Flames
Flames
A round-robin novel by the authors of the Mansion, in honor of the heroes of September 11th, 2001.
Chapter Three
Marisol usually went for dangerous types. Growing up in a devout Catholic
environment, she'd been taught to think of sex as something dirty, forbidden,
and had come to harbor a fascination for the quintessential bad boy. She'd
tasted her share of forbidden fruit, but somehow reality never lived up to
her expectations. Boy after boy, man after man, the thrill was always
lacking.
Until now.
The minute Boy Scout Jack wrapped his arms around her, Marisol felt her
heart rate pick up speed, her breath come in sharp, choking gasps, her knees
go as weak as undercooked flan.
And as she realized he was going to kiss her, her palms began to sweat.
Marisol "Ice Queen" Benitez with sweaty palms? Impossible. She should have
slapped him, Boy Scout or no. But all she wanted was to feel his lips on
hers.
He kissed her gently at first, a tentative peck probably meant to test
the waters. She opened her mouth to him, a gesture of ready compliance. When
she felt his tongue slide between her lips, a low groan of what sounded like
surprise emanating from deep in his throat, she drew him in, to the far
recesses of her hot, wet mouth. He leaned closer, drawing on her tongue in
turn. When his arms wrapped tight around her and the pressure of his erection
ground into her hip, she could have devoured him on the spot. Instead, she
pushed him away.
"Enough," she said, as soon as she caught sufficient air to speak. But he
hardly seemed deterred. He smiled broadly, looking for all the world like a
wide-eyed extra from the musical Oklahoma -- cute, sweet, naive, and
incredibly sexy.
"Okay," he said. "Enough. I've never been a good liar. Now I think I've
developed a sufficient amount of attraction that I can effectively pose as
your beard."
"Sufficient?" she questioned. "Oh, yeah, Boy Scout? I would say more than
sufficient. Is that a pistol in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me?"
"Huh?" Sounding surprised, he glanced down at his khakis. "Oh. Does this
answer your question?" Marisol watched as he reached in his pocket and
withdrew an actual pistol. It was her turn to blush.
"Madre de Dios!" she exclaimed. "I'm so sorry. I thought -- never mind."
They looked at one other and dissolved in a shared fit of laughter. Once
her embarrassment subsided and the giggles died down, Marisol sobered up. She
had to ask.
"What are you doing with a gun?" She flashed him her best Ice Queen glare,
the kind she usually reserved for shutting down unwanted advances or
questioning unruly suspects.
Without hesitation, he turned the weapon around and handed it to her.
"Took it off some yahoo EMT at registration. It's not loaded. I checked."
"An Emergency Medical Technician packing heat? Why?"
"I never figured it out. She wasn't exactly forthcoming with answers, and
the line was getting long. I had to let her go. I did make note of her name.
Dinah Louis. You'll be bunking with her, in fact, now Marcus found you a
spot."
"Dinah Louis, huh? Sounds like trouble."
"With a capital T. She's already hit on half the guys here. Including
Marcus."
"Interesting." Marisol got that burning feeling in her gut, the one that
warned her of impending strife --or that she'd eaten one too many helpings of
rice and beans. She hadn't had Mama's cooking in more than a day now, so she
was leaning toward the gloom-and-doom scenario.
"Yeah, interesting," Jack echoed. "So, you want to eat, or do you just
want to cuddle by the fire?"
"I guess I could go for a hot dog," Marisol said before she realized the
potential for double entendre.
"Great. They're handing out the grub over by the school. But we're going
to have to go back into the woods first."
"Why?" she asked.
"Are you kidding me? We can't properly roast dogs on those metal barbecue
skewers they're handing out. No way. We need the real thing. Sticks. From the
forest. Come on."
He draped his arm around her again, and she automatically nestled into
his solid warmth. As they walked, their bodies kept perfect rhythm with each
other, step for step.
She felt comfortable with Jack. Safe. But there was something else simmering
beneath the surface that kept her pulse on high alert, and she knew exactly
what it was -- a case of pure and simple lust. Her Boy Scout had turned out
to be quite a surprise. And now that she knew she was attracted to him, she
could never go through with her plan to use him simply to dissuade Spanelli.
It had been a bad idea in the first place. By habit, she never mixed it up
with her co-workers -- one of many reasons they had dubbed her the Ice Queen.
And Jack was a co-worker now.
"Here we go." He'd found two suitable sticks. "I guess we can head on
back."
