As Jake watched Peter go, he thought, You don’t know the half of it.
BETH O’ROARKE sat in the dining alcove of her kitchen, breastfeeding Timmy. But her expression was one of a Spanish inquisitor rather than a Madonna. “It doesn’t make sense. Something else is going on here.” Her no-nonsense tone calmed Chelsea, whose hands were still shaking from telling her story.
She’d come to the O’Roarkes’ right from work. Dylan was at the firehouse, and Beth had taken one look at Chelsea and called Francey, who arrived within the hour. Chelsea had told them as quickly as possible what had happened.
Pouring coffee for the three of them, Francey took a seat across from Chelsea. “What are you saying, Beth?”
Beth’s big brown eyes widened, and Chelsea remembered how she used to give that incredulous look to the recruits. “It’s simple. Either someone else did these things, or Chelsea’s losing her mind.”
“I’m not losing my mind.”
“Then…”
“Do you honestly believe she’s being sabotaged?”
“I know it sounds cloak-and-dagger, but the stove was on, the air tank empty and the water in the truck low. Chelsea remembers turning the stove off, she’s sure she checked her air tank and she’s positive the Midi was full. Somebody else did it.”
“Jeez.” Francey stood when Beth drew back from her son to burp him. She eased Timmy from Beth and held the baby against her shoulder. Rubbing his back, she said, “That means it’s somebody from Chelsea’s group.”
“Not necessarily.” Beth stirred her coffee and stretched her legs out in front of her. “Other people have access to the bays. To the firehouse when the trucks are out.”
“Who?” Chelsea asked.
Beth thought. “Maintenance people?”
Francey said, “Some.”
“Officers?”
“A chief would do this?” Chelsea couldn’t believe it.
“If he was out to get you.” Beth frowned. “You make any official enemies lately, Chels?”
Chelsea froze at the nickname. I love you, Chels.
“Chelsea?” Beth asked.
“No, no enemies among the officers. At least not that I know of.”
Beth thought for a minute. “Maybe Francey’s right. Maybe it’s a crew member.”
Chelsea thought of Joey. For what it’s worth, I told the guys to ask you to come to breakfast this morning.
She remembered Don’s horrified look when she almost stepped into the basement water.
There were Peter’s comments at the gunshot site—You did a good job, Whitmore and then at the old man’s house—I told you it was good to know you could handle him. I meant it.
Finally Mick—his consistent, unflappable support. Could one of them really have done this to her?
She buried her head in her hands. “I can’t believe it.”
Leaning over, Beth rubbed Chelsea’s back while Francey put Timmy into a Portacrib by the window. With the shades drawn, it was cool and dim there.
“Chelsea, don’t go emotional on us now,” Beth said gently. “We’ve got to think this through.”
Raising her head, Chelsea said, “All right.”
Francey came to the table with a pad and pencil she’d scrounged from a nearby drawer. “Let’s go through each of the crew. For motive and opportunity.”
Chelsea stirred her coffee as she told them about Mick, Don, Joey and Peter all being near the stove after she’d left.
Francey wrote it down. “And the Midi was open game for the whole day.”
“They all had access to the air tank when I went to the hospital,” Chelsea replied.
“Except Jake.” Beth’s tone was sober.
Abruptly Francey dropped her pencil, and Chelsea’s spoon clattered to the table.
“What?” Chelsea was incredulous.
“You can’t be serious.” Francey said. “Jake?”
“Look, I know he’s close to you.”
“He’s a brother to me.”
“Even people we love are capable of hurting us. Especially if they think it’s for our own good.” Beth shook her head. “Anyway, since there’s no way Jake could’ve had access to your air pack, he’s ruled out.”
Chelsea’s head was starting to throb.
“So everybody had opportunity,” Francey continued. “Who has motive?”
“Joey.” Beth was thoughtful. “He’s still raw over losing you, France.”
“Are you sure?”
Chelsea said, “I’m sure. He told me at your picnic.”
