Flashpoint (16 page)

“The grocery store had a small fire in their bakery.” She set the tray down and grabbed a cupcake in each hand before looking at the gang, carefully avoiding Dustin's eyes. “So, what's up?”

“Nothing,” everyone but Dustin said.

Cristina sighed and faced the silent and clearly brooding Dustin. “Okay, fine. I'm sorry.” She offered him a cupcake. “Very sorry.”

Dustin stared down at the double chocolate fudge cupcake, eyes shadowed, mouth unaccustomedly tight. He didn't take it. “What's this?”

“It's called dessert. It's what people do when they're sorry. They bring people treats.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“You know why.”

“Say I don't.”

Cristina sighed. “I'm sorry I got mad when you wouldn't have sex with me again.”

Dustin raised a brow in tune to the juvenile catcalls from the guys.

“I
am
sorry, all right?” Cristina ignored everyone else. “Jesus! Would you just eat a damn cupcake?”

“I don't think so.”

“Oh my God.” Cristina sighed again, looking at the others, all of whom got real busy with their cupcakes. “Look, I really needed to get laid, okay? It'd been too long and you might have noticed that I was a little on edge.”

“Was?”

She rolled her eyes.

“Maybe you're on edge for other reasons,” Dustin said. “Ever think of that?”

“No.” She waggled the cupcake in front of his nose. “Are you going to take this or not?”

Dustin took it, then licked the frosting while studying Cristina thoughtfully.

The room was unusually quiet now. Brooke was especially so, mostly because she really felt for Dustin. He'd put himself out there and was now hurting.

She knew the feeling.

“I'm sorry, too,” Dustin said, mouth full of frosting.

Cristina went still. “For?”

“For not having more meaningless sex with you.”

Sam let out a choked laugh and, without taking her eyes off Dustin, Cristina pointed at him.

Sam shut up.

“Does that mean you want to?” Cristina asked Dustin. “Have more meaningless sex?”

“No.”

Cristina looked deeply disappointed, but tried to hide it. “Okay.”

“
I'll
have meaningless sex with you,” Eddie said. When Cristina rounded on him, Aidan helpfully stuffed a cupcake into Eddie's mouth to keep him quiet.

“Or you could try it my way,” Dustin suggested to Cristina.

Cristina turned back to Dustin and blinked.

Dustin didn't.

Zach sighed, and with some struggle, stood up, gesturing the others to follow him, clearly not wanting to stay and witness the bloodshed.

This time, Cristina pointed at Zach. “Don't move. Did you put him up to this?”

“Give me some credit,” Dustin answered for him. “I've had it bad for you since day one. There's no way you haven't noticed.”

“Whoa.” Cristina staggered back a step and collided with a wall. “What? What the hell did you just say?”

“I gave you an offer for sex,” Dustin said calmly. “As I believe you were lamenting about your continued lack of.”

“After that,” she whispered.

“I said give me some credit. Of course Zach didn't put me up to this.”

“No, after that.” She swallowed hard.
“What the hell did you say after that?”

“The part where I said I've wanted you since day one?”

“Yeah. Hang on.” And she sat, right there on the floor. “That.”

With a sigh, Dustin got up and crouched in front of her. “It's not a death sentence, Cristina.”

“Ohmigod.”

He sighed again. “I was hoping for a more articulate response than that.”

“Articulate?” She looked bowled over, but he just waited, and she swallowed hard. “Okay, articulate. How about…” She shook her head as if at a loss. “Thank you?”

He arched a brow. “Thank you?”

“Look, I'm trying to be polite here, but I really need to throw up. Are you crazy? You've got a thing for me? You don't even know all my faults.”

“I think I know a lot of them,” he said dryly.

“Ohmigod.”

“You're starting to repeat yourself. Let's go for a walk.”

“A walk.”

“Yes. On the beach.”

“Are you trying to romance me?”

“Uh-huh. Is it working?”

“I don't know. Maybe. No more talk about…wanting me. Promise?”

“Take my hand, Cristina.”

She stared at his proffered hand, and then took it. “You should know I'm not putting out on the first date.”

“Maybe on our second, then.”

That shook a laugh out of her and, shocking Brooke and probably everyone else, Cristina allowed Dustin to pull her out the door.

