One Fine Fireman (11 page)

He was so hard he could hang a fireman’s coat on his boner. And as he knelt over her, licking and savoring, it kept bumping against her satin skin, each little brush a fresh torment of temptation. He wanted to bury himself inside her, make her his in the primal, ancient way of men, feel her heat from the inside, hear her cries as she surrendered her body and heart to him.

But first he wanted her to know how much he felt for her. His mouth had never been his best tool, word-wise, but now he put it to use loving every last inch of her. With hands, body, tongue, lips, he told her how much he loved her, how much she inspired him, how he’d lay down his life for her, how everything he had was hers. And when he finally allowed his tongue to brush against the delicate tissues hiding behind that soft puff of hair, her desperate writhing—and the death grip she had on his head—-told him he didn’t have to wait another second.

He reared up and placed his cock at her entrance. So close, so close . . . then a moment of sanity surfaced and he flung himself off her as if he’d been electrocuted.

“What? What?” She sat up, wild-eyed. “What happened? Why’d you stop?”

“Condom,” he gasped. “Protect. You. Safe.” Yes, words had definitely deserted him; he was apparently doing his own version of “Me Tarzan, you Jane.”

“Well,
hurry
!”

He hurried. He scrambled to his bedside table, where he usually kept a few condoms, then realized he’d packed everything up. Wallet. Where’d he put his wallet?

Maribel moaned. He dropped to his knees, cock bobbing in front of him, and scrabbled through his pockets to find his wallet. There, between his Visa card and his video-store punch card, sat one lone condom.

Maribel was kneeling on the bed, watching him anxiously, when he arose, now fully sheathed. She looked so beautiful, her sunset hair a crazy tangle, her hazel eyes foggy with desire, that he wished he had an ounce of artistic talent so he could attempt to capture a tiny portion of her glory.

“I love you, Maribel,” he said with sudden soberness. “I’m not doing this casually, just so you know. This means everything to me.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I understand.” She reached for him and drew him against her soft body as if welcoming him home after a long, dangerous journey.

They moved against each other with none of the usual first-time awkwardness. When she slid her legs apart, still kneeling on the bed, he put both hands on her ass and pulled her hard against his hips. With a gasp from her and a groan from him, they joined in a burst of star-spangled joy. When he thrust into her body, the warmth rushed through him like hot brandy on a cold winter’s night.

Long, luscious moments passed as he immersed himself in the wonder of Maribel. He felt suspended in a world with no time, where all that existed was the feel of her body, the quick beat of her heart against his chest, her hot, panting breath in his ear, the scent of aroused woman, then the frantic, triumphant cries as she tilted over the edge into release. The butterfly tremors of her inner channel around his cock pulled him along with her and he surrendered, helplessly, to the shocking joy of exploding inside her body.

He muttered her name as he came, he who never said much during sex. Now he couldn’t stop babbling things like, “So good . . . Maribel . . . sweetheart . . . oh God . . .” and probably other goofy nonsense stuff. She didn’t seem to mind, holding him tight and laughing breathlessly as he poured himself, heart and soul, into her sweet body.

M
ARIBEL DRIFTED HAPPILY
on a magic carpet through a sunshine landscape of golden sunflowers and capering clouds. It seemed absurd that such bliss could exist without her having known about it. She’d had sex before—obviously. But she hadn’t had
this
before. This . . . insanely beautiful, heart-to-heart, soul-to-soul experience. It felt as if she and Kirk had somehow exchanged parts of themselves as they’d made love. Essential parts, parts that meant they now belonged to each other in some basic kind of way.

She sighed happily. She was a fool for love, that’s what she was. Six years of trying to be smart, to be careful and make good choices, gone in a burst of gloriously orgasmic impulsiveness. But to hell with it. This was right. She knew it with every singing cell of her satisfied body.

Next to her, Kirk lay equally stunned, or perhaps asleep. She blew on his ear. “Kirk.”

“Shh.” He lifted a hand abruptly. She drew back, confused. That wasn’t a very romantic afterglow kind of response. Then she saw he was listening closely to the low murmur of his police scanner.

“Sounds like there’s some sort of fire out on Highway 90.”

“Highway 90?” She sat up. “Where that warehouse is?”

