by Harper Allen
“He’s already spread the gas, Stone,” she said shakily. “I—I’m tied up here. I can’t move.”
“You realize it works out better this way for me, laddie, don’t you? No—don’t come any closer.” Even as he spoke Foley tossed the can down and quickly drew something from his pocket. A flame flared immediately from the lighter in his hand.
“Think what you’re doing, Jack.” Stone froze where he was. “After all these years of loving Tam, caring for her, protecting her, you can’t do this. You know you can’t.”
“That’s right, McQueen.” The wavering flame reflected the implacability on the older man’s face. “I spent my life protecting my Tammy and in the end she turned away from me. In the end she turned to you. My little girl’s made her choice, and this is the only one I’m left with.”
“I knew this was where you’d arrange it, Foley,” Stone said hoarsely. “When I realized you’d taken Tamara I knew you’d bring her here. I’ve lived with the memory of the Mitchell Towers tragedy, but my guilt must be nothing compared to yours. You went to the funerals, too, didn’t you?”
His voice took on an edge. “Let’s hold roll-call for them one last time. Do you remember their names? Do you see them lined up in your dreams? Terry Cutshaw. Max Aiken. Larry—”
“I remember their names, McQueen!”
For the first time since he’d brought her here, Tamara saw a spasm of agony cross Jack’s face. His hand trembled and the wavering flame dipped. She closed her eyes, cold fear washing over her.
“Dammit, I worked with Max. I knew Terry’s father. Do you think I wanted them to die?”
“Larry Steinbeck,” Stone said in a low tone. He took a step closer to Jack. “You were one of the few allowed in to see Monty Stewart before he died, weren’t you? Is that when it finally sunk in what you’d become, Jack?”
“Stay where you are, McQueen,” Foley said raggedly. “I used up the last of the rocket fuel for the rooming house, but there’s enough gas around here to send us both to hell.”
“Dear God.” Behind her, Tamara felt the cords binding her hands sever and give way, but for a moment she couldn’t move. “That’s what you want. You don’t intend to come out of this alive at all—you want this to look as if you died a hero.”
“Donna Burke.” His jaw clenched, McQueen ground out the last name. “They were the heroes, Foley. They went up against the beast. You embraced it.”
“And no one’s ever going to know, McQueen.” Jack’s tone was agonized. “I’ve had to live with what I became, but I’ll be buried as a firefighter.”
Even as the last word left his lips he tossed the lighter at the pool of gasoline a few feet away. Tamara saw the tiny flickering flame fly through the air and arc downward to the liquid dark patch spilled across the wooden floor.
With a shockingly abrupt whoosh the gas suddenly became a lake of flame, its azure rim racing outwards from the center with frightening speed. A wall of fire instantly sprang up between her and the two men, and through it Stone’s gaze swiftly sought and found hers. With quick determination he advanced toward the fiery barrier.
“No!” Jack threw his bulky weight at McQueen. “This is how it ends!”
Taken off guard, Stone staggered sideways as the older man crashed into him. He turned to face Jack just in time to receive the full force of a blow that snapped his head back on his neck.
“For God’s sake, Foley!” Regaining his balance, he glared at Jack, strong-arming his next punch so that it flew harmlessly wide. “Get the hell out of my way.”
Again he turned to the fire. It had leapt to twice its height even in those few seconds, Tamara thought fearfully, struggling to unlash the cord binding her ankles together, and instead of being an easily definable barrier it had now grown to encompass almost a quarter of the fifth-storey area.
Her eyes widened. The fire was twenty or thirty feet away from the stairs, and encroaching fast. Within minutes their only means of escape would be cut off.
Tamara’s attention flew back to Jack as he launched himself at McQueen once more, but this time McQueen was ready for him.
His fist smashed into Jack’s jaw, knocking the stockier man completely off his feet. Tamara saw her uncle’s bulky figure fall heavily to the floor, and remain there.
Without hesitation, McQueen strode through the wall of fire to her side.
“My wrists are bleeding,” she said unevenly, looking up at him as he kneeled in front of her. “My fingers keep slipping when I try to untie my feet.”
“Baby.”
Instead of going to the knots at her ankles, his hands framed her face, strong fingers outspread against her hair. He was shaking, she realized as she saw his lashes fall briefly over his gaze.
“I got to your house and I knew he’d taken you. I could still smell whatever it was he used to knock you out,” he said, opening his eyes. They were brilliant with pain. “I was so afraid I wouldn’t get here in time, honey.”
He took a shuddering breath and pulled her to him. She felt his mouth on hers briefly, and then he released her and reached into the front pocket of his khakis to retrieve a small penknife.
“Hold still.”
