Under Fire

by Davis, Jo

  “So, you honestly don’t know what the hell happened?” she pressed.

  “Of course not! I—I care for Zack a great deal, and I’d never intentionally hurt him. Believe whatever you want, but I’m telling the truth.”

  Eve paused, then nodded. “All right. Zack insisted you had no part in whatever trouble he’s in, but I had to hear it from you.”

  “You believe me?”

  “I do,” she said, the ice thawing. “I know sincerity when I hear it. We’re just all stumped by how an intelligent man like Zack got into such a bad fix.”

  “I propose we get some answers. He’s struggled alone with this long enough, don’t you agree?”

  “Absolutely. He’s going to give us some answers whether he wants to or not.” Reaching out, she squeezed Cori’s hand. “For what it’s worth, I apologize. When it comes to people I care about, I tend to go overboard, and Zack’s special. We’re cool?”

  Cori smiled. “Yes, he is. And we’re cool.”

  I’m going to cut off Joaquin’s highly valued testicles. He’s going to scream like a little girl for what he’s done.

  They headed outside together, and Eve wasted no time getting right to the point. “You love Zack.”

  “I’m not very good at hiding my emotions, am I?”

  “No more than I am.”

  “Not at all, then.” They shared a quiet laugh, and Cori decided to probe a bit. “What about you? Got a terrific man in your life?”

  Eve’s face grew pensive. Wistful. “Hardly. I tend to make rotten choices. Divorced the first one after I caught him screwing one of my good friends. The second is nursing his own broken heart and doesn’t know I exist—as a woman anyway.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “No, it’s fine. I sort of brought up the subject.”

  Cori sympathized with her pain. Nobody knew about poor choices better than she did.

  They reached the shop and Cori halted outside the door, which was open the barest crack. “He made me promise to knock,” she explained. “He’s working on a surprise for me.”

  “Oh? The boy’s got it bad, huh?”

  Cori grinned. “I hope so.” Raising a fist, she rapped on the door. “Hey, Zack? Eve’s here. Can we come in?”

  They stood for a few seconds, but no response drifted from inside. There was only the rustle of the breeze in the bare branches nearby. No shrill racket from his saw, hammering, or grinding of the tool he called a planer.

  “Zack, we’ve got company!”

  All was silent. A strange expression settled on Eve’s face. “What’s that smell?”

  She sniffed the air. “I don’t—wait. Is that . . . gas?”

  With a vicious curse, Eve burst through the entrance to the shop, slamming the door hard against the inside wall. Cori rushed in on her heels, overwhelmed by the noxious odor of gas hanging in the shop. Thick and deadly.

  “Zack!” Cori yelled.

  “Over here!”

  Eve rounded a table saw and squatted between the large piece of machinery and the workbench. Cori skidded to a halt behind her, gasping at the sight of Zack lying prone on the floor. Blood trickled from under his hairline, down his left temple, and across his nose.

  She dropped to kneel beside him, shaking his shoulder. “Oh, my God! Honey, wake up.” He didn’t move.

  “Help me get him outside.” Eve rolled him onto his back, grabbed him in a hold under his arms. “Get his feet.”

  Cori lifted him by the ankles and together they maneuvered him toward the door. The fumes were awful, already making her and Eve cough. Terror gripped her lungs. How long had Zack been lying there, helpless?

  They carried him a safe distance from the shop before lowering him gently to the grass in front of the house. Cori marveled at the upper-body strength required for a female firefighter to be able to rescue a man Zack’s size, and thanked God the woman had stopped by this afternoon. If she hadn’t—

  “He’s breathing, but his pulse is too slow and his color isn’t good,” Eve said urgently. She glanced at Cori. “Call 911 while I run and turn off the gas.”

  Cori bolted inside, heart in her mouth, grabbed the phone, and punched in the numbers without breaking stride as she hurried back outside. The dispatcher’s calm tone did little to soothe Cori’s fear as she related the pertinent information. She cupped Zack’s chalk white cheek, trailed a finger over his blue lips. His inky lashes didn’t so much as flutter.

