Ignite (Missoula Smokejumpers Book 1) Page 2

Jessica gripped his tense legs, digging her nails into his muscles. She stared up, hoping for some sense of understanding of why they’d been estranged or that he craved driving her into the heat of passion. There was nothing but his needs. That much she could see given his contrite expression. He never pleased her first. He didn’t initiate unless he wanted satisfaction. A cold chill swept through her, a disgusting reminder of their tainted relationship.

  He pulled out and exhaled, wiping his mouth. He released his hold and whistled as he took a step back. “That was amazing. Damn, you’re good.”

  She was determined to continue. “My turn.” Undulating her hips, she gave him her most seductive look as she worked her fingers deep into her pussy.

  His look remained horny as he gazed down, watching her with interest. “That sweet little cunt in need?”

  Little. He used the word to describe every part of her body. She hated the term. No, she loathed hearing him say the word and had told him as much. “Will you lick me?”

  He slipped his cock between his legs and pulled up his jeans. Looking out the window, he squinted. “We’ll be there soon, baby. The guys will be waking up.”

  “We have time,” she cooed and thrust in and out, flexing her fingers open. She moaned and tossed her head back, allowing her long, red hair to fall to the seat.

  “Come on, baby. Not now. We’ll play when we get back to my place.”

  She jerked up, giving him a hateful look and stopped moving. “What if I want to go to my house?”

  “My place is closer,” he snorted and zipped his pants. He fastened his belt and kept his eyes on her. “Oh, come on. Don’t you dare pout on me. We just had sex.”

  “This was sex?”

  “Well…” Grinning, he wrapped his hand around her wrist, pulling her hand up to his face. “I love the scent of your pussy.”

  She started to protest when he slipped her wet fingers into his mouth. The sucking and slurping noises sickened her. Hissing, she yanked away her hand, wiping the remnants on her dress. She kept her eyes plastered on him as she jerked up her straps.

  “What’s wrong with you? You on your period or something?”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” Incensed, she slid toward the window. “You just had your fingers dripping with my cum in your mouth. Taste any blood?”

  He shook his head and eased onto the seat. “God. You don’t have to be so shitty here. I was just kidding you. Swear to God.”

  “You’re an ass.” She looked out the window, infuriated. This was the same shit she was used to. He was callous and unfeeling, as if only he mattered.

  “Come on. Relax. We’ll be home soon. Maybe we can take a weekend together, just you and me. Okay?”

  “Sure.” Over my dead body. She clenched her fists and bit back so many things she’d wanted to say to him. Several minutes passed.

  “Do you love me?” Cody took her hand in his, rubbing her fingers.

  Jessica darted her eyes back and forth and pulled her hand away. Her heart raced and for a few seconds she concentrated on the soothing sounds of the rolling bus. This was a question she’d contemplated for hours, days.

  He laughed, the tone bitter. “Goddamn and you wonder why I seem distant. You’re so warm. So loving.”

  “You know what? I do love you.” In some ways she did, but was she in love? Not according to her heart. She turned back toward the window, wrapping her arms around her knees. In the neon reflected glass of the aging bus, she could see his anguished face as he wrestled with his emotions. They had little left to say to each other.

  Exhaling, Cody shook his head as he rose to his feet. “Yeah. I can sure tell.”

  Her entire life seemed to be sliding into Hell. A shiver trickled down her spine as she closed her eyes. At least she was going home after a three-week tour of Arm Pit USA. Tomorrow night she’d enjoy sleeping very much alone, nestled in soft sheets. As she drifted off to sleep, visions of the future settled into her mind. She was alone, in a field and no one gave a damn.

  Wha. Wha. Wha!

  “We’re at the jump site,” Cooper screeched over the increasing noise.

  “You’re not going yet. We have to wait for our orders,” Stoker insisted as he fumbled with his gear. Wind whipped through the open bay of the plane, creating a howling boom. Adrenaline was coursing through his veins as well as something else. Fear.

  “Take a look at that shit down there,” Cooper huffed and shuffled toward the edge. “We can’t wait.”

  Stoker reached out. “No. We follow orders. Remember?”

