When Lightning Strikes Twice (6 page)

He could only be thankful she was unaware that he’d been operating on pure animal instinct, no doubt passed along in his genes from some prehistoric ancestor, perhaps some hominid species.
Homo erectus
came to mind. Quint nearly groaned aloud at his woefully lame reference.

And even now, under these most difficult circumstances, hard as he tried to block the sensory images, they remained vivid. It was as if he and Rachel were still back in his office. He could still smell the enticing aroma of her perfume in his nostrils, he could feel the heat emanating from her where she stood just crucial inches away from him.

When the train had come roaring down the tracks, momentarily scaring her out of her wits, he’d been permitted to experience the tangible, physical pleasure of her body pressed into his. She had reflexively reached for him and clung, seeking protection, and he’d felt the irresistible warmth of her, felt her soft curves molded against him.

He’d seized the opportunity to hold her, relished it. His sex had swelled impossibly fast to iron-hard thickness, and he had pressed himself against her belly like a pathetically overeager teenager with his first erection.

His instantaneous sexual response to her forced Quint to face facts. To face the unwelcome, intolerable realization of just how much he had been wanting to be close to Rachel Saxon, to touch her, to hold her.

Since his very first sight of her!

The revelation was humbling, it was horrifying. He wanted her madly, and she hated his guts.

Lucky for him, his instincts for self-preservation were first-rate, enabling him to summon his considerable willpower and walk away from her. It hadn’t been easy; he’d been dangerously close to giving into the sensual fire raging within him. Before moving away from her, he had foolishly given in to that vestige of primitive impulse and run his hands over her hips in what was definitely a sexually possessive caress.

Lord, he had wanted to do so much more….

But already, the images were forming in his head, of Rachel and himself back in his office while the train rumbled past. He imagined yanking her classy little brown skirt up to her waist. Smoothing his palms over her spectacular long, shapely legs. Slipping his hand between them to feel the revealing wetness of her panties. And then pulling them off before finally, blissfully thrusting into her soft, moist warmth. Of course, she would be ready for him, she wanted him as much as he wanted her. He had seen that hot dreamy look of passion in her eyes when she’d gazed up at him.

Lady Antarctica? Freezer Queen? If the image of a sexually
repressed Rachel had aroused him, the reality of a passionate, hungry Rachel drove him wild.

But then, as now, reality intruded most harshly. He knew a wallbanger in his office with Rachel Saxon was so out of the question that he had no choice but to get away from her fast, before he dared to try it. He’d dashed to the window to stare out, studying the drab view of the tracks with fierce concentration, as if bent on counting each railroad tie, vaguely aware they’d had some sort of conversation though he couldn’t remember a thing either of them had said.

That phone call from Sarah had sent him from sensual disorientation into a panicked frenzy. His dad’s and Carla’s house was burning down? His kid brother was inside?

And his car was unavailable to take him to the scene. The world seemed to be unraveling until Rachel had offered him a ride.

From that moment he had been downright rotten to her, spoiling for a fight, determined to fend off any attempt at niceness on her part because God help him, he still wanted her. Badly. That raging hard-on of his had hardly subsided. His jacket was draped over his lap to conceal the evidence of his erection; he was sweating, but his heat was sexual and had nothing to do with the warm temperature outside.

It was outrageous, it was shameful, and he knew it. Despite the latest calamity befalling the Cormacks at this very moment, he was hard and hot and hungry for Rachel Saxon. He deeply, furiously resented her power over him.

Knowing that she was making a genuine effort to be understanding and patient with him only made things worse. He couldn’t have her, and she was making him want her even more. He needed Rachel to be cold and cranky, not likable. Acting in sheer self-defense, he’d made her act like the bitch he needed her to be.
He’d had to!

As usual, he was very good at getting the results he wanted. Rachel had turned back into a sharp-tongued shrew, actually forbidding him to speak to her. Mission accomplished.

“Hey, lady, you can’t drive down here!” A young policeman approached Rachel’s window, looking frazzled and impatient. “In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a fire.”

“Yes, Officer,” she replied politely. “I’m dropping off Mr. Cormack. He’s a family member who is—”

“Cormack?” The officer peered further into the car and saw Quint. “Thank God you’re here!” He sagged against the door, as if he needed support to stay on his feet. “We can’t find one of the kids and Carla is out of control. Way beyond our control. I know this sounds nuts, but she’s commandeered the ambulance. She won’t let anyone in, the paramedics are totally pissed, and who can blame them? Do you think you can calm her down?”

