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Face the Flames Page 2


  As if I don’t know that.

  He took a deep breath. “I’ll be careful. Besides, do you think I’d risk anyone’s safety if I couldn’t do the job? Or that my team would let me?”

  “No, I just worry. I can’t help it.”

  Guilt curled through his gut. His mom had been through so much, and for the past year his ordeal had consumed her life as well. “I know you do. I’m sorry.”

  “Nothing to be sorry about,” she assured him softly. “I know how frustrated you are.”

  She did. The woman was a damned saint.

  “So, dinner on Sunday?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “As always, unless you have something else planned.”

  He laughed outright at that notion. “I’ll check my busy social calendar and get back to you.”

  “Smartass.” She snorted. “See you around five. Bring a friend if you want.”

  “Thanks, Mom. Love you.”

  “Love you, too, baby.”

  After he hung up, he contemplated her offer to bring a friend. She said it almost every time, but he had no idea who he’d invite. Maybe he’d just invite the whole gang over one Sunday, whoever could come. But he’d give her a little notice before he asked that many over.

  As he continued on his way, he warmed to the idea. His mom would soak up the attention from his buddies like a sponge, and it would give her a crew to fuss over. The guys had become particularly fond of Charlene during Clay’s ordeal, and the feeling was mutual. He was surprised he hadn’t thought of inviting them all before.

  Traffic began to get heavier, and with a start Clay realized he’d walked almost all the way downtown. Christ, he wasn’t going to be able to make it back home on his own steam. He might have to call—

  Pop, pop, pop.

  Clay’s steps faltered, and his head snapped up as he scanned the area for the source of the noise. Close by, but muffled, as though it had come from inside one of the buildings. Please, don’t let it be what it sounded like.

  Just then, a man slammed out the door of the gas station just ahead on the corner and took off on foot. The gun in the guy’s hand shone briefly in the sun before he disappeared from view.

  “Shit!”

  Hurrying forward, Clay moved as fast as he could toward the gas station. There was no way he could pursue the gunman in his condition, and the potential victims inside were his top priority anyway. In moments, he was inside the station, checking the aisles. There didn’t appear to be any customers.

  “Hello?”

  A groan answered, coming from behind the cash register. Limping in that direction, Clay reached the counter and looked around the end of it. A young clerk was sprawled on the floor, bleeding from his shoulder. He had a bloody hand over the wound, and his face was white. Damn, he couldn’t be more than nineteen or so.

  Propping his cane against the counter, Clay hurried to the boy’s side and knelt, ignoring the flare of pain in his hip and knee. “You’re gonna be all right, kid,” he said in his most soothing tone.

  And in that instant, a missing piece of himself snapped firmly back into place. The proper procedure was all there, waiting to be unlocked in his brain. It had only needed a trigger.

  Too bad this poor kid was a victim of such horrible violence.

  “That bastard shot me,” the young man whispered, eyes wide. “I gave him the money, but he shot me anyway.”

  “Did you get a chance to hit the silent alarm?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good for you. Breathe, okay? You’re going to be all right.” Glancing around, he spotted a towel on a nearby shelf. After grabbing it, he returned to the boy’s side.

  “I want my dad,” he said, eyes welling with tears.

  “What’s your name? I’m Clay, and I’m a paramedic.” He applied pressure to the wound with one hand, checked his pulse with the other. Too fast.

  “Drew Cooper.”

  Why the hell did that name sound so familiar?

  “Who’s your dad? We’ll call him,” he reassured Drew.

  “Shane Ford,” he rasped. “He’s a detective here in town.”

  Clay froze for a moment, and blinked. Shane’s boy? Wait—his adopted son. The boy was the biological son of Shane’s best friend, a late, great NFL player. Holy, holy shit. The detective and his wife, Daisy, were going to fucking freak. Clay didn’t know the couple as well as some of the other guys at the fire station did, but he knew that much. Any parent would.

