by Jane Jamison
Men for Hire: Firemen 2
Men on Fire
Michelle Rossin will do almost anything to help the troubled boys at Tulsa’s Linkin Hope House. But when one of them starts endangering not only his life, but others', she’s caught between keeping his secret—and keeping him out of jail—or taking the blame.
Firemen for Hire, Wiley Russell and his brother, Brody, have a duty to catch whoever’s setting fire to abandoned homes. When they see a beautiful blonde running from one of the burning houses, they give chase. However, they don’t know whether they’re chasing an arsonist or the woman of their dreams. When she turns up at the fire station later, asking for help, they don’t know whether to help her or call the police.
Michelle soon learns that fires, like sexual attraction, have a way of burning out of control. Should she fan the flame of desire? Or will she put out the fire to keep a boy safe?
Genre: BDSM, Contemporary, Ménage a Trois/Quatre, Romantic Suspense
Length: 45,448 words
MEN ON FIRE
Men for Hire: Firemen 2
Jane Jamison
MENAGE EVERLASTING
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Ménage Everlasting
MEN ON FIRE
Copyright © 2014 by Jane Jamison
E-book ISBN: 978-1-62741-194-3
First E-book Publication: January 2014
Cover design by Les Byerley
All art and logo copyright © 2014 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
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PUBLISHER
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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DEDICATION
Dear Reader,
Thank you for purchasing my books. I appreciate all your support. You are the reason I sit at my desk and write every day.
Wishing you all the best,
Jane Jamison
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Epilogue
About the Author
MEN ON FIRE
Men for Hire: Firemen 2
JANE JAMISON
Copyright © 2014
Chapter One
Brody Russell checked the first room and found it empty. Trying to see through the smoke was heeding his progress, but the rest of the men were getting a handle on the fire. His gear seemed heavier than usual, but that was always the case when worry edged his spine. Thanks to a call from an alert neighbor, they’d caught the house fire early.
While his brother Wiley and the other men battled the blaze, Brody’s job was to make sure that the house was empty. Sometimes an abandoned house wasn’t really an abandoned house. Teens doing drugs as well as a variety of other people, including Tulsa’s homeless, would often hole up in an empty house and make it their own for as long as they could before either the cops or the neighbors discovered them.
He kicked in the door to the last room and found that it was empty like all the others. That, at least, was a relief. The last thing he wanted to see was someone lying on the floor or a kid curled in a closet, unconscious from smoke inhalation.
“It’s all clear. No one in the house.”
Just as he’d finished radioing in his report, Paul Winchester’s voice boomed across the radio advising all the firemen that the blaze had been contained. Out of habit, Brody touched his face gear, including the mask and self-contained breathing apparatus, then strode from the room, his black boots making plodding sounds. Again, as was his habit, he twisted around and did one last quick check for anything he might have missed. Satisfied that he’d done his job, he headed for the front door.
“All empty, bro?” Wiley, his older brother by five years, followed him outside.
“Yeah.” His brother had no doubt heard his radio report, but Wiley always asked again after the fact. Half the time he wondered if Wiley was asking as a fireman or as the protective brother he’d always been. Not that he’d try telling Wiley to back off. Wiley was Wiley and wasn’t going to change. Brody figured asking him to back off was like asking the man in the moon to talk. And in a way—not that he’d ever admit it to Wiley—he kind of liked his big brother keeping tabs on him.
They’d grown up on a small farm in Oklahoma and had moved to Tulsa—the “city” as they’d always called it—when Brody had turned twenty-five. They no longer toiled from sunup to sundown growing crops and raising cattle, but they’d kept their cowboy boots and hats, proving they could take the cowboy off the ranch, but he’d still have dirt in his veins.
Both had signed up to become firefighters the same afternoon that they’d moved into their rundown two-bedroom apartment on the outskirts of the city. The place wasn’t much, but they didn’t care. It gave them the necessities without having to fork over much rent. That was money they’d save for a down payment on a home. A home they’d buy after they found the one woman they could both love.<
br />
Neither one of them could imagine doing anything else for a living. Hell, they’d fight fires for free, if they had to. Thankfully, the job did come with a paycheck—although most people thought it wasn’t enough considering the dangers they faced. But there were other perks like working with a group of men they not only liked but admired. That and the fact that most women found what they did sexy.
