Survive the Fire

by Diana Duncan

  Detail oriented, as always. Now that she knew he was a bomb tech, that trait made sense. “I’d just taken a couple of shots of the undulating heat waves, then put it on the seat. If left in the evidence room too long, who knows what’ll happen to it, or my stored photos? I have irreplaceable candids of Aubrey on there I took this morning.” Her spirits nosedived. “They won’t release it, will they?”

  “Don’t be so glass-half-empty, Just Kate.” He turned to Murphy. “C’mon, boyo.”

  As the enormous canine advanced, she retreated before she caught herself and stopped. “Does he have to come?”

  “We’re a package deal.”

  Wonderful.

  At least he made the German Shepherd stay on his other side while they trooped down a flight of metal stairs to the basement. Liam had Murphy sit beside the doorway, then Kate followed Liam to the desk blockading the fenced-off property room.

  The admirable view from behind him also caught her artist’s perspective. Okay, maybe her female perspective. Admirable? Under better circumstances, she’d have to fight the urge to jump him. Liam’s navy cotton T-shirt strained across impossibly broad shoulders and outlined big, ripped muscles. Her focus drifted lower, and she swallowed. Damn. Those snug jeans cupping such a nicely-shaped, hard-muscled butt should be declared a controlled substance.

  The SWAT cop’s stroll was a rhythmic, confident prowl. Not quite a swagger, but almost. A man who knew exactly where he was going and exactly what he wanted.

  A chill shivered over her. A man who might be stalking her.

  The gray-haired cop behind the desk tasered their request as fast as he would a fleeing suspect. But once Liam chatted him up, then offered his Glock for “sight adjustment advice from a seasoned pro,” the officer agreed to page his supervisor.

  Where Liam was concerned, luck was a lady. And Lady Luck was with Kate for once in this day of disaster. The supervisor was a woman. Never mind that the bottle blonde was practically old enough to be Liam’s mother. He flashed his shield and his smile—tough call to say which was shinier. After five minutes of O’Rourke charm bombs, the supervisor surrendered Kate’s camera.

  Kate took satisfaction in the fact that the woman wasn’t too bedazzled to forget to make Liam sign a receipt. Until she saw Blondie had jotted her phone number on his copy.

  She clamped down on fury as she marched toward the stairs. She’d learned that emotion-based decisions caused catastrophes. She couldn’t afford to lose it. She had to remain in control.

  Good in theory, but damn near impossible when she’d been legally chained to the one man who could make her totally come undone.

  Compounding the humiliation, his power over her wasn’t because he had any special feelings for her. Judging by what she’d overheard in the Lassies’ room before going home with him that night, plus the most current display, he obviously had the same effect on all women.

  He paused at the base of the stairwell. “Why are you pissed off? We got your camera back.”

  She shook her head. “I’m fine.”

  “And I’m a bloody leprechaun.” He blocked her way. “What’s wrong?”

  She sighed. “Okay, you’ve officially been appointed my keeper. I’ll do whatever ‘s necessary to save Aubrey.”

  “It’s all right to be angry. If my life had been flipped sideways, I’d be pissed, too.”

  “Don’t worry about my emotional state. I can maintain.” At least she had been able to, until a smooth-talking, sexy-walking Irishman incinerated her composure. “Murphy might not mind, but I hate being on your leash.”

  “Again, can’t say I blame you. But this is about your safety. For the foreseeable future, I’m the boss of you.”

  She frowned. “Give the man an inch, and he thinks he’s a ruler.”

  His lips twitched. “For someone who isn’t mad, you’re doing a better impression than the guy playing Elvis at the Mirage.”

  She hung onto her cool by a fragile hair. “We’re stuck with each other. Let’s leave feelings out of it. Not get personal.”

  “Excellent tactical plan.” His wry expression matched his tone. “But way too late, babe. That fuse has already been lit. The blowout can only be contained for so long.”

  Her cell phone started singing “Against All Odds,” Phil Collins’s voice sparing her an undignified retort about what Liam could blow out where.

  Judging by the wicked twinkle aimed at her, he’d read her mind.

  She snatched the phone from her purse, worried when her brother-in-law’s photo popped up. “Daniel? What’s wrong?”

