Up in Flames (Firehouse Three Book 1)

by Sidney Bristol

  The skin at the base of his spine prickled and his balls drew up. He groaned and shoved into her so hard he covered her with his body. The orgasm rolled up through him. He clutched Jesse to his chest, burying his face in her hair, losing himself in her scent as he spent himself, body and soul.

  That—that was an orgasm.

  They weren’t just fucking around. This was more, and that was scary.

  He knew a hell of a lot about pleasing a woman, but a whole lot less about keeping one.

  Oscar jumped down from the truck bed and turned to survey his work. Everything about this made him uneasy.

  This wasn’t part of the original plan, but plans were more like guidelines.

  The bomb was crude, and he’d been forced to make do with some scraps, but the live run-through was ready. He still didn’t understand why this was a good idea. There hadn’t been as much C4 in the locker as he’d hoped, so why were they wasting some on this?

  All Terry had said was there were plans in place, and Oscar couldn’t know everything because this gave him deniability. Oscar appreciated the forethought, but fuck, this was getting a little out of hand.

  “Everything in place?” Salazar kept back, eyeing the truck.

  “That should do it. I filled that barrel with gasoline. The explosives should detonate at each corner of the building and on the truck. The fuel—”

  “Is it going to be a big bomb?” Salazar asked.

  “Yeah, it’ll be big. Bring the whole place down.”

  “Good. That’s all that matters.”

  Oscar disagreed, but arguing with Salazar was a fruitless way to waste time. They both had places to be and shit to do. Drilling it into the younger man’s head that a demolitions set-up and a single truck bomb were two very different things would take time they didn’t have. Besides, Oscar hoped that after this, they wouldn’t need to work together. The only reason Terry had suggested Ben in the first place was because Ben was the spitting image of Nicholas.

  Head in the game.

  All Oscar needed to do was prove the explosives worked, then he was done. They could have disposed of Jesse’s truck in other ways, but this at least killed two birds with one stone.

  If they were lucky, the cops would spend valuable time digging into the Durcells and Nicholas instead of someone else. There was a high chance they’d figure out Oscar’s involvement in time, but the key was—the right time.

  When the bomb detonated, it would have a ripple effect. His wife—the cheating bitch—would be late to pick up the kids. Her lousy, bottom-feeding journalist boyfriend would be caught up covering the blast. And Oscar could sweep in, pick up the kids—and be gone. He was giving up on his wife and ten years of marriage, but he wasn’t going to give up on his kids. They needed him. A parent who would put them first.

  “Okay, clear out and let’s set this thing to blow.” Salazar pulled his hat low on his brow and turned around.

  Oscar was ready. Just another few days…

  10.

  Hunter paced through the firehouse, unable to shake the restlessness chasing him. He knew what he wanted, but how did he go about making that a reality?

  He’d always been a laid-back guy when it came to women. They were free to come and go as they pleased. None had ever struck a chord in him. Made him feel like he needed to keep them. There’d never been anyone right for him.

  Until Jesse.

  He stopped outside the gator pit, a unique feature of Firehouse Three. Some years ago, some idiots had abandoned a few baby alligators and the firemen had turned the open-air courtyard in the middle of the station into a pit. The gators were gone, donated to the city zoo some years back, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t still in use.

  From time to time, he’d walk past and find some new monster shacked up in the pit, courtesy of their resident reptile lover, Abby Winters. Hell, even animal control hit them up in the spring and summer, hoping to get Abby on some downtime whenever someone had a snake, lizard or other kind of reptile issue. Today the gator pit appeared empty and hosed down.

  He leaned his shoulder against the wall and stared through the glass.

  Jesse would get a kick out of the gator pit.

  How was she doing?

  Did her head still hurt?

  Were her brothers giving her shit?

  Arthur hadn’t yet followed up with him today. The detective should know something about the parking lot footage before much longer. Until then they were on pins and needles, waiting to either find the thief or…he didn’t want to consider it.

