Forged in Fire (25 page)

“You go on one date. At the most, two. But before things have a chance to develop, you back off. You claim you want a friendship that turns into love, but you break the relationship off before anything has a chance to deepen.”

Beth sat frozen. The protest locked inside her aching throat. That wasn’t true. That couldn’t possibly be true.

Regret flickered in Ginny’s eyes.

“Beth.” She reached out, but a knock on the door shattered the moment. “Come in,” she called instead, her hand dropping to the mattress.

A middle-aged woman with graying, no-nonsense hair and an ill-fitting maroon pant suit stepped into the room. Tired eyes swept Beth’s face and moved onto Ginny. “Mrs. Clancy? I’m Detective Meacham. I need to ask you some questions.”

“Of course,” Ginny’s voice was courteous, yet flat.

Beth rose to her feet, her legs numb beneath her. She glanced toward Kyle. “Do you want me to take Kyle? I can bring him back when you’re done….”

Ginny settled a gentle hand over her son’s head. “I doubt he’ll wake up.” She raised her head, met Beth’s stare, regret clear in her eyes. Slowly, her arm lifted and her hand stretched out. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t fair to unload on you. Just ignore everything I said.”

Without hesitation, Beth squeezed her friend’s fragile fingers. She forced a smile. “Sure.”

Zane took one look at Beth’s face as she came out of Ginny’s room and straightened against the wall. Without saying a word he stepped forward, snagged the nape of her neck and hauled her into his arms, simply holding her. Beth buried her face in the hollow where his throat met his neck and breathed in his musky, smoky scent. The world stopped spinning. The ground grew solid and stable beneath her feet.

“You want to talk about it?” he asked, running soothing palms up and down her spine.

She shook her head against his throat. He had enough on his mind with Cosky and Mac. The last thing he needed was a heap of her uncertainties as well.

They were pressed so tightly together she felt the current of tension roll through him. His hands ceased their comforting slide. Frowning, she lifted her head. The moment she moved he released her. Had he equated the silent shake of her head as a rejection? She hadn’t meant it as such. She opened her mouth to explain, but he was already talking.

“I need to get back to the waiting room.” His green eyes were curiously muted. “Do you want to wait here?”

Beth slowly closed her mouth. It was foolish to presume his tension had anything to do with her. He had two friends in emergency surgery. It was more likely that he was worried about them.

He scanned the hall, his gaze touching on the emergency exit, and the skin of his forehead wrinkled. Could someone access the observation wing through the exit door? Obviously, he didn’t feel comfortable leaving her back here by herself. Was Ginny in danger as well?

“Do you think she’s still in danger?”

Zane glanced down. “She should be safe. They took her to force Todd Clancy to smuggle the guns on board. He’s dead now. The hijacking’s been aborted. They’d have no use for her.”

“But she saw her kidnappers—”

With a shake of his head, he reached toward her cheek. His hand dropped before making contact. “Most of them are dead, the rest in custody.” But he glanced toward the exit door and frowned. “Still, we need to make sure no one can access this hall from the outside.”

Beth followed him down the corridor to the emergency exit, and waited on the inside while he stepped outside and closed the door behind him. A few seconds later, he pounded on the steel door and she let him back inside. From the satisfied expression on his face, the hall was secure enough for his tastes.

By the time they got back to Ginny’s room, Detective Meacham was stepping through the door. She stopped, and studied Zane. Her weary gaze sharpened. “And you are?”

“Lieutenant Commander Zane Winters.” He offered his hand. “United States Navy.”

She shook it once, and dropped it. “You’re one of the men Virginia Clancy claims rescued her?” she asked in a voice more acerbic than admiring.

Zane’s expression didn’t change. “That’s correct.”

“I have some questions for you and your team.”

“Of course. If you’ll follow me to the waiting room you can question Lieutenant Rawlings as well.”

“We need to take this to the station.” The acidic bite in Meacham’s tone strengthened. “Legally the US military cannot, under Posse Comitatus, conduct law enforcement operations. You should have let the local PD handle the situation.”

“We didn’t act beneath the umbrella of Naval Spec War,” Zane countered, without raising his voice. “We acted beneath the direction of Federal Agent John Chastain—Special Agent in Charge of Seattle’s Counterterrorism Division.”

