flames. The sweatshirt had caught on fire and his face was a grease-smeared mask, but his stride didn’t falter. In his arms he carried a bundle tightly wrapped in sheeting, and from the steam that rose from it she guessed that the sheet, along with its precious cargo, had been doused with water only seconds before.

  Red-rimmed gray eyes met hers as she ran to him, holding out her arms for the child. A corner of his mouth lifted, and right then and there the full force of his basic and overpowering maleness struck her like a blow.

  Something sliced through her, as bright and as piercing as pain. Unable to tear her gaze from his Tamara simply stood, drinking in the sight of him.

  Her first impression had been right, she thought shakily. He was a man who’d been to hell and back sometime in his past. He’d returned unhesitatingly to the inferno to save the life of a child or die trying.

  “Smart little girl,” he rasped. “She was in the bathtub. She was holding this in her hand—wouldn’t leave until I promised to keep it safe. Then she fainted.”

  Dragging the smoldering shirt over his head and dropping it to the floor, he peeled a piece of paper from his sweat-drenched chest and held it out to her.

  “Bet you didn’t figure you’d end up right next to my heart when we met a few minutes ago, did you, honey?” he asked, his voice cracking with hoarseness. “Where the hell’s the hose crew, anyway?”

  Taking one more step forward, he crumpled heavily to the ground, the photograph of a much younger Tamara King fluttering from his fingers.

  Chapter Two

  “Joey’s going to pull through.”

  Tamara reached for a tissue from a box on the nursing station counter. Blowing her nose furiously, she turned away and dabbed surreptitiously at her eyes. “That—that’s great, Lieut. I—I was afraid he—” She cleared her throat. “When do we get to see him?”

  “Not today. Not tomorrow, either, from what his doctor tells me.” The other woman’s features softened. “Hey…you don’t have to keep up the tough act with me, King. You and Joey are more than just partners, aren’t you?”

  “What?” Tamara’s head jerked up. “Where’d you get that idea, Lieutenant?”

  “It’s just us girls here right now, so make it Chandra,” Boyleston said dryly. She placed a hand on Tamara’s back, steering her away from the nursing station toward a group of potted plants by the waiting area. “That photo of you. It had to have fallen out of his helmet.”

  “Out of Joey’s helmet?” Tamara stared at her. “You’re joking, right?”

  “What’s tucked into the liner of yours?” Chandra wasn’t smiling. “You showed me once, so I know—a St. Florian medal pinned to the sweatband, a photo of your family taken before they died and a laminated four-leaf clover.”

  “Half the jakeys in the country must have a St. Florian medal somewhere on their person.” Tamara’s tone took on an edge. “He’s the patron saint of our profession.”

  “Yeah, the patron saint of jakeys, like you say.” The strong features relaxed momentarily at the slang term firefighters used to describe themselves. “And the shamrock’s for luck. But the photo keeps the people you love close when you’re on the job—most of the crew tuck a picture of a husband or a wife or a girlfriend in their helmet. Who knows why the child picked it up, but it must have fallen from Joey’s gear.” She frowned. “Unless there’s some connection between you and that little girl you haven’t told me about.”

  “How would I know who she is?” Tamara shrugged before she remembered her sprained shoulder. It had been examined when she’d arrived here at Mass General three hours ago, but she’d refused any medication. “Until she gives us her name we don’t even know who her mother was, and like you told me earlier, she hasn’t said one word yet.”

  “That’s not surprising.” Chandra’s expression was closed. “The doctor pegged her at about seven or eight, poor tyke—it has to be pretty rough on a little girl like that, seeing her mom dead and n
early dying herself. You sure you never saw her before, King?”

  Tamara’s lips tightened impatiently. “She looks like a girl I went to school with a long time ago, for God’s sake. Except this kid’s got green eyes, and Claudia Anderson had blue.”

  “That could be it. Maybe the child’s mother was this girlhood friend of yours, fallen on hard times and hoping to get in touch with you to see if you could help.”

  “Your theory’s all wrong, Lieut.” Tamara pushed her hair back from her forehead. “Claudia was my best friend all through school and even after, but I haven’t seen her for years. The last I heard she’d gotten married.” She went on reluctantly. “Besides, I’d be the last person she’d want to see. The man she married was my fiancé. He literally left me standing at the altar and ran off with her.”