  “Fuck orders. They’re people down there needing our help.” Cooper gave him a haunted look then donned his helmet.

  As Stoker trudged, determined to stop his friend from jumping, he heard Cooper’s last words just as he reached out, grabbing Cooper. ‘See you in paradise.’

  “What the fuck?” Stoker Hansen jerked awake, swimming up from the horrific dream. Swirling visions clouded his foggy mind, ugly reminders of a mission of healing turned into carnage. Rubbing his eyes, he twisted his head back and forth as his eyes became accustomed to the darkness. The sound of the alarm continued, blaring into the close-knit quarters. He sucked in his breath and held his hands over his ears. You’re okay. This isn’t war. You’re home and safe. As his breathing slowed, he shivered. Yeah, at least he was safe.

  “Get the hell up, dude. We have a hot one.”

  “What? Cooper?” Stoker asked. His stomach remained unsettled, the usual nausea pooled in the pit of his stomach.

  “Cooper? Jesus Christ, Stoker. Get up sleeping beauty. We have a call.”

  He plopped his feet on the floor and shook the cobwebs away. He wasn’t in Afghanistan. He wasn’t crouched in a pool of blood. This was his best friend, Garcia. Okay. I’m okay. After a deep breath he sprang into action, shoving his feet into boots and grabbing his heat and fireproof jacket. “Give me the details.” Live your life. You deserve. The sentiment would never leave him. He’d never be free of the words whispered by a respected soldier.

  “Three alarm fire at a residence. Gotta hurry before it spreads to the woods,” Garcia stated and raced away.

  Men ran past him, heading for the engines. They all knew the drill, could perform it in their sleep. Stoker hopped onto the engine a split second before it rolled out of the garage. The moon was full, highlighting a gorgeous star filled early morning. Within seconds the sky turned orange. “Shit.”

  “Third one in as many days.”

  Stoker nodded and glanced at his buddy. Garcia Puevos was grinning, enjoying the moment. The guy was an adrenaline junkie. “You have to wonder if arson is involved.”

  “Jesus, bud. You think everything is a conspiracy.” Garcia slapped him on the back.

  “Not everything.” Stoker grabbed the metal bar and leaned out as the engine picked up speed. Missoula, Montana had seen one too many raging fires in less than six weeks. Most of the investigations indicated they’d been started by carelessness or accident. His gut told him otherwise. Even the smoke jumping team had been called in.

  Within seconds they were on scene. Two engine companies had responded, which meant they faced a serious situation.

  “Fuck me. Unbelievable,” Stoker whispered under his breath as he secured his helmet. Flames licked up over the roofline of the massive house. Embers floated into the huge oak trees flanking the perimeter. An angry glow of red and tangerine brightened the sky as the sound of crackling wood created a roar.

  “We do this by the book.”

  Stoker glanced at his Captain of three years. The man was respected in every circle, including the Governor’s office. Captain Banyon could even run for office himself. “Could be arson.”

  Captain Banyon shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. We’re called in as backup so you protect the outskirts. From what I’ve heard, nothing is secure yet and the fire’s too hot.”

  Garcia jumped off the engine before it rolled to a stop, jerking the hose from its perch. “Everyone out?” he called
as the various firefighters rushed into action.

  “Family is out. Pets still inside,” came a voice from the smoke.

  “Crap. Let’s go,” Stoker screeched as he took off running, turning on the powerful light attached to his helmet. Ominous shadows crisscrossed the terrain, creating a sense of foreboding. He heard Garcia calling from the distance. There was little time to try and save anything, let alone the family pets, yet he was damn sure gonna try. He yanked down his mask and raced into the melee, scanning the perimeter as he searched for an opening.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Captain Banyon hissed.

  Garcia flanked his side and lifted his mask as a team of early responders motioned their way. “Where are they?”

  “The family is over there.” One of the men pointed as he wrangled with the hose, shooting water up at the roofline.

  “Not the family. The pets.” Stoker located the front door. There might be two minutes before the entire second floor collapsed into the first. He calculated whether there would be a backdraft. No, the fire was burning in a controlled albeit destructive pattern. The house would be a complete loss.

