Out of control, p.6
Out of Control, page 6
I hid my shock. A.J. was a skeezeball, but no way was he capable of anything so monstrous as the blowouts.
Or was he? Had I slept with a killer? Suddenly I wanted to take a shower.
I cleared my throat and managed to say in an even voice, “It’s clearly your call, Mr. Sharpe, but you should know we’re set to blow the fire in the morning. If we leave now, it will be at least a week before another well control company can get here. That’s a lot of oil to burn, not to mention the additional cost of hiring a different company, who’ll have to reinvent the wheel.”
Thankfully, before he was an overprotective, indulgent father, Hoyt Sharpe was an astute businessman. With scarcely ten seconds of thought, he jerked a nod and said, “Fine. Do it.” He bent to his son and tried to rouse him, but Dylan was out cold. I caught a whiff of alcohol and decided his unconscious state was as much because of the booze as the pop Cash gave him.
Harley stepped forward and grabbed Dylan beneath the arms. “If you’ll get his feet,” he said to Hoyt, “we can carry him to his truck.”
Looking like he’d be happy to kill all of us, Hoyt grasped Dylan’s ankles and followed Harley’s lead. Cash ran ahead and opened the back door of the SUV.
From where he still stood beside me, Robichaud said, “You don’t think A.J. did it, do you?”
I glanced at Conaway, who didn’t know about my previous relationship with A.J. She had her usual curious look. Oh, hell. “Don’t spread it around, but I was married to A.J. for a short while, a lifetime ago.”
She pulled a face. “You slept with him? Damn, Blair, why? The guy’s about as hot as Antarctica.”
“It was several years ago. He hasn’t aged well.” I scowled at her. “Hell. Why am I defending myself? Don’t tell me you never slept with someone who later disgusted you.”
She cocked a grin at me. “Actually, I’m a virgin.”
“Yeah, and I’m a nun.”
“Ladies, could we focus here?” Robichaud looked very uncomfortable. “I asked if you think A.J. could be responsible.”
I stared at the SUV. “To tell the honest to God truth, I don’t know. And why ask me? I’m clearly not terribly astute when it comes to judging character. I was stupid enough to marry the man, then let him rob me blind.”
Remembering the day he left, when I came home from work and realized he was gone—along with anything I had that was worth more than two bucks—I shoved my hands into the pockets of my fire suit and scowled. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if I’d seen it coming. But I hadn’t. We’d had sex that morning. He’d kissed me goodbye, just like he did every morning—at least, the ones when I was in town—and said he’d take me out to dinner that night. I’d left in a fog of newlywed bliss.
And come home to an empty apartment. The bastard didn’t even leave a note. I didn’t hear from him again until two months later, when I got the divorce papers in the mail. He’d included a slip of paper that said, Sorry.
Yeah, he was sorry, all right. A sorry son of a bitch. But was he capable of masterminding the deadly blowouts? I didn’t think he was smart enough, but what did I know of him, really? “If A.J. is behind this, I can’t figure out why. What’s his motive?”
“He wants to make sure Maresco doesn’t have the money to extend their lease on some primo Alaskan oil and gas properties.” Robichaud folded his arms over his chest. “He told me as much when he was here a few days ago. Said he hates that Maresco is the one hit by all the blowouts, but the upside is that those undeveloped minerals will be up for bid.”
“If Maresco can’t come up with the scratch to extend their lease on drilling rights and it goes to auction, a lot of oil companies, big and small, will make a bid for them. Does A.J. think it’s a slam dunk that he can win the auction for Arroyo?”
“Based on some things he alluded to, I think he knows someone on the inside who’ll leak the other bid amounts so he can outbid them.”
Conaway said, “If he set the blowouts, why would he tell you? A.J.’s not too smart, but he’s not a complete idiot.”
Robichaud’s lip quirked. “Greed trumps stupidity. He thinks I come from money, and offered to cut me in on the buy.”
Her eyes narrowed. “So, do you come from money?”
He wordlessly peered toward the activity at the SUV.
“You’re just rude and nosy enough to make a great reporter, Conaway,” I murmured.
She swung her gaze to mine and I shrugged. I remembered Deke said Robichaud was from an old Louisiana family, but he hadn’t mentioned money. Nick Robichaud was a mystery in more ways than one. I was still imagining what he’d look like naked.
We watched the three men as they settled Dylan into the back seat of his SUV. “I think I’ll call those FBI agents and tell them.”
“I already did. I suspect a motive was what they were missing, and now they have one. Along with an arrest.”
Vague memories came back to me. I’d thought myself in love with A.J. He’d come on strong and never let up, literally sweeping me off my feet. I’d never been much for dating, I suppose, because I wasn’t into things like make-up and clothes. I was an egghead and guys tend to avoid geeky math girls. A.J. changed all that, or so I’d thought. He said he thought it was sexy how smart I was. Barely twenty-two, with extremely limited romantic experience, I was ripe for flattery. And a big fall.
