Hesitant Heart (23 page)

“They know to cancel the dancing waters show?”

“Yuppers.”

The spectacular fountain show—complete with five-hundred-foot-high-choreographed jet streams of water and a mixture of classical and pop music—would be a disaster to someone paddling around in the water.

“Good. I called this in, so we should have some additional units out here soon.”

“Let’s hope.” She had the beginnings of a furrow on her brow. “It’s getting rowdier by the second.”

She was right. The man in the water was becoming more and more hostile toward the crowd and they were reciprocating with equal vitriol. Once the Bellagio’s crew got out there, they would have to also add to their agenda the retrieval of more than the usual bits of floating trash out of the lake.

Two guys began pushing one another next to the mid-torso high stone balustrade that edged the water. Shawn lunged toward them.

“Knock it off!” He wedged himself in between the much taller men and pushed them apart. He made up for his height with his strength. “Do you really want to have your fun night in Vegas end in jail?”

“He started it!”

Shawn glared up at the indignant troublemaker. “Not interested. I’m only interested in both of you stopping.
Immediately
. Got it?”

The other man held up his hands in acquiescence. “Got it. My brother and I won’t be any more of a problem.”

Brother? Nice.

“Good. Now get out of here.”

The troublemaker spoke up again. “But we’re only watching that guy like everyone else—”

“
What
did I just say?”

“Come on, Larry.”

The reasonable brother yanked on his sibling’s arm and they moved away, but not without some barely concealed angry mutterings. There were a few generic law enforcement slurs that were audible, but Shawn found them laughable. If the surly brother wanted to learn some real insults, he needed to hang out in LA for a while. That was the one good thing Shawn had taken away from his previous assignment—an extraordinarily tough skin.

He turned back to Vicki and saw that her worry lines had increased. On her, it practically amounted to hysteria. He relied on Vicki’s judgment quite a bit. She was much more attuned to the beat of the Strip. If she was concerned, then things had to be deteriorating. Since the last fountain show was getting canceled because of the drunk in the lake, the large unruly crowd would no doubt be very unhappy. After pulling out his cell, he speed-dialed the Bellagio’s management. All of the major resorts’ numbers were programmed into his department-issued phone.

“This is Officer Everly on scene with the incident at the lake. I need someone for that boat out here right away. And can you bring up any more lights? ”

The resort assured him that it was going as fast as it could, but that it couldn’t add any more lights. He eyed the drunken tourist swimming and splashing around. So far, the man seemed okay, but beyond any other considerations was the fact that his inebriated state combined with being in the water was extremely dangerous. It would be too easy for him to accidentally take in too much water and drown—particularly with all the diving under the surface he’d been doing.

It had taken Shawn at least the first week after he’d been on duty to get accustomed to the idea that people could drink openly on the streets of Vegas. That was definitely not the case back in LA or other places in general. For the most part, everyone was in Sin City to have fun—they had no interest in causing trouble. But with over a hundred thousand people converging on the small concentrated strip area on a daily basis—even more on the weekends—there was bound to be trouble. Sometimes it was nothing more than drunkenness gone wrong—other times it would be a brutal murder. It was a round the clock, non-stop party town. They were constantly on alert.

When Vicki’s previous partner had relocated a couple of months back, Shawn had grabbed the opportunity. He’d had enough of fighting the continuous threat of violent gangs in Los Angeles. Once he’d officially been offered the position from the LVMPD, he’d moved himself to Vegas. Hard work and danger didn’t bother him. The sense of accomplishment he had as a task force team member, taking gang members off the street, had kept him working in that division for several years. But it had exacted a toll.

He’d been a police officer for over a decade and he’d passed thirty a few years back. He hadn’t been able to maintain a steady relationship in what had amounted to forever—not when any of the men he’d ever gotten involved with had found it impossible to handle the crazy hours and the unusual risks Shawn took on a daily basis. Starting over somewhere completely different had seemed like an excellent idea. Getting away from his homophobe brother had been even better. The rest of his family tolerated him, but not enough to motivate him to stay in Los Angeles forever.

