Fan the Flames (34 page)

The rev of a heavy diesel engine made her frown and look behind them. She expected to see Anderson King's ruthless face twisted in a snarl—she never expected
George
. The plow truck was headed toward them, moving fast. Rory gawked at the rapidly approaching raised blade of the truck before diving to the side, painfully scraping her hip and palms as she skidded across the frozen ground. Twisting her head, she stared at an immobile Billy.

“What?” he squawked before turning and reflexively raising the gun, squeezing off a few shots. Sparks flew as the bullets ricocheted off the pickup, making Rory duck instinctively. She raised her head in time to see the windshield cobweb and collapse in on itself as a shot burrowed through the glass. With a crashing squeal of metal against metal, the plow truck rammed into the back of her pickup. Her truck lurched forward, smashing into the still-frozen Billy and pinning him against the gates.

He looked down at his crushed lower body, shock on his face. Then he looked at her, and his expression went hard with hatred and fury.

As blood ran from his nose and forehead into his white beard, he raised the Glock, his intention clear on his face. Slipping her hand into her coat pocket, Rory held his gaze as she closed her hand around a marvel of European engineering. Billy started to smile, his cold, ruthless smile that always made her stomach clench with fear, and his finger found the trigger.

Rory yanked out the SwissMiniGun and shot him twice in the throat.

Shock covered his face, his mouth opening and closing in wordless protest. Blood poured from his neck, and the Glock dropped to the ground. His now-empty hands raised to futilely attempt to stanch the blood flowing out of his body. Within seconds, though, his eyes went blank and lifeless. Billy's body slumped forward, held only somewhat upright by his pinned position between the gates and Rory's truck.

“Okay?” a growly bass voice asked as a hand extended toward her.

Blinking at the bear of a man towering above her, she accepted the hand up. Except for shaky legs—well, an entire shaky body—Rory was surprised to find she was still in one piece. “Yes. Thank you.”

“Saw you smiling.” He scowled at Billy's limp form. “Knew something was wrong.”

Despite everything, a laugh bubbled out of her. “I figured you would call the sheriff or something. I didn't think you'd go for the solo rescue.”

“Radioed dispatch, too.”

Another engine, this one pitched differently than the snowplow, was growing louder. Rory tensed.

“We should get inside,” she said, turning to work the locks as quickly as she could. “I don't know who's coming, but Billy had seven guys with him.” Her heart clenched at the thought of Ian being at Dean's and the rest of the Riders' mercy.

Without saying anything, George turned and started walking toward the snowplow.

“George!” she called, dropping the lock she was frantically trying to open in order to run after him. The big man didn't hesitate.

Once she ran past the plow, she saw a motorcycle flying toward them over the snow-packed road, and she slid to an abrupt stop. Ian was astride in only his BDUs, no coat or shirt or helmet or even any boots. All he had was a look on his face that told her he'd blast through hell to get her back and keep her safe.

As soon as he'd stopped the bike, barely keeping it upright as it tried to slide out from under him on the slick road, she hurled herself toward him. He caught her and clutched her to his chest.

“Fuck, Ror,” he repeated over and over, his hands sliding over her as if checking for injuries. “Are you okay? Fuck, Rory.”

“I'm not hurt,” she assured him, holding him just as tightly. “Are you? You must be freezing! How'd you get away from those guys?”

His laugh was short and choked. “Daisy was watching through the window and called the cops. Rob already had some deputies headed to my house, since he figured Billy'd come after us. When they pulled up, we used the distraction to take out the Riders.”

“All of them?” Her heart raced in retroactive panic at the thought.

He pulled back just enough to smooth her hair out of her face. “We took them by surprise. Besides, they're pretty out of shape.” He grinned. “I found out that Julius can still kick some ass. Once those guys were out, I took off after you, but my Bronco was blocked. The bike was my best option. I needed to get to you.” He glanced around at the mess, his eyebrows drawing together. “What the fu—freak happened here?”

“George Holloway saw me smiling and waving in your driveway. He knew something was really wrong.” She noticed red-and-blue lights approaching in the distance. The rest of her new family was coming to her rescue. She'd gone from hermit to an entire town of heroes having her back. It was mind-boggling and overwhelmingly wonderful.

