Demons are a Ghoul's Best Friend: Afterglow, Book 2 (10 page)

“Concise summation, Counselor.”

A little stung, Pandora leaned back, putting some space between them. She wanted Cheney to see her as a woman right now, not a lawyer. God knew she had to remind herself he was a cop and keep on reminding herself. Otherwise she drifted into her vision of him as a very desirable man and that wasn’t good. But it didn’t mean she wanted him all professional and thinking of her as some kind of victim or something. Christ. She was getting super confused about this man. Her words summed up both the situation and her state of mind.

“Well, this is a nice fucking mess.”

“Ain’t it, though.” He pushed away his coffee cup just as his phone rang. “Maybe this is Karl now.”

Pandora watched as his expression changed and his gaze darted to her face. Then he turned away so she couldn’t catch much of his conversation. But suddenly he was standing up and urgently reaching for her hand, the phone snapping shut with a loud clack.

“Come on. We have to go. Now.”

“What? Where?” She stumbled to her feet and grabbed her dragon. “What’s going on?”

“Your condo’s on fire.”

Cheney squealed the tires as they pulled out of the coffee shop parking lot, his pulse rate leaping, all his senses on full alert. Thoughts darted through his brain, making connections, assumptions, asking unanswerable questions—running faster than the howling engine beneath the hood.

“Hit that red button on the dashboard.” He barked the command, barely seeing Pandora’s shaking hand do as he said. The digital array of lights built into the roof of his vehicle flashed to life and sirens screamed, clearing the way for him to roar through traffic.

Even so he felt they were doing little more than crawl. The fear and tension from the woman beside him radiated off her in waves so thick they stifled him, but he could say nothing since he was in pretty much the same condition.

“Oh God.”

It was a whisper, but he still heard it over the racket, and it echoed his own thoughts as they pulled in to her road and found it blocked by fire department vehicles. She was out of the car almost before he’d come to a stop.

“Pandora—wait…”

Useless. She was gone, running through the lines, pushing past firemen who tried to grab her.

Cheney ran after her, flashing his badge when he remembered, his long legs finally catching up with her at the end of the pavement, seizing her arms and holding her back as she gasped, making unintelligible choking sounds at the scene in front of them.

It was definitely
her
home, great billows of smoke and red flames crackling upward, windows shattering from a combination of heat and the efforts of the firefighters who were already pouring water and a variety of chemical foams into the building.

“Christ. Oh fucking Christ…”

He could feel great shudders rippling through her as he held her tightly, both for comfort and to prevent her from running headlong into the fire. They could do nothing but watch—and listen, which was even worse.

Things inside crackled and popped, hissed beneath streams of water—the sound was as unnerving as the scene itself. Cheney’s eyes watered and he tried to pull Pandora backward, but she was rigid.

“Pandora.” He shook her. “We have to move back. Give the guys a chance to do their job.”

“You gotta move, bud,” a helmeted firefighter yelled at them over the chaos.

“It’s her place,” Cheney shouted back. “She lives there.”

“Damn good thing she wasn’t home. The sprinklers helped, but not enough.” The brief reply was snapped out as the man pulled another hose toward the flames.

Pandora’s chest heaved, a coughing sob erupting from her throat. “
God, oh God, oh God
.”

“Come on. Now.
Move
.” Cheney had to drag her back, lifting her a little, physically moving her out of the way. “You can’t do anything.”

The shaking was getting worse and he tugged at her, forcing her head around, making her look at him. Her eyes were glazed, dull, wide with shock. “Hey.” He shook her again. “Stop it. Look at me, Pandora.”

“I—” Her mouth worked, her fingers flexed on his arms where he held her, but she couldn’t speak.

“It’s okay. It’ll be okay. They know their job. You’re okay. You’re not inside.”

She coughed and swallowed again, her eyes focusing at last. “Yes.”

“That’s it. Good girl.” He pulled her into his arms and held her tight against his chest. “Yes. You’re okay. It’s going to be okay.”

The words were meaningless, but they seemed to get through, and he felt the stark rigidity and the terrible shudders ease.

“The others. Anyone else there? Has it spread?”

He took a hard look at the scene. “No. It’s just your place. They’ve knocked the worst of it down—caught it before it had a chance to spread too far.”

