Dallas Fire & Rescue: Chasing Flames (Kindle Worlds Novella) (Fiery Fairy Tales Book 1)

by Siera London

  Symphony’s mouth hung open.

  “I—I wasn’t.” She had been prepped to give him the Kai-Kai sandal to the derriere. A toned derriere.

  “Then I’ll meet you back here at two o’clock.”

  Wait. That was the end of her shift.

  “Just like that? You’re coming back to scoop up the little lady?” Her tone was sarcastic, but Nathan seemed to feel the weight to her question.

  “Mutual attraction is simple, Blue.”

  “Cocky much?”

  “Hopeful and observant.”

  “Look… I’m not looking for—”

  “Glad to hear it because you’ve been found, Little Blue.”

  Her gaze fixed on his lips before she forced herself to zoom in on the latest in plastic buttons on his shirt.

  “I didn’t give you an answer,” she said, putting both hands on his chest. She pushed and met with solid immovable warmth. A current of electricity shot up her arm. Nathan must have felt it too, because he moved in closer.

  “Your body told me all I need to know.” His voice dropped low. “Look at me.”

  Don’t listen to him, Symphony Porter. If she exhaled, it would rustle the lightweight button-down hiding the plains of a well-toned torso she didn’t have to see to appreciate.

  “You ever considered that I drove my own car?” Betty Boop had more bass in her voice at that moment.

  “Yep.”

  Nathan shifted away from her. Sorry that she said something to make him step away, Symphony looked up and found him grinning down at her.

  “Claudia told me you walk to work most nights. I’ll be back here to drive you home.”

  A slow lazy smile spread across his face and her heart fluttered like a new species of stupidus cupidus butterfly. She had feelings for a freaking arson investigator.

  “Suit yourself,” she quipped. Combat boots weren’t the best choice in footwear when the job required eight hours of standing. Money was too short to drive the RV to work. Having a carriage waiting for her at night’s end brought a reluctant smile to her face.

  “I will,” he said narrowing the distance once again. “You want me to kiss you.”

  Symphony met his stare. She bit down on her lower lip to stop the trembling she felt down to her toes.

  Nathan stroked a finger across her jaw and those butterflies started flitting a mating call louder than an African tribal dance. Symphony swallowed the groan building in the back of her throat, but there wasn’t a thing she could do to stop the moisture pooling in her panties.

  Nathan’s eyes were focused on her lips and she gasped at the blazing desire aimed at her. Symphony felt the weight of his lower body press into her, his erection making its presence known. The aging wood boards creaked as he pushed her back against them. Trapped between soft wood and hard male, she relaxed and settled into what would come next. Their eyes stayed locked as he lowered his head, angling his mouth above her parted lips. Oh, those butterflies were back. She remembered butterflies lived an average of ten days as her eyes drifted shut. Would she make it that long?

  ***

  Raised voices as groups of rowdy passersby crossed the alley entry trickled through the space, but no one questioned their presence in the well-lit alley. Nathan noticed Symphony kept a tight hold on her lighter. The rectangular Mile Marker 0 logo was a familiar sight in every souvenir shop lining Duval Street. First-time tourists often took photos on the corner of Whitehead and Fleming Streets with the green and white marker sign posted in the background. But Little Blue’s lighter casing was tricked out in arresting flame blue crystals that sparkled as radiant as the woman herself.

  The fact that he held her hostage with his body should bother him, but it didn’t. Maybe it was the look in her eyes when he’d found her in the alley that compelled him to get close. The expression on her face when he narrowed the space between them was of caution, not discomfort or fear. He had the odd feeling that she was protecting him. A thin sheen of perspiration glistened on the tip of her nose. Using his right forearm, he glided a finger down her nasal bridge, removing the moisture as he went. It was good that she was at ease with him in her personal space, because soon he’d be inside her. Close enough that he could smell the hint honeysuckle along her neckline or taste the sweet mint on her breath.

  “Look at me.”

  When she did, all kinds of feelings ignited, that he dared not examine too closely. Something about her amber-eyed gaze, innocent, yet curious felt like home. He slid a finger beneath her chin and lifted.

