Under Fire (Southern Heat Book 7)

by Jamie Garrett

  One page turned into two, then ten, then more than a hundred, as the words started to blur before his eyes. Connor glanced over at his half-filled coffee cup. Someone other than he had taken to keeping it filled and hot, though he hadn’t noticed who, with his nose buried in the laptop. He shifted, and a muscle in his lower back protested loudly. He groaned, placing the laptop next to him and standing up to stretch. Just how long had he been sitting there, stinking up the place?

  With one last look at the screen, he snapped the lid shut and then made his way over to the showers. He’d freshen up and then get back to it. Maybe someone would take pity on him and find him some sugar to go with the caffeine. Mason wouldn’t notice if he borrowed something from the stash Sloane sent over, would he? Connor grinned at the thought as he shed his smoky clothes and stepped into the shower. Mason would probably punch him if Connor stole his favorite muffin, but there was probably something slightly healthy tucked in the back of the freezer, something that contained actual fruit or some shit like that. The man wouldn’t complain too much if Connor ate one of those. Probably.

  It wasn’t until he had his head under the water with his hair lathered up that Connor heard the buzzing of his phone alone the tiled bench of the bathroom counter top. Normally he’d have left it in his locker, but he hadn’t been able to make himself leave it behind. Swearing, he rinsed quickly and lunged for it, thankful that he was alone in the showers. After grabbing a towel, he wrapped it around his waist with one hand while turning the phone over to read the screen with the other. He nearly dropped it as the illuminated screen flashed Scarlett’s name. He swiped to answer, ignoring the droplets that fell onto the screen from his hair. “Scarlett? What’s up?”

  There was a long pause before her voice came down the line, and when it did, it chilled Connor to his core. She was quiet, too damn quiet, her voice thin and lacking any emotion at all, not even the fighting spirit he adored. “Connor? I need some help.”

  12

  Scarlett

  “You didn’t tell me you’d been shot!”

  All she’d had to say was that she needed his help, and Connor had been pulling into the parking lot in less than five minutes. Scott had sat and waited with her, but thankfully hadn’t pushed the point or insisted that they go inside the station. He’d hovered behind her, his gaze roaming their surroundings constantly as he’d helped her grab her crap from the car before making their way over to sit. Being outside in the open air had made Scarlett increasingly twitchy, but fortunately Connor had arrived before she’d lost it entirely.

  She’d let out a gush of air at the sight of him, as if her body realized it could finally let go. Her arm throbbed anew as she stood and walked over to his truck. He and Scott had exchanged nods as she’d tried—badly—to suppress a wince as she climbed in. It must have been the day for miracles, because Connor said nothing, simply climbed behind the wheel and drove away. He could obviously read her better than she’d given him credit for, though, because as soon as he’d put a few blocks between them and the station, he’d wrenched the wheel to pull to the side of the road and then turned to face her, his hand going immediately to the tear in the jacket. When his fingers came away red, his face turned thunderous. “What the hell happened?”

  “I’m fine,” she said hurriedly, and Connor set his jaw.

  “Scarlett, you couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there. It was written all over your face, and now you’re bleeding in my truck. You are not fine.”

  She shrugged, pushing away the nerves that skittered back to the surface at his words. He wasn’t angry with her, she knew that, but somehow the fact she’d been hurt incensed him. Just an hour ago, all she’d wanted was another chance to be normal with him, to go on a date, hell even kiss him again without all the baggage she’d been dragging around in the way. Why the universe had decided to fuck with her and bury her under a whole new pile of shit was beyond her. She shifted and her arm burned, reminding her that normal probably wasn’t going to come with Connor, at least until this case was solved.

  Even as she sat beside him in his truck, one hand gripped over her arm in an attempt to not drip on the upholstery and watching Connor’s hands grip the wheel so hard it looked like he might snap it off, her mind was still spinning with details of the case. “Do you think this was intentional?”