“Hey, buddy.” Another firefighter came up to them, this one clearly in charge. “That the homeowner?”

“Yeah.”

“She doesn’t need to be here.” His words were abrupt but his eyes sympathetic. “Neither do you. Do yourself a favor. Get your girlfriend outta here.”

Cheney dropped an arm from around Pandora and found his badge. He showed it, then put it away.

The fireman frowned. “You on the clock?”

“No.” Cheney shook his head. “We were together when we got the call.”

Pandora was recovering, slowly pulling herself together. He could sense the exact moment when her self-control forced itself through the panic. “Can you tell me anything at all?” She peered around Cheney’s shoulder to look at the fireman.

“Not much, ma’am.” He shrugged. “It was going gangbusters when we got here. Looks like the point of origin was your back porch. You got any kind of outdoor grill there? Anything flammable?”

“No. Absolutely not. It’s against condo rules. I had a couple of chairs, a table and some plants. That was it.”

“You leave anything on? Coffee pot? TV?”

She darted him a glance then frowned. “No. I’m compulsive about that. Never left anything running in my life.”

“Okay.” He nodded. “There’ll be an investigation. If you didn’t have anything that could’ve served as an origin, then arson will look into it.” He glanced at Cheney and lowered his voice. “Mind you, they all say that. Then there’s the damn hair dryer on the bathroom towels or something stupid.”

“I can assure you that I left nothing running this morning.” Her focus returned full force. “I know better.” She straightened and glared at the fireman.

Cheney hugged her, just for reassurance. “They know, honey.” He raised an eyebrow at the fireman. “This is Pandora Jackson. She’s an attorney.”

“Shit. I knew I recognized you. Saw you in court on an arson case a few years back. Real sorry about this, Ms. Jackson.” The firefighter looked at her with sympathy.

“Thanks.” She squared her shoulders and pulled back from Cheney a little. “How long, do you think? How long before it’s out?”

“I dunno at this point. Something in there’s burning real strong. Like wood floors or whatever.” He saw her expression. “You got wood floors, right? Lemme guess. The good stuff.”

She sagged into Cheney’s hold. “Oh
God
.”

“We’ll do what we can, ma’am. You can’t help by being here right now. Take my advice. Go with your boyfriend. He’ll know how to handle it.”

And with that the fireman saluted them briefly and went back to his duties. From what Cheney could see, there was little more to do but wait. The fire itself had been contained. It was no longer a hungry devouring monster, but a slowly simmering glow.

In his embrace, Pandora sobbed harshly, once again surrendering to the agony.

“Honey, it’s only stuff. You’re safe. You’re okay.” He stroked his hands up and down her spine.

“You don’t understand.” She coughed and slumped miserably against his chest as a gust of wind blew smoke around them in a miniature tornado.

“Sure I do. This is a terrible thing. But you’re okay. That’s what’s important.”

“Cheney, it’s not my stuff.” She lifted her face, streaked and blotched with dark smears. “It’s my
wood
.”

Cheney stared at her.

The tears trickling from her eyes were stained with blood.

There was something soft under her head and she was warm. It was strange for a moment or two, then the memory flooded back into Pandora’s mind and she sat up with a gasp.

“Easy, sweetheart.” Cheney was there next to her, a glass of water in his hand. “Drink this.”

Thirstily, she did so, then passed it back. “Where am I?”

He smiled. “The classic question. You’re at my place.”

“I am? Rusty and Lucy…are they…?”

“With Roz. I asked her to take them for a day or so.”

She swallowed, her throat still raw from the tears and smoke. “My home?”

He took her hand comfortingly. “Sorry. It’s a total loss.”

“Oh Christ.” She lay back and closed her eyes. “It’s a blur, the whole thing is a blur. I saw the fire, we talked to the firemen. It hurt, Cheney. God, it hurt to see it all burn.”

“I know. I could see it in your face. You kind of blanked out on me, so I did the only thing I could think of. I bundled you into my car and brought you here.”

“I can’t remember that at all.”

“Probably a good thing.” He put the glass on the table. “How’re you feeling?”

She opened her eyes again, realizing she was wearing a long sweatshirt—and little else. “I have a bit of a headache. And not many clothes, only a few of which are mine.”