  Cori hung up with the assurance that the paramedics were en route. “Don’t you die on me,” she ordered him, voice breaking. “Don’t you dare.”

  She laid a hand on his chest, relieved to find his heartbeat a slow, steady thud under her palm. Pushing the panic down, she reached for her nurse’s training. The rational part of her brain knew he should revive after breathing fresh air—if it weren’t for the head injury, which was now the main concern. His hair was slick and wet with blood, and he lay far too still.

  Eve returned, dropping to kneel beside Zack. “Gas is off.”

  “The paramedics are on the way.” Cori gently parted the short strands of Zack’s hair, trying to get a better look at the wound, but there was too much blood. She sat up, frustrated, wiping her fingers in the grass. “I don’t believe this was an accident.”

  “Me, either. Even if he lost consciousness from the gas, I don’t see how he’d have hit his head at the temple.”

  Cori nodded, feeling sick. “I agree. Nobody would turn their head directly to the side as they fell, especially if they were dizzy.”

  Another attack. Five more minutes and Zack would’ve been dead. Eve’s stopping by saved not only Zack’s life, but her own, as well. Whoever had done this wanted her new lover removed in order to get to her.

  Why? For the money she’d inherited? Revenge? Or had she picked up a deranged admirer who believed Zack was usurping his place?

  Another idea occurred to her, more frightening than the others. What if the attacks on Zack had nothing to do with her stalker? Oh, God, what if Joaquin was behind the attempts on Zack’s life? Maybe he’d learned the man who owed him money was living with his sister.

  Would Joaquin kill Zack with so little provocation? She’d like to think not, that she knew her brother.

  But she also knew the extremes a human being would go to when pushed too far.

  Zack stirred, turning his head with a moan. A beautiful sound. His lashes swept up and he blinked, quickly closing his eyes again as a strangled rasp emerged from his throat.

  “Too bright . . . Christ, my head.”

  Cori took his hand, cautious relief making her limbs so weak she was glad to be kneeling. “You’re going to be fine, honey. Try to stay awake, all right?”

  “Okay.”

  “Zack, do you remember what happened?” Eve asked.

  “Hmm?”

  “Your head, sweetie,” Cori prompted. “How did you hit it?”

  “Don’t know,” he whispered. “Where . . . ?”

  “You’re outside. Eve and I carried you from the shop after we found you unconscious. Do you remember feeling dizzy?” Cori doubted he’d recall much at this point, but keeping him conscious was important.

  “Dizzy?”

  She and Eve exchanged a worried look. His brains were scrambled eggs. “Zack, open your eyes and look at me,” Cori said. “Can you do that?”

  He blinked up at her, groaning miserably. Cori pried open one of his eyelids, peered into the eyes, and frowned. “His pupils are dilated.”

  “Concussion,” Eve put in.

  “Yeah, a nasty one.” She sat back on her heels, studying him. “But his color’s returning.”

  “Thank God. You hear that, old friend? You’ll be chasing Cori around the house again in no time.” She nudged his shoulder. “Zack?”

  He’d lapsed into unconsciousness once more. Cori gazed at the nearly healed bruises from the blow to his face less than two weeks ago, and her stomach pitched. “He got lucky before, a
nd another head injury scares me, even if it is on the opposite side.”

  “He’ll be fine.” But Eve’s voice betrayed her fear and echoed Cori’s own.

  Twice he had been attacked, and survived.

  Cori couldn’t shake the feeling that the third time he might not be so lucky.

  14

  Zack squeezed his eyes shut, wishing the bed would stop rolling like a ship on a stormy sea. The noises and chatter from the ER outside his cubicle sounded canned and distorted, like a program on an old television set. Nausea had run his stomach through a blender, and sickness clawed at the back of his throat. He lay as still as possible, willing himself not to vomit again. If he did, they’d keep him overnight, regardless of whether his CAT scan came back clear.

  A soft rustle alerted him to someone entering the room. He sensed Cori before she spoke, felt their connection. The woman he loved.

  And had failed.

  “Zack, are you awake?”

