by A. R. Barley
If he was forcibly moved because the brass thought the firehouse had gone bad, the next place wouldn’t be as welcoming.
They might work with him, but they’d never accept him as one of their own.
He wasn’t the only one who’d lose out either. Tito had stuck his neck out for Diesel, working hard to get his transfer approved.
Diesel forced down the twinge deep in his belly. Jack was a good captain. Everyone in the firehouse liked him. He gave sensible orders and looked after his men, the same way he’d looked after Diesel at the bar. Of course, according to Tito he didn’t usually take the guys out for coffee and cheesy novels afterward.
That made Diesel special.
He didn’t want to be special, but that hadn’t stopped him from gravitating to the captain on more than one occasion since their coffee klatch.
And then they’d walked into that building together. It had felt so damn good working with someone he actually liked again. He’d been part of a team. Jack had smiled at him, trusting him to follow orders without double-checking.
Jack had trusted him with the radios too.
Air filled Diesel’s lungs, allowing his chest to expand. He wasn’t about to let Jack down. Not today. Not while they were both still breathing.
He just needed to think through the problem. He wasn’t an engineer, but neither was anyone else in the firehouse. If he was going to arrange for a pair of radios to crap out in the middle of a fire, what would be his first step?
It took him a full thirty seconds to fumble open the back of the radio, dumping a pair of batteries out into his hand. They were mismatched. Two different colors. Two different brands. That couldn’t be right. His hands were shaking. It took him longer to open the second radio. More batteries. These ones were older with corroded terminals.
It meant something.
“Those aren’t the batteries we use,” Jack said.
“You sure?”
“Our batteries are bought in bulk. I’ve got a whole case of them somewhere at the firehouse. These aren’t them. They must have switched out the good batteries for ones that were already on the fritz.”
“Maybe it’s just a prankster?” Diesel suggested. “I mean, they didn’t permanently damage the radios.”
“If so, he’s got an awful sense of humor.”
A firefighter was only as good as three things: his muscle, his team, and his equipment. At least that’s what Diesel’s father used to say when he’d had a little too much to drink. Without their radios, they could have been stuck at the top of an office building. They could have died.
Jack could have died.
Diesel was suddenly all too aware of how close they were sitting. Their feet were touching. Their knees were rubbing against each other. When the waitress dropped off a platter of chips and salsa, they both reached out at the same time and their fingers touched.
A flash of pale hair caught Diesel’s eye. Chase? He jerked his head to the side, searching the crowd. He could make out one or two blonds, but he didn’t see his mealymouthed ex. “What are you going to do?”
“What do you think I should do?”
“I dunno.” He grabbed a handful of chips and stuffed them in his mouth, buying himself more time to think. “Find the guy.” All the salt made his throat dry and his voice quiet. He swallowed hard and repeated himself. “You need to find the guy. If you find him yourself—without the rest of the department looking over your shoulder—then they won’t be able to blame you for what’s going on. They’ll let you retire easy.”
It still blew his mind that Jack was old enough to be thinking about retirement. He wasn’t normally attracted to older men. Chase had only been thirty, but Jack had a steadiness about him that he found appealing.
“And if I deserve to be blamed?” Jack asked, and it was a serious question like he actually cared about Diesel’s answer. “If I’d caught what was happening earlier, maybe I could have done something.”
It felt good to be consulted, like his opinion actually mattered. “Maybe you should ask someone else—Troy seems pretty smart—but the way I figure it, the only person who deserves the blame is the asshole who switched out our batteries.”
“You haven’t been around long enough to know that.” The food hit the table between them and Jack wrapped his hands around an oversize steak burrito. “Is that the same advice you’d give your old captain?”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“He wouldn’t ask.” Diesel picked at his food. “He’s my cousin, you know? But, he’s older than me. He’s always treated me like a fuckup kid brother, cleaning up after my messes. If he got in trouble he’d talk to one of my uncles, maybe my cousin Bertie, he wouldn’t bother asking my opinion.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Are you a fuckup?”
“I’ve made my share of mistakes.” Dating Chase was top of the list in bold print. If he asked Peter, his cousin would probably be able to reel off a dozen others.
Diesel turned in his seat and searched the crowd a second time, but he didn’t see anything. No blond hair. No prying eyes. Maybe he was imagining things, but that didn’t stop the hair from standing up on the back of his neck like he was being watched. “I fell for the wrong guy.”
“And?” Jack snorted. “If we’re comparing relationship drama, we’re going to be here all night.”
“No shit?” Diesel couldn’t imagine Jack ever making a mistake. He was just too certain about everything he did.
“I’ve got two ex-wives. That means I’m not in a position to judge anyone.”
Okay, so maybe Jack wasn’t as in control as he seemed. Maybe it was just the veneer of the job rubbing off on him. Diesel smiled. He liked the idea that the captain was as capable of making mistakes as anyone else. “How do you convince two different women to marry you?”
“Fuck if I know.” Jack chuckled. “Maybe I’ve got a magic dick. Maybe I’m just that charming. They liked me well enough when we got together.”
