Fighting the Flames (Firefighter Romance #1)(46)

Deep inside, Jacqueline had witnessed a soul passing out of this world. But more questions than answers flooded her mind. All she knew was this had started the night her husband died. Had that magic been real too?

Was she singing when he died but didn’t know it? Why was she always singing when the light appeared?



****



Toby appreciated loyalty in friends, but it had taken everything he had not to strangle Angela. She'd wanted to hang around, wanted to make sure Jacqueline was okay. Luckily, Angela had still been drunk enough to persuade into a cab. With a long sigh, Toby watched the red taillights wink out of sight. The parking lot remained a mess; a crime scene with police officers everywhere. Eventually they left too, leaving Merlyn's Bar to stand a silent sentry at the end of the road.

Toby glanced at his watch; it was past four in the morning. Fatigue crept up on him, but he mentally swatted it away. He had work to do before rest and turned on his heel, making a beeline for his office.


Easing the door open, Toby peeked at the woman sleeping on his couch. Short blonde hair framed her pale face, and her eyes moved under her closed lids as if she were dreaming. Gently, he caressed her cheek and reveled in her softness.

Her eyes fluttered open, and he yanked his hand away. “What are you doing?” she asked, attempting to sit up.

“I was trying to figure out the best way to wake you up.” He closed the door and leaned against it.

“What time is it?” Jacqueline yawned.

Arms crossed over his chest as he pondered how to question her. “Four.”

“Belinda… is she… dead?” Desperation tainted her words. Toby noticed she had been correct about her eyes. They were a deep, chocolate brown. An odd contrast since most blondes had blue eyes. A fact he should’ve recalled. Toby was always watching her.

“What do you think?” Toby sat behind his desk and stroked his beard. “You were singing to her.”

“About that… uh…” Embarrassment or perhaps uncertainty turned her face pink, but her discomfort roused tenderness in him. Toby hadn’t experienced the emotion in years. “I don't know what came over me.”

His eyebrow arched. “Don't you?”

“No. Of course not. I don't typically start singing when someone dies.” Jacqueline snorted and tilted her head as she leaned against the sofa. Either she did not know or she was a good liar.

“Did you know it was going to happen?” He maintained eye contact but reached for a pencil and tapped it against his chin. Interrogating Jacqueline wasn’t the highlight of his evening.

She raised her voice. “Of course not.” Fingers played with her collar, yanking at the fabric. “Why would you even think that?” Her tone cracked as Jacqueline leapt from the couch and brushed her outfit, swiping at invisible lint. “I'm not psychic or anything.”

“You sure about that?” Toby smirked unable to tamper the emotion. He liked making her squirm.

“Why do you ask so many damn questions?” She ran a hand through her short hair and eyed the closed door. “I should go. I… I don't feel good. Too much alcohol, I guess, but thanks for letting me take a nap on your couch.”

“Seeing a woman die does tend to take it out of you,” Toby said, but he stared at the pile of receipts on his desk, and prayed for her to stay.

Jacqueline’s hand paused on the doorknob. “So she is… dead?”

“Yes.”

He watched her take a deep breath and shudder. Slowly she sank into the couch. All the fire died in her eyes as she wept. Wet eyes startled Toby. He never liked seeing women cry and cleared his throat.

“Don't do that.” He forced himself to her side. “Everything will be okay.”

“Sorry,” she whispered. “I just don't understand what's going on.” She sniffled. “I'm experiencing all these changes, having weird dreams. And… I think I'm turning into a lush. I spend way too much time at this bar.”

Blotches appeared over her pale skin, but Jacqueline was beautiful despite her tears. Harder she cried. He found no words to end her tears, but Toby struggled not to grin at her last statement.

A hand rested on her shoulder as he slid beside her on the couch. Aside from the bar, they had never been this close before. Their thighs barely touched, yet her presence stirred something he’d buried. His heart raced as her cheek fell against his chest and Toby wrapped Jacqueline into his arms, squeezing.

“I'm sorry,” she whimpered. “I'm just worn out. And drunk.”

“You're fine,” he said. “Everything will be okay.” He lied sensing the truth of what creature lay in his arms and the tingle in his stomach. The signs were there.

“No. You don't understand. Something's wrong with me.”

“Jacqueline, I promise that there is nothing wrong with you.”

“You don't get it, Toby. I'm weird. I do odd things, things I can't control.”

“That's just part of the change,” he said, patting her back. “Eventually, it won't be so bad.”

He closed his eyes. Not bad for her but it would be for him. Toby couldn’t change her fate any more than he could hold onto her. Jacqueline stirred and he blinked more at his conscious than her fidgeting movements.