"Wait." Marisol had something to say before they returned to camp. "Look,
Jack, I'm sorry."
"Sorry? For what?"
"What I asked you to do. Forget it. Please. I -- " She paused, trying to
find the right words. "I don't need you to run interference for me with
Spanelli. I don't want anyone to think we have something going on in that
way. I like you. I do. I just think we need to keep it professional."
"Professional." He nodded. "And you're not just talking about public
image now, are you?"
She looked at him. The moon had started climbing over the trees. It was
huge and orange, a pumpkin moon, and it cast a soft glow around him as he
stood, his hands in his back pockets, his face turned a little away from her,
in profile against the night sky. Her gaze dropped to his booted feet, firmly
planted on the pine-needle covered ground, and started an upward climb. Even
the slightly baggy pants couldn't hide the fact that his thighs were solid
with pure muscle. Tapered waist. Broad shoulders, even broader grin. He had a
square jaw, she noticed for the first time. Lightly dotted with stubble, it
reminded her of her Papa's jaw, the way it had looked when she was little.
She used to love to run her hands over the point of her father's chin.
Instinctively, she reached out and stroked Jack's face.
"No," she said, unable to keep the note of regret from her voice. "Not
just public image. I worked hard to build my reputation at work. I don't want
a little working-vacation romance to make me vulnerable in the eyes of the
guys. I can't afford to let them think I've gone soft."
"Too bad," Jack said, his voice tinged with disappointment. "I like soft.
In fact, I'm finding strong and soft to be a very alluring combination. But I
respect your opinion. I'll make sure you won't be tainted by a little
romance."
Marisol noticed that he snorted slightly when he said the word "little".
Sarcasm from the Boy Scout? She faced the sudden realization that she had
pegged him all wrong. He wasn't some backwoods innocent. He had picked up on
the subtleties of her request and even, apparently, taken offense.
He walked on ahead of her, so fast that she had trouble catching up. She
couldn't blame him. A "little" romance? Why had she said such a thing? From
growing up with brothers, she knew full well that men didn't like the word
"little" to come up in conversations involving sex or love. She also knew --
had known from the minute she'd looked into Jack's blue eyes -- that a
romance with him would be anything but "little."
"Wait!" she called after him.
"Yeah?" he turned, annoyance apparent in his voice.
"We're still friends, right? I mean, I hope I didn't offend you."
"Friends." He held his hand out to her. She took it, her smaller hand
almost disappearing into his firm grip. "Of course. Friends. I just want to
get back before all the hot dogs are gone."
The good-natured grin spread over his face, reassuring Marisol that all
was well between them.
"Great idea," she agreed, pulling her hand back. "I'll race you to camp."
Before he could answer, she darted on ahead of him, scrambling over roots
and downed branches, eager to keep her marginal lead.
Jack watched as Marisol charged ahead. He thought of running after her,
but changed his mind and kept on walking. The twigs snapping under his feet
gave off a satisfying crackle, easing his frustration. And better she should
emerge first, without him by her side, if she was so concerned about her
image. He would meet up with her again at the wienie roast.
A wienie roast -- cripes, who planned these things? Normally he enjoyed a
good barbecue, but now he wasn't in the mood. Suddenly, the whole idea of
charring meat on a stick seemed somehow emasculating, like male pride being
burned in effigy. After being shut down by Our Lady of the Sun, Jack shared a
distinct simpatico for the wieners. Stick a fork in him; he was done.
He didn't want to go messing around with a new woman now anyway, did he?
Not when he still had Jan to contend with at home. Jack made a mental note to
have The Talk with Jan again just as soon as he returned to Redsopple. It
wouldn't be easy. The woman didn't take "no" for an answer. He had already
broken off with her once, only to end up in bed with her again the next day
when she came to him in tears, begging for a second chance. This time, he had
to be firm. No more chances. It wasn't that she'd done anything wrong. They
just weren't meant to share their lives. He would have to make her see it his
way.
Jack and Jan. Even their names didn't go together without sounding
ridiculous, like something in a first-grade reader. See Jan. See Jack. See
Jan smile at Jack. See Jack run.
Jack and Marisol -- now, that had kind of a nice ring to it. Her name had
a nice ring to it all on its own. It rolled like music from his tongue:
Marisol. How in tarnation he had ever considered it a man's name was beyond
him. He must have been preoccupied.
It was this damned war, the terrorist threats, and the thought that life
would never be the same in the good ol' U.S. of A. Maybe not the same, he
told himself. But it could be they were coming into something better.