  “He’ll come for you, I promise.”

  Keeping the pressure on the boy’s shoulder, he fished his cell phone from his pocket and punched 9-1-1. After identifying himself, he gave the dispatcher a brief rundown and requested an ambulance in addition to the police who were already en route.

  He ended the call, not liking Drew’s pallor. He was losing blood too quickly, and they needed that ambulance yesterday. When the boy’s eyes started to drift shut, Clay’s gut clenched.

  “Stay with me, Drew. Do you hear me?”

  “Yes, sir.” But his words were slurred, and his eyes closed despite his promise.

  Biting back a curse, he kept pressure on the boy’s shoulder and willed the ambulance to hurry. As he spoke to the young man in soothing tones, he wondered which station would get the assignment, but it hardly mattered. Things were going to get dicey if help didn’t show up soon.

  Just then, the sound of sirens cut through the air outside and relief coursed through him. Soon, he heard the bell on the door jingle and footsteps rushing inside.

  “Sugarland PD,” a man’s voice called out.

  “Back here,” Clay answered.

  A uniformed cop rounded the counter, weapon drawn, but he kept it at his side, assessing the situation as he moved forward. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

  “I can’t let up on the pressure,” Clay told him. “He’s losing too much blood.”

  The officer nodded. “Your name?” he asked, crouching on the boy’s other side. He studied Drew, but kept a wary eye on Clay.

  “Clay Montana. I’m a firefighter/paramedic for the city. I was walking nearby when I heard the shots, and I saw an armed man running from inside the store.”

  “Stick around then, we’ll want to get your statement.” He jerked his head at the unconscious clerk.

  “Any idea who he is?”

  “Yeah. His name is Drew Cooper, and he’s the adopted son of one of your own.”

  The cop cursed. “Whose kid is he?”

  “Shane Ford’s. He’s a detective.”

  “Goddamn,” the man said softly. “I’ll go make the call.”

  Clay didn’t envy the guy that task. As soon as the cop disappeared, Clay heard the beautiful sound of more sirens—the fire department’s ambulance and truck to the rescue. In moments, there were more people hurrying into the store, and two very welcome faces appeared.

  Zack Knight and Eve Tanner moved behind the counter, eyes widening when they spotted their friend and colleague kneeling next to the victim.

  “Clay!” Zack exclaimed. “Are you hurt?”

  “No, but this kid wasn’t so lucky.”

  “Holy shit, that’s Shane’s boy,” Eve whispered. “He was robbed?”

  “Yeah. I was walking and heard the shots, saw the shooter run from the scene. Drew told me the man demanded his money, then shot him anyway.”

  Anger darkened Zack’s grim expression. “I hope they catch him and nail him to the wall by the balls.”

  “Me, too.”

  Reluctantly, Clay relinquished his patient to their care and stood, grimacing at the pain. Then he stepped back out of their way, listening to his teammates discussing Drew’s vitals. The young man’s blood pressure was dropping.

  “Let’s get him out of here,” Zack said.

  Just as Six-Pack and
Julian wheeled in a stretcher, a commotion at the door made Clay’s stomach drop.

  “Drew? Where’s my son?”

  A frantic Shane Ford burst into the store, pushing past officers and firemen. The look on his face was something Clay had seen far too many times—an expression of pure terror for his loved one. His cry of anguish when he saw Drew covered in blood, pale as death, chilled Clay all the way to his toes.

  “Oh my God! Is he—” His knees threatened to buckle, and Julian was instantly at his side, holding him up.

  “He’s alive, and you can ride with him, okay?” Julian said soothingly.

  “I—yes.” The detective looked shell-shocked. “Oh God, I have to call Daisy.”

  The first officer stepped up and clasped Shane’s shoulder. “I did that already. She’ll meet you at the hospital.”

  Shane nodded, staring at his boy as they loaded him onto the stretcher. “Thank you.”