“And when you got divorced?”
“They liked me then too.” He was still friends with both of his ex-wives, even if Mona was the only one he talked to on a daily basis. “Mostly, they didn’t like the job. Being married to a firefighter’s great until it means long shifts and late nights alone.”
“Is that why you’re so damn desperate to retire?”
“Back when I was working the line with the other guys, I always swore I’d die with my boots on. Now...” He shrugged. “The sooner I can stop doing the paperwork, the better.”
“You might be old, but you’re still sexy.” Damn. Why the hell had he said that? Diesel flinched as soon as the words hit the air. Jack might not be a bigot, but he wasn’t gay either. He’d been married twice to two different women. No telling how he’d react to a man telling him he was sexy. Any minute now he’d start yelling. Any minute—
Underneath the table his heel hooked around Diesel’s, bringing them even closer together. It was probably an accident. Diesel looked up straight into piercing blue eyes and a shit-eating grin. Jack’s tongue swiped across his kissable bottom lip. “Good to know I’ve still got it.”
Okay, maybe he wasn’t completely straight.
Diesel flushed as heat bubbled up from low in his belly. Blood half filled his erection, and when was the last time it had done that for anything less than full body contact? He didn’t know what he should say next. Luckily, the food provided a good distraction. It was hot and yummy and filling.
Jack must have picked up on some of his unease because when the food was gone, he was back to business. “The easiest way to find the guy would be to catch him in the act. That means watching the equipment lockers.” He considered their options for a long minute. “My office has a pretty good view.”
It was a decent plan. Sort of. “We’ll need help,” Diesel said. “
Unless you think we can cover the office twenty-four seven.”
“It might not be necessary,” Jack said. “All the problems you found were on our shift, right?”
“Yes, boss.”
“Then maybe we just need to keep an eye on our shift.” He straightened. “I mean, covering it twenty-four seven would be hard anyway. I’ll get a couple of video cameras and set them up. I can review them in the morning, see if anything happened overnight, but I want to watch our shift in real time. If we can catch this guy in the act it’ll help work it out, but we’ll still need help. Troy is pretty damn straight edge. I’d trust him to take us through a firefight. I’m pretty sure he can help watch a window. We’ll need at least one other person—”
“Tito.”
“Because the two of you were such good buddies in Atlantic City?” Jack shook his head. “Alvarez is an okay guy, but he was late three times last week. He’s not exactly a rock. What about Theo Wilkes?”
“Tito’s trustworthy where it counts.”
“You think so?”
And there it was again, Jack had asked him a question and now he was waiting for the answer. Like it mattered. Like Diesel mattered. Did he really think Tito was trustworthy? Diesel’s teeth dug into his bottom lip as he considered all the information.
Tito was a good friend. They’d been buddies back in Atlantic City, sort of. He was a better firefighter. He might not always be on time—he definitely cared more about his family than his work—but when the chips were down Diesel couldn’t think of anyone he’d rather have at his back.
“I’d trust him with my life,” Diesel said. “I’d trust him with yours.”
“Then I’ll talk to him and Troy in the morning.”
“You’re really going to trust Tito on my say-so?”
“Pretty much.”
“Why? I mean...” Their waitress dropped off the bill along with a pointed look. She needed to turn the table over. That meant they needed to pay and get out. “What if I’m the one messing with the equipment?”
“Not very smart, giving yourself a busted radio.”
“Maybe I’m not smart.”
“You’re smarter than you think. You don’t miss much—”
“I miss plenty. That cop was right the other night. Back in Atlantic City—”
“Unless there’s a warrant out for your arrest, I don’t care about Atlantic City. You’ve done good work in New York. You got to the firehouse after the equipment problems started.” Jack looked at him for a long moment. “And, I’ve got a good feeling about you.”
“A good feeling?”
“Yeah.” He reached out and threaded their fingers together. “A really good feeling.”
The hand holding was small enough to possibly be mistaken for friendly, but it was freaking intimate. The rough callused edge of his thumb scraped against the tender skin at Diesel’s wrist, and—
Hoo boy.
Anywhere else in the country the table between them would be at least eight inches wider, but this was New York City and space was at a premium. They were so damn close. If Diesel leaned forward, they’d be kissing.
Blond hair flashed in the back of the restaurant. A tall man with platinum hair moving in their direction. Diesel wasn’t imagining things this time. He swallowed hard, retreating down as far as he could go in his seat. Blood rushed past his ears providing a thudding like antique drums.
Oh, God. Oh, God.
Jack frowned. “Is it a panic attack?”
“I’m fine,” Diesel lied. “I just think I see someone I know.”
The blond got closer. The light shifted. Platinum turned into honey. Familiar sharp features rounded out, becoming soft and young. It wasn’t Chase.
“It’s nothing.” He forced himself to take a deep breath.
Chase was still a hundred and twenty-five miles away. The blond glaring in their direction was just a lanky teenager with fair hair, blue eyes, and an ugly tinge to his complexion.
He snorted when he saw their hands locked together. “Seriously?”
Then he walked away.
