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  “What happened?”

  “The war is what happened. A dangerous mission is what happened. My stupid mistake is what happened.” Stoker twisted his head as tears slid past his lashes. He hadn’t told the full story to anyone.

  “What’s his name?” she asked as her grip tightened.

  “Cooper. Cooper McKenzie.”

  “Was Cooper injured during the war?”

  “The experience was damning, a period of time that will forever haunt me,” he whispered.

  She exhaled and used her other hand to caress his leg. “You can tell me or don’t tell me, but now I understand why the guitar is so important to you.”

  He nodded as he made a turn into the parking lot of Ziggy’s. Somehow showing her the city didn’t seem as important. When he pulled into a spot, sliding the gear into park, he left the engine running. “Don’t get close to me. You won’t like the person you find.”

  Her hands never left him. Her demeanor didn’t change. She merely spoke the words that would create a rift in his mask of steel. “Trouble is, cowboy, I already do.”

  The swift actions of the local Smoke Jumping team squelched what could have been a horrific catastrophe. We have them to thank for their heroic efforts.

  The words in the local paper were infuriating, grating on what was left of his nerves. The plan had been perfect, the right amount of accelerant used, the origin of the fire the correct choice for maximum damage. Everything was going according to plans, until the damn plane flew overhead. Sure, he’d known the damn assholes would have to get involved, but from minute one? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

  He’d created a perfect Blowup scenario, a method only a few understood how to fight and even less how to create. Hell yeah, there was supposed to be a catastrophic event, rivaling any fires in the west. The initial attack had failed, but the smokejumpers had persevered, even landing the plane.

  He slammed his fist on the wooden table. Metal clanged against metal, screws and clamps rolling off and onto the dirt floor. He inhaled, catching his breath and forcing back the increasing rage. For this he had to be cool headed. They’d never expect a second attack in as many days. Perhaps his infamous persona would become famous, allowing him retribution for all the hell they’d put him through. No, this was going to work.

  The jumpers would fail, be deemed an unnecessary burden and decommissioned. The city would have no one to save them, certainly not the useless firefighters. Chuckling, he positioned the last pieces, tightening the wires. Then he held his creation into the swinging fluorescent light. He’d grown in his techniques, his abilities. He would soon be labeled a God, capable of mass destruction. Yes, this was good. Fantastic.

  He could see his name in every newspaper in the country. Specials on CNN and Dateline would be done on him, on his methods and his extraordinary abilities. Yes, he’d be the most feared man on this planet. He laughed as he pulled the crate from under the table. Everything had to be handled carefully. There would be no misfires, not on his watch.

  After securing the top, merely tacking the lid in place, he grabbed his hell torch. The instrument would be the perfect method of starting the fire. The poor bastards didn’t know what was about to hit them. They soon would. They’d know his wrath and never forget. Soon, he’d be considered a God.

  He placed the necessary objects into a duffle bag, zipping the top. This was going to be his finest work and he couldn’t wait to see the morning papers.

  There are massive casualties after a horrific fire consumes an entire resort. Additional deaths are considered imminent.

  Beaming with joy, he turned out the light and walked to his truck. If he was lucky, he’d slaughter one of the smokejumpers for icing on the cake.

  Chapter 7

  “I never want to see you again. You’re dead to me.”

  The memory burned in the back of Stoker’s mind, the last words spoken after an intense argument. Cooper had every right to hate him, but not any more than he hated himself.

  He was still shaking when they walked into Ziggy’s. The bar was already crowded, the majority of tables taken by groups of people, friends savoring every moment of shared fun. He’d been grateful for the location, especially after his return home, the respite keeping him in touch with humanity. He nodded to the owner, who waved from behind the bar. Shannon always had a welcoming smile, a kind heart. She’d allowed him a few drunken episodes without judging. For that alone she’d remained one of his best friends. When she sauntered toward him, he tugged Jessica’s arm and waited.

  “Hey, Stoker Hansen. Gracing my bar for the second time in a week. My bartender said you were in just last night,” she called as she moved out into the dining area. Giving him a formal salute, she laughed.

