by Davis, Jo
Whatever he’d been expecting, the reality turned out to be much, much worse. Stiff, shivering, and saturated to the bone, he squished inside, leaving puddles in his wake through the station’s TV room. Where was everyone? He prayed he’d get the chance to grab his extra navy pants and Sugarland FD polo shirt from his bedside locker and change before facing the captain’s wrath.
Voices drifted from the kitchen, along with the rich aroma of fresh coffee. God bless Six-Pack for insisting they stock an excellent Starbucks blend. He couldn’t wait to get his hands wrapped around a hot mug. If only he could stop shaking enough to hold it steady. Nerves had set in, and the full import of how bad the wreck might’ve been left him rattled.
In the kitchen, he found Six-Pack leaning his rear against the counter, arms crossed over his massive chest, talking in a quiet, somber tone to Eve. With his short, spiky brown hair bleached blond at the tips, his towering height, and his buff physique, Zack always thought Howard resembled an action-movie star. He and Eve were dressed in the same navy pants and polo shirt that were required on duty, except his friends’ clothes were nice and dry.
“Hey, guys.” They turned to him and he attempted a smile, but it wouldn’t materialize.
Six-Pack pushed off the counter and crossed to him in three strides, Eve on his heels, worry etched on his rugged face. The lieutenant laid a big hand on Zack’s shoulder, pinning him with serious brown eyes.
“Eve said you were fine. You don’t look fine to me.”
“Nah, not even a scratch. Where’s Tanner?” He looked around warily.
Eve scowled. “Forget Sean for a minute. I’m not talking about bumps and bruises at the moment, my friend. You’ve been walking around here like a zombie for weeks. Next thing I know, you’ve bred that car you’re so meticulous about with someone else’s. What’s going on with you?”
He shrugged, going for nonchalant. “I’ve been working a lot of doubles. Somebody has to fill in for Val on B-shift while his leg is healing. Might as well be me.”
Because he desperately needed the extra money, and none of his friends knew why. After Darius Knight’s stroke landed him in a nursing home last year, discovery of the staggering gambling debt the old man owed to Joaquin Delacruz, a dangerous Atlantic City hotel and casino mogul, shocked Zack to the core. What followed ensured a succession of sleepless nights.
Delacruz’s cold promise of bodily harm if he didn’t recoup his money launched Zack into a sick, dizzying slide into hell. He’d gone to the police and the FBI, who ceased to give a shit upon learning the debt was legal. Delacruz knew how to play the game. Threats weren’t actions, so the authorities’ hands were tied. Fine. Zack could take care of himself and if his own safety were the only issue, he would’ve told Delacruz to shove it.
But his father was completely incapacitated, in a coma and helpless to defend himself. Zack just didn’t have it in him not to care what happened to his own father . . . even if the sentiment had never been returned.
Delacruz had ruined Zack in record time.
His beloved home, gone. The life savings he’d built for his own future, gone. The Mustang, his pride and joy, he’d held on to by his fingertips.
He’d never recover from the financial blow, not to mention the physical one. God, he was so tired, most days he couldn’t remember his name, and the team had started to notice. This morning’s wreck had been a mere symptom of a much larger problem. They’d watch him like hawks now, ready to intervene if he started to sink.
They had no idea how easy giving up would be.
Twenty-six years old, flat broke, and at the mercy of dangerous criminals. How do you like those apples, genius?
Eve took his hand, her bronzed, angular face scrunch ing into a frown. Striking pale blue eyes regarded her friend with affection. “Zack, you’re freezing! Are you sure you’re all right? You look ready to pass out.”
“I’m fine. I just want to get out of these cl—”
“Knight! Where the holy hell have you been?”
The captain stepped into the kitchen from the hallway leading to the office and sleeping quarters. Tanner’s hard face was thunderous, startling green eyes snapping with fury.
Ah, fuck.
Cori Shannon squinted through the windshield at the sleet, fighting the steering wheel in the pissy weather. The wipers slapped to the rhythm of an Aerosmith tune as Steven Tyler shagged somebody in the elevator, the old guy getting more action than a team of Navy SEALs on shore leave. Which normally would’ve lifted her spirits, the rockin’ beat and the mental image of someone going after what they wanted, and getting it.
