Into The Flames (Firehouse Fourteen Book 4) (4 page)

If she wasn't so frightened, she would have kicked him for that comment. She shook her head instead and tightened her hands even more. "No."

"Dammit, Smurfette, let go of the damn railing. Now." She didn't have time to tell him no, didn't have time to argue. He pulled, hard, breaking her death grip. She squealed again, her arms pin wheeling as she searched for something, anything, to hold on to. Something to break her certain fall to death. Her hands fisted into the material of his shirt, gripping the fabric and twisting it. She was hanging upside down, braced over his shoulder, her hair completely covering her face and obscuring her view. She dug her hands deeper into the shirt, feeling rock hard flesh underneath.

"Holy shit. Get your claws out of me!"

"I'm going to fall!"

"You are not going to fall. And stop wiggling before I smack that round ass of yours."

"What?" Indignation flooded her as blood rushed to her face. From his threat, or from being upside down? It didn't matter. Melanie screeched, tried to right herself so she wasn't hanging upside down. His arms tightened around her, his hand dangerously close to her bottom. "I'm going to vomit! Put me down!"

"Smurfette, I swear, if you toss your cookies all over me—" His words ended in a small grunt and she felt herself falling, tumbling. Except she wasn't because he was only trying to set her on her feet. She watched, her eyes drinking in the expanse of hard bare flesh that grew with each inch he lowered her—because her hands were still fisted in his shirt and it was pulling up as he lowered her. She gasped, mortified, and quickly let go. It didn't help, not when her body was sliding down his, not when she could feel every inch of hard muscle beneath the layers of clothes between them.

Muscle wasn't the only thing that was hard between them.

Melanie's bare feet touched the ground, the dirt and grass hard and cold against her skin. She gasped again and stepped back, her heel catching in the hem of her skirt and causing her to stumble. He grabbed her arms, holding her steady.

Holding her entirely too close.

She shook his hands free and pushed at him. "Let go of me!"

"Whatever you say, Smurfette." He stepped back, smiling at her with a crooked grin and twinkling eyes. He reached behind him and tugged at the hem of his shirt, pulling it back into place. Melanie swallowed a moan of disappointment when the shirt fell around him, covering the sliver of sculpted abdomen that she had been staring at.

Ridiculous. She was being ridiculous. Her neighbor was a Neanderthal, she didn't need to be staring at his stomach, no matter how hard and delectable it might be.

She brushed the tangle of hair from her face and gathered it behind her with one hand, then searched for her shoes. There they were, on the concrete porch of their building, right where she left them. She hiked her skirt up with her free hand and made her way over to them, trying not to stub her toe on the steps.

"So what exactly were you trying to do, anyway?"

She glanced over her shoulder as she stepped into the flats, her lips pursed in annoyance. Should she tell him? Not like it would make any difference, not when he was standing there, his hands resting on his lean lips, smiling.

Probably laughing at her.

She raised her chin and folded her arms across her chest. "I was trying to get up to the balcony because I left my keys inside."

"Locked yourself out, huh?"

"I left my keys inside." Which was the same thing, except it sounded better the way she said it. Or maybe not, since he chuckled again, the sound soft and warm.

"And what were you going to do if you made it up there? Play Juliet?"

"Hmph. No, I was going to open the door and get them."

"You left your balcony door unlocked?"

"Of course. Why not?"

"Because it's not safe, that's why not. Anyone could break in."

"Not hardly. It's too high. Only a superhero could make it up there."

He stood there watching her, his eyes too warm, with that annoying twinkle in their depths that let her know he was quietly laughing at her. Let him laugh all he wanted. It certainly wouldn't be the first time she had been laughed at. And it
was
too high. Hadn't he seen how close she had been to certain death?

He turned away from her and Melanie almost called after him, ready to swallow her pride and ask if he could at least let her inside. But he didn't leave. He stepped closer to her balcony then jumped, his hands closing over the spindles. He kicked out with his legs then swung himself up and over, landing on both feet with barely any noise. Her mouth dropped open in shock as he looked over his shoulder with a grin, then moved toward the sliding glass doors. She didn't even have time to tell him they were locked before he moved to the kitchen door and disappeared inside.

How had he done that? Each move had been smooth and graceful and powerful, like he didn't even have to try. Which was wrong. Just wrong. It wasn't fair, not at all.

But wasn't that what gorillas did? Climb things with no effort at all? That was what she had called him, and now she knew why. He really was a gorilla.

Except she had never seen a hairless gorilla with warm laughing eyes and a hard delicious body and a deep chuckle that made her bones turn to jelly and—

"You coming in, Smurfette?"

