Putting Out Old Flames (25 page)

“Playing board games.” Tilting her head, Sharon gave her the stink eye.

“It was still fun.” Most of the time. Depending on the game. And when Leon didn't get too serious about it. Which he usually did.

“No kissing. For
eight months
.” Sharon crossed her arms as if the argument was won. And it was. Jane didn't have a counter to that annoying fact. Christ, had she been subconsciously sabotaging her love life? Was she one of those people who kept throwing up roadblocks in front of their own happiness? She hated those people.

Groaning, Jane fell back into her chair. Crap. She was one of those people. “Maybe I like being single and that's why I don't really want a relationship.” She tried to salvage a victory. “There's nothing wrong with not getting married.”

“Nothing at all,” Sharon agreed. “Except you're not that person who doesn't want to get married. Don't pretend that you are.”

“I hate you,” Jane said, no heat in her voice.

Sharon grinned, her white teeth a beautiful contrast with her dark skin. “You love me. And if you love Chance, you need to give him, well, uh, a chance to explain.” She wrinkled her nose. “His name's kinda annoying, though.”

The phone rang and Sharon darted back into her cube to answer. Jane spun in her chair until the headset cord twisted around her body, then turned back the other way. What Sharon said was reasonable. She should have let Chance explain. So why hadn't she? Because she didn't want to hear his excuses, or because she was scared of reaching for the brass ring?

And there was no doubt in her mind that for her, Chance was the brass ring. If he hadn't tried to trick her into a marriage. And that was a very big if.

The phone rang, and Jane settled the headset on her hair. “This is 9-1-1. What's your emergency?”

“Jane? Is that you?” a small voice asked.

“Josh?” Bolting up straight, she scanned her computer screen, impatient for the data to pop up. “Are you okay? Is it your aunt?”

“Nooo.” There was a scraping sound, then the rustle of fabric against fabric.

“Then what's wrong, buddy?” A phone number appeared on her screen, but no address information. He was calling from a cell. It would take longer to fix his location.

“Me and Mommy are out. Some men are yelling at her.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I think they're bad men.”

“Where are you, sweetie? Are you at a restaurant?” Drumming her fingers on the desk, Jane tried to make the address appear through force of will. Why was it taking so long?

“I'm in the car. Mommy and the men are outside.”

“Look around you. Do you see anything you recognize?” Jane asked.

“Nuh-uh. We left Pineville.”

Jane's pulse raced. Where the hell was Annette taking Josh? Was she driving away with him?

“He's grabbing her arm,” Josh yelled, outrage in his high voice. “I'm going out.”

“No!” She took a deep breath, ignoring Sharon, who'd popped her head over the wall in question. In a more controlled tone, she said, “Stay where you are, buddy. Stay out of sight.” The address finally, finally, appeared on the screen. “Help is coming your way.”

“I want my dad.” The fear in Josh's voice broke her heart.

“And you're going to see him real soon.” Jane pounded on her keyboard, alerting the police, and scribbled a note to Sharon. “I'm going to put you on the phone with my friend Sharon, and she's going to stay on the line until help arrives. I want you to stay on the phone with her. Can you do that for me?”

Sharon hustled around the cubicle and sat in Jane's seat when she got up. She motioned for the headset. Jane waited for Josh to agree before tossing the headset at her friend. Grabbing her keys, she ran from the courthouse.

Josh needed help, and sitting in dispatch just didn't cut it.

C
hance pounded his fists into the heavy bag hanging in the corner of the fire station's garage. The tape on his right hand had been scraped away, and he was leaving little red marks on the bag every time he hit it. The guys would love that. Hitting around his bloodstains.

Wrapping his left arm around the bag, he threw uppercuts into its midsection, like he was eviscerating some poor dude's gut. A hand clapped onto the back of his neck, pulling him away.

Chance whirled, a curse at the tip of his tongue. The chief stood before him, the look on his face telling Chance he wouldn't put up with any crap. Chance sucked a deep breath down into his stomach, tried to calm the roiling mess of vipers that had taken up residence there.

“Busting your hand isn't going to help with your situation,” Finnegan said. “It's only going to put you out of commission. And since we save lives around here, that's going to piss me off.” He shoved a bottle of water at Chance. “Want to talk about it?”

Shaking his head, Chance opened the bottle, swallowed deeply.

“Too damn bad. Follow me.” The chief spun on his heel and stalked out of the garage into the driveway. Chance followed, feeling as sulky as Josh when told to go to bed.

Finnegan faced him. “I think we're far enough away from eavesdroppers.”

Peering back into the dim garage, Chance didn't see anyone, but knew the chief was right. The guys were in the living room, and as soon as the chief left to talk to Chance, they would have been pressed against the door, eager to hear any dirt. Especially Martinez.

“Now”—Finnegan crossed his arms—“I understand you have a problem with your lady.”

Chance kept his face impassive. “No problems. And no lady.”

The chief snorted. “From the beggar to the king, we've all got problems. Now stop bullshitting me and tell me if there's anything I can do to help.”