Dammit, she’d missed her morning class. And right before a big exam, too. Now she’d have to make time she didn’t have in her already-insane schedule later today to get two estimates to have her truck fixed, get a rental, deal with insurance. All because that guy frickin’ fell asleep at the wheel. What was his name?
Zack. The firefighter.
The cutie with the laser blue peepers hiding behind those conservative wire-rimmed glasses. Tall, lean, and fit. He’d been young, twentysomething, with soft, coal black hair tumbling over his forehead and framing a kind face. Okay, a gorgeous face with a delicious body to match.
In truth, she hadn’t been able to take her eyes off the way his rain-splattered shirt clung to the hard muscles of his chest. Had feasted on the sight of his wet pants plastered to his long legs and tight, perfect rear end.
Oh, he was a very sexy man all right, but . . . there’d been something vulnerable in his gaze. Something deep and sad that drew her, made her want to take him in her arms and hold him.
Because, shit, she recognized herself in his lost expression. Crazy, but for one split second, she’d fought the impulse to grab his hand and say, “Hey, let’s blow this place. Jump in and we’ll get the hell gone.”
Funny thing was, the man looked like he might’ve taken her up on the offer.
Not that she would’ve made it, much as the idea had merit. “You’re an upstanding citizen nowadays, Corrine, my girl,” she muttered to herself. “No more disastrous decisions for you.”
She shivered. Alexander Gunter was dead, and she’d come damned close to paying the ultimate price for giving up her dreams the first time around the block. For marrying a man wearing the guise of a savior before she discovered the ruthless jackal underneath.
Done and gone. She was so near the realization of her dream, she could taste success. In spite of the crappy start to her day, happiness curled through her belly. May graduation was a mere four months away. By God, she’d done it! A position at Sterling Medical Center, Sugarland’s new hospital, was already hers.
In a few months, once the last of her school bills were paid off and she started drawing a regular check from her new job, she’d start repaying her oldest brother in earnest for his latest “gift.” Her brother’s presents came with too many strings. She hated owing him and he knew it.
All her debts would be history.
Best of all, she’d say so long to exotic dancing for good.
Despite her distaste at using her body to achieve an end, the money was fantastic and immediate, and had served two purposes. One, excavating her life from the nightmare that was her marriage to Alex. Two, proving to her brother that she could take care of herself, despite his being royally pissed at her method.
Brows furrowed, she wondered why on earth she’d deliberately given Zack Knight a skewed impression of herself. Why hadn’t she just told him she was in nursing school? A bit of defiance rearing its ugly head, she supposed. Alex would’ve killed her had he lived to discover how she was paying for her education, if not for defying his edict in the first place.
Yeah, a secret, perverse part of her had wanted to see how Zack would react to news that would have most men panting in anticipation—however incorrect—of an easy screw.
Not this one. The memory of his blue eyes widening in innocence at the disclosure of her profession caused a weird ache in the regi
on of her heart. No guy could possibly be so sweet and naive in this day and age.
What a refreshing change.
Rot in hell, Alex.
A crack of lightning and drumroll of thunder made Cori jump, startling her attention back to the road. The sleet drove against the windshield in sheets, lowering visibility to almost nil. Clenching the steering wheel in a white-knuckle grip, she made up her mind to pull over at the first opportunity and wait until the weather let up. Maybe park at a fast-food restaurant, sip a cup of coffee to ward off the chill. She’d already missed her class, so what did it matter?
Problem was, there weren’t any good places in sight to stop. The Sugarland Bridge loomed ahead, a ghostly spec ter enshrouded in gray. The morning had grown so dark she could hardly tell where the sky ended and the river burgeoning underneath the bridge began.
Easing off the gas, she suppressed a nervous shudder. Heights scared the shit out of her, always had. Couple that fear with a seventy-year-old bridge the county should’ve replaced years ago, rising water, and a fierce storm, and you had a real bladder buster.