Ian frowned. “George Holloway? The Search and Rescue guy who doesn't talk?”

“He might not say much,” Rory defended the big guy, “but he knows how to drive a plow.”

Eyeing the wreckage the snowplow had caused, Ian pulled her close again. “Thank God he does.”

“Ready for tomorrow?”

“I guess.” Rory shrugged, looking around the shop. It was hard to believe that just three weeks earlier, the place had been a mess of charred walls and broken glass. “This is only my second, but I'm already sick of grand reopenings.”

Ian grinned, leaning against one of her new glass display cases. “I bet you'll really get a crowd in here.”

“Yeah.” Even to her own ears, she sounded grumpy, but Ian just laughed and slung an arm around her shoulders.

“I'll do chickens if you want to lock up,” he offered.

Despite a small pang of guilt for dumping the chicken chores on him, she agreed. As she turned off all but the security lights and secured the front door, she thought about Ian. He'd returned to work since his back had healed, leaving angry pink shrapnel and burn scars that were sensitive but not, according to Ian, painful. Between him and the other firemen, the post-explosion remodel of her shop had been finished in record time. When she'd offered to pay them, they'd looked at her like she'd just drop-kicked a kitten.

The Riders were a leaderless, chaotic mess, according to Squirrel. Zup had tried to take the reins, but that had almost immediately been a disaster. It was going to be a long time before the MC regained its position in Field County's criminal underworld, if it ever did. Rory was just relieved she no longer had to keep looking over her shoulder for vengeful bikers.

Yeah, just vengeful meth dealers
, she thought with a humorless laugh. Her life would never be boring, but at least she had someone to watch her back now. She wasn't alone anymore.

As she waited for Ian to return from the chicken coop with Jack in tow, she opened the steel door and leaned against it. Rory realized that she was smiling. They'd been pretty much living together, switching off between their houses, and each night they'd gotten closer. At the memory of those nights, she gave a pleasurable little shiver just as Ian walked through the back door. Embarrassment made her flush and drop her gaze. He gave a low laugh as he engaged the locks.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked in a husky voice that told her he'd made a pretty close guess.

With a defensive scowl, she tossed back at him, “Shouldn't I be asking you that question?”

Her attempted insult just bounced right off his thick hide. He didn't even stop grinning. “Do you think anything about our relationship is typical?”

After thinking about that for a moment, she said, “No.”

“C'mon.” He nudged her toward the stairs. “I'm hungry.”

Although she knew perfectly well he was talking about food, another shiver rippled through her, and she bit off a sigh before it could escape. What was it about Ian that had turned her into a lust bunny? She busied herself with relocking the steel door behind them.

“We have some of that chicken casserole left.” She dragged her mind off Ian and what he'd done with his mouth the previous night. “Is that okay?”

“That's great.” He gave her his best puppy eyes. Even though she'd never admit it, Rory would do pretty much anything for Ian when he looked at her that way. “Can we have bread, too?”

Feigning nonchalance, she shrugged. “Sure.”

Ian grabbed her around the waist, lifting her as he pulled her into a backward hug. “Have I mentioned lately how much I love you?”

Her heart took off like a racehorse out of the starting gate, and she swallowed. No matter how many times he'd said it, it still knocked her for a loop that Ian Walsh loved her. He squeezed her tightly before releasing her.

Trying to keep from jumping him, she hurried toward the kitchen. Just that small gesture had heated her body to the boiling point. Blowing out an unsteady breath, she refocused on heating dinner.

“Now I really want to know what's spinning around in that brain of yours.” Unbeknownst to her, Ian had crossed the kitchen and was standing right behind her. His breath brushed the back of her neck as he spoke. Goose bumps prickled up her nape, and he touched his lips to the spot his breath had just warmed.

“Nothing too interesting,” she said, closing the oven door and turning.

When she came face-to-face with Ian, she immediately forgot what she was doing. His eyes were such a warm, rich brown, she just stared into them.

