Ropes and Dreams (19 page)

A call came in from dispatch. “We got this one,” Frank said. “No need to spend ten minutes getting up, Chester.”

Chester really has put a target on his forehead with Frank and the Chief both.
It felt weird to have people being protective of him, but weird in a good way.

“Vandalism at the old Brooks department store,” Frank said as they went out of the door. “You drive. I forgot my sunglasses.”

Ian caught the keys Frank tossed him and they got in the cruiser. He started up and they were on the way to the abandoned building on the edge of town.

“They called it in wrong,” Ian said a moment later as inky black smoke rose up against the clear blue sky. “Shit.”

“Shit’s right.” Frank got on the radio and made sure fire and ambulance were heading out. “Two fires in less than a week. That’s more fires than Ashville’s ever had since the town was formed.”

“It’s suspicious.”

“At least it’s not aimed at you, unless you bought the property—”

“No.” Ian turned onto the pot-hole laden road leading to the building.

The smoke was thicker, and Ian could see flames shooting out of the windows. Something niggled at his brain as an uneasy feeling caused his spine to itch.

“We’re going to beat the fire trucks,” Frank was saying. “There won’t be anything left of the place if they don’t hurry up, but I guess—”

Ian wasn’t listening. They were close to the building when it dawned on him. “The gas cans!”

Frank leant forward. “Hey, smart guy, there are several of them, so maybe it’s the same dumbass.”

Ian stomped on the brakes and threw the car into reverse. He floored the gas pedal.

“What the hell!” Frank grabbed at the dashboard.

“There were gas cans in my place, right?” Ian ground out as he spun the steering wheel around so he could get the cruiser pointed in the right direction. “Remember? Fireball.”

“Shit! Drive faster, bud!”

Ian was trying. He might have just been paranoid, but better that than injured or dead. His place hadn’t been levelled, there wasn’t a crater in the ground where it used to be, so he didn’t have any reason to think this fire would end any differently.

Except he did. Something was happening, something bad in the town of Ashville.
Now I’m turning into a fanciful idiot.

The explosion rocked the cruiser. Pieces of flaming debris hit the car, cracking the rear window. Pings and clunks sounded as parts of the building hit the vehicle, but Ian kept his foot down on the gas pedal until they were almost to the end of the street. He only stopped then because the fire trucks came flying down the main road.

Ian opened his door and got out, waving frantically. The first truck pulled to a halt and Joe—of course it’d be Joe—sneered at him.

Ian was over the stupid shit concerning people’s prejudices. This was about saving lives. “There was an explosion just a minute or two ago, and there’s gas cans, just like at my place. There could be more inside—”

As if to emphasise the truth of that, another explosion rocked the area. Ian ducked into the car and covered his head.

Frank grabbed him and pulled him in. “You did your part, come on, the fire department can do theirs.”

“But the building—”

“Is just about gone,” Frank said, cutting him off. “And you told Dickhead about the danger. He’ll be putting his men first, not his hatred, I’d think.”

“Okay, okay.” Ian got in right and shivered. “What’s happening here?”

“I don’t know, but I sure don’t like it.”

Ian couldn’t agree more. He waited until the fire trucks went by, followed by an ambulance, then he turned the car around again. That was when he saw it.

“Frank, look over there, at the shrubs by those trees.” Ian pointed low down, beneath the window height of his door. “See how they’re moving?”

“I do, Ian, and I think we need to call this in and investigate.” Frank lifted the speaker and called dispatch to let them know they’d need back-up as they’d found a suspect for the fires.

Then Ian turned the car off and took the keys from the ignition. He put them in his pocket and looked at Frank. “On three?”

“Ah, hell, let’s live dangerously and go on two,” Frank told him.

Ian was up for that. He gripped the door handle. “One, two!”

He and Frank came out of the car running, guns pointed at the spot where Ian was sure someone was lurking. “Hands up! Put your hands up, Ashville PD!”

Frank snarled. “Shit, he’s running!”

“Yeah, he is,” Ian said, feeling older than his twenty-four years. “He’s not in an aftercare facility either.” He’d recognised Fred Junior from the quick glimpse of his profile.

“God damn it, why’d it have to be him?” Frank stopped. “I hate life, sometimes. Let me call in the suspect.”

Ian waited, torn between the need to catch Junior and the disgust at having to do so. The kid had royally fucked his life up now.

