by Davis, Jo
Cori faltered. “Wh-what did he threaten?”
His chest tightened and his head swam. God, he hated this. “My life, more than once. Oh, he was careful to keep his meaning subtle, but crystal clear. I went to the authorities, who basically shrugged because the debt is legal and Joaquin hadn’t followed through with breaking me in half. Ironic, huh? Like a dead man can file a complaint. When I’d given your brother all I had, he began making comments about my father being helpless and unprotected in his nursing home.”
“Oh, God.” She hung her head, silent for a long moment. When she met his gaze again, she sat up straighter. “The terror tactics Joaquin used to recover his money were despicable, but as cold as he is, my brother would never resort to murder. I know him, and even he wouldn’t cross that line.”
“Joaquin killed your husband,” he reminded her gently. “You told me yourself.”
Cori’s face leached to parchment white. “That was a split-second decision, a matter of life or death—mine versus my husband’s.”
“But he did kill.” Her lips worked, but no sound emerged. He’d never seen such stark, haunted desolation on anyone’s face, and his heart lurched. “I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to cause you pain. I was only trying to point out how out of my depth I am with a man like your brother. I don’t know how to fight by his rules, and I’m . . . tired, sweetheart.”
Ready to explode, in truth. If she had any clue how close to the edge he was, how fed up with being ground under yet another bastard’s shoe, how his blood boiled with the need to vent his rage once and for all . . . hell, she’d run from him faster and farther than she had Joaquin.
She thought him gentle and kind. Her protector. What a joke. He wasn’t the man she’d placed on a pedestal, and the knowledge frightened him.
“I’ll call my brother,” she said, breaking into his dark thoughts. “I’ll make him leave you alone and if he doesn’t—”
“No, you absolutely won’t.” He winced at his harsh tone.
She scowled at him. “Why not? I can have this settled and put behind us in two minutes!”
“Then why don’t I just let you castrate me with a butter knife, too? I can handle your brother myself.”
“Nice, fireboy.” She huffed a short, pissed-off laugh. “Real nice. Yeah, from where I’m sitting, you’ve done a lovely job of handling him so far.”
“Goddammit—”
“Curse at me and I’ll demonstrate all the ways a nurse can make you scream besides slicing off your balls.” Pushing out of his arms, she slid off the bed and stood glaring down at him. “Men are stupid.”
With that accurate assessment, she stalked from the room. Fan-fucking-tastic. He’d hurt her feelings because his ego wouldn’t let her run interference.
Unreasonable panic seized his lungs. An awful feeling, almost a premonition, of living on borrowed time. That every second counted and he shouldn’t waste a single one arguing with Cori. He needed her in his arms, completing the lost half of his soul.
Zack leapt from the bed and was instantly rewarded with waves of nausea twisting his gut, agony spearing his head. Black spots peppered his vision and began to spread like an ink stain. The floor rocked under his bare feet and his knees buckled.
“Oh, no!” Capable hands turned him onto his back, patted his cheek. “What on earth were you trying to do?”
Blinking, he tried to focus on Cori’s face as the dark, fuzzy veil lifted from his own. “I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. “You offered to help and I acted like a prick.”
“Jeez, you’re almost as impossible as me. Let’s get you back into bed.”
She steadied him as he pushed up, wobbled a couple of steps, and collapsed onto the mattress with a moan. Resuming her place at his side, she rubbed circles on his chest. Felt damned good.
“Still mad at me?” he ventured, peering at her.
“I’m not angry with you, just frustrated in general. I hate arguing and I’m sorry I got pissy. I’d like to give Joaquin a knot to match yours, though.”
“I wouldn’t argue there.”
“You know, I’d considered he might be behind the attacks on you,” she said thoughtfully. “I wondered if he’d try to frighten me into going home and seeking sanctuary in his protection, putting me effectively under his control again. But this isn’t his style, Zack. If he ever did come after you physically, he’d be up-front about it. Totally in-your-face. Same with me.”
