Into The Flames (Firehouse Fourteen Book 4) (17 page)

Lindsay finally looked away, her gaze dropping to the floor. Dale sighed and shifted against the hard edge of the table. "I remember this one time, when we went on vacation. Some camping trip Dad thought would be fun to drag us to. I don't even remember where we went, but it was hot. So hot you couldn't breathe. And we were sleeping in this huge tent, all five of us, because Dad was convinced that was what close families do."

Dale almost smiled, the memory so clear he could feel his lungs fill with heated moist air, damp with humidity. Where had they been? He couldn't remember, didn't think it mattered. "You were maybe six or seven, I think, and even more bored than the rest of us. It got so bad Mom made us all go on a hike, just to get out of her hair. Not far, just around the campground. It started raining and you got scared because you didn't like the thunder."

The memory grew clearer. A flash of lightning streaking across the gray sky; a boom of thunder, so loud it shook the ground. Lindsay and Lauren each held onto one of his hands, their grips loose and trusting in his larger one. The boy he had been knew he should lead them back to the campsite but he was held in place, mesmerized by the sounds of the storm, by the feel of the warm rain against his sweaty skin.

He closed his eyes for a brief second and tilted his head back, as if he could still feel the rain washing over him. Stupid. So stupid. He opened his eyes and looked at Lindsay, saw she was still staring at the floor.

"I remember you saying you wanted to go back to be with Mom and Dad. And then something happened, maybe it was just more thunder, I don't remember. But you screamed and took off running. I called out for you, Lauren and I both did, but you didn't stop. So we ran after you."

Muddy water splashing against their bare legs as the rain pelted them. Another flash of lightning, a crazy streak that split the sky and seared his eyes. Branches slapping against their faces and overgrown weeds and brambles pulling at their legs. A shiver of panic, low in his gut, when he realized Lindsay wasn't in front of them, that they should have caught up to her already.

"Lauren tripped over a log and hurt her ankle. I was really worried by then, not knowing where you had gone, wondering where you had disappeared to. So I picked up Lauren and ran back to the campsite." He didn't have to close his eyes to see the memory. It was so clear, like it was happening right now. The rain pelting them, cold now as the wind picked up and the sky grew even darker. Panic and fear slicing through him, making him stumble as he ran with Lauren, struggling with her lanky weight. She had been scared, too; he could tell from the way her cold hands clung to his shoulders, by how silent she was. By the fact that she didn't argue with him, that she let him carry her. He hadn't been looking around them at that point, so completely focused on getting back with Lauren so he could get his dad, tell him what happened. He hadn't seen his youngest sister, huddled under the dead branches of a fallen tree, her wide eyes watching as they stumbled past her.

Dale blinked, his gaze focusing on the room around him, surprised to realize it wasn't raining. He looked at Lindsay, thought he saw…something…in her eyes. He sighed and brushed at a piece of imaginary lint on his pants, then flattened his palm against his leg.

"You never said anything, Lindsay. Never called out. Nothing at all. I never understood why."

"It wouldn't have mattered even if I had."

Dale's head shot up, his eyes narrowed at the tone in her voice. Shaky, a little sad, but still with an edge to it. He frowned. "How can you say that?"

"Because you were more worried about Lauren. You always were."

"You're wrong, Lindsay. I was worried about you. We both were. We had no idea where you had gone, what had happened to you." He hadn't thought about that trip in years, had completely forgotten about it. But the fear and panic in his chest were just as sharp and real now as they had been back then, all those years ago.

Lindsay laughed, the sound short and bitter. "Worried. Yeah. That's why you were carrying Lauren, telling her it would be okay."

"I was carrying her because that was the quickest way to get her back to the campsite. And I was telling her it was okay because I was trying to convince her we'd find you." Dale pushed away from the table and moved closer to Lindsay, holding her gaze with an iron will so she wouldn't look away.

"You don't get it, Lindsay. You never have. I would have carried you, too, just the way I carried Lauren. Hell, I would have carried you both at the same time. I'm your big brother. I would have taken care of you." Fuck, why was his voice breaking? He swallowed and shook his head, ran a hand down his face. But he didn't look away. He couldn't.

"I'm your big brother, Lindsay. And I'd still carry you. Today. Now. I'd still take care of you. But you have to let me. You have to let all of us."