As if he were in the same speechless boat as she was, he didn't say a word as he leaned closer. Rory tipped her head willingly, but he only brushed her lips softly with his before stepping back. Rory swayed, a little off balance by his quick retreat.

“How long do we have?” he asked, his voice sounding a little hoarse.

She looked blankly at the stove. “Uh…an hour?” She actually had no idea if that was correct or not, but whatever Ian had planned for the next hour would almost certainly be worth a little burned food.

“Good.” Taking her hand, he tugged her toward her bedroom. She followed easily, wondering where the resistant, contrary Rory had gone. As soon as they entered her room, he was kissing her, and everything else except for Ian left her mind. There was the usual urgency, the one that spun Rory into a cyclone of desire.

They tumbled onto the pink bed, sending pillows and Mr. Hoppity flying. Rory laughed against Ian's mouth, making him lift his head.

“What's funny?” His mouth curled as if prepared to smile at her answer.

“Nothing specific.” She tugged him back down so their lips almost touched. “I'm just happy.”

“Good.” His breath warmed her skin. “Making you happy makes me happy.”

“You know what would make me extra happy?”

“What?”

“If we stop talking and go back to kissing.”

It was his turn to laugh, but he quickly fulfilled her request, taking her mouth hungrily. As always, his passion fed hers, making her feel desired and even beautiful under his hands and lips. His mouth trailed to her favorite places, making her moan and shiver unself-consciously.

They undressed each other, playing a sort of mutual striptease as they unfastened buttons and zippers, finding the sensitive skin beneath. By the time they were both naked, Rory was desperate for him.

“Please,” she begged, making him groan. His hands stroked over her sides and her breasts. Rory twisted against him, wanting him inside her. Finally,
finally
he entered her, connecting their bodies in the way that always overwhelmed her with feelings of belonging and pleasure and sheer, absolute love for this man.

She wrapped her legs around his hips and pulled him tightly against her. His strokes quickened, grew rougher and harder, and she reveled in the force of each one. Clutching him with all of her limbs, she held him close as she came, not planning on ever letting him go. Ever since he'd given her that pink cupcake, she'd been his. Now he was hers, as well.

As if he shared her thoughts, he didn't let her go even after their breathing slowed and their bodies cooled. Instead, he rolled so she was on top of him, straddling his waist. Being on top was still a little disconcerting. There was no way to hide her nakedness from him. He noticed, too, judging by his dilated pupils and the way his hands began once again to explore. Running his fingers down both of her arms, he caught her hands and brought them to his mouth, kissing her palms one at a time.

“You're going to marry me someday,” he told her. Despite his lingering happy grin, his tone was serious.

She tried to force a frown. “Bossy.”

“Yeah, I am.” He didn't sound too bothered by that. “Which house did you want to keep?”

Her frown turned thoughtful. “Your house is growing on me since you put in the shutters. If a few more security measures were installed, I could live there. We could keep mine for emergency use only.”

Ian grinned. “The zombie apocalypse?”

“Sure.” Pulling her hands free of his, she braced them on his chest as she leaned down to kiss him. “Or just when I'm mad at you.”

With a laugh, he tugged her down the rest of the way, wrapping his arms around her in a hard hug. “I think I'd prefer the zombies.”

Rory would've smacked him, but her arms were locked in place by his tight hold. Instead, she rested her cheek against his chest and smiled.

* * *

The man didn't look familiar, but his expression made Rory tense.

Working her way through the last stragglers of the re-reopening crowd, she crossed the shop to stand next to the stranger eyeing the new Taser display. “Do you need help?”

He jumped, his face tightening even more as he turned toward her. “I need protection.”

“Home protection?”

“
Personal
protection. I think there's someone after me,” he blurted, then closed his eyes and shook his head. “No. That's not right. I
know
it. He killed Gray Goose and cut off his head and tossed him in the reservoir, and now he's coming after me.”

“Okay.” Rory studied the man's face. He was probably in his early sixties, and he'd shaved off whatever hair had been left on his head. Although he was average in height and weight, he practically vibrated with a nervous energy that made him seem bigger. His eyes darted around, not holding hers or landing on anyone else for very long. She knew crazy. She'd grown up with crazy. This guy was setting off every alarm bell in Rory's head, and they were all ringing with the same tune—this man wasn't stable. “What's your name?”