Melanie jumped then turned, surprised to see him standing at the entrance to their building, holding the door open for her. She shouldn't be surprised, though. After all, he had just jumped onto her balcony and gone inside her apartment. Why wouldn't he be standing there, holding the door open for her?

Probably because she had expected him to just go into his own apartment and forget about her. Isn't that what Neanderthals did?

He certainly wasn't a gorilla. So maybe he wasn't really a Neanderthal, either. Maybe—

No, she couldn't think like that. She wouldn't allow it.

Melanie raised her chin and stepped inside, brushing against him as she headed for the stairs. He chuckled again, the sound doing something much worse than annoying her. She tried to ignore it, to ignore the tingle of warmth that shot through her and swirled through her limbs before settling low in her belly. It would be so much easier to do if he wasn't right behind her, following her too closely.

Sweets, why was she suddenly so aware of him? Melanie shook her head. Her exclamation didn't fit.
Sweets
was too soft, too weak, to describe her frustration. Now, on top of everything else, the man had just ruined her favorite exclamation. How could life be so unfair?

She reached her door then turned around, giving him her best scowl. He paused, his brows raised in silent question, that silly crooked grin still on his face.

"You…you…oh! I don't like you!"

"Well, that's certainly a different way of saying thanks, considering I saved you."

"Saved me? Saved me? You most certainly did not!" Melanie didn't even flinch when the lie fell from her lips. That more than anything told her how much trouble she was in.

"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, Smurfette."

"Why do you keep calling me that?"

"Because you remind me of Smurfette."

"What?"

"Not what.
Who
. Smurfette. You know. Because you were painted blue when we met."

"Well stop calling me that! My name is Melanie." She had no idea why she told him that. She didn't want him to know her name. She didn't want him to know anything about her at all. But now that she had, she waited for him to tell her his name. That's what good manners called for.

She waited some more but he still didn't say anything. He just stood there, his thumbs hooked into the pockets of his faded jeans, that grin on his face. He was too close, close enough she could feel the heat coming from his body, close enough she could see the subtle shadow of stubble that colored the smooth skin of his jaw.

She opened the door to her apartment and stepped inside, still facing him. "You are such a…a—"

"Neanderthal?" He offered the word nonchalantly, his grin growing to a wide smile that made her stomach tilt and whirl. She scowled at him, opening her mouth to say something, anything. He stepped back, still smiling, and winked at her.

"See you around, Smurfette."

Melanie slammed the door on him, not surprised to hear his laughter coming from the other side.

Dale leaned back in the chair and raised his feet, crossing them at the ankles and letting them rest on the table. Mikey walked by and swatted his feet, knocking them back off.

"Do you mind? We have to eat there."

"I was going to wipe it down."

"Yeah, sure you were."

"What? I was." Dale dropped his feet to the floor and shifted in the chair. Jay took the seat next to him, sliding Dale's coffee out of the way to make room for his own.

"Don't argue with her. You know you're just going to lose."

"Exactly." Mikey took the chair on his other side, sliding to the edge so she was sprawled on it instead of really sitting. She pushed her hair out of her face, gathering it behind her and twisting it into a ponytail.

They were early for their shift, as they usually were. But there was nothing to do at the moment, since the day crew was out on a run and would be out for at least another half-hour. Technically the shifts ran from six at night until eight in the morning, then eight in the morning until six at night. But pretty much everyone in the field, at each station, relieved at seven and a little before five. He knew a few stations relieved even earlier for the night shift, which generally worked out well.

Unless you got hit with a late call.

Dale glanced at the clock on the wall above the television. Not quite four-thirty yet, so they had some time. Their Lieutenant, Pete Miller, was back in the office catching up on paperwork. Adam Price, the third firefighter on their shift, would probably be here in a few minutes—unless he got hit with a late detail and ended up having to go somewhere else, which was always a possibility.

If the engine was going to be out much longer than thirty minutes, they'd go relieve them on the scene. If not, they'd just wait until they got back. There wasn't much more to do the rest of the night, except for handling any calls that came in. Housework was done during the day, inspections and fire prevention details were done during the day. They didn't have any training scheduled. A light night so far, except for figuring out what they were doing for dinner.

Jay's train of thought must have been travelling in the same direction as Dale's because he leaned forward, his light gray eyes piercing Mikey. "What are we doing for dinner?"

"Why are you asking me?"

"Because you're sitting there."

"So is Dale. You didn't ask him."

