…
Jax cut his eyes at the pitcher as Becca stepped up to the plate. The guy had been harassing her since she first set foot on the field, and he’d had about enough of it. If that asshole muttered one more sleazy comment—or looked at her ass again—he was going to. Lose. His. Shit.
Trading barbs was part of the game, but there was a fine line between friendly competition and the asshole zone. BT&R’s pitcher had crossed it about twenty minutes ago. Truthfully, Jax hadn’t liked him from the outset. The first time he’d caught that creep staring at Becca’s pert little ass in those tiny shorts he’d felt something hot and ugly twisting in his gut.
Climbing to his feet, he hooked his fingers through the chain-link fence that protected the dugout from fly balls. Becca planted her back foot in the dirt and raised her bat. If it weren’t for the tension in her shoulders, she might’ve looked at ease. But he knew better. The way she held herself? It was a sure sign she’d also heard enough from the douchebag on the pitcher’s mound.
Actually, he was kind of impressed she hadn’t lit the guy up yet. God knew she never missed a chance to tell him where to shove it. If it went on much longer, he’d step in himself. The guy needed a lesson in manners, and if no one else was up the challenge, he was more than happy to give it.
Chris joined him at the fence. “Give ’em hell, Frankie!”
The ball sailed across the plate, curving to the outside. Becca held her position.
“Strike!” the ump called.
The team booed, and Jax joined them, knowing full well it was a good call. Becca adjusted her position.
“What’s the deal with this prick?” he asked, nodding at the pitcher. “Things change so much in the last ten years you don’t protect your own anymore?”
Chris snorted. “In case you haven’t noticed, Frankie’s not a kid anymore. She can take care of herself. Watch.”
“Tell you what, sweetheart,” the pitcher called, his voice carrying across the field. Jax tightened his grip on the fence, the metal digging into his fingers. Who the fuck did this guy think he was? “I’m going to take it easy on you, give it to you straight. You think you can handle it?”
“Less talking, more pitching.” Becca narrowed her eyes and dug in her back foot.
The ball sailed over the plate, and true to his word, it was a straight pitch. She brought her bat around, and it connected with a sharp crack! Anyone else would’ve been swinging for the fences, but not Becca. She nailed a line drive right at the pitcher.
He hit the dirt, landing face first.
Dropping the bat, Becca hauled ass to first, beating the centerfielder’s return throw. Dusting her hands off on her shorts, she gave an apologetic shrug to the pitcher that had “sorry, not sorry” written all over it.
Chris smirked. “Like I said.”
Jax let out a low whistle. “Remind me not to mess with your sister.”
“You kiddin’ me?” Chris asked. “She’d rip your nuts off and eat them for breakfast. New York’s Bravest? She’d put that shit to the test.”
He studied his friend. How would Chris react if he made his intentions known? Hell, the way he was grinning, maybe he’d already figured it out. “I’m willing to take my chances.”
“You and Frankie, huh?” Chris laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Good luck, man. That girl goes through men like most women go through friggin’ shoes. No guy ever makes it past three dates.”
“Three dates?” Good to know. He always worked best with a goal, and the more he could learn about Becca, the better his odds of making it to date number four.
Of course, he still needed an official first date, since, orgasms notwithstanding, she wanted nothing to do with him. “I can work with a three-date rule. Anything else I should know?”
Chapter Ten
Becca dropped her reusable shopping bags on the floor of the ancient elevator and pushed the button for the fifth floor. The mid-century deathtrap had seen better days, but it beat the hell out of a walkup. It had been weeks since she’d last shopped, and her cabinets were bare. Literally. There wasn’t a stale saltine to be found. She eyed the overflowing bags on the floor. Maybe she’d gone a little overboard, but at least she’d be able to avoid shopping again for a while. Because, although she enjoyed eating, navigating the crowded grocery store made her feel kind of stabby. It was like her own personal seventh circle of hell.