“The smell of a fire is pretty invasive.” He sat back. “I didn’t want you sleeping with that stink in your nose. I showered and changed. Figured the least I could do was get you comfortable.”

“Er—thanks.” She glanced beneath the blanket and checked her panties. They were the ones she’d started the day with, thank heavens.

His lips curled into a wry smile. “Honey, I’m a lot of things, but I don’t get frisky with an unconscious woman. That absolutely isn’t my way of doing it.”

Her cheeks heated with a blush. “Look, I’m sorry. No offense. And I owe you a lot, Cheney. I’m so sorry you got caught up in all this.”

He laid a finger on her lips. “Shut up. I’m here. You’re okay and wearing your underwear. Everything’s pretty much fine.” He paused, eyes twinkling. “Well, except for the underwear, but I’ll work on that.”

To her astonishment, she felt herself return his smile. God knew there was little to smile about right at this point, but she couldn’t stop herself. “Oh yeah?”

“Yep.” He stood. “But not just now. First we have to get you sorted out and then we have to take a look at where things stand.”

Pandora sighed. “Shit. I’m going to have a helluva lot of calls to make. Insurance, all that sort of thing. And I’ll have to shop too. Everything I own went up in that fireball.”

“Don’t go crazy on my account. I’ve got more sweatshirts and you can always go commando while that pair of panties is in the wash.” He waggled his eyebrows.

She lifted one of hers scornfully. “Har har.” She swung her bare legs over the edge of Cheney’s couch and stood, staggering a little. “God. How long was I asleep?”

“A few hours.”

“
Hours
?” She was scandalized. “I never sleep during the day.”

He looked a bit shamefaced. “Well, I kinda helped that along. I gave you water when we got here. You were thirsty and crying. So I popped a good dose of valerian in it.”

“What the hell’s that?”

“A natural sleep aid. It relaxed you enough to fall asleep.”

“You
drugged
me?”

He looked appalled. “I most certainly did not. You needed rest. Time to get past the shock.” He walked close to her and put a finger beneath her chin, tilting her face upward. “Honestly? You scared me.”

“I did?” She stayed where she was, lost in those wonderful eyes of his, held captive more by his gaze than his finger.

“Your tears, Pandora. You cried tears of blood.”

“Oh hell.” She gulped. “Sorry you had to see that.”

“I’m not.” His gaze drifted to her lips. “And you’re going to have to tell me about it. But not right this minute—”

She knew he was going to kiss her. And every single fiber of her being welcomed it. He’d held her, protected her and comforted her on what was probably the worst day of her life. She couldn’t think of a better way to thank him than with the exchange of a kiss. Her arms slid around his neck in readiness.

He’d be gentle, warm, everything a caring man should be…

And she nearly rose six inches off the floor as his mouth claimed hers with all the force and explosive power of a stick of dynamite.

Chapter Nine

This is one big frickin’ mistake.

The thought darted through Cheney’s mind as he cast common sense to the winds and kissed Pandora Jackson. Then the remnants of any kind of intelligence walked off in a huff and slammed the door behind them, leaving him with a screaming load of male hormones urging him to take her, right then and there.

It was one thing to tease her, watch her, enjoy her company and deal with the occasional hard-on when he was around her.

It was another to hold that long length of shapely womanhood tight to his body and do his very best to suck her tonsils out over her tongue.

She tasted sweet and tangy, an intriguing sharpness melding with the warmth of woman. And she was responding, her arms snaking around his neck, purring sounds of pleasure vibrating deep in her throat.

He didn’t need to wait for her lips to part, they did so at the first touch of skin to skin. Her tongue learned his with every bit as much fervor as he could have wished, a mutual exchange of sensual curiosity, awareness and an increasing arousal he could feel in every cell of his body.

She trembled a little in his arms, locking his head tightly to hers, awash with some sort of eagerness that was an odd mix of explosive sexuality and innocence. It was intriguing, arousing and amazing. Very much a reflection of who she was.

Pandora kissed honestly. There was no hiding when she threw herself into an embrace—she let loose, revealing that fire he’d guessed lurked inside her.

He could only imagine what would happen when he stripped her bare and claimed her. He would, there was no doubt in his mind. Maybe not right at this moment, but soon.