Detective Meacham flipped open her small notebook and glanced at a page of scribbled notes. “Agent Chastain, as in husband to Amy Chastain, a second kidnapping victim?”

“That’s correct,” Zane confirmed, and raised an eyebrow.

“And it didn’t occur to you to report the situation to an agency that could
legally
act? It didn’t occur to you that agent Chastain could be emotionally and mentally compromised—”

“What occurred to us,” Zane broke in, his voice retaining its level flatness, “is that Agent Chastain would have contacted another agency if he’d felt he could trust them.”

The detective scowled and flipped her notebook shut.

“They saved Ginny’s life.” Beth reminded her. “As well as the lives of three children and Amy Chastain. Two of their team mates were wounded in the process.”

Detective Meacham’s gaze shifted to Beth’s face. Her expression wasn’t tired any longer. It was irritated. Frustrated. “I’ve got a house in flames, apparently with multiple bodies inside. I’ve got another dead body in the woods and two gunshot victims in the OR. If they’d called the incident in, as they should have, perhaps the body count wouldn’t be so high.”

Beth crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows, holding those irritated eyes squarely. “Or perhaps you’d have two dead women, three dead children and no sign of the kidnappers.”

A nurse approached them and cleared her throat. “This discussion needs to be taken elsewhere. Mrs. Clancy needs her rest.”

With a small nod, Zane stepped back, obviously waiting for Detective Meacham to precede him down the hall. After a moment of hesitation, she strode off. Beth and Zane followed. When they reached the waiting room, Beth went to sit beside Marion.

“The doctors are checking them out,” Marion said as Beth’s gaze settled on the vacant bench the Chastain boys had been sitting on. “I imagine they’ll go see their mother afterwards.”

“How are you doing?” she asked Marion. “Do you want some coffee? Something to eat.”

“I’m fine, dear.” Marion’s eyes drifted toward the steel doors to the ER.

Beth’s gaze followed. “Has anyone updated you?”

“Not yet. That’s good though, don’t you think? It means they’re concentrating on Marcus. On making him better.”

That was one way of looking at it.

Her attention shifted to the mouth of the waiting room. A second detective had joined Meacham beside Zane and Rawls. After several minutes of intense conversation, the two detectives walked away. Something told her they’d be back.

As the minutes ticked by, Zane’s tension escalated. She could actually see it happen, see the anxiety cinch tighter and tighter until the corded muscles of his arms were clearly defined. A nerve twitched in his cheek. His tight silence and the tautness of his body illustrated how badly he was hurting. How much he dreaded the appearance of the surgeon and the words he seemed certain they would hear.

Zane stepped away from the wall with a roll of his shoulders, and turned to say something to Rawls. He scanned the waiting room. She glanced away before their eyes made contact, but could feel his gaze settle on her for one long pulsing moment. He wouldn’t come over, though. Somehow she knew that. He’d give her the space she silently insisted upon.

“
Before things have a chance to develop, you back off. You claim you want a friendship that turns into love, but you break the relationship off before it has a chance to deepen.
”

Ginny’s words whispered through her mind. Sharp-tipped and shredding. Beth tried to shove them away, except… there was an uncomfortable ring of truth to them.

And then there was Zane. She was the one pushing the relationship away.

She bolstered herself with familiar arguments. Passion burned out. Her mother had been proof of that, as had her engagement to Brad. She wanted a relationship built on trust, on friendship—like what Ginny’s mother and father had.

But the words rang hollow. Untrue. Instinctively, she sought Zane’s calm presence, only to find his back disappearing around the first bend in corridor. She jerked to her feet.

“I’m going to talk to Zane,” she told Mrs. Simcosky.

“It’s about time.” Marion managed a smile. “I was about to give up on you.”

Zane came into view as she turned the first corner in the hall. He was simply standing there, hands loose at his side, staring at a door marked
Authorized Personnel Only
. Beth’s steps slowed. Maybe he wouldn’t appreciate her company. Maybe he wanted to be alone, to grieve in silence and solitude. But he looked so lonely standing there.

“I keep trying to imagine what it’s going to be like without the stubborn son of a bitch around,” he said without turning his head.

She made a soft, hurting sound. He turned toward her, the movement smooth and coordinated. Even in his grief he retained that natural grace.