Everyone was being so kind and considerate these days. The flag was
everywhere. It was as if Americans had forgotten the things that used to tear
the nation apart and come together to be a united force.
"'I'm proud to be an American '" Jack sang the Lee Greenwood song
softly as he neared the edge of the woods. When he heard a shrill squeal, he
stopped short. Not a squeal, a scream. High-pitched, like a woman's.
"Marisol!" Jack's heart beat wildly as he broke into a run. Something was
wrong. He hoped he could get to her in time.
Marisol emerged from the rim of trees and stopped, doubled over, to catch
her breath. She didn't remember the last time she'd run so fast, but it felt
fine. There was more than one way to keep warm on a cool night. A good
physical challenge was a better method of generating heat than falling into
Boy Scout Jack's capable -- and all too willing -- arms. Maybe not better,
she decided. But safer.
Once again, Marisol Benitez had proven to herself beyond a doubt she
didn't need a man. Wanted one, maybe. Enjoyed them -- hell, yeah. But need?
No way. Maybe that's why she went for the bad boys, she thought suddenly: no
possibility of a long-term relationship, no worries of dependence. One
community college psych course didn't make her Sigmund Freud, but she had
learned a lot about herself at night school. She wished she'd signed up for
that second semester, but her parents needed her at home right now, with her
father's health on rapid decline. There would be time to get her degree later
on.
All along, she had been thinking of bad boys as dangerous, but maybe,
maybe they were actually her safety net? Maybe the real danger lay just
through those trees, with Jack Bennett. The Boy Scout was as appealing as he
was dependable, and one hell of a kisser. Bingo -- it hit her full on. Jack
Bennett was the ultimate danger. Reliability, compassion, humor, wit and
integrity, all wrapped up in a killer bod. With Jack, she was at risk of
losing not only her heart, but also her mind. Jack made her see images of
herself with the house, the kids, the dog -- and a big smile on her face.
Hello, domestic bliss. Goodbye, career.
Oh no, this was no good. One evening in Jack Bennett's company, and she
could dream up such drastic changes in her life? What did that say about her?
It said she was already loco, that's what. That she was spending too much
time with her parents. That she needed to get out more. It had been a long
time since she'd been in a social situation and met anyone new. She was
projecting her image of perfection on the first eligible man to come along.
Projecting -- that sounded Freudian enough. Sure. Her psych prof would be
proud. Self-psychoanalysis complete, Marisol stood tall, brushed her hands
together, and prepared to mix in with the crowd before Jack could catch up
with her.
As she reached the camp, a high-pitched shriek rang out. Marisol ran to
get closer to the action. Ahead of her, the crowd parted around a man holding
a flaming stick and screaming his head off. Some nimrod had simply held his
hot dog a little too close to the flame. She watched, drawing closer, as the
man dropped his stick and stomped the flames out. Fire extinguished, danger
over. But the man continued to curse and yell. She recognized the voice, and
squinted to confirm her suspicion. Sure enough, the nimrod was Nick Spanelli.
Leave it to City Slicker Spanelli to make her unit look bad by burning
himself on day one.
At least the right wienie got roasted. She couldn't help but laugh. A
hand injury meant Spanelli wouldn't be able to participate in the FEMA
exercises. With him headed for home, Marisol could rest easy and try to make
the most of the training. She still couldn't figure out why her captain said
he was sending her away to give her time to cool down and then assigned the
very man she complained about most to accompany her.
"What's going on? I thought you were hurt!" A breathless Jack Bennett
appeared at her side.
She looked at him. The flames reflected matching fire in Jack's blue
eyes, eyes that held a glimmer of what appeared to be concern. For her? She
almost allowed herself to give in to the gushy, warm feeling that bubbled up
inside her -- and then she remembered. Bennett was off limits. She didn't
really want him. She was projecting.
"Um -- Spanelli got too close to the fire." She found her voice. "I think
he burned his wienie." She couldn't keep from laughing.
"Burns are serious business," he said sharply. "Is he hurt?"
Marisol drew up to full height. Jack was right; It wasn't funny. The
crowd had gathered around the fire again. Marisol couldn't catch sight of
Nick to assess his state. "Maybe. I'm not sure."
"Damn," Boy Scout Jack muttered before turning on his heel and plunging
into the crowd.
