H.E.A.T. Book Bundle (H.E.A.T. Books 1-3)

by Nicola Claire

  Damon had always been able to get me to react to him, even when he wasn't doing a single thing.

  I turned as he re-entered the room, having made sure I was settled - as if I couldn’t remember how to find my way to the den of sin myself - first before retrieving whatever he wanted to show me from his vehicle in the garage. I was surprised and intrigued to find him carrying what looked like several large boards covered in various notes, photos and, I was guessing, evidence reports. He painstakingly set them up along the wall that housed hundreds of books on dark wooden shelves, almost covering the entire length back towards the open-plan kitchen.

  I crossed my arms over my chest and studied his fussing rearrangement of the boards, until he had them displayed exactly how he wanted them to be read. Left to right. First case to last.

  There were, at a quick glance, six cases. All of them involving a fire related crime.

  "Looks like you've got yourself an arsonist," I commented, thoughts of previous entanglements within these walls forgotten for the more immediate challenge of solving a mystery instead.

  He stood back, scowl in place, hands on his jeans clad hips. Then abruptly he removed his jacket, slung it over a chair at the dining table towards the kitchen and raised dark eyes to mine.

  "All on HEAT staff property."

  Oh. I took a step closer and stared at the first series of connected notes and photos, string lining up between those items on the board that inter-related. We often did this at CIB, if a case needed to be tracked to be understood. Much like joining the dots in my mind and taking a step back to see what picture they created, this method allowed several people at once to do the same.

  I couldn't see a picture. Each case, although involving some form of fire related crime, wasn't exactly the same. There was the burning of a storage shed, followed by sabotage of a HEAT member's private vehicle using fire foam in the petrol tank, then a fire bomb on a member's lifestyle block killing several sheep. Then what appeared at first a spontaneous wildfire behind another HEAT member's house in Titirangi, only to find lighter fluid planted at the member's house as though to assign blame. A call was made to the Police to tip them off. Rescue had also suffered, a call-out to a stranded patient part way down a cliff in St Heliers Bay, when one team member abseiled down to the 'patient' he'd found a volatile cocktail of chemicals, similar to those used in a drug chem lab set-up, attached to a manikin. He'd gotten out of there just in time. And finally, the last attachment to the boards, a burned out garage with the remains of a hot rod car inside.

  "You're being targeted," I announced, unnecessarily. "I haven't even heard of most of these cases in CIB."

  "Most of them we haven't reported."

  I spun around and glared at him. "That's insane. Why would you keep this to yourselves; this person is clearly unstable."

  He ran a hand roughly through his hair, his face showing signs of fatigue and distress. His eyes darkened, as he pursed his lips, and then he let out a ragged breath of air.

  "What don't these boards say?" I asked.

  "We think it's one of the watch."

  The watch - or watches - were made up of firemen who manned the engines downstairs at Pitt Street Fire Station. They were the guys who attended your average kitchen flare up, or rescued your neighbour's cat from a tree. Experts at handling fires, but not specialised like HEAT. There were four watches to man a station; Red, Green, Blue, Brown. Twelve men per watch at Pitt Street. Four on the front-line pump/rescue tender, four on the pump/aerialscope, four on the breathing apparatus tender and four on the hazchem and decontamination unit. It was the busiest station in all of New Zealand.

  It also housed HEAT.

  "What makes you say that?" I asked carefully, talking about this was having a negative affect on Michaels. His fists were clenched, his jaw set hard, a vein bulging in his forehead.

  Part of me wanted to reassure him, soothe him. Another part, the police detective part, wanted to take a step back and place a hand on my gun.

  "It started about eight months ago," he said, beginning to pace.

  Eight months ago, incidentally, meant it had started while we were still dating.

  "At first we didn't pick up a pattern; a coincidence nothing more. Even firemen get their sheds burned down. But a month after we dealt with that, and rebuilt Stretch's shed, a note appeared attached to the new door."