  Boyleston’s eyes widened. “That must have been a blow,” she said softly. “Sorry I stirred up old memories, Tamara.”

  Tamara saw the sympathy in the other woman’s eyes. “Hey, Lieut—I’m over it, okay? It happened a long time ago, and though I’ll admit it was pretty devastating to be jilted in front of a whole churchful of people, I went on to make a new life for myself. I even went through with the reception, sans groom, of course.”

  Chandra grinned in startled amusement. “Jeez, girl, talk about ballsy. You threw the party without the wedding?”

  “Threw the party, danced up a storm, drank too much and awoke the next morning with the first and only hangover I’ve ever had in my life.” Tamara nodded. “The whole evening was a blur, but I remember some of Rick’s friends were there. I didn’t want him hearing I’d had to be escorted from the altar sobbing broken-heartedly or anything like that.” A corner of her mouth lifted ruefully. “I saved the messy breakdown for the next day, when no one could see me.”

  Not true, King, a small voice in her head said with annoying precision. You fell apart that night, and in front of a total stranger. A stranger you’d just—

  She shut the voice off with an effort. “Anyway, that’s why I know Claudia wouldn’t come looking for me.”

  “Which leaves us with Joey. He obviously realized you only saw him as a friend, so he kept his feelings under wraps.” As an orderly wheeled an empty gurney past them, Chandra went on. “I’d still like to know who the civilian was. In all the excitement I never even got a good look at him. The crew told me if he hadn’t passed out again while they were trying to get him into the ambulance, he probably would have taken off on us. He didn’t give you his name?”

  Tamara frowned as she heard the clatter of something metal in one of the nearby rooms. A male nurse at the station looked up in annoyance and then headed down the corridor.

  “No, but it wasn’t hard to figure out his story, Lieutenant. Like the child’s mother, he was down and out enough to be staying in that dump. I—I got the feeling life didn’t mean much to him anymore,” she added.

  “His life, maybe.” The brown eyes watching her sharpened. “But he went to the wall to bring that little girl—”

  “It’s against the rules to just walk out!” The curt remonstration came from one of the rooms. “Dr. Jasper left specific instructions—”

  “Tell him I discharged myself. And since I’d prefer not to waltz down Charles Street bare-assed, how about handing over my pants before I leave?”

  The smoky growl was almost drowned out by another crash, and Tamara heard the no-nonsense tones of the male nurse who’d just left the station.

  “You’re in no shape, mister. They pumped you full of drugs when you arrived, so why don’t you—”

  His placating words ended abruptly. The next moment a tall figure strode into the corridor, shirtless and still zipping up the fly of the soot-smeared khaki pants he was wearing. Beside Tamara, Chandra stiffened.

  “Don’t tell me. Our Mr. X?”

  “I was going to find out what floor he’d been taken to and see how he was,” Tamara answered, her attention focused on the tableau being enacted only yards away from them. “I guess that’s not necessary now.”

  The male nurse had been joined by an orderly, and even as she watched he stepped in front of their patient. In the doorway of the room they’d left a ward nurse appeared.

  “At least let us call someone to take you home—a family member or a friend.” Taking advantage of the momentary standoff in the corridor, the female nurse advanced to the big man’s side, her posture rigidly disapproving. “If we could release you into someone’s care—”

  “I don’t have any family. I don’t have a home anymore, for that matter.” The husky voice held a note of impatience. “So why don’t you call off the guarddogs here, sweetie, and I’ll just be on my way?”

  “You’ve got friends, McQueen.” Boyleston’s tone was arid. “God knows why, with a personality like yours, but you’ve got a few. Or at least you used to, before you dumped us all and dropped out of sight.” Her voice lost a little of its edge. “How’ve you been, Stone?” she asked quietly.

  Tamara looked at her in astonishment and then back at the man again. With a second small start she realized that those dark gray eyes were fixed on her, not her companion.

  It all made sense now, she thought—the heroism he’d shown, the way he’d known too much about fire. He’d been a firefighter. He’d gone up against the beast. She met his eyes. He blinked, and looked at the woman beside her.