His eyes were dry, but raw. Burning.

Reaching out, she took his hand. “Maybe the wounds weren’t as severe as you think. They’re still operating on him, so he must still be alive. Maybe he’ll surprise you.”

Zane shook his head. “He took two rounds to the back. They exited through his chest. It was a level four hemorrhage. He lost over half his blood volume. Nobody is capable of surviving such a massive blood loss.”

She squeezed his hand. “He was alive when they took him into surgery. They would have given him blood immediately. There has to be a chance.”

Zane shook his head again. “He bled it out, as fast as they put it in. Best case? Massive brain damage from lack of oxygen. Christ, Cosky would rather be dead than a vegetable.”

For the first time Beth understood Zane and Rawls’ complete and utter lack of hope. Even if Marcus Simcosky survived, he’d still be lost to them.

Chapter Nineteen

“Oh God, Zane. I’m so sorry.” The pressure in Beth’s chest swelled. She squeezed his hand and raised it to her lips, wishing there was some way she could comfort him. Ease the anguish burning in those grass-green eyes.

He released a rough sound and reached for her.

The kiss started out gentle. Comforting. The warm press of lips. The clasp of arms. A connection forged in grief and pain.

Until his tongue surged past her lips to stroke the inside of her mouth. Arms tightened. Hearts accelerated. She caught his tongue with her teeth and suckled, his dark-chocolate taste exploding in her mouth. Lord, he felt perfect. More perfect than anyone ever before. Hard as concrete. Hot as a furnace with that smoky masculine scent so uniquely his own, intensifying as his skin warmed, until she felt steeped in his smell.

With a soft, needy moan, her arms tightened around his waist and she pressed closer, wanting to climb inside his strong warm body. His mouth hardened and his arms convulsed, crushing her to him. He dropped his palms to the curves of her rear and cupped her, squeezing and releasing. Squeezing and releasing. Only to lift her with abrupt urgency, until he could rub the rigid bulge of his penis against her belly.

Her fingers knotted in the material of his scrubs as her muscles loosened, flushing with liquid fire. The damp flesh between her legs swelled. Throbbed in time to her heart.

God, she ached for him. Ached for the long, hot stroke of him.

She released his shirt and slid her hands up the hard plane of his back, relishing the way his muscles bunched beneath her fingertips. A sense of power engulfed her.
She
had done this to him. The way his heart thundered against his chest was because of her. Her touch, even through cloth, made this strong man quiver.

“My weapon.” The warning came on the tail end of a groan as she wrestled the hem of his shirt up.

Avoiding the waistband and the gun tucked at the small of his back, she glided her hands up his spine, smiling as taunt flesh rippled like velvet steel beneath her fingertips. A grunt erupted from him and pulsed in her mouth.

The ache between her legs turned vicious.

Feeling wicked and powerful and more feminine than she’d ever felt before in her life, she scraped her nails down the muscled curve of his spine.

You’d think she’d electrified him, the way his body seized. If her nails on his back evoked such a storm, what kind of reaction would they elicit if she concentrated on more sensitive areas? She couldn’t wait to find out.

But first she needed to breathe.

She dragged her mouth from his and gulped down a breath, resenting the necessity of feeding her starved lungs.

His mouth dropped to the side of her neck and feathered kisses up to her earlobe, where he stopped to suckle. Each damp tug shot an answering pulse to the flesh throbbing between her thighs.

We need to get out of the hall. She won’t appreciate an audience
.

The strange thought was suddenly just there. In Beth’s mind. Alien. But he distracted her by running his tongue down the length of her neck. When he caught the flesh with his teeth and gently bore down, she was the one to quiver.

An electrical pulse spiked through her, raising goose bumps and chills.

He lifted her higher, until her toes left the tile, and then stepped to the right, his mouth suckling her neck. One of his hands disappeared from her butt. A door opened and he walked forward. She caught a vague impression of shelves full of crisp, white sheets and folded towels before the door closed behind them.

Darkness fell.

He’d moved them out of the hallway. Somehow that seemed important, but before she could pinpoint why, he distracted her with a sharp little nibble. His fingers brushed hers as he pulled the gun from his waistband and reached out to stash it on the metal shelving.