Jay rolled his eyes and sat back, not bothering to respond. Dale bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at their antics. The two had known each other for years—too many years. When Dale first transferred here, he had originally thought that maybe the two had something going on. That they were a couple, dating each other outside the station. Jay and Mikey could bicker like an old married couple one minute, then carry on like the best of friends the next while they finished each other's sentences. Which is exactly what they were: best friends. They were each in committed relationships: Mikey with her long-lost love, Nick Lansing; and Jay with Angie Warren—who just happened to be the sister of their paramedic, Dave. It was just a question of which one would be getting married first. Unless they had a double wedding, which wouldn't surprise Dale at all.

"So seriously, what are we doing for dinner? I'm getting hungry."

Mikey rolled her eyes again. "I don't know, you'll have to ask Pete. And how can you be hungry? It's not even five o'clock yet."

"I didn't each lunch."

"That's your own fault."

A wide smile spread across Jay's face. "No, it's Angie's fault."

"Oh God. Knock it off. Please. And you better not let Dave hear you talk that way. He'll kick your ass."

"No he won't. He's cool with it now." Dale noticed that the color drained from Jay's face despite the brave words. He laughed and kicked Jay's foot under the table.

"That doesn't mean he wants to hear the intimate details. No brother wants to hear anyone talking about his sister that way. I thought you would have figured that out by now." And he should have, considering how tense life had been around the station when Dave first learned Jay was seeing his sister. Not just tense, but downright confrontational, considering Dave and Jay had nearly come to blows one day.

Jay opened his mouth, no doubt put his foot in it, but Mikey talked right over him.

"Speaking of sisters, how is she doing?"

And fuck, Dale should have kept his own mouth closed. He should have known that any mention of sister—his or otherwise—would have led to questions. He shifted in the hard seat and reached for his coffee.

"Lauren's fine. Completely recovered, but you already knew that."

"I didn't mean Lauren. I meant Lindsay. How's she doing?"

Dale stiffened, his gaze sliding to Mikey's with a cool glare that should have let her know he wasn't discussing it. She didn't even flinch, just fixed him with a steady gaze of her own, her mossy green eyes boring into him.

He looked away, focused on bringing the chipped mug to his mouth so he could take a sip. Somehow he didn't think Mikey got the message. No, she got the message alright. She just wasn't listening.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"How is she doing?"

"I have no idea."

Mikey leaned forward, her brows lowering over her eyes. "You mean to tell me you haven't even talked to her? At all?"

"No, I haven't. And I don't intend to." And that was the truth. The last time he had talked to Lindsay was that day at the rink almost five months ago, the day she had poisoned Lauren. He'd seen her since then, two days later at her bail hearing, but only because Lauren had insisted he go because she wasn't capable of going herself. But he hadn't talked to her, had barely even looked at her.

He knew Lauren had gone to visit her at the detention center, at least once, which he still wasn't happy about. For all he knew, she had visited Lindsay again and just hadn't bothered telling him. It was certainly possible, since Lauren knew exactly how he felt.

And he didn't understand it, didn't understand how Lauren could just go see her and act like nothing had happened. Lindsay had poisoned her! Maybe it wasn't deliberate, maybe she hadn't really known exactly what would happen when she emptied an entire bottle of eye drops into Lauren's drink. Maybe. Lindsay claimed she thought it would just give Lauren diarrhea, that was all. Dale didn't know if he believed her not. And when it came right down to it, it didn't matter.

Lindsay had tried to hurt Lauren. Deliberately. That was what mattered. And that was the one thing he still couldn't understand.

Or forgive.

And he couldn't help but wonder if maybe he could have done something to prevent it. If he could have done something to stop Lindsay from tumbling head-first down the path she had taken. He was the big brother, he should have seen it coming, should have done something to stop it.

Guilt gripped him, squeezing the breath from his lungs. He clenched his jaw and forced it away. Guilt did nothing, changed nothing. He told himself again that he wasn't responsible for Lindsay's actions, that she was a grown woman and needed to be held responsible for the choices she had made.

That didn't ease the doubt that clung to him, always there no matter how much he tried to brush it off.

He took a deep breath then looked back at Mikey, noticed she was still watching him, her face carefully blank, her eyes seeing too much. He frowned and stared back, two strong personalities fighting a sudden battle of wills.

Something sharp hit his foot, causing him to jump. Mikey jumped at the same time. They both looked at Jay, who snorted and rolled his eyes.

"You two look like wild animals, staring each other down. Knock it off so we can figure out what we're doing for dinner."