Francey’s face fell. “He hates you because you’re my friend and tries to hurt you? Oh, God, this is awful.”
“A vendetta against all women?” Beth said. “Maybe.”
“How about the other guys?”
Regretfully Chelsea thought of something else. “I know Don and Mick are both having marital problems.”
“That could do it,” Beth and Francey said simultaneously.
Chelsea smiled in spite of the circumstances. “Oh, as if you two have experience with that.”
“Alex and I fight. Still. Over my job.”
“Dylan’s better about risks, but I yell at him at least once a month for doing something stupid.” A pause, then Beth added, “No relationship’s perfect.”
After a moment’s quiet Francey asked, “What about Huff? He’s pretty closemouthed. I wonder what baggage he’s carrying.”
“I don’t know.” Chelsea pictured Peter’s inscrutable face. “The quiet hides a sadness, I think.”
“Maybe over a woman?”
“Maybe.” Chelsea stood. “Look, this is so farfetched. Because Mick’s wife went back to work and he didn’t want her to doesn’t mean he’s mentally unbalanced. Diaz’s wife being miffed because he’s never home doesn’t prove a mental defect in the guy.”
“No, they’re just clues to who might want to hurt you.”
“But what good is this doing?” Chelsea asked.
Timmy began to wail from the crib. Chelsea crossed to the window and picked him up. Holding him to her chest, she paced as she talked. “Now we know everybody—except Jake—has the motive and means to hurt me. That doesn’t help us at all.”
“Yes, it does.” Beth stood and poured more coffee. “It reinforces that you’ve got to protect yourself, be suspicious of everybody. Watch your back. Somebody’s out to get you.”
Chelsea pictured her crew and wanted to bawl like Timmy.
“He’d have to be a Jekyll and Hyde, then,” she said forcefully.
Beth frowned. “Some men are, honey.”
Clutching Timmy to her, Chelsea thought, Some men, but not all. Certainly not Jake.
JAKE SAT in his car in front of her house, trying to quell the hundred tiny voices in his head that chanted, You blew it. Damn. Where was she?
Since the shift ended, at seven this morning, he’d been looking for her. As soon as he left work, he’d driven to her house, telling himself she’d go home so he could meet her there and talk. She hadn’t. Then he’d checked out his house, hoping she’d call or come to him. He’d taken a shower, drunk some coffee, waited. The demons had taunted him too much, so after more phone calls, he’d headed to the gym. Jess was working; surreptitiously—which he realized he was getting tired of—he’d found out Chelsea wasn’t there, hadn’t been there and hadn’t called in. That worried him even more. He’d driven to Francey’s, figuring he could make excuses for seeing his surrogate sister; no one had been home.
Now, at two o’clock, he was at Chelsea’s place again, dressed and ready for work. He had to be at the firehouse in a couple of hours, but he sure as hell didn’t want to see her then for the first time. They needed to talk, so he waited for her, as he had after the basement incident. Purposefully he summoned that day—the kisses in the garage, the promises in her bed.
He heard his own vow. I’ll never turn on you, no matter what happens.
And her reply. If things do go wrong, I promise, I won’t blame
you like Danny did. I won’t turn on you, either.
Did she mean it? She had to. He’d trusted her with his heart; he’d taken a risk he thought he’d never take again.
Just then her red Camaro sped down the street and swerved into the driveway, then into the garage. She got out and went to the house without seeing him.
Hell. He stomped out of his car and strode to the door. She’d given him a key, but he rang the bell, anyway.
She pulled it open. Her face was drawn, her eyes bloodshot. She’d untucked the T-shirt from her cutoffs and kicked off her shoes. Her hair was wild.
There was surprise on her face. Anger kindled, licked at him, like just-beginning flames. Could she honestly think he wouldn’t come? “Where have you been?” he asked, trying to quell the cauldron of emotion bubbling inside him.
“Excuse me?”
“I’ve been looking for you all day.”
She stared at him.
“I was worried.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Are you?”
