Deep Night (4 page)

He thought it would be easy to move in with Sara. He had known her for as long as he could remember. She was just one of the boys…and yet she wasn't. Would living under the same roof be weird? Would it affect their friendship? Would it be awkward to have a date spend the night?

Not that there was a line of willing babes. Being out of the country for so long had kind of killed his game. Sure, he'd done his share of dating, mostly before his time in the military. But nothing serious. He hadn't expected anyone to be waiting for his return. And no one had. Almost every woman he knew was now married, pregnant or in a relationship. He was glad they had all found someone. His timetable had always been different from theirs. He wasn't anxious to settle down. He had plans for his near future…college and his job. That left about five hours a day for sleep and zero time to nurture a relationship.

Plus, there was the money issue. Even with his G.I. benefits, med school was expensive and a first year, still under probation paramedic salary, barely covered his car insurance, rent and an occasional pizza. There was no extra cash for flowers, gifts or other things that women expected as part of the dating ritual.

Chris unloaded the kitchen boxes and put the food into the almost bare pantry. It didn't look like Sara ate at home often, or if she did, she didn't eat much…and not very healthy, judging from the boxes of cereal and Pop-Tarts on the shelves. Ironic, since she always had something to say about his fast food.

He returned to his bedroom, but since he didn't have a desk or a bookshelf, the books would have to stay in their boxes a little longer. Maybe he could run out later and find a cheap desk with a built-in bookcase. And a TV for his room.

He looked with longing at the big screen in the living room. But he was hesitant to use it. Even though he could hear pounding surf from the sound machine, muffled by her closed bedroom door, he was afraid the noise of the TV would bother her. Maybe if he kept it turned down really low…

The remote was on the end table. He sat on the corner of the sofa closest to the screen and flipped through the channels with the sound muted. Golf, baseball, HSN, several channels with chick flicks and a James Bond movie…one of the good ones with Pierce Brosnan. But not today. Too many explosions and gunshots. He settled on a baseball game. No loud noises there.

The Rockies were away, playing the Dodgers in L.A. The score was two to nothing, bottom of the fourth inning. He settled down to see if the Rockies could hold their lead. He yawned and leaned back. The couch was way more comfortable than it looked and he felt his eyelids drifting closed.

Why did men look so good when they were asleep?

Sara stood at the end of the couch and looked at Chris with disgust. Not because he was lying on the sofa with his shoes on the off-white microsuede cushions. No, it was because he was so damn gorgeous. His dark brown hair was tousled and falling across his forehead, reminding her of the little boy she had grown up with.

His brothers had always been athletes and had worn their hair short and neat. But Chris had been the rebel, growing his hair long enough that it covered his ears and hung in his eyes. He had even gone through the phase of dying it royal blue and briefly, purple, not because he was a Rockies fan, but because it was cool.

Sara smiled at the memory of him letting her ride his horse for the first time. Although they lived in a neighborhood of five-acre lots, she had never owned a horse of her own. It was part of the reason why she loved hanging out at the Wilsons'. They were lucky enough to have two horses and a couple of goats that always produced an adorable kid every spring. It was Chris who had taught her how to ride, and how to shoot a bow and arrow and a gun, and how to understand algebra, and even how to drive. In fact, it was Chris who had taught her many of her life skills.

He was like that. While his brothers were busy with football or baseball practice or out with girlfriends, Chris had taken the time to pay attention to a lonely little girl who had no brothers or sisters or any other close friends.

She'd had a little bit of a crush on him back then, but he'd never noticed her in that way. Was she crazy for letting him share her apartment? Was she setting herself up for heartbreak? She had told him it wouldn't bother her if he brought dates home, but the truth was that even after all these years, it would be unbearable to see him with a girlfriend or think of what might be going on in his bedroom, behind his closed door.

Realistically, though, she knew it was an inevitability she would have to accept. Chris was going to bring beautiful, sexy, smart, confident women back here, and he was going to fall in love with one of them and eventually get married and have adorable little boy babies with unruly dark hair and blue eyes. He was focused on his career and getting his medical degree right now, but that would just provide him with hundreds of opportunities. And it was a proven fact that women were attracted to men in uniform, even if they were paramedics.

Sadly, Sara knew one of those women would never be her. He had been closer to the truth than he realized…she didn't like men. Actually, that wasn't quite true. She just didn't trust them. Not that she was a lesbian. She wasn't attracted to women. It was just that romance and marriage weren't her thing. Besides, she would never risk her friendship with Chris for a brief shot at anything romantic. There wasn't a doubt in her mind that their relationship wouldn't work on that level. She would never be able to give him what he needed.