Her eyes were steady on his, a whirlwind of emotions flashing through them so fast, Dale couldn't tell them apart. Then she looked away and pulled her arms more tightly across her chest, like she was hugging herself.

"What do you want, Dale? Why did you come in here?"

"You need to take the deal, Lindsay. If you don't, you're going to spend the next five years in prison."

"No. I might not spend any time—"

"Lindsay!" He reached out and cupped her cheek on one palm, turning her head so she had no choice but to face him. "That's not going to happen and you know it, not when you already admitted what happened. Your attorney already told you that. You need to take the deal. Please."

"Why? Why do you even care?"

"Because you're my sister, Lindsay. And because I still care." And he did, more than he had realized. More than he wanted to admit. It didn't matter how many times he had told himself he was beyond caring, or how many times he had tried to turn his back on her. Yes, Lindsay needed to grow up, to accept responsibility for her actions. That didn't make her any less his sister and it didn't mean he still couldn't care for her.

And it didn't mean he wanted to see the next five years of her life wasted.

The door opened behind them, followed by a discreet cough. Dale dropped his hand and looked over his shoulder as the attorney came in. "It's time. They need a decision."

Dale looked back at Lindsay, wondering if she could see the pleading in his eyes. "Take the deal, Lindsay."

She watched him for a few long seconds, her wide blue eyes filled with emotion he didn't understand. Then she blinked and moved past him, her shoulder brushing against his arm as she walked by without saying a word.

Melanie paced back and forth in the living room, her bare feet rustling the worn canvas that covered the floor. She veered around the small spot of wet paint, took three more steps, then turned and went the other way. Back and forth, each step agitated and impatient. Not even the soothing voice of Alfie Boe singing in the background could calm her.

She paused in front of the small stereo in the dining room, her fingers hovering just above the volume knob. Should she turn it up some more? No. If she did that, the music would be too loud for even her, and that would defeat the purpose of her plans. The music had been playing for over an hour, and she had to admit that even she was beginning to tire of it. It was different when she was painting. When she was painting, she was so lost in her own work that she was barely aware of the music.

But she wasn't painting now and the only reason she was playing the music so loud was to get his attention. Dale was home, she knew he was. She had heard him come up the stairs a few hours ago, his steps heavy as they passed by her door. She had stood there, holding her breath, wondering if he would stop—

But he didn't. Not even a slight pause. He just continued to his door and went inside, the sound of the door closing quiet and muted. Almost sad, somehow. Such a silly thought. Doors couldn't be sad.

But she couldn't shake the impression, and wondered if maybe it was Dale's sadness she was feeling. No, that couldn't be right either. She
saw
feelings, in pulsating swirls of whirling colors. She didn't
feel
feelings. Which meant she was imagining things. Again.

So she had moped around her apartment, straightening things, organizing her supplies, making a list of what she needed to replenish. And all the while, she kept listening, picking up each little noise and tiny bump coming from next door.

Wondering if she should just go over and knock and ask him what was wrong. Ask him what he meant by that kiss the other day.

No, she couldn't do that. That would be too desperate somehow. But if he came over
here
, then she could ask him. And that's when she decided to play the music. If she played it loud enough, he would bang on the walls. She would ignore him, or turn it up even louder so he'd bang on her door instead.

Except he didn't do any of those things. No wall banging, no door knocking. Nothing. Not a peep. Had he gone to sleep? Surely not. Unless—

Melanie frowned. Maybe he'd bought some of those special headphones, the ones that blocked all the noise. If he had done that, then it wouldn't matter how loud she played the music.

Which meant she was giving herself a headache for no reason at all.

"Well phooey." Melanie said the words but hardly heard them. She sighed then stomped over to the stereo, ready to turn it off as she chided herself for being so foolish. She barely heard the knock, wouldn't have heard it at all if she hadn't already turned the volume down.

She nudged the knob a bit more to the left, lowering the volume even more, then hurried across the room. The knock was too soft, too polite and civilized, to be Dale. Which meant it must be one of her other neighbors coming to complain. Sweets, wouldn't that just be the case? It was no less than what she deserved for trying to get his attention when he obviously had every intention of ignoring her.

