Torch: The Wildwood Series

by Karen Erickson

  “Exactly.” Delilah nodded in agreement. “But Tate? He may act cocky sometimes. And he knows he’s gorgeous. But he’s a man who takes care of his own. He’s a freaking hero every single day that he goes to work. And it sounds like he’s a total goner for you. Why would you want to be with anyone else when you could be with Tate?”

  Wren couldn’t help but totally agree.

  THE STATION PHONE rang, startling Tate out of his stupor. Three days into his four-day shift and it had been nonstop. The tourists were out in droves, and they were reckless as hell. He’d been on countless medical aid calls, wellness checks, and the occasional fire, all of them small and easy to put out, thank God. But he was exhausted. They all were.

  Hence they were all indulging in a little siesta time after lunch. They’d gone on a middle-of-the-night call and didn’t stumble back into the station until around four in the morning. He’d been dozing in his bed, his thoughts full of a naked Wren, when the annoying shrill of the phone ringing busted through his pleasant dreams.

  He ran out into the hall and answered the phone, hoping everyone else was at least still napping.

  “It was arson,” Josh said as greeting. “It’s been confirmed.”

  Tate frowned, his exhausted brain not fully computing. “What was arson?”

  “The house fire at Wren Gallagher’s residence. I was wrong. It wasn’t caused accidentally.” It sounded like it took a lot for ol’ grumpy Bailey to just admit that he was wrong. Lucky for him, Tate wasn’t in the mood to rub his face in it. “The same accelerant used to cause the other fires was also used at her residence.”

  Dread pooled in the pit of Tate’s stomach, and he swallowed hard. “So what do you think? Was this something personal or what?”

  “I don’t know what to think or if Wren was targeted,” Josh started, but Tate interrupted him.

  “Of course she was targeted. Why else would her house be the only residential structure that was included in our arsonist’s so-called ‘projects’?” Tate ran a hand through his hair and looked around the empty hallway, feeling helpless. Damn it, he wanted to rush home to Wren right now and hold her in his arms. Protect her from whoever was after her. What if the asshole was still after her? “Do you think she’s being followed?”

  “I don’t know. I doubt it, but I already talked to Lane Gallagher, and he’s on it.” Josh’s voice was grim. “He’s going to put a tag on her, which will probably be himself. See if someone could potentially be following her.”

  “Christ.” Tate closed his eyes for a brief moment and pressed his forehead against the wall. He couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to harm Wren. She was a good girl. Solid and smart and kind to everyone—except for him, but that was when she believed he was a player. “This is all sorts of fucked up.”

  “Tell me about it,” Josh muttered. “There have been no more new leads and no more new fires since Wren’s. I don’t know if he got scared because of the totality of the house fire or if he’s just . . . given up.”

  “Keep dreaming. He hasn’t given up. I think he’s far from finished,” Tate said, pushing away from the wall and accidentally getting wound up in the telephone cord. Damn phone was older than he was, but the state of California refused to replace it. Besides, even he could grudgingly admit it still worked just fine. “More like he’s quietly biding his time while planning his next move.”

  And if the arsonist’s next move included Wren . . .

  Tate frowned. If her life was in danger, if something happened to her, he’d never forgive himself. Ever.

  “If that’s the case, she’s in safe hands, what with her family and who they are,” Josh said. “Maybe she should move back in with her parents. At least her dad is there all the time.”

  Tate remained quiet. Her father had been the idol of pretty much every firefighter in the ranger unit, especially about fifteen, twenty years ago. Until he became a no-good, cheating bastard who drank too much and ignored his wife and kids. He retired early, went out on disability, and spent his days sulking, drinking, or fishing.

  “She’s at my place,” Tate finally said. “She’s safe there.” He wanted her nowhere else. Hell, he wanted to leave work early so he could go see her. Make sure she was okay.

  “But you’re at the station most of the time. Lane can’t follow her around twenty-four/seven,” Josh pointed out.

  “And her dad can’t keep tabs on her every hour of the day either. She’s not stupid. She’ll keep herself safe. Plus she’d notice anything suspicious, especially once we tell her what’s going on.”