“Yes. I didn’t think you’d…I didn’t expect…” She shrugged. “I guess I wasn’t thinking.”
About me. That hurt.
He leaned against the doorjamb. “Can I come in?”
“Of course.” Stepping aside, she let him into the living room. He was reminded of the night Billy had come after her. Of what had started here. He’d be damned if he’d let her go without a fight.
Plowing his hand through already disheveled hair, he sank onto a couch. She perched on the footstool, out of touching distance.
“We need to discuss this.” His tone was no-nonsense.
“What’s there to discuss, Jake?”
“I’m not turning on you, Chels.”
She clutched her hands together until they were white. “I know that.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t you come to me today?”
“I needed to think.”
“Where did you go?” If she said, “To Spike,” he didn’t know what he’d do.
“To Beth and Francey.”
Even that hurt. “All day?”
“Yes. We talked through the morning, had lunch. I showered and tried to take a nap at Beth’s.”
“Why didn’t you come to me?” he asked again.
She looked at him, exasperation crossing her face.
“Jake, you’re part of this. You’re part of what I’m trying to deal with. I can’t talk to you about it.”
“I hate hearing that.” Edging off the couch, he came to his knees in front of her. “I’m not turning on you,” he repeated.
As she grasped his hand, the struggle was evident in every line of her lovely face. “I know. I believe that.” Her eyes were bright. “It’s just hard to deal with.”
“We’ll deal with it together.”
“How?”
“By weathering it. By letting it run its course.”
She looked unconvinced.
He said raggedly, “Tell me you trust me on this. I need to hear it.”
She waited a long moment. “I trust you.” He knew that was probably the hardest thing she’d ever said to him.
Relief flooded him; he reached into his pocket and pulled out the soft cloth bag he’d taken from his dresser at home. “I’ve got something for you. I was going to wait until your birthday, next month, and wrap it up pretty. But I want you to have it now.”
Her hands were shaking, which was all right because his were, too. She emptied the pouch in her palm.
Looking up at him, she cocked her head. “What are these?”
“They’re medals I found in a fire fighter’s catalogue.” He reached down and picked up the smaller, more delicate twenty-four-carat chain. On the end of it was half a medal with half of a Maltese cross etched in it. “This is yours. The bigger chain’s mine.” He picked the second medal up and fitted one half of the cross to the other. “It reads, ‘May God watch over you when we’re apart.”’ He coughed, cleared his throat, rocked by the same emotion that had overcome him when he ordered the medals.
“When the medal’s together, it’s whole. When it’s apart, it’s incomplete.” He threaded his hand through her hair, and their gazes locked. “Just like us.”
Her eyes swam with tears.
“I want you to wear this and not take it off until we can be together openly.” He took her gold chain and slipped it over her head.
And he waited.
In seconds she took his, longer and heavier, and reverently roped it around his neck.
“I love you, Chels. I want to be with you for the rest of our lives. I’m like this medal, not whole without you.”
“I love you, too.”
He touched his forehead to hers. When he drew back, he stood and held out his hand. “I know we don’t have much time, but come to bed with me. I need you.”
His heart was full at the watery smile she gave him. Then she placed her hand in his.
CHELSEA SHOWED UP for work at four-thirty, just on time. Still raw about the water problem, she’d decided to follow Beth’s advice and observe her co-workers on the next two nights. Was one of them a Jekyll and Hyde? The idea made her stomach churn.
Her thoughts turned to Jake; he’d beaten her here by only minutes, as they’d left her bed with just enough time to shower and dress. He was in the office as she walked by and gave her a casual salute through the glass barrier. She nodded, staring at him, remembering how only an hour before his body had driven into hers with almost frightening possessiveness. He’d showed her, physically, that she was his. Fingering the chain barely visible around her neck, she tore her gaze away and headed for the kitchen.
Joey, Mick, Don and Peter were sitting at the table, each reading. Briefly she wondered if they’d gotten together today, too, to discuss her. She felt tiny pinpricks of pain at the thought.