His gaze flickered to the door, around the room, and back to her face. “Does it matter?”

She considered that question for a moment, never looking away from him. “Yes. It matters.”

Still, he hesitated. Just when she was sure he'd dart for the nearest exit, he said, “Baxter. Baxter Price.”

“I'm Rory Sorenson.” It was her turn to glance around the room, but she had a purpose. Her gaze landed on Ian, who was talking with Soup next to the register. He turned his head to look at her, as if he'd felt Rory's gaze. She couldn't help but smile at the sight of him, but then she quickly remembered her immediate goal. “Watch the place?” she mouthed, swinging a hand as if to indicate the shop.

Although the corners of his mouth curled down with concern, he nodded.

“Baxter”—she turned back to her twitchy customer—“can we go in the back to talk?”

“Yeah.” His shoulders dropped a little. Rory assumed it was relief that he could escape the still-crowded shop. When she waved him toward the door to the back room, he didn't move. Although she hated to turn her back on anyone, especially unbalanced strangers, she set her jaw and walked toward the door. Keeping her head turned slightly, she watched in her peripheral vision as Baxter followed her, his gaze still shifting from side to side.

In the back room, Rory stepped to the side so Baxter could enter, and then she closed the door most of the way. Away from the other people, Price seemed to settle a little, although he was still visibly tense.

“What's going on?” she asked. When he hesitated, she leaned back against the wall, forcing at least an illusion of calm. “Unless I know the situation, I can't help you figure out the best way to protect yourself.”

He nodded with several bouncy jerks of his head. “Okay. Okay. Just…you won't call the sheriff on me, will you?”

“I'm not planning on it.” She gave him a wry, reassuring smile, wondering if the guy had the cops called on him a lot. “Poor Rob has been here way too much lately. I was hoping to have a sheriff-free month or two before the next incident.”

Although he didn't return her smile, the muscles in his face eased slightly. “Okay, then. I…okay. I need protection from them. They've been following me. I can hear… I know they've been watching.”

Rory spoke slowly, carefully choosing each word. “Do you know who they are?”

“King. Anderson and Wilson King. I know he sent them after me.” The tension was creeping back into his wiry frame, and he started to pace.

Casually shifting position, Rory made sure the heavy worktable separated them. Why were the King brothers after him? A drug debt? Was Baxter a meth addict? That could explain his erratic behavior. But what was the connection between the Kings and Willard Gray, the headless man found in the reservoir? “Who is ‘he'?”

The question brought a flurry of frantic head shaking. “No, no, no, no. He knows I know. It'll just get worse if I tell. I can't, can't…”

“Okay.” Rory raised her hands so the palms were facing outward. “You don't need to tell me. What do you need?”

“I don't…I don't know.” He paused, pivoted a full circle, and then resumed his pacing. “They took his gun. Said they won't let me have a weapon.” His laugh was short and bitter. “They taught me how to use them and then said I couldn't have them anymore. How can I protect myself? How? How, how, how?”

“Easy.” Keeping her tone low and even, she kept her eyes on Baxter's progress, back and forth behind the worktable. “If you can't legally buy a gun, there are other ways to protect yourself.”

“I heard…I heard…” He stopped pacing, meeting her eyes with a hopeful expression. “Can you get me one? I heard you could. Get me one and just not tell them.” His eyes went to the ceiling as he said “them,” making Rory wonder if he meant the government or some celestial beings.

“Maybe,” she hedged. There was no way on God's green earth that Rory would hand this man any type of weapon in his current mental state, but she was still trying to figure out how best to help Mr. Baxter Price. “First, I need to know more. Tell me who ‘he' is.”

“But, but…he'll know. He'll know I'm talking.” The pacing started again, and Rory had to force her muscles to relax so Baxter didn't pick up on her tension. He didn't need any additional stress.

“I won't tell.” Rory held his gaze evenly. “I swear to you that I won't tell anyone.”