  “Nathan, you’re holding me too close.” Her eyes and her tone had him groaning. The connection between them moved from loose heat to a solid flame.

  “For comfort?” he parried.

  “For your own good, Nathan” she said in a rush.

  So he had been right in his assessment.

  “The way you say my name makes me burn, darling,” he grinned at her shocked expression.

  She looked ready to run. If he told her he was stiff as a hose attached to an open hydrant, she’d probably call him a pervert and flag down the cops. Instead, he said, “I want you in place when I kiss you.” Nathan waited for her to object.

  “Why would you do something as crazy as that?” she asked while tilting her head back to improve her angle.

  Questioning, curious, and compliant. Nathan could see them working out fine.

  “You smell sweeter than warm cotton candy on a summer day, so I know you’ll taste like heaven.” He nuzzled her neck before burying his nose in the delicate skin beneath her ear. He inhaled, releasing a slow breath, and she trembled in his arms.

  “Can’t wait any longer,” he grounded out, pulling back to regard her.

  “Me neither,” she replied before her eyes drifted closed.

  Nathan lowered his head, drinking in every detail of this beautiful woman that felt the same instant connection he felt coursing through his veins, changing him, opening him up to her. Little Blue.

  With her lips parted, he was close enough to feel the warmth of the breath leaving her lips to enter his. He wanted more. So much more of her.

  “You ready for me?” They both knew he was asking about more than a kiss.

  “No, but I want to be,” she said, sliding her hand up his chest to rest on his shoulder.

  “My Little Blue,” he whispered, moving within a hair’s width of her full lips.

  Everything happened at once.

  Nathan felt a heavy weight slap his arm, his body swayed, and then a thud came down onto his back. He shielded Symphony with his body, protecting her from the attack.

  His arm flew wide, when a full body blow got him in the left flank. The blow sizzled like a W Tool battering ram had pegged him. “What the heck,” he roared.

  Symphony was ripped from his arms faster than a cane yanking her off the Apollo Stage, her “oh” echoed through the narrow alley with the ting of a steel kettledrum.

  “Get away from her, island cowboy!”

  Two women with identical green eyes glared up at him. The family resemblance so remarkable, they had to be sisters. A brunette with soft rounded features and a body to match wore a troubled smile in her fighter’s crouch. She kept a hand on Blue’s arm as if to protect her from him. Was this a rescue?

  “Thought you had her cornered in an alley, did you?” said the fluffy battering ram.

  Definitely, a Charlie’s Angels rescue. Nathan’s gaze fell to the second party in the would-be raid. A blonde with high cheek bones sporting a messy ponytail too perfect to be anything other than deliberate. The jean cut-offs she wore showcased well-toned legs a man could climb for miles before he reached nirvana. Her red-stitched cowboy boots were close to his—a standoff. Whatever perfume Blondie wore irritated his nose.

  “Like it?” she questioned.

  Her tone led Nathan to believe her question was about more than the rank scent she wore.

  “I prefer soft notes of blue dipped in honey.” Nathan focused his attention on Symphon
y. She made no attempt to extricate herself from Fluffy’s grip. She had a connection to these women, but it bothered Nathan that they stormed into the situation and took over. The blonde stood in his face now, calculation gleamed in her forest gaze. Nathan was familiar with this type of woman. The love gamble had dealt him his fair share of attractive, manipulative, lying, and cheating she-devils.

  “Who the hell are you two?” Nathan demanded, reaching for Symphony, only to have his hand slapped like a ruler-wielding nun in parochial school. Nathan smiled down at Blondie, “Don’t attack she-cat. You’re not the only one with claws.”

  “We’re her friends,” came Fluffy’s soft reply.

  Nathan watched her curl plump fingers around Symphony’s forearm, maintaining her hold.

  “Bethany, let’s get back inside. I have a couple of to-go plates packed up for you.” Blue said to the blonde.

  Bethany gave him a thorough once over. When a slow, inviting smile spread across her face, Nathan took a step back. He wasn’t interested in a thing a woman offered when she smiled like that at a man.