  “Kate?” Edging out a burst of static, his anxious voice thrummed over the line. “We need you.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “What happened?”

  “Aubrey’s ... upset ...” More static broke up the message. Maybe the metal and concrete stairwell was scrambling the signal. “Come to ... hospital.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Hello?” Kate shouted. “Can you hear me?” The crackling increased and the call dropped out.

  She squelched gnawing anxiety. Someone in the family needed to stay calm, and she’d been elected, by default. “We need to go to the hospital.”

  Liam’s handsome face sharpened with concern. “Did something happen to Aubrey?”

  “The reception was terrible, but it sounded like Daniel said she’s upset. She seemed to be okay this morning.”

  “Is your whole family living in Vegas, now?”

  “Yes, except for me. Dad bought a start-up company several years ago and the headquarters are here. Plus taxes are cheaper, and the climate goes easy on his arthritis.” For Kate, any climate was easier the farther away she was from her sister’s histrionics, her mother’s criticism, and her father’s indifference.

  They jogged up to the main floor. Liam commanded the dog to heel, which put Murphy behind him, on his left.

  Kate hurried to his other side. She glanced uneasily at the lethal black pistol holstered on Liam’s hip. A grim reminder she was in police custody. Liam wouldn’t hesitate to use the gun to protect her. She bit her lip. What if he was the stalker? Or what if he wasn’t, but suspected her of terrorism? He might play fast and loose when it came to women, but Officer O’Rourke was clearly dedicated to duty. That dedication could be a very good thing. Or turn out to be a very bad thing.

  It could swing either way.

  Problem was, she didn’t yet know which.

  Destiny was in the driver’s seat here. And the trip was as unpredictable and scary as hurtling around the Arc de Triomphe in a Parisian taxicab. But no matter how terrifying the ride, Kate refused to be a helpless passenger.

  As they strode outside, blinding sunlight and suffocating heat slammed her to a standstill. She longed for the serenity of pearly gray skies, misty rain, and lush foliage. One of the many reasons she loved Paris was the effervescent city’s similar climate to the Pacific Northwest.

  She reeled, and Liam slid his arm around her waist. “Hey!” He glanced down at her. “Lean on me if you need to.”

  She’d die under torture before confessing she appreciated his support. Or admit she craved contact with him. He smelled scrumptious, as fresh and clean as the rain-washed forests she yearned for. And she’d never forgotten his phenomenal lovemaking.

  Kate ground her teeth, ramping her headache to agony. Completely insane. One minute wondering if he was dangerous, the next, fantasizing about making love to him.

  “I’m fine. Let’s go.” She shot a glance over her shoulder. Since the stalker had insinuated his creepy-crawly weirdness into her life, she’d grown extra vigilant. “How do people live in a place with the approximate temperature of a pottery kiln? I prefer cooler, damp climates.” She fanned her face, which merely wafted scorching air.

  A quirk of Liam’s scrumptious lips stole her breath faster than the broiling atmosphere. He smiled. “But it’s a dry heat.”

  She grimaced at the acrid scent of baking asphalt as they hurried around the side o
f the building to the parking lot. “So’s a crematorium.”

  He tugged out a remote key chain. His white Mustang beeped twice as the security system disengaged.

  “Vintage cars don’t usually have alarms.”

  “I installed one. Pays to be careful.”

  “You don’t strike me as the cautious type, ‘my middle name is Gamble,’ disarms-bombs-for-a-living.”

  His gaze stroked her face. “Did you know that some cultures believe if you save a person’s life, they belong to you forever? I take care of what’s mine.”

  She gulped as his deep declaration made her pulse stumble. She yanked open the door and started to slide inside.

  “No, you don’t.” He tugged her toward him so fast she lost her balance. Lightning-quick, his arms wrapped around her, and she ended up snugly plastered to him.

  He was big and solid and steady in an uncertain world. For a moment, she longed to forget the danger. To rest her cheek against the navy cotton covering his wide chest and let him hold her. Sheltered in his arms, she felt safe, cherished.

  Dazed, she looked up at him. Searing green eyes held hers captive. Hotter and more intense than Vegas sunlight, they burned away her doubts. Her fears suddenly seemed groundless and silly.