  “Not gonna happen. They’re trapped too far in.”

  He glared at the shadowed mask of a man he didn’t know and turned toward Garcia. “We have ninety seconds. Let’s go.”

  “You got it,” Garcia answered as both men took off.

  “Get back here!” the Captain barked.

  They ignored the command as Stoker kicked down the wooden door. A billow of black smoke poured from the interior. He tugged out his flashlight, turning on the high-powered beam, and for a second tipped his head, listening for any telltale signs. A strangled yelp grabbed his attention.

  A single terrified woof trickled from the blackness. A second and deeper bark followed.

  “Over there!” Garcia yelled.

  Stoker kicked over a chair as he moved forward.

  Boom!

  Garcia shoved Stoker to the ground as debris slammed down from above. “Need to get out of here.”

  “Not without the dogs.”

  “You’re nuts, man,” Garcia hissed as he shook off fallen wallboard.

  Stoker didn’t care. This was a mission he refused to fail. Another booming sound brought a series of whimpers from the dogs. He dug through wallboard and fallen wood until his hand wrapped around a trembling bit of fur. He managed to grasp two dogs, cradling them to his chest before crawling backward and getting to his feet.

  “Come on. It’s about to give!” Garcia warned.

  Stoker swiveled to his right, crouched low and headed for what he thought was the front door. Within a split second he became disoriented. The dogs howled and he knew they were struggling to catch their breath. His chest heavy, he shook his head as he recounted his steps. He yanked off his mask, placing the heavy plastic over their faces and shoved his way through the debris. After gulping acrid smoke, he stumbled.

  “Partner, let’s go!” Garcia wrapped his hand around Stoker’s arm and yanked him several feet.

  Sizzle! Crash!

  Fire rushed past them, licking up the crumbling walls. Stoker covered the dogs with his arms, praying to God they would survive.

  Fresh air rushed into his lungs. Stoker raced forward several yards before falling to the ground, cuddling the pups as he sucked in air.

  Boom! Wham!

  Flames shot out around them as several walls collapsed.

  Clenching his eyes shut, Stoker relished in the sound of the pup’s whimpers. He’d saved their lives.

  “Hansen! Are you out of your mind?”

  Stoker heard the Captain, realized he’d risked his own life as well as his partner to save two dogs, but he knew in his gut he had to respond. Coughing, he eased the dogs down to the ground, surveying both furry creatures. They were breathing but barely. “I got them out.”

  “At what price?” the Captain hissed. “Damn it. When I tell you to follow orders, I mean exactly what I’m saying. Hot dogging bullshit is going to get you killed. What is up with the both of you?”

  “What?” Stoker asked as he struggled to see.

  “Puevos is down, asshole.”

  He craned his neck, struggling to understand. Horrified, he wheezed. Garcia was lying on his back, his lower legs covered in debris. “No!”

  “Mommy! My babies.”

  The little girl’s voice cut through the smoke and noise. Stoker lifted his head as another firefighter lowered to his knees, taking the dogs into his arms. While he didn’t recognize the oversized man, he was able to comprehend respect in the firefighter’s eyes. He waited until he heard the sound of glee coming from the little girl before crawling toward his buddy, his heart racing. Shaking, he eased the helmet off Garcia’s head and checked his pulse. “Garcia. Come on, buddy.” No, this couldn’t happen.

  Garcia coughed several times as he slapped the ground and opened his eyes. “God, you’re a nutcase.”

  “Are you all right?” Stoker managed as he placed his hand on Garcia’s heart.

  “Nothing a week in the Caribbean with a hot blond won’t cure.”

  “Horn dog.” Stoker looked down the length of his friend and could see a gouge in the man’s pants. Blood oozed from the cut. “You’re hurt.”

  “Stop worrying. Dogs alive?” Garcia struggled to sit up.

  “They are.” He tipped his head, an intense shiver oozing down the back of his legs as the house seemed to melt into the ground. This wasn’t a normal house fire. He’d bet his badge on the fact. Fear remained, wrapping around his psyche in a paralyzing fashion.