Glancing in the rearview mirror, she noticed a pair of headlights approaching from behind. The deluge might be distorting things, but it seemed the lights were approaching far too fast for the treacherous conditions.
Starting over the bridge, she tensed, attention divided between driving carefully and the idiot who was indeed gaining rapidly on her tail. What fool needed to be in such a hurry in terrible weather like this?
The driver was closing the gap between them at an alarming clip, rushing up until the glare from the headlights filled her back end. The jerk didn’t try to pass, but rode her tail no more than a few feet back. Too dangerous and freaky for words. Cori held steady, determined to pull off to the shoulder on the other side and let the car go around her. Just a bit farther and—
A muffled pop sounded a split second before Cori realized her SUV had blown a tire. The vehicle skidded to the right, and, panicking, she jerked the wheel in the opposite direction, overcorrecting.
On a clear day, in dry conditions, she would’ve been able to straighten the vehicle without mishap. But not on what might well be the last day of her life.
Crossing the oncoming lane, she saw the opposite guardrail approach at a terrifying speed. In knee-jerk reaction, she stomped hard on the brake, sending the Explorer into a skid there was no stopping. Too late.
Cori screamed as the SUV rocketed into the guardrail. A deafening explosion of glass and grinding metal drowned out all else. The air bag deployed in her face, saving her from slamming into the steering column or windshield, but the crash jarred every bone in her body. The awful tearing of metal that seemed to go on forever lasted only seconds.
She sat stunned, unable to move, taking stock.
Pain? Not yet. After the shock wore off, most definitely.
Dizzy? Oh, yeah. Her head spun. The vehicle, which seemed to be tilted nose down, rocked like a child’s seesaw. Christ, she must’ve really shaken her brain to be rewarded with that kind of action. At least the glaring headlights were gone.
Frowning, she turned her head to look out her driver’s window, wincing at a stab of pain in her temple. What do you know? The jerk hadn’t even stopped. Unlike the rocking.
Oh, no. The motion wasn’t from dizziness.
Hands shaking, she pushed the deflating air bag out of her face and peered out the shattered front windshield. Terror numbed her entire body like a shot of Novocain.
“Oh God, oh shit . . .”
Her Explorer tottered just a few feet above the swollen, angry Cumberland River.
Nothing between her and a watery grave except the hand of God.
2
The captain crossed to the group, his lean-hipped stride reminding Zack of a panther preparing to rip him to shreds.
Eve looked at Zack. “Sorry, bud. I tried to explain, but he wouldn’t listen.”
Tanner’s gaze briefly touched hers. “And as I reminded you, you’re not his mother. Let Wonder Boy make his own excuses.” To Zack, he said, “This is the fourth time you’ve been late this month. Start talking.”
Heat crept up Zack’s neck, but he stood his ground. “Does it really make a difference? You’ve known me for four years, Cap. In all that time, those are the only instances I’ve ever been late. I’m sorry; it won’t happen again.”
“Says the slacker who didn’t roll the hoses properly or clean the bathroom last month when his turn rolled around,” the captain fired back.
“That’s not the whole story. I asked Salvatore to—”
“Not to mention taking a week off while Six-Pack was in the hospital recovering from a fucking near-fatal gunshot wound. Your selfishness spread the whole team thin.”
Goddamn. Like he’d had a choice? “Clay covered my shifts—”
“And you failed to clean the quint before going off B-shift on Wednesday, and Clay, covering your ass yet again, washed it and got the fucking mud off by himself.”
Zack stared at Tanner, who took a step closer, getting in his grill. “I left early with the stomach flu—”
“Where’s your part of the grocery money? You still owe from last month, and the others are sick of fronting you. Either pay up or don’t eat.”
Zack wanted to die. Wished hell would open under his feet and finish the job. Did the captain think so little of him to believe he’d take what he hadn’t paid for? Hadn’t the man noticed he’d been brown-bagging it with peanut butter and bologna for weeks, when he ate at all?
He wouldn’t defend himself again. Not under pain of torture.
