He's No Angel (Heaven Can Wait Book 1) (3 page)

“In my experience, this True Love you speak so fondly of is nothing more than the ramblings of deluded poets with active imaginations and nothing better to do than scribble down their drivel.”

“That attitude is exactly why you’ve failed in your four previous tasks.”

“Which is exactly what I’ve been trying to tell you. And it is why I am doomed to fail this time as well.”

“No. This assignment is going to cure you of your ill-conceived notions.”

“No. This assignment is going to send me straight to Hell.”

“We shall have to agree to disagree, Lord Ryland.”

Damn vexing woman. Well, I’d show her. I’d complete this foolish True Love assignment and not only save myself from eternal damnation, but more importantly prove to this annoying creature that I could succeed no matter what idiocy she threw my way.

The hint of a smile crossed her lips and my eyes narrowed with the sudden suspicion that she’d somehow discerned my thoughts. Then my shoulders tensed at the infuriating realization that my nemesis had played me like a Stradivarius. Before I could issue any sort of set down, she said in a brisk tone, “Your itinerary and instructions will arrive shortly. I’ll check in on you as my schedule allows. Best of luck.” She vanished with a barely audible
swish
.

I stared at the space she’d occupied, my entire body humming with tension.  “Play me like a violin, will you?” I muttered.  Damn it, that really irked. Well, she was about to have a
few of her own strings plucked.

I dragged my hands through my hair. How hard could it be to make these two humans fall in love? Not very, although my previous botched attempts might indicate otherwise.  But as I told you, circumstances beyond my control contributed greatly to those failures.  Nor were my efforts helped by my belief that True Love is a ridiculous entity. While my opinion on that score remained the same, my motivation was now strong enough to trump that opinion. I was not goi
ng to Hell. And that irritating Task Director was
not
going to best me. Once my instructions were delivered I’d know all about this fireman and librarian. After I arrived in London I’d be able to see everything they’d do, hear everything they said, yet I’d be invisible to them. Getting the clueless humans together to find True Love? Piece of cake. Then I’d spend eternity in that heavenly spa and never have to see Alessandro Foscari again.

I smiled and rubbed my
hands together at the prospect.

Let the True Love games begin.

Chapter Two

Thick smoke enveloped him, a dense, dark swirl that rendered his high powered flashlight nearly useless. Intense heat rolled through the apartment, forcing him to crouch, both sure signs that flashover was close.
Search and rescue complete. Gotta get out.  Now. Now.

But the warning flickered through his brain an instant too late. The floor beneath him trembled and his stomach tightened with dread. Not good. Damn it, not good. For the space of a single heartbeat his gaze met those of his partner through the haze of smoke. Cade’s eyes reflected the grim knowledge he knew showed in his own.

An ominous groan sounded above them and they leapt into action.
Go! Go! Go!
Debris from the collapsing ceiling fell around them as they raced into the hallway. Flames licked the walls, climbing higher as acrid smoke billowed.
Don’t think. Just move.
Cade shoved open the stairwell door, went through first. He brought up the rear, forcing himself to focus on counting the floors as they descended.
Ten. Nine. Eight…

Another tremble in the floor. This one stronger. A wall of smoke. Heat… Christ the heat. Like being surrounded by Hell itself.
Seven. Six.
The next tremor threw him to the floor. Burning pain seared his side. He pushed to his feet and stumbled ahead, trying to see Cade. Nothing visible except that curtain of black, blinding smoke. He called out, but the hiss and crackle of flames, the groan of collapsing walls, the exploding of windows swallowed his voice. Only static in his earpiece.
Down. Down. Faster. Faster. Lost count. What floor? Don’t know. Don’t know. Just keep going. Don’t stop.

Nothing but the handrail beneath his gloved palm to guide him. Lower. Another floor. Another landing. Where the hell was the bottom? Had to be soon. Had to be. Sweat, smoke, heat. Searing pain clawing his side. The end… finally the end. He pushed open the door. Where was Cade? A brief glimpse of dark sky, the outline of the moon a blur behind a veil of smoke. Hands grabbed him under the arms. Pulling, dragging him forward. Tense voices issuing orders. A cacophony of shouted warnings. A deafening roar. Then pain. God, so much pain--

“Stop!” The harsh word erupted from Liam Gallagher, reverberating off the ceramic tiles. He jerked his eyes open and pulled in a shuddering breath. The stinging hot spray of the shower bounced off his skin, recalling him to the present. Reminding him where he was. London, Georgia. The firehouse. Locker room. Shower. End of his twenty-four hour shift. London. Not Chicago. Not Chicago.

“You say something, Gallagher?” called a voice from the other side of the room where the lockers were located. Andy West. The paramedic had worked the shift with Liam.

Liam had to swallow twice to locate his voice. “Just, um, dropped the soap.”

“Okay. Enjoy your forty-eight off.  I’m outta here. Later, bro.”

