by Emily Bishop
I don’t have an answer for her. I take a breath, focusing on the fact that she is here, that she is out of harm’s way even if for a moment. I know that I won’t be able to stop her. Up until now, I never have, have I?
“I know you’re determined. The information you have isn’t enough for the cops to investigate, and even if it is, you’re set on keeping that promise to Chantel, so that option is out. There is no safe option for you tonight, which is why you should bide your time and not go.”
“Are we seriously going to argue about this again? Isaac, I’m going to go. You can come with me if you want. In fact, I want you to, if you’re willing, but don’t try to stop me. It’s not going to work. By now you should know that.”
“Damned if I don’t,” I mumble, annoyed.
“If I let this meeting happen without me, I’m just giving them more time and ammo to scare me at every turn. That is no way to live my life. I will not be cowed into fear, not at my home, not at work, not anywhere. I will not!”
My temper rises, and I let it. She needs to know that this is a waste of time, not to mention an idiotic thing to do. “I’m telling you, this is a suicide mission! You think those men aren’t armed to the teeth? You think they won’t murder you in cold blood, or worse, torture you to death for their own amusement? There is no reason for you to do this, Scarlett!”
My voice is rising, and she steps closer, placing a hand on my arm. I’m breathing harder than I should be, and when I look into her eyes, she searches my own, trying to find something I’m not sure I’m ready to share.
“Why are you like this, Isaac? Why are you trying so hard to stop me from going? I can’t believe this is only about me. There has to be something else.”
Damn her reporter’s instinct. I inhale and release a jagged breath.
Can I her the truth? Maybe if I do, it will convince her to stay here with me, and we can find a more sensible solution to all of this. I take her hand and I guide her to my couch, where we sit side by side. She doesn’t release my hand, and I’m glad for it.
“A few years ago, I was in New York on a job. It was an apartment fire. The building was old, the wood blazing, and most of the place had been cleared out. As we were dousing the flames, I heard a woman’s scream from inside, and I ran in to go get her, even though the building was on the verge of collapsing.”
The memory surfaces from the deep dark place I’ve hidden it, and I hate to relive that day. I’m kidding myself though. I’ve relived that day every single day since. Some days are just easier to tolerate than others.
“I found them in an apartment on the second floor. They were huddled in a corner, a mother and her young daughter, screaming as they fought off the smoke. I plunged into the room and guided them to the door. As we reached the doorway, I could hear a crack. The mother shoved the child into my arms and pushed me out of the way before a beam fell down, separating us. I remember the child screaming, crying, and thrashing in my arms, and I called out for the woman but there was no answer.”
I choke on the words, hardly daring to relive the moment that destroyed my life, my happiness. Any sense of contentment I had once known.
“I lost her. The child lived but her mother was lost, and I lost her.”
I gaze at our joined hands, not daring to look into Scarlett’s eyes. I’m not going to cry. I’m not going to show the depth of my sorrow. I sit quietly as she absorbs this information. When she doesn’t respond, I continue, unable to stop.
“After that, I was never the same. For a while, when I got a call I would freeze, paralyzed, terrified of losing another person to the flames. My chief sent me to therapy and put me on leave for a while but I couldn’t get her screams out of my head. I couldn’t stop the nightmares. After a while, they went away but only if I kept my mind as busy as possible. I buried myself in my work and didn’t look up.”
I finally brave a look at Scarlett. Her lips are downturned, her eyes glistening sympathy. I hate that look. It’s the reason I never share this story.
“I told you that I had a rocky divorce. Kara was a good woman but I couldn’t be there for her in any real way after that day. I was a total wreck, and she hung in there with me as long as she could but in the end, we just couldn’t find a solution for us that worked.”
I release a breath, the worst of my story out in the open. Scarlett squeezes my hand but in true journalist fashion, she lets me tell my own story.