  “I see you made rank, Chandra,” he replied flatly. “How about using your pull to remind Florence Nightingale here that it’s still a free country? Buddy, you’ve got exactly three seconds to get that hypo away from me,” he added to the male nurse.

  “I’ll take responsibility for him,” Boyleston sighed. One slim brown hand went to her forehead to massage her temples. “Still a charmer, McQueen. But after what you did today I guess I owe you.” She glanced sideways at Tamara. “Stone McQueen. Tamara King. I hear you guys didn’t introduce yourselves earlier.”

  “So what happened to your partner?” As the lieutenant followed the still-glowering nurse to the station and began putting her signature on what seemed to be endless forms, Stone McQueen gave his attention to buckling his belt. His question was perfunctory. Tamara was taken aback by his attitude, but she kept her voice even.

  “Joey’s going to make it,” she began, but he cut her off, his head still bent to his task.

  “He nearly got you killed, honey. What was he playing at, arriving at a fire without a respirator?”

  “He made a mistake. He’s going to be paying for it for a long time, according to the doctors.” She took a deep breath. “I nearly made a mistake, too. Thanks for getting me out of that hallway in time.”

  He raised his head abruptly. “A mistake? Is that how you explain it to yourself?” He shrugged, the muscles shifting under that broad expanse of tanned chest. “Okay, honey. Then thanks for not letting me make the same mistake when you barged into my room and wouldn’t take no for an answer. I guess we’re even.”

  He frowned, looking down at the gauze dressing that covered most of his left forearm. “God, I hate hospitals,” he said under his breath. “I hate every damn thing about them.” His jaw rigid, he ripped the bandage off with a muttered oath.

  “But you didn’t want to get out of that room, McQueen,” Tamara said sharply. “Your being there wasn’t a mistake, and both of us know it. I don’t see the connection between that and me almost getting caught in that hallway.”

  “You don’t?” Carelessly he tossed the crumpled square over his shoulder into the wastebasket by the pay phone behind him. “Joey was just the excuse. You wanted to look into its face, honey. You wanted to know who it was.” He spared her a smile. “You thought you might see yourself looking back,” he said softly.

  “You’re going to have to run that one by me again.” She heard the tightness in her own voice. “Whose face? What am I supposed to have seen myself looking back from?”

  As he stood just inches away from her, Tamara suddenly realized that the destructi
ve aura she’d only sensed before was all around her.

  If she let herself, she thought, she could reach out and touch that solidly muscled torso, trace the coarse scattering of hair leading from those tanned pectorals, veeing down to his exposed navel, vanishing under the worn leather of the belt at his hips. The garish hospital lighting revealed every flaw in his skin—the grainy weariness, the small scar by his full bottom lip, the angry-looking scrape high up on one hard cheekbone. It was obvious he’d never been a pretty man. It was obvious he’d never needed to be. He practically smelled like sex.

  “The fire, honey. You think if you look close enough, you might see your face staring back at you from the fire.” He was near enough to her that the warmth of his breath touched her lips. “You’re afraid you brought the beast to life. You think maybe there’s only one way to stop it for good.”

  How did he know? The shocked thought tore through her mind. How did he know what she called it, how did he know how she felt when it was raging all around her?

  “You’re out of your mind,” she said, trying to match the evenness of his tone, and almost succeeding. “I hate fire, McQueen. It’s the enemy. It’s the thing I go up against. I don’t start fires, for God’s sake—I spend most of my life running around putting them out.”

  “You can’t put them all out.” A corner of his mouth lifted humorlessly. “You’d better learn that fact before it’s too late.”

  “You sound like you’re talking from experience.” Her voice was ice. “You were a jakey once, too, weren’t you?”

  He didn’t answer, but she took the slight flicker in his gaze for affirmation and went on, her tone edged. “Maybe you’re the one with an unresolved conflict about fire, McQueen. Except you just gave up the fight—gave it up so totally that today you were only minutes away from surrendering completely.”

  She brought her face to within inches of his. “You’re the one who’s burning up,” she ground out. “What I’d like to know is who or what struck the match with you. Was it a woman? Is that how you were destroyed, Stone?”