  “You’re never going to amount to anything. No matter what you think, you’re worthless and shouldn’t have been born.”

  “Leave me alone. Just get away from me!”

  Wham!

  Jessica jerked up, a strangled scream coming from her parched throat. She cupped her cheek, fingering the area under her eye and dared a glance around the humid space. She rocked back and forth, the terror subsiding. No one had found their way into her home, beating her in the middle of the night. The nightmare couldn’t hurt her. No, she refused to allow the memories to waste any more of her time.

  She glanced around the darkened room as she controlled her breathing. The dreams were vivid. Breathe. You’re okay. You’re home. She was anything but okay. Ever since the dreams had begun in earnest almost six months before, she’d been suffocated, nighttime finally crushing her entire life. Help. Her best and only friend continued to encourage her to go see a doctor. A shrink she didn’t need.

  A few seconds later, she climbed out of bed. There’d be no more sleep tonight. The clock said four-thirty, the usual time. She’d managed to hide her night terrors from everyone, at least so she could function. Being alone in her bed allowed the monsters to crawl out of their prison cells.

  She exhaled as she eased to her feet, grabbing her robe and heading for the kitchen. A single flick flooded the expansive area with too much light, illuminating the mound of unopened mail. Three weeks seemed like a lifetime. She opened her refrigerator, searching for something cold to drink. The pitiful number of old condiments, a package of stale bagels, moldy cheese and a half empty bottle of water was a perfect sign regarding her life in general—out of sorts.

  Coffee she had, although she’d have to drink it bitter and black. At least the hot liquid would warm her shivering body. As the coffee pot dripped water, she sat down and sorted through the assortment of mail, pushing the junk flyers to the side. The single pile remaining was hefty and she didn’t need to open the myriad of bills to know most of the envelopes housed dunning notices. She was lucky her electricity was still on.

  How had life gotten so out of hand? She looked around at the stainless-steel appliances, realizing she couldn’t remember the last time the oven was used. She’d savored every second of fixing up the old home, making the gorgeous place something out of Florida Digest. Maybe she’d only achieved Cheap Homes and Gardens, but she’d tried. She chuckled. Thank G
od, she could care less about live plants or having a pet. They’d be dead.

  She pushed around the group of notices until one in particular caught her eye. The red lettering indicating ‘open immediately’ from her mortgage company she couldn’t ignore. She groaned as she read the letter for the second time. The bank would need at least four thousand dollars by the end of the week or they were going to start foreclosure procedures. With two hundred dollars in her checking account and maybe a cool fifteen hundred in her savings, the meager check she was expecting from the recent shows wouldn’t be enough to keep the wolves at bay. Let alone she’d have to hand over another three thousand in a week.

  Tears slipped past her lashes as she scanned the perimeter. She was under water in a space she rarely enjoyed—just like her life. A quick glance at the wall next to her refrigerator was a reminder of the old days, when she’d graced the covers of every rocker magazine. The glossy framed photographs were no longer any comfort. She placed her head into her hands and allowed herself a good cry as the gurgling sound of the coffee maker filtered in with her agonized sobs. She needed a Hail Mary. With no family to turn to and zero options, she had no idea what to do.

  Wallowing in self-pity wasn’t the answer. She jerked a cup from the cabinet, pouring a hefty amount. The bitter taste was almost comforting. A plan. She needed a plan. As she paced the kitchen she realized she had to get a real job. There was no way she was going to be a rock and roll star again, no matter how hard the band worked or how many gigs they performed. Their fifteen minutes of fame were gone. Stardom had whizzed by in a blur.

  Her house phone rang, cutting through the quiet, and she jumped. No one called using this number. “Hello?”

  “Good morning, sleepy head.”

  “Cody? What’s wrong?” She eyed the rays of sun peeking over the horizon.

  “Nothing is wrong other than you need to get in gear. I tried calling your cell. We have a hot concert to perform at,” Cody chortled.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Remember the benefit concert I mentioned in Orlando?”

  Jessica tried to figure out what he was talking about. “Vaguely.”