  He turned his head toward her, the slight movement spearing his brain with waves of agony. “Not by choice,” he rasped.

  “I know,” she murmured. Cool fingers smoothed his brow. “Your scan showed a concussion, but no serious brain injury. The doctor is leaning toward letting you go home. Are you still sick at your stomach? Dizzy?”

  “If I say yes, do I have to stay?”

  “Doesn’t work that way, handsome. Be honest.”

  He sighed. “I feel just like I did when I rode the Tilt-A-Whirl at the state fair right after eating four corn dogs.”

  “I asked, didn’t I? Give me some warning and I’ll grab the container,” she said, indicating a graduated cylinder on the table.

  He remembered getting sick in the ambulance—on one of his colleagues, no less—and felt too awful to be embarrassed about it. As a paramedic, he’d done his best to ease his patients’ suffering, and he was glad. These past two weeks had taught him a valuable lesson.

  Being the patient sucked.

  A new voice disturbed the silence. “Is he up to talking with the detective yet?”

  Feminine. Cori’s friend. What was her name?

  Shea. The cutie with curly brown hair, sweet little thing. She’d been taking good care of him. Almost as good as Cori.

  “Send him in,” he said. “Let’s get it over with.”

  Cori laid a hand on his arm. “Want me to stay?”

  “Please.”

  “You got it.”

  Detective Bernie peppered him with the expected questions, though there wasn’t much for Zack to tell him. He’d sensed an odd prickle on the back of his neck and turned to see a board swinging toward his head. Then lights out, period. Seemed like they weren’t any closer to a break. Until Bernie cocked his head and dropped his bombshell.

  “Checked into the fellow you called me about earlier today, Tony Banning.”

  “You didn’t say anything to me,” Cori muttered, shifting in her chair.

  “I didn’t have a chance.” Zack tried to focus on the detective, no easy feat with his brains about to spill out his ears. “What did you learn?”

  “Seems no artist named Tony Banning has ever had a showing at any of the reputable galleries in Nashville, at least not that I could find. In fact, there’s no Tony Banning matching his description who’s registered with a driver’s license in the state of Tennessee.” The detective paused, looking very pleased with himself, as if he’d been the one to sniff out Banning in the first place. He arched a grizzled brow at Cori.

  “Your peacock artist friend is an impostor.”

  Sipping a mug of rich coffee, Cori paused in the doorway to her bedroom and watched Zack sleep. Our bedroom, she corrected herself. She hoped he felt the same.

  Especially since, for all practical purposes, she’d taken it from him. However unknowingly. Guilt knifed her breast and she pushed the unwelcome emotion aside to deal with later. Much later.

  Her lover was sprawled on his stomach, hugging his pillow, drawstring pajamas slung low on his hips. The cotton material contoured the firm globes of his ass, proving he wore nothing underneath and elevating the plain sleepwear to super-sexy status in her eyes.

  His black hair was tousled, spiking in every direction like an endearing little boy’s. However, the bunch of his biceps and the smooth expanse of his back, the indention of his spine leading to the curve of his rear and his mile-long legs, were all man.

  Suddenly he stretched like a lean cat and rolled to his back, a low rumble sounding in his chest. His blue eyes found her and he held out a hand in a silent invitation she couldn’t refuse. She joined him, placing her mug on the nightstand and sitting carefully at his side.

  “Hey, beautiful,” he rasped, taking her hand and kissing each finger.

  “Hey, yourself. Stupid question, but how do you feel?”

  Reaching up, he gingerly touched his head. “Sore, but the headache’s better.”

  She brushed his hand away and felt the swollen area for herself. “Liar. The two whacks you sustained are one big knot and your pupils are still enlarged. Want to try again?”

  “The hazards of living with a nurse,” he complained, the softness in his expression belying his words. “I won’t run any laps today, for sure.”

  “News flash, you’re going to be mostly horizontal for a couple of days. Don’t even try to argue with me, or you’ll be sorry.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He stroked her arm, sending shivers along her skin. “Why aren’t you in class?”

  “Today’s Saturday, sugar lump.”

