Survive the Fire

by Diana Duncan

  He looked up, focused on the bomb. As he broke the connection between them, the jagged blade of loss sliced her.

  Drawing strength from his utter calmness, she sublimated disabling terror. She’d seen him in action. Had faith in his abilities. “Good thing you own a Swiss Army knife.”

  “Make the beam shine from the left.” Movements slow but sure, he unscrewed plates and cut wires. “Pop gave each of us boys one for our thirteenth birthdays. We always carry them.”

  She went silent to avoid distracting him. Liam at work was a picture of dangerous masculine beauty. Thickly-lashed eyes intense as lasers, chiseled features sharp with concentration. His wide chest rose and fell evenly, measured breaths echoing softly in the enclosed space. A hard bicep brushed her arm with warm, confident strokes.

  Her injury gave her avid appreciation for hands that performed with unfaltering skill. She’d seen a breathtaking display of his eye-hand coordination when he’d flipped the sword. Up close and personal, his long fingers wove a tautly intricate ballet with precise grace. Those talented hands exhibited the same skill and assurance as when they’d danced over her body.

  Her pulse fluttered. Who would’ve guessed watching him disarm a bomb would be so sensual? Damn, she wanted her camera. Liam in action ... a breath-stealing portrait.

  Minutes that seemed like days dragged past. Pain thrummed down her arm and she fought to hold the light steady. As sweat beaded on Liam’s upper lip, fear again gripped her. Perhaps things weren’t going as smoothly as he made it look.

  Holding his breath, he clipped a black wire. “Take this wire. Keep it immobile and level with the device.”

  Anxiety chilled her to the marrow. “I-I’m not sure I can. Not and support the light at the same time.”

  “You have to.” Or else. He didn’t say it out loud. His “no options” tone was enough. “Reach up and take it from me. Careful not to wiggle it.”

  “But ... my fingers don’t ...” God. Either she helped him, or the bomb would explode. Her heart stopped. How could she possibly hold the wire still when her hand wouldn’t cooperate? When her entire arm shook from the deadly combo of anxiety and weak muscles?

  She’d fail him. They’d die. Hundreds of innocent people would die. And it would be her fault.

  “You’re here with me for a reason.” Liam’s low voice cut through panic, blanketed her with quiet reassurance. “You can do this. I have complete faith in you.”

  Kate swallowed. Well, hell. In slow motion, she accepted the wire.

  Liam briefly covered her ice-cold hand with his big, warm one, offering comfort and support. “That’s it. Keep it steady.” He quickly cut wires. “Doing terrific, babe.”

  She struggled to take in air. Why was he suddenly moving so fast? What hadn’t he told her?

  “Interesting. Psycho rigged this device differently.” He cut a small strip of duct tape and efficiently taped off the end of a red wire. “That’s unusual.”

  He was distracting her so she wouldn’t be so scared. Her throat was too dry to swallow. “Oh?” was the most intelligent reply she could croak.

  “Bombers normally stick to one unique design. In their warped minds, they’re artists, who ‘sign’ their work by using specific materials and schematics. Once we figure it out, we can identify who built each individual device by the ‘signature.’”

  “Why didn’t he put it directly in the boiler room? Wouldn’t that make a hotter, more deadly explosion?”

  “Yeah. Wondered about that myself. Along with why he planted the first device under your convertible’s seat in ice. He’d have gotten a helluva lot more bang for his buck if he’d strapped the gas tank, plus guaranteed detonation when the ignition fired.” His hands froze. “Goddamn!”

  She cringed. “Are we going to ...?”

  “No! Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” He took the black wire from her. Her aching arm flopped to her side, and she sighed. He taped the end. “It just hit me why he put the bombs where he did and packed the one in your car in ice. He must need to keep his accelerant cool. It probably grows as unstable as its maker at higher temperatures.”

  “Lovely. In other words, if the bombs get too hot, they might go off by themselves?”

  “Right.” He eased out what looked like a small sheet of pale green plastic. “Fascinating chemical composition.” He slowly set it beside him. “Almost there.” He cut and taped more wires, then put down his knife. He flexed his fingers. Exhaled. “Clear.”

  “Wow.” Relief made her giddy. “Impressive.”

  “All in a day’s work.”