Brooke watched them go, something deep inside her aching. Then she realized Zach was looking right at her. What she'd give to know that he was aching, too, but whatever he was thinking, he kept it to himself.

 

A
LITTLE WHILE LATER
, Zach managed to escape to the kitchen, where he leaned on the sink and stared out the window. He could still hear his friends talking and laughing in the other room. He was grateful for them, but he wished they'd all go away and leave him alone with Brooke.

The door opened and he turned hopefully, but it was Tommy.

“How are you feeling?” the inspector asked.

“I'd be better if you'd convince the chief to let me go back to work.”

“No can do.”

“Tommy—”

He held up a hand. “I agree with you about those fires,” he said quietly. “Okay? You're right. They're arson, all of them. I've always believed you.” He let that sink in. “But believing you wasn't the problem. My investigation was—is—undercover.”

Zach stared at him. “Because…you suspected me.”

Tommy's expression was apologetic but firm. “Past tense.”

Zach let out a breath. “Jesus, Tommy.”

“I know you want to come back to work, but I'm advising you to wait.”

“You don't think—”

“What I think is that you're in danger.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“You've been a damn thorn for me, Zach, and we're on the same side. Imagine how the bad guy feels about you.”

“I don't understand.”

“You're getting close. Close enough for the arsonist to try to hurt you. He burned Phyllis's house because you care about her. Then at the warehouse fire, you were hit.”

“By a burning piece of ceiling.”

“By a chunk of debris, yes, but I've been at the site. I think it was thrown at you.”

Zach staggered to a chair and sat.

“I've combed every inch of that site,” Tommy said. “You went back in where you weren't supposed to, and I believe you almost caught the arsonist red-handed.”

“But the only people inside at that point, besides the victims, were firefighters.”

Tommy just looked at him, and that's when he finally got it. They weren't looking for some nameless criminal.

It was someone they all knew.

A
FTER EVERYONE
had gone, Brooke grabbed a trash bag and started to clean up.

“Leave it,” Zach told her, weary to the bone. “I can do it.”

She put her hands on her hips. “You're going to do it?”

“Yes.”

“Even though you've barely moved all night?”

He lifted a shoulder, which pulled at his burns and had pain shooting through him. He didn't make a sound, he very carefully didn't make a sound, but she was at his side in a heartbeat.

“Damn stubborn man,” she murmured, helping him up.

Suddenly, all he could think about was how her hands felt on him. “What are you doing?”

“Putting you to bed.”

Just the words had his body leaping to attention. Even in pain and pissed off at the world, he could still get it up for her. “Sorry, but I'm bound to disappoint you tonight.”

“Shut up, Zach.”

Upstairs in his room, she got him onto the bed. He looked up into her face. Her beautiful face. She was worried sick, and, he realized with some shame, that he was not the only one hurting. “I talked to Tommy tonight. He said he believed me.”

“What?” Brooke went still. “Oh, Zach,” she breathed. “I'm so glad! Does he know who the arsonist is?”

This was the hard part. “He suspects an inside job.”

“Inside…” Her mind worked fast, and she gasped. “No.”

“The warehouse fire wasn't an accident.” He went to reach for her and gritted his teeth at the pain.

“I'm going to get your meds and water. Don't move.”

When she was gone, he tried to pull off his shoes, but the cast on his arm felt heavy. Plus, moving hurt. Not feeling up to taking off his own damn shirt, much less his pants, he lay back on the bed, out of breath and frustrated.

“Why don't you get undressed?” she asked, coming back into the room with a glass of water and a pill.

He closed his eyes. “Yeah. Good idea.”

“Need help?”

“No. I can do this. Seriously.”

“Seriously? Get real, Zach.” He felt her hands pulling off his shoes, heard them hit the floor one at a time. “Because, seriously? You are full of shit.” Carefully, with a surprisingly gentle touch considering the sarcasm in her voice, she helped him out of his shirt. “So what else did Tommy say?”

“That I've pissed off the arsonist.”

She went still. “You're in danger?”

“I'm safe here.”

Her eyes searched his as her hands slid over his bare chest.

