Under Fire

by Davis, Jo

  “Next week, I hope.” He did a quick mental calculation. “I’d like to be back for the Wednesday shift. That gives me another week to heal.”

  “Don’t push yourself too hard. We want you at full speed when you get behind the wheel again.”

  The lieutenant’s words gave him a jolt of profound joy, which he hid behind a mask of calm. “The captain’s sentiment or yours?”

  “Everyone’s, including Sean. You don’t know how bad he feels about coming down on you like he did that day,” Howard said softly. “And then to have you go out and almost get killed on a call . . . it’s really hit him hard, Zack.”

  “He shouldn’t feel responsible. The fault lies with the bastard who’s terrorizing Cori.”

  “He does all the same. He’s carrying a helluva load right now and none of us know how to help him.” The lieutenant ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

  “Yeah, I remember his son’s nineteenth birthday is this week.” Or would’ve been. God, the poor soul. If Zack’s wife and kids had been wiped out in one tragic quirk of fate, he’d probably have gone insane with grief. Tanner was hanging on by a microscopic thread.

  “Praise Jesus, we’re on shift Thursday and short-handed, so Sean can’t stay home and drink himself to death.”

  Sorrow flashed across Eve’s pretty, bronzed face. Six-Pack wasn’t breaking any confidences—for the past year, the whole team had either observed or experienced Tanner’s downhill slide in action.

  “I don’t know, Six-Pack. I’m not sure work is the best place for him to be that day. Not with the team’s safety at stake.”

  For a split second, anger darkened the lieutenant’s face at the insinuation that the captain could unwittingly endanger them during a high-risk call. But Zack was right and they all knew it.

  Six-Pack nodded. “We’ll keep an eye on him.”

  “I know you will. I should’ve kept my mouth shut.”

  “Nope, we’re a team, buddy. We watch each other’s backs. So, next Wednesday, huh?” he prompted, switching the subject.

  “That’s my plan.”

  “If it works out, what do you say we get the gang together next Thursday night at the Waterin’ Hole to celebrate your return? I haven’t been there since before I met Kat and that tall brunette tried to teach me that trick with her tongue—ow!” Rubbing his arm, he grimaced at his scowling better half and her balled-up fist. “Tying cherry stems, angel, that’s all!”

  Kat huffed. “Oh, really? Well, your wife will teach you interesting tongue exercises this time, big guy. Assuming wives and girlfriends are invited?”

  “Of course, sweetheart. I wouldn’t dream of going without you.” He placated her with a kiss.

  Zack grinned at their antics, secretly hoping he had a shot at this sort of special bond with Cori. “Sounds like fun. I’ll run it by Cori, but I’ll be there for sure.”

  Life looked a bit rosier, in spite of Joaquin’s looming deadline for Zack to cough up fifty grand. The man had no idea where he was staying. He had Cori, and couldn’t wait for next Wednesday. Yet on the heels of that thought, one reminder sobered him.

  When he went back on shift for twenty-four hours at a stretch, no one would be home to protect Cori.

  He had to find a solution, and soon.

  12

  Zack had been quiet for the past couple of days. Her new lover lit up like a Christmas tree when she came home in the evenings, and made love to her with gentle passion, but whenever she pretended not to notice, he withdrew into troubled silence. He left her bed and prowled the house after he thought she’d fallen asleep, baseball bat in hand, ever on guard for their nemesis, who hadn’t shown again.

  He seemed to be chewing on something, too. She often caught him watching her, all tense, as though he was about to broach a serious subject, only to switch gears and put on a smile, starting a conversation about their day. His swinging moods were about to drive her nuts.

  With a sigh, Cori stuck a casserole in the oven for dinner, wiped her hands on a towel, then headed for the living room.

  “Thirty minutes until—” She broke off at the sight of Zack reclining in the easy chair he’d obviously claimed as his own for the duration, feet up, head lolling to one side. Sound asleep.