The doors slid shut, and the car began to rise, chugging noisily toward the fifth floor. One. Two. Three.
Screech!
The car jerked to a stop, sending her stumbling backward. She grabbed the handrail and pressed herself as flat to the wall as she could manage, holding on for dear life.
Omigod. Omigod. Omigod.
This was not happening. But it was. She was trapped. Trapped. In an elevator. Dangling somewhere between the third and fourth floors. Alone. She jabbed the Door Open button. Nothing happened. She pressed it a dozen more times in rapid succession.
Nothing happened.
Maybe it was a nightmare. After all, she’d just blown one hundred dollars on groceries. Nothing said fright night like food shopping and claustrophobia.
She pinched her arm. It hurt like hell, but the scene remained unchanged.
No. Definitely awake. A fine sweat broke out on her forehead. She sucked in a deep breath. No big deal. Just push the alarm and call for help. That’s what you were supposed to do, right? Peeling her fingers from the handrail, she took two tentative steps across the tiny box and jabbed the alarm button.
A mind-numbing buzz filled the space, droning on endlessly. She glanced at the control panel. Figured. The old as dirt contraption had no phone and no intercom.
Do. Not. Panic.
Digging through her purse, she searched for her cell phone. Surely building maintenance could help. Pulling out her phone, she swiped the screen and scrolled through the contacts. Thankfully, she’d actually taken Christopher’s advice and programmed the number into her phone when she moved in. Finding the number, she pushed call and raised the phone to her ear.
Nothing happened.
She glanced at the screen. No signal. Impossible. In a city of eight million, where every shop, tunnel, and subway car was wired, she was stuck in an elevator with no freaking signal? Her heart slammed against her rib cage double-time.
Now what?
Was she supposed to just sit there and wait for someone to hear the alarm? It was insanity. She could be stuck for hours. Sweat trickled down her chest, pooling in the hollow spot between her breasts. No. There was only one elevator in the building. It wouldn’t take long for one of her neighbors to notice that damn buzzing and call for help, right?
Deciding to take matters into her own hands, she stepped up to the door, drew her fist back, and pounded on the door with the heel of her hand. “Help! I’m stuck in the elevator and I can’t get out!”
Oh, God. She sounded like one of those awful Life Alert commercials, but what choice did she have? Swallowing her pride, she pounded away at the door and repeated the cringe worthy plea until she was sure she’d go hoarse. She checked her watch. Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes of screaming her face off for…nothing. Talk about Murphy’s Law. Any other day she’d have to wait in line for an elevator and pack in with her neighbors like a damn sardine.
Deciding to give her voice a rest, she slumped against the side of the car and pulled a bottle of water from her shopping bag. Time to sit back and let the alarm do its job. Surely someone would come along soon. Popping the cap, she gulped the water, quenching her thirst and lubricating her sore throat.
Her stomach grumbled, reminding her there was a fresh package of Spring Oreos in the bag. Nothing like a little stress eating to take one’s mind off being locked in a dangling deathtrap four floors up. She opened the package and balanced it on her lap. Grabbing a black and yellow cookie, she twisted the top off and popped it in her mouth. Then she licked the yellow crème.
She was six cookies deep whe
n she heard a thump on the other side of the door. “Hello? Is someone in there?”
“Yes! Apartment 5C. Please get me out of here,” she yelled, clambering to her feet. “I tried to call for help, but I have no signal in here.”
“Okay. Don’t panic, 5C.” Easy for him to say. “I’m going to call maintenance.”
Five minutes later he returned with bad news. “I left a message with the answering service, but no word yet from maintenance. They suggested I call the fire department.”
Son. Of. A. Bitch.
“There must be something else we can do?” she asked, knowing she was being completely illogical. After all, her number one priority was getting the hell out of the elevator.
“Unless you want to hang out for the next few hours waiting for building maintenance to call back, I don’t think we have another option,” the muffled voice responded. “I’m 4B, by the way. Sorry we have to meet like this.”