Instead of the pain he'd felt for days, all he felt was the touch of her warm hands. She was better than Vicodin. Then she trailed those hands down and reached for the buttons on his Levi's. “You still need my help, right?”

Oh, yeah. He nodded, and pop went the first button. And then the second, and suddenly Zach was breathing as if he'd been running.

She wasn't breathing too steadily, either.

“Okay, maybe I'd better do this.” His hands were shaking as he pulled open the rest of the buttons, but shoving the denim down his legs required grating his teeth and lifting his hips. By the time he got them down a mere inch, he was beginning to sweat.

“Here.” She got on the bed for leverage, straddling his lower legs, and pulled his jeans down to his thighs, revealing the fact that he'd gone commando that morning.

Which left the part of him that was the happiest to see her bouncing free.

Her eyes widened.

“I told you I should do this.”

“I'm sorry.” She was still staring.

“Not helping.”

At that, Brooke actually snickered, but he could hear the breathlessness in the sound.

And the wanting.

“Yeah,” he managed. “Still not helping.”

“Right.” She scrambled off his legs.

Good. Great. She was going away. But then she pulled his jeans the rest of the way off, tossing them to the floor. Leaving him buck naked.

“You…need a blanket.”

Which was beneath him. He rolled toward her just as she leaned in to try to pull it out from under him, and they bumped into each other.

“Sorry,” she gasped, but in countering her own movement, she bumped into him again.

They went utterly still.

He had his hands on her arms. She had hers braced on his chest, and she was still staring at the part of him boring a hold in her belly.

“Zach?” she whispered.

“Yeah?”

“You seem to need some…” Her gaze met his. “Letting loose.”

He laughed, which hurt like a son of a bitch.

“Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. It's just what I need.”
You…
And with that, he tugged her overtop of him.

 

A
T THE FULL BODY CONTACT
with Zach, what happened within Brooke was what happened every time—a shockingly intense, insatiable hunger arose. “Zach—”

“I know. Condom.”

She leaned over and grabbed one from his nightstand, while he tugged at her zipper, but his fingers were shaking. “Why are you wearing so many clothes?”

“I have no idea—” Before she got the words out, Zach had her capris down and pushed open her legs. Pretty damn talented for a man with one arm. Then he lifted her up and thrust into her.

Their twin groans of pleasure mingled in the air.

Her hands were braced on either side of his face, her head bent low to his. Staring into his eyes, she was startled at how easily she lost herself in him.

Every.

Single.

Time.

Brooke had no idea how she could want him this way, as if she would die if she didn't have him. The hunger filled her so that she could think of nothing else, and she rocked her hips, a movement that wrested a grunt from him. His good hand gripped her, holding her still. “Don't move.” His voice was like sandpaper. “God, don't move, or this'll be over—”

She moved. She couldn't help it; she had to. She rocked her hips again, absorbing the low, rough sound torn from deep in his throat. Leaning over him, she went to bury her face in the crook of his neck but he caught her, cupped her jaw and held it so that she could do nothing but look right into his eyes as he met her thrust for thrust, until she began to tremble, then burst. He was right with her, pulsing inside her even as she shattered around him.

“Yeah.” He breathed a shaky sigh as she sagged over top of him, a boneless puddle of raw nerve endings. “Just what the doctor ordered.” She felt his mouth press to the side of her throat and closed her eyes, letting the drowsiness take her—which was infinitely preferable to facing the fact that she had no idea how she was going to walk away from this man.

 

B
ROOKE AWOKE
to the sun pouring in through the window and splashing all over her face with startling cheer.

But she always shut her shades, so…

She jerked upright. Yep, she wasn't in her bed, she was in Zach's. Legs entwined, arms entwined, no covers in sight because their body heat had been enough. Once again she'd slept the entire night wrapped around him as if…

As if she belonged here.

Zach stirred, opened an eye. He had two days' growth on his jaw, and some serious bed-head, and he looked so hot she wanted to gobble him up.

Again.

“Overslept,” she said, and tried to free herself. “Going to be late—” She broke off when he merely tightened his grip on her. “What?”

“Just wondering if it worked. If I'm suitably relaxed or if maybe we should kept working on it.”

