Flashpoint (18 page)

Z
ACH'S WORDS
sent a shiver of desire skittering down Brooke's spine. In his eyes was a fierce intensity—for her, which she loved, but also the same grief she'd seen in Cristina's.

He knew about Blake.

He kissed her, hard. She knew he was hurting and destroyed over Blake's betrayal, that he was trying to lose himself in her. She understood. She wanted to get lost in him, too.

He pulled off her shirt, and she did the same for his, sliding her hands up his heated skin, feeling the hard planes beneath quiver for more. “Are we letting loose again?”

“No.” His mouth slid over her neck, her shoulder, making its way toward a breast. “This time it's more, damn it.” He curled his tongue around her nipple.

Sinking her fingers into his hair, she arched up into his mouth. “More?”

“Everything's all fucked up.” His voice was low, raw, as he slid a hand into her panties.

His physical pain matched the mental anguish in his eyes, and both broke her heart. “I know.”

“Except this, with you.” He tugged her panties down to her thighs to give him better access. “I don't usually do this.”

“Pull a woman's pants down?”

“No, smart-ass. Get into a relationship.”

When his gaze caught hers, she couldn't look away. “Is that what we're doing?”

“I thought you were safe. You're leaving, for Christ's sake. You're outta here. Can't get much safer than that.”

Moved by his pain and frustration, she pressed her forehead to his. “Zach.”

“I mean, I wasn't going to fall for a woman with one foot already out the door. It was never going to happen.”

She closed her eyes.

“But goddamn it, it did.”

Before she could open her mouth, he covered it with his. Reality had no place then, no place at all. Until she smelled smoke. “Zach—”

“I know. We're both idiots.”

“No.” She coughed.
“Smoke.”

“Uh-huh. I think I'm on fire.”

“No, I mean
real
smoke.” Just as she said this, his smoke alarm went off.

“What the—” Eyes hot, body hard, his face was a mask of frustration as he lifted his head and sniffed the air. “Shit, it
is
smoke.” He pulled free and leaped off the bed, staring at the wisps curling beneath the bedroom door.

“Zach!”

“I see it.” He tossed her his phone from the night-stand. “Call it in!” He ran into the bathroom, coming out with towels, which he shoved under the door to block the smoke while she called 911.

Coughing, choking, Brooke dashed to the window and then gasped. Zach peered over her shoulder and swore.

Down on the grass far below stood Blake. He was propped up on one crutch, face gray, holding a blowtorch as he looked right at them.

Zach threw Brooke her clothes and shoved his feet into his jeans. Then he reached under his bed and pulled out a portable rope ladder. “My house is on fire. My damn house is on fire. I'm going to kill him.”

But Brooke was still staring at Blake, who had tears running down his face as he limped toward the door, vanishing inside.

“He's in—” Brooke gasped, still coughing. “Zach, Blake's inside.” The smoke tightened in her lungs so that she couldn't talk.

Zach covered her mouth with a towel. “Breathe into that.” He tossed the ladder out the window. Straddling the ledge, he reached for her. “Come on. You're going down and out. Quickly.” He pulled her out the window and onto the rope. “Don't stop until your feet touch the ground. Got that?”

Right. Don't stop. Except she wanted to stop. She wanted to stop time and go back to a few minutes ago, when he'd been about to bury himself deep inside her, telling her he'd fallen. “I'm not leaving you.”

“Go!” His voice was already hoarse, his eyes flashing fear and anger. “I'm getting Blake, then I'll be right behind you—”

“Zach—”

“Brooke, listen to me.” He gave her a little shake. “You have to be out of here for me to do this.”

“But—”

“No, I mean it. I can't lose you. I can't.” He set his forehead to hers. “I can't do this with you still in here, in danger.”

He meant he couldn't lose another person who meant so much to him. Brooke's heart swelled until it felt too big for her body.

“Please go,” he said, hugging her hard. “Because if something happens to you—”

“It won't, it won't. I'm going.” She squeezed him tight, breathing through the towel and still coughing. “But you should know something. I love you, Zach.”

He looked staggered. “Brooke.”

“I do. I love you.” It'd probably sound better if she could talk more clearly, but she could tell he understood. “And I swear to God if you die in here, I'll come find you and kill you again.”

He choked out a laugh. Off in the distance they could finally hear sirens.
“Go.”

“Going.” And down the ladder she went, leaving him to face Blake alone.

 

B
ROOKE SAT ON
the curb, staring up at the flames. Dustin kept trying to put the oxygen mask over her face, while dabbing at a nasty cut on her arm that she'd managed to get from the rain gutter on her way down the ladder. She kept slapping the mask away, not taking her eyes off the house.

Where was he? Sam, Eddie and Aidan had all gone in after Zach and Blake. Why weren't they—

Finally
the door burst open and Sam and Aidan appeared, with Zach between them, Eddie just behind.

No Blake.

Shoving the blanket off her shoulders, Brooke went running toward them.

“Brooke,” Zach was saying to Isobel. “Where the hell's Brooke?”

“Here,” she managed.

At the sound of her voice he whipped around. He still wore only his Levi's. Dirt and ash were smeared over his chest and torso, blackening the bandages from the last fire he'd been in. He was bleeding from several cuts, as well, and couldn't stop coughing. His eyes were wild, though they calmed at the sight of her as he hauled her into his arms.