And then both his hands were back, pulling the hem of her blouse loose from her slacks. He slid his palms inside, along her ribs, his calloused fingers scratchy and erotic against her bare skin. Tingles exploded in their wake, coursed up and down her spine, electrifying every nerve. The sheath between her legs clenched, only to melt in a molten rush. When he reached the straps of her bra those sandpapery fingers slipped around back, concentrating on the clasp.

Her breath caught as her bra loosened.

The dark, warm nest of the closet heightened each sensation. His touch. His taste. His scent. Until every memory of past kisses, past touches, past lovemaking fell from her mind.

There was only Zane. Only now.

His mouth found hers in the darkness and he drove his tongue between her lips in a parody of lovemaking—the thrust and retreat, the urgent stroking—while her tongue met each thrust with teasing little flicks and flirty little rubs.

She waited with caged breath for those calloused hands to slide around front and cup her swollen, tight breasts. Instead, the moment her bra loosened, his hands dropped to the hem of her blouse and tried to tug it up. She wrenched her lips from his.

“Buttons,” she reminded him on a breathless rush.

His soft curse echoed in the velvety darkness and a bubble of laughter escaped her.

While he fought to release the row of buttons, she tugged his shirt up. He swore again when the material of his scrubs trapped his hands and quit working on her blouse long enough to tug his shirt over his head.

His bare skin was hot beneath her palms. Surprisingly smooth. She ran her fingers up the ridges of his muscled abdomen, smiling as his skin rippled beneath her touch.

A rumble broke from him. An urgent sound of need.

Somewhere, in the vicinity of her heart, something cracked. A thick, liquid heat spread out in waves. He was so responsive to her touch. So responsive to her.

Suddenly, she needed to taste him, to connect with him in the most elemental of ways. He froze as her mouth found the muscles of his chest. She licked the damp, salty skin. Felt, as well as heard, the groan rip through him, the way his breathing literally stopped. And when she raked his nipple with her teeth, his whole body shuddered.

An image suddenly exploded in her mind. A vision of herself—on her knees, her hands wrapped around the shaft of his penis, while her mouth worked the head.

She jerked upright. What in the world? And then another one of those weird, alien thoughts swallowed her mind.

Jesus. Jesus. Stop it. Imagining her going down on you isn’t helping. Keep it up and the first time you come with her is going to be in your pants.

She took a step back, unease prickling. She had to be losing her mind. She could swear she’d just heard Zane’s voice in her head.

Before the alarm had a chance to escalate, he worked the last button free and her shirt fell open. He stripped both blouse and bra down her arms, and lifted her, his mouth finding her breast with unerring accuracy.

She choked back a shriek of shocked pleasure, her disquiet vanishing. With each moist tug on her breast, an answering twinge throbbed between her legs. In an effort to ease the aching pressure, she climbed his body, wrapping her legs around his hips so she could rub her burning core against the bulge between his legs.

Christ. She tastes like strawberries
.

This time the foreign thought barely registered. She was too focused on the rhythmic suckling against her breast and the echoing pulse between her legs. Oh, God, she needed him inside her, filling that hungry void. She needed him to take away this empty yearning.

She arched in his arms, widening her thighs so she could get closer.

If we were naked, she’d be riding my cock right now
.

Her fingernails scraped down the small of his back to the waistband of his scrubs. She loosened her legs and pushed his pants down, only to find herself distracted by the surprisingly cool globes of his butt. She cupped them. Raked her nails across the taut flesh. He was full of delicious contrasts. Hard yet smooth, hot yet devilishly cool.

He spread his legs as she explored lower, giving her access and encouragement. Her hand slid around his hip, down the crease at the top of his thigh. When her fingertips found the heavy weight of his testicles he hissed and arched into her hand.

She’s killing me
.

While she fondled him he shoved her pants down, slid his fingers into her panties and rubbed her damp slit. She shuddered at the rough caress, her hand tightening around his sack, smiling as his big body twitched—at least until he took her nipple between his teeth and delicately applied pressure.

An inferno rolled through her, settled in the heated void between her thighs. With a soft groan, Beth loosened her legs, holding her breath as his hand started moving again. The finger he pushed inside her felt huge, rough, scraping the sides of her sensitive sheath in an erotic caress that rippled through her like quicksilver.