  Black wisps of bangs fell over his closed eyes, and his glasses had slipped down on his nose. For some reason, the endearing picture caused a strange, wonderful pang in her heart. He appeared so sweet and vulnerable like this, but he was strong, too. And so damned handsome. She wanted to touch him constantly, as though he were a fever she had no desire to cure.

  The newspaper was spread open on his lap, the remote control on the chair’s armrest, TV blaring about the latest politician who couldn’t keep his trousers zipped. A scene cut from the pages of domestic suburbia.

  She smiled to herself. She’d fled hundreds of miles to avoid a man taking over her life again, and this one had claimed her TV remote and favorite chair inside a week.

  Even more shocking, she didn’t mind. Much.

  Creeping to the chair, she took the remote and turned down the volume to a less ear-shattering level, then placed it on the table beside him. The absence of noise, or perhaps her presence, caused him to stir.

  Blue eyes fluttered open and he stretched, wincing in pain, favoring his wounded shoulder. “Ah, damn . . . Oh, hi, baby.” Dazed from his nap, he gave her a lopsided smile.

  “Do you need another pain pill? I’ll get it for you.” She cupped his cheek, enjoying the prickle of his whiskers under her palm.

  “No, I’m just a little sore. Besides, those darned things make me drool.” He sat up straighter, inhaling a deep breath. “What smells so good?”

  “Chicken and rice casserole. It’ll be ready in about twenty-five minutes. Hungry?”

  His stomach rumbled in answer. “There’s your verdict. I’m starving. Can I help you do anything?”

  “I’ve got it covered, but thanks.” A man asking such a question was alien to her. Any one of her brothers would donate his left testicle to science before offering to assist a woman with domestic chores.

  She left Zack to channel surf while she tossed a salad and set the table. Truly, she didn’t mind the Betty Crocker routine because it gave her much-needed time to decompress from the stress of her classes and clinicals. To have a man underfoot in her kitchen would be equivalent to a spaceship landing in her front yard.

  Dinner was a quiet affair, Zack eating slowly and appearing more tense than ever, and she cast about for a way to lighten the mood.

  “You’re doing way too much work around here. I’m going to have to put you on the payroll.”

  He shrugged. “I like being outside, or woodworking in my—” He broke off, coughing behind his hand. “I mean, your shop.”

  “Good. Someone should get some use out of all those materials and the equipment.” Zack only nodded, pushing the rice around his plate, and she eyed him. He looked as if he’d swallowed his tongue. Given her brothers’ attitudes, it didn’t strike her as unusual for a guy to think of a manly space like the wood shop as “his,” and she wondered at his odd reaction to the verbal slip.

  “So, are you going to tell me what you’re making out there?”

  “You said to surprise you, remember?”

  She sighed. “So I did.”

  “I’ll bet you’re terrible at waiting.” A ghost of a smile hovered on his lips.

  “The worst. Not even a hint?”

  “Hmm, all right. I believe you’ll like it.”

  “Well, I know that! You’re not good at giving hints at all.” She thought she’d teased him out of his funk, but his humor faded. He stared at his half-consumed meal as though it contained life’s secrets, and her patience evaporated. “Okay, out with it. Tell me what crawled up your shorts and died before I lose my mind.”

  Giving up the pretense, he laid his fork down and studied her, purpose in his blue gaze. “Cori, I’m no cop. What’s going on with this stalker is so far out
of my depth, I’m flying blind. God knows the police aren’t making any progress.”

  Oh, God! He’s had enough and wants to leave. She couldn’t blame him, but the image of Zack packing his bag and walking out of her life constricted her lungs. Left her cold and aching inside.

  “You don’t have to say anything else,” she said stiffly, nudging her plate aside. Don’t cry, don’t you dare! “You didn’t sign up for lunatic patrol when you came here. Where will you stay?”

  “What? I’m not going anywhere.” He frowned. “Unless you want me to leave.”

  “No! I just thought . . . the way you were talking . . .”

  “You automatically assumed I’m a coward who’d turn tail and run from trouble? Leave you alone and defenseless?”