  “No problem,” the cop said. “You need anything, Detective, don’t hesitate to let me know.”

  “I will, thanks.”

  Clay shuddered as he watched his team wheel Drew outside. Shane never even noticed Clay standing there with blood on his hands. The man was too upset to see much of anything except his son.

  Six-Pack paused on his way out and gave Clay a smile. “You did good. That boy is alive because of your quick thinking.”

  He thought the captain was giving him too much credit, and shrugged. “Just did what had to be done. My training kicked in when I needed it. Can’t wait until I’m recovered enough to get my position back.”

  “You’ve made amazing progress. Keep it up and you’ll be back before you know it.” With that, the other man clapped him on the shoulder and headed out the door.

  Clay’s thoughts returned to Shane and his gut clenched in sympathy.

  This is why I’m never having kids. I could never watch them go out the door every day not knowing if the worst would happen.

  “Excuse me, are you Clay Montana?”

  The woman’s voice surprised him, and he turned. He’d been expecting Tonio Salvatore, Julian’s brother, or perhaps one of the other detectives on the force. When he faced her, his heart lodged in his throat. By God, she was beautiful.

  The redhead was regarding him with polite patience, waiting for his answer. She wasn’t overly tall at around five-five or so, slender, and her fiery hair was pulled back into a serviceable ponytail. The length tumbled down her back, and he suddenly longed to free the mass from the confines of the band that held it.

  Her facial features seemed almost delicate, sort of elfin, and yet her green eyes hinted at a core of steel that the strongest man wouldn’t dare go against. To top it off, she was a cop. A detective, he guessed, since she wore plain clothes with her badge clipped to her belt not far from her weapon. A gorgeous little badass.

  Damned if the sight wasn’t arousing as fuck.

  He realized she was still waiting on his response, and cleared his throat. “Yes, that’s me.”

  “I’m Detective Melissa Ryan, Sugarland PD.” Stepping forward, she pulled a small notebook and pen from her pocket, and began to write. “Did you witness the shooting?”

  “Not the shooting itself,” he explained. “But while I was walking, I did see the man run from the store and take off.”

  “What time was this?”

  He thought about it. “Ten, fifteen minutes ago? Sure seemed longer than that while I was waiting for help.”

  “It often does.” She noted the time. “He was armed?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did he look like? Can you describe him?”

  “He wasn’t as tall as me, I’d say. White guy, maybe mid-thirties but that’s just a guess. He was wearing jeans and a red plaid shirt. I don’t know anything about guns, so I can’t tell you what kind it was.”

  “Okay.” She scribbled the information, then looked up again. A hint of something more than curiosity flickered through her gaze and was gone. “What’s your occupation?”

  “I’m a firefighter/paramedic for the city.” With a grimace, he gestured to the cane in his hand. “Well, I’m on leave right now. Had an accident on the job and it’s been a long recovery. Actually, that was my team who just left with the victim, Drew.”

  Her gaze softened. “I’m sorry to hear about your accident. I hope the rest of your recovery goes smoothly.”

  “Thanks.” He gave her a smile, and she returned it. A warm feeling curled through his belly and went south. Shifting some, he hoped his attraction wasn’t obvious.

  As she went on, she didn’t seem to notice. “Do you know the victim personally?”

  “No. I just know Shane, his adopted dad, casually through some of the guys at the fire station. I’ve seen Drew before, but I didn’t realize who he was at first.”

  “All right. Can I get the best phone number to contact you in case I have more questions?”

  “Sure.” Quickly, he recited his cell phone number and found himself praying she’d find a reason to call—and not necessarily one that involved the robbery and shooting.

  She finished writing down his information and then pocketed her notebook and pen. “I’ll be in touch.”

  I sure hope so. “Okay. I’m available pretty much anytime these days.” He held her gaze, willing her to catch the double entendre.

  She gave a soft laugh. “Not for much longer, I’m sure.” The sparkle in her eyes made him wonder whether she was referring to his leave, or his single status. “Take care.”