  “Penelope, grab your sister and we’ll get out of here.” Little Blue’s golden eyes held steady on Nathan as she spoke, resigned at the loss of the moment.

  The three of them turned away, walking up the alley toward Eaton Street.

  “Symphony.”

  She angled her head as the sound of her name, but didn’t turn to look at him.

  “This changes nothing.”

  “That’s where you’re your wrong, Nathan.”

  He looked on as Penelope entered a screened door he assumed led into the bar, followed by Bethany’s red cowboy boots. With the sisters gone, Symphony paused, and then looked him directly in the eyes.

  “Goodbye, Nathan.”

  She raised her arm, tossing him a casual wave.

  Hell, that easy dismissal of hers was a red flag if he ever saw one. Time to charge.

  “See you after midnight, Little Blue.”

  Chapter Three

  Symphony knew something was wrong the moment she exited the elevators. The moon gave little illumination into the dark spacious offices of Wilfred and Calvin, Attorneys at Law. There was a desk lamp on in the corner office, but she couldn’t see anyone. After her mother’s death, Symphony discovered the executor of her father’s estate had been trying to locate her. Lyric Porter, the only parent she’d ever know, made sure Symphony understood that her father was never to be contacted. Her mother said that he had threatened to tear them apart. Symphony had to promise to never search for him. She’d kept her promise, until the option was no longer available.

  “Hello?”

  Someone should’ve greeted her at the receptionist desk, but she had requested the meeting. The wall-mounted clock read nine-thirty. Perhaps decorum ended at five o’clock. Who knew with a fancy-pants lawyer. She should leave, but she needed whatever her father had willed to her. She hoped, prayed, it was money, but anything she could sell would do. Moving closer to the light source, she cleared her throat.

  “My name is Symphony Porter. I have an appointment with Mr. Wilfred.”

  She took a cautious step forward, outsmarting the hidden Jasons and Freddies her mind conjured up. Fear and desperation tag-teamed the logical decision to turn around, take the stairs two at a time, and try again when the sun shone high in the sky. As usual, logic found itself the scrawny kid on the playground, beaten to a sniveling, bloody pulp by two bullies.

  “I’ll never yell at another eighteen-year-old half-naked co-ed stumbling through the woods in a B-rated horror flick again.”

  When Symphony reached the office, she stood in the doorway waiting for a British chap wearing a bow tie to invite her to take a seat. There was an open file in the center of the desk with a tall coffee mug, and what looked to be a heavy wooden inbox. Perhaps, Mr. Wilfred was in the bathroom.

  “Don’t wig out, Symphony. Just wait a few more minutes.” If she kept talking to herself, a wig out was guaranteed.

  Entering the office, Symphony considered taking a seat in front of the large oak desk, but that would be too impetuous, so she stood beside it and glanced at the open folder. What she saw there caused her whole body to tremble in fear.

  Symphony’s hand stalled over a document labeled Porter, S. Police Report. Seems fancy pants had been busy with some investigative work of his own. There was her mug shot and the details of a time in her life she wished she could forget. Pulling her signature blue Mile Marker 0 lighter from her pocket, she snagged the incriminating report, tilted the corner and flicked the wheel. The flame glowed orange and crimson, and she relaxed. For a moment, she allowed herself to relish the warm glow, the soft wave of heat making a tiny puncture in the surrounding air. The flame was beautiful. She brought it closer to the paper’s edge. Her heart rate increased, excited as the fire met its target and began to spread. As the edges shrank from its aggressor, the pages darkened, curled, and withered before her eyes. The rush of excitement faded like the ink of the page.

  “Goodbye, old me.”

  Bells started going off in her head. She’d started a fire. Oh no, sweat formed across her forehead. What if Mr. Wilfred walked in and saw her burning files in his office? Stupid move, Porter. Symphony’s life story was riddled like Swiss cheese with impulsive decisions and their immortal consequences. The report was a reminder that her past still lived and someone in Key West had uncovered her secret. Who else had read the report?

  Symphony thought of Nathan. Would he look at her with passion in his eyes if he knew the truth about her? She knew the answer. She’d recalled the disgust on the faces of others she thought were friends, would-be lovers, or employers.

