“Not at first, obviously. I went to child care after school until I was old enough to stay home alone.”
By then, he’d fully gotten the message, though. There were only so many times a kid could be the last person at the ball field, waiting to be picked up by a parent who had not only skipped the game, but been too wrapped up in his—or her—own universe to remember carpool duty altogether. And Gamble’s parents had been nothing if not equal opportunity about forgetting him.
Still, he’d seen enough terrible shit and heard even more terrible-shit stories to think a childhood’s worth of benign neglect was the worst thing that could happen to a person. “I’m not really complaining. It wasn’t necessarily a bad life. I was provided for—lived in a big house, and I was never hungry or cold or sick. I didn’t really want for anything.”
Kennedy made a sound that was equal parts disbelief, sadness, and anger, yet was strangely devoid of the poor-sad-you sympathy Gamble had always expected if he ever decided to trot this story out. “Except for parents who gave a crap about you and loved you for who you are instead of ignoring your existence, you mean?”
“I guess,” he said. “In the beginning, I wished my parents would care, or at least try, but I realized pretty quickly that it wasn’t going to happen. So, after a while, I stopped expecting it and just did my own thing.”
“Is that why you joined the Marines? To find a place to belong?”
Kennedy’s question was innocuous on the surface, one that made perfect sense given the conversation they were having. But it punched Gamble in the throat regardless, and while he might be cool telling her about his deadbeat parents, there was no fucking way he was going to talk about the time he’d spent in the Marines. Not with her. Not now. Not ever.
Time to wrap up this little share-fest, the sooner, the better. “I joined the Marines for lots of reasons. But I never had any siblings—my parents pretty much learned the error of their ways after I came along—so this faith you have in Xander, just because he’s your blood? I really don’t understand it. It’s not even close to my wheelhouse.”
“Actually, it’s not as far as you think.” For a couple of heartbeats, then a couple more, she didn’t elaborate. Then, finally, she said, “You trust Kellan, right? And Shae and Hawkins and Dempsey and everyone else on squad?”
Hello, no-brainer. “We’re firefighters. I wouldn’t work with them if I didn’t trust them,” Gamble said.
“And if you hadn’t seen Kellan, for, say, five years, would you still trust him?”
“Yes.” The answer was automatic, out before Gamble even realized he’d voiced it, and Kennedy nodded.
“That’s how I feel about my brother. I might not have seen him in a long time, and he might be jammed up in something bad, but I still trust that he’ll show up and at least talk to me. You say you don’t get that, but I think you do. Otherwise, you’d have called the cops already.”
Gamble took a long breath. Held it for a second. Then slowly let it go. “I really hope he shows, Kennedy.”
“I’m telling you, he will.” She paused, examining him closely through the dusky shadows beginning to settle in around them. “You’ve never told anyone at Seventeen about your parents, have you?”
His pulse flared. “No.”
“Then why did you tell me now?”
“Truth?” he asked, and he nearly laughed when she responded with a brows-up look that read like I want anything but. “I’m not really sure, except that I figured with how your mom wasn’t around much either, you’d get it.”
Kennedy reached out, her fingers resting lightly on his forearm by his wrist. “My circumstances might be different than yours, but I do get it. And for what it’s worth, I’m really sorry for how your parents treated you.”
Gamble met her apology with a shake of his head. “Don’t be sorry for something you had no hand in.”
“Your parents could’ve been there for you, but they weren’t. Just because I didn’t have a hand in that doesn’t mean I can’t hate it for you,” she pointed out, but again, he protested.
“It’s not worth the energy. Really.”
He saw her brow go up just a second too late to guard himself against her all-too-sexy candor. “Jeez. Who’s a tough audience now?” she asked, just teasingly enough to make him smile, and damn, her laugh in reply made him feel far better than it should.
“Guess we’re one hell of a pair, huh?”
He dropped his gaze to his forearm, where her fingers still pressed gently over his skin, and her eyes went round as she followed his downward stare.