  Josh breathed deep. “See, that’s the thing. Her brothers don’t want us telling her what’s going on.”

  “Say what?” Tate lowered his voice, hoping he hadn’t woken anyone. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “I’m not. Lane and West both asked that I specifically not tell her the cause of the fire was arson,” Josh said.

  “That’s ridiculous. I already told her I thought it was arson. She needs to know. Maybe she saw something, or maybe she will see something.” Hell. Her brothers were just trying to protect her, but she deserved to know. She wasn’t a little girl they needed to take care of anymore. Her life could potentially be in danger, and her big brothers wanted to keep her in the dark? That was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard. “I’m going to tell her.”

  “Don’t you fucking dare,” Josh said, sounding worried. He was probably afraid of a Gallagher tag-team ass kicking. Tate really couldn’t blame him, but still. This was some straight-up bullshit. “Just . . . not yet. Give them a few days to cool down. Then you can talk some sense into their heads and get them to see your reasoning. I’m on your side with this one,” he grudgingly admitted. “She deserves to know what’s going on. She could possibly help us find the arsonist.”

  “Right.” Tate sighed, the sound ragged. He didn’t want to agree to this. It went against everything he believed in. “Fine. I’ll keep my lips shut. But I’m off in a little over twenty-four hours. If no one has told her yet, I will. Swear to God. I’m not going to keep her in the dark about this. It’s too dangerous to keep from her.”

  “I get it. I do, and I agree. Go talk to West and Lane. Convince them that they need to tell her what’s up. She’ll figure out something is weird if she spots Lane following her all the time anyway. He’s just some small-time cop. How stealthy can he be?”

  Tate would’ve laughed any other time over Josh insulting Lane. The arson investigator didn’t like the Gallagher brothers, and the feeling was mutual. Even Holden thought Josh was an asshole, and he was rarely around the guy. But those Gallaghers held strong together. They took care of their own—sometimes to the point of overdoing it.

  ONCE TATE ENDED the call with Josh, he knew his nap time was over. He went outside to call Wren on his cell, needing to hear her voice and reassure himself that she was okay.

  “Hey, you,” she answered, sounding shy. It was obvious she still wasn’t sure how to treat him after they’d had sex. Her uncertainty was cute.

  “What’s up, Dove?” She sighed irritably at his nickname, and he smiled. “You should be glad Woodpecker didn’t stick.”

  “I wish none of them had stuck,” she said, but he didn’t believe her. Deep down inside, he knew she was a fan of Dove. Of all of the bird nicknames, even Woodpecker. “How are you?”

  “I’m good.” He paused. “How are you? What’s new?”

  She told him about hanging out with Delilah and Harper—and how she told her friends about what happened between them. “But I didn’t give them all the dirty details,” she rushed to add. “Just that we . . . you know.”

  “Banged all night long?” he supplied for her.

  “Right.” She laughed. “You make it sound so seedy.”

  “Okay. We made love till morning light?”

  More laughter, and the sound made his chest tighten. Damn, this girl. She had a way of changing his mood for the better no matter what. “That’s cheesy.”

  �
��I give up. You describe it.”

  “You want me to . . . what?”

  “If we didn’t bang, and we didn’t make love, then what was it?” Now he was just egging her on, trying to make her squirm.

  He had a feeling it was working too.

  “We . . . had sex,” she said, her voice small.

  “Oh, come on, Wren. I know you can get more creative than that.”

  “Um, we messed around?”

  “Try again.”

  “You went down on me?”

  Okay. That worked. “Don’t forget I finger-fucked you too.”

  “Tate.” She said his name like she wanted him to keep his voice down.

  “Wren.”

  “You’re incorrigible.”

  “That’s my most endearing trait.”

  A wistful sigh escaped her, the sound going straight to his dick. “Maybe.”

  “We also fucked,” he reminded her. “That night. We fucked a lot.”

  “That word is so crude.”

  “What word? Fucking? I like it.”

  “I can tell,” she retorted.