  "Where's the note?" I asked, looking for it on the board.

  "It disappeared."

  "Disappeared?"

  "From my office at HEAT."

  I let a slow breath of air out. "What did it say?"

  "One of eighteen." I frowned. "There's eighteen of us in HEAT."

  "Let me guess, notes have turned up at each scene afterwards, counting up to six so far."

  He nodded. "We haven't received Marc's, but I assume it's coming. The last three were left on my desk, in my locked office at HEAT."

  "And this has made you suspect the watches?"

  "It's not one of ours." He said it with vehemence. A challenge for me to counteract.

  I let it slide for now. He was too close to this to be objective.

  "But it doesn't mean it's one of the watches," I pointed out instead. "It could be a civilian gaining access to HEAT HQ when it's not manned."

  "With the knowledge of chem lab chemicals and access to fire fighting foam?"

  "Those aren't impossible for the average layperson to obtain if they know where to look," I added.

  He begrudgingly nodded his head, neck stiff.

  Then said, voice low, "I just have this feeling it's one of the watches."

  Far be it for me to question a gut feeling. But although I pretty much could trust mine, I wasn't entirely sure of Damon's.

  "So why keep this in house?" I asked, remembering his words when I was last at HEAT.

  "Because it's personal and we deal with our own."

  "Bloody hell, Michaels. This isn't the special forces. These are crime scenes, acts against the law. If this ever goes to trial it'll be pulled apart by any decent defence lawyer."

  "Who says we want it to go to court?"

  Silence. I started to pace.

  "You have to have more to go on than your gut," I finally said, still walking while I talked. "Has there been any discord between HEAT and the watches?"

  "None more than usual. You know how it is. Ribbing, slight shows of jealousy. To get chosen for HEAT you have to excel in what you do."

  "Most of your guys have come up from the watches," I mused. "Have you turned any down recently?"

  "Two names, I have them here." He walked over to a folder he'd placed on the dining room table and pulled out the list of names. "Both of them were told they'd get a second shot, there just happened to be better candidates at the time they applied. There was nothing overtly wrong with them."

  "And they knew this?"

  "I tried to make them aware of that fact, whether they still took umbrage, I don't know."

  "Anyone else who could be targeting HEAT?"

  He shook his head, sinking into a chair he pulled out from the table. He really did look tired. "We've all taken a long hard look at our recent relationships, professional or otherwise, but none of us have been able to come up with any names of those who could be capable of doing this."

  "Why don't you leave that assessment to the detective," I said, making him raise his eyes to mine.

  "Are you taking on this case? Outside of CIB?"

  "Must it remain outside of CIB?"

  "Yes." Unequivocal.

  "You're asking a lot. I could get into a shit load of trouble over this."

  "You don't have to get involved," he bit out, standing up again and moving to the boards, beginning to turn them all around to face the shelves, hiding the information each contained.

  I stood there for a second watching him, turbulent emotions swirling inside my mind. This would create a hell of a complication in my life, in my career. I couldn't begin to imagine how Inspector Hart w
ould react if he caught wind of me getting involved in a spate of crimes directed at an Emergency Service and not reporting my findings through the correct channels. There were reasons why we had rules and guidelines, all set up to ensure the safety of the public and those inside CIB. All designed to make gaining a conviction that much easier. That much more infallible.

  You stuff it up, the criminal wins.

  But Damon was talking about something else other than conviction. At a guess, he was talking about revenge or vigilante justice.

  In all good conscience I couldn't get involved in this.

  I took a step backwards, distancing myself from what he was doing, mentally wiping what I'd seen from my mind. Turning around I came face to face with the couch. Images flashed, one after the other, behind my closed eyelids. Hot, sweaty, moaning images. My hands fisted and I snapped my eyes open again, landing on a book sitting innocuously on a side table next to the armchair I knew Damon favoured at night.

