Down Deep_A Station Seventeen Engine Novel

by Kimberly Kincaid

  But in a way, everyone had died.

  “Ian.”

  The stability in Kennedy’s voice brought Gamble back to the reality of his apartment, of the fact that he was sitting here when the other four members of his unit had been brought home in body bags. His lungs flattened, the shadows that haunted him in those rare, quiet moments he allowed himself closing in.

  Kennedy’s fingers were still there, though, warm on his forearm. Strong, like an anchor. Like a lifeline.

  “Ian, look at me,” she said. And funny, he was powerless not to.

  She turned toward him as fully as possible, reaching up to cradle his face with reverence he was certain he didn’t deserve, but Christ, it felt as vital and necessary as breath.

  “I know you can’t tell me exactly what happened. And I know that whatever it is, it haunts you. You might be able to hide it from everyone else, but I can see it in your eyes.” She paused, and though her hands remained steady, the inhale she took wavered ever so slightly. “But I also know this. You’re a good man. Don’t blame yourself for surviving.”

  “But I do,” he said. Although it was the raw truth, one Gamble had lived with for years, the admission still shocked him. Of course, he knew he wasn’t to blame in the literal sense. The ambush had been well-planned, by a hateful and evil enemy, and he hadn’t been negligent or remiss in his recon, nor had any member of his unit. The Marines had done a full investigation. Gamble had been quickly cleared, then commended for his bravery.

  But he’d lived, and everyone else was dead, and for the first time ever, he’d admitted his guilt out loud. Those three tiny words had been like a cork, and now that they’d been released, everything they’d been holding back rushed up after them.

  “I do blame myself. Every single one of us woke up that morning thinking we had our whole goddamn lives in front of us. We all had hopes and dreams and wants. We had each other. But I’m the only one who came home. Me. Not Perez, who had a wife and a kid on the way. Not Weaver, who had been within an inch of retirement, not Flannery or Cho, who had parents and siblings and people who loved them, too. But me. The guy who wouldn’t have been mourned. The guy with nobody.”

  The shadows Gamble knew so well closed in on him then, crushing his rib cage and making it hard to breathe, but not even their presence could keep the rest from crashing past his lips.

  “Everyone else died, Kennedy,” he said in a voice so ragged, he barely recognized it as his own. “Who the hell else is there to blame?”

  “No one, because it’s not anyone’s fault,” Kennedy said. “Let me ask you this. Whose fault is it that Asher Gibson was killed when Seventeen responded to that house fire three years ago?"

  The question threw Gamble so thoroughly that he answered it without thinking. “Nobody’s. What happened on that call was a complete freak accident.”

  Asher had been Seventeen’s newest member at the time, a great kid and a damn good firefighter. He’d gone in to do search and rescue, just as he’d done dozens of times before. Asher had done everything by the book, but the roof had collapsed without warning. Everyone on A-shift had been devastated by the loss, and although he’d never allowed himself to get nearly as close to his fellow firefighters as he’d been with his Recon unit-mates, the months after Asher’s death had been hell on Gamble, too.

  “Exactly,” Kennedy said. “And whose fault is it that Dempsey fell in that stairwell and broke his leg? Or that the kid you pulled out of that warehouse last night ended up in critical condition in the ICU?”

  Gamble paused. Processed what she was saying. Then shook his head. “Those things aren’t the same as what happened to me and my unit.” He’d been the only person to survive. No one else. Just him.

  Kennedy surprised him by conceding. “No, they’re not. They’re all separate instances, with separate circumstances. But they do have one thing in common. As awful as they were, none of them are your fault.”

  “Kennedy—”

  “No.” She slid into his lap—not in a sexual way, but in that stubborn, won’t-be-ignored, fierce sort of way that said she meant business. “I don’t need to know what happened to know it wasn’t your fault that you lived. But I do know that it’s far past time for you to believe the truth. The fact that you survived isn’t your fault.”

  Gamble’s heart twisted, and oh, he was tempted to believe her. “I just…I miss them so much sometimes,” he said, his voice nearly a whisper in the already quiet room. “And God, it fucking hurts. Not just knowing they’re gone, but…it hurts to be alone again.”

