Love Under Two Responders [The Lusty, Texas Collection] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Cara Covington

  Joey Davies had died instantly as the result of his single vehicle motorcycle accident. He was already dead when I arrived, and would have been dead if someone else had answered the call.

  “This house doesn’t look to be too bad at all,” Nicholas said.

  Ed focused on the house, a single-story ranch style. A red Toyota Camry stood parked on the side of the road about thirty feet from the driveway. It hadn’t even been pulled to the side of the road, out of the way.

  I don’t recall seeing that car there when we went into the mayor’s house.

  “Let’s take a look and see if anyone is in the car, slumped over.” The car could belong to the house and maybe the driver had left it there rather than chance the possibly too soggy side of the road or driveway itself.

  Who could blame him? That’s why I’m keeping our van on the road, too.

  “Isn’t it a waste of time to check the car?” Nicholas asked.

  Ed turned off the van but left the keys in it. “No. Someone might have either been coming or going and wound up having a heart attack. You’d be surprised how often that happens—how often folks will have myocardial infarctions during a storm of this nature.”

  While there were tree limbs and other bits of debris scattered across the entire area, the car had been spared—not so much as a stick upon it.

  The car was empty, a relief to Ed. Looking at it he’d gotten an eerie feeling, so he’d wondered.

  “Okay, let’s move on to the house.”

  “Whoever lives here is probably all right,” Nicholas said. “It looks as if they’ve already been out in their car.”

  Ed looked to where his temporary partner pointed. Now that Ed looked closely he could see the car had been driven after the storm. The rear tires rested on top of a thin branch from the Texas oak in the backyard of that next house. The leaves hadn’t yet begun to wilt on that branch yet.

  “The proximity of that car tells us that the driver might very well belong to this house. Maybe he is all right. But our orders are to enter every residence, and so that is what we’re going to do.” They walked back to the van, and Ed reached for his gear. “Whose house is this?”

  Nicholas consulted the list. “Bob and Angela Carson. Just the two of them listed as residents.”

  Ed had a shivery feeling and looked around. All he could see were relief workers—every one of them wearing one of the fluorescent yellow vests—helping folks in other homes, some walking between homes, checking the yards and the open land in between. One disappeared from sight behind the home they were about to enter, likely checking for trees that were still standing but in danger of collapse.

  Ed brought his attention back to the moment. “Looks like the Carsons could be back from vacation. Maybe they just got back after the storm. Regardless, we have to check the house. Okay, let’s go.”

  He noticed Warren and his temporary partner had arrived at a house across the street but not as far south. They nodded to each other, and Ed knew part of that was their having not just grown up together, but having worked together for so long.

  It made perfect sense for the coordinator to split them up, so there were two units with an experienced paramedic instead of one unit with two.

  Ed pulled his large case from the backseat and slung the strap over his shoulder. “Don’t forget the pry bar,” Ed said. Nicholas appeared ready to go to the door empty-handed.

  Even if doors were locked, they had to gain access and physically check for possible casualties. Hence, the pry bars.

  “But if the residents have been out and about…” Nicholas let the sentence drop.

  Oh to be twenty-one and know everything again!

  “Maybe they’ve been out and about. And maybe they haven’t, since we didn’t actually see them. Maybe they’ve been out and about and then one of them had a heart attack when they returned after seeing how badly their town was damaged. Procedures are procedures for a reason.”

  “Okay. You’re the boss.”

  Ed gave him a quick grin, showing Nicholas that he didn’t mind the younger man questioning why things were done the way they were.

  They approached the door, and knocked first. Listening, Ed couldn’t hear any movement or footsteps on the other side of the door. He looked at Nicholas, wondering if he’d heard anything. The young man shook his head “no.” Ed knocked again, louder this time.

  After another few moments, he reached for the door knob, twisting it. The door opened, and swung inward.

  That was not a good sign. Most people locked their doors even while inside their houses.