Marisol stood stunned as his scorn sunk in, creating an uneasy pang in
the depth of her stomach. It wasn't as if she cared how he felt about her,
she tried to tell herself. So what if she had laughed at Spanelli's bad
fortune? These exercises wouldn't last long enough for her to get to know
Jack anyway. Better he didn't like her. He would keep away from her now for
certain.
But she couldn't help but trail after him into the crowd. Spanelli was
her brother-in-arms. Even if she didn't like him, it was her responsibility
to see to his welfare.
When she worked her way to the front of the pack, she could see that a
circle had formed around Spanelli, who was cradling his injured hand, and
Jack Bennett, crouched on one knee at his side. A woman leaned beside the two
men.
"Looks like a second-degree. You're lucky," Jack was saying. Marisol
watched him as he studied Spanelli's hand.
"Very lucky," the woman agreed with Jack. "But we need to get that skin
cooled, and keep a close eye on it in case."
Marisol approached. "You okay, Spanelli?"
In answer, he glanced up at her, bit his lip, and groaned. Not okay. The
man was clearly in pain if he couldn't manage at least one offensive comment.
Marcus, toting a dripping pail, came into the circle. "Ice-cold water,"
he said. "Just what the doctor -- er, EMT -- ordered."
He smiled at the woman, who was apparently the EMT in question. She took
the pail from him and crouched down beside Jack to work on Spanelli, reaching
for his hand and guiding it into the water.
"Keep it soaking. That's it. We have to cool the skin temperature to keep
the burn from becoming more severe," Jack said, sounding every inch the
expert he was.
Marisol felt superfluous as Jack, the EMT and Marcus worked on the
patient, bringing him to his feet and escorting him to his barracks. She
wanted to shoulder her way in and help, but there was no room for one more
caregiver. Her own fallen comrade, and she was too late on the scene. Her
shame kept her lingering outside the door as the trio settled Spanelli
inside.
"How's he doing?" she asked Jack as soon as he emerged.
"He'll be okay," Jack answered coldly.
The woman came out next and joined the conversation. "He still refuses to
go to the hospital."
"Marcus is going to stay with him," Jack said, ignoring Marisol and
addressing the woman. "As long as it doesn't get any worse, he doesn't need
further attention. Nothing they can do at the hospital that we haven't
already done."
With things settling down, Marisol finally had a chance to get a good
look at the EMT, and didn't like what she saw: an attractive blond with
cleavage popping out of her size-too-small uniform shirt. What was she
wearing under that thing, a Wonderbra? And how many buttons could she undo
and still make regulation? It was off hours, Marisol realized. But still.
They were all professionals. No need to vamp it up at FEMA camp.
"Your friend's a great guy," Blondie said to Jack. "And so are you. That
poor man would be in much worse shape if you hadn't thought to douse his hand
with cold Pepsi."
"When water's not available, you work with what is," Jack said, reminding
Marisol suddenly of Smokey the Bear. Only you can prevent forest fires.
"Well, thanks, Jack." Marisol felt the need to insert herself into the
conversation. "On behalf of the Philly PD. We can't afford to lose a good cop
to a careless injury."
"Careless or no," Jack retorted, a lecturing note in his voice, "the
injured party needs immediate care, not scorn or laughter."
"Quoting straight from the Boy Scout handbook now, Jack?" Marisol asked,
her sarcasm a natural defense. "'Be prepared' -- is that your motto?"
"Better than 'Stand Back and Laugh,'" Jack sniped, proving himself a
more-than-capable opponent in a verbal joust.
"Whoa," Blondie interrupted. "I take it you two know each other?"
"We met this afternoon." Jack cast Marisol a glance. "Dinah Louis, this
is Marisol Benitez."
Dinah Louis. Alarm bells went off in Marisol's head. Dinah was the EMT
who came to the exercises packing a gun -- the woman Jack had warned her to
keep an eye on.
"Dinah Louis," Marisol repeated, holding her hand out. "Nice to meet you. I
missed you this afternoon, but I saw your gear in the tent. I guess we'll be
bunking together."
"Great." EMT Barbie smiled without sincerity, shook Marisol's hand, and
let go. "But it's pronounced 'Dinah Lou-ee,' not 'Lou-iss.' Like the French."
"Lou-eeee," Marisol echoed, masking her Philly-Puerto Rican accent with
heavy Brooklyn-ese. "Just like my ex-boyfriend the trucker. I'll remember
that. He was a nice guy." Or as close to a nice guy as Marisol had ever come
in her not-so-lengthy dating history.
"Jack," Dinah said, her voice a breathy whisper. "I'm ready for that hot
dog now."