  Night after lonely night, she dreamed about Liam’s lean, hard body covering hers. His smoky gaze seducing her. His soft lips and teasing, talented tongue. The heart-shaking connection of body and soul when he’d been buried deep inside her.

  Then she awakened, alone and aching in body and spirit.

  She’d been given a brief, wondrous taste of him. Just enough to leave her craving more, as thirsty for him as an alcoholic at an open bar.

  His arms tightened, drawing her into an intimate embrace. He lowered his head until only warm breaths separated them.

  She couldn’t move, couldn’t blink. Couldn’t breathe.

  Time slowed ... teetered on the trembling edge.

  His lips parted, and her belly swooped. Anticipation skimmed up her spine.

  Murphy made a noise somewhere between a snort and a cough, and Liam tensed. “Hellfire!” He stepped back. “Too hot.”

  Her reply was a cracked whisper. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  He flashed an unsteady grin, gestured at the car, then at her just-above-the-knee black linen sheath. “Bare thighs on sun-broiled leather seats.”

  She cringed. “Oh. Youch.”

  “Exactly.” He released her—leaving her feeling more alone than ever—to rummage in the trunk. He quickly returned with several ragged towels. “Murphy doesn’t appreciate sitting on hot seats, either. Besides, he drools.” He flipped a towel over the front seat.

  She wrinkled her nose. Dog drool?

  Liam smirked. “I do wash them.”

  “Of course you do. Sorry.” She hopped into the oven-like car.

  Murphy stubbornly sat there, and Liam sighed. “Get in.”

  Murphy didn’t budge. Clearly upset, he barked at Liam. Kate flinched. Would he attack?

  Liam rolled his eyes. “He hates sitting in the back.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Does it look like he’s kidding?” He made a hand motion at the scowling dog. “The back or walk, pal.”

  Grumbling, Murphy climbed into the car and perched on the towel Liam spread behind the driver’s seat.

  Liam strode around to the driver’s side. He started the engine and flipped the AC to arctic. Before long, they were cool and speeding through afternoon traffic toward the hospital.

  “You thought I was going to kiss you back there.” He shot her an enigmatic glance. “I almost did.”

  What had changed his mind?

  “You wanted me to.”

  She battled unease. Those bewitching green gambler’s eyes didn’t miss a trick. “Your imagination is only exceeded by your ego.”

  “Why are you doing that?”

  “Doing what?”

  “Denying your feelings?” He gave her a considering look. “‘I’m not scared, I’m not mad, I don’t desire you.’”

  “I wasn’t, I wasn’t, and I don’t.”

  He snorted. “Your pants are smoking, sweetheart.”

  The sharp cop was far too discerning. She looked over her shoulder again, out the back window. She never lost the jittery feeling of being watched all the time. “The heat’s making you hallucinate.”

  A frown eclipsed his gorgeous face. “Where’s the warm, vibrant woman I met on St. Patrick’s Day? The emotional, colorful, passionate woman I made love to?”

  “She died,” she said flatly.

  “Kate ...” Grief husked his low voice. “What happened?”

  His glanced flicked to her arm and she knew he wanted her to tell him what’d caused the damage. But she needed more pity like she needed pierced nipples. “I grew up. Faced reality. Packed away childish dreams.”

  “That’s ... sad.” He shook his head. “Dreams are what keep our souls alive. What keep us going when tragedy and heartbreak bring the world crashing down around us.”

  The words spilled out before she could stop them. “What would you know about heartbreak? About tragedy? You smile a charmer’s smile, toss off a clever quip, and the world bows at your feet.” Though she tried, she couldn’t stop the bitterness. “You’ve probably been handed everything you ever desired since the moment you blinked open those stunning Irish peepers, party boy.”

  He blasted through a yellow light. Went silent.

  Murphy whined and nuzzled Liam’s neck, and he reached back to scratch the dog’s ears. Liam’s expression was carefully neutral, but his body language said she’d hurt him. Badly. Did Murphy know Liam was upset?

  “You think I’m that shallow?”