  Ed pushed the door wider. The house didn’t have an empty feel to it. “Mr. Carson? Mrs. Carson? County Rescue. We’re here to check to see if you’re all right, if you need anything?”

  No answer came in response to his call. A shiver slithered down his spine. Something’s wrong, here.

  The house branched in two directions from the living room they were standing in. He guessed that the bedrooms lay to the left, and the kitchen, laundry, and back patio, if there was one, to the right.

  He turned to Nicholas, his instincts screaming at him. There was something terribly wrong here. His mind went into overdrive, responding to the unknown emotions running through him.

  “You head left, I’ll go right.”

  “Okay. I’ll scream like a girl if I find a dead body, though. Just sayin’.”

  There wasn’t anything bad to the left. Ed couldn’t explain that certainty, but he believed it. “It’ll be our secret if you do.”

  Ed waited until Nicholas headed off before he turned and headed straight for the kitchen. He’d been right, thinking there was a patio attached to that room. It was actually a combination kitchen and dining room with a glass door to the patio.

  A glass door that had been blown out. He spotted the large rock on the floor by the dining room table. Or maybe it had been knocked out.

  “It’s time for you to pay for what you did.”

  Ed whipped his head around toward the male voice that had spoken. A man stood with his back to the kitchen sink, a man wearing a yellow vest, who looked vaguely familiar to him.

  Absolutely familiar was the 9mm handgun he held in a shaky grip. Ed swallowed the fear that lodged in his throat. He slipped his hands into his pockets, making the gesture seem as natural as possible.

  He turned on the communications device that was in his pocket.

  “Do I know you?” He asked the question, buying time, but he’d just now recognized the man—maybe because he’d so recently been thinking about his son.

  “You should. You murdered my boy, and ruined my life. You got away with murder and now it’s time for you to pay for what you did.”

  Chapter 24

  “I didn’t kill your son, Mr. Davies. I wanted very much to help him, to render the kind of aid I’ve been trained to give. I’m sorry, but Joey was already dead when I got there.”

  “You’re lying. You’re lying. My boy would be alive if another paramedic had attended to him. That other one, the one you got fired, he told me.”

  “Mr. Davies…I know you’re hurting. But shooting me isn’t going to bring Joey back. It’s not going to make you feel better, either, sir. Killing me won’t take your pain away.”

  “You don’t know what it’s like. Everything…I lost everything when I lost my boy.”

  Warren had already been headed toward the house his brother had entered. Connor Talbot had just called with a warning.

  They’d found out who had shot at Ed, who had stalked them driving that white Chevy half-ton. His name was Joseph Davies Senior, and he was now driving a red Toyota and headed, the investigators believed, right for them.

  Not headed for here, Warren thought. Davies was already here. Warren told Connor where they were, that Davies was there, and to send help quietly. Then he hung up his phone, already planning to go and see if he could rescue his brother.

  Then his brother turned on his com link, and Davies’ voice spo
ke in Warren’s ear. Everything inside Warren went ice cold. He headed over to the house across the street, the one with the red Toyota parked just down the road from it, and his brother, under threat, inside.

  “I know you’re hurting, Mr. Davies. I can’t imagine the pain you’ve been in these last six years.”

  “My boy was special. He was so special. He was going to do things in his life that I had never even dared to dream of! And then he was just gone. And it’s all your fault.”

  “No, sir. It was no one’s fault. It was just an accident. An unfortunate and tragic accident. Put the gun down, please. You don’t want to do this. Joey wouldn’t want you to do this.”

  “Don’t you dare say his name as if you had a right! Don’t talk to me as if you knew him!”

  “I did know him, in a way. He was me. He had dreams, and a couple of girls—Sally, I think, and Diane. He couldn’t decide between the two, and he didn’t want to hurt either one of them.”

  “Their hearts were broken. All our hearts were broken.”

  Davies sobbed. Warren’s heart raced as he slunk around the house, trying to figure out where they were, exactly.