  “You just saved half of Las Vegas. What do you do on a second date?”

  “This is our second date.” He turned his head and his sinful grin gleamed. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten our first?”

  She fumbled with the book light in order to avoid meeting his gaze. “Pretty damn unforgettable.”

  “Yeah, we need to talk about that. An honest discussion has been a long time coming, Kate.”

  Panic surged back full throttle. “I don’t think—”

  He shoved his knife into his pocket. “Unfortunately, there are two more incendiary devices to disarm before we can deal with our personal fallout.”

  Stupid to feel relief. To prefer facing a bomb instead of a heart-to-heart with him, exposing her hurts and doubts. Getting too close to the devil-may-care cop and his fierce partner was too dangerous—to her body and heart.

  She wasn’t a risk taker. Not anymore.

  They scooted out of the tunnel. He curled the sheet of green plastic and secured it inside the bottle of lube. “For once, this crap comes in handy.”

  Yeah, she’d bet her one good hand that none of his women needed any help in the slip-and-slide department.

  “Let’s haul ass to Treasure Island.” He flicked a glance at his watch. “Two hours left. One bomb neutralized, two to go.”

  Chapter 11

  10:00 p.m.

  They dropped the bag holding their street clothes into the trunk of Liam’s car parked on the strip. Kate would figure out how to avoid The Talk with Liam later.

  If there was a later.

  Followed by Murphy, they dashed across the pedestrian overpass between the Venetian and Treasure Island. Night shrouded the desert, and the Strip’s rainbow-hued lights sliced a glowing corridor through the darkness.

  The pirate show, which was closing permanently after tonight, was already underway. Thanks to their “borrowed” costumes, a hotel employee readily rattled off directions to the cast entrance. They had no trouble boarding the pirate ship floating atop two-and-a-half-million gallons of water that comprised Buccaneer Bay. On the opposite side, the seventy-five-foot long Royal Navy British frigate rode the gentle swells.

  Aboard the ship, a crewmember frowned at Kate. “When did production cast a girl?” He did a double take. “And a dog?”

  Liam tossed off a shrug. “Equal opportunity employment.”

  The captain shouted something.

  “Gotta run. Break a leg,” the actor said before sprinting to the foredeck.

  Liam located a hatch, and she followed him down a ladder ... not easy in the poofy dress. Murphy, hampered by a lack of opposable thumbs, also required Liam’s assistance.

  Her commandeered book light was a godsend in the vast compartment. Fascinated, she watched Liam and Murphy’s seamless teamwork. The two communicated without effort, sharing one mind, one heart as they searched for a bomb. They didn’t find one.

  She peered out a porthole at the spotlights reflected off the bay. “Maybe he put it outside, under the waterline?”

  “If it’s not here, it’s likely aboard the British frigate, that’s the ship that sinks. If it blows, they’ll think the pyrotechnics went wonky and not call in the cops.” Liam rubbed his stubbled chin, the epitome of a dark, sexy buccaneer. “We’ll nab the clue first, then find a way over to the other ship.”

  Up top, amidst throaty male shouts and earsplitting explosion
s, the pirate ship commenced firing on the frigate. The boards beneath her feet trembled and rocked. Kate grabbed Liam’s arm. The staged battle felt disconcertingly real.

  Liam slid one arm around her waist and his other hand shaded his eyes against the erupting flares as he looked upward. A small plastic bag dangled below the Jolly Roger, flapping at the top of the aft mast. “Target acquired.”

  She stared at the trio of crow’s nests towering thirty feet overhead. Her throat constricted. “That’s awfully high.”

  “No taller than the oak in our backyard where my brothers and I built a tree fort when we were kids.” He stepped back and saluted her with his sword. “Stroll in the park.”

  “I can’t imagine raising four daredevil boys who grew up to be SWAT cops. Your poor mother.” She shuddered. “Not enough Xanax in the cosmos.”

  “Our family motto is ‘Fortune Favors the Brave.’” He laughed. “Mom hauled timber and nails up the tree and helped us hammer together Castle O’Rourke.”

  Her mother would’ve heartily disapproved of such “unladylike behavior.” Kate would love to meet Liam’s mom. Maureen O’Rourke sounded like she had attitude, strength, and character. Kate strove to be that kind of woman. But since the accident, misgivings often frustrated her.