  “There you are.” Drake walked toward Hunter, hands in his pockets. He looked…relaxed. Which was new. “Was beginning to wonder if you were showing up to work today.”

  “Yeah.” Hunter didn’t have a quick come back, no quip. Nothing. Just…Jesse.

  Drake said something Hunter didn’t hear. He shook his head, trying yet again to focus.

  “Wait—what’d you say?” Hunter shifted to look at Drake.

  “I said, haven’t seen you since Friday. Way to ditch the clean up, asshole.”

  “My date wanted to see the merchandise.” Fuck. Hunter couldn’t even say that with swagger. Jesse mattered.

  “What’s up with you?” Drake stared at him, gaze narrowed.

  Hunter’s gaze slid back to the pit, rolling his thoughts around, figuring out how to answer, much less what to say.

  “Earth to Hunter.” Drake waved his hand in front of Hunter’s face.

  “Stop it, fuck face.”

  “Someone’s touchy. Guess your date didn’t like the merchandise?”

  Hunter crossed his arms over his chest, resisting the urge to punch Drake in his perfect chin.

  “Seriously. What’s up with you?” Drake leaned against the wall.

  Where Hunter was an all-round screw up, Drake had always had his shit together. People liked Drake, where Hunter could rub them the wrong way. There was no one out there who knew Hunter better than Drake. Still, he wasn’t sure what to say or how to explain himself.

  Hunter had never been in love. Not like this. Not ever.

  “Why’d you stay with the bitch?” Hunter finally asked.

  Drake didn’t have to ask who the bitch was.

  His ex-fiancé. The woman who’d come between them, nearly drained Drake dry, and tried to marry him in the process. She was a big reason why Hunter had left. Moved to Texas for a fresh start. For the first time, it’d been Hunter watching Drake self-destruct, instead of the other way around and Hunter couldn’t stop it. As far as he’d been able to tell, Drake was all in, and that ship had sailed. Rather than lose his best friend, Hunter had moved. He’d bailed instead of seeing things through. In his mind, they could remain friends at a distance, so long as the bitch was in Drake’s life. When Drake had called to say they’d split…it was possibly one of the best days in Hunter’s life.

  “Why do you want to talk about Belinda?” Drake crossed his arms over his chest, chin thrust forward, eyes narrowed. His posture was tense, closed off.

  Fuck. That wasn’t what Hunter intended. He needed to know. To understand what made Drake lose his shit so bad he thought a woman like that was worth burning all the bridges they’d built.

  “I want to get it. I want to understand.”

  “I’ve told you, it’s over with her. I thought we were good.”

  “We are. This, I just…I’m trying to wrap my head around the idea of…being into someone so much you lose sight of everything else. I figure…I’ve never been in love but you have.” Hunter’s demonstration of love between his parents wasn’t healthy. He’d known that then, just the same way he knew it now. But he wasn’t sure he knew what the good kind looked like. Yeah, he’d seen Drake’s parents, but it wasn’t the same. He’d been a visitor in their lives, and even his parents put on a good show for company.

  “Shit. What happened to you in the last two days?” Drake looked at Hunter as though he’d grown a second head.

  And maybe Hunter had? He
was for sure thinking differently about life than he had a few days ago.

  “I always thought…no, I’ve always known there’d come a day when I’d meet someone. Someone special. And I realize now…I don’t know a fucking thing about keeping someone like that around.” Hunter stared at his reflection in the glass, the sick weight of dread holding him down. He was going to screw this up if he wasn’t careful.

  “Fuck, I’m not awake enough for this talk.” Drake scrubbed a hand over his face. “Coffee?”

  “Nah.” More coffee would just make him antsy to do something.

  Hunter wanted Jesse in a whole new way. Not just sex and laughs. But…normal shit. Feeding the dogs. Eating a late night dinner. Tripping up the stairs. The kind of relationship he’d glimpsed between Drake’s parents. Happier people. Nothing like his own upbringing.

  “Suit yourself. Let me wake up and process this. I’ll get back to you.” Drake pushed off the wall.