  Kennedy’s eyes filled with tears, and they spilled down her face unchecked as she looked at him with nothing but truth and said, “Don’t you see? You’re not alone anymore.”

  And in that moment, Gamble knew two things. One was that she was right.

  The second was that he was falling in love with her.

  24

  Kennedy stood behind the bar at The Crooked Angel and tried like hell to focus on the inventory sheet stuck to the clipboard between her hands. But between the adrenaline overload of last night’s fire and the emotional overload of this morning’s conversation with Gamble, her brain was completely uncooperative.

  Which was nothing, really, compared to her heart. Because that thing? Yeah, she might as well have signed over full custody the second Gamble had told her about his past.

  The anatomy in question gave up an involuntary squeeze as Kennedy snuck a glance at the spot where he sat at the bar, just a handful of feet down the glossy wood. They hadn’t spoken much after she’d promised him he wasn’t alone anymore, but, then again, they hadn’t really needed to. They’d simply wrapped their arms around each other and settled in on his couch, dozing for the few hours they had left until she’d had to get up to come in to work. Yes, she and Gamble had a lot in front of them with this arson case, and hell yes, some of those things scared her as much as the fact that she’d gone and impulsively fallen for the guy. But letting him in, and being there so he could let her in, too, didn’t feel scary at all.

  It felt right. He felt right.

  Even if his expression was as serious as a triple bypass right now.

  Kennedy put the clipboard in its designated space beneath the bar, her boots shushing over the thick rubber bar mats as she walked over to stand in front of him. “Hey,” she said, and at least he’d eaten the omelet and home fries Marco had put together for him at her request. “You doing okay down here?”

  “It was good to eat,” he said, not a yes, but not quite a no. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” Kennedy reached out and put her hand over his on top of the bar. “Nothing from Bridges yet, I take it?”

  “Not as far as the arson investigation is concerned,” Gamble said, his shoulders easing slightly as he looked up at her, but only for a second before he continued. “The kid I pulled out of the warehouse is still unconscious. They’re keeping him sedated. His injuries are…pretty bad.”

  Oh, God. “You got to him as fast as you could,” she said with certainty. “And he’s in great hands. You said yourself that the docs who took care of you and Dempsey are top-notch.”

  The look on Gamble’s face remained serious, but at least he nodded. “Yeah. Speaking of Dempsey, he had a weird reaction to the pain meds, so they ended up keeping him at the hospital overnight. He’s fine now,” he added, probably because her expression had betrayed the worry his words had caused. “Just really out of it. Gates and Hawk and Faurier are with him at the hospital, in case he needs anything.”

  “Ugh, poor guy.” Kennedy opened her mouth to offer to send some sandwiches to Remington Mem—their cafeteria food probably left a lot to be desired—but before she could get so much as a word out, a figure appeared in the doorway that made her jaw unhinge in shock.

  “Xander?” she gasped, blinking a few times to be—yep—sure her eyes were functioning properly.

  “Hey, Ken. Gamble.” Her brother lifted his chin at the firefighter in greeting, the
n sent a suddenly wary glance around the empty dining room. “I thought the bar was open. Is it okay if I come in?”

  “Of course,” Kennedy said, shaking her head in an effort to anchor herself. “We just opened for lunch a few minutes ago, but you’re always welcome here no matter what. Is everything alright?”

  Xander nodded, walking all the way over to the space at the bar beside Gamble, who looked just as surprised as she felt, before continuing quietly even though they were the only three people in the front of the house.

  “Yeah. I mean, everything with the case is cool, and I still haven’t heard from Rusty about where or when he wants to use those remote ignition devices. In fact, he’s been weirdly quiet for the last couple of days.”

  She exhaled in relief. “Good.”

  The farther away that lunatic stayed from her brother, the better. Just because Xander had made it clear that he didn’t need or want her concern didn’t mean she couldn’t think it.