“Yeah. A lot of other buildings too. Hang on.” He got up and walked to the scanner, which sat balanced on the windowsill in the absence of a bedside table. With absolutely no apparent concern for his naked, scarred state, he leaned over and turned up the volume. Maribel experienced a wave of sheer awe at his physical condition, at the body that had withstood an assault of cancer and chemicals. The hollows of his pelvic bones probably dipped deeper than they used to. He probably moved with less energy. She hated the fact that she hadn’t been there for his bout with chemo. As soon as she could, she was going to learn every detail of what he’d gone through.

The voice of the dispatcher intruded. The woman spoke fast, in a kind of code Maribel didn’t understand. She caught the words “structure fire” and “three alarm,” “incident report” and “uninhabited.”

“Uninhabited. That’s good, right?”

But Kirk didn’t answer, waiting tensely until the address came through again. “Three thousand Highway 90.” Then he wheeled on her. “It’s the warehouse. Pete isn’t out there, is he?”

“No, of course not. He’s in school. Besides, he knows he’s not supposed to go out there alone.”

“You sure he’s at school? I told him I was going to pick up Hagrid this afternoon and put him on a plane to Colorado.”

Maribel got a sick feeling in her stomach. She scrambled to her feet and looked around for her purse. Kirk located it and tossed it at her.
Cell phone.
It was off. When had she turned it off?
Doesn’t matter. Turn it on.
One unheard message. From Pete’s school.

Kirk was already pulling on his clothes. Maribel’s hands were shaking so hard she could barely play the message. Kirk plucked the phone out of her hands and clicked on the speaker.

“Ms. Boone, this is Janet from San Gabriel Elementary. Your son Pete hasn’t been seen here at school since this morning. Please give us a call as soon as you can and let us know if you took him home.”

“Come on,” said Kirk roughly. “Get dressed, we’re going out there.” He picked up his own phone and clicked a speed-dial key. “Captain Brody, it’s Thor. That warehouse fire out on 90, there might be a kid inside. Nine-year-old boy going after a dog. Ten-four. I’m on my way.”

He stuffed the cell phone in his pocket and helped Maribel finish dressing. “Do you want to stay here, honey? Captain Brody and the guys are on it, and they’re the best. I want to be there because Pete knows me. But if it’s too much for you—”

“I’m going,” she said tensely.

“Okay.” He didn’t argue, as she was afraid he would. They ran through the house to the driveway, where her car was parked behind his older-model brown truck, blocking him in. “We can take your car, it’ll be faster. Mind if I drive?”

She dug in her purse and threw him her keys. If she drove in this state of mind, every telephone pole between here and the warehouse would be in danger. She dashed for the passenger seat and fastened her seat belt.

Good thing too, because her little Volvo had never been driven like a race car in the Indy 500 before. In Kirk’s hands, her car suddenly acquired powerful acceleration, precision turns, speed limit–obliterating velocity. They screamed down the highway. She wouldn’t have been at all surprised to find a platoon of state troopers behind them by the time they’d reached the city limits. But luck was with them, and before long they spotted giant billows of black smoke belching above the horizon.

“Oh my God,” she started chanting, a thick dread clutching at her throat. Her boy, all that black smoke . . . But he couldn’t be there. It must be a mistake. She should call Janet back and make sure. She punched redial on her phone. When a woman answered, she babbled, “Pete Boone, I’m calling about Pete. Is he there?”

“Ms. Boone? We’ve been trying to reach you. We called your workplace number too. No, no one’s seen Pete since lunch. Are you saying he’s not with you?”

Maribel dropped the phone, all her focus now on the looming black cloud a half mile away . . . a quarter mile . . . down the next road . . . at the end of the—Oh good Lord!

A hellish sight waited at the end of the road. The warehouse was completely engulfed in a thick, toxic-looking mass of roiling smoke, lit by a red, eerie glow. Orange flames darted here and there, like flickering snakes’ tongues. Several fire engines were parked at different angles around the building, and helmeted, tank-bearing firemen were dragging hoses and setting up ladders.

“This could be a hazmat situation,” muttered Kirk, peering into the mess. “Who knows what chemicals are in there? See how they’re staying upwind to be safe? You’d better stay here.”

“But Pete—”

“I don’t see his bike. He usually drops it right by the front door. See?” He pointed to the front door, which, amazingly, was still intact. The fire was concentrated toward the back of the building. The front step was empty; no little blue Schwinn. Maribel went faint from relief. Maybe Pete had gone to the Lazy Daisy, or home to work on his book. He’d get a consequence—scolding, no computer games, something big—but at least he wasn’t caught in a toxic inferno.