“I can try,” Quint said grimly.

“I’ll park your car for you, miss,” the policeman said to Rachel, this time addressing her with an almost-ingratiating courtliness. “You go with him to the paramedics down there at the ambulance. They need help real bad.”

Immediately, Rachel got out of the car and turned it over to the policeman. She automatically hurried after Quint.

“They’re already on a first-name basis with Carla, not a good sign,” he muttered, racing toward the vehicle with its red lights flaring.

“She commandeered the ambulance?” Rachel was still pondering that. “How? I mean, why?”

“How and why are questions that Carla and Dad seldom have answers for.”

In her brown stacked heel pumps, Rachel found it difficult to match his pace and fell slightly behind him. She was beginning to have second thoughts about her impromptu presence here—and third thoughts as well. The young policeman had gallantly absconded with her car, she didn’t know the Cormacks, and Quint certainly did not want her around. Officially, they weren’t even speaking to each other though they’d just exchanged a few words.

“Careful, she’s armed,” a paramedic hollered to Quint as he drew near to the ambulance.

Rachel arrived moments later. “Carla has a gun?”

She stared at Quint, aghast. What a nightmare this must be for him, and it only seemed to be getting worse! She immediately forgave him for using her and the other Saxons for verbal target practice on the drive over here. So what if he’d taken out his anger, fear, and frustration on the nearest person available? Who happened to be her!

She was sometimes guilty of doing the same thing, Rachel admitted to herself. If asked honestly to describe her own behavior in a crisis, sweetness, patience, and forbearance would not be the first characteristics to leap to mind.

“No, there’s no gun,” the paramedic replied tersely to her query. “But she’s got a loaded syringe in each hand. We tried to give her some sedatives, and she wrestled them away from us. She’s locked herself inside and is threatening to stick anybody who comes near her.” The paramedic wiped his brow. “She won’t let us into our own ambulance and God only knows what she’s doing in there. She won’t talk to anybody, she just keeps screaming.”

The uniformed emergency personnel milled about, looking worried and uncertain. Yet another round of screams came from within the ambulance.

“Somebody do something!” implored a nurse.

Quint began to bang on the back door of the ambulance with his fists. “Carla, open up. Do you hear me? Open this door and put down those damn syringes. Now, Carla!”

The screaming stopped. The sudden cessation of noise was almost disorienting.

And then: “Is Frank with you, Quint?” a female voice shrieked from within. “I called the office earlier and Helen said he wasn’t there. But he was supposed to be; he left for work this morning.” The voice grew higher with hysteria. “Where is he, Quint? Where’s Frank? I was doing the wash when I smelled smoke. Oh God, Quint, they said Dustin is inside the house!”

“Carla, open the door,” Quint’s voice lowered, his tone soft and coaxing. “I know how scared you are, honey. We need to talk. Come on, Carla, let me in.”

The back door swung open and a weeping brunette flung
herself into Quint’s arms. “Oh, Quint! What am I going to do? My baby, we have to find my baby!” Carla flung her needle-weapons to the ground and nestled closer to Quint.

The EMTs scrambled to pick up the syringes before climbing into the ambulance and reclaiming it.

Rachel watched Carla Polk Cormack, curvy and voluptuous in snug jeans shorts and halter top, hanging on to Quint; she watched him enfold the woman firmly in his embrace. An unfamiliar yet thoroughly sickening sensation hit her squarely in her middle.

“Is that the husband?” someone standing nearby asked Rachel.

She supposed she must appear to be some sort of authority-figure-in-the-know, her conservative brown suit, cream silk blouse, and sensible shoes setting her apart from the other onlookers, who were dressed in shorts, tank tops, and sandals.

Well, she did have some information to impart.

“He is her stepson,” Rachel said coolly.

She didn’t add that Carla was five years younger than Quint, and that the two of them seemed to share a very close bond. She didn’t have to. Wasn’t a picture worth a thousand words? Certainly the image of Carla clinging to Quint while he physically comforted her spoke volumes.