  Liam shot her a confident grin and gestured upward. “If anyone approaches, run interference while I climb to the crow’s nest and retrieve the note.”

  Kate glanced at the performers who were rapidly loading cannons. Orange and red flashes scorched the black velvet sky and white smoke boiled over the bay. Interference was the easy part. He had to climb the mast. “Gotcha covered.”

  “Arr. Avast, me hearties!” a rough male baritone bellowed behind them. “Scurvy landlubbers!”

  They whirled, and Kate gasped. Four pirates challenged them. Tall and beefy, built like Schwarzenegger before he got politics, the first man’s head was shaved bald. The second had long stringy brown hair, the third a bushy red beard, and number four sported a greasy blond mullet. Redbeard and Longhair wore crimson do-rags. All were outfitted in ratty leather pants and open vests that revealed tattoos and interesting piercings on sweaty bare chests. The motley crew looked like a biker gang auditioning for the Village People.

  Baldie swung the thick chain dangling from his right hand. “You’d be here to hijack me matey’s treasure.”

  Kate sidled closer to Liam. “Who’s your matey?”

  “Someone who pays cash up front and doesn’t ask barmy questions.” Staying scarily in character, Baldie ogled her cleavage and smiled lewdly. “Nice ballast, wench.”

  She swallowed hard. The stalker had hired them. Their stroll in the park had just turned into a midnight hike through Central Park.

  Both Liam and Murphy rumbled out low, threatening growls. Suddenly grateful for the dog, she nudged Liam. “Now would be a good time to draw your gun,” she whispered.

  His lips quirked. “Bloodthirsty wench,” he muttered beneath the kaboom of the cannons. “We’re surrounded by innocent bystanders. Bullets have a nasty habit of ricocheting. Besides, I start shooting, the cops arrive, and Abby Normal detonates.”

  She flicked a wary glance at the audience ringing the bay. She’d been so intent on the mission, she’d forgotten them. Luckily, Liam hadn’t. Yikes! What now? “The sword, then?”

  “I’m theater trained to toss it around on stage,” he muttered. “Which looks impressive as hell. But if you want a man who can actually fight with the damned thing, call Aidan.”

  He eyed the scruffy band and quirked a mocking brow. “Ahoy, dudes. Steven Tyler phoned. He wants his wardrobe back.”

  She shuffled on the swaying deck. “We need a man who can go toe-to-toe in a brawl, not someone who has fast hands and faster quips. Maybe I’m with the wrong O’Rourke brother?”

  He chuckled, but his focus didn’t move off the pirates. “I have skills.”

  Without warning, Mullet swung a meaty fist. Liam dodged, but not quite quickly enough, and the punch grazed his jaw. Kate winced at the impact.

  Liam staggered. Murphy’s muscles bunched, and he snarled.

  And then everything hurtled to hell in the proverbial handcart.

  Mullet pulled a switchblade. Murphy bared his fangs and growled, vibrating with fury. Liam gestured. “Now you’ve royally pissed off my partner. Murphy, bite.”

  The canine sprang, clamping powerful jaws on the man’s bare right arm. Screaming, Mullet stumbled backward. Murphy hung on, shaking him like a rag doll. The knife dropped from the man’s torn hand as blood spattered the deck.

  Sick and paralyzed by horrifying déjà vu, Kate stared at the bloody carnage.

  “Kate!” Liam yelled from behind her. “Down!”

  His shout snapped her focus to Baldie, who was advancing on her while whirling the chain. She dropped to the deck and Liam leaped over her. Lunging into the assault, he whipped up his sword. The chain wrapped around the blade and Liam yanked, then tossed the sword and tangled chain into the drink.

  Baldie’s face mottled. “Fuckin’ asshole!” Fists flying, he charged. Liam blocked the punches, then threw a right cross that snapped the big guy’s head back. The spectators, thinking it was part of the show, cheered loudly.

  Brandishing a long curved blade, Longhair rushed Liam. They were ganging up on him! As she scrambled to her feet, Redbeard grabbed her arm. Laughing, he crushed her to his chest and groped her butt. “I want in on the fun and games.”

  “How about kickball?” She rammed her knee upward. Groaning, he crumpled. Kate’s gaze spun over the deck. She needed a weapon!