She pulled open the door, an apology hovering on her lips when she was hit with a blast of color. Dark, swirling, leaden and muted. Powerful and depressing, so depressing, tears filled her eyes. She placed her free hand against her chest and struggled to pull in a deep breath, to keep the agonizing colors at bay before they could shred her emotions. She had one frightful second where she was afraid sweet Mrs. Lillian was coming to tell her that something had happened to Little Bits. Then she blinked, her breath rushing from her in a surprised gasp.

Dale was standing in front of her, dressed in nothing but a worn t-shirt and a loose pair of gym shorts. Shadows darkened his eyes, obliterating the gold flecks that usually danced in their depths. Stubble covered his jaw and his hair, usually so neat, looked unkempt, the longer strands at the top messy and mussed. She reached for him, acting solely on instinct, then let her hand drop to her side. She was still gripping the edge of the door, the cold metal digging into her palm.

"Melanie. Please." Bleak desolation filled his voice, matching the desperate swirl of colors threatening to drown out his vibrancy.

He'd said
please
, almost like he was begging. Why? Please, what? The music? Something else? She glanced behind her, blinking against the brightness filling her apartment, then looked back at him, at the grayness threatening to claim him.

"I—I'm sorry. I turned it down."

He didn't say anything, didn't even nod. He didn't move, didn't turn to go back to his own apartment. He just stood there, a wall of desolation.

Her hand tightened around the edge of the door even more. "Is—is everything okay?" She was afraid to ask the question, afraid of the answer. What could have happened to make him this way? To cause him such pain and desperation? He didn't answer but he didn't need to. Melanie knew, as certain as she knew her own name.

His sister. His youngest one. Something must have happened yesterday at her trial.

She hesitated for only a second then reached out for his hand. His fingers were cold against hers, as if the life was already seeping out of him. Drowning, lost in the swirl of bleak mist consuming him. She tugged, pulled him inside and closed the door.

Then stood there, not knowing what to do.

Tea. Tea would help, wouldn't it?

She led him to the kitchen and pulled a chair out but he didn't sit. He leaned against the wall instead, his head tilted back, his empty gaze focused on the ceiling. Melanie hesitated then turned toward the stove, her hands shaking for no apparent reason. She would fix him some tea, try to get him to talk. Maybe if he talked, the awful grayness cloaking him would leave.

But he still held her hand. His fingers tightened around hers, pulling her back when she would have turned away. She stumbled and caught herself, only inches away from him. He was looking at her now, his dark eyes oddly intense, still shadowed but filled with something else as well.

Desire. Need.

Need for her? Or for something else?

It didn't matter. He reached up and cupped her cheek, his palm cool against her skin. His thumb brushed against her lower lip, stayed there as he stared into her eyes.

"Please." It wasn't a question or a demand. It was a plea, bare and ragged, full of a desperation that left her breathless and frightened. She didn't have to ask what he meant—she could see it. She could feel it, reaching out to her, grabbing her, claws of need digging into her.

Melanie thought she may have hesitated but couldn't be sure. And then it didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was the feel of Dale's body against hers, his hands roaming over her, threading in her hair with a desperation that left her breathless. But for all his desperation, his touch was gentle. His mouth, soft and warm against hers, nipped and tasted, seeking permission. Melanie groaned and pushed herself closer, her hands grabbing the hem of his shirt and lifting it. His skin heated under her touch, searing her palms as she ran her hands up his chest and pulled his shirt over his head.

His desperation, his need, was contagious. Desire, bright and sharp, filled her. But not just desire. A need of her own. A need to soothe, to comfort, to heal.

Dangerous. Giving into this was dangerous, Melanie could feel the certainty of that on some deeper level she never knew existed within her. She hesitated, hovering on the edge of a great abyss, knowing that if she stepped over it, if she allowed herself to fall into it willingly, there would be no coming back.

She closed her eyes and flung herself into it, felt herself falling. Felt herself flying.

She closed her mouth over his, the kiss hot, wet. Their tongues crashed together, each fighting for dominance. He groaned, the whispered sound mingling with her own. She pulled his lip between her teeth, nipped, felt him shudder against her. Then she pulled her mouth away and trailed kisses along his jaw, the stubble rough against her lips. Down along the column of his neck, her tongue tracing the corded muscle. Sleek, powerful, masculine.

