Burning Wild

by Christine Feehan

  He downshifted and put on a burst of speed as he caught another glimpse of the Porsche sliding sideways around a turn. His heart went to his throat. Shaina's boyfriend was so drunk he stayed in the wrong lane through the entire turn. He doubted either even realized Jake was in pursuit.

  Jake cursed himself for being such an idiot to ever allow himself to get in such a predicament. Desperate to find a way to shackle him, the two families had made an alliance and, like an idiot, he had fallen into their trap. A part of him even felt guilty and thought he deserved exactly what he got.

  He had deliberately slept with Shaina, despising her father, yet all along she'd been using him just as he had been using her. He hadn't been stupid enough to believe her when she told him she was on birth control, but he had been an idiot to use the condoms she'd produced. What none of them had figured out yet was he would gladly burn in hell before he would accommodate them. The treacherous bitch.

  Planned pregnancy was the oldest snare in the book. It was too late now; he had to live with the consequences--and so did the rest of them. Both families--and Shaina--had seriously underestimated him. He had planned his revenge for years. He had everything in place. It wouldn't take much to ruin either family financially and he wasn't above using any means available to buy freedom for his child.

  Jake slammed his open palm on the steering wheel. He should have stayed away from Shaina. He didn't love her, didn't even like her, but he just hadn't been able resist thumbing his nose at Josiah.

  He'd carelessly given them the baby they wanted, but he'd be damned if they'd keep him. Jake didn't care whether the boy was a shifter or not. He would find a nurse, a decent one, to come in and raise him right. He couldn't love the boy--the last vestige of anything as soft as love had been beaten out of him long ago--but eventually he'd find someone who could.

  A muscle jerked along his jaw. He'd always been savage, clawing and fighting his way out of the cage his family tried to keep him in. There was no way in hell they were going to cage his child. His son would never know that unnatural, deceitful life. A nurse wasn't a perfect solution, but it was the best Jake could do.

  Careless, self-absorbed Shaina was doing nothing to protect the health of her unborn child, so here Jake was in California, chasing her down. He had the jet standing by to take her back to his ranch in Texas where his guards would keep her out of trouble and away from drugs and alcohol until the baby was born. He had a team of doctors at his disposal, the best his money could buy, and he was going to make certain the kid had the best possible start.

  Jake swore viciously again. Shaina could drive off a cliff for all he cared, but he made it clear that he owned her father's company, had bought up the stock, and he would ruin them all if they dared cross him. The child was his, bought and paid for. Shaina damn well was not going to endanger it. He had turned the tables neatly, ruthlessly, finding a bitter pleasure in all their shocked faces.

  Shaina, damn her, had no right to drink herself silly and poison the unborn baby. She had no right to go off with a drunken fool when she was so close to delivery. She had thought herself safe, a thousand miles away from his home state, never dreaming he would be concerned enough about the baby to track her down.

  With each passing mile, he shortened the distance between the Ferrari and Porsche, closing the gap steadily, relentlessly. He could see the convertible now, weaving all over the highway, crossing the center line, changing lanes, tires squealing a protest around every sharp curve. He was right above them, looking down, and he saw Shaina move her hand to caress the driver's lap. The Porsche swerved again into the other lane.

  His heart jumped, and an icy shiver feathered down his spine. He caught a glimpse of a little Volkswagen Bug puttering along, two turns ahead, right in the path of the oncoming car. Jake actually called out a warning, totally helpless to stop the inevitable.

  The collision rocked the ground, shattering the peace of the night, a cacophony of terrible noises he would never forget. Grinding metal, the scream of brakes, the force of the vehicles coming together, folding like accordions. The sight and sounds sent chills down his spine. Sparks flew, the convertible tumbled over and over, spilling gas everywhere. The Volkswagen, a compacted scrap of twisted metal, slammed into the mountain, flames licking along its length and up along the dried grass.