“No.” Chance ran a hand through his sweaty hair. “There's nothing. Jane misheard something and won't let me explain her mistake. She ended it. Stubborn, bullheaded woman,” he bit out.

“That's a quality that any woman who sticks with you is going to need,” Finnegan said. When Chance glared at the chief, he shrugged, unapologetic. “Jane's what, five two?”

Chance wrinkled his forehead. “Five six. Why?”

“Still small,” Finnegan said. “Hold her down. Make her listen.”

A laugh escaped Chance. He tried to picture that scenario. It didn't end well for some of his most sensitive, and prized, parts. And he'd never thought of Jane as small. With her quiet strength, her innate kindness, she'd always seemed larger than life. And by her side, Chance had always felt like he could take on the world.

Until this morning. When she'd cut him into little bits and casually tossed him aside.

He needed to pound the bag some more. “Are we done here?”

“Not by a long shot, boyo.” The Irish was coming up. Finnegan narrowed his eyes. “You'll bloody listen to what I say and then go fix it.”

Chance gripped his hips. “I can't just fix it. Jane needs—”

“The girl needs to hear you love her. Edith says she's been in love with you for a decade.” Placing a hand on Chance's shoulder, the chief squeezed. “You went out, got married, had a whole other life without her. It sounds like she's always been waiting for you. Of course she's going to be insecure, be looking for reasons why you don't care for her. She needs to hear how you feel.”

“She hasn't been in love with me all this time,” Chance said, his voice hoarse. He cleared his throat. “She couldn't have been.” Could she? Those moments, when his marriage was going to hell and his thoughts had drifted back to the woman who'd always made him happy, his Janey-girl, had she been thinking of him, too? Had they always been connected?

“Edith says she hasn't had one serious relationship since you left.” Finnegan blew out a breath. “She's going to kick my arse for telling you all this.” His eyes lit up. “But I have ways to make her forgive me.”

Yeah, Chance didn't need to know that. Edith had always acted like a second mom to him. He hoped the chief made her happy, but didn't want to think about how he was making her happy.

Finnegan clapped him on the back. “If your girl is anything like her mother, she's worth fighting for. Even if she is a pain in the butt every once in a while.”

Chance's shoulders unbunched. Yeah, she was worth it. He didn't care about his plan for the future staying on schedule. He'd marry Jane tomorrow or in ten years, whenever she'd let him, but he knew she was a part of his future. She had to be. He and Josh wouldn't be happy without her.

So, like the chief said, he'd make her listen. Although the idea of sitting on her so she couldn't ignore him was appealing, he knew he wouldn't have to. He'd wear her down eventually. Get her to listen. It had only been two days since the fundraiser. She still hadn't had time to cool off properly.

Once she did, she'd give him a chance to explain.

If she didn't, then he'd sit on her. Or tie her to his bed. Heat flooded his body, and Chance smiled. He could get behind that idea.

“I don't even want to know what you're thinking,” Finnegan said. He took a step back, crossed his arms. “She is the daughter of the woman I love, so behave, or I'll be forced to kick your arse.” Raising his eyebrow, he shrugged. “But do what you need to, to get her back.”

Chance intended to. He was on shift for another two days, but that didn't mean he couldn't start now. Flowers, balloons, that chocolate she liked. He'd avoid greeting cards. That was only sensible. But everything else was fair game. For the next two days, he'd launch a campaign that would not only show Janey-girl that he was sincere but that he wasn't giving up.

It wasn't the same as bringing her flowers in person, but it would have to be enough for now. But damn, he wanted to see her. Two days without seeing her smile, touching her soft skin. It was going to be hell. The one photo he had of her in his phone was going to get a lot of views.

That was the first thing he'd do when he got her back, take more pictures. Well, maybe the second or third thing. Definitely top ten.

Her smile came unbidden to his mind. The one she gave him right before . . . He ran a hand through his hair. Two more damn days. He'd never make it. He needed to see her, live, in person, right—

Her small blue car bounced over the curb, screeched to a stop at his feet. He and the chief jumped back, then Chance rushed forward as she lowered her window.

“Get in the car,” she said, her face tight.

“What's wrong?” He scanned what he could see of her, didn't see any wounds. But she looked like she was in pain. “Are you—”

“It's Josh. He called me. He needs you.” Her knuckles were white around the steering wheel. “Now get in the damn car.”

Chance's feet were moving before his brain could catch up. Jane had been heading to work when he'd last seen her. So if Josh was calling her, he'd called her at work, dialed 9-1-1. He threw himself into the passenger seat. “Is it Katie? Did she pass out again?”

The chief jogged back into the station as they pulled away. They hadn't gotten a call yet, but Chance knew Finnegan would be making calls of his own to find out what was going on.

“It's not Katie.” Picking her cell phone out of her cup holder, Jane pressed it between her ear and her shoulder. “Anything new?” she asked the person on the other end of the line. “Well, what do they say their ETA is?” Her jaw clenched, and Chance's pulse skyrocketed.

“Who are you talking to? What's going on?” he demanded.

Jane ignored him. “I know. Sharon, I know,” she said, her voice getting heated. She pulled onto the highway onramp, cutting off a truck. “Look, I'm driving like crap. I'm going to put you down again. Hold on.”

