Read Breaking Protocol (Firehouse Fourteen Book 3) Online
Authors: Lisa B. Kamps
"You're driving me crazy. I don't think I can keep this up much longer."
Her hand dipped between them, her palm rubbing against his hard length as she gave him a wicked smile. "Hmm, I think you can keep it up for quite a long time."
He groaned, pressing himself against her hand, then forced himself to push her away. She looked up at him, the question clear in her eyes as he ran a hand through his hair and over his face.
"CC. I..." He paused, not knowing how to say what he needed to say, then decided to just come right out and say it. "I think I screwed up with your brothers."
"You seriously want to talk about them right now?"
"No. This isn't about them."
"Then what is it?"
"When we were talking. They, uh, they asked if I knew about your leg, wanted to know how much I knew."
"They did, did they? Why am I not surprised?"
"No, you don't understand. When they asked, I told them you had told me everything. The ambush, the soldier, the amputation." Her eyes widened in surprise, something unreadable sparking in their clear depths. She released a heavy sigh, and he couldn't help but feel he had let her down somehow. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize they—"
She reached up and placed her fingers over his mouth, silencing him. Her gaze was steady as she watched him. Then she shook her head and gave him a ghost of a smile. "You didn't know, so it's not like it's your fault."
"You're not upset?"
"No, not really. I mean, a little, but not with you. I should have known better, especially with those two."
"I'm sorry. If I had known—" She cut him off again, this time with a kiss.
"We have four minutes left. Do you really want to waste them talking about this?"
No. God, no. He pulled her closer, his mouth hungry. Four minutes. Not nearly enough time. But he'd savor each one, even knowing how little sleep he'd get tonight, tossing and turning in frustration.
Thinking of everything he'd do to her when they got back home.
**
Dave came awake, instantly alert. He didn't move, barely breathed as he listened, seeking out whatever it was that had wakened him.
Shuffling steps out in the hallway. One person? No, two. Then another. Coming closer to his door. Hushed whispers, so quiet he couldn't make out the words. Then a knock at his door, sharp, determined.
Dave sat up in bed, reaching for his pants as CC opened the door and stepped into the room. Her parents were standing behind her, concern etched on their faces.
But it was CC he was focused on. CC, with her long hair mussed by sleep, her face pale, her eyes wide. Light from the hall reflected on her face, on the unnatural brightness shining in her eyes.
His gut clenched and his heart raced, heavy in his chest as a surge of adrenaline, of foreboding, flooded his veins. He looked down at the cordless phone in her shaking hand, looked back up at her. And he knew, even before she spoke the words.
"Dave, it's Jay. Angie's been an accident."
Fear. Rage. Frustration. More fear.
The emotions tore through him, one after the other, nonstop. His stomach clenched, knotted, his mind spinning out of control, unable to focus.
Angie had been in an accident.
Dave kept repeating Jay's words to himself. She'll be okay. She'll be okay.
Bullshit. You didn't call someone at three in the morning for a fucking fender bender.
But Jay didn't go into much detail, Dave hadn't let him, just asked him which hospital as he threw his things into his bag and got dressed. Five minutes later, he was out the door, ready to tear off home, desperation filling him because it would take at least nine hours to get to the hospital if he broke every speed limit driving between here and home.
But he didn't drive.
Ed and Rob were waiting for them when they got outside, Ed's truck running, ready to go. CC had pushed him into the truck, not saying a word, and he hadn't been thinking clearly enough to argue. Thirty minutes later, they pulled into a small airport, Dave had no idea where and he didn't care, not when he saw the small jet waiting for them.
Less than two hours later, they landed at another small airport back home. They were now less than five minutes from the hospital, CC driving her car, lights and sirens splitting the pre-dawn darkness around them.
Dave didn't remember anything of the flight, nothing except CC's hand securely wrapped around his and her whispered words of reassurance. And Rob, seated across from them, looking nothing like the brother he had come to know.
He knew that his muddled mind would eventually put everything together and come up with questions, lots of questions. And he knew, without asking, without thinking, that they were breaking all kinds of rules.
And he didn't give a shit, not if it meant getting to Angie sooner.
CC tore into the parking lot of the ER, tires squealing. Dave had the door opened and was climbing out before she put the car in park. He knew they were right behind him, CC and Rob both, but he didn't stop, didn't wait as he pushed through the doors of the ER, cold desperation racing through him.
He went straight to the triage desk, barely acknowledging the nurse who greeted him with a small smile before telling him that Angie had been admitted and was already upstairs. Dave tore the paper with Angie's room number from the nurse's hand and kept going, cursing at the slowness of the elevator as it crawled to the fifth floor.