  A sound so foreign that Hunter couldn’t place it at first stopped them both in their tracks. The whole building vibrated, he could feel it through his boots. Hunter watched the glass in the window shudder and an invisible wave of force rolled over him.

  A concussion wave.

  From an explosion.

  His stomach dropped.

  The hair on his arms raised.

  No…

  “What the hell was that?” Drake had one hand against the wall, eyes wide.

  “That was a bomb.”

  Hunter sprinted down the hall, Drake at his heels. They skidded out of the fire house, shielding their eyes against the afternoon sun. A thick plume of dark smoke curled up into the sky. Other firefighters stood outside for the span of a second before their chief barked the order.

  In less than a minute Hunter, Drake and the others had their turn out gear on. A different kind of adrenaline pumped through Hunter’s veins, tinged with fear. What were they going into? How bad was it?

  He climbed into the truck, holding tight, on the edge of his seat.

  The blast site was only a few blocks from the fire house, and already the clouds of smoke were huge, stretching far into the sky. The fire engine rounded the corner, driving into a white hot wall of heat, and the blaze was still fifty yards away. The truck skidded to a stop.

  He had a bad feeling about this.

  This close, he could see all the windows were blown out, the damage caused from the initial blast. A fire didn’t get this big, this fast without fuel. How many times had he driven past the building and seen its “For Sale” sign? He had a sick sensation in his gut that this—this was intentional. The fair had happened a few streets over. Jesse’s truck had been parked a few blocks away. Whoever was behind this was starting to move, and it wasn’t going to be good.

  Benjamin hunched down behind the dumpster. The warehouse blazed hotter, more intense than he’d been prepared for. He tugged the bandana up over his face and the hood low over his head. Water trickled down his spine and his shoes squelched.

  This was a lot more up close and personal with Oscar’s work than Ben wanted to be.

  In the distance, sirens ripped up the air.

  He only had a few moments before the scene was crawling with police and firemen.

  Now.

  Ben sprinted down the alley, toward the flames across the street. He skidded to a stop on the sidewalk and turned toward the building on his left.

  It looked like any other shop space for rent with wide, glass windows now blown to bits.

  Ben ducked through the busted out windows, glass crunching underfoot.

  What no one else knew was that the shop was owned by one Dion Williams.

  Ben hated Dion. The gang banger had pushed Ben out of his own territory because Ben wouldn’t come to work for him. Getting one over on Dion was sweet revenge.

  The front of the shop was empty, save for debris blown in by the blaze. The security system in place, plus the visibility of the front entry made it a difficult position to breach. But the blast knocked out power and the police would cut off anyone wanting to check on the building. Considering the number of warrants out for Dion and his foot soldiers, they’d stay far away from their stash.

  Ben went through, out to the back of the building.

  Terry and four other men waited in the alley, each wearing blue pants and shirts. At a glance, they appeared to be first responders.

  Yeah, right, first responders of opportunity.

  He’d proven himself this time. They had to know Ben was for real now. He’d be taken care of. Right up until he climbed to the top of the ladder.

  Jesse wrestled the box of cupcakes out of the cab of her borrowed truck with one hand and kept a tight hold on the double trouble duo of Elsa and Sirius. Her hands were shaking and her knees still weren’t holding her upright all that well. All afternoon she’d been glued to her TV for some news, some tidbit that Hunter was okay. She’d stayed away for as long as she could once Arthur had called her to confirm her worst fears. Her truck had been in that blaze, and the only way the building could have come down like that was with well-placed charges. It was too much. Hunter’s single-word texts weren’t enough. She had to see him, especially after the hyped-up news coverage of the blaze.

  “Wow, there, killer.”

  That voice…hearing it unraveled all the tension that’d nearly made her sick all day.

  She turned around, then peered over the box of cupcakes at Hunter kneeling next to the pups.

  He was okay.

  She nearly lost it right there, she was so relieved.

  Hunter stood, his hair sticking to his face. He smelled of soap and…man stuff. His expression was grim, tight lipped.