She wrung her hands. No big deal. There were more firehouses in Brooklyn than she could count. Besides, for all she knew, Jax wasn’t even working.
Keep calm and may the odds be ever in your favor, a sarcastic little voice in her head echoed, reminding her of a popular Facebook meme.
Fat chance.
“Make the call.” She slumped to the floor again. “Thanks for helping out, 4B.”
Ten minutes later there was another thump on the door. “Miss? This is the New York City Fire Department. We’re going to get you out of there, okay?”
“Yes, thank you,” she called, stuffing the half-empty Oreo package back in her bag. No need for anyone else to know about her little cookie binge.
“We’ve got a team of guys in the lobby and another team heading to the elevator machinery room. Before we get started, can you shut off the alarm for me? Just push the button again. And if you pushed the emergency stop button, I’ll need you to disengage that one, too.”
She did as he instructed, deactivating the alarm. The silence was deafening in contrast to the incessant buzzing.
“Great job.” Despite the distortion caused by the heavy door, his voice was calm, comforting, and completely unfamiliar. Thank God for small favors. No one would ever have to know about the elevator adventure from hell. “Before my guys do anything else, I need you to try a couple of things for me, okay?”
“Yes.” She’d do whatever he asked if it got her out of the sweltering box faster. Her T-shirt clung to her back, and the air had gone from stale to suffocating twenty minutes ago.
“First, why don’t you tell me your name so I know who I’m talking to?”
“Becca.”
“Becca? This is—”
“Becca?” A second voice cut in. One that was too familiar. One that washed over her like a lover’s caress. Stupid Mercury. Stupid retrograde. Quinn had warned her to expect the worst, and had she listened? Nope. “Becca, this is Jax. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she returned, ignoring the red-hot flush that burned her cheeks. “I’d be better if you could get me the hell out of here.”
There was a long pause. Their radios crackled, but it was impossible to make out the words. The last thing she needed was for Jax to think of her as a damsel in distress. The man already had an ego that exceeded the boundaries of the five boroughs. She so didn’t need his rescuing. It wasn’t her fault the stupid elevator stalled.
“We’ll get you out,” the other voice finally responded. “Now I need you to press the Door Open button.”
“Yeah, because I haven’t tried that yet,” she muttered, jabbing the button again with zero expectation of movement. There was a laugh from the other side of the door. Evidently she had a voice that carried. “No dice.”
“Okay. We are going to try and recall the elevator to the lobby now with the Firemen Service Override. Hold onto the safety rail, and I’ll radio down to the team in the lobby.”
The radio crackled again. Thirty seconds passed, and the car didn’t so much as budge.
“Becca.” It was Jax again. “We’ve tried all the usual steps to get the elevator moving again, and the service company can’t get here for another hour. We are going to cut power to the elevator and pull you out, okay?”
“What? No. No way.” She gripped the handrail like a lifeline, an image of the car crashing to the lobby playing on loop in her head. “That sounds like the worst idea ever.”
“It’s perfectly safe,” he promised. Perfectly safe? Nothing about this felt perfectly safe. Of course, things with Jax rarely did. “The brake will hold the car in place. Removing power is just a safety precaution to ensure there’s no movement during extraction.”
He seemed to have total confidence in the plan. Of course he did. He wasn’t the one in the fifty-year-old elevator.
“We think you’re stuck between three and four, but we need to open the hoistway doors to confirm your exact location,” he explained. “You’re going to hear the exterior doors opening, so don’t panic, okay?”
“Me?” Becca forced a laugh, her belly churning nervously. “Panic?”
…
Once his guys on the roof confirmed they’d locked and tagged the elevator shut-off switch, Jax inserted the drop key in the hoistway door and released the lock. Anderson put pressure on the door, using extreme caution to avoid slipping into the open shaft. The door slid open inch by painstaking inch to reveal the locked inner doors of the car.