  “You know her?” Jessica asked as she flanked his side.

  “The rather vivacious owner of this illustrious joint? Hell, yeah. I’ve known Shannon Miller since she arrived here from Vegas almost five years ago.” Stoker recalled the moment and chuckled. “She ran her truck into mine then claimed the entire incident was my fault. The police chief believed her too, the old bugger. Kind of woman she is.”

  “Owner, huh? Sounds like a match made in heaven,” Jessica said, her tone full of amusement.

  Shannon sashayed toward them, her grin mischievous. “Mighty fine to see all my fighters here tonight.” She tilted her head, giving him a kiss on the cheek. Nuzzling closer, she whispered into his ear. “I’m so glad to see you’re doing well.”

  “The guys are here?” Stoker asked, scanning the room. She knew his mood swings better than most.

  “Must be a quiet night in the firefighting world. No heroes needed. They’re all here, high on adrenaline and testosterone. The fancy group is in the auxiliary room and the various engine companies are crowded around the end of the bar. I fear a brawl or two coming on.” Shannon teased as she turned her attention toward Jessica. “I heard there was a new girl in town. Another redhead. We have to stick together.” She stuck out her hand.

  “We do?” Jessica gave Stoker a heated look. “I believe you’re right. The men here are hardheaded.”

  “Oh, sugar, don’t let these rough and tumble men push you around. You just come get me. I’ll set them straight. I always do.”

  Jessica shook her hand, then winked as she leaned forward. “Don’t worry. I can handle myself pretty damn well. Just ask this cowboy right here.”

  “She’s right. Don’t let her into a bull ring. The bull will lose,” Stoker chortled. His thoughts drifted to his admittance in the truck. Jessica wasn’t put off by his sad tale, nor did she seem incensed. She’d taken everything in and given him additional space.

  “Then she and I are going to be good friends,” Shannon declared. “Grab a table. First round is on me. Karaoke night. If you loosen up a bit, you big lug, you could win big.”

  Stoker cringed. “Over my dead body.”

  “Such a pansy.” Shannon rolled her eyes.

  “I might be able to convince him. I have many methods of persuasion.” Jessica gripped his arm.

  Stoker shivered, current from her touch sliding into every pore. He gazed at her, a slice of longing penetrating his suit of armor. He looked away before she noticed, determined to keep his distance.

  “Now, that, I’d like to see. Gotta get back. Glad you’re here, Jessica. Maybe you can drag this man out of the depths of Hell.” Shannon took two steps backward before turning.

  “She knows you well,” Jessica said absently.

  “She’s been a good friend. Had her share of shit in her life, too. She needed a new start. Found this place and has made Ziggy’s special, a place where souls can rest.” Just not your soul. Stoker did something that surprised him. He took her hand before weaving through the crowd to find a table. The same dazzling sensations coursed through his body, leaving him sweating, unsure of his intentions. “You can see the stage from here. Entertainment is dicey, but everyone has fun.”

  Jessica smiled, her eyes darting back and forth
. “I’m glad we came. I’d really like to get to know you.”

  Before he had a chance to answer, a whistle drew his attention.

  “There’s the man. Glad to see you,” the voice called from the corner.

  “Hey, Mark. Nice to see you.” Stoker glanced at the room Shannon was talking about. The door remained open and the smokejumpers were inside. Burnout. This was their gathering spot. He smiled as he wondered what Jessica would think about a secret club of men who revered spanking as a method of keeping control in a relationship. He’d need a cold brew before contemplating any further. He waved to several of the regulars as they passed by, several of the men eyeing Jessica with lust in their eyes.

  “The place is popular.” Jessica looked around the room as she sat down. Then she glanced at the stage. “Karaoke? Groovy.”

  “The locals and tourists seem to enjoy. Granted, you might have to be drunk as a skunk to have the guts to get on that stage.” He sat back in his seat, enjoying the view. He’d noticed how beautiful she was, but tonight, she seemed to glow in the lighting. Inhaling, even the scent of her perfume was more enticing, enough so his cock was hard. She was enamored by the stage, her eyes twinkling as if she was a different person when performing.