“I became obsessed with rescue after that. I lost everything – my wife, my home, my sanity. When a fire happened, I became reckless, but if it meant saving every last life, I was going to do it. If I hadn’t, you wouldn’t be sitting here either but my chief thinks that I take too many risks. After your rescue, he put me on leave, and I’ve been twiddling my thumbs ever since, left with nothing to do but sit here and hope you don’t get yourself killed every time you leave.”
She nods. “So, that’s why you’re so protective of me.”
“Yes,” I say, not bothering to hide the truth.
“Isaac, you are an amazing firefighter and an amazing human being. I’m so grateful for you on so many levels. I understand why you’re cautious but I need you now more than ever. You may not agree with me but help me! Help me take these monsters down, and then together we can find a way to bring normal back into our lives.”
I stare at her, considering her offer. She isn’t pitying me, which I’m glad for. She’s empowering me to help her, giving me a say in her own dangerous situation. Maybe with our minds melded together, we can find a way to make this work for us both.
“If I help you, do you promise to act as safely as possible?”
“Of course. I don’t want to die. I should think that’s obvious from the fact that I survived that fire. Survivors don’t give up.”
I grin. “You know, I never told you this, but when I found you, you had torn off a piece of your shirt to help you breathe, and you had managed to untie your hands before passing out. I know you don’t remember but you fought like hell.”
She smiles up at me. “Thanks for that. I’m glad to hear it. Now why don’t you and I make some plans together so we can do this our way?”
I take one more steadying breath, glad to have my sob story out of the way. She knows my deepest darkest secret, and all she wants to do is work together.
One thing is for sure: Scarlett Smith is one hell of a woman.
20
Scarlett
I find it difficult not to just wrap Isaac up in my arms for the rest of the day. His story sits heavily on my chest, his sadness pouring through me as I imagine the woman he left behind and all the sorrow that has plagued him ever since. I want to be there for him, to help him heal and move on, but the truth is we have bigger problems.
After some discussion, we decide to head out and get supplies.
“Jumping in and ambushing them isn’t the way to go. We need more information about these people. Knowledge is power. The more we know, the more we have to take them down in the smartest possible way.”
His dark eyes are beseeching, like he’s willing me to see reason. I nod, knowing that he’s right, even if I do want to pummel them head on. “I agree but what kind of stuff do we need?”
He lifts a skeptical eyebrow at me. Good God, even his eyebrows are hot. “You’re telling me that a journalist doesn’t know how to go about facilitating a stakeout?”
My lip twitches into the smallest smile as I cross my arms and lean back, staring back at him. “I’m a researcher, mostly, but I think I know enough to successfully accomplish this mission.”
“Good. Now why don’t we go gather some supplies while it’s still light out? We’ve got some time before they meet tonight.”
He stands then, holding a hand out for me to take, and I do, sliding my palm into his and relishing the sensation of it. When I stand, I don’t move away, instead facing him with our bodies close, the heat of him radiating straight through me.
I wonder if he’s going to ki
ss me, if he’ll press my body up against the wall one more time for a last free for all before we face the danger. Instead, he steps away, patting his leg for Buster to follow.
“Come on, pal. We’ve got some errands to run, and you need to get out.”
Buster wags his tail, the limb slapping against the nearby wall as his tongue lolls around with his panting. I’ve grown fond of Buster over the last week. He’s like one of those people you meet and feel like you’ve been friends forever, even if he is just a dog. He’s helped us out more than once, and I’m happy to have him along.
We bundle up and head a few blocks west until we find a hardware store. Isaac makes a few purchases – things to help us see in the dark without being noticeable. At the front, a few old school disposable cameras keep watch, and I smile at the man behind the register.
“Selling some old relics, huh?” I ask, and his eyes dart to the cameras before he laughs.
“Sometimes old fashioned isn’t so bad,” he says, and I consider that.
Having a camera that isn’t tied to a cloud might not be a bad idea. Before Isaac can pay, I toss two disposables on the counter with our other purchases, and the store owner rings them up. He bags everything before handing it all to Isaac, and we step back out into the frigid cold.