  Stalling for time before I gave my answer, I crossed to the seat and picked the novel up. My breath froze in my throat. The book was one of my favourites, about a hard nosed female detective working alone to solve crimes. Had Damon known I loved this series? Is that why he was reading it, to better understand me? Or because, in this particular book, the detective takes a risk, heart over head, out of character but understandable if you believe in romance stories, that is.

  With a small shake to my hand I returned the book to its resting place, trying to decide if he was playing me. Six months he'd been gone from my life, at my request he'd stayed away. Six months and now he was back, risking my wrath because... he hadn't made progress on this.

  He needed me. It was flattering in a way. But so very dangerous. To let him in now would be more than risking my reputation and my job. It would be personal. It would mean victory for him in more ways than gaining my assistance in catching the arsonist who was targeting HEAT.

  The hardest thing for a detective to do is turn her back on a juicy mystery. I thrived for the challenge of getting inside the criminal's head. This HEAT case would be a challenge in more ways than that, though. I knew it. In my gut. In Carl's soft, gruff voice inside my head. In my heart. I knew it.

  Walking out that door without a backwards glance was the most reasonable thing to do. It's what Carl would do.

  I shook my head. Damn Carl for leaving in the first place. But damn him more for setting up shop inside my mind. And damn, if I wasn't actually considering this. What the hell did it say about me?

  I was tired, exhausted. The most peace I'd had recently was with Michaels acting as my sounding board. Pierce was good, but he didn't make me feel that sense of calm, that inner equilibrium in amongst the choppy waves. I almost laughed at that. Michaels also had a heavy hand, going behind my back to the Inspector, ratting on my arse.

  But he'd done it because he cared. Because he was worried. He would have known how I'd react, but still he'd done it. For me. I didn't like it, but I kind of appreciated the reason behind the act. In a way.

  And he also would have known how I'd react to his return to my life. Not favourably. Yet he'd done it. Because he was desperate and needed my help.

  It was actually easier to segregate it like that. Sure there was still intense attraction between us, but we didn't need to act on it to get the job done. The bottom line was, could I help an old friend in need at the risk of losing my job?

  I didn't owe Michaels any favours. But I'd be lying to myself if I said I didn't get something significant out of having him around. Who did I turn to first when I was having trouble deciding what path to take with the sting? Damon, that's who.

  And now he'd turned to me.

  I told myself, as I moved slowly to face him, that it didn't mean I couldn't steer him toward convicting the assailant who was targeting HEAT instead of whatever plans he had for the crim. I told myself, that agreeing to do this was for the challenge of the mystery. And it was because I had finally found the first modicum of solace since Carl had left. I told myself that it was an equal exchange for both of us, purely professional, if not entirely above board.

  I told myself it was not personal. It was not because I hadn't stopped fantasising about him for six long and lonely months. And it was not because I planned to start up with him intimately again.

  I told myself all of this. And I believed it.

  Right up until I said, "OK, I'll help. Count me in."

  And he stood there for a moment, staring at me with those dark, steady eyes, boring into my very soul. And then abruptly sprang forward, covering the distance between us in three long legged strides, bringing his chest to mine.

  At that point I knew damn well that I had lied to myself; utterly, completely, without conscionable thought. Because when his hand wrapped around the strands of my hair at the back of my head and pulled me hard against his chest with that one move, I gave up all pretence of this being impersonal and kissed him hard first.

  Chapter Fourteen

  "Run, Lara. Run!"

  We tumbled to the bedroom, which was quite a feat as it was up a flight of stairs. Clothes were strewn on the steps, across the hallway, throughout the entire house, I was sure. He wasn't giving me time to reconsider, his moves frantic; a desperate, hungry man determined to seal the deal.

  I knew what he was doing; making it impossible for me to walk away from this without there being an emotional consequence. A small part of me, that made me a sceptical detective, wondered if he was doing this to ensure I stayed and helped with his HEAT case. Another part of me, that is all woman, arched her back and let out an encouraging moan.