  “Will you let me put my medical bag down on the kitchen table, over there? That way we’re out of sight of both the front door and the back patio door.”

  Warren heard his brother’s steps, and the muffled sound of a thump.

  “I know everyone’s hearts were broken,” Ed said. “Everyone who knew Joey cried at his funeral. I was there. I heard them talking, and I spoke with some of his friends. I’d only been a paramedic for a year, but I’ve never forgotten your son. How is his mother doing? I met her, but you were too grief stricken, and refused to meet me. Do you remember? Joey’s mother—your wife—she held it together. She reminded me a lot of my own mom.”

  Warren entered the house through the wide open front door. He encountered the young volunteer who’d been working with Ed through the night. The boy stood transfixed in the living room, just out of sight of the men in the kitchen, but obviously not out of hearing. He looked as white as a sheet. Warren held up his hand, and pointed at him, sending a message the only way he could. Stay put!

  The boy—Nicholas—nodded, and even seemed to relax now that Warren was there to take charge.

  “Elizabeth was shattered. I was shattered. She needed me, and I…I couldn’t be there for her. She’s always said she understood that, but I never have. I failed her. And I failed Joey. It’s time for me to stop failing everyone I love.”

  “You’ve never failed anyone, Mr. Davies. You need to be kinder to yourself. There’s nothing harder for a man to face than the loss of his son.”

  “I did fail! She told me not to give him that bike! She warned me it would be too much for him, but I didn’t listen to her. I wanted him to look up to me, to be grateful to me because I gave him something he’d always wanted. It was for me, not him. So he would love me, and want to spend time with me.”

  Warren turned off his communicator so he could focus. He worked his way toward the kitchen, every step echoing loudly in his inner ear, every movement taking an hour in his imagination.

  He approached the corner and could see the shiny glass of a microwave oven, anchored by a couple of brackets over the kitchen counter.

  In that glass he could see reflected the two men who stood facing each other, a loaded gun in a trembling grip between them.

  Davies had his back partially toward Warren. If he moved around the corner the man was bound to see him. He looked back at the glass and met his brother’s gaze in it.

  Trust. Warren read trust in his little brother’s eyes and hoped to God he could prove worthy of that honor.

  “I can’t go on like this anymore. My life is so empty without my boy…my beautiful, beautiful boy. I’m no good to anyone—no good to Elizabeth.” Davies sobbed again. “I thought we had the perfect life. I thought the future was going to be bright, and as beautiful as my Joey deserved. And then nothing was the way it was supposed to be!”

  Oh, God. It sounded to Warren as if Davies was on the very edge of losing it.

  “You don’t have to do this, Mr. Davies. I know you feel as if you have no choice, but you do. I know you think there’s nothing left for you with your wife, but I bet her arms ache to hold you again.”

  “You have to shut up now! You have to shut up! I have to do this, I have to finally get one damn thing right!”

  Warren didn’t think and he didn’t wait. He moved, his fear and love propelling him. A single burst of speed sent him around the corner. Davies’ arm was extended, his hand shaking and, sweet merciful heavens, the safety on the gun was off.

  Warren didn’t think, he just tackled the man, using the full force of his body to knock him off-balance and bring him to the floor.

  The gun had skittered out of his hand, landing at Ed’s feet. His brother bent down and picked it up, flicking the safety to the “on” position and then laying it on the table beside his medi-bag.

  “Are you all right?”

  Ed nodded. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

  “Talbot had just called me when you flipped your transmitter on. Fuck, baby brother, I just aged ten years.”

  “You can be the more distinguished between us, then.”

  Beneath Warren, Joe Davies had collapsed into a boneless heap as he sobbed and sobbed. It didn’t surprise him one bit when Ed waved him off the man.

  Warren wasn’t going to take any chances. He moved, as his brother asked him to. In fact, he got to his feet and scooped the gun off the table.

  The safety came off and he trained it on the broken man. It likely wouldn’t take long for the state police to make it from the temporary evacuation center to here. Warren looked at his watch. Not ten minutes had passed since he’d hung up on Connor Talbot.