  But wait… “If everything is okay with the case, then why are you here? Not that it’s not okay for you to be here,” Kennedy scrambled to tack on, and ugh, could she be any less articulate? “It’s just that, you know. You mentioned your boss is kind of a stickler and, well, you live clear across town.”

  “Right,” he said, sliding a look at Gamble, then skimming a palm over the back of his neck. “I told my boss I had a follow-up doctor’s appointment for my burn.”

  “Do you?” she asked, her eyes immediately darting to the bandage on his forearm that his T-shirt didn’t hide.

  Xander shook his head. “No, my arm is fine. Healing up great, actually. But after last night’s fire, I knew you’d be worried about things, so...”

  Kennedy caged her shock, but only just. That was why he’d come out here? Because he’d known she’d be worried?

  “You haven’t heard from Rusty at all?” Gamble asked, and even though the doubt in his voice tempted Kennedy to bristle, Xander didn’t even blink.

  “No, but I know what you’re thinking. That fire last night has his name written all over it.”

  Kennedy poured a cup of coffee for her brother, mostly so she could put her shaking hands to use. “It doesn’t fit the mold, though. I thought he was supposed to be setting fires in empty buildings that are under construction. Why would he torch a warehouse with a bunch of teenagers inside?”

  “I don’t know,” Gamble said, shaking his head. “But I can tell you this. With how fast that fire was traveling and how much damage it had already done when we got there, there’s no way it wasn’t arson. It was too strategic. And two arsonists in the same city at the same time? No way.”

  “Rusty doesn’t need an excuse to set fire to things,” Xander said. “Still, he’s not stupid. With a big job so close, I’d be surprised if he didn’t have a reason for setting fire to that warehouse. I just don’t know what the hell it might be. He already knows the ignition devices work, and he definitely never said anything to me about a warehouse fire being part of this job.” Xander paused for a second, his expression growing more shielded as he looked at Gamble. “You guys responded to the fire last night?”

  “Yeah.” Gamble nodded. Over the past couple of years, Xander had gotten good at keeping his emotions away from his face, but like it or not, Kennedy knew better. She could still see the traces of unease lurking beneath the toughness in his stare.

  “Was, ah. Anybody hurt?”

  Her gut panged. Gamble’s shoulders tightened beneath his RFD T-shirt, but he answered the question without hesitation.

  “I pulled a kid out of there who was hurt pretty badly. Some spinal cord damage and burns. Hollister texted me a few minutes ago with a brief update, and to let me know they’re still interviewing everyone who was at the scene last night while arson investigation and the fire marshal go over the scene.”

  “I’m sure everyone who was inside the warehouse is probably pretty rattled,” Kennedy said, her stomach knotting at the thought. Those teenagers might’ve been less than smart about breaking in to an abandoned warehouse to party, but they hadn’t deserved to be hurt. “Did any of them see anything suspicious?”

  Gamble shook his head. “It’s hard to say. Hollister said most of the kids said the warehouse was dark, and of course, most of them had been drinking, so that complicates things a little. They’re still waiting to talk to the kid I pulled out of there—his name is Zach, I think—and one or two others. The docs are hoping Zach will come around today.”

  Xander placed a hand on the bar, palm flat, as if he wanted to steady himself. “That’s good, though, right? If they think he’ll come around and be able to talk?”

  “They’re hoping he’ll come around,” Gamble corrected. Kennedy’s fingers twitched with the urge to put her hand over Xander’s in reassurance, but she dug them into her pocket instead. That Rusty might have done something as awful as put a couple of teenagers in the ICU was nauseating enough all by itself. That her brother was going to have to throw himself in the guy’s crosshairs in order to put him away?

  She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if anything happened to Xander. Rift or not, whether he wanted it or not, she was still worried as hell for her brother’s safety.

  Gamble looked at her, and even though it felt more like he was looking through her, she let him. It wasn’t like she could hide her feelings from the guy at this point, anyway, and yeah, the tension with her brother still smarted.

  “I’m going to go try Hollister for more details, okay?” Gamble asked. “See if Zach woke up yet, or one of the last few kids they needed to talk to maybe saw something useful. I’ll be at the end of the bar if you need anything.”

