Breaking Protocol (Firehouse Fourteen Book 3) (19 page)

Dave stood under the spray of water, letting it pound against his skull, against his back. The heat felt good, seeping into his sore muscles, the steam seeping into his skin. But it wouldn't be enough to completely erase the stress and tension that had been knotting his body for the last week.

Hell, for the last month. No, the last nine months. The only thing that would be able to accomplish that was ending the nightmare that his life had become.

Except for whatever was going on with him and CC. He had no idea what the hell to do about that. How could he, when he wasn't even sure what the hell was going on?

An image of her smiling face, of her long hair tangled around his arms as he held her, came to mind. His body reacted swiftly, with no warning, immediately stiffening at the image. Dammit to hell. He ground his teeth and ignored his sudden raging hard-on, doing his best to push all images, all thoughts, of CC from his mind. He grabbed the all-in-one shower gel and squeezed some onto his head, then lathered quickly, washing and rinsing off.

He was going to Duffy's tonight. Alone. Meeting his shift, having a few drinks, listening to the band. Having fun.

Even if it killed him.

He stood under the spray, letting the water run over him until it turned cold. Then he stood under it a little longer, until the cold water became almost painful.

At least that was one problem taken care of.

He turned the water off then pulled back the shower curtain and reached for a towel. His cell phone beeped, the accompanying vibration sending it gliding across the counter, closer to the edge. He cursed and reached for it, damn near slipping and falling as he did.

He looked down at the screen and frowned when he saw a text message from CC, then almost didn't open it. Almost. He threw the damp towel over the hook then tapped the screen.

Want to meet later?

He frowned again, wondering why she was sending a text message instead of calling. Then he realized she was working, must be up in the air somewhere. Either that, or she didn't feel up to having another strained and awkward conversation. He didn't think he could blame her for that one, because neither did he.

Have plans already.

He sent the message then tossed the phone on the counter, already feeling like an ass. The message was short and curt, even for him. He looked at the phone, wondering if he should send another one, then shook his head and pulled on his jeans. So what if it was curt? Their recent phone conversations had been pretty much the same way, despite CC's attempt at laughing.

At every damn thing.

He wasn't much in a laughing mood.

The phone beeped again, vibrating against the counter. He wanted to ignore it, almost did. But he couldn't quite stop himself from reaching for it, no matter how much he told himself not to.

Need to talk.

His gut twisted and he swallowed, trying to push away the apprehension, the dread, at those three words. Words nobody in any kind of relationship ever wanted to hear.

His thumb tapped out his reply, hit send.
About?

Another minute went by, tense, drawn-out, before the phone beeped once more.

In person. Please?

He frowned at the 'please', then felt his gut twist even more. Yeah, whatever she wanted to talk about couldn't be good, not if she was saying please.

Yeah, sure. Where?

There. Let her try to read into that one.

Where we met first time.

What the hell? So now she wanted him to play guessing games? What the hell was that supposed to mean?

Well, asshole, it could only mean one of two places, he thought. And it was a good bet she didn't mean an off-road trail in the middle of nowhere. He glanced at his watch, frowning, irritated at CC, irritated at himself. It was almost five thirty now. Even if he left right this minute, he'd still be sitting in traffic, despite it being a weekend.

Yeah, sure. An hour?

7:00

He shook his head, still not believing this is what they had been reduced to. And why? That was the million-dollar question. Apparently he'd be getting the answer tonight.

Sure. See you then.

He was ready to toss the phone back on the counter when it beeped one last time.

Thx Big Guy.

And Christ, why did part of him want to smile at the nickname? Why did part of him want to believe that whatever she wanted to talk about, it didn't involve calling it quits? Whatever they had going on, whatever they wanted to call it. Maybe she just wanted to talk, try to work things out, get rid of this damned awkwardness that had suddenly popped up between them.

Yeah. Or maybe she just wanted to call it quits, and wanted to tell him to his face instead of over the phone. Well, if that was the case, he had to at least give her credit for that much.

But if that was the case, would she have called him Big Guy?

Who the hell knew? And it didn't do a damn bit of good to speculate, not when he'd find out soon enough.

**

CC shrugged out of the flight suit and tossed it on the bed, then immediately grabbed a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. She was tired, a headache was starting at the base of her skull, and all she wanted to do was sit out on the porch with a glass of wine.

She refused to allow the mental image of Dave sitting next to her form in her mind. Not just now, not until they talked. Because yeah, she had decided she needed to talk to him, tell him how she felt.

Apologize for being a crazy ass the last few days.

But first she had to run out to the phone store and get a new phone, because she still couldn't find hers. It wasn't on the table where she tossed it last night, wasn't in her car or on the kitchen counter or even in the pocket of her sweatpants. She just hoped to hell the store didn't close early on the weekend.

The phone in the kitchen rang, the shrill noise startling her because she wasn't used to the sound. Probably because she never used it. Never. Didn't even know why she was still paying for it.

She muttered under her breath and walked out to the kitchen, answering it on the fourth annoying ring. "Yeah?"