  “What are you staring at, cowboy?” Jessica asked without looking in his direction.

  Shrugging, he wasn’t certain what he should say. “Maybe you’re not such a pain in the ass after all.”

  “Maybe I am.” Giving him a heated look, she patted the chair.

  Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Garcia headed in his direction. Stiffening, he glanced down at Jessica. This wasn’t the time.

  “Hey! Glad you’re here. I was going to say…” Garcia’s words trailed off as he noticed Jessica. His eyes opening wide, he grinned. “This is the girl from the other night. Parking lot bad ass. You work fast, my friend.”

  “How could I forget you? Garcia, right?” Jessica glared at him. “And you’re right. I am a badass.”

  “She holds a grudge,” Stoker said as he grinned.

  Garcia took and kissed her hand, mumbling words of adoration in Spanish. “Please accept my sincere apologies.”

  “Jessica Dunn, meet my good friend, and one who better keep his hands off you, Garcia Puevos.” A moment of raw jealousy oozed into Stoker from seeing the expression on his friend’s face. He inadvertently slid against her chair.

  “Apology not accepted, but I’ll let you live.” This time Jessica grinned.

  “She’s perfect for you,” Garcia said as he winked. “Hey, can I drag you away from this beauty for just a few minutes? I want you to hear more about the group.”

  “Group?” Jessica asked.

  “A guy’s thing. You know how we are,” Garcia quipped.

  Stoker gave Garcia a look, one his friend could read. “I’m not here for any meeting.”

  “Stoker, you don’t have to babysit me. I’ll order drinks and be perfectly dandy,” Jessica said as she pushed his arm.

  “Just five minutes.” Garcia grinned.

  “Fine. Order me a bourbon, neat and five minutes, Garcia. That’s it.” Reluctantly, Stoker trailed behind. After the meeting with the team earlier, he had several reservations about joining. They were a tight knit group, unapologetic and distrusting of strangers. He’d never be a part of the inner circle.

  Garcia stopped halfway to the room. “By the way, partner. You do know who she is, don’t you?”

  “Jessica? She said she’s a musician.”

  “Not just any musician. Lead singer of Fringe. They sold almost as many CD’s as Black Sabbath.” Garcia waited for any sign of recognition. “Are you with me here?”

  “Have no clue what you’re talking about.” Stoker looked in her direction.

  “Dear God. You don’t get out much, do you? I’ll give you one of her CD’s. She’s famous and not too bad on the eyes either. Sad shit though. I read she was ousted from her band recently. Tough break. She’s damn talented though.”

  Stoker sighed. No, she wasn’t bad to look at. He glanced over his shoulder, unable to see her through the crowd. A girl like this would never think about moving to a location like Missoula, no matter if she found what she was looking for. Hero. The word popped into his mind. He certainly would never be her knight in shining armor. “She’s only here for a couple of weeks.”

  “Couple of weeks. Couple months. Hell, maybe a couple of years if you play your cards right,” Garcia said as he winked. “Ooh. Sorry. That’s right. You don’t like women.”

  Stoker slapped him in the stomach. “Asshole.”

  “Ouch! Well, you’ve gotten chummy. Glad to see. Now, come on, let’s talk to the boys about Burnout.”

  Sighing, Stoker nodded, but he had a nagging suspicion this wasn’t a good idea.

  Garcia led him into the room and closed the door. “Guys, I’ve asked Stoker to join us for a brief conversation.”

  Stoker glanced around the room. The group was comprised of the smoke jumping team, including the Captain, who stood, his arm extended. He had yet to make his formal decision, although he knew his answer would need to come soon.

  “Stoker, welcome. I hope this means you’re going to be joining the team. We can use your talent,” Captain Phillips said as he shook Stoker’s hand. He smiled, the expression laced with a knowing.

  “Haven’t decided yet, but I’m leaning toward joining,” Stoker said. The demons remained, but his sense of duty was infringing on his fears. Still, he wished he could have a conversation with Cooper. Did he actually need permission to take his buddy’s old spot? He wasn’t certain the reason why, but he’d never be given the opportunity. Neither man could get past what had occurred.