  Her hand tightened around the lighter until the crystals cut into her palm. She could make a bigger fire and… no, no. No more fires. Symphony dropped the half-burned papers in the metal wastebasket next to the desk.

  She was just about to call it a night when she heard a clicking sound. Someone was in the office. Symphony held her breath, a sinking feeling pulled at her gut when no one approached the door.

  Afraid she’d be discovered red-handed, Symphony hit the off button on the lamp and dropped to her knees. The door slammed shut. Had the janitorial staff locked her inside?

  Her heart pounded in her chest. How would she explain her presence in a closed law office? No good intentions could be used to explain snooping and the burnt offering in the wastebasket. A popping sound rang out, startled, Symphony banged her head on the side of the oak desk.

  “Ouch,” she said, touching gingerly along her temple, “pumpkin pie, for real.” Crawling closer to the door, she smelled a familiar scent. Smoke. She needed to get out of the office.

  Reaching up, Symphony cautiously touched the doorknob—cool to the touch. Rising up onto her knees, she pulled the door open, only to have a bottle come flying in the direction of her face. She scrambled away from the door. The bottle shattered against the frame. A wall of flames leaped up, effectively trapping her in the office. Symphony fell back on her butt, kicking the door closed with her booted heel.

  Coming to her feet, she spun in a circle assessing the situation. A glass wall was to her left and the outer wall to the office on her right. She should have never entered the office; now there was no way out. The problem with an impulsive decision was that corrective action was impossible after the error was in plain view.

  She would be burned alive.

  ***

  Nathan arrived at the scene to find the fourth floor of the Wilfred and Calvin Office building ablaze. The Flagler Avenue orange firelight topped with plumes of smoke rivaled the New Year’s Eve Conch Shell drop at Sloppy Joe’s. The crumple of wood and steel, plastic and paper as matter heated to its ignition point, created a tortured sound in what should have been another humid, silent night.

  His best arson investigator slapped him on the calf. Nathan glanced down to find Max’s tail wagging. A sure sign his Labrador was ready to get to work.

  Max was a
n accelerant-detection canine trained by ATF S.E.E.K. The Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives Search Enhanced Evidence K-9 program had trained dogs to distinguish between dozens of different explosives and accelerants. Nathan’s gut told him, Max would earn his chow tonight.

  This was the third suspicious fire in six weeks, the fire chief had explained on the phone. When Nathan relocated to Key West seven years ago, his Station 58 fire captain joked that Nathan would be a drunken fisherman within six months. He should be so lucky. The twenty-seven-foot boat he’d purchased before he’d even unpacked the house stayed moored at his private dock like a deserted shipwreck.

  Cutler stood close to the engine, his face shield up. He walked over to his friend decked out in full turnout gear. The personal protective equipment was designed of a heat resistance thermal lining, a moisture-blocking material and a strong outer layer to minimize punctures and tears. Altogether, the suit was made for comfort and prolonged breathability.

  “Anyone inside?”

  Nathan prayed the office was empty. Arsonists got a thrill out of creating a living, breathing thing. Like every other destructive act perpetrated by man, the sense of power and control fed their pathological hunger. If people died along with the destruction of property, the more attention their creation garnered.

  Cutler looked up, his face covered in gray and black ash. The twin furrows between his brow spoke to the tension of another unexplained fire.

  “Shoot, Nate. Who called you?” Trace Fletcher said when he saw Nathan approach.

  Rather than take offense, Nathan shrugged it off. Having an arson investigator arrive on the scene uninvited was never a good thing. The veteran firefighter was the biggest SOB Nathan had seen in or out of uniform. The guy had tree trunks for arms and legs. His ink black hair and angular face gave off a menacing first impression. In reality, Trace was a freaking key lime-colored teddy bear —with animals. A human beware sign wouldn’t be out of order. To prove his point, Max padded over to Trace, nudging him with his muzzle, to which Trace stroked him between the ears, before rubbing up and down his dog’s back. Nathan smirked at Max. “Traitor.”