  “Say it for me, Dove.”

  “What?” she practically shrieked. Now it was his turn to chuckle.

  “Say the word. I want to hear it come from your delectable lips.”

  “You think my lips are delectable?”

  “I think every single thing about you is delectable.” That was the 100 percent truth.

  “Aw, you’re too sweet.” She hesitated. “And you’re right. We definitely—fucked a lot that night.”

  “Ah, there you go.” If they kept this up, he would end up with a boner tenting the front of his uniform pants. And that wouldn’t be cool considering he was in a station full of mostly guys. “It sounds hot coming from you, baby.”

  “I like it when you call me baby,” she admitted in a whisper.

  “Well, I’ll call you baby while I fuck you all night long, okay? Hold on to that thought.”

  “Are we having phone sex, Tate?”

  “Not quite.” He chuckled, knew that she was kidding with him. “But if you want to, I’m down.”

  “You’re down for anything.”

  “You’re damn right.” He heard a door slam and turned to see some of the firefighters emerge outside, all of them blinking against the bright sunlight. “Gotta go. The troops are rising from their siesta.”

  “Ah, nap time. I hope you got some sleep.”

  Guilt crept over him when he remembered what woke him up from his nap—and how he couldn’t tell her. But he would. Soon he planned on telling her everything. “A little bit. Hopefully we’ll have an uneventful night, and I can actually have uninterrupted sleep.”

  “Is that what you’re looking forward to when you come home? An uneventful night?” she teased.

  “With you naked in my bed, baby? It’s going to be the most eventful night of fucking you’ve ever experienced,” he said confidently.

  “You promise?”

  “I fucking guarantee it.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  WREN DROVE OVER to the BFD after calling in her order, feeling guilty for not making a healthy dinner. She’d copped out by buying a cheeseburger and fry basket to go instead. But screw it. She went jogging with Delilah earlier this morning—big mistake. Delilah ran her into the ground. The girl was beyond fit and had endless stamina. After their exhausting run, when Wren had been gasping and ready to collapse onto the ground, she’d told Delilah her brother must be a lucky man to have her in his life.

  Delilah only smiled mysteriously in answer—which was enough of an answer for Wren. She didn’t like to think of her friend and her brother getting freaky together, and she had to multiply that by two considering Harper and West were also getting freaky with each other. It sucked because her friends’ new boyfriends, a.k.a. her brothers, took all the sex talk out of their friendship equation.

  Which was why both of her friends were so eager to hear details about her and Tate. Since Wren refused to talk about their sex lives—ew, she didn’t want to hear sexual escapades involving West or Lane—they wanted to hear all about her and Tate.

  They hounded her with questions every chance they got. And considering they’d known about the sex thing for only the last, hmm . . . forty-eight hours or so? It was amazing just how much they’d bombarded her with endless digs and comments, curious questions, and sexual innuendo.

  But she soaked it all up, secretly enjoying it. When was the last time she had juicy tidbits to share? Oh, she didn’t tell them everything. No way could she reveal Tate’s penis size—large. Or that particular trick he did with his tongue on her . . .

  Hmm. Her skin grew hot just thinking about that tongue trick.

  As she pulled into the Bigfoot Diner parking lot, she glanced in her rearview mirror just in time to see a dark sedan enter the lot behind her. She frowned, watching it pull into a spot at the far end of the lot, then turned her engine off. She swore that same car had been following her earlier, when she drove back to Tate’s from the dance studio. If it wasn’t that exact car, it was an eerily similar one.

  Weird.

  She exited her car and went into the restaurant, waving a greeting at Harper’s grandma, who was behind the counter cutting a piece of peach pie for one of the longtime residents of Wildwood. He was an old grumpy dude who came into the BFD practically every day, and Harper insisted he was hot for her grandma.

  Most of the older single men in Wildwood were hot for Harper’s grandma, so this didn’t surprise Wren at all.

  She paid for her meal at the hostess stand, grabbed the to-go sack, and bounded out of the diner, practically running to her car. She was eager to get home so she could eat. Her stomach growled at the aroma coming from the paper bag, and she recalled that she’d skipped lunch after feeling guilty for eating two chocolate doughnuts before her run with Delilah.