“Blake?” she whispered.

Eyes revealing his misery, he shook his head. “We found the blowtorch, and his hard hat. Nothing else.”

Heart heavy, she hugged him tight, but she didn't get to hold on to him for long. The scene was chaotic as all hell. Tommy appeared, and the chief, not to mention every rig out of their firehouse, plus too many police units to count.

Zach was pulled aside. “For questioning,” Aidan told her.

“He didn't do anything wrong—”

“They know that,” he quickly assured her. “But with Blake gone—”

“Gone?”

“They didn't find a body, but—” His voice broke, and he cleared his throat. “But they expect to. There's going to be an internal investigation. Zach wants me to take you to the hospital for stitches—”

“I've got her, you stay with Zach.” Dustin flanked her on one side, and Cristina was on the other, looking devastated over the news about her partner.

They took her to the hospital, where she received eight stitches and a tetanus shot. Exhausted and woozy, she let Dustin take her home, where she had a message waiting from her Realtor about the offer on the house.

Was she taking it?

Good question. She'd gotten her asking price. Didn't that just put a nice neat bow on her life. The end of yet another era…

Dustin called in for an update. The fire was out; Blake was presumed dead. Cristina showed up with Thai takeout and a brown bag. The three of them sat around Brooke's table, grimy and filthy, stuffing their faces.

“I still can't believe it was Blake,” Cristina said very quietly. “That he—” She broke off, her voice choked. “He was a pyromaniac. In some ways we all are, or we wouldn't do this, but he was mentally ill. Tommy said that looking back, you could see he started unraveling when the chief came from Chicago, right about the time that Lynn died.” She closed her eyes. “He needed help.”

Dustin squeezed her hand. They ate in silence, an emotional but companionable sort of silence until Cristina looked at the stack of boxes filled with the stuff Brooke hadn't been able to make herself get rid of—the photos, the diaries—all things that had helped Brooke find the missing parts of herself. “Looks like you've been busy, Brooke.”

She raised a brow. “Did you just call me Brooke?”

“That is your name, right?”

“I thought it was New Hire to you.”

Cristina shrugged. “You stuck.”

Her throat tightened. “Yes, but the job's nearly over.”

“You could apply for a permanent position.”

She'd never done anything permanent. But this, with the people she now thought of as her friends, felt very permanent. And wasn't that part of what she'd been searching for? “I'm ready for the booze now.”

Cristina lifted a brow.

“The brown bag you brought. It's alcohol, right?”

Cristina pulled out a bottle of bubble bath and Dustin laughed.

“What?” Cristina demanded.

“You're so damn cute.”

“Oh, shut up.” Cristina squirmed, looking uncomfortable. “I'm new at this girl-pal stuff, okay? I thought she might want to just soak, and God, I know, it's stupid.”

“No.” Brooke hugged her. “It's perfect.”

They stayed for ice cream, and two more calls for info, of which they got very little except that Zach was still at the fire site.

After Dustin and Cristina left, Brooke drew herself a bubble bath and lay back, soaking.

Thinking…

A knock at her front door stopped that and her heart. It wasn't Zach, it couldn't be Zach. He was no doubt still with the chief and Tommy. It was probably the real estate agent, whom she'd not yet called back. Wasn't ready to call back, not when she felt as if she'd found all her answers right here in this house—answers about her life, and how she wanted to live it. Which was pretty much the opposite of her grandmother and mother.

Brooke didn't want her memories stuck in boxes in some attic. She wanted to share them with real people. She wanted to create new ones every day.

The knock came again. Wrapping herself in a towel, she went to the door. “Who's there?”

“Me.”

Oh, God. She whipped open the door.

Zach stood there in his jeans and someone's firefighter jacket, opened so that she could see he was still as grimy as she'd been only a few moments ago. It didn't matter. One minute she was holding on to the door and the next moment she was holding on to him.

“Brooke,” he murmured, his hand fisting in the towel at her back.

She pulled away to look into his face. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah.”

“Your house?”

“Not so much.”

“Oh, Zach.”

“Aidan's putting me up at his place, but I needed to see you.”

“I needed to see you, too. Are you sure you're okay?”

“I am now.”

“I feel sick about Blake.”

“Yeah.” Zach blew out a breath. “They found a stack of wire-mesh trash cans in his garage. The chief is saying he was always a pyromaniac, that this job was just a cover to be near fires, that his illness got too much for him so he started setting fires to put them out. Then I started stirring it all up, which made it worse, and he went crazy.” He shook his head. “He was one of us, Brooke. How the hell did this happen to one of us?” He turned in a slow circle. “And there's something else bugging the hell out of me. How did Blake manage to order the properties demolished? He didn't have that kind of pull. It doesn't make sense to me.”

She just shook her head and hugged him again, closing her eyes to breathe him in. “You're safe. That's all that matters right now. The rest of the questions will get their answers later.”

His eyes cut to the stack of boxes. “You've been busy. Did you take the offer on the house?”

“Not yet.”

“Where will you go?”

“I—I'm not quite sure.”

“You probably have lots of choices,” he said quietly, still looking at the boxes.

“I don't know. I like this coast, a lot.”

He turned back to her. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She swallowed past a lump of emotion the size of a basketball. “There's lots of coastal cities hiring EMTs right now.”

“Including Santa Rey.”