Line of Fire

by Jo Davis

  In the kitchen, Will stood at the stove, flipping bacon, dressed for the day in a pair of worn jeans and a button-up shirt. Joseph paused, struck as always by what a handsome young man his grandson had sprouted into. Despite being a smidge on the thin side, Will had inherited the tall, solid frame of Joseph’s ancestors. He had a square face and strong jaw minus the bulbous nose of the Hensley men, thank God, and a wealth of dark brown hair that drove the women wild.

  Too bad the boy couldn’t care less.

  “Smells good,” Joseph said by way of greeting. “Got enough there for me?”

  Will turned, flashing him a wan smile. “Always. Toast?” “And apple butter.” He sat at the table, bones creaking, and wondered when the hell he’d gotten old. The decades had a way of sneaking up on a man.

  “You’re too predictable, old man,” Will said with undisguised affection.

  “Huh. When you get as old as me, you’ll have earned the right to be predictable. Surprises don’t necessarily agree with a body that’s been around as long as mine.” He sent his grandson a meaningful look. “Know what I mean?”

  Will faltered under his gaze. “I . . . sure, Grandpa. I’ll get your coffee.”

  The younger man opened a cabinet and removed a mug. As he poured the brew, his hand shook, splashing some onto the counter. He replaced the pot on the burner, mopped up the spill with a dishrag, and brought the mug over, setting it in front of Joseph.

  “Here you go.”

  “Thank you, boy.” He blew on the surface, took a sip. “Good and strong, like always.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Will went back to tending breakfast, fishing the bacon from the skillet and starting the toast. He put the bacon and apple butter on the table, then fetched the plates and forks, setting the table. Finally, he sat down opposite Joseph, swiping his forehead with a sigh.

  “No eggs for yourself?” Joseph liked eggs, but his stomach didn’t. No reason why Will shouldn’t enjoy them, though.

  “Not today. You want a ride down to the senior center when I leave? I can pick you up at lunch and bring you home.”

  Joseph put a couple of slices of bacon on his plate “No, thanks. I think I’ll just hang around here and watch TV. Been meanin’ to get to that birdhouse I’m making for Miss Margaret, too. Might take you up on the offer tomorrow.”

  He hated lying, even for a good reason.

  “Whatever you want. If you need me, call me on my cell phone.” Will’s mouth tightened and he dug in to the bacon. “Remembered it this morning, so it won’t bother you.”

  “Good to know.” Son of a bitch.

  They finished their breakfast in uneasy silence. Secrets simmering along underneath the surface of politeness tended to be cancerous. Especially with his grandson sitting over there sweating, wondering what Grandpa knew. Joseph snorted, almost tempted to lay the cards on the table. He could tell Will what he knew, call him out. The boy might get flustered enough to spill what was going on . . . but most likely he’d die before admitting to a thing.

  He was a lot like his grandpa in that regard.

  In the end, Joseph simply bided his time while Will cleaned his plate. The boy cleared the table and put their dishes in the dishwasher, then grabbed his keys.

  “Need anything before I go, Grandpa?”

  “No, Will. You go on ahead and be the big-city building inspector while I lay here like an old rug.” He regretted his teasing when Will’s expression crumpled, filled with dismay. “Shit on a shingle, I’m kidding, boy. I put in my time, worked my ass off for over fifty years, so I’m due for some rest, don’t ya think?”

  Will laughed, the sound strained. “Damn, don’t do that to me. I hate leaving you here alone all day; you know that.”

  “I’m far from helpless, so don’t you fret. Now get going before I boot your skinny butt out the door, and don’t think I can’t still do it.”

  “All right, I’m going. Take your medicine.”

  “Out!”

  “Crotchety old fart.”

  There was no real annoyance in Will’s tone, however. He simply chuckled and let himself out, trotted across the porch and down the steps to the sidewalk, footsteps fading.

  Joseph listened as Will’s white truck, one of the city’s vehicles, started and backed out of the drive. He didn’t move from the table until the rumble of the truck’s engine could no longer be heard.

  Even then he didn’t move too fast, and it had little to do with his age and physical infirmity. More like dread sitting like a stone in his gut.