“Oh. I shouldn’t…I mean, I didn’t…ugh, sorry,” she breathed, shifting to pull her hand away. But instinct collided with the desire already pumping through his veins, and he covered her fingers with his free hand, not hard enough to keep her from moving if she wanted to, but with enough intention to let her know he didn’t mind her touch.
In fact, he wanted it. Badly.
“I don’t want you to be sorry,” Gamble said, his heart beating faster as—instead of pulling away—Kennedy leaned in even closer.
Her fingers tightened, her pupils darkening her stare. “Then what do you want?” she whispered.
“This.”
He erased the space between them in one swift movement. But she’d moved, too, pressing forward to meet him at the same time he’d leaned in to slant his mouth over hers. Her lips were soft, yet full of purpose, quickly parting to give him better access, and fuck yeah, he took it. Sliding his tongue along the seam of her lips, Gamble tasted her once, then twice, before deepening the kiss. Kennedy was far from a passive participant—and didn’t that just make his cock stand up and pay all sorts of attention—angling herself closer despite the constraints of the Nissan’s front seat. A low sound rose up from her throat as he swept his tongue further into her mouth to let it tangle with hers. Her moan prompted him to drop the hand that had been covering hers in favor of reaching out to cup the back of her neck, hauling her closer for another hot, deep taste.
Christ, she gave even better than she got, and before Gamble could process the movement, she’d curled her fingers around the front of his T-shirt to grip the cotton by his shoulders and hold his body in place against her chest. His heart slammed against his sternum, each beat sounding off in his ears and daring him to kiss her harder, touch more of her, to not stop until she begged him for unspeakable things with that sharp, sultry mouth. Kennedy edged her teeth over the sensitive skin on the inside of his bottom lip, applying just enough pressure to send a bolt of dark, dirty want all the way through him, and the last of his already shaky common sense snapped.
“Be careful,” Gamble ground out against her mouth, his cock throbbing behind the fly of his jeans. “I bite back.”
But before she could loosen the sexy retort her expression said she’d worked up in her head, the streetlights clicked on with a snap. The flash of light illuminated not only the end of the street that stood about ten feet in front of them, but the handful of benches surrounding the blacktop in the park.
Where a lone male figure sat, slumped low in his hoodie. Waiting.
11
Kennedy was an idiot. No, check that. She was a selfish idiot. How the hell could she have let herself get distracted from her purpose—from her brother, who needed her, maybe now more than ever?
The answer to that question sat next to her, his mouth smudged with her lipstick and his face as unreadable as ever, and God, even though it made her a terrible person, she still wanted him.
A lot.
No. She’d already failed Xander once. She wouldn’t do it again.
“Here,” she said, reaching for the glove box and pulling a napkin from its depths, passing it over to Gamble without actually touching him. “For the lipstick on your face.”
“Kennedy,” he started, but she cut him off with a firm shake of her head. She couldn’t focus on anything that wasn’t Xander right now. Especially since he’d been sitting there for who kn
ew how long.
“No, we’re good. Come on.”
Without waiting, Kennedy grabbed her leather moto jacket from the back seat and got out of the car. The weather wasn’t particularly chilly; hell, it had been in the nineties a mere eight hours ago. But the jacket would provide a buffer for some of her more involuntary body language, and anyway, down here in The Hill, any armor was good armor.
Probably why Xander’s hoodie was zipped up to his chin.
Gamble shut the passenger door quietly and rounded the front of the car to fall into step with her. Her body was still pulsing with a whole lot of please-fuck-me endorphins—damn, physiology was such a bitch sometimes—and having his huge frame and hard muscles so close to her didn’t help matters.
“This is the same as last night,” Kennedy murmured quietly, pulling her shoulder blades tight to her spine and making herself as tall as possible. “Neither of us is interested in having to find my brother again, so let me do the talking.”
“Copy that,” Gamble said, almost under his breath. “If he stays cool, I stay cool.”