  Kennedy’s heart jumped, although whether it was at the fact that he clearly wanted to give her and her brother space to talk or that he’d probably come barreling back over if she did need anything, however slight, she couldn’t be sure. “Of course,” she said. “Thanks.”

  His stare lingered on hers for just a beat longer before he slid off his bar stool and moved a few paces away to make his call. Xander, who missed nothing because she’d taught him to keep his eyes wide open before he’d even started middle school, raised one black brow at her, but didn’t say anything.

  “Are you hungry?” Kennedy asked, because even lame questions trumped the shit out of awkward silence. “I could have Marco make you a burger. Or maybe a Cuban sandwich. They’re freakishly good, and—”

  “Ken,” he said quietly, and oh, come on.

  She knotted her arms over her chest. “I know you can take care of yourself.” It was just a burger, for Chrissake! “You don’t need me meddling or trying to help you. I just thought—”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Annnnnnd cue up the old-fashioned needle-over-a-vinyl-album screech. “What?” she blurted, and oh my God, was that a smile poking at one corner of her brother’s mouth?

  “Thought that might get you,” he said, shifting closer to sit down on the bar stool next to the one Gamble had vacated. “Look, I’ve been thinking about this all night, and an apology is kind of the least of what I owe you. Tensions have been pretty high with this case, and yeah, I am a decently capable adult. When I’m not caught up in stupid shit, anyway.”

  Xander blew out a breath and dropped his chin. “But you’re still looking out for me even though I really fucked up, and that means a lot to me.”

  “Of course I’m still looking out for you,” Kennedy said with surety even though the words emerged on a wobble. “You’re my brother.”

  He let go of a sound that might’ve been laughter, except it was too loaded with irony to tell. “I’m sorry I shot my mouth off the other day about you being my perfect sister. I know it was a shitty thing to say. I was just trying to piss you off so you’d walk away from this whole arson thing.”

  Her brows shot up. “And you thought that would work?”

  “Not really,” Xander said with a shrug of his work-hardened shoulders, “but I had to try. Not because I was trying
to cover anything up, but Rusty is…he’s crazy, Ken. I didn’t want you anywhere near that. If he knew what I was up to, or that you’re my sister and you’re working with the cops, too, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill us both.”

  Nope. No way. Kennedy couldn’t even allow herself to think it. “I know he’s dangerous. But we’re going to catch him before he can hurt anyone else. Including you and me.”

  “Yeah.”

  After a minute, Xander’s gaze flicked across the dining room, landing directly on the spot where Gamble stood with his double-wide shoulders set tight around his spine and his brows knit together as he spoke quietly into his phone.

  “Sooooo, you and the big guy are…” Her brother let the rest of his sentence hang, and Kennedy’s face flushed with heat that had to be translating into one hell of a blush.

  “I’m so not talking about that with you.” She grabbed a bar towel from the stack by her elbow and started scrubbing at the counter even though it was already gleaming in the mid-day sunlight filtering in from the windows across the bar.

  “I don’t want details,” Xander said, the horror on his face a very real thing. “I’m just saying. It looks like a thing. You two serious?”

  “No. I don’t know,” Kennedy hedged, because the lie felt wrong in her mouth. “Maybe.”

  Now, a smile definitely kicked at the corners of Xander’s mouth. “What, is this multiple choice now?”

  “Shut up.” She laughed, and oh God, after all the tension and stress of the past week, it felt really good. “Yeah, Gamble and I might be getting serious. How’s your arm, for real?”

  “Way to change the subject.” At the hand she slid to her hip, he raised his palms and said, “Okay, okay. It hurts a little, but it is healing. Thanks for taking me to urgent care to have the doc look at it.”

  “Thanks for letting me.”

  “That offer for lunch still stand? Because I told my boss I wasn’t coming back today, and that Cuban sandwich sounds pretty stellar.”

  Kennedy shook her head, but the hope in her chest refused to let her keep her smile at bay. “Yeah, it still stands.”