Firestorm

by Radclyffe

  Mallory had pulled away, and Jac didn’t know how to reach her. Mallory didn’t trust her, and she didn’t know how to convince her she wouldn’t hurt her. She would have waited with her hand outstretched, urging her to believe, if waiting was what it took. Somehow she did not think time alone would be enough—even though she really had nothing but time.

  The firefighting season stretched ahead and hopefully, if she passed boot camp, she would have work to occupy her, but she didn’t have anyone expecting her to return at the end of the season to a life that included intimacy and affection. She hadn’t really thought ahead to what she would do in the fall. If her father received his party’s nomination, which everyone thought was going to happen, she was probably going to be more of a liability in his eyes than she already was—too visible, too controversial, and too at odds with his stance on just about everything. She wondered where he would want her to disappear to next. She was young and healthy, and wars still raged. Maybe it was time to make her reserve status permanent and go active. War she knew. Those enemies she understood. And the bombs, her singular, particular enemy, she did not fear.

  “Jac?” Mallory slid into Jac’s field of vision, her expression perplexed, as if she had been speaking for a while and Jac had not been listening.

  Jac jerked straighter, conscious of the flimsy cotton covering her naked torso, conscious of the tightening of her nipples at the mere sound of Mallory’s voice. “Yeah?”

  “The storm’s coming on fast and we might have a chance to outrun it, but we’ll have to leave right away. Do you mind skipping the shower?”

  Jac didn’t need an interpreter. Mallory didn’t want even the slightest chance of intimacy between them. As if stripping down in the hospital locker room was going to be some kind of threat. Her skin chilled, as if snow already fell on her. As if she were already out in the cold. She jumped down from the stretcher, ignoring the jolt of pain shooting through her shoulder. “That’s a good idea. We need to get back. We can catch up to Sully and the rest of them in the morning then, right?”

  Jac kept her face averted as she sorted through the jumble of her clothes and picked out her T-shirt. She balled it up and tossed it back on the chair. It was stiff with sweat and she wasn’t putting it on again. She checked out her shirt. It wasn’t in much better shape.

  Mallory grasped her arm. “Here. I know it’s a little funky, but it’s clean and it’s warm.” Mallory held out a navy blue sweatshirt that read Gardiner Tigers above an emblem of the high school.

  “Where…?”

  “Gift shop.” Mallory grimaced. “Sorry, the selection was pretty slim.”

  “It looks great to me. I don’t suppose they had any underwear?”

  Mallory laughed. “Not unless you want something in size one that says ‘It’s a boy!’”

  “Sorry. Won’t fit the equipment.”

  Mallory’s smile flickered for a second. “No, I don’t imagine it would.” She hefted a plastic bag. “I’ve got one, too. I’ll go get the Jeep. You—uh—need any help?”

  “Nope. I’ve got it.”

  “Great. Okay then.” Mallory backed toward the curtain. “I’ll be right outside in the emergency room parking lot. It’s a black Commander. I’ll get it warmed up and we can hit the road.”

  “Be there in a minute.” Jac turned her back to give Mallory a chance to escape, which was obviously what Mallory wanted. This time though, Jac was going to let her go.

  *

  Mallory sat behind the wheel, clenching the steering wheel so hard her palms ached and the tips of her fingers went numb. Heat blasted from the dashboard vents, but the center of her chest was a solid block of ice. Snow slashed against the windshield, melting into trails of tears that streaked her vision. Irritated, she brushed her fingers over her face and they came away wet. She stared at the glistening moisture on her fingertips. She couldn’t possibly be crying. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried. No, she could remember, she just didn’t want to. The night after Phil and Danny’s funeral. The night after four hundred firefighters and two hundred engines, sirens blaring, had formed a long, twisting procession through the mountains carrying Danny and Phil back to base where their bodies had been lifted by a full-color honor guard into a helitack while a regimental band played taps. She had stood with the rest of her team, her arm in a rigid salute, while the bird lifted off for Danny and Phil’s last flight. Her eyes had been dry, her throat closed, her heart thudding painfully to each beat of the drum. Inside she mourned to the wail of the sirens. That night she’d driven two hours away, gotten a hotel room and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, and drunk herself to sleep. Sometime before she’d passed out, she must have cried—when she woke, her pillow was wet. She’d dumped the dregs of the Jack down the toilet, showered, and driven back to base.