  “It’s going to be all right, Joe.” Ed sat down on the floor beside Davies, and stroked the man’s shoulder. “It’s going to be all right, now. We’re going to get you the help you need. We’re going to help you. Joey would be proud of you.”

  Ed met Warren’s gaze. He could see his brother’s heart in his eyes. Somehow—either before this confrontation or likely because of it—Edward had finally put that tragedy, the too-soon death of a promising young man—to rest.

  It was almost worth the hell he’d just lived through.

  Almost.

  * * * *

  Carol sat in her favorite place—between the brothers Jessop—and couldn’t, in all honesty, keep her hands off them.

  It had been that way since they’d returned from helping out in Fayette County after that tornado last week and told her what had happened.

  It still shook her to think that while she’d been home, getting ready to head to work, her men had been in a life-or-death situation.

  “We want to make a tiny stop, first,” Warren had announced the moment they hit the state highway. “It’ll only take us a bit out of our way.”

  “Hey, I’ve got three days of vacation,” Carol said. “The ‘timetable’ is supposed to get tossed out the window. I’ve slipped into vacation mode.”

  “And we have a reservation at the Hilton for tonight,” Ed said. “With a king-sized bed that we plan to use to slip into you.”

  “Oh, goody.”

  “There she goes with the ‘oh goody’ again,” Warren said. “Our last day of this mini vacation will get spent at home, doing something very specific.”

  “Oh, yeah? Will I like it?” She didn’t know exactly what they’d be doing but she had a feeling she was about to discover a whole new “favorite thing” to do with these men.

  A mysterious package had arrived the other day and they’d been grinning and winking at her ever since.

  She didn’t ask until they turned off a secondary road into a long farm driveway. “Whose farm is this?”

  “Peter and Edna Gill’s,” Edward said.

  She ran the names through her memory for a few moments. “Oh! That call you took a couple of weeks ag
o—the farm accident.”

  “Yes. We wanted to see how they were getting on,” Warren said.

  “That’s so sweet.” Carol bit her lip when Warren blushed in response to her compliment.

  As they pulled up to the house, she could see an older man wearing a battered old hat, a button-front shirt, suspenders, and with his left hand bandaged heavily. He stood at the door of the barn, talking to a couple of younger men. Both of the younger ones appeared to be paying very close attention to the older man.

  Before he opened his door, Warren pinned her with a very dominant kind of gaze. “We’ll see after we get home, my love, if you still think I’m ‘sweet.’”

  Carol laughed. “Then you’re going to be sexy-sweet.”

  “How would you know that? You have no idea what’s inside that box that came the other day.”

  “I don’t have to. I know what’s inside the two of you.”

  Warren looked over at Edward, then shook his head. “You keep saying things like that and it makes it kind of hard for me to think about disciplining you.”

  “What if I beg you to? Discipline me, that is?”

  “Behave, wench. My cock is nearly hard enough to drill holes in lumber now.”

  Carol giggled, and relented. Warren got out of the driver’s side of the Buick Enclave and Carol followed Edward out the passenger side. No one who knew these two men—had known them most of their lives—had any idea the treasures they truly were. Witty, funny, and sexy as hell, they were the most wonderful men in the world.

  And she was the luckiest woman in the world because they belonged to her.

  She behaved herself and followed along as her men and Mr. Gill met each other halfway. Listening to the conversation, it didn’t take her long to figure out that Warren and Edward had done a lot more than just attend to Mr. Gill’s torn hand.

  “It’s the darnedest thing. All I’m doing is having those boys here, showin’ ’em how to run a farm. I get free labor out of the bargain, and that’s a good deal. Now they’re wanting to give me a salary as a teacher.” Mr. Gill scratched his head. “I didn’t finish high school. My daddy passed on, and I had to work the farm for my mother and my brothers and sisters when I was just fifteen.” He shook his head. “And now I’m a teacher!”