  Her face heated. “Of course not! Well, okay, I thought you might want to go, but you’re not a coward. I just—”

  “Forgot that I’ve made myself completely at home and I’m so happy here, with you, I can’t see straight? That I’m sleeping in your bed, making love to you every night?” He arched a black brow. “Guess I’ll have to redouble my efforts.”

  “Point taken,” she said, holding up a hand in surrender. “Your efforts are quite unparalleled, believe me.”

  “Thanks, beautiful,” he drawled, looking rather pleased with himself. “You’re pretty inspirational yourself.”

  “I have a great muse.” His compliment warmed her, easing the last of her fears of his making tracks. “Where were you headed with the subject of the cops, then?”

  His expression sobered. “Like I was saying, this is out of my league. Statistics alone say he probably won’t give up until he’s accomplished whatever his sick goal is. What happens when I go back to work and I’m gone for twenty-four hours at a time? I can’t keep you safe. I think we need to call in reinforcements.”

  “What, like hire security to watch the house?” She shook her head. “He’ll just wait for a better opportunity. If he wants to get to us, he eventually will.”

  A muscle jumped in his jaw. “I know. I’m suggesting we bring in someone who knows how to fight dirty.” He paused, looking her square in the eyes. “Someone with resources, who has damned good motivation for moving heaven and earth to find this monster.”

  “But who—oh.” She stiffened, the breath whooshing from her lungs. “Oh, no. You cannot possibly be suggesting what I think you are.”

  “Joaquin is powerful, Cori. He and your other brothers probably have contacts we can’t imagine and don’t want to know about. People who can get things done quickly and efficiently. They could ferret out this crazy guy and kick his ass before you lose another night’s sleep.”

  She narrowed her eyes, studying Zack’s grim expression, his posture. He wasn’t thrilled with his proposal, either. No, the emotion radiating off him was much stronger than reticence. More like dread.

  “All true, but you have no idea what you’re asking. I can’t involve Joaquin in this. I won’t.”

  He spread his hands, the portrait of frustration. “Why not?”

  “Are you under the impression that my brother will find the perpetrator and dutifully hand him over to the authorities?”

  “Why not?”

  She gave a soft, bitter laugh. “No, Zack. Joaquin is a steamroller. If he gets wind of this, he’ll mow down everything in his path until he finds his quarry. And when he does, there won’t be a need for a trial. You said as much to Detective Bernie, so what makes you believe he’d feel any differently?”

  “Dammit, Cori—”

  She shoved out of her chair and began to pace. “He could wind up in prison, convicted of murder. You don’t know him or care about his welfare, but I do.”

  “I care about you.”

  “But not my family?”

  Stony silence greeted her question. Oh, this was going to get ugly. The burn of anger spread through her chest, rapidly increasing to a boil. She grabbed the back of her chair, knuckles turning white.

  “As long as our problem is solved, Joaquin can twist in the wind? Is that it?”

  Zack stood, as well, dinner forgotten. “Your brother is a grown man who makes his own choices,” he said, his voice cool. “Did it ever occur to you that his stay-out-of-jail pass should’ve expired long ago?”

  Her mouth fell open. “Where in the hell is this coming from?” Silence. Zack clamped his lips shut, glaring at her. She closed the short distance between them, stabbing his chest with one finger. “Where do you get off? Nobody dumps on my family but me! How dare you suggest whining to my brother to catch the bad guy when you don’t give a shit what might happen to him!”

  His eyes hardened to cold blue marbles. “I don’t whine to anyone when I need help, but I’m not foolish enough to refuse when it comes to keeping you safe. If that makes me an asshole, fine.”

  “I don’t think you’re an asshole,” she hissed. “I just don’t understand where this attitude toward my brother is coming from. You think he belongs in jail? I know he’s no angel and he’s made a career out of grinding his opponents to dust, but why would you want him to take a fall?”

  “You’re putting words in my mouth.”

  “Really? You’re judging a man you know nothing about.”

  “Maybe you ought to take off your blinders and do a little judging of your own.”

  “What in God’s name is that supposed to mean?”

  “How much do you really know about your Tony Banning?”