  There!

  She snatched up a folded sail and a heavy metal hook tied to a rope, and ran up behind Longhair, who slashed at Liam with the machete. Liam swerved as Baldie shoved him forward. The blade sliced Liam’s side and a line of scarlet blossomed on his shirt.

  She threw the sail over Longhair’s head, blinding him. Left-handed, she swung the rope and smacked his spine with the hook. When he dropped to his knees, she clobbered him in the back of the head with the hook. He pitched forward. Went still.

  Liam shot her a thumbs-up. “Yo ho ho, Miz Scarlett!” Chuckling like he was having the time of his life, he danced away from another attack by Baldie.

  She panted for breath in the restricting bodice and returned his thumbs-up. “Behind you!”

  Baldie charged Liam, who pivoted, putting his back to the rail. At the last moment, Liam crouched and grabbed the big man around the waist. Using Baldie’s momentum against him, Liam surged to his feet and flipped him overboard. An Olympic-worthy triple gainer was followed by a splashing geyser. Raucous encouragement erupted from the audience.

  With Longhair lights-out, Baldie in the bay, Redbeard retching and cradling his family jewels, and Murphy standing on the whimpering Mullet’s chest, all four attackers were down and out.

  The intense war between the two ships was reaching a crescendo. Kate barely noticed the thundering battle as she watched her sexy pirate shinny up the mast to retrieve the bagged note. Wow! Those pants were amazing. The man was amazing.

  Was there anything he couldn’t do?

  Distracted by Liam’s graceful athleticism, only a gasp from the audience warned her. Heart in her throat, she whirled. Redbeard was on his feet. Fury distorted his features as he grabbed Longhair’s fallen machete and advanced on her. His pronounced limp didn’t make him appear any less menacing. “I’ll carve my initials into your face, cunt.”

  She retreated, but bumped into the rail. An anxious glance over her shoulder showed Baldie treading water. She stared at the furious man lurching toward her. No way to make it past him.

  Kate glanced at Baldie again, and he leered. “Join me, bitch. Water’s fine.”

  Nowhere to go.

  She had to jump.

  Burdened by the gown and petticoats, she didn’t stand a chance in hell of out-swimming Baldie. But at least he was unarmed. She looked at Redbeard. His eyes smoldered, huge blade gleaming red in the r
eflected firefight.

  She gulped, swung a leg over and straddled the rail. Mouthing a fast, silent plea, she forced her clamped fingers to let go. Forced her stiff body to lean sideways and fall.

  She never hit the water.

  Instead, she was swooped up mid-tumble. Speechless, she stared at Liam, who’d swung from the mast by a long rope and scooped her out of midair. He held her securely in one iron-muscled arm as they sped high across the bay in a breathless arc. Colorful fireworks sizzled around them. Wind whipped through her hair, and the stars blurred.

  Her stomach dropped from the dizzying ride. Liam whooped, “Whoo hoo!” Then they landed neatly on the British frigate’s deck.

  The audience’s roared approval drowned out the booming artillery. Liam grinned. “Talk about a head rush.” He spun and executed a sweeping bow at the crowd.

  Her mouth opened and closed three times before a croak emerged. “Holy shit!”

  A cocky brow arched. “Wrong brother, my ass.”

  She pressed a shaky hand to her galloping heart. “I thought you said you couldn’t fight them?”

  “Said I didn’t sword fight. Hellfire, wench.” His grin flashed white and wicked in his gorgeous, stubbled face, and her stomach flip-flopped for a different reason. “I grew up with three brothers. We were scrapping before we could walk.”

  One advantage to not avoiding conflict—apparently, you got excellent at handling it. “Are you good at every-damn-thing?”

  “You tell me.” His grin widened, and his warm lips met hers in a hard, fast kiss that rocketed her heartbeat higher than during their swoop across the bay.

  The crowd stomped and whistled, and she shook her head.

  He laughed. “We have to get below decks.”

  The frigate rattled beneath the pirate ship’s cannon barrage and sunk lower. Murphy, who’d been left on the pirate ship, barked furiously from across the water.

  She shuddered, suddenly queasy as she touched her twisted scars. She’d never blot out the picture of his violent attack. Of his razor-sharp fangs tearing bloody flesh. She remembered all too well her own terror and pain.