Frank came back over. “Okay, I guess Chester and Walker are going to start out this way and watch for Junior. We get to go on foot.”

“Not a problem,” Ian assured him.

Frank scowled at him. “Yeah, well, I’m not anywhere near twenty-whatever you are. I’m getting old.”

“Twenty-four, and you can run, I’ve seen you when there’re doughnuts or fresh coffee.” Ian took off with Frank cursing behind him.

He hit the shrubs and easily picked up Junior’s tracks. The boy wasn’t running very fast, either, but he’d had a lot of injuries. Nothing fatal or broken, but he had been beaten to a pulp.

Ian spotted Junior several yards ahead of him, running with a limp and holding onto his side. “Stop! Fred Anthony Bell, this is Ian McCain of the Ashville PD—” Running and shouting was a pain in the ass, but not nearly as painful as the bullet that ripped through Ian’s shoulder when Junior spun around and fired the gun he’d had holstered to his side.

Stupid, Ian thought. He’d been stupid as hell, thinking the kid was a kid when he was really a fucking asshole.

He thought he heard more shots as he hit the ground, and Ian hoped to hell and back that he wasn’t the one being shot. His entire body was numb—then it wasn’t, pain tearing through him so fiercely his vision dimmed.

“Don’t you fucking die, Ian. I don’t want to be the one who tells Drake that, you hear me?”

Yeah, Ian could hear Frank. The last thing he heard was the man cussing him and threatening him if Ian should die.

Chapter Fifteen

Drake’s cell rang while he was pouring the meat in the chilli pot. He was going to make cornbread and green beans to go with dinner. He didn’t reach the phone in time, but it started ringing immediately after it stopped.

Drake ran over to grab it. It wasn’t Ian’s ring tone, but someone was needing him. “Hello?”

“Drake, this is Frank. Look, I’ve got Darcy coming over to pick you up. She should be there any minute—”

“What happened to Ian?” Drake whispered, fear making his heart race.

“He’s alive—”

“Oh my God,” Drake sobbed and covered his mouth.

“That fucking Bell kid shot him. He wasn’t in any kind of care facility, he was here setting fires, and God damn, I don’t know why he did it, but he shot Ian when we were chasing him!”

“Drake? Is everything okay?”

Drake turned and, through tear-blurred eyes, saw Carlos standing a few feet away. He hadn’t even heard Carlos come in.

“He’s alive, Drake, just hang onto that.”

Drake couldn’t even speak. He held the phone out to Carlos, who took it.

“Who the hell is this?” Carlos snarled. Then softer, “Oh shit. Fuck. Is he okay? Yeah, uh-huh. Okay. Thanks. Will! Troy!”

“Come here, son,” Carlos said, and Drake was tugged into an embrace that was nothing like the ones he shared with Ian. It wasn’t awful, it just wasn’t the same. “I’m so sorry, Drake. He’s gonna be okay, though, okay? We won’t let it be any different.”

“Won’t let who what?” Troy said from behind Carlos. “What’s going on?”

“Yeah, why are you hollering for us if it’s not…about…” Will trailed off. “What happened to Ian?”

“He’s been shot. His partner’s wife is coming to pick Drake up.”

Drake blocked out everything else after that, unable to keep up with the chatter and well-wishes. Somehow he found himself being put into a car with a nice, middle-aged woman who introduced herself as Darcy.

Drake tried to introduce himself, but his lips and tongue weren’t listening to his brain. Darcy gave him a kind look as she drove down the drive. “He’s going to be okay, Drake. I have a friend who is a nurse at the hospital Ian’s at.”

“Where is he?” Drake got out.

“At the Tri-County Hospital. It’s not the best, but it’s not the worst, either, and they’ll take care of one of their own better than a hospital in Bozeman would.” She nodded. “Yes, they will. Annie will make sure of it.”

Drake couldn’t think of a reply to any of that so he stayed silent. Thankfully, Darcy wasn’t a chatterbox who needed to fill the silence with noise. Drake didn’t think his nerves could have taken that. When they pulled into the hospital parking lot, Drake noticed Carlos’ big truck pulling in behind them. His family—that was what Will, Carlos and Troy were.

“I’m going to drop you off at the front emergency entrance. Frank will meet you inside.” Darcy pulled around to the entrance and Drake got out.

“Thank you.”