“Yeah, see ya.”

Seconds later the locker room door closed. Liam would have breathed a sigh of relief, but his lungs felt constricted, his chest heavy and tight. And his heart thudded hard and fast-- way too fast. He braced his fists against the cool tiles and forced himself to take slow, deep breaths.  To focus on the serene sound of the splashing water, the calming sensation of it
sluicing over his clammy skin.

After several minutes of concentrating on breathing evenly, his rigid muscles relaxed a bit. Yeah, the tension had eased off, but what the hell had triggered the flashback in the first place? His mind skimmed over the last twenty-four hours and there was nothing. His shift had been routine and quiet-- just like most of his shifts here in London. One kitchen fire that had set off the alarm but that the homeowner had brought under control, one hiking and two boating related injuries-- none serious, and a cat that required rescuing from a tree-- or at least the pet owner had thought so. The cat-- not so much.

A frown pulled down his brows. He’d thought the flashbacks, the anxiety attacks were a thing of the past as he hadn’t suffered one since moving to London two months ago. Damn it, he hated that even a year after that hellish fire he could still get ambushed like that. Still relive those intense, terrifying feelings. Still feel like he couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Like a nightmare even though he wasn’t asleep. He still did suffer the occasional nightmare, which was bad enough, but having a flashback during the day… that was unusual. And he didn’t like it one damn bit.

He glanced quickly around. Thank God no one had entered the locker room. While the Chicago fire wasn’t any secret, he’d never told anyone about the attacks or his nightmares and he sure as hell had no intention of starting now. Based on his emergency medical training as well as the research he’d done online, he knew stress and anxiety were common after traumatic episodes. And God knows that night had been traumatic--

He ruthlessly cut off the thought and grabbed the soap and lathered up, refusing to wince when his hand brushed over the scar on his side.  His body no longer hurt, only the memory. And only if he allowed it to. And he wasn’t going to let it. He wasn’t in Chicago any longer. No more big city. This was London, Georgia. Small town. Small buildings.

No high rises.

A shudder ran through him and he pushed away the remnants of the haunting thoughts. He was just tired. Even though his shift had been routine, he hadn’t gotten much rest. Nothing wrong with him that a few extra z’s wouldn’t cure.

He rinsed off the soap then stood beneath the hot spray for several more minutes, allowing the heat and rising steam to relax away the last of the tension knotting his muscles. After he shut the water, his gaze flicked to the clock. Damn, it was later than he’d thought.

“Better get your ass in gear,” he muttered, snagging his towel. He had plans this morning. And if things went the way he wanted, the way he hoped, his entire forty-eight hours off would be busy.

He quickly dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt.  Grabbing his duffle, he exited the locker area and headed down the hallway leading to the main room. Voices drifted toward him along with the familiar firehouse scents he’d loved since he was a kid and was first introduced to them by his dad, a fireman in their hometown just outside Chicago. That citrusy tang of the cleaner the guys used to keep the equipment and bays spotless. And that distinctive mixture of automotive smells-- rubber tires and motor oil.

He pulled in a deep breath, then sniffed the air and winced at the underlying odor of burnt bacon. Uh oh. Dave Pearce was on kitchen duty this morning and although he was a great guy and a great friend, the dude was not a great-- or even a good-- cook. He and Dave had met five years ago when Dave was in Chicago visiting relatives. He’d happened upon the firehouse while out exploring the city and had stopped in. Liam, just off duty, offered to show him around. They’d hit it off and been friends ever since. Two years ago Liam attended his buddy’s wedding in London and had basically fallen in love with the place.  Woods, mountains, lakes, hiking and biking trails, gorgeous scenery, peace and quiet-- who could ask for anything more? He’d already been mulling the possibility of leaving Chicago and all the pressures of the big city when the high rise fire occurred. In the aftermath of that tragedy, after a lot of soul searching, he’d sent in an application to the London Fire and Rescue.

Liam continued down the hall then paused in the kitchen doorway. Dave stood in front of the stove. Over his clothes he wore an apron emblazoned with the words
Firemen Have Big Hoses.
He held a smoking frying pan and was shaking his head.

“Want me to call the fire department?” Liam asked. “Or do you and your big hose have it covered?”

Dave shot him the Death Stare. “Oh, you’re a riot. How about giving me a hand here? If I poison the entire shift I’ll probably get fired.”

Liam crossed to the fridge and pulled out another package of bacon and set it on the counter. “Would serve them right for letting you anywhere near the kitchen. How is it they didn’t learn their lesson the last time-- when you served those omelets that looked like incinerated Frisbees?”

“I guess all the melted cheese and hot chili peppers I piled on top disguised the burnt parts.”

Liam considered then nodded. “There’s no such thing as too much cheese and hot peppers.”

“That’s all I’m sayin’,” Dave agreed. Then he frowned. “Hey, man, you okay? You look a little… I don’t know. Pale. You sick?”