Eve, bristling with anger, hands fisted on her hips, had no such problem. “Hang on just a damned minute, Tanner! Zack hasn’t—”
“I’ll bring the money tomorrow.” Where he’d get it was another problem, but he’d cough up the cash somehow.
“Right.”
“Are you calling me a liar?” Incredulous, Zack gaped at the captain.
“If the shoe fits.”
“Slacker” was bad enough. Of all the things he’d been called, “liar” was the worst. And in front of half the team, no less. This wasn’t the man he’d admired for so long. He stilled, unwilling to show how much the words hurt. “Why don’t we t-take this to your office?”
“Why don’t you tell me why you’re almost two hours late, goddammit?” Tanner shouted.
“I had a wr-wreck on the way here, sir. I rear-ended another vehicle, but no one was hurt. S-satisfied?” Damn, he wished he could stop his teeth from chattering. The last thing he wanted was to appear cowed in front of Tanner, but he was so freaking cold.
Tanner stared at him a long moment, his gaze frigid. “Nobody was hurt this time, so that makes it all right?”
“Sean,” Six-Pack warned.
Ah, shit. He’d unwittingly pushed a major hot button with the captain. How to defuse it?
“No, sir. Just stating the facts. The accident was my fault, but it was minor and the lady and I are both okay.” He spread his hands, attempting to make a lighthearted joke. “I’m here now and ready to get to work, unless you’d like to spank me and send me to time-out.”
The joke backfired. Tanner grabbed a fistful of the front of Zack’s soggy shirt and slammed him backward into the kitchen cabinets. “You worthless little shit. You can look in my face and make light of the fact that you could’ve killed an innocent woman?”
Horrified, Six-Pack leapt forward and hauled the captain backward, forcing himself between his two friends. “Sean, Jesus Christ!”
Zack shook his head, heart in his mouth. “No, I—”
Tanner lunged again, oblivious to Six-Pack holding him back. “What if she had a husband and kids who loved her? She might’ve been dead and that would be on your conscience forever! Your fault!”
Zack’s mouth worked, but his voice deserted him. Six-Pack had no such problem. He yanked the captain off Zack, then pushed the center of Tanner’s chest hard, sending him backward a couple of st
eps.
“Shut up, dammit! Zack’s accident was nothing like the one that took Blair and the kids. You’re way off the deep end. Calm down and apologize to Knight before I go over your head and report you to the battalion chief, and don’t think for one fucking minute I won’t do it.”
Tanner glared at Six-Pack, panting like a trapped animal. Zack and Eve glanced at each other, stunned. Hard to say which was more shocking—Howard dropping the f-bomb, his having the balls to publicly refer to how Tanner’s family died, or his very real threat to make a report. Because the lieutenant meant every word, no doubt.
Tanner shifted his stare to Zack and held it a long moment, making a visible effort to gain control. The madness faded, but there was no warmth. And certainly no respect.
“I apologize for grabbing you. Anything you screw up outside work is none of my business, unless you get arrested. On the job is a different story. I won’t yield on that point. If you can’t pull your weight around the station, I’ll find an FAO who can.”
Somehow, Zack found his voice. “Y-you’d strip my rank?”
As fire apparatus operator, the man responsible for driving and maintaining the quint, the city’s largest and best-equipped engine, he possessed a hard-earned status second only to that of the captain and lieutenant. Most firefighters would kill for the job he loved. One more blow, the one that might finish him. He’d never survive the pay cut, and besides the Mustang, his job was the sole bright spot left in his existence.
“Don’t give me any more reasons to consider it, and we won’t have a problem,” the captain muttered. “Now that you’ve graced us with your presence, find something useful to do.”
Sean spun on his heel and stalked toward the bay, leaving a vacuum of uncomfortable silence in his wake. Eve stared after him, a rare, undisguised look of wretched worry on her striking face—the look a woman gives a man, not that of a teammate for her captain.
Too bad for her, nursing an attraction to a man with a broken heart. Can you spell “doomed”? Not only her but the whole team if she didn’t get a grip. A disaster in the making.