She stared into his gorgeous, sleepy face and remembered his warning not to fall in love with him. “You're fine.” She scrambled up, glanced at the clock again on the off chance it had miraculously changed in her favor. “Where the hell are my panties?”

Zach came up on an elbow and surveyed the room. “There.”

On his lamp. Perfect. Her bra was draped over a bedpost like a trophy. Snatching it up, she glared at him, just lying there looking like sin on a stick. “I'm late,” she said more to herself. Very late. Late for the rest of her life, which was right around the corner. In fact, she was meeting the real estate agent today to discuss an offer she'd received on the house yesterday. With a sigh, she headed toward the door.

“Brooke?”

She turned back. “Yes?”

“Be careful out there.”

“I always am.”

“I know. But…”

But now one of them was a possible arsonist and had hurt Zach. Anyone could get hurt. She got that. “I can take care of myself.”

“But—”

“And after next week, I'll be on my own.” Because that brought a lump to her throat, she had to swallow hard to continue. “I realize that last night was mostly my doing, but you should know, I got an offer on the house. Three more shifts, and I'm gone.”

He closed his eyes, but not before she saw a flash of emotion much deeper than affection. “I know.”

“Goodbye, Zach.”

Now he opened those eyes again, and let her see his sadness. “Is that it? Goodbye, the end?”

“What else is there?”

When he opened his mouth and then shut it, she shook her head. “Exactly. Goodbye, Zach.”

 

W
ELL, WHAT HAD
she expected, a marriage proposal? She'd only met him five and a half weeks ago, and he wasn't exactly known for being a commitment king. Brooke drove to work, not acknowledging the burning in her eyes, doing her damnedest not to think about the fact that he'd let her walk away.

He'd let her say goodbye.

She pulled into the parking lot. With Zach and Blake both still out, plus several others hit by a flu bug, she was on the B shift for the first time, with a whole new gang, and she found herself working with an EMT named Isobel. Adding to her stress, Brooke was the scheduled driver for the day, which began the moment she got out of her car and the bell rang.

“Watch your speed,” was Isobel's most common refrain, uttered every two seconds on every one of their many,
many
calls. Isobel had a cap of dark hair and darker eyes, both her expression and demeanor screaming,
I know I'm a woman in a man's world, but hear me roar.
“Watch that turn—”

“I'm watching.”

“Watch—”

“I'll keep watching,” Brooke said evenly, each and every time, though by the afternoon, she didn't feel so even. She missed Dustin. “Believe it or not, I've actually driven once or twice before.”

“You can never be too careful is all.” Isobel eyed the speedometer. “Watch—”

“Okay.” Brooke took a deep breath. “Still watching.”

“Sorry.” Isobel flashed a small, conciliatory smile. “I know I'm a pain. I'm just overly cautious.”

Nothing wrong with that. If only Brooke had watched over her own broken heart as cautiously…

Isobel was blessedly quiet until they turned on Third Street, heading toward their call, an outdoor beach café with a kitchen fire, where one of the cooks had passed out from the smoke and hit his head. A hundred yards ahead, the light turned red.

Isobel pointed. “Watch—” Then she caught herself, and cleared her throat. “Nothing.”

Brooke pulled up behind two fire trucks. They had the fire contained, but the flames were still impressive, leaping fifty feet into the sky. She and Isobel got out of their rig and immediately one of the firefighters came up to them. “The vic vanished on us. We're still looking for him.”

Isobel went back to the radio to report the information. As Brooke took in the fire, she was shocked to see Blake there, standing just off to the side. He was supposed to still be recuperating in the hospital. She'd visited him the day before, and he'd been in no shape to be up. Worried, she moved to his side. “Blake?”

A low, raw sound escaped him and she took a closer look. He wasn't in his gear. He couldn't have been, not with the cast on his leg. His jeans were cut over the cast, and he wore a sweatshirt that looked odd, given it was at least eighty-five degrees outside. He leaned his weight on a crutch, but what caused Brooke concern was how pale he looked, and the fact that he was sweating profusely. “Blake?”

He didn't respond. Eyes locked on the flames, face tight, he seemed miles away.

When she set her hand on his arm, he nearly leaped out of his skin. “Hey, just me.” She sent him a smile he didn't return. “You all right?”

“Yes.”

“You don't look it. You're in pain.”