Those spectators dedicated to watching the fire remained oblivious to everything else, but the newly revealed information about the couple spread quickly through the restless group who’d gathered to observe the ambulance takeover.

Rachel left as the snickering and innuendos began, but she overheard some remarks as she made her way through the crowd.

“Stepson, huh?”

“She’s sure not like the wicked stepmother from out of them fairy tales.”

“Maybe she is a wicked stepmother. But I mean wicked in a whole different way, if you get my drift.”

Everybody got it.

Rachel searched the street, hoping for a glimpse of her
car or the policeman who had parked it.
She had to get out of here!

“Omigod, I know you! You’re Rachel Saxon.”

Rachel turned to see a Sheely approaching her. She didn’t know which, but it was definitely one of the red-haired Sheely sisters. The girl was carrying a wriggling, disgruntled blond toddler in a bright blue sunsuit.

“I’m Sarah Sheely. I met you at your cousin Wade’s apartment last summer, but you probably don’t remember. Your cousin is good friends with my brother Tim and sister Dana,” Sarah continued to list her reasons for addressing Rachel, while the child she held made a concentrated effort to escape from her grasp. “And—um—my sister Katie works at your law firm,” she added nervously.

Rachel felt like a dragon lady. Was she really so unapproachable that one needed credentials to speak to her? “Hello, Sarah.” She tried to sound friendly, not forbidding as she stared at the little boy struggling in the young woman’s arms. “Is—that Quinton Cormack’s child?”

“Yeah, this is Brady, and he shouldn’t be here,” Sarah replied frankly. “A fire is no place for a two-year-old but I had to bring him along because I couldn’t leave him alone and the neighbors said I
had
to come over here and try to calm Carla down. She was going beserk in their living room.”

“Having seen her at the ambulance, I understand their desperation,” Rachel murmured.

“I have to talk to Quint. I’ve been trying to, but he’s totally busy with Carla,” Sarah complained. “I couldn’t even get near him. Some nurse just pushed me out of the way.”

“The emergency rescue team would fend off anyone who tried to take Quint away from Carla at this point. She might regroup and hold their ambulance hostage again.”

Rachel heard the note of sarcasm in her voice and was instantly ashamed of herself. Carla’s son was in danger and she’d sounded …
jealous
was the word that instantly sprang to mind, but Rachel rejected it, appalled. She was
not jealous of Quint’s attentions to his terrified young stepmother!

Purposefully, she started the thought all over again. Carla’s son was in danger, and that ambulance crack she’d made had sounded … less than sympathetic.

“I feel very sorry for Carla,” Rachel recited dutifully.

“Well, things are about to go from bad to even worse for the Cormacks unless I get Quint to either take Brady or stop Austin.” Sarah looked morose.

“Brady down. Brady go! Go down now!” Brady demanded, bucking and rearing and nearly unbalancing the petite Sarah.

“Stop it, Brady! Bad boy!” his nanny scolded.

The child began to howl, keeping his arms and legs in constant motion, even more desperate to be free.

Sarah appeared ready to cry, too. Still clutching the vigorously protesting Brady, she turned tear-filled eyes to Rachel. “What am I going to do? I saw Austin headed down the street with his BB gun and I know he’s going to shoot out the windows in that vacant house at the end of the block, but I can’t drag Brady down there ‘cause I’ll need both my hands to—”

“Austin is Carla’s older child,” Rachel recalled, trying to make some sense of Sarah’s desperate monologue. “And he has a BB gun? Which he uses to—er—shoot things?”

The girl nodded, sniffling. “Quint talked to Austin about not, well, vandalizing property after the cops caught him shooting out streetlights, but now Austin’s real upset, and who can blame him? I mean, his brother and his dog are in his house that’s on fire and—”

“Could you get the BB gun away from Austin, Sarah?” Rachel cut straight to the point. “Before anything happens?”

“Sure. I have four brothers, plus I’ve been baby-sitting for half of Lakeview since I turned twelve. I know exactly how to handle Austin Cormack.” Sarah’s confidence was unshakeable.

“Then why don’t I take Brady while you—uh—disarm
Austin,” Rachel suggested quickly. “I agree that having the police catch him shooting out windows would be more than this family can cope with right now.” She looked at the small, wailing, flailing figure of Brady Cormack. “Do you think he’ll let me hold him?” she asked uncertainly.