“Oh shit! He hasn’t come back up yet!”

One of the onlookers pointed in the direction of where the swimmer had been only seconds before. All that remained were small ripples on the surface of the water.

Goddammit.

Moving quickly, Shawn tore off his duty belt, frantically toeing off his shoes as he did. Before Vicki had the opportunity to register what was happening, Shawn thrust the equipment at her. To her credit, she wordlessly grabbed it. He boosted himself over the banister and dropped into the water—it wasn’t deep enough at the banks for him to dive safely, only about four feet. But it was fucking
cold
, much more so than he’d expected. Shawn gritted his teeth and swam desperately toward the dark shape floating just below the surface of the lake. He was soaking wet but his mouth was dry. His heart beat wildly as he propelled himself forward.

By the time he reached the victim, he was no longer able to touch the bottom at all. He turned the man over, wrapping his arm around his chest, keeping his head above water. Shawn’s muscles burned with the stress of hauling the limp weight of the unconscious drunk to safety through the frigid waters, and from swimming using only one arm to pull them both along.

Taking in big gulps of air, he noted that several emergency vehicles had arrived. He could barely make out the yellow engine that he was certain would be from nearby Station 32. There were additional police units, the red truck of Las Vegas Fire and Rescue, as well as at least one ambulance.

The drunk awoke with a start, choking and gasping, fighting Shawn’s attempts to save his life. Shawn was pulled under. He’d barely had a chance to take a breath. His feet hit the bottom and Shawn propelled both of them back up out of the water. It was only a few seconds before he was dragged under again. Weakening, Shawn tried once more, but he barely broke the surface. Right as he sucked in a breath, he was yanked down and he took in more water than air.

Oh shit. Might be drowning.

His lungs burned. He sputtered under the surface and fought not to inhale again, but it was impossible. His body’s natural instinct to draw in air took over and he sucked in more cold water. He was disoriented and dizzy, not sure how much longer he could last.

Keep fighting, keep kicking!
Right as he was at the edge of unconsciousness, strong arms encircled his waist and lifted him well above the water line. He knew not to fight, to allow himself to be guided, but he couldn’t stop himself from coughing violently, his body doing everything it could to expel the unwanted liquid from his airways.

“I’ve got you. Hang tight. We’re almost there.”

No way. Trent Marshall.

He would’ve recognized the deep growl of Station 32 firefighter Trent anywhere. As much as he wanted to be thrilled that he was finally being held by his first local crush, he was more concerned with staying alive. He still gasped and choked, but other than the strong ache in his lungs and the fact that he was inexplicably freezing, he was sure he’d be okay.

Trent saved me.

The world was a crazy place and Vegas was the craziest. He’d only met the guy one time at a Clark County blood drive organized by the police and fire agencies and he’d been certain that their attraction was mutual. When Trent had shaken his hand politely and walked away, Shawn figured he must have read too much into the way Trent had looked him over throughout that afternoon. And here he was being held by the man.

They reached the banks of the lake and Shawn was finally able to put his feet down. Wanting to maintain a small portion of his dignity, he loosened what he realized had been a death grip on Trent and attempted to stand on his own. His legs immediately gave out and he would’ve fallen face first back into the water if Trent hadn’t caught him.

“Let me help you, Shawn.”

He remembers my name?

Trent wrapped his arms around Shawn’s torso and guided him to the edge of the water. The crowds cheered and he noted that two other firefighters leaned over the balustrade, ready to haul him up and over. He was frustrated as hell that his normally strong limbs wouldn’t allow him to do it himself, his muscles still like jelly.

Moving behind him, Trent then grasped his waist with his large hands and lifted him up right as the other men grabbed his arms. Just as he was being pulled up by the rescuers, Trent planted one of his strong hands on Shawn’s ass and gave him a hearty push. He cleared the top of the stone barrier, groaning over the fact that he’d been publically felt up by a sexy firefighter.

He supposed that was an exaggeration, but he couldn’t help but be a tad embarrassed. First he’d had to be saved—then everyone had seen him get groped by Trent.