  She never talked about what happened in Idaho, except when the review board had called her in to recount the details of how she had spotted the safe zone, what factors she had considered, what possible dangers she had seen from the position of the fire front, the prevailing winds, the terrain, and what line she had chosen for her team to dig. She had talked about Phil and Danny then, but the words had sounded as if they were coming from someone else. Her words had been precise, concise, clear, and according to them, procedurally correct. Her judgment had been deemed accurate, her decisions right. They had said she was without fault, but she knew they were wrong.

  Mallory tasted salt and licked her lips. She rubbed the rough sleeve of her sweatshirt over her face, erasing the signs of her pain and weakness. Enough. Somehow, wanting Jac had opened the doors to all she had buried, and freed every nightmare memory she wanted to obliterate. The only way she knew to close and chain the door again was to build a wall between her and Jac. She knew she was succeeding. She’d seen the flare of hurt and bewilderment in Jac’s eyes. But Jac was a survivor. Jac would be fine. She wasn’t sure she would be, but at least she was breathing, moving, functioning, and for so long, that was all she had wanted. Enough. She had made those things enough. And now, it had to be.

  The passenger door opened and Jac dropped into the seat beside her, bringing a gust of wind and snowflakes with her.

  “Sorry,” Jac said briskly. “It’s really bad out there.”

  “I know. I was hoping we could get a couple hours in and then maybe grab something to eat when we got ahead of the front.”

  “Whatever you want, Mal. It’s up to you.”

  Mallory backed out of the parking place and pulled out into the snowy street. Up to her. If it was up to her, she never would’ve met Jac Russo with her dark, burning eyes and her gentle touch. She never would have fallen in love with her.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Mallory pulled into a gas station on 89S a little after nine p.m. Traffic on the two-lane was almost nonexistent. Much of the highway was obscured by drifting snow, and most of the time she couldn’t see beyond the tapering cones of her own headlights. Late spring snows, when everyone was prepared for the onset of summer and no one wanted to face yet another whiteout blizzard, always seemed to be the worst of the season. The only positive note was storms like these usually blew in and blew out quickly. With any luck, the morning would bring sunshine and a quick melt. But right now, all she wanted to do was get back to base safe and sound. Her eyes were gritty from staring at the endless expanse of white, the surface unbroken by any other tire tracks. Not even a single set of red taillights glowed ahead to help orient her. The Jeep was quiet save for the rumble of the engine, and at times she felt as if she were alone in the universe. Except she wasn’t. Despite the demands of the tricky driving and the terrible visibility, she was always, constantly, aware of Jac.

  Jac lay curled up beside her in the passenger seat, asleep. She’d taken a pain pill in the emergency room and drifted off an hour or so after they’d left Gardiner. Wanting her to rest, Mallory hadn’t even turned on the radio to help dispel the monotony. She didn’t mind the silence. Jac’s quiet breathin
g provided a soothing buffer against the wind that howled outside the windows. She’d never been quite so acutely conscious of another person’s presence before. She’d had to stop herself more than once from reaching across the space between them and stroking Jac’s hair. She really did not want to think about what that meant.

  Easing in next to the snowcapped gas pumps, Mallory parked and released her seat belt. The bright lights above the pumps blazed in through the windshield, glaring directly into Jac’s face. Jac muttered under her breath and shifted uneasily. Mallory leaned over and rubbed Jac’s shoulder, settling her. “It’s okay. I’m just going to get some gas. Everything is fine.”

  Jac’s eyes flickered open and she frowned, her expression confused and her eyes clouded with sleep and a hint of pain. “Where are we?”

  “About a hundred miles from the base.”

  “Fell asleep. Sorry,” Jac said, jerking at the seat belt and pushing herself upright.