Anderson whistled. “Luck be a lady.”
Jax grinned. “Piece of cake.” The car hadn’t quite reached the fourth floor, stalling about four feet short. Still, an extraction from above was preferred to one from below as there was no chance of the occupant—of Becca—slipping into the shaft. He hated the idea of her stuck in that elevator alone and scared—not that she’d ever admit to being afraid—but they’d have her out in no time.
The key was to remain focused, not let his personal feelings creep in. The idea of Becca in danger scared the shit out of him. It clawed at his guts, shredding him in a way the flames never could. When he’d pulled up to her building, he’d told himself the odds of finding her in the car were slim. When he’d heard her voice floating through the door, his heart had nearly stopped. In that moment, he’d realized just how much she meant to him. Becca was…everything. Everything he’d secretly wanted and never had. Everything he’d never allowed himself to consider. And even though he knew she was perfectly safe in that car, he was anxious, his heart slamming against his rib cage with fury. He wiped his palms on his navy slacks. As far as he was concerned, this call couldn’t be done fast enough. But rules were rules, and no way was he going to cut corners.
If anything, he’d play it even tighter.
No matter what he was feeling on the inside, the job required complete composure. The people he helped needed to see that he was in control. Just another day at the office.
“How you doing in there, Becca?” He dropped to a crouch before the door, ensuring she’d be able to see his face when Anderson popped the safety latch.
“Just peachy,” came the dry response. “Please, take all the time you need.”
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “All right, we’re going to open the inner doors now. Go ahead and step toward to the rear wall of the car.”
Anderson released the lock and pushed the door open. He jammed a chock in the base to ensure they didn’t close again.
Becca stood against the rear wall, gripping the safety rail. Under different circumstances, he might’ve enjoyed that flush in her cheeks, but as it was, it was a far cry from the normal fight response he seemed to draw out of her.
“You know, if you wanted to see me, you could’ve just called. No need to jam up the elevator like this.”
“You’re an ass,” she said, releasing the railing and drawing herself up to her full height. And was it a trick of the light, or was that a little spark in her eye?
That’s my girl.
“I think you mean I have a nice ass.” He winked at her for goo
d measure. Pissed off Becca trumped frightened Becca any day of the week, even if she was staring him down like he was solely responsible for her current predicament.
“Just my freaking luck.” She crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her hip, making it impossible not to notice the way those fitted jeans hugged her curves, accentuating the perfect legs he knew lay beneath the soft fabric. “Ten thousand firemen in New York City and I get the one who’d rather stare at my ass than save it.”
“I’d like to think I can do both.” He flashed her a cocky grin. “We are New York’s Bravest, after all.”
“I’ll just be over here, pretending I didn’t hear any of that,” Anderson interjected.
Becca’s cheeks turned a deeper shade of crimson. “That’s it. I’m leaving town the next time Mercury is in retrograde. This is re-damn-diculous.” She threw up her hands, seeming to forget her earlier terror. “I hate it when Quinn is right.”
He didn’t know jack about Mercury in retrograde, but that was a conversation for another day. He had a job to do, and the priority was keeping her calm and lucid for what would come next. “Becca, I need you to focus on me now. I’m going to drop into the elevator with you and then I’m going to lift you out. My partner, Anderson, is going to pull you up.”
“You’re going to climb in here with me?” she asked, looking doubtful. He wasn’t surprised. In his line of work, he got that question a lot. For many people, it was difficult to comprehend someone willfully entering a dangerous situation others were desperate to escape.
“All in a day’s work,” he replied with a shrug. Only today the job was hitting a little close to home. Lying on his stomach, he slipped his legs through the three-foot opening and lowered himself into the car, extending his arms to their full length. He dropped the last few inches to the floor, doing his best to avoid shaking the car and rattling Becca unnecessarily.
Turning to face her, he offered his hand. “I’m getting you out of here.”
Seducing the Fireman (Risky Business) Page 8