The extra officers who had shown up for support held the crowds back as a stretcher was brought through. The sight of it jarred something in him.

“Where’s the guy who was in the lake?”

“You mean the dumbass?”

Shawn peered up at Trent. He wanted to say something, but instead all he managed was a lame nod. As he’d almost just drowned, he hoped Trent would excuse him for not being more articulate. The gurney stopped next to Shawn and Trent pushed on his shoulder, encouraging him to sit. One paramedic wrapped a blanket around his shoulders while another took his vitals. Still Trent stood there, towering over him—looking at him.

Holy Christ. Say something already.

Trent crossed his arms over his body, almost defiantly. “Don’t worry about that guy. He’s been transported already.”

Trent continued to stare. Shawn wriggled. His soggy briefs were scrunched in his crack and his balls were being uncomfortably smashed. Not a good combination.

“You must be pretty strong. I bet that drunk has a hundred pounds on you.”

Shawn couldn’t tell if he was being complimented or mocked. That was the one thing he’d noticed when he’d spoken with Trent that day at the blood drive—the monotone sound of his voice. Not that the deep timbre wasn’t as sexy as hell—it was—but it was difficult to read. It sort of reminded him of Clint Eastwood—or John Wayne. Somewhere in between. He must have had a questioning expression on his face.

“Are you all right?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Sorry, still trying to process all of this.”

One of the medics interrupted. “Officer Everly, can you tell me where you are and what just happened?”

He couldn’t help but frown, even though he knew the EMT was simply doing his job.

“Yes. I’m in front of the Bellagio and I tried to retrieve a misbehaving tourist from the drink.”

Trent made a sound that came out as a combination of a grunt and a snort. “That’s a charitable way to put it.”

Shawn chuckled and gazed up at Trent, noting the steel blue eyes that had captured him when he first met the firefighter. Since Shawn was only about five foot nine and Trent was at least six foot two, the sensation that he loomed over him was even sharper with him seated and Trent standing. A slight smirk tugged at the corners of Trent’s mouth. Shawn figured the guy was likely mid-thirties, but he had what appeared to be a permanently established deep tan. His hair was a sandy sun-bleached blond that had probably leaned more toward brown at one time. Lines in his forehead and around his eyes were noticeable, but did nothing to detract from his masculine good looks. Shawn couldn’t even begin to contemplate Trent’s well-built body. It wouldn’t help him feel any better about himself to get hard in front of not only his associates, but also the tourists as well. He’d been treated to the sight of Trent’s muscular physique at the blood drive when all that the firefighter had worn was a form fitting T-shirt and shorts.

Another medic came over and handed Trent a blanket and started to try to take his vitals too. He accepted the blanket but shot the EMT a glare that could’ve given children nightmares, and the poor guy backed off. Shawn was reminded that Trent had also braved the bizarrely freezing waters of the Bellagio fountain.

“Sorry you had to come after me like that.”

It wasn’t the most eloquent thing to say, but he
had
just gone through a near-death experience. He assured himself that he shouldn’t be expected to come up with anything too amazing.

“Don’t be ridiculous. The only person who should be sorry is the—”

“Dumbass?”

Trent made the smirking face again, narrowing his eyes as he nodded at Shawn.

Which means…?

The spark was back. A dose of attraction. But would they do anything about it this time?

Right then, a news van pulled up. It parked next to one that he hadn’t noticed was already there. Since parking was never allowed right on the Strip, it was a good bet that that side of the Boulevard had been closed off as soon as the emergency vehicles had arrived. He spotted Vicki and Darren keeping the reporters back.

When he turned to finally say something to Trent, he was surprised to see he’d walked away. He didn’t want to appear too obvious by searching him out, so he subtly glanced around. First he brought the blanket up over his head—not a bad idea anyway with the press trying to get photos—and used it to shield himself.

After catching a glimpse of Trent over by the engine talking to the driver, he realized he was being goofy. He’d almost drowned in a fucking phony lake at a casino and he was trying to hook up with the fireman who’d rescued his sorry ass.