Just one more after this. It was supposed to be all one chapter, but the other half isn't written yet, and I need to make progress. Only 20 days to get it all done. The trailer has put the pressure on. I'll get the other one done by Monday afternoon. Then I'll return to "Here, After" for those of you following that one.

A little M-ey. Not very. And some extra F-bombs for your reading enjoyment.

Chapter 12

It was the most unprofessional thing he'd ever done, and there was definitely competition for that particular distinction.

Though he probably should have been ashamed of himself, at the moment all that mattered was that she was here in his arms. She was still on his lap with her head tucked under his chin, her breath fluttering his chest hair.

He didn't want it to end, but they did have a job to do, and the temperature was dropping. A light breeze had picked up and it was slipping through the crack in the window. He felt it on his bare skin, especially in the damp places.

Vic nestled her face into his neck.

"What are we doing, Walt?" she whispered.

He picked her head up so he could see her face in the blue-white glow of the rising moon.

"What we should have done a long time ago," he said.

"It's just . . . ."

She was intense, looking in his eyes, back and forth as though trying to find the right spot for saying whatever it was she wanted to say.

"It's just what, Vic?"

"I don't know. Just wow, I guess."

He knew better than to push, but he wanted her to say something clearer than that. It was ridiculous, he realized, but he wanted to know what this meant.

She leaned forward and kissed him even more the way he'd never been kissed before than the past few times, and already those were so different. Her crotch was making contact with his again, and there was a stirring. He was way too old to be ready so soon, but apparently his body didn't know that.

Her eyes searched for that place in his, and he was sure she was about to come out with something concrete and reassuring when she said, "You should come home with me. When we're done here," which was almost as good.

"I'd like that," he said.

"What time is it?"

He'd taken his watch off so as not to scratch her with it, or pull her hair, so she leaned over to the passenger seat floor and grabbed her phone. With remarkable ab strength she righted herself on his lap. In the process, she ground against him. He pulled her hips in closer.

"Two-thirty," she said, concentrating on the screen, but moving against him, too. "We missed a call."

"Really?" He ran his hand up her thigh, his thumb making light contact at the junction. She flinched and grinned.

With one hand she held the phone to her ear and with the other she began to stroke him. She raised her eyebrows, made a show of being impressed.

He was just about to take over, just about to lift her and guide himself in when she said, "Fuck."

At first he thought it was an expression of pleasure, but the hand on him let go and she moved back, away from his thumb.

"Ferg," she said, touching the screen, unnatural light in her face. "Listen."

The message played on speaker:

"Vic." Ferg sounded out of breath. "There's another one. Fire department's on its way. I'm on my own here. I'm heading over. Come as quick as possible." There was audible movement and shuffling before he added, "Horizon World. See you over there."

"Horizon World?" Walt said.

"Fuck," she said again.

She reached into the backseat for her shirt, so her breasts were right in his face.

He cupped one. He couldn't help it, but at same time, he was serious. "When did the call come in?"

She sat back on his thighs and pulled the undershirt on. She started to unbutton the uniform shirt. "Twelve forty-five."

The fingers that had just been on her skin went to his brow and pressed.

"Yup," she said.

She put the shirt on, open down the front, then managed to crawl across to the driver's seat and sit down. Immediately she started pulling her jeans on.

"An hour and forty-five minutes ago," she said, as if she didn't think he could identify the exact problem with the situation without further elaboration.

He pulled his underwear up and then his jeans, and he buckled his belt.

"He didn't say anything about injuries."

"An hour and forty-five minutes, Walt," she said in a tone that sounded almost like she was blaming him.

She started the engine, the rumble of it disrupting the perfect quiet of the night. Until they were out on the highway, she went easy on the gas. Then she gunned it.

"We should call," Walt said.

"And say what?" She was obviously panicking. "Sorry we're so late, Ferg. We were fucking in your car and must not have heard the phone."

"It didn't ring," he said. "We wouldn't have missed it."

"Fuck."

"That happens on these things. They don't ring sometimes."

"You're the expert I guess," she said.

She didn't have to be like that. She didn't need to attach this to them, like one was the direct result of the other. It wasn't. And even if it was, what did it say? They had a right to some happiness after everything, didn't they?

The ten minutes over there felt like an hour, and the two hours there felt like ten minutes.

Ferg, the fire chief Claude Benson, and a female firefighter were huddled at the front of the big engine. There were no flames. The remaining firefighters were spraying the smoldering wreckage of one of the buildings in the complex. Its roof had caved in.

When they got out of the car, Ferg called over to them, "I left that message two hours ago."

The smoky air smelled oddly of barbecue and creosote.

"Didn't come through," Walt said. "We just got it."

He expected them to be suspicious or accusatory, but they weren't. They just looked tired.

Claude ran through the story as they all walked around the burned building.

"Everyone made it out okay, though?" Walt asked.

"Most of the residents are back in bed," Claude said. His voice was unusually high for a man, but it fit with his mustache. "We sent three to the hospital for observation. Smoke inhalation."

"What about the ones from this block?"

"That's the dining area and the rec room. No one's in there after about 10:00 PM."

"Thank God," Vic said. "Who would do this to an assisted living facility?"

"Same M.O.," Claude said. "Same guy we assume."

"It's not Clayton Baker," Walt said.

"You're sure about that?" Ferg said.

The whole way over Walt had done the math. It had been after 12:30 when Clayton had gone back into the trailer. This fire had to have been started at least half an hour before that, probably longer.

"It wasn't him," Vic said.

By the time they were finished, it was close to five. They all needed to get some sleep. Ruby and Eamonn would both be in at 8:00, and McClanahan and Gill would be back mid-morning. They could continue this then.

Ferg handed Vic the keys to the truck.

"Give me a second," Vic said. "I just need to clean out your car."

"Why?" Ferg said. "What'd you guys do in there?"

They both stared at him.

"Nothing," Vic said at the same time and in the same defensive tone that Walt said, "Regular stakeout."

Ferg was staring at them now.

"Nothing," Walt tried again, while Vic said, "What do you think?"

Ferg held his hands up, surrendering. "I was teasing, guys."

Walt shifted his weight. Vic went over to the car to gather their things, and wipe down the passenger seat, he hoped.

"I can drop you at the station," Ferg said. "Vic has a long drive."

Walt scratched his head. "I . . . uh."

Vic slammed the door and walked back over to them. She handed Walt his thermos, and she smiled almost shyly up at him.

"We'll see you in a few hours, Vic," Ferg said, and he started walking towards his car.

Walt shrugged. Vic nodded.

"Sorry about that back there," she said.

"It's okay."

"Next time."

"Yeah," he said. "Next time.