  It had been too long, too fucking long, since a man had groaned against my naked skin as though I was his heaven.

  "Lara, Lara. Fuck, Lara," he breathed above my collarbone.

  It sounded like he meant it.

  My hands delved into the curls on his head, savouring the sensation of thick hair between my fingers. I tugged and kneaded as he moved lower down my body, lips coasting over skin, fingers stroking over flesh.

  His palm cupped my centre. This was moving fast. And not fast enough. I lifted my hips, spread my thighs. He dipped a finger through my folds finding me soaking wet.

  "Fuck," he breathed again, this time lips hovering over a nipple.

  A tongue flick, a plunge of his finger into my core. Both of us moaned at the delicious sensations.

  His thumb stroked my clit lovingly, while his finger started a rhythm his mouth matched at my breast. Sucking, stroking and pumping in unison. My blood thundered through my veins at the return of sensations I'd thought I'd never feel again. Heat coursed through my body, making my skin flush and then alternately pebble with goosebumps, small hairs rising everywhere.

  He added a second finger, pressed harder with his thumb and bit down on my nipple, sending me over the edge of the abyss, silently screaming my release. He didn't wait for me to come back down.

  Whispering, "Again," he doubled his efforts. A twist of his wrist, a pump against my G-spot, a flick to follow up, and then he had me riding his fingers, desperately seeking that next hit of bliss.

  His attention moved to my neglected breast, the nipple he'd been sucking and biting felt raw and distended. I flicked open my eyes trying to focus on the swollen tip, trying to think past the oncoming orgasm, trying to remember to breathe. My head flopped down before I could clear my vision, my body writhing with a mind of its own.

  I moaned and bucked beneath his touch. I began to beg for a release he kept just out of my reach. Vaguely aware I was his to command, his to reward, his to punish as he saw fit. But the press of his hard length against my thigh let me know he wasn't nearly as in control as he made out. Plus the rock of his hips against my body, seeking his own friction as desperately as I was seeking my release.

  "Come," he finally breathed, his mouth at my ear, my nipple zinging with the return of blood to the tip.

  I whimpered, he thrust harder at just the right spot with his fin
gers and said, voice a husky murmur of wicked intent, "I won't stop until you surrender. Come."

  I wasn't sure what he meant, but it was too late to think clearly. I tumbled, screaming and shaking over the edge, plummeting down into a foggy void of pulsating sensations. My breath stuttering, my limbs heavy and beyond my command, my lips crushed against Damon's as he drank my climax down.

  I floated for a brief and beautiful moment and then felt Damon shifting from down my side, rising above me, slipping between my jelly-like legs. One hand clasped the nape of my neck, lifting my face up to his, the other gripping my hip tightly. He held my sated gaze for a second, made sure the blur of my latest orgasm had cleared and with a rock of his hips, sank himself inside. Stretching me beyond comfortable, making me take all of him, not allowing me a second to catch my breath before he started to thrust again. And again. And again.

  It took a second, possibly two, before I was rocking up to meet each determined thrust. My ankles wrapped around each other behind his gloriously tight butt, my fingers dug into his shoulders as I tilted my head back and let Damon ride me, taking me with him, unable to utter more than a keening sound.

  I came in a rush of euphoria, Damon's intense and focused gaze locked on my face, taking in every expression I made. Three more hard thrusts inside and I felt him tense, lose his rhythm and then sink himself deep, shuddering through his own release.

  Sweat soaked and looking utterly replete he sank down to blanket me with his body, his face buried into the side of my neck. His chest rising and falling too quickly, his hand shaking slightly where it still held a death grip on my hip. I was sure if I had been able to see, from where I lay trapped beneath him, that his knuckles would have been all white. I'd undoubtedly have bruises tomorrow.

  Badges of honour. A smile curved my lips and Damon laid a soft kiss against the skin on the side of my neck.