  Connor glanced over at her, eyebrows slashed downward. “No, someone was hunting deer in the middle of a parking lot, and you accidentally got in the way. Of course it was intentional!”

  Scarlett’s eyebrows rose at his words and Connor huffed out a harsh breath. One of his hands finally let go of the death grip he had on the steering wheel, and he pushed his fingers through his hair. He looked over at her again, his expression calmer this time. “Shit, Scarlett. I’m sorry.” Another deep breath. “Just the thought of you . . . Jesus Christ, when I got there tonight and saw you were hurt . . .” His hand reached down to shift gears, and Connor seemed to take the few seconds to gather his thoughts. “For the first time, I understood what you meant, about not wanting to date another first responder. The idea that someone’s out there hunting you.” She opened her mouth to reply, but Connor silenced her by reaching over and resting a hand on her thigh, her free hand still wrapped around the wound on her arm. “The difference is, Scarlett, that I can’t. I can’t walk away from this. Friends or lovers, I have to do what I can to keep you safe. I can’t just let you go.”

  A warmth that had nothing to do with her injury rushed through her. She’d been so afraid she’d lost him. Even when she’d called him, she’d half expected him to show up and just take her to the nearest ER. Connor would always be her friend, she didn’t doubt that, but a part of her had worried that she’d pushed him away too many times for him to anything else.

  She smiled to herself. She should have known that a man of Connor’s supreme stubbornness wouldn’t give up nearly that easily. She sent up a small prayer of thanks to the universe. She wasn’t exactly the easiest person to be in a relationship with. Hell, even before all the crap of the last few years. She was stubborn, too, headstrong, and spent her days deliberately placing herself in danger to keep other people safe. It was something that many of the men she’d dated before she’d been married couldn’t handle.

  Derek had been different. He’d understood, hell even encouraged her to follow her dreams. He’d never stood in her way, and at night he’d been there to listen—whether to tell him a funny story about the local drunk they’d picked up or to cry all over him when she’d hadn’t been able to save a child. He’d walked that thin blue line every day, too, and he got it like no one else had.

  The thought struck her still. Scarlett’s head dropped back to the seat at the revelation, and she shut her eyes. How had she been so stupid! She’d spent this entire time pushing Connor away, sure that he could never be what she needed, when he was exactly what she did. If the events of that night had shown her anything, it was that safe wasn’t in her job description—literally. She was never going to be the soccer mom. She needed to be in the thick of the action, helping people and putting away the bad guys. Connor would never stand in her way, or expect her to be anything different than exactly who she was.

  She didn’t realize that the car had stopped again until she felt a touch on her chin. “Hey,” Connor’s voice was quiet, and so close she could feel his breath moving over her skin as she spoke. “You okay?” Scarlett opened her eyes to find his green ones staring back in concern. He let out a breath when her gaze locked onto his before letting his roam back down to her arm. He gently pried her fingers away, pushing apart the now-ruined leather. “Shit. I need to get you to a doctor.”

  She moved her hand over to his, cringing when she left bloody fingerprints on the back of his hand, but he didn’t pull away. “I’m fine, Connor, really. It’s just a graze.” He huffed and she smiled. “If I go to the hospital, then I’m going to have to get clearance before I can go back on duty, and there’s no way in hell I’m giv
ing anyone a single chance to bench me.” She looked at him, capturing his gaze again. Indecision swirled in his eyes. Scarlett took a deep breath. Here went nothing. “Ever since that night, everyone’s treated me with kid gloves. Oh, they say all the right things, but no one’s ever treated me like they did before. I’m no more special than any one of them, and yet they’d all be perfectly happy to let me sit this one out.” She took in a deep breath. “You’re the first one in years to make me feel normal again, to make me feel wanted. God, Connor, that morning.” Her eyes fluttered closed. Connor’s hand tightened just a touch against her arm, and she opened her eyes again before the poor guy thought she’d passed out in his car. “I want that. I want you. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize it.”