Great. She couldn’t argue now, not when they’d reach the bench where Xander sat in less than a minute, but she still shot Gamble a look that telegraphed her displeasure. Xander had already caught sight of her, the shift in his stance broadcasting his wariness as he found his feet, and damn, she had her work cut out for her with a hacksaw.
“Hey,” Kennedy said, giving him a couple of strides’ worth of space even though her instincts screamed at her to hug him. God, even with the hoodie hiding much of his frame, he looked so much thinner than when she’d seen him eight months ago. His face was drawn, the shadows beneath his eyes suggesting a definite lack of sleep, and her gut twisted into a triple-knot before dropping low between her hips.
“Hey. I thought you’d be alone.” Xander stared pointedly at Gamble, who—thank God—took the disdain on her brother’s face pretty well.
“Yeah,” she agreed, wanting to acknowledge the mistrust in Xander’s eyes before she tried to sway him. “This is my friend, Gamble. He’s okay.”
“Your friend.” Xander’s lip curled up in doubt, but Kennedy stood firm.
“Yep.”
Xander shrugged, one thin shoulder lifting halfway before dropping haphazardly. “If you have a friend, what do you need me for?”
The words sailed directly into her sternum, which had probably been their intended target, but that sure as hell didn’t take the sting out of things. Gamble stiffened noticeably on the blacktop beside her, and Christ, she was on one hell of a high wire, here.
Time to cut through the crap. “I think you know why I asked you to meet me here.”
Xander looked at the toes of his worn-out Converse All-Stars. “I’m sure I don’t.”
“Then let me spell it out for you,” she said, because two could play at the attitude game, and she’d gold medaled in dauntlessness before she’d even graduated from middle school. “I want to know why you were at my bar when it caught on fire the other night.”
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” Xander said, but there was a zero percent chance she was going to dick around now that he was right here in front of her.
Especially since her bullshit detector had just exploded.
“Do me a favor and let’s skip those pleasantries, okay? You were at The Crooked Angel on Friday night when the dumpster behind it caught fire”—her hand lifted to quell his protest before he could even work it up—“I saw you, so don’t even try. Then you came all the way downtown to see me after months, if not years, of dodging my texts, only to bolt five minutes later. So, do you want to tell me what the hell is going on, here? Because I don’t think you need me to point out that it looks like you’re into something you shouldn’t be.”
“It’s not that simple,” Xander said, huffing out an exhale. “Anyway, even if I was going to talk about anything, I’m not airing out my shit in front of an audience.”
“I was there,” Gamble said, and even though his voice was quiet, the dead-seriousness in his tone still sent goose bumps over Kennedy’s skin. “I’m not just some random guy trying to get in your business. I was in that bar with your sister on Friday night, so as far as I’m concerned, you don’t just owe her an explanation. You owe me one, too.”
The toughness in Xander’s expression slipped, just a little, but it was enough. “Nobody was supposed to be there.”
Oh, God. “So, you set that fire in the dumpster on purpose?”
“No,” Xander said, and at Gamble’s lifted brows, he added, “I mean, I didn’t set a fire at all. Look, I can’t talk about this, okay?”
“Oh, you’re going to talk about this,” Kennedy said, her disbelief quickly spilling into anger. Bar fights were one thing. Hanging around with someone who intentionally set fires, while they set them? God, it was spectacularly stupid.
Not to mention, arson.
Xander shook his head, adamant. “You don’t understand. I can’t.”
Taking a deep breath, she tried a different tack. “Look, if you’re jammed up, I can help you.”
“Right.” His sneer was as unexpected as it was mean. “Xander the fuck-up needs bailing out by his perfect older sister, yet again. I’m all good, thanks.”
Another direct hit, and this one left her momentarily speechless. Gamble, however? Wasn’t having that problem.
“Hey,” he bit out. “Your sister is just trying to help you.” He’d taken a step forward, but Xander stood his ground.
“I don’t need any help. From her or from you or from anybody else.” He swung his gaze around the park, hunching down lower into his hoodie. “I shouldn’t even be here. This was a mistake.”