She'll be okay. She'll be okay.
He repeated the words to himself, then realized he was actually hearing them. CC was next to him, her hand resting on his arm, her face, drawn and pale, turned up to his. Dave clenched his jaw, swallowed, tried to nod.
Gave up and just pulled CC into his arms and held on, needing to feel her touch, to hear her reassuring words, to drink her willing strength.
The doors hissed open and he stepped out, kept going through the hallway, turning left then right, swearing at the absurdity of the maze that made it difficult to find the right wing, the right room. He pushed through another set of doors, to another hallway. And stopped.
A knot of people was gathered outside a room halfway down the hall, talking quietly or just standing around. His shift. Damn near his entire shift was here. His mind went blank, the scene completely throwing him as he tried to make sense of the familiar faces in such an unfamiliar place.
The mental vertigo lasted less than a second before things clicked and the world righted. His shift was here. Of course they'd be here. They were family. His. Jay's. Angie's.
He kept walking, his long legs tearing up the distance between them. He knew he talked to them, must have said something in response to whatever questions or comments were made. But his mind still wasn't completely registering things, not the way it should.
And then he was in Angie's room, his heart twisting, his gut knotting as he stopped at the foot of her bed. Her skin was pale, washed out against the stark white of the sheets and blanket covering her. Her left arm was wrapped in bandages, a sling holding it in place against her chest. A small trail of dried blood ran across the back of her hand, down to her fingers and nails.
Cuts and abrasions marred her face, a longer one on her left cheek stitched. Her lip was swollen and he could see that it had been split, that they had stitched it as well. Her eyes were closed, her head turned to the right. Dave watched as her chest rose and fell with each breath, short and slightly ragged instead of the deep breathing of healing sleep.
He swallowed and stepped closer to the bed, finally looking over at Jay. He was sitting to her right, bent over with his head resting against the bed, both hands clasped gently around Angie's.
Dave swallowed hard, anxiety still flowing through him. The fingers of icy dread that had squeezed his chest since getting the phone call eased, but just the slightest bit.
He must have made a noise, or maybe Jay could just sense him standing there, because the man lifted his head from the bed and turned toward him. His short blonde hair stood in disarray, the strands sticking up and out as if he had dragged his hands through them. Repeatedly. His gray eyes were bloodshot and lines of tension bracketed his mouth. His lips moved, as if he was trying to smile, but it turned into a grimace and he just shook his head, his worry and anxiety a reflection of Dave's own emotions.
"How is she?"
"They say she's going to be okay. Sprained wrist. Sprained knee. Concussion." Jay's voice was hoarse, ragged, as if he hadn't gotten much sleep. It finally registered in Dave's muddled mind that Jay was in uniform, his shirt wrinkled, unbuttoned and hanging open over his t-shirt. A set of turn-out pants sat in the corner, the suspenders tangled around the legs and boots, as if they had just been thrown there.
"What happened?"
"Hit and run. A truck nailed her broadside as she was heading home. They're still trying to figure out exactly what happened."
Dave nodded, swallowed again as he looked back at Angie, so still in the bed. So fragile. Fury tore through him at the thought of someone doing this to his sister. Doing it, then running away. But he clamped it down, pushed it away, knowing there was nothing he could do about it. For now.
"The son of a bitch hit her so hard, we had to cut her out." Jay's voice broke and he cleared his throat, looking away. Dave didn't miss his use of the word 'we', realized that Jay must have been on the call. But he didn't say anything, realized there was nothing he could say.
Angie shifted on the bed and moaned, a quiet, pitiful sound that tore through Dave. Her eyes fluttered open, blinking, then settled on Jay with a depth of feeling and emotion that even Dave could see from where he was standing. She blinked again then turned her head and looked at him, surprise in her eyes. She tried to smile, then winced as the movement pulled the stitches in her lip.
"What are you doing here?"
Dave stared at her, trying to comprehend the words, wondering if he had heard her correctly. "You really have to ask me that?"
She tried to smile again then turned to Jay. "You look awful. Why don't you go get some coffee?"
Jay looked surprised at her words and looked like he was going to refuse. But she squeezed his hand, something unspoken passing between them, and he reluctantly stood up. He leaned over the bed and pressed a kiss to her forehead, something so tender in the action that Dave actually looked away.
Jay stopped next to him, his eyes so full of anxiety, concern, and love for his sister that Dave actually reached out and squeezed his shoulder.
Just one more apology he needed to make. But not now.