With one easy sawing cut the cords parted. He stood, hauling her to her feet with him and catching her by the shoulders as she swayed against his chest.
“I’ll carry you,” he said promptly.
She shook her head. “I’m okay. Stone—the stairs.”
“I know.” Before she realized what he was about to do, he was stripping his sweatshirt over his head. A moment later he was tugging it over hers.
“Keep your arms inside and as much of your face covered as you can,” he said tersely. She opened her mouth, and he forestalled her. “Don’t argue, honey.”
Before she could reply his arm was around her, hugging her to his body so tightly she was almost lifted off her feet as they began to run toward the flames. She felt the heat hit her like a blow as they reached the barrier of fire, and then they were flying through it and to the other side.
“Get to the stairs.” In the wavering red light McQueen’s expression was grim. “I can’t leave him here to die.”
“I’ll help you carry him.” She took a step toward Jack’s crumpled body, but he shook his head.
“It’ll be easier by myself.”
She pressed her lips together, and then nodded. “Hurry, Stone.”
They were going to make it, she thought as she sped to the stairs. Even if they couldn’t get Jack all the way down to safety, the fire crew would be here soon enough to complete the rescue. She got to the first step and looked back.
McQueen, his head bent, was pulling his leather belt from the loops of his pants, obviously intent on using it as some kind of supportive sling in carrying Jack. His back was toward the man he’d disabled.
Except Jack was no longer lying there.
“Stone! Behind you!” The appalled scream tore from her throat.
Everything seemed to happen at once.
Even as Stone began to turn, Jack swung the two-by-four he was holding. It hit the back of Stone’s skull with sickening force, and immediately his legs gave way under him. He fell heavily and lay there, unmoving.
Propelled by momentum, Jack’s swing carried through, only arrested when the two-by-four crashed into the blazing base of one of the support beams rising from the floor. As he let the length of wood drop from his grip, the support beam, its base now little more than charcoal, gave way. It swayed once and then came crashing directly down onto Jack’s spine.
Under the weight of the beam he staggered and fell across McQueen’s legs. Through the hungry roar of the fire she heard the sound his head made as it hit the ground.
She knew he was dead even before she ran over and fell to her knees beside him.
The five-year-old child she’d once been had seen him for what he was, she thought remotely, feeling nothing but relief. And tonight her adult self had recovered the truth. Jack Foley
was no one she knew. He was no one she could grieve over.
And she wasn’t going to grieve over Stone McQueen, either, she thought grimly, because she wasn’t going to let him die. She saw him stir slightly, and then his eyes opened and his clouded gaze met hers.
“Your legs are pinned, Stone,” she said before he could speak. “They’re probably not broken, because Jack came down on them first, but there’s a beam lying across him. He—he’s dead, Stone.”
“I hear sirens,” he rasped.
“We don’t have time to wait for a crew. The floor’s unstable and any second the stairs are going to be cut off completely,” she replied, her voice edged. “The only jakey available right now is me, Stone. I’m going to get this thing off you.”
“No.”
With an effort McQueen lifted his head. “I screwed up just about every damn thing I ever did in my life, honey,” he said softly. “The only thing I did right was to love you. I want you to go.”
“I screwed up, too, McQueen,” she said. Her vision blurred.
He was too big. He was too aggressive. He was a loose cannon. He loved her.
And she loved him—so much and so badly she knew she wouldn’t be able to survive if anything took him away from her again.
“I should have told you. I’m telling you now. I love you, Stone. And we’re leaving here together.”
She leaned toward him. Just for a moment she laid her fingers against his lips, and she felt him kiss them.
“That’s for later,” he whispered, his gaze on hers. In his eyes she saw a world of love and longing. “Just in case, Tam.”
Just in case this all goes bad, Tamara thought fearfully. Just in case this one last time the beast wins.
She straightened her shoulders. Only feet away from her, it was watching her, towering above her, grinning redly at her as if it had been waiting for this moment all of her life, and knew that she had been waiting, too.
She looked into its face.
And saw nothing.
“It’s just a fire,” she said huskily. “I’m a firefighter. I hate fire, dammit!”
She got to her feet and positioned herself above the beam, just clear of Foley’s lifeless body. Bending her knees slightly and bracing herself, she gripped the beam with both hands. She took a deep breath. With a grunt of effort, she heaved.
The thing had to weigh hundreds of pounds, she thought, squeezing her eyes shut and feeling her muscles pop. Her thighs began to tremble with the strain and her knees felt as if they were about to give way. She could feel sweat beading on her forehead, and for a moment despair washed over her.
She wasn’t strong enough, she thought wrenchingly. She wasn’t going to be able to do this.