He shifted to a different position on the sofa. He looked so young, not even close to the twenty-seven she knew he was. She had been shocked by how much older he looked when he returned from his tours in Afghanistan. It was more than the shorn head and the dark circles under his eyes. It had been that the sparkle was missing.

She didn't know what horrors he had seen or experienced in the war, but she suspected it was still with him, haunting him every day.

Over the past six months he had let his hair grow out until it half covered his ears and curled around his collar at the back of his neck. And he worked and studied…and worked and studied. Almost as much as she did. That, in theory, should make them great apartment mates. Besides, she was in no position to want more.

His ridiculously long eyelashes fluttered and opened. For a second, his blue-gray eyes were confused, then cleared.

“Did I wake you?” he asked as he sat up and reached for the remote. “I'm sorry, I'll…”

“No, I got plenty of sleep. It's after six.”

Startled, he looked at his watch. “It can't be. I just dozed off.”

She stepped in front of him, blocking the TV screen. “Yeah. So what was the score?”

“Two to nothing, fourth inning,” he answered.

One light brown eyebrow arched with amusement. “The game was over an hour ago. Rockies lost, six to two.”

“Of course they did.” He dragged his fingers through his hair, pushing it off his face. “I must have been more tired than I realized. What about you? How do you do it?”

“I don't sleep at night,” she told him. “I prefer keeping with the pattern of sleeping during the day and working at night. That way, even on my days off, my circadian rhythm isn't disrupted.”

“I didn't realize I was rooming with a locust,” he teased. He stood and stretched, unintentionally baring a strip of tanned, muscular abs.

Sara quickly looked away and busied herself straightening the cushions on the couch. “That's a cicada. Totally different thing.”

He laughed. “I know. I remember chasing you around the yard when I was holding a locust shell and you were screaming like a little girl.”

“I
was
a little girl.”

“Oh, yeah. Right.”

“Anyway, I don't like to mess with my wake-sleep cycle,” she went on. “It keeps me from being sleepy during our shift.”

“Maybe I'll give it a try. But right now, I'm starving. Let's grab some pizza, then I need to go somewhere and get gifts for Mother's Day and Rusty's wedding. And maybe a desk and a TV for my room.”

“Sure. I don't mind shopping…when it's someone else's money.”

An hour later, they were staring at a large empty pizza pan. The enticing smells of garlic and fresh bread had drawn them downstairs to the pizzeria on the bottom floor of the building.

“You can't weigh more than a hundred and ten pounds,” Chris said as he studied her slender figure. “You matched me piece-for-piece. Where do you put it?”

“I have a high metabolism.”

He patted his stomach. “I've got to start working out again. I've slacked off since I got back.”

Sara doubted there was an extra ounce of fat on his body, but she wasn't going to feed his ego. “Yeah, you're getting a little flabby there.”

“I noticed a gym down the street from the apartment. Have you tried it?”

“Not yet. I've been meaning to.”

“Good, you can check it out with me tomorrow morning before you go to bed.” He shook his head. “That's going to take some getting used to.”

“It's easier than jumping back and forth. That's why shift workers have so many stress problems.”

“I'm sure that's not the only reason.” Chris took out his wallet and put several bills down on the check. Sara grabbed his arm. “Hey, I'm paying my half.”

He started to protest, and she shook her head.

“We split expenses…that's the deal. This isn't a date,” she reminded him firmly.

It wasn't a decision he was comfortable with, but he accepted her rules. Just then, their waitress, wearing Daisy Dukes and a Rockies T-shirt tied in a knot under her pumped-up breasts, came around to their table to collect the check.

“I haven't seen you around here before, have I?” she asked Chris.

“I just moved into an apartment upstairs,” he told her.

“Upstairs, huh?” The girl's lips stretched into a flirtatious smile. “Good, then I'm sure we'll
bump
into each other often.”

Jeez, doesn't she see he's here with a woman?
Sara fumed silently. Okay, it wasn't a date, but it was pretty rude to butt in on two people having dinner together. She acted like Sara was invisible…which usually Sara didn't mind. Somehow, this time she did.

Chris smiled at the waitress. He'd have to be blind not to notice her obvious charms. And Sara knew his eyesight was perfect. “Yeah, I'll be around. Keep the change.”

“Thank you. Hurry back.” She made it a point to rub her boobs against his shoulder when she bent over to pick up the money and the check.

Chris looked over at Sara. “Ready to help me shop? We can stop somewhere on the way to work.”

For the first time all afternoon, the waitress looked directly at Sara, then the girl's smile widened. It was clear she didn't see Sara as competition. Which, of course, she wasn't.

“Ambulance 25, young male, suspected overdose in the parking lot at 3317 East Colfax. Please respond. Code 10.”