  He sat down and booted up the machine, waiting as it went through the warming-up process. Once the main screen came up, he logged on to the Internet and selected the site for Will’s bank out of the favorites tab. His hand shook, wiggling the mouse, his disease acting up and making it difficult to get the cursor where it needed to be, but he finally clicked on the correct icon to log in to see account balances online.

  His fingers trembled over the keys. For about two seconds, he considered letting it go. He was about to commit a gross invasion of privacy, over something Will might come to him about on his own if Joseph was patient.

  In reality, his sixth sense told him different.

  He typed in the log-in and password he’d memorized from the paper, hoping Will hadn’t changed it since the other night. The possibility hadn’t occurred to him before now.

  Hitting enter, he waited, tense. After two seconds, he was in, Will’s finances at his fingertips.

  First, he studied the checking account. Nothing there beyond the normal transactions, deductions for groceries, bills, medicine and such. A couple of automatic deposits from the city for Will’s paychecks, one recent transfer from savings. More medicine.

  “Wait a minute. More medicine? What for?” Joseph frowned at the screen, but the notation only revealed a check to the pharmacy Will always used. A large fucking check.

  What in God’s name did his grandson have filled that cost so damned much? Whatever it was, it didn’t belong to Joseph. Medicare paid for most of his medicine for his Parkinson’s.

  Dread curled in his gut. Became real honest-to-God fear like he hadn’t known since the last time he’d had a Japanese Zero on his tail and a shortage of ammo. He clicked on the savings account, uncertain what, if anything, he’d find.

  Nothing could have prepared him for the figure of Will’s balance.

  “Son of a . . .”

  Two hundred sixteen thousand, four hundred twenty-nine dollars. And thirty-three cents.

  Almost a goddamned quarter million. Large deposits had started five months ago. Four of them, fifty thousand each. No way to trace where they’d come from without more help— and that kind of help would probably involve getting Will into trouble. No, make that more trouble.

  There was nothing else to be learned here. Joseph logged out of the system and stared at the screen for the longest time, then lowered his face into his hands.

  “What have you done, boy?”

  Joseph tried to plan his next move, but he couldn’t think right now. He was so damned tired.

  But he couldn’t leave this world yet. He had a grandson to rescue.

  Tommy awoke to sunlight filtering through the blinds, illuminating an unfamiliar bedroom. What?

  His sleepy brain cleared a little as he spied the lump under the covers next to him, and he smiled.

  Him and Shea. Last night.

  Making love to her hadn’t been a dream.

  Sitting up carefully, he glanced at the digital clock. A quarter to six. Shea had to be at work by seven, and he figured she’d appreciate some coffee in her system when he returned to wake her up.

  Unconcerned with his nakedness, he slid out of bed and padded to the kitchen. Coffee he could do, with little fuss. Filter, grounds, water. No problem.

  He got the coffee going and walked back into her bedroom and stood over her. She was lying curled on her side, innocent as a child. Fine wisps of brown hair fell into her elfin face
. Her rosebud mouth was parted in deep sleep, fingers of one hand tucked under her chin. And that, he thought, was where her similarities to a little girl ended.

  At some point she must’ve gotten cold, because she was wearing his black T-shirt. The material rode up to her slim waist and one slender leg rested atop the bedspread, bent slightly at the knee. Sweet little nipples poked at the shirt, begging for his tongue. The round curve of her bottom invited his cock to come out and play.

  Who was he to refuse such a delectable invitation?

  His erection had gone harder than the nozzle of a fire hose, straining away from his body. This scrap of a nurse had turned his world upside down. Twisted his heart inside out.

  Soft. Beautiful. All woman. All his.

  He climbed into bed and spooned her from behind. Enthusiastically. She shifted, wiggling her rump against his eager cock.

  “Mmm.”

  He bent over her, raked her hair aside. Kissed the pink shell of her ear, nibbled. Breathed her warm scent. French vanilla mixed with his own musk. God.