  “Rookie! We have a rookie on our hands.”

  “Hush, Boone. Don’t jade his decision. Christ. This man is no rookie,” Garcia reprimanded. “He’s a decorated Marine and has two commendations with the fire department. Sit down and talk with us.”

  “Along with a suspension,” Antonio said under his breath.

  Stoker bristled, snapping his head in the Italian’s direction. He’d run into this type before, suave and arrogant, no doubt fueled with daddy’s money. The man had something to prove and an ax to grind – in his back.

  “Cut the shit, Giovanni!” Captain Phillips snared. “If you don’t, you’ll be on suspension.”

  Antonio folded his arms and pushed away from the table, his glare remaining full of anger.

  Stoker also folded his arms and held his stance. He wasn’t going to take any shit tonight, especially not from an Italian Stallion. “I have a companion I need to get back to so I can’t stay anyway.”

  “Stay. Even for a few minutes.” Captain Phillips eyes were imploring.

  “Maybe another time.” Stoker shot Antonio another harsh look as he backed toward the door.

  “Don’t mind him. He’s moose-eyed.” Garcia winked as he grabbed Stoker’s arm. “Don’t let him push you,” he said so only Stoker could hear.

  With the exception of Antonio, the men laughed and raised their beers. “Now, that’s good news,” Sawyer said with a smile.

  Cringing, Stoker remained pissed. He locked eyes with Antonio, daring the man to say any shit. Camaraderie wasn’t on his agenda. Not now. Not ever.

  “Stoker.” Garcia eased in front of him. “Five minutes.”

  Stoker hesitated. “Fine. Five. Tell me about Burnout.”

  “A man who leads straight to the point. I can deal with that.” Riker sat back in his seat, his eyes narrowing.

  Stoker exhaled and gave the man a long, hard look. The rugged jumper seemed out of place with his inked arms and shocking short blond hair. The jumper’s eyes were cold, as if he had no soul. “Absolutely. I don’t have time to waste.”

  Riker nodded, the sign one of respect. “Give the man details so he can go back to his lady friend.”

  “Tough crowd,” Garcia mumbled.

  Captain Phillips leaned over the table. “We meet and discuss
relationships and a certain lifestyle.”

  “Domestic Discipline,” Boone added. “The best and only way to handle a woman.” His eyes twinkling, he took a gulp of his beer.

  “Have you heard of the lifestyle?” Antonio pushed, the tone sarcastic. “Or are you one of those men who believe women should be equal in every way?”

  “I believe women should be cherished, loved unconditionally,” Stoker retorted. “I’m not a Neanderthal as so many men can be.” His words were directed at the tall Italian, the dislike increasing.

  Antonio rose to his feet. “You don’t know a thing about me, rookie.”

  “Boys. This is a meeting of like-minded men. This isn’t the basis for a sparring match.” Captain Phillips also rose to his feet and held out his arms. “We’ve had a long week. We’re here for relaxation, not boys’ night in the sandbox. Understood?”

  Several of the jumpers nodded.

  Garcia pushed Stoker back. “We talk. We share experiences. We try and learn from each other, without all the damn testosterone. That’s it. Being here is an honor if you ask me.”

  A quiet settled into the room, the tension palpable.

  Stoker exhaled and looked away. This was ridiculous. An honor. His idea of honor was something entirely different. “Well, good to meet with all of you.” He headed for the door.

  “Stoker, wait. Garcia is right. There are no particular rules within the group. We simply have the same belief that relationships are much more vibrant, loving and have the ability to last longer if acts of discipline are included. My wife and I went through some terrible years, fighting constantly, tantrums and battles to the point we were headed for divorce. Her sister introduced us to domestic discipline. We were both hesitant at first, but committed to trying something different. Hell, if anything worked at that point, we were willing to try. I love my wife and I know she loves me. We were moving in different directions.” Captain Phillips locked eyes with Stoker.