"Why aren't you answering your phone?"

CC pulled the phone away from her face and stared down at, frowning. She moved it back to her ear and sighed, letting Bubby know she wasn't amused. "Uh, I am answering it. That's why I am now talking to you."

"Your cell phone, CC."

"Oh. Probably because I lost it again."

There was a long pause. Too long. She pulled the phone away again and stared at it, wondering if her brother was having a meltdown because he hadn't been able to reach her.

"What do you mean, you lost it?"

"Just what I said. I can't find it. I'm heading out now to get a new one. I'll call you back—"

"When did you have it last?"

"Bubby, not now. I'm not in a good mood and I don't need a lecture on losing things."

"CC, shut up and answer. When did you have it last?"

She rolled her eyes and walked over to the refrigerator, searching for something quick to snack on. If Bubby was going to lecture her, she wanted something in her stomach first. "Last night. I think. Maybe today but I don't remember grabbing it this morning. I probably lost it on a call this afternoon or something."

Her hand closed around a container of yogurt, stopped, then moved to the bag of chocolates instead.

"Fuck."

"Bubby, it's not like I haven't lost my phone before. It's not that big a deal."

"You sent Dave some text messages over an hour ago."

"No, I didn't." She was just about to pop a chocolate in her mouth then stopped, her eyes narrowing. "Oh my God, you cloned his phone! That's why you took it when we were at the hospital. Bubby, I can't believe you did that—"

"CC, did you not hear what I said? You sent Dave some text messages over an hour ago, asking him to meet you."

"And I said no, I didn't." His words finally sunk in, and the breath left her in a rush. Her hand tightened around the phone and she reached for the counter, grabbing it so she didn't fall. "Oh my God, he has my phone. The son of a bitch has my phone. Bubby, you need to call him, you need to tell Dave—"

"His phone is shut off. We completely lost him. We lost your phone as well."

"What? Oh God, Bubby—"

"CC, not now." His voice was cool, the words sharp and precise, irrationally calming her. "I need to know where you two first met."

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath. "Uh, on a call. Up north past Hereford, an ATV accident."

"Shit. That can't be right. CC, think. The message said 'where we met first time'. Where would that be?"

"His house. No. Ice cream. We met for ice cream." She took another deep breath, let it out. "The Thunderbird, on Old Eastern Avenue."

She pushed away from the counter, surprised her legs didn't give out under her, and hurried back to her room. She dragged her motorcycle boots from the closet and pushed her feet into them. Her hand was shaking so bad, she had trouble getting them zipped.

"We're on our way. CC, listen to me. Do not do anything stupid, do you hear me? You cannot go blazing in there. Do you understand me?"

"What time?" She yanked at the nightstand drawer, pulled it open and reached for her gun.

"Seven o'clock."

CC looked down at her watch, felt icy fear grip her. Fifteen minutes. It normally took her twenty-five to make the ride. She hurried back through the house, grabbing the keys to her motorcycle and her leather jacket. "Just get there, Bubby. You hear me? You don't let anything happen to him. I'm on my way."

"Dammit, CC, did you hear me? Do not go blazing in there."

"I'm leaving, Bubby." She was ready to throw the phone down, ready to just tear through the door and do exactly what her brother warned her not to do. But he called her name again, his voice firm, commanding.

"CC. He called him 'Big Guy'. Whoever he is, his last message said 'Thanks Big Guy'."

CC swallowed the cry of desperation bubbling in her throat, understanding the implication immediately. Only she called Dave that, and it was the one thing guaranteed to get his guard down.

She dropped the phone and ran out the door.

Dave backed into the parking spot and cut the lights, looking around. The lot wasn't nearly as crowded as the first time he'd been here and he figured the handful of cars must belong to die hard ice cream fans.

There was no sign of CC's car, and he doubted if she'd be on the motorcycle. Then again, maybe not. The woman didn't seem to have a problem with cold, and it really wasn't that bad out.

He glanced down at his watch then climbed out of the car, muttering under his breath when his knee banged against the steering wheel. It was just a couple minutes till seven. He'd have a seat at one of the tables and wait, in case she was running late. He'd give her fifteen minutes, then leave.

Who was he kidding? He'd probably hang around for an hour, if for no other reason than wanting to get to the bottom of whatever was going on. And it wasn't like he could call her, not with his phone battery dead. And, of course, his car charger was right where he left it: in his truck. In South Carolina.

He just wanted his life to return to normal. Was that too much to ask? There was room there for CC—if she wanted. And yes, he hoped she wanted. Hoped he could figure out what they were doing tonight.

Gravel crunched under his feet as he walked through the parking lot, the lights throwing harsh circles here and there. Music drifted from the speakers at the front of the building, the annoying sound of the hip-hop-techno-pop mix grating on his nerves. The music was perfect for the few young people gathered around, though.

When the hell had he started feeling so old?