Isaac looks at his watch. We both turned our phones off, fully aware of the fact that we are both likely being tracked by now. We quickly realized that we had no other way to tell time. He looks up at me, and behind him, the sun sets beyond a city skyline.
“We’ve still got a couple of hours. What do you think about having a nice dinner, you know, before we toss ourselves in harm’s way?”
My stomach gurgles in support of this idea, and I nod, happy to get sustenance. I shouldn’t be hungry. My stomach should be in knots but it isn’t. A steadfast determination to get these motherfuckers and then perhaps have some dessert after dominates me. Maybe indulge in a little victory sex with Isaac once we’re done. Maybe have a little dessert on Isaac.
Yes, that sounds absolutely perfect.
We walk back to the apartment, Buster sniffing trees and suspicious wetness on the side of buildings as we go. Before we get there, Isaac has us stop in at a little market, and he purchases food for what looks to be a delicious Italian meal.
“I didn’t know you could cook,” I say.
He shrugs. “I imagine there is a lot you don’t know about me. You’d be surprised how many firemen have culinary leanings. We like to eat well when we’re waiting for a job.”
“We’ll see just how good you are in the kitchen,” I say, and my imagination runs wild.
It’s pretty hard not to. I cast a sideways glance at Isaac, and I have to crane my neck to look up at his strong jawline, his perfect bone structure. He is godlike, and the more I get to know him, the more I feel ready to tell him the truth of my own feelings.
Perhaps once this is all said and done, I can.
“Always challenging, aren’t you?” he asks with a gleam in his eye. He pays for the food and we finish the journey back home, climbing the stairs to his apartment. I don’t even bother to glance at my own doorway. Who wants to be there when I can enjoy a nice peaceful meal with the hottest man on Earth?
When we enter his apartment, Buster beelines for his water bowl before settling comfortably in his dog bed for a nap. I chuckle, glancing over at him as we make our way into the kitchen.
“Tough life, hey, bud?”
Buster lowers his head and closes his eyes, unperturbed by my comment. I slide onto a stool next to Isaac’s kitchen counter as he begins pulling ingredients out of bags and preparing the stove and oven for cooking.
“I’d love a glass of wine right about now but I know I shouldn’t,” I say wistfully, staring at his small wine rack, filled with a variety of bottles.
He nods. “Not a good idea. We need clear heads tonight for what we’re about to do.”
I sit and watch him in silence for a bit, thinking again about his story, and wanting to know more.
“Did you always want to be a firefighter?” I ask.
He shrugs a powerful shoulder as he pulls out some raw chicken and sets it on a pan to bake. “I did, yeah. My old man was one in New York. He was on call on 9/11.”
I swallow, waiting for the story to turn dark, as so many of those stories do.
“And?” I say when he doesn’t continue.
He looks back at me, realizing that he left me hanging. “Oh, he’s fine. He survived the day, saved as many people as he could but he was never the same after that. It was a day of horrors for a lot of people but he saw everything firsthand. That does something to a person.”
His eyes are dark and haunted, and I know he’s thinking about that woman and the little girl again.
What was her name?
“After that, the change in him changed me, too. I realized that the world needed help, and there weren’t enough people out there to provide it. I grew up wanting to help people, and seeing how my dad did it, taking on this job felt like a natural progression, the family business, you could say.”
I find the courage to ask the questions burning at the tip of my tongue. “What happened to the girl? The one that you saved?”
He looks down and says nothing, then looks at me. “She’s as fine as she can be, given the circumstances. I heard she was placed with an aunt, a close relative, and that she’s been in therapy. I didn’t get more information beyond that, though I do…” He hesitates, inhales, then plunges on. “I do contribute to a college fund I’ve created for her. I’ve been putting money in it ever since the accident. It makes me feel better about what happened, even if it won’t make up for what I couldn’t do. Her name is Penny.”