  The smell of gas and flames and blood hit him hard. Jake hesitated long enough to report the accident from his cell phone. Leaping from the Ferrari, he sprinted toward the closest car, the crushed Volkswagen. The road was strewn with shattered glass and metal fragments. Shaina and her new boyfriend lay motionless on the ground in the distance, blood running from them in streams. Neither had been wearing a seat belt and both had been thrown several feet from the car. He doubted if anyone could have lived through the force of that head-on collision, but something propelled him forward in spite of the flames moving quickly along the road.

  Gas was everywhere, even splashed along the mountain-side where the Volkswagen had tumbled end over end. Inside the Volkswagen, two occupants were hanging upside down, held by their seat belts, heads and arms dangling limply. He pulled at the nearest door. It was already hot with the flames licking at it from the flaming grass on the mountain. With superhuman strength he tore it open and reached inside to unsnap the passenger's seat belt. The body fell into his arms.

  It was a woman, covered in glass and blood but alive. The burning gas left him no time to examine her first. He lifted her out of the crumpled vehicle, closing his ears to her cry of pain. He ran a distance from the cars to deposit her on the grass. Blood was pumping from a terrible gash in her leg and he yanked off his belt and wrapped it tightly around her thigh, just above the gash.

  When he turned back, the Volkswagen was already engulfed in flames. He had no hope of bringing out the other victim. He hoped the occupant had been killed instantly. Resolutely he turned toward the convertible. He had covered half the distance when an agonized cry froze him in a fragment of time that would remain etched in his mind forever.

  "Andy!"

  The woman he had rescued had somehow managed to get to her feet, which was a miracle, considering her injuries. She stumbled back toward the Volkswagen. For a moment he could only stare incredulously. She had broken bones, was covered in deep, ragged gashes, her face was a mask of blood, yet she was running back, right into a wall of flames, and she moved with astonishing speed.

  For a split second, pure shock held Jake frozen to the spot. The gasoline on the road had ignited. The flames actually licked at her legs, yet she continued to race toward the fiercely burning vehicle. The woman had to have known the car was going to explode at any moment, yet still she ran toward it.

  Jake cut her off just a few feet from the car, snatching her up into his arms, sprinting away from the intense heat and building conflagration. She fought like a wildcat, kicking, scratching, the blood making her so slippery he lost his hold more than once. Each time he dropped her, she didn't hesitate to turn back, her eyes on the burning car as she tried to run and then crawl back toward it.

  "It's too late," he cried harshly, "he's already dead!" Ruthlessly he flung her to the ground, covering her body with his own, pinning her down while the earth beneath them rocked with the force of the explosion.

  "Andy." She whispered the name, a lost, forlorn sound wrenched straight from the heart.

  In an instant, all the fight went out of her. She lay motionless in Jake's arms, small, completely vulnerable and broken, her eyes staring up at him, unseeing. Again, time seemed to stand still. Everything tunneled until he was focused wholly on her eyes. Enormous, tilted like a cat's, aquamarine with dark orbs, unusual and mesmerizing, now haunted. She seemed familiar--too familiar. He knew her, and yet he didn't.

  For the first time in his life he felt a strong protective urge welling up out of nowhere. He became aware of the gathering crowd staring down at the woman as others leaving the party came upon the scene. Instinctively he shielded her, barking ord
ers to check the overturned convertible, to ensure an ambulance and the police were on the way.

  He worked furiously at stemming the flow of blood pouring from the woman's temple and from her leg. A part of him knew he should be thinking instead of Shaina and the child she was carrying, but his mind was consumed with the woman he protected. All he could do was vow silently not to allow her to slip away as she so clearly wanted to do.

  Her grief-stricken green eyes begged him to let her go. Where had he seen those eyes before? He looked into them again, drawn by some unseen force. Almond shape, pupils round and black, the irises a rare aquamarine, the blue-green surrounded by a golden circle. Unusual. And yet somehow familiar.

  "Let me go."

  Jake found himself leaning close to her, his breath warm against her skin. He held her gaze with ruthless command, letting her know he refused to allow her to slip away, that he would hold her to him through sheer will alone. "No." He said the word implacably. "Did you hear me? No." He denied her a second time, his teeth snapping together in finality as he applied more pressure to the pumping wound in her leg.