Kennedy saw his instincts turn from fight to flight in a blink, and no, no, no. She couldn’t let him run. “Xander, this is serious,” she said, positioning herself closer, but keeping her frustration far from her tone and her expression so he wouldn’t be tempted to bolt. “If that fire was set intentionally, it’s arson. That’s a felony.”
“Believe me, I know.”
The words came out almost inaudibly, as if he hadn’t meant to speak them, and the way his mouth had just pressed into a thin, rigid line confirmed it. “Listen, I’m sorry about your bar, and I’m glad you’re okay. But you can’t help me, here.”
“I can help you,” Kennedy argued softly, her heart locked in her throat. “No matter what you’ve done or what you’re mixed up in, you’re still my brother. I know you’re a good person.”
Xander’s laugh held only bitterness. “You’re wrong, Ken. I’m not the person you knew anymore, and I’m definitely not good.”
“Bullshit.”
Her reply seemed to startle both Xander and Gamble, because they stared at her, slack-jawed, but she wasn’t about to wait for Xander to recover and slap his guard back into place.
“Don’t try to tell me you’re not a good person. You’re here, aren’t you?” she asked. “I told you I needed you, and you came. You’re exactly the person you’ve always been, only right now, you’re just caught up in something. Now, would you please tell me what the hell is going on? Because I’m really worried about you, and I meant what I said. I can help.”
For a minute that felt more like a millennium, Xander stood there on the blacktop and said nothing. Although Gamble didn’t move, Kennedy could feel him beside her, watching and waiting, and finally, Xander let out a breath.
“That dumpster fire was the tip of the iceberg, and the guy who set it…he’s dangerous, okay?”
“Dangerous how?” Gamble asked.
“He’s crazy. Like, not just fearless or stupid, or whatever, but really crazy.” Xander paused as if he were caught up in one last, long internal debate. The look on Kennedy’s face must have told him not to even bother holding back now, because then he added, “He’s got this big plan to burn down a bunch of condos and storefronts that are under construction downtown.”
Confusion outmuscled the holy-shit shock f
illing Kennedy’s chest. “What? Why?”
“Normally, he wouldn’t need a reason. He likes fire, and he’s a complete wingnut. But this time, it’s for money.”
“What, like some kind of insurance fraud?” Kennedy asked, and oh God, how had she gone from slinging drinks and balancing payroll to a this-is-your-life episode of Law & Order with her brother as the special guest star?
“I didn’t ask a lot of questions, and this guy is pretty tight with the details, so I’m not really sure,” Xander said. “I wouldn’t put much past him, but insurance fraud doesn’t seem like his thing. Plus, he doesn’t own the buildings, anyway. They belong to a bunch of highbrow real estate assholes. I guess he could be doing the wet work for a cut, but…”
“Arson is notoriously hard to prove unless it’s done impulsively or by an idiot,” Gamble said slowly. “But when big policies are taken out on properties, especially commercial properties, the fire marshal and the arson investigation unit take a really close look at the scene, along with all potential causes for the fire. The investigations are pretty extensive. Overall, using arson to commit insurance fraud is actually a lot less common than you’d think.”
At Xander’s bewildered expression, Kennedy said, “Gamble’s a firefighter at Station Seventeen.”
“Great,” Xander muttered. “Anyway, the dumpster was just a test run for the device he wants to use to trigger the bigger fires he’s going to set later. This guy said all the nearby businesses would be empty since it was so late, but I didn’t even know until we got downtown that we’d be anywhere close to your bar.”
At that, Kennedy’s anger surged. “But you were, and I was inside. Any one of my staff could have been closing that bar instead of me. They could’ve been seriously hurt!”
“Do you think I don’t get that?” Xander snapped, jamming a hand through his hair. “Jesus, Ken, it’s been killing me, okay? None of this is what I signed on for!”
Down Deep_A Station Seventeen Engine Novel Page 12