“Yeah, I get the same impression. Which leaves us with your fake artist as a weak suspect and no frigging motive.”
“Um, not exactly.” Flushing, she dropped her gaze.
“What? The suspect or the motive?”
“The motive. Although it probably isn’t related—”
“Corrine.” Dammit, this must be bad for her to have kept it from him and the police.
“I sort of . . . inherited a lot of money when my husband died.”
“Shit.” He swiped a hand down his face. “How much?”
“Fifty million,” she whispered.
He bolted upright in shock, causing a fresh onslaught of sickness. “Son of a fucking bitch! And you didn’t believe this was important enough to mention?”
Her mouth trembled. “Don’t yell at me.”
“I’m not yelling!” Okay, he was. Calm down; you’re upsetting her. But fuckin’ A, he was rattled. Taking a deep breath, he closed his fingers around hers, forcing the return of his sanity. “Baby, why would you hide a huge detail like that from the cops?”
From me, he wanted to say, but her financial status was none of his business. He might be many things, but a hypocrite wasn’t one of them. Her safety was, however, his primary concern. He absolutely would not negotiate that point.
“Cops ask questions. They dig into matters that aren’t their business.”
“And sometimes the digging produces the bad guy.”
“In a pitifully low percentage of cases, yes.”
He frowned. “What are you afraid they’ll discover?”
“That the money is dirty, maybe,” she said quietly. “I was stunned when the lawyer read his will. There’s no way Alex earned millions doing honest work. Why do you think I danced to finish my schooling, accepted Joaquin’s so-called gift when he gave me your house? I want no part of money my husband lied and cheated to acquire.”
“I admire your integrity, beautiful. If the wealth bothers you, why not get rid of it?” Whether it was ill-gotten or not, a tiny part of him shrieked in protest at the suggestion.
“I do, in a sense. I have charities I donate to each year. I figured it may as well do some good for people in need.”
“That’s certainly better than the cash disappearing into a black hole if the government seized it,” he agreed. “I’m proud of you, beautiful. What concerns me is who else knows you have the money.”
“Nobody except my brothers, and they wouldn’t tell.”
Given his conflict with Joaquin, Zack wasn’t so sure, but thought it wise to keep his trap shut. Instead, he asked, “Where’s the money?”
“Switzerland. I have a numbered account with all sorts of high-tech safeguards. Paranoid, huh?”
“Cautious. You’re a rich woman, baby. Many would go to great extremes to take what’s yours.” Another idea occurred to him. “What about your ex’s family? Any sour grapes over you inheriting?”
She shrugged. “He didn’t talk about his family much and nobody came out of the woodwork to challenge his will. I was his sole beneficiary.”
Zack didn’t know why this should bother him, but it did. No one stepping forward had to be good, right?
But it wasn’t. He didn’t like it, for no reason except the weird vibe singing in his veins, the tension in his shoulders. Someone should’ve vehemently protested the man’s young wife ending up a millionaire.
Perhaps that someone hadn’t wanted to tip his hand too soon. Cori’s nemesis had preferred to wait, bide his time.
And found Zack standing squar
ely between him and the big payoff.
“Should I call Joaquin in on this, give him the whole story?” Cori didn’t look happy with her own suggestion.
Neither was he, but for entirely different reasons. Whom did they dare trust with their lives?
“Not yet. But there’s something else he can do, if you’ll ask him for a discreet favor. Have him dig for Tony Banning’s real identity.”
Her brows shot up. “Sure, I’ll just tell him my creepy pursuer is an impostor and he’ll obediently stay home and out of my business while investigating the man.”
“Right. That’s why you’ll lie and tell him Banning is after your friend Shea. You’re very worried about her.”
She laughed. “You have a devious mind under your gentlemanly exterior, handsome.”
“When the occasion warrants.”
“It’s also a brilliant mind, which reminds me that you could use your genius noodle to hack into wanted-criminal databases or whatever and ferret out Banning yourself,” she said thoughtfully.