  She closed her eyes and turned her face away from him as if she had no fight left in her. The ambulance was there, paramedics pushing him aside to work on her. A short distance away, firefighters draped a blanket over Shaina's friend. It occurred to Jake with grim satisfaction that this was one accident Shaina's father could not make go away with his money.

  More paramedics were working desperately at Shaina's side. It took him a minute to realize they were taking the baby--his son. His heart in his throat, he waited until he heard the triumphant cheers. The child was alive, which was more than they could say for the mother. He waited to feel emotion--any emotion--at Shaina's death or at the birth of his son. He felt nothing at all, only a sense of contempt for the way Shaina had lived and died. Silently cursing his own cold nature, he looked down at the woman lying so still, her dark eyes staring past the paramedic to the burned car. He shifted slightly while they worked on her, to block her view.

  Jake followed the ambulances carrying his son and the woman to a small hospital. Although the place seemed a little primitive by Jake's standards, the overworked staff seemed to know their jobs.

  "I'm Officer Nate Peterson." A young highway patrolman thrust a cup of coffee into his bloody hands.

  Her blood. The woman with the mesmerizing eyes. Her blood was all over him. Jake's shoulders sagged and all at once he was immensely tired, but he needed to find out if she was still alive.

  "Can you tell me what happened, sir?" the officer asked. The young patrolman was shaking so badly he could hardly hold his pen. "Andy and I were good friends," the man admitted, choking back emotion.

  "Tell me about him," Jake said, curious about the man who inspired such loyalty that a woman would run through fire to save him, even with her own terrible injuries. A man who could make a patrolman shake and hold back real tears. Jake could feel the genuine emotion pouring from the other man. He looked around the hospital and found others looking just as distressed.

  "His name was Andrew Reynolds and he was twenty-five, best mechanic in town. He could fix anything with an engine. I was best man at his wedding only five months ago. He was so happy that Emma married him. They were so happy."

  Emma. That was her name. "Is she still alive?" He held his breath.

  The patrolman nodded. "As far as I know. She's in surgery. Did you see the accident?"

  Jake crumpled up the paper coffee cup and threw it in the trash can. "Shaina and her friend were drunk. I followed them from Senator Hindman's party. Shaina Trent, the woman, was carrying my child. I'm sorry, I don't know the man."

  He gave the rest of his statement as clearly as possible, knowing the skidmarks would bear him out.

  Jake overheard a young nurse crying in the hall and he walked over to her on the pretext of comforting her. "Are you all right?" He used his voice shamelessly, the tone that was both mesmerizing as well as commanding, designed to put everyone at ease.

  She sniffed several times, her eyes bright and a little interested when she saw him. Jake stuck out his hand and patted her shoulder. "I'm Jake Bannaconni." He knew the name would be recognizable, and when her eyes widened, satisfaction settled in his belly. "Can you tell me about the woman? Is she alive?" He looked at the nurse's name tag. Chelsey Harden.

  Chelsey nodded. "She's in surgery. She's only twenty-one. I can't believe this happened. She called me earlier today and said she'd just found out she was pregnant. She was so happy. She was telling Andy tonight at dinner. I bet she didn't even have a chance to tell him." She covered her face for a moment and broke into sobs.

  Jake patted her shoulder again. "I take it you two were friends."

  Chelsey hiccupped and blew her nose. "Very good friends. I went to school with Andrew and he introduced us. Now she has no one. Andrew's parents died last year in a car crash and Emma told me her parents had died when she was a teen. They only had each other. It seems like some kind of curse or something, all these car wrecks." Her face whitened and she covered her mouth with her hand. "I'm sorry. Your wife was killed as well. I'm so sorry."

  Jake shook his head. "We weren't married, but we were having a child."

  "He's going to be fine. He's a little early, but he's very healthy," Chelsey hastened to assure him.

  "How long will he have to stay here?"

  Meaning how much time did he have to set things in motion. He had a vague idea what he wanted to do, but no real plan. It was obvious the staff felt sorry for him. His pregnant girlfriend had run off with another man. Shaina was the paparazzi's dream. She loved the spotlight, and her exploits kept many gossip magazines in print.