  “You, too, Detective.”

  After flashing him another smile, she turned and walked out of the store. Clay blew out a deep breath and immediately felt stupid. Kind of shallow, too. What the hell was he thinking, flirting with a cop at the scene of a terrible crime? You’re an idiot, Montana.

  After using the restroom to wash the blood off his hands, he headed outside as well, where the remaining officers had cordoned off the station with yellow crime scene tape. A shiver wracked his body. Now that the adrenaline rush was over, the crash was hitting him hard. And dammit, he still had to walk all the way home, too.

  The walk started off agonizing and got worse with every step. He’d pushed too hard today and was limping badly. His left knee and hip were conspiring together, promising swift retribution for abusing them both today.

  He got as far as the bus stop almost a mile in the direction of home before he had to sit on a bench. Damn, he hated to call anyone. He’d been enough of a burden to everyone already. How the fuck am I going to get home?

  Digging his cell phone from his pocket, he contemplated his options. “Bus or Uber?” he muttered.

  A honk startled him from his reverie and he nearly dropped the phone. Looking up, he saw a little blue four-door Hyundai idling at the curb right in front of him. Behind the wheel was none other than the gorgeous detective. She’d rolled down the passenger’s window and leaned over to call out.

  “Need a ride?”

  Like you can’t believe. In more ways than one.

  “I don’t want to be any trouble . . .”

  “If it was going to put me out, I wouldn’t have asked. Get in, Mr. Montana.”

  “Please, call me Clay. And I’m kind of stuck, so I won’t refuse.” Sure beat public transportation, for the company alone.

  Climbing in, he buckled his seatbelt and carefully arranged his legs in the small space, hitting his bad knee once on the glove compartment. He sucked in a sharp breath but didn’t make a sound of complaint.

  “Sorry about the legroom, or lack of,” she said, pulling away from the curb. “Adjust the seat if you need to.”

  “No, I’m fine. Thanks for picking me up, Detective Ryan.”

  “Since we’re on a first-name basis, call me Melissa. And it’s not a problem. I had an errand to run that brought me back in this
direction anyway. Now, where to?”

  He gave her his address and she nodded, turning in the direction of his neighborhood.

  Melissa Ryan. The name suited her, along with the red hair, fair coloring, and the cute smattering of freckles across her nose. Was she of Irish descent? Her last name pinged something in his memory, but he couldn’t put a finger on why.

  “You walked a long ways on that leg,” she commented.

  “Bad planning.”

  “What happened? If you don’t mind my asking.” She glanced at him briefly.

  “I don’t mind.” He took a deep breath. “I was driving the ambulance to a call last year, crossing through an intersection, when a truck ran through his red light. I don’t remember the accident, but I was told it was horrific. I almost died, and was in a coma for weeks.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she said softly. “That must’ve been hell.”

  “It was. After I woke up, I was completely confused for the longest time, and I had no motor control. I had to relearn everything. How to walk, talk, dress, and feed myself. I’m surprised the fire department has kept me on leave instead of just giving me the golden boot.”

  “This city is pretty good to their employees,” she said. “I’m sure they want to give you the chance to rejoin your team.”

  “Yeah. Every department has its limits, though. If I can’t pass the physical agility test soon, they’ll have no choice but to offer me a desk job or let me go.” The thought made him sick. He honestly didn’t know what he’d do if it came to either option.

  “Well, if it’s any consolation, I’d never have known you’d been through that serious an injury if you hadn’t told me.” She gestured to his leg. “Other than the limp, you seem to be doing really nicely.”

  “Thanks, that does help. My friends tell me all the time how great I’m doing compared to the beginning, but it’s good to hear it from someone else.”

  “What happened to the other driver?” she asked.

  Clay frowned. “Last I heard, he was sent to prison. Not for the accident, but because the police found drugs in his truck, and the possession charge violated his parole.”