Damn. Clearly the remnants of his flashback still lingered. And of course Dave-- who knew him like a brother-- would notice. Liam gave a laugh he hoped didn’t sound as forced as it felt. “I’m good. Must be the lighting in here.” He assuaged his conscience by telling himself that he really was fine. Certainly he wasn’t sick. Plus, the kitchen’s huge overhead florescent lights would make even a devout su
n worshipper appear washed-out.

“Glad you’re okay.” Dave slid the burned bacon onto a platter. The strips looked like wrinkled black shoelaces. “Wanna stick around for breakfast?”

“Tempting as that sounds, I’m outta here. Places to go, people to see, all that jazz.”

A knowing look came into Dave’s eyes and he grinned. “Uh huh. Bet I know where you’re going and who you plan to see.”

Liam moved to the stove and lowered the heat. “You wouldn’t scorch stuff if you didn’t turn the burner on ‘high.’”

“Changing the subject, huh?”

“No, just trying to save the poor guys on this shift from unnecessary gastro-intestinal distress.” He headed back toward the doorway. “Hope it’s a quiet and safe one for you. Say hi to Melanie for me. How’s she feeling?”

“You know that saying ‘happy wife, happy life?’”

“Yeah.”

“Well, there should be another one-- very pregnant, very uncomfortable, very tired, very swollen, and very cranky wife-- not so happy life.”

“You’re full of crap and you know it. Beautiful wife who, for reasons that remain a mystery, adores you, plus a baby on the way-- you’re so happy you practically throw off glowing rays of sunshine.” Liam squinted at him. “I’ll be damned--I think I actually see little bluebirds of happiness flying in circles around your head. Oh, wait-- that’s just a halo of burned bacon smoke.”

“Wow, you’re a regular comedian this morning,” Dave grumbled, but the effect was ruined by the wide grin splitting his face. “I am one lucky bastard, aren’t I?”

“The luckiest.” And Liam sincerely meant that, which genuinely surprised him. Not that he didn’t wish his buddy every happiness-- of course he did.  It’s just that not too long ago that definition of happiness had been a bachelor lifestyle including no strings sex with a revolving door of hot babes. Then, a little over two years ago Dave had met Melanie and
whammo
. Dave had fallen like the proverbial ton of bricks. They’d married four months later and Dave had been as happy as a pig rolling in mud ever since.

“You could be that lucky, too, you know,” Dave said.

“And give up smokin’ hot sex with smokin’ hot women? No, thanks,” Liam said with a laugh. But the laugh felt forced. As did the words. They somehow seemed more like what he was expected to say rather than how he truly felt.

“Dude, I didn’t give up smokin’ hot sex. How do you think Melanie got pregnant?”

“If Melanie heard you talking about your sex life she’d kick your ass to outer space.”

“She’d have to catch me first, and right now she can barely waddle.”

“A remark that would also get your ass kicked.”

Dave waved off the potential threat. “As for smokin’ hot women-- I married one. Mel’s the only woman I want or need.”

  “You sound just like Matt.” Liam’s older brother had gotten married six months ago. “Ever since he and Carol got hitched he’s got that same goofy smile as you.” And damned if Liam hadn’t found himself envying both Dave and Matt’s relationships. With increasing frequency. Especially since Matt’s wedding. Since that day, for reasons Liam couldn’t explain, his revolving door of hot babes and meaningless sex had seemed really… meaningless. Empty. And lonely.

“Me and Matt-- we’re smart guys,” Dave said. “We know what we’re talking about.”

“You keep talkin’. I’m outta here.”

“Yeah, get lost. I’ve got eggs and toast to crisp up here. Good luck at the library.”

Liam paused in the doorway. “Huh?”

Dave rolled his eyes. “Don’t pretend like that’s not where you’re going.” His grin turned sly. “Tell Emma the librarian I said hey.”

Liam’s heart actually skipped a beat at the mere mention of her name. Which was completely ridiculous. Yeah, ridiculous. Still, he was helpless to stop the reaction.

Emma Heely.

Her name drifted through his mind and his pulse kicked up a notch. Damn, he had it bad.  And damned if he knew why. She wasn’t anything like the sort of woman that usually snagged his attention. But there was no getting around the fact that it had been this way since the moment he’d laid eyes on her four weeks ago, when he’d volunteered along with Dave to teach an after school fire safety class at the public library.

He’d seen her as soon as they’d entered library. She stood behind the main reception desk, her lips pressed together as she frowned at a computer screen whose glare was reflected in her black framed, rectangular glasses. His gaze probably would have passed over her, but just then the door opened behind him and Dave and a swarm of elementary school kids rushed in. An excited chorus of, “Miss Heely!” filled the hushed room as they made a beeline for her. She’d looked up and smiled. And in a heartbeat Liam had basically lost his mind. He’d definitely lost his ability to speak because all he could do was stare.