“Right now I think the firefighters have bigger concerns than figuring out the psychology of this arsonist, but I would imagine that since you’re so involved Mr. Mayor, that you’ve been in touch with local authorities to piece this mystery together.” She saw the upward curve on Mitch’s lips. He was proud of her for getting back on focus, and once she had he took over the interview in an entirely new light. Now, his focus wasn’t on the nearly contained fires and restoration post containment, it was on what this mayor was doing to ensure the bad guy was apprehended. The mayor wasn’t happy with the new direction, but Mitch was. A few questions later and Mayor Townsend had a sudden engagement he needed to attend. In other words, the interview was over. At least things seemed to end on somewhat hospitable terms. Mayor Townsend still wanted Mitch to have full access to the fire scenes. He still wanted their paper to have the inside scoop on the story, which meant she was still going to be the on the scene photojournalist.
“Hello, Eve,” Mitch whistled as he started the car. “That was awesome. I mean fan-friggen-tabulously awesome! You should ditch the camera for reporting, honey.”
“Don’t call me honey,” she reminded him.
“Sorry. I forgot. Seriously, let me train you to report.”
“I don’t want to report, Mitch. I just want to take pictures.”
“Make yourself multi functional sweetheart and you’ll never be out of a job. If you can write the story and get the shots you’ll be a double threat.”’
She didn’t like it when he called her sweetheart either. She had told him before, and for a while he seemed to get it. Lately he was slipping back into his old ways. He did, however, have a point. In this economy, and this industry, maybe she should learn how to do both. “Won’t that put us as competitors?”
“Nah. I’ll always be better than you.”
She laughed. “Right, so then why bother teaching me?”
“It’s simple. I can’t take credit for your soon-to-be prize winning photography, but when you write your first award winning news piece I can take credit for that. It’s all about me, Eve.” He chuckled. He might have tried to play it off as a joke, but she was well aware it was really all about him.
“You’d lose me as a photojournalist for your stories.”
“Ah, I’d have some years before you’re ready for that to happen. By then, there will be a much younger, much sweeter, very vivacious, non wedding night virgin to take your place.”
“You’re a jerk,” she snapped.
“Ah, Eve. Don’t take it personal. The kid wasn’t right for you anyway.”
“He’s not a kid. He’s a grown man. He’s twenty-six you know?”
“He’s a kid. I’m pushing fifty…” She cut him a curt look. “Okay, so fifty is a good seven years off, but still, to me he’s a kid. You should date an older, more mature man.”
From the tone of his voice she was starting to wonder if he considered himself that older, more mature man. She decided not to ask because she really didn’t want to know. Outside of that one time, when he got drunk and decided to pay her a visit in the guesthouse, they had always had a working relationship and that’s how she wanted to keep it. She didn’t need to not trust him…although that night, when he snuck into her house, crawled on top of her and tried to force himself on her, she had lost a lot of trust, and a great deal of respect for him. She had told him no, and she was sure he both heard and understood her, yet he proceeded to try to get her night shirt off. Fortunately, while her brothers felt an insanely obsessive need to protect her, they hadn’t shied away from teaching her how to protect herself. Despite his weight, she had been able to subdue him, to get him off of her and out of the place she had called home. Once she did that, she made sure to stick a chair under the doorknob to be sure he didn’t use his key to get back inside.
She had been set to ask for a reassignment, except there wasn’t another reporter available. Nobody wanted to work with Mitch, so getting another full-time photojournalist to switch with her wasn’t going to happen. If she wanted out then she would be shot back down to freelancer and they’d hire somebody else to take over with Mitch. He was, undoubtedly, a sledgehammer when it came to work. He drove his point in hard, making sure everything was to perfection. On some level she respected him for that. She wasn’t a sloppy photojournalist by any means, but working with Mitch was giving her experiences she could use to grow in her career.
He apologized profusely for his lapse in “judgment” and swore it would never happen again. She knew he was genuinely sorry, but at the same time, if she hadn’t been able to control the situation she knew he would have finished what he started. Drunk or not, that was something she couldn’t forget—that he had the ability, and the willingness, to hurt her.
After a few months the air between them settled and since she wasn’t staying in his guest house any longer they were able to work together without animosity, without any sense of mistrust between them. Things had gone back to the way they were—at least they had mostly gone back to the way they were. She still remembered that night. She still remembered what he was capable of, and so she made sure to stay away from Mitch if ever he had a story blow up in his face. He had, within the past years, gone from venting his frustrations at those around him, to venting and then hitting the bottle. He didn’t drink regularly, but if one of his stories went south all bets were off. The first line of attack was the poor person who happened to be within viewing range. It didn’t matter if he were behind closed doors because Mitch would barge in and let out his anger in a rant that would send an angel running for cover. His new second line of attack was Jack Daniels, by the case load. Thank God the man didn’t have a bad story on a frequent basis or who knows where he would end up—probably in some back alley passed out drunk by the side of a dumpster.
“I stopped drinking, Eve.”