I took to sex like a fish to water. Maybe because I ignored my mother’s constant lectures about not letting boys ‘take advantage.’ Or maybe because my goals always included doing anything and everything Mama told me I couldn’t. I used to wonder if she’d had sex exactly four times in her life, once for each of her daughters. My mother appeared to think of anything sexual as base, crude, and terribly white trash.
I, on the other hand, think sex is about feeling alive, powerful, and feminine. Maybe I don’t live a girly-girl life, but the fact remains, I am a girl, and at no time do I feel so female as when I’m naked, tangled up in the sheets with an equally naked male. For all A.J. was a thieving, lying bastard, he’d been a great one to teach me the wonders of the bedroom.
What did it say about me that I trusted him?
As soon as his son was deposited in the back seat, Hoyt climbed behind the wheel and peeled out, leaving a cloud of dust as he tore down the lease road. I supposed he’d return for his high-dollar sports car later.
Robichaud said, “Let’s blow it tonight and get the hell outta here.”
“I’m game. Can’t think of a job I ever wanted to finish so much as this one.”
Conaway’s pretty blue eyes lit up with excitement. “Awesome!”
…
Hours later, Conaway’s enthusiasm had waned a bit. Blowing a well fire is a tedious undertaking, a lot of time and effort for a brief moment of thrills and chills. Kind of like standing for hours in a long line at a theme park to ride the biggest, baddest roller coaster. But it’s so damned cool, we do it again and again.
I’d called the FBI guys, as instructed, and informed them of our intent to kill the fire. They’d stressed how important it was for them to work the site as soon as the fire was out to determine if the blowout was deliberately set before anyone had an opportunity to muck up the scene. They arrived close to sunset, almost nine o’clock in the west Texas summer, with another agent in tow. He was a bomb expert. Unfortunately, Tim Fresh came along for the ride. The minute they arrived, he started asking questions. That we had nitro blew his mind and he made a big, hairy deal about looking over all the paperwork we’re required to have for the privilege.
I seriously wished we could toss Tim in the fire, but the FBI agent said I couldn’t. Bad form to fry a Homeland Security guy. I told the agent to keep Tim away from me and the crew, but he wasn’t successful.
While I was working the nitro load with Robichaud, Tim stood close by and asked stupid questions, which we ignored until he said, “It seems far too coincidental that your ex-husband is the one behind these blowouts. You were on that platform, and now here you are at another blowout.”
My fingers wrapped around one of the nitro bottles. Nick reached down and gently removed them. “It’s ill-mannered to blow up a man, no matter how much he deserves it.”
Tim said, “I don’t find that at all amusing.”
“You can either walk away and leave us alone, or risk us screwing this up and blowing everything within a half mile radius to kingdom come.” I glared at him. “That includes you.”
I suppose he believed me. Turning, he stalked back to the special agents, who were leaning against their government sedan, flirting with Conaway.
Lowering my head, I returned to the task. “Do you think he’s blowing smoke up my dress?”
“Yes. Forget him and let’s get this done.”
But it was hard to ignore him. How did he know I’d once been married to A.J.?
Mind-reading, Robichaud said evenly, “It’s public record, Blair. Once they zeroed in on A.J., they would have researched his past. It means nothing, so don’t fret about it. He’s trying to scare you.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s what guys like him do.” He met my gaze. “We’ll be back in New Orleans by morning. Have breakfast with me. We’ll drink Bloody Marys.”
“Okay, but no sex.” Had I really said that?
He raised one dark brow. “Did I ask?”
“No, but you’re thinking it.”
“So are you.”
It was out there then and I wasn’t sure if I was relieved, or bummed out. “Thinking and doing are two entirely different things. We can’t sleep together because I’m your supervisor. It’s illegal.”
He grinned at me. “I promise not to tell Tim.”
Why did he have to be so damned hot? Why did he have to turn out to be a pretty decent guy behind that conceited jackass thing he had going? Why couldn’t he have stayed at Worldwide so it wouldn’t be a big deal if we jumped into bed and stayed there for three days? Never mind that I probably wouldn’t have met him if he’d stayed at Worldwide. I wasn’t in the mood to be logical. I wanted Nick Robichaud and it annoyed me that I couldn’t have him. “I’m not worried about Tim. I doubt the man’s ever had sex in his life because no woman in her right mind would do it with him, so he wouldn’t understand what you’re talking about.”
He sobered suddenly. “Who’d know, except you and me?”
“No one. You and me are who I’m worried about.”
His brow creased. He didn’t get it.
“You’re such a guy. Let’s say we do, and we start having dinner instead of breakfast, and more sex, and maybe a trip here and there. Weeks, maybe months pass, then we decide to give it up, that it’s not working. We get assigned to a job, maybe a long one in the middle of Malaysia, or Iraq. Think about how those go, Robichaud. If you don’t get along with everyone on the job, it’s worse than awkward. It’s bad for morale and a miserable experience. It’s easier if we just acknowledge we’d like to, then don’t.”
“Easier for you, maybe.” His gaze slid to my breasts. “I swear to God, it’s gonna kill me if I never find out what you look like naked.”