Darcy smiled at him. “You’re welcome. You and Ian have friends here.”

“I know.” He couldn’t smile, but he hoped Darcy knew he meant it. He closed the door then ran into the hospital.

Frank grabbed his arm and dragged him down a hall to some elevators. Frank pushed a button. “He’s in surgery now, and that’s on the third floor. They’ll come looking for Chief and us up there in the waiting room to report back on either Ian or Junior.”

Drake stumbled as they stepped onto the elevator. “Junior? What happened to him?”

“I shot him,” Frank said without a trace of emotion. “He shot Ian. He wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t drop his weapon. What a waste of a young man’s life.”

Drake didn’t ask anything else. He didn’t know if Frank was torn up inside about shooting Fred Anthony Junior, or if he was fine with it. The kid had obviously survived since he was in surgery, too.

They got off the elevator when the doors opened on the third floor. Drake saw a stern-looking man with a bushy moustache standing in the hallway watching them. He was wearing a nice suit, or it looked nice to Drake. He didn’t know anything about suits except that he didn’t have one. Frank led him over to the man.

“Chief, this is Drake Cuttington, Ian’s boyfriend. He’s a cook out at the Mossy G. Drake, this is Chief Waronsky.”

“Drake, he’s going to pull through this.” Waronsky patted Drake’s shoulder in a way that made it clear he had no problem touching a gay man. “Ian’s tough, and he’s got something—someone—special to live for.”

“Thank you, sir,” Drake whispered, then his eyes teared up and he swiped at them. “I’m sorry, I—”

“There’s nothing wrong with being scared,” Waronsky said. He used a light grip on Drake’s shoulder to guide him into the waiting room. “When my wife was giving birth, I could hardly keep from bawling. Then when she was diagnosed with breast cancer, I didn’t hold back a single tear. I cried with her many times while she was going through treatments, and now, we laugh together every chance we get. I do know something about fear, about being afraid you’re going to lose the one you love more than anyone else in the world.”

“Jesus, Chief.” Frank sniffled. “Damn it.”

The elevator dinged, Drake heard it from the waiting room. Then he heard voices he recognised—four of them. Frank perked up.

“Darcy’s here,” he said, heading to the doorway. He stopped. “I’m guessing the two big guys and the little one flapping his hands at them are the guys you work for?”

“Carlos, Troy and Will,” Drake scraped out. “My friends.”

“That’s good. We’re going to be sitting here for a while since they just took Ian back about half an hour ago.” Waronsky sat down. “Might as well get as comfortable as we can in these shitty chairs.”

“Any news?” Carlos ask as he strode in behind Darcy.

“Nothing yet.” Frank held out his hand. “I’m Frank, Ian’s partner.” He proceeded to introduce himself, Darcy and Waronsky to each man until everyone knew who everyone else was. Then they all hunkered down to wait.

* * * *

Ian didn’t want to open his eyes. If he could manage it, he was going to knock the hell out of the moron who kept telling him to wake up. And if that was the same person who tried lifting his eyelids? He was getting punched in the nuts, too.

He hurt. Inside, outside, his entire torso ached like it was one giant exposed nerve and some jackass kept poking at it. Why should he wake up? If he could sleep until the pain went away, wouldn’t that be the smart thing to do?

“Ian.”

That voice…
It did all kinds of interesting things to Ian, but mostly, it just made him so goddamned happy he wanted to sing or something sappy like that. Write sonnets, whatever those were.

“Ian, please wake up. Please, Ian. I need you.”

He’d heard those words before, when he hadn’t been feeling like hammered shit, when he’d been so deep in ecstasy he’d thought he’d float away from it.

Drake.
The image of the man coalesced in Ian’s mind’s eye. He tried to speak, but something was in the way, something in his throat.

“Open your eyes, Ian. Open your eyes and the doctor can take the tube out.”

“Can she do that?” another voice asked, and Ian recognised it, too. Frank was in the room. What the hell was going on?

Ian tried to open his eyes, but someone had played a shitty trick on him and glued his damned eyelids shut. Or he’d gone blind.

That thought sent a spike of panic through him that had him trying again. He wanted to see Drake, needed to see him—

“Ian,” Drake said—sobbed it, really, Ian realised.

He blinked and blinked, but everything was blurry.

“It’s the stuff they put in your eyes when they do surgery, so your eyes don’t dry out,” Frank said.