He glanced around, his eyes brushing over the small crowd. One teenage couple, paying more attention to each other than their ice cream. Another teenage couple, the tension so heavy between them, it was obvious they were minutes away from some kind of argument. A young family, the mom busy wiping melted chocolate from a squirming toddler's mouth as the dad cleaned up their trash. Another teen, sitting at a table by himself, using a knife to slice an apple then dip into it a cup of caramel sauce. Dave shook his head, figuring the kid was going to end up slicing himself, the way his hands were shaking so bad.

He looked closer as he walked by, saw the kid glance up at him with a frown. Not a kid. Technically. No, he was probably closer to nineteen, maybe twenty. And riding high on something, from the looks of him.

Dave kept walking, his eyes on the empty table furthest away from everyone. He didn't know how long it would take CC to get here, didn't know if the place would get more crowded or not. But he wanted privacy for when she did show up. For when they talked about whatever she wanted to talk about.

The metal chair squeaked as he lowered himself into it, squeaked again as he shifted, trying to get comfortable. He glanced down at his watch again.

7:02

A toddler's cry pulled his attention and he looked up, saw the family gathering their things to leave, much to the dismay of the kid. He arched his back and let out a wail, the screech drowning out the music.

Dave winced and figured he'd rather have the music.

The kid's scream must have been a signal of some kind because the two teenagers he had noticed earlier started arguing, their words loud but not loud enough he could make them out. Apple Guy stopped peeling long enough to look after the departing family, a frown on his face.

Dave looked over at the other couple and figured nothing would get their attention, not the way they were still staring at each other.

The kid's screams faded and Dave figured the parents had finally put him in the car and shut the door. He didn't envy them their ride home.

A shadow entered his line of vision from the right and he looked over to see someone walking toward him. Another kid, late teens, maybe early twenties, dressed in baggy jeans and a long sleeve shirt. He wore an apron smeared with melted ice cream and sauce, a frown on his face as he approached Dave's table.

"Tables are for patrons only. You need to order something."

"I'm waiting for someone."

"You need to order something."

Dave bit his tongue, telling himself to just go order something, when he heard the low roar of a motorcycle flying toward them. He looked past the impatient kid, ignoring him as CC slid into the parking lot, the bike so low into the turn he worried she would lay it down, right there in front of him. His jaw clenched as a knot tightened in his gut and he had to force himself not to fly out of the chair and run over to her, yelling at her for doing something so foolish.

Apple Kid and Ice Cream Kid both turned to look at her, too, which was enough to assure him he wasn't overreacting. Then Ice Cream Kid turned back, still frowning.

"You need to order something."

"Yeah, I got it. No problem. She's here now, we'll be over in a minute." The kid frowned at him one more time then walked away, his gait slow, unhurried. Dave shook his head then stood up, planning on meeting CC half-way so they could order their damned ice cream and get this over with.

Right after he gave her a piece of his mind for that stunt she just pulled.

He watched as she pulled off her helmet and tossed it to the side, not bothering to stop when it rolled off the seat and landed in the gravel lot. Her expression was fierce, determined. Almost panicked. She hurried across the lot, her steps deliberate, quick.

What the hell? Why was she so pissed off?

Apple Kid stood up, knocking over the cup of caramel sauce with his elbow. Dave glanced at him, wondering what the hell was going on, then looked back at CC. Her hand reached inside her jacket as she moved closer, almost parallel to Ice Cream Kid, who was watching her with the same intensity as Apple Kid.

What the hell was going on?

Fear and certainty gripped him as realization suddenly blindsided him. "CC, no!"

He moved toward her, his hand outstretched, his eyes focused on Apple Kid. On the steady hand that was reaching behind his back.

"I know what you did."

The words shot through the night, clear, loud, drowning out the music. But something was wrong. Dave heard the words, but Apple Kid's mouth hadn't moved. He turned and felt the world drop from under his feet.

Ice Cream Kid held CC in front of him, one arm locked around her throat, tilting her head back. Light glinted off the blade pressed against the soft flesh of her neck, dangerously close to her carotid artery.

"Son of a bitch. Fuck." CC's soft words reached him over the screams of surprise, over the loud music and rush of footsteps. The two other couples were scrambling, running toward the parking lot. A van pulled in, tires kicking up gravel as it slammed to a stop, the passenger door flying open as Rob jumped out.

Dave looked over, saw Apple Kid crouched low in a typical shooter's stance, a pistol aimed at Ice Cream Kid.

At CC.

Everything happened in a split-second, the time it took for paralysis to seize him, the time it took for him to shake it off.

His eyes locked on CC's clear hazel gaze, filled with determination, regret, anger. But not fear. Love? He couldn't tell, couldn't think about that now, could only focus on the blade against her throat, steady, unwavering. He looked up then focused on the man—the kid—holding her.

Dave took a step closer, his hands held out to his side. Noise came from inside, a crashing sound that made Ice Cream Kid flinch. Dave swallowed when he saw the pinprick of blood well at the point of the knife.

The music stopped, cut off mid-wail, plunging them into silence.

"Let her go."

"No." The kid shook his head, the Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed. "No. You need to know what it's like. You need to know how it feels to suffer because of what you did."

"What did I do?"

"You killed my brother."