Playing With Fire (15 page)

Matt heard the same bitterness in her voice he heard in his own. “I'm sorry, honey. I didn't know.” He was glad she'd told him about her real dad. It not only explained her drive to succeed, it also strengthened the bond growing between them. “We're quite a pair."

"Yes, we are."

They found each other's mouths and kissed; sweetly at first, then with increasing passion.

"I love you, Lindsay,” he said, tugging her nightgown over her head. The back of his throat burned, making speech difficult. “I swear, I do."

"Show me how much,” she answered, taking his hand and placing it on her breast.

Chapter 9

Lindsay entered the apparatus room, a laundry sack slung over her shoulder. They were having a slow day at the station, and the crew was using the lull to catch up on chores. She didn't mind laundry detail. It beat the heck out of bathroom detail. For twenty-four out of every seventy-two hours, she shared close quarters with three men, none of whom understood the mechanics of a toilet seat: up when in use, down when not in use.

Dennis had bathroom detail today, and the image of him on his knees, scouring toilet bowls, brought a smile to her lips.

"You're so mean, Lindsay,” she chided herself. The smile, however, remained.

Ever since almost catching her and Matt in the equipment room, Dennis had been acting differently around Lindsay. More than once, she'd caught him staring at her in a way that made her uncomfortable. And while she didn't dislike him, neither did she trust him and preferred to keep her distance if at all possible.

She rounded the front of the engine and a movement above caught her attention. Matt kneeled on the chrome diamond plate over the side compartments, polishing the lights with a soft cloth. Drops of water remaining from when he'd washed down the engine gleamed brightly in the mid-afternoon sun.

Engrossed in his task, he didn't see her approach. She glanced around and finding no witnesses, inched slowly forward until she stood directly beneath him.

There, she took in the view, and her smile expanded.

Bless the powers that be who, years before, authorized shorts for summer wear. Matt's legs were long, well-muscled, and lightly tanned. His butt moved as his arm made small, circular sweeps. He had a great butt. She'd always thought so. Nowadays, however, she wasn't limited to admiring it from a distance.

They'd spent almost every free night together the last month, usually at her place. Lindsay and Joey's friendship remained strong, but she didn't feel comfortable sleeping with Matt at his house while his roommate was there.

Often as not, Joey stayed with his ex-fiancée Karyn, who probably wouldn't remain an ex much longer. If they became re-engaged, chances where Joey would move out. Matt and Lindsay hadn't discussed the subject specifically, but she anticipated him asking her to move in with him in that event. To be honest, she didn't know what her answer would be.

Cohabitating constituted a huge step and one she wasn't ready to take. There was also the matter of work. Keeping their relationship a secret would be impossible if they shared the same address and phone number. And when Matt's transfer finally came through, he'd pressure her that much more. He'd already implied as much.

Sooner or later, she'd have to make a decision.

But not yet. She still had time. For now, she enjoyed being with Matt, getting to know him better, and making love at every opportunity.

Taking another precautionary glance around the apparatus room, she pursed her lips and gave a low wolf whistle.

Matt's head shot up and upon spotting her, his face split into a wide grin. “Careful. A guy could get the wrong idea."

"Oh, I think you've got the right idea."

"Is that an invitation for later?” he asked, his tone suggestive.

"Possibly,” she teased. Then laughed. “Absolutely.” She bent to retrieve some rags on the floor and added them to her laundry sack. “You through with these?"

"Yeah. I'll drop the rest in the hamper when I'm done.” He returned to polishing the lights.

Lindsay resumed walking the apparatus room, scouting for any dirty laundry. It suddenly occurred to her she hadn't seen Booter since they left the supply room earlier. The dog was usually around, underfoot, in her way, and generally making a nuisance of himself. Not that she minded. She'd come to love the big mutt and missed him terribly on her days off. If only her cat wasn't so anti-dog, she'd consider adopting Booter permanently as Emilio had suggested.

Behind the engine, she almost tripped over the garden hose Matt had left lying on the floor. All at once, a little voice, intent on evil doing, whispered inside her head.

Do it.

Unable to resist, she set her laundry sack down and picked up the hose. The spray nozzle felt right in her hand, and the little voice whispered louder and louder.