  “No, don’t wake up. I’m going to grab a soda and a couple of candy bars. I’ll get you one if you want.”

  “Hershey’s. Dark chocolate.”

  Mallory smiled. “You got it. I’m going to leave the motor running so you don’t get cold. Do you need anything else?”

  Jac shifted fitfully, settled against her uninjured shoulder facing Mallory with her cheek against the seat, and closed her eyes. “No. I’m fine. Thanks. Sorry. Lousy company.”

  “I told you not to apologize.” Mallory gave in and feathered her fingers through Jac’s hair. The dark wavy strands were faintly damp, and she worried that Jac was sweating and in pain. “You’re very good company. How’s your shoulder?”

  “Achy. Nothing real serious.”

  “And you wouldn’t admit it if it were.” Mallory let her fingers linger on Jac’s throat for longer than she should have, then eased back into her seat. “I’ll only be a minute with that candy bar.”

  “Hey, Mal?” Jac muttered, her eyes still closed.

  “What, baby?” Mallory said softly around the lump in her throat. She’d never seen Jac look quite so vulnerable, not even when she was dangling against the cliffside by a rope, minutes from death. The urge to protect her, to ease her discomfort, to obliterate anything or anyone who’d ever hurt her, was so strong Mallory ached inside.

  “You really know how to show a girl a good time.”

  Mallory laughed, her heart threatening to leap from her chest. “Be careful, you didn’t get the chocolate yet.”

  “I trust you to bring it.” Jac’s lids rose a fraction and she stretched out one hand, catching Mallory’s fingers. “I trust you.”

  When Jac squeezed her fingers, a wave of heat rolled up Mallory’s arm, lodged behind her breastbone, and, with the next breath, radiated outward like a starburst. Her head spun. “Why? Why would you?”

  Jac’s eyes opened fully, the bright lights outside reflecting in her dark irises like stars scattered across the night sky. “Because I’ve told you things I’ve never told anyone else, and you’re still here. Whenever I’ve needed you, you’ve been right there.”

  “Oh God, Jac,” Mallory murmured, rubbing her cheek against the backs of Jac’s fingers. She hadn’t known how cold she was until the warmth of Jac’s flesh flooded into her. “I don’t think I deserve that kind of trust.”

  “Don’t you get it yet, Mal?” Jac traced her fingertips over the corner of Mallory’s mouth. “That’s one of the few things you can’t control. It’s not up to you. Trust lives in our hearts. Like love.”

  Mallory froze. Terror slammed through her, followed instantly by racking, agonizing pain. Not the dull throb of guilt or self-recrimination, but the horrible void left behind by those she’d led into the mountains and stumbled out without. A black hole beckoned, threatening to drag her in and crush her. All this time she’d kept the worst pain at bay by blaming herself over and over so she wouldn’t feel anything else. If she let go of her guilt, she’d have to face the bright, lacerating wound of pure and simple loss. “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m afraid.”

  “Of what?”

  “I can’t, Jac. Please. Don’t ask me.”

  “I want you, you know that, don’t you?”

  Closing her eyes, Mallory clutched Jac’s hand between both of hers and fought the insane urge to give in. She longed to lay her head on Jac’s chest, to lay down the suffocating burden for just one night. Could she have one night? Was that even fair? She wasn’t a coward, and she wouldn’t lie. She dropped their joined hands to her lap and shifted on the seat, facing Jac, knowing her face was unshielded in the relentless glare of the artificial sun. “I know. And I want you too.”

  Something miraculous passed through Jac’s eyes—not the glint of triumph, not the blaze of victory, but the tender softening of desire. Mallory took a breath, needing to be clear. Needing to be honest.

  Jac spoke first. “Right this second, I don’t want to hear the but I know you think I need to hear. So can we just not go there right now?”

  “How come you figured me out so easily?” Mallory whispered.

  “Ice isn’t all that hard to see through if you just look.” Jac smiled and gestured to the distance between them. “I’m a little slow maneuvering tonight. Do you think you could find your way clear to kiss me before you seduce me with chocolate?”