  He slid a hand under the T-shirt, splaying it across her flat belly. She was so small next to him, his fingers stretched almost the width of her abdomen. Football hands. The thought made him smile. He loved the way she fit against his body, like an all-knowing higher power handcrafted her perfection especially for him.

  His fingers traveled upward, found the taut pebbles of her nipples. He took one, rolling the peak between his thumb and forefinger. She moaned, arching her back, skin heating to his touch. More kisses at the vee of her neck and shoulder. Tasting and playing with her breasts.

  “Oh, Tommy. You’re going to make me late.” She rolled to her back, blinked up at him. Huge brown eyes were glazed with arousal. Needing, wanting him.

  “No, I won’t. Trust me, baby.”

  He flung the bedspread out of the way, then grabbed her panties. She must’ve put them on when she borrowed his shirt. Why the hell did women wear them to bed when they only got in the way? He worked them down her legs, tossing them to the floor. The T-shirt followed, Tommy dragging it over her head. She lay on the pillows, gazing at him with desire that rocked him to his toes.

  “Spread your legs.” Lips turned up, she did, erasing any concern that she might not be game. He knelt between her thighs, trailing kisses from the inside of one dainty knee to her pouting sex. “So pretty and pink. Already wet for me. I could come, just looking at you.”

  She whimpered, raising her hips a bit. With a low chuckle, he obliged, his fingers parting her. His tongue flicked her folds, dipped inside. He lingered, taking his time, like a man enjoying an ice-cream cone.

  “God, you taste so good.”

  “Oh! Please!” She fisted her hands in his hair, urging him.

  Gladly. He tongue-fucked her for a few strokes and then fastened his mouth to her sex, suckling the sensitive nub. Eating a woman was one of life’s finest pleasures, this woman in particular a dream come true. She came undone, bucking beneath him. The sight of her, mindless to everything but his touch—his—nearly made him lose control.

  Suddenly she found her release, and holding back his own was the hardest thing he’d ever done. She was wild against his mouth, sweet honey bathing his tongue.

  “Oh, yeah. Beautiful,” he whispered.

  When the last of her shudders stilled, he moved to her side. Bent and kissed her lovely mouth. Then he quickly fetched another condom from his shorts, glad he’d brought more than one.

  She sat up a bit and wrapped her hand around his rampant erection, licked and sucked the tip. “Poor baby. We need to do something about this.”

  “Oh, we are,” he promised, low and dark. “But if you keep that up this is going to be over in two seconds, and I want inside you.”

  “All right, but next time I get to taste you all I want.” The wicked little gleam in her eye made his cock jump.

  “Deal. I want you on your hands and knees. I’m going to fuck you from behind, sweet girl.”

  “Feeling a bit naughty, are we?”

  “Nah, this isn’t naughty. Later, I’ll tell you some of my dirty fantasies. Maybe we can even pick one to make a reality.”

  “Sounds intriguing.” With that, she rolled to her hands and knees. “What are you waiting for?”

  “Jesus.” He looked his fill. Savored the sight of his woman ready to give herself to him this way. Unruly hair cascading around her face. Knees spread, the pink lips of her sex, pouting and slick from his attentions, ready to welcome him inside.

  He sheathed himself and ran his fingers along her slit, spreading her. Christ, he wasn’t going to last. Grasping her hips, he guided the tip of his penis to her and thrust home. Buried his cock to the hilt. Her heat surrounded the throbbing length of him like a glove, squeezing, driving him mad. Not yet . . .

  “Look at you,” he rasped. “Beautiful. Mine.”

  She began to push back into him, stroking him in time with his thrusts. “Yes! Oh, God!”

  He surrendered control. Gave himself over to the beast raging to do her. Hard, wild, nasty. He pounded into her with long strokes. Thrusting faster. Joyous, feminine cries reached his ears, erasing any lingering doubt he might’ve had about taking her so roughly. He might tread the razor’s edge, but he’d never, ever hurt her.

  The beast stood no chance against such heady stuff. With a hoarse shout, he impaled her one last time. Held her close, buried so deep he actually felt them connect in more than just a physical sense. His release rocked him to the core. Branded him as hers, for always, if she cared to keep him. Her climax milked him on and on.