Do it. Do it
.

She peered around the corner of the engine. After determining the coast was clear, she snuck up on Matt, dragging the hose with her. He was still kneeling on top of the diamond plate, his back to her. And best of all, oblivious to her plans. Raising the spray nozzle, she took careful aim, pressed the release, and fired. A jet stream of water shot out, straight at him.

She nailed him dead center, soaking his entire backside. “Gotcha!"

With a howl of surprise, he rose up on his knees and twisted sideways, hanging onto the railing with one hand. Lindsay didn't let up. Within seconds, the front half of him was also drenched.

Dropping the cloth and shielding his face from the blast, he yelled, “Enough already. I surrender."

"What was that?” With her free hand, she cupped her ear, pretending not to hear him.

Matt swung a leg over the side, his foot finding purchase on one of the fold down steps. “I said I surrender."

She showed mercy and let up on the release. The water slowed to a trickle. Holding the nozzle to her mouth, she blew on it, as one might blow on a smoking gun. Then she snickered.

He took another step down. “You're going to pay for that. And pay plenty.” Eyes narrowed, he released his handhold and jumped the last few feet to the concrete floor.

Lindsay dropped the garden hose and scooted around the side of the engine to the back. Too late, she realized her mistake. She couldn't return to the kitchen. Emilio was there, fixing lunch. Neither could she escape down the hall to the living quarters, not with Dennis busy scrubbing toilets.

That left only one place to go.

"You can run but you can't hide,” Matt called to her in a singsong voice from the front of the engine.

Grabbing the top rung of a small ladder, she hauled herself up the back of the engine. She didn't get far. Matt grabbed her from behind and pulled her down. With an arm banding her middle, he pinned her against his chest.

"I've got you now,” he whispered in her ear. Wrapping his other arm around her, he molded her to his shape, and she felt every inch of his hard, wet body from the back of her neck to the back of her calves. “The only question now is: how shall I punish you?"

Lindsay's heart raced, and they both breathed heavily. The game had changed, taking on a new dimension.

"I'm sorry, Matt. I couldn't help myself.” She squirmed and tried to pry his arms loose when he dug his fingers into her ribs. “Please don't tickle me."

His voice deepened, became husky with desire. “That's not the kind of punishment I had in mind."

She knew what he was implying, and her heart beat even faster. There was a line at work, and they were careful not to cross it. Occasionally, they lost control and stepped over the line, but never to the extent they had that time in the equipment room.

"I can't wait,” she answered, heat pooling in her middle. There were days when the end of their shift couldn't come fast enough.

"Hey, Pfeiffer!” Dennis’ shout echoed through the apparatus room.

Instantly, Lindsay and Matt sprung apart. Saying nothing, they each took different routes. He climbed the engine, as she had attempted to a few minutes earlier, and she hurried back to where she'd left her laundry sack.

"Pfeiffer. Where are you?"

"Over here."

"Didn't you hear me?” Dennis asked grumpily as he approached her.

"I was in the weight room.” Lindsay knotted the drawstring on the laundry sack. “What's up?"

"Seen your dog lately?

Something about the look in his eyes set her nerves on edge. “Not lately. Why? Is he missing?"

"We should be so lucky."

Lindsay constantly worried that Booter might one day revert to his former stray self and take off for parts unknown. The station grounds weren't fenced and the large overhead doors remained open most of the time, particularly in summer. Nothing, other than an addiction to free food and a burgeoning loyalty to Lindsay, prevented the dog from leaving. His training was coming along, and he certainly seemed to consider the station his home. But not all the crew treated him with affection, Dennis among them.

Other than his chewing habit, which no amount of discipline had so far corrected, Booter learned quickly and was an ideal canine student. Their daily lessons were more fun than a hardship. Sometimes, when she wasn't too busy, she'd take him on a walk in the neighborhood or at the park down the road where she and Matt sometimes swam in the public pool.

"What's wrong, then?"

"Cap sent me to find you. The stupid dog's sick.” Dennis made an ugly face. “Puking all over the place. It's disgusting."

"Where is he?"

"In the kitchen. Cap's with him."