"And I thought I was the one and only," Marisol said after a moment's
pause. "Jack Bennett, do you mean to tell me you've offered wieners to all
the women?"
"No," Jack answered, none of his earlier good humor apparent. "Just to
you and Dinah. Are you coming along?"
"I've lost my appetite." Marisol didn't see the point in being a third
wheel. She certainly wasn't interested in Jack. "But thanks anyway. I'm going
to check in on Spanelli."
"Suit yourself," Jack answered, holding his arm out to Dinah. "See you
around."
Without hesitation, Dinah latched on to Jack. "Nice to meet you, Marisol.
I guess I'll see you back at the barracks. Don't wait up."
Don't wait up? Was this FEMA training or last call at Billy Bob's Bar and
Grill? Marisol watched as Dinah and Jack headed back to the campfire. Both
blond, tall, physically fit -- they made a perfect pairing. EMT Barbie and
Boy Scout Jack. They could have each other. Marisol had better things to
worry about, like securing her promotion to detective. To that end, she
prepared to do her duty and pay a call on the injured Nick Spanelli.
Jack found an unfortunate reminder of Jan in Dinah Louis, right down to
the dyed hair and incessant chatter. No doubt Dinah and Jan would hit it off.
He could picture them making the rounds at Piggy's, flirting with the barkeep
for free White Russians and scanning the room for their next potential
boyfriends. This time, he would make sure to keep himself out of the running.
If Dinah was looking for long-term companionship, she would have to look
elsewhere. One woman like Jan in his life was more than he could handle.
"Looks like they're out of dogs." Jack tried to hide his relief as he
nodded in the direction of the food stand.
"Yes, things are dying down. Even the fire is starting to go out," Dinah
said, looking toward the blaze. "A shame. I was hoping to find a crowd who
knew how to have a good time."
"That's the trouble with folks who deal with crises for a living. We know
how easily a good time can get out of hand." Jack shoved his hands deep into
his pockets, more to show that he wanted to keep to himself than to keep warm.
"I don't know, Jack," Dinah said, a smile playing on her full, painted
lips. "You look like the kind of guy who knows how to have some good, clean
fun. Maybe we could find the showers? Give them something to talk about?"
Jack cast her a no-nonsense glance. "I don't think so, Dinah. I'm about
ready to call it a night."
"There's that, too. Your bunk or mine?"
"Look, Dinah." He paused, lost for words. He'd never been good at letting
women down easy, Jan being a strong case in point.
She laughed, a big horse-laugh for such a petite woman, and smacked him
on the shoulder. "Sheesh, Jack, I was only kidding. That Marisol woman had
you pegged, didn't she? You really are a Boy Scout."
He colored faintly. "I've always been a straight-arrow kind of guy."
"I like straight arrows," Dinah said, reaching in her pocket and pulling
out a cigarette. "Straight arrows tend to hit their targets dead on."
Jack shrugged, not quite sure what she meant.
"So, Jack." Dinah lit her cig and moved in closer. "Am I your target? Do
you have it in for me?" She blew a stream of smoke in his direction, as if
daring him to protest.
"I don't know what you mean. Have it in for you how?" Jack met her gaze.
Her eyes were cold and hard, almost too clear a blue. They reminded him of
shattered glass, and he didn't want to get too close and risk a cut.
"You took my gun away. I was hoping I could convince you to give it back.
I don't feel safe without my personal protection."
"You won't need a gun around here. We have plenty of cops on hand, in
case you hadn't noticed. I'll give it back at the end of exercises, as I told
you at registration."
"Maybe I do need it," she said, tipping her chin in the air as if to
challenge his authority. "I'm a woman all alone with all kinds of strange
men."
"Not strange men. Cops, as I said. Cops, firefighters, and other EMTS.
We're all here to learn better ways of protecting people, not hurting them.
I'd wager there isn't a man here who wouldn't give his life to save yours.
Besides, you're bunking with a cop, Marisol Benitez. The woman's hard as
nails. She'll go off faster than any handgun at the first sign of trouble."
"Marisol Benitez," Dinah echoed, a far-off look in her eyes. Jack didn't
like her demeanor. Something wasn't right with Dinah Louis; he'd known it
from the first time he'd spotted her at registration.
"You have something you want to tell me?" he asked, point-blank.
"That depends, Jack." Dinah gnawed on her lower lip, as if wondering what
to make of him. "Can I trust you to keep a secret?"
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