“That's the Bluebird,” Sara told Chris. She picked up the mic and spoke into it. “Ambulance 25, roger.” She flipped on the lights and siren.

Chris hesitated at the entrance of City Park, looked both ways and pulled out when there was an opening. Like the parting of the Red Sea, cars moved to the side of the road and stopped to allow the ambulance passage.

“Was there a show at the Bluebird tonight?” he asked as he eased through an intersection as quickly as safety allowed.

“Probably.” Sara glanced at the digital clock on the dashboard. “It's about time for it to be letting out.”

“Ever been there…for a show, I mean?” he asked, skillfully steering the ambulance around a panicky driver who had stopped in the middle of the road.

“No, I haven't had a chance. How about you?”

Chris nodded. “Yeah, back when I was a teenager, I went there a few times. I even caught The Fray there.”

“Sounds like a disease.”

“You don't know The Fray?” Chris was surprised. The local Denver band had provided the anthem for his youth.

“Of course I do. Remember how I used to play ‘
How to Save a Life'
over and over until you threatened to break my CD?”

“Oh, yeah, I had forgotten about that. You always did that.”

“What?”

“Get attached to a song and put it on repeat until you found a new song.” He slid a quick look at her before turning his attention back to the road. “I think they call that obsessive behavior.”

“I view it as loyalty,” she retorted, but softened it with a smile. “I like what I like.”

Chris pulled in, maneuvering around the remaining cars in the parking lot. A cop waved them toward a spot near the alley, and Chris inched along, dodging people who obliviously walked around the moving vehicle.

“Shit, I don't think we can get any closer. The crowd is too thick,” he grumbled.

“Stop here,” Sara ordered. She relayed their status on the radio, then unsnapped her seat belt and hopped out.

Chris braked, put the ambulance in park and followed her. She had already opened the back and picked up their kit. “Bring the narc kit,” she reminded him as she stepped out the back of the ambulance and melted into the crowd.

He got the narc kit out of its locked compartment, shut the doors and made sure they were locked before he followed her. The group of people swarming around the vehicle looked like the kind of crowd that would rip the place apart, looking for the “good” drugs, not knowing they were sealed in the kit. Since the patient was several feet away and out of sight and there was only one cop on scene, locking the ambulance was definitely the wise move.

“Everyone, please move back!” a cop shouted. “Give him some air.”

The crowd pretty much ignored the cop and stopped to stare at the limp body on the pavement. Sara pushed her way through and Chris followed behind. While she knelt next to the young black man, Chris spread his arms and pushed the crowd back a few steps. The cop did the same, and a tall man wearing jeans and a button-down shirt and looking strangely out of place in the concert crowd followed suit. The three men continued to move outward until the patient had a little breathing room. Although, judging by the limpness of his body, it might already be too late.

A belt was loosened but still wrapped around the young man's bicep, indicating drug activity, although there was no sign of a needle or other paraphernalia around. Someone, possibly the dealer or even another junkie, had probably scooped it up and removed it from the scene. Nevertheless, by the fresh mark on his arm, it was obvious the man had been shooting up something, probably heroin.

Sara pulled on a pair of protective gloves, checked his vitals and removed the belt. She reached into her narc kit and pulled out a packet that held a syringe filled with Narcan, a drug they used to counteract overdoses. She ripped the packet open with her teeth and took out the syringe. She held it up, checked for air bubbles, then jabbed the needle into the man's arm muscle.

Mere seconds later, the man sucked in a lungful of air and bolted upright into a sitting position. His eyes were wide and confused as he looked around at the dozens of morbidly curious faces staring down at him.

“Fuck me! What happened?” he asked breathlessly.

“You overdosed. Now we're going to take you to the hospital and get you—” Sara started to explain as she carefully inserted the needle into a disposable container in her kit so she wouldn't accidentally leave it behind.

“No way. I hate hospitals,” the man interrupted. He scrambled to his feet and would have run if there had been an opening. The crowd, seeing that the drama was over and no one had died, started to disperse. Seeing an escape route materialize, he ran.

Chris reached out and grabbed the man's shirt as he passed. “Hey, man, let us take you in. This medicine isn't going to last, and you're going to crash in less than an hour.”

The man tried to pull away but didn't have the strength. He turned back to protest, then stopped.

“Lieutenant?” he asked, his voice weak. His right hand rose to his forehead in a shaky salute.

Chris stiffened and stared at the guy more closely. “Miller? Dude, what have you done to yourself?”

The man's shoulders slumped and his head dropped. “It's rough out here. I don't think I can make it.”

“Let us help you,” Chris said. “First, we'll get you checked out, then—”