Diesel frowned as Jack dropped his wrist. Had he missed something? “Who was that?”
“My son.” Jack was up and running a second later, chasing after the teenager, leaving Diesel behind with more questions than answers and an unpaid bill.
Chapter Eight
They’d almost kissed in the Mexican restaurant.
They would have kissed if Eric hadn’t shown up, Jack was positive. Or close to. Sixty-five percent. Now, they were both on duty again and Diesel hadn’t looked his way except to check in that he’d communicated the plan to Troy and Tito. It should have been reassuring—the last thing Jack needed was to get involved with a subordinate. Instead he found it frustrating as hell.
At least Diesel was still following orders. Jack followed his movements even while he listened to the buzz and whirr of his radio—a working radio with extra batteries. They hadn’t been called out to anything larger than this four-car pileup all day. If the brass found out he was traveling with the truck instead of stuck up in his office filling out paperwork then they’d be pissed.
It didn’t matter.
Someone was messing with his team’s equipment, which meant no one was going out in the field without oversight. At least on first shift. He’d double-checked the records and consulted with the lieutenants who oversaw the other two rosters. Both of them had expressed worry, but neither of them had seen any uptick in equipment failures on their watch.
For the moment, he was taking them at their word.
Diesel slowed as he reached the first car, but there was nothing tentative about his approach. He yanked open a door, ducking his head inside. The occupants must have gotten out before the firetruck arrived because he kept moving.
He slowed as he approached the second car, a blue sedan that looked like a crushed tin can. He had to bend awkwardly to get his shoulders through the window, but a moment later he was standing and signaling.
“They’re going to be here any minute.”
“I need them now.” Diesel was firm.
Jack was already moving. He might not be as useful as a full bus with equipment and personnel, but he’d stabilized his fair share of accident victims. Diesel’s hand dropped. He hadn’t turned off his radio, and his breath was coming fast. Shit. Had something gone wrong? There shouldn’t have been an opportunity for anything to malfunction.
His boots splashed in puddles left over from the morning’s rain. The air was heavy with the acrid scent of burnt plastic. The closer he got, the more it hurt to breathe. Something was still on fire, even if he couldn’t see it.
They needed to stabilize the person in the car and get out of there, fast. “What’ve we got? Evers, report.”
“Two adults in the front seats. The passenger is unconscious. The driver—” Diesel swallowed hard. “There’s a kid in the back. He’s alert.”
That explained the hesitancy in Diesel’s voice. If one of the adults was seriously hurt or—worse—dead then he didn’t want to worry the kid. It was a kindness and one Jack wasn’t used to in a department full of men who prided themselves on their bluntness.
When he got to the car, he scooted around to the driver’s side, easing open the front door. Damn. There was so much blood. It clung to the ceiling and radiated out from a crack in the windshield. The man in the driver’s seat was tall and oversize with muscles that had run to fat. His body was positioned awkwardly over the air bag. The damage to his head matched the damage to the glass.
The way his neck was twisted, Jack didn’t bother checking his pulse.
He was dead.
On the other side of the car, Diesel was putting pressure on the passenger’s wounds. Her eyes had opened and she was struggling against his grip. “Don’t move your head,” he told her. “I kn
ow it’s scary, but I need you to keep your head still until we can get you checked out by the paramedics.”
It was good advice. Jack just didn’t know if it would be possible. He moved to the rear door, yanking it open to look at the kid crying quietly in the back seat. He was lanky with fluffy brown hair. A couple of years earlier he might have been out of his safety seat already, bouncing around in the back of the car with only a belt to keep him safe. Thank God for improved safety regulations and a six-point harness.
He looked fine.
That didn’t mean Jack was taking any chances. “Hi, dude.” He kept his voice low and calm. “What’s your name?”
The boy’s mouth wrinkled up. His head darted to the side like he didn’t know whether or not he was supposed to answer.
“Jack,” his mom wheezed from the front seat. “His name’s Jack.”
“That’s my name too,” Jack said. “My mom always called me Jackie when I was a kid. Can I call you Jackie? That way we won’t get mixed up.”
“It’s Jack,” the kid said between tears.
“All right then, how about you call me Jackie.” He held out a finger. “How old are you, Jack?”
“Four.”
“That’s a good age. I remember when my son was four. He was into dinosaurs. Do you like dinosaurs?” The kid’s head bobbed up and down. “Good. Good. I never remember, what’s the dinosaur with the really long neck?”
“Brachiosaurus.”
“Great.” He asked a couple more dinosaur questions before moving on to the more basic mental assessments, double-checking that the kid knew his own phone number and address. The car crash meant the kid was going to get checked out by a doctor, but if his responses were anything to go by, he was going to be A-okay. “All right, buddy, does anything hurt?”
“My name is Jack.” He stuck out his chin defiantly.
In the front seat, Diesel was going through the same sort of tests with the kid’s mom. Her name was Anne Marie, she was twenty-seven years old, and she couldn’t remember the address of their home in North Carolina even though Jack had said it a couple of minutes earlier. Not good. She’d definitely experienced some neurological damage.