  Thrown for a loop, she blinked at him. “He’s a rich artist based in Nashville. Paints in oils and watercolor. I can’t imagine what he has to do with this discussion.”

  “So you’ve seen his paintings?”

  “Well . . . no. But art isn’t one of my interests, so I never asked to see his work.”

  “If there is any. How do you know he’s rich?”

  “His clothes, his car,” she replied, exasperated. “I haven’t asked to see his pedigree, for cryin’ out loud. Why are you bringing Tony into our argument? He’s not my type, a fact I’ve made perfectly clear to him. He has no bearing on us.”

  Zack snorted, the chill in his gaze heating with anger. “Yeah? Tony doesn’t seem to agree. He called here three times today while you were either in class or at the hospital—and he knew you weren’t home.”

  Fantastic. This went a long way toward explaining Zack’s crappy mood. “I guess he’s not taking ‘no’ very well.”

  “I answered the phone the first time and he made a point to let me know he ran into you at the coffee shop this morning. Said to have you return his call. I didn’t pick up after that and he didn’t leave a message. He’s yanking my chain, and his games are starting to piss me off. Even more, it made me wonder.”

  “Oh, boy. I’m not going to like this.”

  He took her hand, his anger tempered with worry. “Baby, what if this creep is your stalker?”

  She stared at him, unsettled by the coil of unease gripping her belly at the simple logic. And her failure to ask herself the same question. “Oh, come on. Tony’s so en amored of his own reflection, he’d make love to himself if he could contort that far.”

  “Maybe the slick, wealthy playboy is who you’re supposed to see. That’s the world you come from, so perhaps he bet on you gravitating to the type of guy you used to find attractive.”

  “The type of guy he thinks I find attractive. I ran far away from that empty life, remember?” She wasn’t ready to concede his point on anything at the moment. She was still ticked and confused about his harsh stance regarding Joaquin. The heat of anger too fresh.

  “I’m just saying—”

  “You know what? I think you’re jealous. I think Tony’s pushing your buttons and you’re letting him. Furthermore, I know there’s something else eating at you besides the obvious, and your refusal to talk about it is building a wall between us.”

  Dropping her hand, he looked away. If he was tense before, now he appeared close to imploding. He offered nothing, and the coil in her
gut became a greasy ball of fear. Her brothers were masters at keeping secrets, too. Never letting her in. This, in part, had driven her out of their lives.

  Turning away, she began to clear the table. Zack lent a hand, but they didn’t speak and when they were finished, she simply said, “I’m going to bed.”

  She mounted the stairs, aware of his gaze boring into her back. His sadness. He didn’t follow and she didn’t ask him to—though she should. Stupid pride.

  Her heart seized at the thought of leaving him alone. Their first real argument had exposed some troubling issues, and she should go back. Talk to him, especially now. Running never solved problems. Falling in love with Zack Knight shouldn’t be so damned hard.

  In her room, she froze, fingers over her mouth.

  I love him. Oh, God, I’ve fallen in love with Zack.

  She sat down hard on the edge of her bed, scrambling to pinpoint exactly when this occurred. She was as stunned as if she’d been bashed in the head with a brick. Such a monumental event deserved its very own moment.

  A picture solidified in her mind. Zack, leaning over the seat of her Explorer, hand outstretched, blue eyes calm. The vehicle dangling over the edge of hell.

  I’m not leaving without you.

  He’d been steady, true to his word. He’d nearly died keeping his promise.

  Right then, she’d known. Here, at last, was a man of integrity she could spend the rest of her life with.

  She wanted to go to Zack and make up. Hold him and make love to him. But the stubborn side of her insisted he owed her an apology, not the other way around. She wouldn’t dream of insulting his family—if he had one.

  Hating the sudden, terrible rift between them, she donned her oldest flannel pajamas, crawled into bed, and pulled the covers over her head. Their warmth didn’t dispel the emptiness of the space where he loved to spoon against her back, curling around her like her own sexy blanket.

  As she drifted into fitful sleep, the irony of attempting to pry into his secrets nagged at her conscience. She had no right to poke at ragged wounds best left to heal. No right to judge.