He stepped around the side of the bed and lowered himself into the chair Jay had just vacated then looked at his sister. Really looked. "How are you feeling?"
She shrugged, and Dave didn't miss the wince that accompanied it. "Like I've been hit by a truck."
"That's not even funny." He could see her trying to smile and felt the icy fingers loosen their grip from his heart a bit more.
"Stiff. Sore. My whole left side hurts."
"I bet it does." He hesitated, then reached out and closed his hand around hers, gently squeezing her fingers.
"Promise me you won't give Jay a hard time."
"Why would I do that?"
"Because I know you're still upset."
Dave tried to find something funny to say in response, something sarcastic that would alleviate her worry. But he couldn't. "I'm not upset. Not anymore. And you have more important things to worry about anyway."
She watched him, her dark eyes studying, searching. He didn't know what she saw in his eyes, but it must have reassured her because she nodded then closed her eyes. She took a small breath then let it out, the sound tired, weary.
"He was pretty freaked out when he realized it was me."
"You remember what happened?"
She shook her head, frowning. "No. Not all of it. I remember headlights, but nothing after that. Not until I opened my eyes and saw Jay staring at me. I couldn't figure out why he was standing next to my car."
"Yeah, well." Dave cleared his throat and looked down at their joined hands, his sister's small and pale compared to his. He tried to imagine Jay's reaction at the wreck, how he must have felt when he saw it was Angie. The image was too clear, the emotion too real, because he knew what his own reaction would have been. "I'm glad he was there for you."
Angie didn't say anything, just squeezed his hand. Dave thought she must be drifting back off to sleep, knew that was the best thing for her, even though she'd be awakened by the nurses and checked on, repeatedly. But she stirred again and opened her eyes, a frown on her face.
"How did you get here so fast? I thought you were still in South Carolina."
"I was."
"Then how—"
"I'm still trying to figure that one out myself." Angie just watched him, her eyes boring into his long enough that he finally sighed and gave in. "Let's just say CC and her family must have some pretty nice connections."
"CC's here too?"
"And her brother. Out in the hall with everyone from work."
"Really? Why?"
"Why? Because everyone cares about you, kiddo. Don't be stupid."
"I'm not stupid. Just a little fuzzy." She took another breath, her eyes fluttering shut. "And stop calling me kiddo."
Dave smiled at the annoyance so clear in her tired voice, then cleared his throat against the thick emotion clogging it. "You're always going to be kiddo to me. You know that."
"Hm." Her chest rose and fell, the rhythm slow, steady, reassuring. Dave knew she was surrendering to sleep, surrendering to the slow healing process. He squeezed her hand once more, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Love you, kiddo."
A long minute went by, then Angie's fingers tightened around his, ever so slightly. "Love you back."
He smiled again at her slurred words, watched as she finally slipped into sleep. Her hand relaxed in his but he didn't let go, just sat by her side until Jay finally returned, looking only marginally better than he had when he left.
"How is she?"
"Sleeping. Which is what you need to do." Dave finally released Angie's hand and stood, offering the chair to Jay. But the man just stood there, his worried gaze fixed on the bed. Dave searched his mind, looking for something to say. Then a nurse entered the room, businesslike and efficient, and forced them out into the hallway, telling them Angie needed her rest. Her eyes finally softened, and then she reassured them they could come back in a few minutes—as long as they promised not to disturb her.
Dave glanced around the group of people in the hall, his eyes finally settling on CC standing off to the side, next to her brother. She came up to him, her arms sliding around his waist, holding him close. He closed his eyes and just held her, feeling her strength leach into him.
"How is she?"
"Okay. I think she's going to be okay."
She nodded against his chest, her arms tightening around him briefly before she stepped away. Worry creased her face, worry and something else he couldn't read as she glanced over her shoulder toward her brother.
"Dave, there's something you need to see."
The icy fear gripped him again, unexplained, unexpected. He looked down at CC then over to Rob. The man leaned against the wall, his face a blank mask, his eyes cold as he looked down at something in his hands.
A phone.
Dave's phone.
"No." Dave shook his head, denial and fear flooding him. CC bit her bottom lip, her wariness clear as she grabbed his hand. He shook his head again, pulling against CC, refusing to move. "No."
But CC gently tugged, forcing him to move, making him follow her until they stopped in front of Rob. The man held the phone out to him. Dave shook his head, willed his hand to stay at his side. But he had no control over it, watched in horror as he reached out to take the phone from Rob. Fear, dread, denial warred inside him. And fury, ice cold, blazing, almost debilitating.
"I don't think this was an accident." Rob's voice was low, the words clear, crisp, biting.