  Covering her like a blanket, he remained inside her for a moment, sweating and shaking. He’d never come harder or been drained more thoroughly in his life. Not that he’d been a total horn dog in the past, as his dad maintained, but still. He’d never before shared a shattering awakening, a fusing of hearts with the woman he loved.

  Oh, God, I love her.

  He just hoped his feelings weren’t all one-sided. Only time would tell, and it was too soon to let that particular cat out of the bag.

  With regret, he pulled out of her and took a few seconds to dispose of the condom in her bathroom. When he returned, Shea was sprawled on her back, glowing with the wattage of the well fucked. He was pretty darned proud of himself.

  “You are a bad, bad man,” she said with a grin. “I am so going to be late.”

  “It was for a good cause.” He smiled and crawled up next to her, giving her a kiss on the nose. “And as a peace offering, I made coffee.”

  “I suppose I can cut you some slack.” She was silent for a moment, then arched a brow at him. “Dirty fantasies, huh?”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Suppose we continue this conversation tonight, after I get off?”

  Hope flared brighter than ever before. They were making progress at last.

  “Why don’t I drop you off, pick you up at seven tonight?”

  She bit her lip. “If you’re sure you don’t mind . . .”

  “Of course not. I’ve got some errands to do and I’ll be back to get you. If you’re able to get off any earlier, just call and I can be there in minutes.”

  “Sounds good, thanks. And, Tommy?”

  “Yes, baby?”

  “Bring your clothes for work in the morning—if you want.”

  Yes! “Honey, I can’t think of anything I’d like more.”

  10

  “Shea, darlin’, you’re late,” Dora said without looking up from her chart. “That ain’t like you.”

  “Sorry, I was . . . detained.” A bubble of laughter fought its way out despite her effort to squelch it, and Dora finally glanced at her.

  The older woman gaped. “Lordy mercy, you’re lit up like a torch! Who is he?” she hissed, grabbing Shea’s arm and steering her to a more private alcove. “I’m not even gonna bother to ask if he’s good!”

  Shea beamed at her friend. She couldn’t help it. “You know the blond firefighter wh
o was brought in the other day, the one from the scaffold collapse?”

  “Yeah, the hottie who saved the construction worker.” Dora’s eyes widened and she waved dramatically. “No! Seriously?”

  “Yep. One and the same.”

  “Holy Moses! Your fairy godmother got anybody for me?”

  “I don’t know, but I’ll ask.”

  “Is this where I get to call you a bitch?”

  “If it makes you feel better.”

  “Bitch!” She gave a hearty laugh and wiped a hand over her brow. “Wow, I feel great now.”

  Shea hugged the other woman’s shoulders. “You are too much. I really am sorry I’m late. I don’t make it a habit.”

  “I know. In this case, you’re forgiven. Lord knows you’re due for some major happiness, girlfriend,” she said, her tone softening. “So how are things with him, really? And I don’t mean the awesome sex.”

  “Dora . . . he doesn’t know. I’m just not ready to get into all of that with him. Not yet.”

  Dora patted her arm in a show of support. “Then you won’t. Not until you’re comfortable sharing it with him. Don’t let him or anyone push you. Ya hear?”

  Shea swallowed hard and blinked at the sting in her eyes. “I won’t.”

  “Now don’t go gettin’ all weepy and shit. We’ve got work to do!”

  All day long, her mind turned toward Tommy’s incredible lovemaking. The way he made her feel cherished, as no other man had ever made her feel. They had a real connection, the chance at something solid.

  If only she didn’t ruin their blossoming relationship with fear and doubts.

  By agonizing over ghosts that wouldn’t rest.

  After dropping Shea off at Sterling, Tommy drove with no particular destination in mind. Just a vague sense of unrest. For no reason, his mind drifted back to the conversation he and Shea had in Stratton’s. Her encouragement for him to try a new profession. Reinvent himself, if he wanted.

  Did he? He’d just earned his paramedic status a few months ago. He liked his job, his friends. He was set for an entire career. But did he want to be a firefighter for the next thirty or forty years?