  “I never said—”

  “I know.” Jac’s wistful longing pierced Mallory’s heart. “Just let me dream for a minute.”

  “Oh, the hell with it.” Mallory pushed over into the space between their seats, not caring that the gearshift dug into her ass. She didn’t care about the storm, she didn’t care about the tiny voice in the back of her brain screaming at her to get a grip. All she saw was the firestorm swirling in Jac’s eyes. And fire was something she understood. She cupped the back of Jac’s neck, spreading her fingers over the column of muscle that curved in a sinuous arc of strength and beauty to the junction of Jac’s shoulder. “You’re so goddamn gorgeous.”

  Jac’s lips parted ever so slightly, as if she might speak or laugh, but Mallory didn’t give her time to do either. She brought her mouth down over Jac’s, gently but firmly. Jac gasped, and Mallory skated the tip of her tongue over the silky-soft surface of Jac’s lower lip. She tasted cinnamon and heat. Mallory groaned.

  Jac’s arm came around Mallory’s shoulder, and her fingers gripped Mallory’s upper arm, holding her close, as if fearing she might suddenly bolt. Her mouth opened more and her tongue teased out, toying with Mallory’s. Jac’s teeth grazed her lower lip and Mallory tightened between her legs. She wanted to climb into Jac’s lap, straddle her narrow hips, rub herself against Jac’s hard belly. She wanted Jac’s hands inside her jacket, under her shirt, clasping her breasts, teasing her nipples. Oh God, she wanted to come right here and now. Jac’s fingers slid into her hair, tilting her head as she pushed her tongue deeper into Mallory’s mouth. Mallory whimpered.

  “God, Mal,” Jac groaned against her mouth. “I want you so much.”

  “Your shoulder. The storm…”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Bad timing,” Mallory panted. “Really, really, really bad timing.”

  Jac laughed shakily. “I don’t think I can stop. You’re the boss. Do something.”

  “Just remember you said that, next time…” Mallory marshaled what little strength and sanity she had left and pushed away. Her lips were burning. Her body was aflame. She wanted nothing more than to let Jac’s fire consume her. “I have to get out of the car. I can’t think.”

  “Don’t go far,” Jac whispered. “Please, Mal. Don’t go far.”

  Mallory shoved open the door, bolted outside, and slammed the door before snow could swirl in. She pulled up the hood on the Gardiner High School sweatshirt and zipped her flight jacket up to her throat. Her hands shook so badly she could barely get the gas cap off. Hunching against the blowing snow, she pumped gas as quickly as she could, capped the tank, and hurried toward the station.
She refused to think. She refused to acknowledge the trembling in her blood or the pressure threatening to burst her heart into fragments. She touched her bare fingertips to her lips. Three inches of snow coated the parking lot. Ice crystals hung in the air she exhaled. Frozen tears coated her lashes. And her lips burned. She burned. What had she done?

  A lone attendant manned the counter inside the convenience store. Mallory blinked in the harsh white light that bleached everything to a monochrome. Moving mechanically, her mind a blank, she grabbed several candy bars and two sixteen-ounce bottles of soda, bundled everything into her arms, and started for the counter. A sliver of reason penetrated the fog that clouded her brain, and she took stock of what she had picked up. No Hershey bar. She spun back to retrieve one, and the headline on a newspaper in a stand next to the checkout counter caught her attention. She stopped, reread it, and her stomach plummeted.

  IDAHO SENATOR FRANKLIN RUSSO CLINCHES PATRIOT PARTY NOMINATION

  Underneath the headline, a picture of Jac’s father with arms outstretched, a triumphant smile on his handsome, virile face, took up the rest of the front page. Beneath the image was the caption: “Conservative nominee pledges return to American values.”

  Mallory almost laughed out loud. American values. What a joke. If people only knew how he treated his own daughter, with so little respect, so little care, he wouldn’t be seen as some kind of savior. Outrage swelled just thinking about Jac being shunted aside, made invisible, when she was so brave, so kind, so generous and strong. Mallory squelched her anger. Her feelings were not what mattered. What mattered was Jac.