“I could, but not without landing the FBI on your doorstep. They won’t be as forgiving of a federal offense as they were when I was a kid. Your brother, however, can pull strings, circumvent authority without raising an alarm.”
“Good point.” She sighed in resignation. “I’ll give him a call about Banning, if you’re sure.”
Christ, the traits he loathed most about Joaquin Delacruz might well be the ones that saved their asses now—or quite the opposite. God, please let me be making the right decisions.
If Delacruz was behind everything, Zack had just sealed their fates.
“No, beautiful. I’m not sure of anything . . . except you.”
15
Zack walked through the big, open garage door of the bay, pulse thrumming a tattoo in his throat. Nervous excitement supercharged his body, spring-loading his muscles. Restless energy flooded every limb, demanding an outlet, but his steps slowed instead.
Swallowing hard, he stopped next to the driver’s door of Engine 171. Ran his hand lovingly over the gleaming red paint, the gold Sugarland Fire Department logo. Savored the moment.
This was his home away from home. He had been born to this life, and had nearly lost it forever. Still might lose it if he and the captain couldn’t mend fences. He couldn’t envision starting over at another station, perhaps in a different city. Station Five was where he belonged, the guys here his brothers in the truest sense.
“Hey, dude! ’Bout time you frickin’ deigned to haul your sorry ass back here!”
Grinning, Zack spun around just in time to be slammed by Tommy Skyler, who yanked him into an enthusiastic bear hug and slapped his back hard enough to sting. Zack returned the embrace, laughing, thinking the kid reminded him of an overeager Labrador puppy with the biggest wide-open heart of anyone he’d ever known.
“He wasn’t on vacation, numb nuts.” This from Six-Pack, who was trailed by Eve, Salvatore, and Tanner. “Good to have you in commission again, bro. Three weeks is a long damned time.”
“Seems a helluva lot longer.” Because of the nasty concussion, his return had been postponed by another week, their gathering at the Waterin’ Hole rescheduled for Saturday night. He’d missed half of January and the first week of February.
Skyler released him and the others followed suit with the same exuberant greeting, practically squeezing him in half. Even Salvatore joined in the celebration. Everyone did, except Tanner.
The captain stood apart from the rest, his green gaze watchful, revealing none of his thoughts. After the others had taken turns welcoming Zack, their attention naturally shifted to Tanner. Waiting.
The happy chatter quieted as the captain stepped into the semicircle of the group. Halting a few feet from Zack, he reached inside his jacket, removed a key ring, and tossed it to him without a word.
Zack caught the ring one-handed, snatching it from the air. Opening his palm, he stared at the keys to the quint. Emotion stole his voice and he willed himself not to make a scene in front of the whole team.
Closing the remaining distance, Tanner slowly stuck out his hand. A peace offering, a new beginning.
Zack hesitated and for an instant, remorse flashed across the captain’s stern features. A kernel of humanity as he stood exposed and humbled before his team. Extending his apology the only way he knew how.
Zack gripped his hand, noting the slight relaxing of the lines around Tanner’s mouth. A lessening of tension and something suspiciously close to warmth in his eyes.
“It’s good to have you back,” he said.
And proceeded to render everyone speechless by pulling Zack into a brief, manly hug. The man who hadn’t reached out to another soul in more than a year did so now without a single qualm.
“Thanks, Cap. I’m ready to get to work.”
Tanner let go and retreated a step, giving Zack a critical once-over. “Good, you’ve put on some weight. Lungs clear? Concussion healed?”
Zack smiled. “I’m fine. The doctor gave me the green light, remember?”
“The doctor’s life doesn’t literally depend on the physical strength of the man standing next to him.” His lips curved up in a rare ghost of a smile. “For what it’s worth, we’re all damned glad to have you standing next to us.”
After clapping Zack on the shoulder, he turned and walked off, his lean-hipped stride carrying him inside.
“He looks better,” Zack said. “Almost like his old self.”
“Some days,” Skyler replied, unusually serious. “But I gotta wonder if we’ll ever have him back.”