Brody tugged off his headgear and opened up his jacket. Fighting fires in the middle of the Oklahoma summer was hotter than sitting in a sauna with a fur coat on. Sweat trickled down his spine to his tailbone. He couldn’t wait to get back to the station, take off all his heavy gear, and get a cold shower followed by a tall, ice-filled glass of tea. Until then, they’d grabbed some water, hoping to get five minutes of rest.
“What do you think?” Brody knew the answer, but wanted it confirmed.
“Yeah. It’s the same.” Wiley slugged back the water like it was a tequila shot.
“Damn.” The past two house fires had been arson cases. Someone was setting abandoned houses on fire. Whether for fun or for some other reason was still unknown, since the cops had no idea who was doing it. Whoever it was, however, was prolific, setting the fires within days of each other. The police patrolled the area, but hadn’t come up with anything yet. The cops were there now, keeping the ever-growing crowd from getting too close while the firefighters did their job.
“We’ve got ourselves a fire bug.”
“Looks that way.” Brody hated to admit it, but Wiley was right. That meant they could expect more fires in the future. He took another drink of water and relished the cool liquid flowing down his throat. Liquor and tea were his favorite drinks, but, man, nothing felt better than cool water after fighting a fire.
“Hey. Who’s that?”
Brody followed his brother’s gesture and squinted. The flash of red along with a golden twist of long blonde hair caught his attention. “How the hell?”
They glanced at each other, then both of them strode toward the far side of the house.
“I thought you said it was empty.”
Brody picked up speed. “I did. It was.”
“Then how the hell did she get that close?”
He picked up more speed, going into a trot. “Ask the cops. They’re supposed to keep people back.”
They’d turned the corner, then paused to scan the area in back of the house. More houses dotted the street with trees lining the area across from them.
Another flash of red caught his eye. He took off running, heavy boots and all, with Wiley keeping by his side. By the time they’d made it to the middle of the street, the person had disappeared into the trees. Brody paused for a second, then took off again.
“Bro, forget it. She’s long gone.”
But he wasn’t about to give up. Not yet. He threw his body through the low-lying bushes and into the bank of trees, then almost fell into a small clearing under the canopy of leaves. Once more, he stopped and scanned the area.
Damn it.
Puffing, he bent over and grabbed his knees, then let out a curse, angry that he hadn’t caught up with her.
The noise of bushes rustling to his left had him straightening up. He narrowed his eyes and wondered if he was imagining the vision.
The sight was there and gone in the next instant, but he’d caught enough of it to know for sure. First, it was definitely a woman. Second, she had blonde hair that was poking out from underneath a red hood. Third, she was frightened. Her eyes were round and big and filled with fear. But most of all, she was beautiful, with the face of an angel and clear blue eyes that could capture a man’s heart with a single look.
“Brody! Where the hell are you?”
He only had that instant to see her, and then she was gone as though she’d never existed.
Wiley burst through the underbrush, catching him before he could follow her. “Fuck, man, let her go. We don’t know that she’s anything other than a spectator.”
He yanked his arm out of his brother’s hold. “I saw her face. Only for a moment, but it was enough. She was scared.”
“That doesn’t make her a fire bug.” Wiley pivoted back the way he’d come. “We need to get going. The others are wrapping things up.”
He didn’t want to. Instead, he wanted to shirk off his gear and take out after her. “We can still catch her. She’s wearing a red slicker with a hood.”
“What are you going to do if you do find her?”
“Question her. Hell, I don’t know.” Wiley was right. He was acting like a hound dog on a cold trail, going around in circles trying to pick up a scent that was long gone. “Yeah. You’re probably right.”
“Aren’t I always?”
He didn’t have much of a choice except to follow his brother back to the house and his buddies. Yet every so often, he’d stop then twist around fast, hoping to catch her peeking at him from the tree line.