The kitchen door swung open and Pete walked in, his focus on the stack of papers in his hands. He paused, frowning, muttered something under his breath, then shook his head and turned to look at them. They looked back in silence, just watching him. Dale knew that he wasn't the only one counting under his breath, wondering how long it would take for Pete to come back to earth and ask them—

"What are you guys staring at?" They erupted in laughter, which only made Pete frown more. He looked over his shoulder then back at them. "What?"

"Nothing Pete. Nothing at all." Mikey pushed back from the table and moved to refill her coffee cup. Pete slid into the chair she had just left and tossed the papers down.

"So. They're talking about putting a second engine here."

Dale snorted. "Yeah, sure. They've been talking about that for two years."

"And it looks like they're finally getting serious about it. See?" He pushed the top report toward Dale. He glanced down at it, seeing the words without really believing them before pushing it back to Pete.

"Maybe. But you know better than everyone how fast things change. I'll believe it when I see it."

"Yeah, I'm with Dale. As nice as it would be just to cut down on our runs, I'm not going to hold my breath." Jay drained his mug then leaned forward. "So, what are we doing for dinner?"

"Oh for shit's sake, Jay, knock it off. Can you stop worrying about your stomach for five minutes? Please? You're getting on my nerves."

"What Mikey said." Pete gathered up the reports then slid them to side. "Are we still going to the hockey game next weekend?"

Dale nodded. "Yeah. As far as I know, anyway."

"What do you mean, as far as you know?"

"Just what I said. I talked to Lauren last week and she said it would be no problem for Kenny to get the tickets." Dale hadn't wanted to ask her, thought that maybe it was taking advantage of her relationship with Kenny Haskell, one of the defensemen for the Baltimore Banners. But Kenny himself had made the offer a few times so maybe it wasn't really taking advantage.

"Oh man, do you think he can get us seats on the ice? I've always wanted to sit there and pretend I was a VIP." Pete rubbed his hands together, looking like a little kid on Christmas morning. Dale still had trouble thinking of him as their lieutenant. Early last year he'd been a blue shirt just like them, while they were all dealing with a new Captain who had made their lives miserable. He'd even done his best to get rid of Mikey, for reasons Dale still didn't quite understand. But the Captain had been promoted to Chief and was now serving time in an office at headquarters, where he could do minimal damage. Pete had been in the last group to be promoted to Lieutenant and—by some twist of fate—the powers-that-be had kept him here at Station 14. It worked out well, even if they sometimes had trouble remembering that Pete was no longer a blue shirt like the rest of them.

"I have no idea where the seats are, I just know we should have the tickets with no problems."

"Well can't you call and ask?"

"No I'm not going to call and ask. That would be rude."

"No it wouldn't. She's your sister. All I'm saying is just call and ask where the seats are. I'm dying of curiosity."

"You're worse than a kid. Fine, I'll call her later. But I don't want to hear you bitch if they're not on the ice."

"Bitch? Me? Never." Pete laughed then turned to Jay. "As for dinner, I have no idea. Jimmy's in charge of it tonight."

"Are you freaking serious? Great, we're never going to eat because they're probably going to be on the road all night. Why the hell would you let the medic crew handle it?"

Dale's phone rang, the noise muffled because it was in his pocket. He pulled it out and glanced at the screen. It was Lauren. He pushed away from the table and walked out of the kitchen, the bickering fading as he moved to the engine room. "Are your ears burning?"

"No. Should they be?"

"Maybe. Pete was just asking about the tickets for the game next week. Was Kenny able to get them?"

"Of course he was. And he made arrangements for everyone to go to the locker room after the game, too."

"He didn't have to do that."

"He knows, but for some reason I still can't figure out, he likes you." Her laughter came through the phone, clear then muted. He heard some more background noise, deep and low, and figured she was with Kenny now and that they were talking. At least, that's what he hoped they were doing.

Dale moved deeper into the engine room, toward the back where a few chairs were set up. He pushed one close to the concrete wall and sat in it, leaning back so the front legs were off the floor.

"Kenny says hi."

"Tell him hi back."

"And he says you guys are getting the VIP treatment."

"Lauren, he doesn't have to—"

"And he says to shut up and deal with it." Dale heard a deeper rumbling, then more laughter before Lauren came back on the phone. "Okay, he didn't say that last part, I did."

"Yeah, that sounds more like it. So what's up?"

"Why do you think something's up?"

"Because you called."

"Maybe I just wanted to talk to you."

"Yeah, okay. Now out with it. What's up?"

"Nothing. I just wanted to make sure you knew Lindsay's trial date got moved back. It's going to be the end of April now."