He tosses some angel hair pasta into boiling water, giving it a stir before he leans his elbows on the counter and looks up into my eyes. “What about you? Was your mother a writer?”
I laugh, taken aback at his fast topic change, though I can tell he’s ready to move on, and I allow it. “Hardly. She was a stay-at-home mom, actually. My dad worked odd jobs, finally settling in as a mail carrier. We didn’t have too much but we did all right.”
“You talk to them often?”
The question makes me uncomfortable. I’m reminded that I was nearly killed and hospitalized and my family still doesn’t know. I feel like a terrible daughter but I’m still struggling to remember why I backed away from them. Something to do with Gareth, I think. “Not as often as I should, no.”
“I noticed they weren’t there when you woke up, or when you were out for that matter.”
“I think you noticed that no one was there but you,” I counter.
He stands up once again, turning to stir the pasta. “I did notice that. I’m not sure why that is though. I think you’re pretty fantastic, Scarlett.”
My cheeks heat and I lift my cool fingertips to them, hoping to hide a little of my blush. “Yes, well. Since I can’t remember a good chunk of the past year, maybe I stopped being as nice as I ought to have been.”
I want to tell him about how I’ve left my family out of the loop, about my suspicions that the ties lead to Gareth in some way. Oh, shit, I should have checked on them the minute I knew I was in danger, because they might be in danger by association. Perhaps, I had a good reason for keeping them at bay.
Have I been protecting them this whole time, ensuring that they have no connection to me? If Gareth knew that I would be hurt were they to fall into danger, there is a chance he would use that information against me. Maybe he already tried, and that’s why I cut them out recently. I reach into the back of my mind for any memories that might help and come up empty.
Again.
I release a frustrated breath and Isaac turns to me with a curious expression.
I shrug, placing my elbow on the counter so I can rest my cheek in the palm of my hand. “Just grasping at straws over here. Don’t mind me.”
He stops what he’s doing and leans back on the counter, his eyes
inches away from mine as they delve into me, seeing right through me. I want him to look at me like that forever. I want to be seen. It feels like Isaac is the only person in the world who has ever seen me. I’m constantly reminded that he is the only one who I can trust, the only one who was there when I needed someone the most.
My rescuer.
“You’re going to overcome this, Scarlett. You are too strong, too tough to let these assholes win. And you’re not going to do it alone, either. You’ll have to get to them once I’m finished, of course, so there might not be much left.”
I grin into his eyes, and I can’t help myself. I lean forward and plant a gentle kiss on his lips before sitting back in my chair. “Thanks, Isaac. I don’t know what’s going to happen tonight but I’m grateful for everything you’ve done.”
He waves a dismissive hand at me before turning back to focus on the food. He must get thanked for saving lives often. Just another day in the life of Isaac Wright.
The oven beeps, indicating that the chicken is done. Isaac pulls it from the oven before smothering it in a sauce he’s cooking on the stove next to the pasta, which is also just finishing.
“Wow, you are a pro at this,” I say, admiring the streamlined process he’s created for cooking.
When he looks back at me, he’s grinning. “I’m not just a hot piece of ass. I have some pretty major skills.”
“Aw, and here I was thinking you were just man meat,” I shoot back.
He chuckles as he plates our food. He sets it on his small kitchen table before pulling out a chair for me, ever the gentleman.
“A gourmet meal for a lady in distress,” he says, and I cross my arms at him.
“I’m hardly in distress,” I say.
“Agree to disagree as we prepare to sneak up on your would-be killers.”
I can’t argue with him there, so I take the offered seat and dig into the perfectly moist chicken on my plate. The sauce is made with a blend of pesto and alfredo, and the combination is beyond delicious. Topped with a sprinkle of parmesan cheese, I do my best not to wolf it down, realizing that I haven’t had a proper meal in ages. My stomach agrees, demanding more even as I do my best to take small bites, eating slowly.