* * * *
Michelle Rossin hurried back to her car parked two streets away. She’d tugged off her red rain slicker, turning it inside out so that the cream lining showed, then wadded it into a ball. Once at her car, she threw the slicker in the back seat, then crawled behind the wheel. Her hands shook as she placed them on the steering wheel.
They’d seen her. She’d gotten foolish, sneaking past the police line, and getting too close to the house. But she’d had to see. Had to find out if anyone had gotten hurt. Or worse.
She had to be more careful. Two fire fighters had seen her. Then when they’d chased her, she’d thought that they’d give up well before she got to the trees. But one of them had gotten close, real close. She’d had to stop to catch her breath, and hadn’t expected him to chase her that far. If she hadn’t stepped into the brush surrounding the small clearing a moment sooner, he would’ve come out right up on top of her as he barreled through the trees.
Then she’d lost her balance and fallen against a bush, making the noise that had caught his attention. Even now, her stomach clenched. How stupid could she get?
She’d started to turn and run when his gaze had locked onto hers, freezing her to the spot. Dark brown eyes had narrowed, sweeping into her like the cold wind of a winter night. She’d held her breath, her mind going blank, her heart pounding against her chest so loudly she was sure he could hear it. Her mouth had gone dry and her legs, already tired from the race, had threatened to buckle.
She might have stayed that way if she hadn’t heard the second fireman coming. When the first one had finally broken his invisible hold on her, she’d jerked back to awareness and had run for her life.
Her movement had started her brain to function again, sending it spinning with questions.
How could such a large man carrying so much weight in fireman’s gear have caught up with her so fast? Why had he chased her instead of calling out to the police? What would’ve happened if he’d caught her?
He’d been huge, built like a truck, his massive size made even more overwhelming by his firefighting attire. How close had he gotten? She hadn’t heard him, but she hadn’t dared to look behind her, instead she’d kept imagining his large hands closing around her arm.
She turned the steering wheel loose and clasped her hands in her lap. Until she calmed down, she’d have to sit in the car and hope no one found her.
Another house. Another fire.
How much more could she take?
And now, getting caught near the house by a firefighter? He’d seen her face as surely as she’d seen his. Would he report her to the police? If so, would they have a police artist do a sketch of her? Would someone recognize her if they made the sketch public? She’d been careful the last time, showing up at the house as the firefighters had finished doing their job. But she hadn’t gotten that close to the last place. Instead, she’d listened in, picking up as much information as she could.
How much did they know? Did they have any leads? Were they getting closer?
She jumped, startled by the sound of her phon
e ringing. Snatching it off the passenger seat, she closed her eyes and steadied her nerves as much as was possible, then opened her eyes again and answered the call.
Smile. It’ll come through over the phone.
Yet would a fake smile do the same thing?
“Michelle here.”
“Michelle, are you on your way?”
The tension that had eased only a little ricocheted, coming back even stronger. “Is something wrong, Elbert?”
Elbert Linkin was the director of the Linkin Hope House for Young Men where she worked as an unlicensed counselor, as well as doing every other job that had to get done. If a toilet needed cleaning, then she’d grab the cleanser and get after it. If a child needed someone to talk to, then she’d lend an ear and try to give him sound advice.
Elbert was a former football player whose leg injury had ended his career early. Yet although he’d had the money to invest in any business he liked, he’d taken his million-dollar earnings, along with money from other philanthropist investors, and had opened Hope House. He was determined to make a difference in the lives of troubled young men. He’d already made a difference in her life by hiring her when she’d found herself unemployed after working since college for a realty company. She was still working on her psychology degree one course at a time, and the job she had at Hope House would give her invaluable experience.
“Elbert?” He’d paused far too long.
“It’s Curt.”
Curt Henders was a difficult case. A tall, lean-to-the-point-of-bony kid, he’d come to the home a few months earlier. His brown hair had been long and shaggy, earning him giggles from some of the other children, but he’d ignored them. From what little information the authorities had gathered, he’d suffered through a lot worse than getting ridiculed. But it was his eyes that had torn out her heart. She’d never seen anyone with such sad eyes. Eyes that had seen all too much in his short fifteen years.