Lindsay dropped her laundry sack and bolted. She heard noises behind her, possibly Matt climbing down from the engine. She didn't stop to wait for him.

Booter sat in the middle of the kitchen floor, his head hanging between his front legs. He looked up at Lindsay as she entered the room, his dull eyes full of misery. Rather than bound over to greet her, he lowered himself slowly to the floor, as if every little movement caused him pain.

Emilio was also on the floor, cleaning something up with a paper towel. He stood as Lindsay fell to her knees beside Booter.

"Hello, sweetie,” she crooned to the dog, stroking his ears. “What's wrong? Are you sick?” He felt warm to the touch.

Emilio came and stood beside her. “One minute, he was fine. The next, he started throwing up. I think he ate something he shouldn't have."

"Spoiled food?” Lindsay had tried to remove temptation from the dog's path by relocating the trash can to the pantry. But old habits were difficult to break, and the dog outsmarted her now and then.

"Could be.” Emilio crouched down beside Lindsay. “The vomit's clear, if that had any significance. What were you and he doing earlier?"

Lindsay continued stroking the dog's head. “He was with me in the equipment room early this morning while I was restocking the medical supplies. I remember getting after him because he was nosing around some of the boxes.” Suddenly it hit her. “Oh, God. The latex gloves!” She sprung to her feet. “He was chewing on one and I took it away from him. I'll be right back,” she said and ran off, knocking into Matt, who stood near the doorway with Dennis.

In the equipment room, her worst fears were realized. Booter had obviously returned at some point. The cardboard box containing the latex gloves lay on the floor, torn open. A dozen gloves were scattered about, many in pieces. It was impossible to tell how many he'd eaten. The box held hundreds. She returned as fast as she could to the kitchen.

"He ate latex gloves,” she said in a breathless rush.

"Stupid dog.” Dennis started to leave. “I hope he croaks."

Matt stepped in front of him. “Shut up, Bigelow."

"Yeah?” Dennis puffed up. “And who's gonna make me?"

"Stop it!” Lindsay hollered at them, tears stinging her eyes. She turned to Emilio. “I'm taking him to the vet.” She remembered Mahina's new boyfriend, Dr. Travis Montgomery. “There's one in the shopping center across the street."

He nodded. “Matt. Bring her a radio while we transport the dog to her car."

"You got it."

Dennis stayed in the station while Emilio and Lindsay carried Booter to her car and settled him on a blanket in the front passenger seat.

A minute later, Matt met them and handed her a two-way radio. “Can you manage alone or do you want me to come with you?"

"I'll be all right.” She shot him a brief look of gratitude, then climbed in behind the steering wheel. “Thanks. For everything,” she said, hoping he understood how much she appreciated him standing up to Dennis.

Emilio slammed the passenger door shut. Worry lines creased his face. “Call us as soon as you know something."

"I will.” The tires screeched as she sped off.

"I'm afraid the news isn't good,” a grim-faced Travis informed Lindsay.

Panic sliced through her. “Tell me."

He clipped an X-ray film onto a lighted panel. They were in the examination room where he'd first seen Booter. The dog was in another part of the animal hospital, sedated and hooked up to an IV.

"The X-rays aren't conclusive.” Travis pointed with a pencil to a swirling mass in varying shades of grey that meant nothing to Lindsay.

"But there has to be something there. He's so sick."

"You say he ingested some latex gloves?"

"Yes. This morning. I don't know how many."

Lindsay searched Travis’ face for some indication of Booter's prognosis. She'd met the vet twice in the last few weeks, both times at Mahina's apartment. Lindsay had liked him immediately, warming to his easygoing charm. Now, in this situation, his compassion toward Booter inspired her confidence.

He tapped his chin with the pencil eraser. “Clear plastic won't show up on an X-ray. But given his history and condition, I'd say there's a blockage of some kind. The question is, how big.” He removed the X-ray and placed it in a large white envelope and wrote Booter's name, along with some other information, on the flap.

"How do we find out?"

"I suggest we do a contrast film, which is more involved than a simple X-ray. We'll have to anaesthetize him, give him barium. The entire procedure will take about two hours, but we'll know for sure what's in there when we're done. It's costly, too.” The look he gave her told her he'd understand and support any decision she made.