Dropping the phone back in the cup holder, Jane kept her eyes on the road, swerved around a slow-moving RV. “Josh called 9-1-1 about ten minutes ago. He said he was with his mom, and that some men were yelling at her.” She darted a look at him. “One of them grabbed her. Josh is in the car.”

“Where?” His voice came out harsher than he'd intended. It wasn't Jane's fault. God help him, he'd forgotten Josh was spending the afternoon with Annette. He'd been too wrapped up in thoughts of Jane. If one hair on his son's head was injured because of Annette, he'd strangle her this time.

“They're over in Clarion Township. At a gas station. Police are on their way.”

He picked up the phone. “Sharon, this is Chance. Tell me what's going on.”

“Hold on,” she said. Chance heard her talking soothingly to someone else. He heard his son's name. She was talking to Josh. The pressure in his head popped, and he became dizzy. Josh was okay. As of now.

Sharon came back on his line. “Chance, Josh is still in the car. He's fine. But he's very upset. I'm going to patch you through so you can talk to him.” Two clicks, and then he heard his son crying.
Crying
. His chest felt like it was caught in a vise.

“Hey, buddy. It's Dad. Everything's going to be fine.” A road sign came up, whipped past. Clarion Township. Two miles. Jane needed to drive faster. “Can you talk to me?”

“Daddy?”

Christ. When was the last time Josh had called him daddy? His five-year-old had given up what he called “baby talk” at least a year ago.

“He . . .” A soft sob met Chance's ear, tore through his heart. “One of the bad men hit Mommy.”

“Are the doors locked in the car?” Chance asked. It was only a small layer of protection. If Annette was outside, her keys probably were, too.

“Daddy, where are you?”

“I'm almost there.” He looked at Jane, who nodded grimly. “We're almost there. Just stay in the car until I get you.” Then the most beautiful sound came through the phone. The wail of a siren.

“P'weece are here,” Josh yelled. “The men are running.”

“And where's your mom?” Chance asked. “Do you still see her?”

“Yeah. She's sitting down.”

Because she was injured, or upset? At that point, Chance didn't care. She'd frightened their son for the last time.

“An ociffer is knocking on the window,” Josh said. A hint of excitement battled with the fear in his voice. Thank God kids were resilient. “I gotta go.”

Chance stared at the phone. “He hung up on me.”

Clutching his arm with one hand, Jane almost lost control of the car. “Oh my God. Did the men—”

“He's fine.” Chance grabbed the steering wheel with his right hand, rubbed small circles into her shoulder with the other. “The police are there. Everything's going to be fine.”

“Good.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “That's good.”

“Hey. Josh is safe. We're fine.” Chance was tempted to tell her to pull over just so he could hold her. But there was too much unsaid between them. Jane was worried about his son. But she'd tensed under his touch.

“I know.” She sniffed. “So why am I crying?”

Chance leaned back in his seat. “It's the adrenalin. You were pumped up for action, and now that it's over, your body doesn't know what to do with it.”

“If anything had happened to him . . .”

“I know.” Chance didn't want to think about it.

“I don't like your wife.” Jane ran the back of her hand under her eyes.

“Ex-wife.” He caught Jane's gaze. “It's official. I got the papers yesterday.”

“Congratulations.” She turned back to face out the windshield. “With this latest incident, I don't think you need to worry about custody. Any judge would grant custody to a single dad over that miserable excuse of an ex-wife.”

“What if I don't
want
to stay single?”

“What?” Jane frowned.

“You're right. I don't need a wife to secure my son.” Tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, Chance let his fingers trail down her neck. “So when I come for you, you'll know I'm doing it because I want to. Because I want you. You should have known that already.”

Maybe berating her wasn't the smartest move to win her back, but dammit, he was pissed, too. Between his hurt and the influx of fear for his son, Chance wasn't in the mood to hold anything back. He couldn't. His control was on the edge of snapping.

She scraped her teeth over her bottom lip, darted a glance at him. “Why did Katie say that if it wasn't true?”

“Katie's got a big mouth and says whatever pops into her head.” Speaking of, he should call his sister, tell her what had happened. Once he had Josh in his arms, he would. “She'd joked about that weeks ago. Thought she was being smart. It wasn't a plan I'd agreed to.”

Jane turned onto a main street, and flashing red and blue lights came into sight. Josh sat on the hood of a patrol car, swinging his legs, chatting with a uniformed officer. Chance's whole body sagged. His son was okay. He didn't look around for Annette. Before Jane had put the car in park, Chance was out the door.

“Dad!” Josh yelled, just before Chance swept him into his arms. The cop gave them some space, and Chance leaned back against the hood and just enjoyed the feel of his son's small body, whole and safe, next to his.

Josh, however, wasn't as eager for a quiet bonding moment. “Did you see there are six p'weece here? Six.” It was said as though that were a mystical number. “One gave me a badge”—he pointed to a sticker on his shirt—“but he wouldn't show me his gun. But cops get to carry guns and you don't.” Josh wrinkled his nose. “I'm going to be a p'weece man when I grow up.”