She choked back a shriek, arched against his chest, and bore down, forcing his finger deeper. Oh God, he felt so good. So perfect. But she needed more of him.

His lips sucked hard at her breast while he worked a second finger up in her. Only to withdraw both, and thrust them in again. He repeated the motion over and over, then shifted his thumb to the bud of her sex and rubbed.

Flames caught, billowed through her in waves and a thin scream erupted from her tight throat. She pressed down, straining against his hand, a current of energy twining tighter and tighter, tangling her in gossamer strands of urgency.

With a thick curse, his hand withdrew. She moaned in protest and rocked against his arm.

Christ, she’s seconds from flying. I’m damn well going to be inside her when she does.

The words were clear as a bell in her head. Except, he hadn’t spoken them. She was certain of it.

And then he shifted, jerked down her panties, and lifted her. Something huge and hard pressed against her molten core, parted the swollen, slick folds and nudged inside.

She flinched from the contact, her breath exploding in shocked realization.

Oh, God. They were about to make love. In a closet. In the emergency room. Something stirred in the back of her mind, a fragment of a memory, something she needed to remember.

“Wait.” The plea emerged slurred, but unrecognizable.

She has got to be fucking kidding
.

His muscles clenched in protest. He stopped breathing. But he froze beneath her.

His hunger pounded at her, she could actually feel his urgent need to thrust, to bury himself deep. But he’d stopped, because she’d asked it. The crack in her heart widened. Wept something tender. Something she didn’t want to explore too closely.

He shook as he waited, the head of his penis burning against her. If she pressed down, she’d take him inside. The realization tantalized her. Driven by instinct, she rocked against him.

The head of his shaft slipped inside. Lodged there. Hot. Hard. Throbbing. They both groaned. She rocked again, forcing him deeper.

Ah, Christ, I can’t hold back much longer
.

This time the alien thought didn’t faze her. She lifted herself up and bore down, taking him deeper still, the muscles of her sheath clamping around his invading length.

He arched into her, his hips flexing.

She’s killing me, killing me.

Her heart pounding so hard she could hear it, she lifted her hips and bore down again, hearing his hiss as she took him the deepest yet. His muscles bulged beneath her as he fought to rein himself in. Sweat dampened his skin.

But he held himself in check. For her. That crack in her heart split wide open.

So fucking tight. So fucking hot. So fucking perfect.

Distantly, she was aware of his rigidity as she rocked on him, lifting herself up and pressing herself down. The awareness he was holding himself in check for her sake, for her comfort, added to the pleasure. His hand slipped between her legs, his calloused fingertips tracing her tightly stretched opening.

A current of electricity jolted through her at the intimate, rough caress. She stifled a scream against his neck. Her core clenching.

Jesus. I need… I need… ah… Christ
.

His hips bucked, driving his penis deeper. He stroked her sensitive opening again, eliciting another muffled shriek, and then rubbed the tight bud of her sex.

She needed… she needed… oh God, she needed.

This time she couldn’t hold back her scream, but he was waiting and swallowed it with his mouth.

She felt the moment his control snapped. Welcomed his hard thrust with tight arms, clutching hands, and coiled legs.

* * *

She was only taking half of him, riding the front of his cock with increasing urgency as she reached for her peak. With each surge of her hips, he fought the instinct to thrust. To bury himself in her tight, satin depths.

Holy Mother of God.

Her thoughts swam through his mind. Fragmented. Urgent. She was moments from coming. He could sense the coil of her approaching orgasm as clearly as he sensed his own. Could feel the pleasure pouring into her with every thrust of her hips.

She dropped her mouth to where his neck met his collarbone and latched onto his sweaty skin. His hips lunged. Light-headed, he tried to rein himself back, but his body had broken its leash and was firmly in control, refusing to take direction from his brain.

His hips surged again, slamming into her. Driving her against the closet door with a dull thud.

Christ. He was out of time.

He scraped her clit with his thumbnail, and pressed her against the door.

Oh God! Oh God. Oh God.

The feminine wail ripped through his mind and she jerked wildly against him. He caught her scream with his mouth and thrust hard. Penetrating her to the core.

Dragging his hand from between her legs, he shifted his grip, tilted her slightly and thrust again. Pulled out, thrust harder. Pulled out. Hammered into her again and again, vaguely aware of the door banging behind them.