Through her lashes she saw him. His gaze met hers. He gave her a slow, incredibly sweet smile.
Calling upon a reserve of strength she hadn’t known she had, Tamara gave a final, agonized heave, and felt the beam lift.
“Can’t—can’t hold it long,” she gasped. “Can—can you make it, Stone?”
But already he was struggling free from under the weight of Foley’s body, and as her muscles began to scream he staggered to his feet beside her.
“Let go, Tam.”
She felt him take the full weight of the beam from her, and she stepped back, dizzy with relief. Swaying, she watched as he lowered the massive support to one side of the body. Then he had her arm and they were running toward the stairs.
Two seconds longer and they wouldn’t have made it, Tamara thought faintly as together she and Stone began to make their awkward way to the ground. The fire was blazing throughout the fourth storey, but the third was just beginning to burn. She heard shouted voices coming from below, and she opened her stinging eyes completely to see the flashing lights of a fire engine.
Beside her McQueen halted. She turned to him and saw a corner of his mouth lift.
“Marry me, Tam?” His gaze held hers. “The white dress, the church, the whole freakin’ nine yards? I love you so much, honey,” he added softly.
Trust McQueen to pop the question in front of a whole damn fire crew, Tamara thought shakily as he pulled her to him and waited for her reply. She was aware of the uplifted faces and quick grins of the helmeted figures below, and when she rose to her tiptoes and drew his mouth down to hers she dimly heard whistling and cheering coming from the assembled crowd.
She touched her lips to his. She drew back, and saw those smoke gray eyes watching her.
“You’re such a jerk, McQueen,” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears of joy. “Of course I want the whole freakin’ nine yards.”
Epilogue
Stone had the bride backed into a corner of a storage room just off the reception hall’s kitchen. His eyes were closed, his hands were on her breasts and he was kissing her.
And that was all he was going to get to do, he thought in frustration, lifting his mouth from Tamara’s and feeling aching heat spread through his groin as he saw those parted, pink-velvet lips, those dazed and starry eyes meeting his. Hell, just down the corridor were a couple of hundred firefighters and their spouses, not to mention a seven-year-old flower girl who’d insisted on bringing her Great Dane puppy to the celebration. But Chandra, who’d helped arrange this wedding over the past six weeks, was looking after Petra, Stone thought. He and the bride could play hookey for another few minutes.
Immediate desire flamed hotly through him. Beneath the froth of white lace he could see a flash of red satin.
“Tell me who you’re wearing that for, baby,” he said hoarsely, pushing the white lace aside and running an unsteady finger along the provocatively low-cut red bra.
“I’m wearing it for the man who bought it for me,” Tamara murmured. “I’m wearing the matching thong, too, McQueen. Hot enough for you, big guy?”
“Uh-huh,” he said huskily, giving in to the heat and lowering his mouth to her breasts. Slowly he licked the hollow between them. “I’m an investigator again, though, honey,” he muttered. “It’s my job to do something about it when I’m called to a fire.”
“You’re not supposed to make it hotter, McQueen,” Tamara gasped, her fingers sliding through his hair.
He was going to give his wife the same bad reputation he had, McQueen thought a few minutes later, trying to impose some control over himself. He would just have to wait until the honeymoon officially began in an hour or so.
They were spending it in her bedroom. Petra was sleeping over at Chandra’s and leaving tomorrow for a weeklong camping trip with her and Hank and their little boy.
“I never made it with a married woman before,” he said thoughtfully as he watched her straightening the lace on her dress.
“Then I guess you haven’t made it with a pregnant married woman, either, McQueen,” she said, tucking her arm through his and looking up at him. “Shall we get back to our guests?”
“Yes, honey,” he said obediently, walking to the door with her. He started to open it, and stopped dead.
“What did you just say?” He stared stupidly at her.
“I said that after the leave of absence I took to get Petra settled in ends, I’m going on maternity leave,” she said, her voice suddenly uneven and her eyes glowing with happiness. “You probably planned it that way.” Her laugh was breathless.
“We’re going to have a baby? I’m going to be a father?” At her tiny nod pure joy flooded through him.
He was going to be a father, he told himself incredulously. The woman he loved was even now carrying his child—their child, he thought, tightening his embrace around her and feeling the wetness behind his lashes.
He’d once hit rock bottom. It had been a long way back up.
But in the end he’d found his heart’s heart, Stone McQueen thought as he bent his head and kissed his pregnant bride.
ISBN: 978-1-4592-4306-4
MCQUEEN’S HEAT
Copyright © 2003 by Sandra Hill
All rights reserved. Except for use in any
review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.
Visit us at www.eHarlequin.com
* The Avengers
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