  Yeah. She needed to reevaluate her eating habits—they sucked, and she wasn’t getting any younger. She had a high metabolism now, but that could all go to hell by the time she was thirty. Maybe Tate could help her with that. He was in excellent shape, with abs that made her feel like a lesser human being. And while normally that would give her a major hang-up, right now she was reveling in it because, damn it, those were her abs to explore and touch with her hands and lips and tongue.

  Smiling, she drove back to Tate’s house with the radio cranked up, singing as loud as she could to the latest summer hit. There was always one song people could count on to remind them of a particular summer, and this year was no exception. Every time she heard the song, she thought of Tate. Not of her house burning down or her friends giving her grief or her worry over her future and how tempted she’d been by that crazy offer from Levi . . .

  Funny, how she never heard from him again after that long coffee date, which had happened days ago. He was probably back in San Francisco by now. Good riddance. This was the summer of Tate, not Levi.

  Just thinking about Tate made her stomach flutter. His naughty smile every time he called her by a different bird nickname. The glow in his eyes when he’d stared at her that night in his hallway, just before he kissed her for the first time. Oh, and how he kissed, so thoroughly obliterating her brain cells until she was nothing but a boneless heap slumped against a wall. He was a master orgasm provider too. She’d come three times that night—or had it been four? Yeah, four times, good grief. A girl would be stupid to let go of a man who had a record like that. Though he had other redeeming qualities too . . .

  Plenty of them. Too many to mention. She just flat out liked the man. Liked the way he made her feel, and that was important. Levi had always made her feel like she was second best. The other men she’d dated in the past had done much the same, putting their jobs and themselves ahead of her every single time.

  Not Tate. He seemed focused on only her. He had a job that he was passionate about, but he was passionate about her too. And that was heady stuff.

  She pulled into Tate
’s driveway and cut the engine, climbing out of the car with the paper bag from the BFD clutched tightly in her fingers. It was already starting to get dark. Tate would come home tomorrow. She’d been on the phone with him earlier, and they ended up talking for over an hour, planning what they’d do once he was off for three days—it sounded like all he wanted was her. In bed. Naked.

  She was fine with that.

  Smiling to herself, she hit the keyless remote to lock her car and headed for the front door, a little thrill zipping down her spine as her fingers slid over the key to Tate’s house. She was being silly, thinking it meant something that they lived together, when really he was just being a friend at the time he offered, but still. They were living together. And even though the plan was that she would be there for only a short while, they were getting along—rather well was probably an understatement.

  She understood the life of being with a firefighter. She’d grown up the daughter of one; she knew what their hectic schedules were like. If they could make this work and turn it into something real . . .

  The sound of a car approaching made her pause in the middle of the walkway, and she turned toward the street, waiting for the car to pass, curious to check it out. Tate lived in a cul-de-sac, and not many cars drove down the short road beyond the few neighbors he had. When she saw that it was the same dark sedan from earlier at the BFD, everything inside her went cold.

  And then everything went into motion.

  Wren darted for the front door, practically tripping over her feet as she flew up the porch’s short steps. Her hands shaking, she tried to stick the key into the front door and missed, cursing under her breath as she glanced over her shoulder. Damn it, she just wanted to get inside and call 911. Or maybe she should call Lane directly? He’d probably get there faster. Was he on duty tonight? God, she had no idea, though she used to keep track of his schedule. Why, she wasn’t sure.

  Stop thinking about stupid shit, and get inside!

  She leaned against the door and slipped the key into the dead bolt and turned it, feeling it give a little under her weight. She shoved the door open and slipped inside, slamming the door and turning the lock with satisfying brute force. Dropping the bag of food on the coffee table, she grabbed her phone out of her purse and dialed Lane’s number. Going to the window, she peeked through the edge of the curtain to watch as the sedan sat idling in front of Tate’s house. The engine shut off, as did the lights at the precise moment Lane answered her call.