  Kate drew a trembling breath. Apparently, she was less sensitive than the dog. She cradled her aching head in her palms. “I apologize. That wasn’t fair. Because I’ve had a rotten day doesn’t give me the right to lash out at you.”

  “I’m not spouting platitudes at you. I’ve slam-danced with adversity.” Liam swerved around a slow moving Cadillac. “I told you Pop died a year after we finished rebuilding the car. What I didn’t tell you was that he was murdered. In our family room.”

  Shocked horror stiffened her spine. “Liam ...”

  His agonized glance touched her briefly. “I was in my second year at U of O, and my youngest brother Grady was a high school senior. The family was hyped over Grady’s soccer game ... state championships. Pop had the flu and had to stay home. He was really torqued about missing the game.”

  She touched his forearm, warm steel beneath her palm. “You don’t owe me an explanation. Don’t do this to yourself.”

  “Maybe ... I ... Maybe I need to say it as much as you need to hear it. It’s not something I talk about.” Grief sharpened his profile. “Mom and Pop went to our games and school events when they could, and Pop was a Boy Scout leader.”

  Honored that he trusted her with something so painfully personal, she smiled gently. “You were a Boy Scout?”

  “All of us were.” He offered her a ghost of his ebullient grin. “I’d met a girl at the game, and was gonna blow off the family celebration to go out with her. Aidan, Con, and I shoulder-carried Grady into the house. Mom followed with his MVP trophy. We were singing a goofy, semi-risqué cheer at the top of our lungs.” He hung a sharp left. “We dumped Grady, and I was already getting out my car keys. It didn’t register right away that the house had been tossed. Stuff was gone. I started to leave, then I saw the mess. Instant terror for Pop hit me.”

  “There’s nothing worse than the fear that someone you love has been hurt.”

  “The ultimate nightmare. Mom rushed upstairs to the bedroom. Grady and Con ran to the kitchen. I was yelling for Pop, and then I ... I stopped calling. My gut felt wrong.”

  “I know that feeling.” She’d experienced the awful sensation, and been proven right.

  “Aidan and I barreled into the family room.” He shu
ddered. “And I ... I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Blood was spattered everywhere. My heart ... quit beating.” His voice went hoarse. “The murder happened in there. Even sick and weak, Pop fought to the bitter end.”

  The Mustang blew through another intersection. “We searched the debris, but couldn’t find him. Only ...” He blinked, as if seeing the atrocity again. “Only his blood. Spattered everywhere.”

  “Oh, my God.” She rubbed his arm, offering what little comfort she could.

  “Aidan and I didn’t want Mom to see the carnage. We body-blocked her at the doorway, but she fought us. Both of us could barely keep her out. I think she thought Pop was inside and kept trying to get to him. None of us were too coherent.”

  “Nobody would be.”

  “We took her to our neighbor Letty’s house. Grady unraveled ... it messed him up bad. Aidan made him stay with Mom. Aidan helped Con and me keep from losing it while the CSI team collected evidence. After the crime scene was processed, Grady came back over. Man, he was blank. A zombie. The four of us went into the family room and started scrubbing away the gore.”

  Her sister would’ve dissolved into hysteria, and her mother would’ve devoted herself to Janine—leaving “more capable” Kate to fend for herself. “I can’t believe how strong you all were, even so young.”

  “No way we were gonna let Mom deal with that.” He grimaced. “Seemed like I was on my knees wiping up blood forever. We worked like robots. Did what had to be done.” His hand adjusted the gearshift and the Mustang roared around a truck. “We ripped out the carpet and drove it and Pop’s ruined chair to the dump. We climbed into the back of Con’s truck and heaved Pop’s recliner over the side. The four of us looked at our father’s chair sitting in the garbage, bloody and broken. Then we cracked. Put our arms around each other and cried.”

  Though she hadn’t cried since the night she left him—even during the most physically painful time of her entire existence—tears burned her eyelids. He’d opened his life, his heart. Revealed his deepest hurt. They shared mutual experiences of betrayal and loss.

  Yet Liam seemed happy, while she’d withdrawn into a lonely, brittle protective shell. She forced down the lump in her throat. “I’m glad you and your brothers had each other.” Maybe that was the difference. Not trying to handle the pain alone.