She spread her hands wide and ran them along his chest. The pounding of his heart beat heavy against her palms, full of life and strength, sending a thrill through her. Did her own heart beat as heavy? A living, pulsing reminder of life and need and desire and hopes?

She thought it might, thought the pounding she heard might be her own heart, echoing his.

Melanie sighed and pressed her lips closer, tasting the warm saltiness of his skin as she dragged her mouth across his chest. Lower, down to his stomach. The muscles there contracted, his breath a harsh gasp in the still air around them.

Melanie dropped to her knees, her mouth and tongue licking and tasting. She wrapped her hands in the waistband of his shorts and dragged them down to his hips, lower. His erection sprung free, long and thick, hard and heavy, the wet tip brushing against her cheek.

She looked up, saw his head tilted back, his eyes closed and his mouth parted. Need, swift and sure, pulsed through her. Need…and power. White hot, blazing. She placed a kiss against the sensitive flesh of his inner thigh as she reached for him, her hand closing over the velvety smoothness.

His breath rushed out of him. Harsh, almost guttural. His hand fisted in her hair, his fingers gentle as she stroked him. Long, hard. From the thick base all the way to the glistening tip. Back and forth. Slow. So slow.

She ran her tongue across the smooth tip, licking at the bead of moisture, sighing as the tangy taste exploded against her tongue. Hunger spread through her, needy and urgent. She closed her mouth around him. Sucking, licking, feasting.

He held her closer, his hand tightening in her hair, his hips thrusting. Melanie sighed again, taking him deeper into her mouth. Sucking, stroking. Over and over as desire, wet and hot, pooled between her legs.

Her body thrummed, vibrating with need. Humming with power. She heard him mutter something, his voice nothing more than a growl, the words making no sense. His body tensed, his hands curling against her scalp. But instead of holding her closer, he pulled away with a harsh groan.

And then he was lifting her, his mouth hot and hard against hers. His tongue delved between her lips, demanding surrender. She felt his arms around her, felt him turn so her back was against the wall. He grabbed her skirt, bunched the material around her waist, exposing her.

And then his arm was behind her, supporting her bottom as he lifted her.

"Wrap your legs around me."

It was a demand, leaving no room for question, no room for anything but compliance. Melanie raised her legs, wrapping them around his waist. Her hands dug into his shoulders, her eyes on his. He must have seen her hesitation, her fear of being dropped, because he shook his head then pressed a quick kiss against her mouth. "I won't let you go."

She didn't want to read into the words, knew she shouldn't. But she wanted to, with a basic desire that went far beyond what her body was feeling. And then it didn't matter because he pushed into her, filling her.

Her eyes drifted shut, her head falling back against the wall as he drove into her, over and over. Hard and hot, each stroke deeper, each stroke giving more. Demanding more. She clung to him, her nails digging into his skin as her hips thrust forward, matching his rhythm.

Slow. Fast. Over and over until she didn't know where her body ended and his started. Short gasps ripped from her chest with each stroke, the sound of her harsh breathing echoing his. Her muscles tightened around him, squeezing, drawing him deeper inside. She bit down on her lower lip as sensation spiraled around her, pulling, tugging. Tighter, stronger, until there was nothing left but need and desire and warmth and brightness.

Tighter still, until everything exploded around her. Fracturing, flying, spinning out in a wide arc of color. Melanie gasped and called his name, over and over as her body shattered around him.

And still he plunged into her. Hard, deep, fast. Melanie clung to him, her eyes fluttering open as waves washed over her. His masculine beauty mesmerized her, all hard planes and strong lines.

His head tilted back, his jaw clenched. Dark lashes fluttered against his cheeks as his mouth parted on a low groan. He drove into her. Once, twice. His body tightened under her hands and he thrust inside her again. Again and again.

Until his own climax washed over him in a vibrant mix of red and cherry and rose that pulled her under once more. Its intensity frightened her, sent a shiver of anxiety through her, only to have it swept away by the sensations of his body inside hers. The sensation of her body's reaction to his.

He groaned, long and low, then leaned forward. His mouth captured hers, his tongue thrusting in a rhythm that matched the plunging of his hips. Hard, slow, deep. Slowing even more, drawing her in, holding her steady.

Anchoring her in a sea of swirling light and color that threatened to sweep her away.