“Whitmore, get some coffee and come over here. I need help.” Peter was surrounded by books; he looked like a scholarly professor with glasses perched on his nose. She grabbed a mug and took a seat next to him.
“What’s this?” she asked casually, as if her world wasn’t caving in around her.
“Cookbooks. I’m chef tonight and need help finding a good recipe for this fish.” He rolled his eyes. “One Mick will like.”
“I’m not a fish man,” Mick said, his eyes glued to his book. Then he laughed at what he read.
Joey grunted, reading the paper.
Don snorted. “You’re too picky. Lucy would never put up with that.”
Chelsea couldn’t ignore the comment. Come to think of it, he—and Mick—had made a lot of those remarks in the past few weeks. Was there trouble in their marriages? Or was she looking at things with a magnifying glass?
Chelsea glanced at Peter’s books. The New Healthy Firehouse Cookbook, The Firefighter’s Low Fat Cookbook and The Fit Firefighter’s Recipe Book. “Where’d you get these?” she asked.
“I bought ’em. Thought we needed new ones.”
She smiled. Mick laughed again.
“What are you readin’?” Joey asked him.
“Something I brought in for Whitmore. I’ll tell ya in a minute.”
As Mick continued to read, Chelsea and Peter paged through the cookbooks. Chelsea found a possibility and pointed it out to Peter.
“You like orange flavoring, Mick?” Peter asked.
He raised his eyes. “I like orange Popsicles. That count?”
She and Peter decided it counted, and chose orange-glazed halibut.
After another burst of laughter from Mick, Joey said, “What the hell you got there, Murphy?”
“It’s a book of firefighter jokes.”
“God, those are awful. I read some before, and they were stupid.”
Mick’s eyes twinkled. “These are different. They’re all female-firefighter jokes. Andrea found it at a bookstore a while ago. I was savin’ it for a special occasion, but…” His voice trailed off. Tho
ugh last night stood between them like a brick wall, Mick’s comment was the closest anybody had come to mentioning it and the strain between them.
Chelsea gave Mick a warm smile. He always came through for her, though she recognized Peter’s intention with the cookbooks was to include her, too.
“Okay, shoot.” She made her voice firm. “But I warn you, if they’re sexist, I got a whole locker full of male-bashing jokes that Delaney got off the internet. I’ll get ’em out.”
Don, Joey and Peter groaned loudly.
“Nah, you’ll love these.” Mick lowered his eyes. “What do you call a firefighter’s wife who knows where her husband is every night?”
She shrugged.
“A widow.”
Chelsea laughed. The rest of the men grunted.
“A firefighter had a conversation with God. He asked, ‘Why’d you make woman so beautiful?’ God, said, ‘So you’d love her.’ The firefighter said, ‘Why’d you make her so dumb? God replied, ‘So she’d love you.”’
Again Chelsea laughed. Three jokes later, Peter said, “Murphy, gimme a break.”
Jake came in and threw a paper on the table. “This week’s trivia from O’Roarke. They’re tough.”
Don picked it up. Peter stood and went to the fridge. Joey buried his face in the newspaper.
“Here’s a good one,” Mick said. “How many sensitive, interesting, liberated men in the fire department would it take to clean the firehouse?”
Everybody shook their heads.
“Both of them.”
Jake came to the table. “What’s all this about?”
“A book his wife found,” Chelsea explained. “It’s dedicated to female firefighters.”
“Just what we need.” He winked at her, though. She smiled. “We’re doing some training after dinner,” he told the crew. “The last of the confined-space program.”
“Dinner’s at six,” Peter informed them.
“Let’s do the training first,” Joey said. “There’s something I want Chelsea to help me with later.”
Everybody agreed, but Mick said, “One more, then I’ll put this away. A female smoke eater told her colleagues that her boyfriend was like a snowstorm. She said, ‘You don’t know when he’s coming or how many inches you’ll get or how long it’ll stay.”’
“Enough!” Jake roared. But everybody laughed, and the tension was suitably broken. Once again, Mick was a lifesaver.
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