  Connor’s face broke out in a grin, and before she could move, he leaned forward and captured her lips, his hand brushing up against her cheek before locking in place behind her head, supporting her and holding her close as his tongue dipped inside her mouth, thrusting against hers as he tasted her. She let out a small moan, and he jumped back, worry covering his face as his hands went back to her upper arm. “Shit! Did I hurt you?”

  Scarlett responded with the first thing that came into her mind. She leaned forward and took his mouth, licking over his bottom lip. It was Connor’s turn to groan. Their lips moved together slowly, as if they were new lovers all over again. In a way, she supposed they were. Their first time together had been frantic, a whirlwind of passion and energy. This time, she wanted to take her time. To explore his entire body and find every sensitive spot, before riding him to ecstasy.

  She grinned against his lips. “I’m good.” Finally breaking the kiss, she sat back, wincing a little as she noticed the burn in her arm at the movement. She hadn’t been lying when she’d said it wasn’t anything serious, but it did need some attention. She’d wash and dress it, and then take advantage of needing to remove her ruined clothing with something more fun.

  Scarlett reached over and took Connor’s hand in hers. “Take me home.”

  13

  Scarlett

  Connor’s gaze didn’t stop moving for the rest of the drive. Scarlet had expected him to take them to her place, but at her words, Connor had turned the car around and headed across town—directly to where she knew he lived. A mix of lust and quiet agitation had been rolling off him in waves. She’d meant the talk in the car to be reassuring, but it hadn’t done much to calm him down. Instead, he’d seemed even jumpier when they’d stepped out of the car.

  He’d made it around to her side and opened the door before she managed to get her seatbelt undone. Scarlett held any protests, because as much as she was insisting she was okay, the further away she got from the precinct, the more everything started to drag on her. Suddenly, she was so tired she could barely keep her eyes open, and her arm was beginning to throb like a son of a bitch. The sooner she got it washed and bandaged—although that would probably sting worse—the better.

  Connor’s vigilance continued as they crossed his yard, his gaze darting from Scarlett to the street, and back again in what seemed like a thousand times over by the time they reached his front door. It was only once they stepped inside and he closed the door firmly behind them that a whoosh of breath escaped Connor’s lips and the tight set to his shoulders finally relaxed. His hands had barely let up touching Scarlett in some way since he’d picked her up, moving only to do what was necessary not to total the truck. He’d placed his hands gently on her hips to help guide her out of the truck and wrapped one arm tightly around her waist as they’d crossed the yard. It had been nice, Scarlett resting some of her weight against him. She’d refused to think about exactly why Connor was reacting the way he was. She had no proof that this had been anything than a random shooting. Evidence first, then panic.

  Who was she kidding? Her gut had been screaming at her about the case the whole day. She’d gone back to the station specifically because she knew there was something incredibly hinky about the whole thing.

  The lab report!

  She’d forgotten all about it in the aftermath. She wondered briefly if she’d be able to talk Scott into emailing it through, before dismissing the idea. If Wilder got any inkling at all that she hadn’t gone to the ER, then before she knew it, the captain would know, too, and she could kiss the chances of working her theory goodbye, for the next several days at least. Nope. She’d just have to put whatever was itching at her subconscious aside for the night.

  She pulled her hand from her sleeve. It came away slowly, sticking to the ruined fabric. Blood was no longer running down her arm, but most of her hand was stained red. Her fingers stuck together with a tacky sensation that almost turned her stomach once she remembered all that red was her own blood. Her legs wobbled beneath her, and Scarlett sunk onto the couch. She’d had plans to make a beeline for the bathroom the moment they were inside, but now that they were finally away from any public eyes, the trip down the hall seemed as far as the dash across the parking lot had been when the bullets started zinging across the top of her car. Both had been so close and yet in the moment were impossible to reach.

  The fact that the stain wouldn’t show up much on Connor’s dark colored sofa ran through her mind as she felt a touch to her cheek, turning her attention to worried green eyes. “Still with me?” Connor said, smiling. He’d calmed since entering the house, too, but he couldn’t disguise the look in his eyes. The colors swirled, his face still tight, brows furrowed as he took her in. “Still don’t like your color, Christensen,” he muttered.