“What?” She wasn’t sure where that revelation had come from. She hadn’t asked him about it.
“After that night. After what I almost did to you. Well, I didn’t want to chance getting plastered again. So, I stopped drinking. I took up boxing instead. Now when I get angry I hit the gym.”
“Oh.” She would guess that was good; at least she hoped so.
“I like going there anyway. I mean, you must have noticed my muscular look.”
She laughed. “Mitch, you were always a little on the muscular side.”
“Yeah, but now it’s getting more solid. Before I had a little flab. I’m getting old, you know, things sometimes go flabby with age.” He laughed and she laughed. “Anyway, I’m taking care of myself, and trying to be a better man.”
“Well, that’s good for you. You should care enough about yourself to take care of yourself.” She exhaled slowly. She wasn’t sure where this conversation was going, but she knew if it were going where she thought it might be then she didn’t want it to go there.
“I’m trying to be a better man for you.” He took his eyes off the road long enough to look at her.
She didn’t know what she should say to that. “Well, as your friendly photojournalist I appreciate the effort. Now, let’s talk about tomorrow. I think I should go back out to the Espanola fire and get some more photos.”
“You want to see him,” he snapped.
“If you’re talking about Adam, he’s not my reason. As far as I know he’s not going to be out there. He’s not always sent out to the wildfires you know. He wasn’t even supposed to be out there the other day.”
“Oh, okay. Well, I don’t think we need any more shots of that fire for now. I’d like you to get a few more of your old apartment complex instead. I’ll go out there with you because I’m working on an angle to the story and I need to see it firsthand.”
“You’re still working it? I thought you said it was old news.”
He laughed. “You do listen.” He turned onto the interstate heading south toward the office. “Let’s just say I have a hunch the bomber and our arsonist aren’t one in the same.
I think both stories could be prize winning, and I want both prizes.”
“I see.”
“Oh come on. You know you don’t think it’s related either. If you did your brothers wouldn’t have come down here.”
“My brothers would go anywhere if they thought I was in any danger and knowing about my apartment complex blowing up is really a visit from the brothers McGregor inducing event.” Although, Mitch was right; she didn’t think the bomber and the arsonist were one in the same—neither did her brothers. They may have gone home, but she could tell they weren’t ready to let it go that easily.
“Your brothers didn’t come down after that night.”
“That’s because I didn’t tell them.”
“You do love me,” he grinned.
“No. I love them. If I had told Thomas or Gavin what you tried to do to me they would have killed you.”
“Ouch,” he grimaced. “Well, they didn’t come to Egypt.”
“That’s because I didn’t tell them about that either.” She mumbled her words. She didn’t tell them about Egypt at all, but she knew they had both been ready to come in there and find her, to pull her out of Egypt and take her back to the safety of one of their homes. They just didn’t think it was safe for their baby sister to be there when there was an uprising going on. If they had known about her capture, about what had almost happened to both reporter and photojournalist, they wouldn’t have stayed Stateside at all. They would have been on the first plane to Cairo—and they would have been bringing hell with them.
Egypt wasn’t her fault, but they would have used it against her—she was sure of that. If it weren’t for Mitch and his big mouth they wouldn’t have landed in hot water. She was fluent in Arabic and he wasn’t, yet he felt the need to try to brush up on his skills while doing an interview. He wanted to upstage her because she was the one who said he should let her translate since she knew the language. Her mouth, though unintended, had caused trouble. Mitch’s ego couldn’t take somebody being better than him at something. So, instead of letting her translate he decided to try his hand at the language. Something about telling a gun wielding man that his mother sleeps with dogs just didn’t seem like the best idea. She couldn’t count how many times she reassured the man that they were “stupid Americans” in an effort to get him to not shoot them. He hadn’t been happy with Mitch’s words or her explanation, but he hadn’t shot them. He pretended to let them leave, but he, and his friends, followed them from one street to another before they found themselves walking into a trap. It was too late to do anything about it once they noticed what was going on. Instead, they ended up spending two days as “guests” of some rather unfriendly men who assured them they would be shot if they tried anything. They didn’t have food, or water, for two days. Eventually, and she didn’t know why but she thought maybe it was the need for those same men to get on the frontlines in the protest, but whatever the reason they let them go. They just let them walk away.
Once they got back to the hotel, and Mitch called the head office, they were assured they would not be staying. Evacuation was mandatory. She had also been told that the paper was just a few hours out from calling the family and the embassy to alert them to the possible death of two of their employees. Gee, she thought, thanks for the concern. She was glad they hadn’t called her family. She was glad they hadn’t called the embassy because knowing her brothers and their connections somebody would have called them and told them. She was even glad their paper decided to pull out early. Most reporters were staying; they were getting the story, but not them. Mitch, surprisingly, wasn’t angry. He had the story he had come for, and he wanted to get back to bask in his glory. Before they even left Cairo his story was running in the papers, her pictures beside them, and even CNN had mentioned it. Fortunately, Mitch left out the part about being held prisoner for two days. She gathered he was saving that for the book.