  “Oh. Damn, my brain is mush.” He frowned. “You missed another dancing gig last night because of me.”

  “No, because of the bastard who almost killed you.” She shook her head. “I don’t care about the dancing. You’re the most important person in my life, Zack. Everyone else can wait.”

  He stared at her, suspicious moisture shining in his eyes. “How do you do that?”

  “What?”

  “Make me feel like the luckiest guy who ever lived?”

  Another wave of remorse battered her conscience, filled her mouth like bitter acid. The secrets had gone on long enough. “I don’t know how you can possibly feel anything except anger and contempt around me.”

  He looked startled. “What do you mean?”

  “You know,” she said quietly, caressing his dear face with her knuckles. “Tell me how Joaquin managed to wrest your home from you, and don’t spare me the details.”

  Zack was grateful to be lying down. God, no. The bottom dropped out of his stomach and the room spun. This was a certified nightmare, worse than losing his possessions in the first place. The hurt on Cori’s face. The terrible, misplaced guilt on her part he’d been praying to avoid.

  What could he say? “Who told you? Six-Pack?” Immediately, he dismissed the notion. The lieutenant would never have broken his confidence. Eve, with her no-bullshit attitude and fiercely protective nature, was the more likely candidate.

  “Doesn’t matter. The point is, you should have.”

  “Oh, right. I was really going to dump your brother’s role in my problems on you after the heartwarming family portrait you painted at dinner the other night.”

  “What is his role? How did the two of you meet?”

  “We didn’t. I should back up.” Zack pushed to a sitting position, ignoring the stab of pain in his skull. This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have at all, much less lying down.

  “My father was a compulsive gambler, an addict. As a kid, I didn’t understand why we’d eat steak one week, beans and franks the next. His horrible mood swings, why his criticism of me would change from bearable to a blade cutting me to the bone in a flash.”

  “He used you as a whipping boy for his own failings.”

  “I’d figured out that much by around age thirteen, just not why. I thought there must’ve been something wrong with me and if I could fix it, he’d love me the way other fathers did their sons. By the time I graduated high school, I’d learned not
hing I ever did would please him and I’d gotten wise to his gambling addiction. I came to terms with the knowledge I’d never be able to fix either of those things, and followed my own path. I moved on, and he resented the hell out of it.”

  “Oh, Zack.”

  He tilted her chin up with one finger. “No sad faces. Remember what I told you about kismet? If you’re honest and true to your vision, life works out the way it’s supposed to.”

  Tears welled in her amber eyes. “I’m amazed you have such a great attitude after everything you’ve been through.”

  “Actually, I was ready to throw in the towel, but a special lady reminded me how fortunate I am,” he said softly. The droplets spilled down her cheeks and he brushed them away with his thumbs. “Hey, what’s with the waterworks? This story has a happy ending, right?”

  “But you lost everything.” She sniffed, leaning into his touch.

  “I gained so much more than I lost, baby.” He pulled her into the circle of his arms, relishing her warmth snuggled against him. “Besides, haven’t you learned material things can’t truly satisfy a person deep inside?”

  She hugged him hard and he felt her sigh against his neck. “You’re right. I just wish my family wasn’t responsible for what happened to you.”

  He pulled back and shook his head. “My father deserves that rap. He owed your brother three-quarters of a million dollars in gambling debts. After he had the stroke last year, Joaquin eventually discovered his condition would never improve and came after me for the money.”

  “So you sold him your home,” she whispered, her expression stricken.

  “For one dollar. Emptied my savings, too.” No use withholding the truth. “I haven’t made a dent in the debt and don’t have another dime to pay Joaquin, but he seems to believe otherwise, and he’s very persistent.”

  Her lips thinned, anger bubbling to the surface. “You don’t owe him the money, Zack. He can’t legally make you pay.”

  He smiled at her naïveté. “You fled Joaquin’s household at the first opportunity, remember? What part of ‘fight fair’ do you think he employed in regard to recovering a serious chunk of change? He didn’t ask nicely or threaten to sic his lawyers on me, honey.”