  Scarlett opened her mouth to utter her standard “I’m fine,” but before she could get the words out, Connor’s arm was back around her waist, hefting her to her feet and supporting her weight as they walked down the hall. “I’d offer to carry you,” he said, “but I like my balls where they are.”

  Scarlett’s head fell sideways to rest on his shoulder as she grinned, momentarily forgetting the burn in her arm as she chuckled at Connor’s words. It was exactly what she’d needed—caring but not overbearing. He’d respected her choice to avoid the ER, without asking questions, and now he was taking care of her without taking over. She couldn’t hold his alpha-male grumblings against him. Every first responder she knew was exactly the same. If someone she cared about was in trouble or hurt, she’d walk through fire to make it better. She shivered at the words, her good mood suddenly dropping away as goose bumps rose on her skin.

  Connor noticed. His frown returned as he booted open the bathroom door, turning to push it open with his foot as he held her steady facing into the hall, just as if he was getting ready to breach a room at a fire scene. She clung to him, letting the warmth of his body seep into her and chase away the chills her wayward thoughts had sent skittering through her nerves. Even tonight, standing in his own hall, Connor’s training was as instinctual as breathing. She wasn’t alone, she wasn’t at her own known address and—Scarlett forced herself to take in a deep breath and clear the last of the heebie-jeebies—although she was hurt, neither was she completely out of action. They would be fine.

  The sensation of Connor’s chest moving slowly up and down as she supported her weight against him relaxed her, and by the time he placed her on the closed toilet seat and his hands finally left her body, Scarlett felt as if she could float away. The coldness of the toilet tank against her back woke her up, and she looked up at Connor. After making sure she was settled and wasn’t going to tip sideways, he’d turned and was rummaging around in the cabinet. He reappeared a few seconds later holding a pack of gauze, antibacterial ointment, and a bandage, along with a few other small, sealed, sterile packages. “Doesn’t look like it needs stitches,” he muttered, kneeling down in front of her. He placed the first aid supplies down on the bathmat before opening one of the sterile baggies and pulling out a pair of nitrile gloves. A small smile tipped up the corners of Scarlett’s mouth at the further reminder of who Connor was. If he had that kind of stuff in his bathroom cabinet, she’d bet there was a
larger first-aid kit somewhere in a hall cupboard. Once you saw what they did on a daily basis, you tended to be prepared. Tonight she was glad he was.

  As much as she wanted to avoid the hospital, the fading adrenaline had left her shaky and she was glad he was there to tend to the wound. She was beginning to realize that standing on your own feet didn’t mean always having to do it alone. She hadn’t been like that before that terrible night, and it was taking Connor’s care now to open her eyes to just how isolated she’d made herself since. Not having to wash away her own blood after the night she’d had was a blessing.

  “Ready?” Connor’s voice brought Scarlett out of her musings, and she looked up, meeting his warm green eyes. She had to smile. Even kneeling, he was nearly at head level with her, and she wasn’t exactly short. He leaned in, pulling her good arm out of her jacket first, then lifting the shoulder of her injured side. He paused, his gaze moving from her shoulder to her face, his eyebrows moving together as he seemed to assess her for several seconds, then he slowly moved the jacket down over her arm. Scarlett tried to hold back a wince when it pulled over the injury, but he noticed anyway. “Sorry Gorgeous, almost there.” Connor rotated the sleeve to pass over her elbow and kept it moving, slowly and steadily, until the ruined jacket fell to the floor. He moved it off to the side then returned his focus to her shirt. “Want me to cut away the sleeve?”

  Scarlett looked down. The once-white shirt was stained with blood down the entire sleeve, plus there were some decent splatters across the front. Without the jacket, she became aware of how damp her back was, sweat sticking the fabric to her skin. She repressed a shiver. The sooner the entire thing was gone, the better. “Just get rid of it.”