At some point she would have to tell her brothers what happened, but until she was forced to face that point, she was keeping Egypt a tight secret. Only two people knew exactly what happened, because she hadn’t told anybody at the paper and neither had Mitch, but when the day came that his ego demanded he play himself up to be the hero of the situation then she knew he would shout it from the rooftops. Yes, she was going to have to tell her brothers eventually. She would start with Thomas. She was closest to him, and somehow talking to him, even though she knew he would be angry, always felt more natural to her than going to Gavin first. She exhaled slowly, thinking about all that she needed to tell him about someday, all the things she didn’t want to have to tell him about. Good Lord. If she told her brothers everything they would be certain they had a valid point for keeping her under house arrest—and they would be right. Well, she would cross that bridge once it was built. Right now she had bigger issues to concern herself with. Right now, she had a story to shoot—two of them.
Chapter Eight
“I’m not sure what to make of it, man. I mean when we’re doing it she starts laughing. At first,” Dwayne shook his head, “I thought it was my fault. I thought she was laughing at me.” He slammed his locker door. “That’s a real ego crusher and I was pissed. But then she kept saying it felt good—between giggles and laughing.”
“Dwayne, this is too much information.” Adam gave a brief glance to the stick thin man disclosing far too much personal information to him. Dwayne might look harmless, but he could bench press more than most men with twice the muscle bulk. He just didn’t seem to gain weight no matter what he ate or how many weights he lifted. He aced every physical without breaking a sweat. And here he was, telling all about the newest lady in his bed with far too much detail about his insecurities in the bedroom with her.
“I’m building to why I’m telling you this; just hang in there.” He sat down on the bench. “Well, it’s just that she says it tickles…you know what I mean? It’s like every time it tickles. How do I make that stop?”
“Why are you asking me?” Adam wasn’t sure why they were having this conversation, other than the fact that they were both one of the guys, but Dwayne was thirty-six, ten years his senior, and he wasn’t at all virginal—he would think the man would have learned how to please a woman by now.
“You’re young, she’s young like you and I just thought you’d know what to do about that. Besides, you’re with that hot little number that I’ve seen hanging around the fires. Do you tickle her?”
“Jeeze, dude! I am not having this conversation with you.” He shoved his hand through his hair. “And she’s not just hanging around the fires; she’s working. She’s a photojournalist. It’s her job to be there.”
“You’re not doing her yet,” Dwayne stood up. At six foot one the man was far enough over Adam to make him have to look up a little. “What are you waiting for? Christmas?”
“She wants to wait. Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Until when?”
“Until she’s married,” he stressed. What else would he be talking about?
“Man, I’m sorry for you. I mean, that’s a nice piece of tail—and you’re not getting any.”
Adam felt his hands tighten into closed fists. Eve was sweet and gentle, smart and funny and nobody should refer to her as just some “piece of tail,” any day.
“I can hook you up with a friend of Kim’s. You know, one night and all. Or more if you want.”
“Eve is special to me. I care about her. I would go so far as to say I might be falling in love with her.” Although he wasn’t sure. He had never been in love before, but then he had never felt for any other woman what he felt for Eve. Maybe it was love, maybe it was something else, but he wasn’t willing to shoot himself in the foot by hurting her. “I’m not going to risk what I could have with her for a few minutes of pleasure.”
“Well unless you’re planning on marrying her you’re going to be in pain for a long time. Women like that don’t change their mind.”
“I’m not expecting her too,
” his voice was tight with annoyance and anger. Why were they even having this conversation?
Dwayne shrugged. “Your loss,” he mumbled as he walked toward the door. He wasn’t even two steps out into the main room when Adam heard his boisterous voice say, “hey guys, Adam’s dating a wedding night virgin!”
“Bastard,” Adam shook his head as he closed his own locker. He was a man. He was a firefighter, and because of both certain things were expected of him. Well, he was sick of it. He was sick of women coming on to him because they had some “men in uniform” fetish. He was sick of women looking at him as if he had to be this stark, romance novel version, of an alpha male. More than that, he was sick of the guys thinking he had to be in the sack with some woman whenever he wasn’t working. That wasn’t his style. It had never been his style. He was just a man; one who happened to fight fires. He knew he had relatively good looks. All of the Carrigan boys had been blessed with their mother’s good looks and their father’s courage for fighting fires. Adam and his brothers were fifth generation firefighters and smokejumpers, and now Trent was a fire investigator, adding new dimension to the history of their family. They were fifth generation men of action, but that didn’t mean they were all the same in personality or temperament.
He exhaled sharply. “No point in procrastinating. Might as well get out there and take whatever’s coming.”
He knew before he even walked through the door that all eyes would be on him. The guys were the guys; nobody escaped a little taunting…nobody except the chief.
“We were wondering how much longer you were going to hide out in there.” Rick Sanders grinned, flashing crooked teeth in his devious expression.
Fahrenheit Page 7