  The world believed that she'd left Jake brokenhearted, and it suited them both to let that assumption go unchallenged. Now that Shaina was dead, sympathy would surround Jake, and he could use that to his advantage.

  "You'll have to talk to the doctor, but for a preemie, he's healthy. Maybe a week, but I honestly couldn't tell you." Chelsey let out a soft sigh. "Emma really wanted a family. It was so important to her and to Andy, because they didn't have anyone at all, so they kept saying they would have a big family."

  Jake raked a hand through his hair. He should have his son transported immediately back to a hospital in Texas and return home. This wasn't his mess to clean up. But he knew he wouldn't. He had looked into Emma Reynolds's blue-green eyes and something had opened up in him, something nameless he didn't understand. Whatever it was, he couldn't just walk away.

  A man approached, and beside Jake, Chelsey straightened, immediately changing her demeanor to a very professional face. The newcomer must be a hospital administrator. Someone had probably recognized Jake and they were sending the big guns to make certain he was comfortable with his son's treatment.

  "You're burned, Mr. Bannaconni, on your hands and arms. You need to have that taken care of."

  "I didn't even notice," Jake said truthfully, but he allowed the hospital staff to lead him away to an examination room.

  He sized up the hospital administrator as his burns were treated. Dignified. Sincere. He was fiercely proud of his hospital--Jake could tell that the moment the doctor began showing him around--yet clearly the hospital had little money to bring in modern equipment.

  Jake seized the moment, murmuring about a sizable donation for the care his son had received, asking questions about his child, about how long he'd have to stay, about the repercussions of an early birth and what he could do to better help the hospital care for him. And then he managed to turn the conversation to Emma Reynolds and how terrible he felt for her situation. What were her injuries? Did she need special doctors? He would be more than happy to fly in who or what they needed to help.

  Dr. John Grogan, head of the hospital, tried to convince Jake that Emma Reynolds wasn't his responsibility.

  Jake looked very grave. "I'm well aware that the rest of the world might think that, but the mother of my child was responsible for
Emma's injuries and the death of her husband. Since apparently Emma has no one else, taking care of bills and making certain she has anything she needs is the least that I can do for her." He glanced around and lowered his voice. "I'd prefer that no reporters know I'm here or that my son is still here."

  Grogan nodded. "We're a small hospital, Mr. Bannaconni, but we're very discreet."

  Jake let out a relieved sigh and slumped a little to show how tired and upset he was. "Please let Emma's doctors know I'm willing to help out. I need to see my son now, if that's possible."

  The first step toward inserting himself into Emma's life was accomplished. He let himself be led to the nursery where he donned a gown, mask and gloves to stare down at the wrinkled little boy who lay naked in the small incubator beneath the glare of the hospital lights.

  "HOW is she today, Chelsey?" Jake asked as the young nurse came down the hallway toward him. "I've just come back from seeing my son and thought I'd peek in on her."

  Emma's room was the first room closest to the nursery. She was pregnant and the OB doctor wanted her nearby in case she began to miscarry after her traumatic ordeal. It was easy enough for Jake to use the excuse that she was so close to his son to look in on her. Though conscious, Emma had been listless and unresponsive to the doctors and nurses. But when he walked in, her blue-green gaze would jump to his face and stay there.

  Chelsey sighed. "She doesn't talk to anyone, Mr. Bannaconni. We're all a little afraid for her. But I heard your son was doing better. He's breathing on his own now and it's been only three days."

  "Yes, he seems much better, although he should be gaining more weight, they tell me." Jake paused with his hand on Emma's door. So far no one had ever stopped him from going in. Today he wanted Emma to give the staff her permission to allow him to help her. "I'm going to try to give Emma a reason to live today. You gave me the idea the other day when we talked."

  Chelsey patted his shoulder and this time her smile was flirtatious. "I hope you can find a way to get through to her."

  Jake smiled back, letting his gaze slide over her with a man's interest. Chelsey's breath caught in her throat and she gave him a little wave as she sauntered off, her hips swaying more than usual. Jake pushed open the door to Emma's room and slipped inside.