“Do you have a scarf or something?” Kirk was asking.

“What? Why?”

“I don’t have any gear with me.”

“Gear? Kirk, you can’t go in there.” She clutched at him, absolutely appalled.

“I’m just going to check it out. I’m not going inside, don’t worry. How about that apron?”

She reached into the backseat and tossed it to him. He folded it, wrapped it around the lower half of his face, then tied the strings at the back. Above the rough cotton, his gray-green eyes stared at her intently. He looked like a pirate or a spy. Then he waggled his eyebrows, completely ruining the effect and making her burst into hysterical giggles.

“Be right back,” he said, muffled in cotton. “Keep the windows closed.” And he was gone, dashing toward the horrible gushing smoke. She watched him until he disappeared behind a fire engine. Even through the glass windows, she heard the hollow roar of the fire, like a blowtorch multiplied to a monstrous size, and the occasional yells of the firemen. The stench drifted in—through the vents, maybe? She put her hand over her mouth, gagging a bit.

She found her cell phone and called the house.
Pick up, Pete. Come on, sweetie.
But the only answer was her own voice on the outgoing message. Next, the Lazy Daisy.

“Haf not seen him, Maribel. And I’m on my own, cannot talk.”

“Sorry. Call me if he comes in, would you? I’m getting frantic.”

“I vill.”

She hung up and looked back at the fire, a fresh wave of panic sending flutters to her heart. Where was Pete? With a sudden chill of dread, she knew he’d come here. Maybe he’d left his bike somewhere else for once. Maybe it was even now being incinerated in a chemical bonfire . . .

She had to get to Pete. Get him out. She jumped out of the car. The sickening smell of the fire nearly knocked her off her feet. “Pete!” she yelled, running toward the warehouse. Her voice sounded weird, nearly inaudible over the vast roar of the fire. But she kept at it anyway, yelling “Pete, Pete,” until someone slammed into her and swooped her off the ground.

“What the hell are you doing?” Kirk yelled in a hoarse voice. “I told you to stay in the car!” He held her against his chest while she struggled against him.

“Pete . . . not at home . . . can’t find him,” Maribel panted. “Have to find him.”

“The guys are on it. They haven’t seen a bike. No sign of anyone. You’re just going to get killed if you go in there.”

“But Kirk . . .” Tears were flowing down her cheeks. “I know he’s here. I just know it. Please. You have to listen to me.”

He stilled, scrutinizing her face. Would he listen? Would someone, for once, hear her?

“Okay,” he said, putting her back on her feet but keeping a tight grip on her arm. “But you can’t run into a burning building. That’s what firefighters are for. We’ll circle around the edges. And you don’t make a move without me. Here.”

He pulled a red bandanna from his pocket and tied it around her mouth and nose. The soft cotton, with a pleasant tang of laundry detergent, was a balm after the nasty, harsh stench of the smoke. “I had this stashed in Engine 1. Now come on.”

But before they’d taken more than a few steps, he squeezed her arm so tightly she yelped.

“Shh!”

He waited, stock-still, until Maribel heard it too. The sharp bark of a dog. “I think that’s Hagrid. That’s the bark a rescue dog makes when they’ve found something. Let’s go.”

He ran toward the sound, which didn’t come from the building but from the birch woods behind it. She ran after him, keeping her hand over her mouth so the bandanna didn’t slide off. Even though they gave the burning warehouse a wide berth, it was absolutely terrifying, like a grotesque smoke monster bellowing and thrashing. In quick, fascinated glimpses, she saw yellow-suited firefighters brave the smoke, aiming streams of water into its depths. The flow of water looked puny compared to the crazed beast of fire, but the firemen seemed undaunted. They worked together seamlessly, at least to her eye. It occurred to her that Kirk would have been right there with them if he hadn’t quit the department.

Awe at his courage—at their courage—battled with sheer relief that he wasn’t risking his life at the moment.

At the edge of the woods, a small white blur raced toward them. Pete’s little dog.

“Hagrid! Z-boy!” Kirk rushed toward him. Man and dog met halfway, the dog nipping eagerly at his leg. Maribel caught a glimpse of his dark brown eyes, bright with urgency. Then the little guy wheeled around and raced back into the woods.