“Is he still drinking, Howard?” Zack asked quietly. All eyes swung to the lieutenant for the answer any one of them could’ve given, but he was their anchor. Solid and steady. They trusted him implicitly, looked to him for guidance in matters affecting everyone.
“Yeah.” He sighed, running a hand through his spiky, two-toned brown hair. “He’s mixing whiskey and prescription drugs, going through a fifth every two days we’re off shift. I check on him when I can, but it’s not enough. Something has to give or he’s going to kill himself.”
“Or someone else,” Eve said, her expression wretched.
Salvatore broke his silence tentatively, as though unsure he should offer his observation. “Lately, I’ve noticed . . .”
Six-Pack nodded. “Go on. We’re not talking trash about Sean. This is important.”
“Watch his hands,” Salvatore murmured. “They’ll be shaking by midafternoon.”
The lieutenant blew out a ragged breath. “Withdrawal. Shit. If he shows at the Waterin’ Hole Saturday night, we’ll have to keep an eye on him.”
Skyler blinked. “Shit, he’ll bash our heads together for getting in his biz. What can we really do?”
“Stage an intervention,” Zack suggested. “Tough love. Encourage him to get sober, then work through his grief.”
“Man, I don’t see him going for that,” Salvatore put in, shaking his head.
Zack glanced around the worried group. “Maybe not, but what other option does he have? If he doesn’t, he’s going to die. Howard?”
The lieutenant stood quiet for a long moment, staring out at the cold, cloudy morning. Muscles in his jaw working, brown eyes bleak. “I’ll make some calls, find out the right way to hold an intervention. Then we’ll pick a day next week and do it. I don’t think he’s got long before he hits bottom.”
“I’ll be there,” Zack said, hoping it was true. Provided I haven’t been iced by Joaquin’s hit man by then. Despite Cori’s adamant claim, he didn’t believe for a minute the man wouldn’t take him out if it benefited him to do so. Jesus.
The others chimed in their agreement just as three loud tones over the intercom system alerted them to an incoming call. A three-alarm fire at an apartment building had begun as a domestic dispute—two words heralding the most dangerous of situations for all involved.
Adrenaline zinged through Zack’s blood as he and the others jogged for the locker ar
ea in the bay. With quick and efficient movements, he bunked out in his pants and heavy coat, the same ones he’d been wearing on the bridge. They’d been cleaned and bore no trace of his ordeal, and to his relief, their familiar weight was a comfort rather than a source of unreasonable fear. Last, he slapped on a fire hat that replaced the one lost to the river, and sprinted for the quint.
Hauling himself into the seat, he started the engine and gripped the wheel. Waited as everyone took their places, then eased the quint out of the bay, hitting the lights and sirens. God, he’d missed this. Not people’s lives being placed in danger—never that—but commanding the two-ton piece of machinery. Fulfilling his role in the universe as few were qualified to do, each day a new challenge.
Today being no exception. As Zack neared the perimeter of the police barricade at the end of a residential street, saw the carpet of flashing lights and the SWAT team taking up positions around the complex, his blood chilled.
Beside him, Tanner muttered a terse, “What the fuck?”
Yeah, that pretty much summed up the circus. Black smoke billowed from the second floor of the building, which meant residents possibly trapped on the upper floor. Yet the police weren’t allowing the fire department to approach, as evidenced by the engine company from Station Two crouched on the north side of the building, taking cover behind their vehicles.
Zack slowed to a stop and rolled down his window to get instructions from an officer working the barricade. “What’s going down?”
The burly cop leaned forward, hand on the butt of his pistol. “Got a man on his second-floor balcony over there holding a gun to his wife’s head. Motherfucker set fire to the unit, blocked entry to the apartment. The flames are spreading to the surrounding units, but it’s not safe to approach. Got folks trapped on the third floor; fire’s blocking the stairwell. Can’t get to them because the asshole’s shooting at everyone who twitches.”
“A total clusterfuck,” Skyler groaned from the back.