  “I know you said you guys were busy. I just thought—I brought cupcakes.” She held the offering up, hoping it would appease someone around here.

  Hunter took the box and set it on the hood of the truck, then pulled her into his arms. She struggled to breathe around the lump in her throat and squeezed him back.

  “Is it always like this?” Her voice was too high, too thin.

  “Just let me hold you,” he muttered.

  She closed her eyes and held on tight. There was the fantasy of the oiled-up fireman, and then there was the reality of smelling soot on his skin, of knowing he could very well have died today. In a blast of her making.

  “You’re okay, right? You didn’t lie to me, did you?” she asked.

  “I’m fine.” Hunter eased his hold on her, just enough so he could look down at her.

  “Is it always like this?”

  “Like today? No.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  “Did Arthur talk to you yet?”

  “Yeah. He said…he said the arson investigator thinks it was C4, and it would make sense if it was my C4. Oh, God…was anyone in there?”

  “No. No one was in the building. It was empty.”

  “Oh…damn. Okay. Well, that’s a relief.” She swallowed. The aerial footage of the blast had been extensive and on all channels.

  “They don’t know how much they might have used yet, or what the bomb looked like, but they’re working on it.”

  She could guess at how much had been used, what might be left, and any way she figured it, she didn’t like the odds.

  “Hey.” Hunter bumped her chin with his knuckles. “They’re going to find whoever did this, Jesse.”

  “I hope so. I hope they find them before anyone gets hurt.”

  “Hey, Hunter—oh, sorry.” Another man in similar dark pants and shirt stopped just outside the doors to the fire house.

  “You can’t have all the cupcakes, you hog,” Hunter said over her head. “Jesse, this is Drake. He’s a bit of an asshole, but he’s an all right guy.”

  Drake glanced from Hunter, to Jesse, to the dogs and back again.

  “Nice to meet you. Jesse, right?” Drake held out his hand.

  Hunter let go of her enough so she could shake Drake’s hand. She already felt like she knew the man after wha
t Hunter had said about him.

  “Right. Nice to meet you, too.”

  “Hate to interrupt, but the chief wants us. Sorry.”

  “No, no, I only came by to drop off the cupcakes.”

  “Wait—there really are cupcakes?” Drake’s eyes widened.

  “You can’t have them all,” Hunter growled. He let go of Jesse and snatched the box.

  “Hey, that’s not fair.”

  Lord, she could see them now as children, arguing like brothers.

  “Go. Be safe. I’ll see you later.” Jesse gave Hunter a squeeze, then let go, taking the dogs with her.

  “Nice to meet you, Jesse. Bring the rest of us some cupcakes next time, too, okay?”

  She waved the two men back into the firehouse, then loaded up the two dogs, breathing a little easier. Not a lot easier, but enough that she could think.

  Jesse slid back into the truck and glanced at the much smaller, white pastry box sitting shotgun. Next stop, a little girl chat. It was beyond time she got to the bottom of what was going on with Everly, and as her best friend, it was Jesse’s job to figure it out. Girl code and all that bullshit. Especially now that she’d seen Drake in the flesh. Everly had some explaining to do.

  11.

  Jesse managed to juggle both dogs and cupcakes all the way from the drive to Everly’s front door. Judging by the chorus of barks from the back yard, Everly’s dogs were outside.

  “I’m letting myself in.” Jesse cracked the front door and waited for all of five seconds before ushering both Sirius and Elsa over the threshold. “Everly?”

  “Jesse?” Everly padded around the corner to the entry, her hair up, pajamas on. There were new stress lines on her face. Different ones. Ones Jesse recognized because she felt them in herself. Everly’s gaze dropped to Elsa and she smiled. It was hard not to with such a happy, tail wagging creature around. “Hey, what are you doing here? And—who are you, pretty thing?”

  Jesse set the box of cupcakes on the entry table and crossed to Everly. Jesse needed a hug in a bad way, and she was willing to bet her friend did, too.

  “Oh, okay, hi.” Everly patted Jesse’s shoulder, but she felt the tremor.