It didn’t help that his words mimicked my thoughts. “Okay, fine, we’ll play doctor, but that’s it.”
Not that I think I’m funny, or anything, but I did intend it as a joke. He surprised me when he didn’t even smile, much less laugh.
Instead, he said in a far more pronounced than usual southern drawl, with an undertone that made me think of warm whiskey and slick, hot skin, “If you take your clothes off, sugar, I guaran-damn-tee I’ll do a helluva lot more than look.”
Never in my whole life had a man made me feel exactly like I did at that moment. In all honesty, if we hadn’t had an audience, if we could have gotten away with it, I’d have stripped off the damn fire suit and made love to him right there in the west Texas dust next to enough nitro to blow us to the moon.
I sucked in a deep breath and let it out very slowly. “Then I guess maybe we better not play doctor.” We needed to get on with it, finish the nitro load, kill the fire and cap the well, pack up and get going. But I couldn’t stop staring at him.
“Did I mention that I spoke to Trick this afternoon?” he said.
“No.”
His gaze moved all over my face and landed on my lips. “Said he’s sending us to Venezuela as soon as we’re done here.”
“Us?”
His mouth slid into a slight smile. “You and me. Said he thinks we make a good team, considering how fast we worked this fire.”
If Trick had any inkling what Robichaud and I were discussing, he’d send one of us to Venezuela and the other to the opposite side of the world. Very glad Trick had no clue, I licked my lips. “Hotter than hell in Venezuela right now.”
I saw something flare in his dark eyes that had nothing to do with the monster fire to the east of us. “Maybe you can spend a few weeks down there and come back home relatively sane, but I can’t. I’m standing here trying to figure a way to get you out of that suit before we have to load the f’ing plane. I’m not even thinking about tomorrow. It’s all about two hours from now.”
He wasn’t the impetuous type. Neither was he someone who ploddingly plans. Robichaud was a man who sized something up, figured the best way to go about it, then did it. Decisive. A man of action. If he was thinking about having sex with me in two hours, he’d been thinking about it for some time. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. On the one hand, it was extremely erotic knowing he’d been thinking about me that way. On the other hand, it had a certain expectation that slammed against the control freak in me.
Ironically he gave voice to my thoughts. “It’s inevitable, especially if we spend a few weeks isolated in South America.”
“What’s inevitable is the end of it. Did you forget that part about how I’m lousy at relationships?”
“Did you forget that you’ve never had a relationship with a guy who does what you do? I’m not just anybody, Blair. I know who you are, and why.”
“You’re getting way past sex, Robichaud.”
“Why not be optimistic?”
“It’s got nothing to do with optimism. If we didn’t work together, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. We’d be heading for that skeezy motel in Iraan as soon as we kill this fire. But we do work together, which means this train will wind up in a town called Awkward. That is, if no one else finds out.” I nodded toward the trailer house, where Cash and Harley were taking a breather before we blew the fire. “If anyone catches on, I’ll be the company bimbo and you’ll be Mister Studly. If Sweet or Trick find out, we could both be fired.”
He tapped his finger against one of the nitro bottles and said softly, “Didn’t figure you for a coward, Blair.”
“There’s a difference between being a coward and being careful.”
He frowned. “Careful means we don’t get caught. It means we agree to walk away friends if things don’t work out. Just admit it. You’re chicken.”
It was my turn to look down, away from the intensity of his stare. I focused on the nitro bottles. There was enough there to blow both of us into tiny bits, but it didn’t scare me. The fire we’d been dancing around all week was like a window to Hell, capable of burning me to cinders in seconds if I stood in the wrong place and the wind blew just right. But that didn’t scare me, either. Standing less than three feet away was a man I’d known only two months, who was everything I’d never liked. He was a conceited ex-jock who knew way too much about firearms. He came from an old, southern family that was undoubtedly as snooty about their ancestry as mine was. He was so alpha he could be the poster boy for testosterone. And yet, I wanted him with a bone deep sexual need that terrified me, it was that strong. Maybe that’s what scared me most. I’d never felt like that before, like I could shuck everything important in my life for an hour in bed with a man I should dislike.
Jesus. Maybe I really had inhaled too many petroleum fumes.
“Say the word and I’ll back off.”
Raising my eyes, I looked right at him and barely managed to say, “Word.”
He lifted his hardhat, ran his hand through his dark hair, then settled the hat back and sighed. “You’ll change your mind.”
“You said you’d back off.”
“I didn’t expect you to wimp out.” He reached for the nitro and continued working the load. “Come on, Blair, let’s get this done so we can go home.”
I’ll admit, a part of me was glad he wasn’t giving up.
Thirty minutes later, we set the charge and blew the well. We got it right, thank God, and the explosion killed the fire, leaving a colossal fountain of oil spewing into the sky, raining across the location. Being the weakest of our team, I handled the controls of the Athey wagon and settled the capping assembly over the flange we’d set earlier that day. Cash and Harley and Robichaud bolted the exposed flange to the capping assembly, then disconnected the yoke of the Athey so I could pull back. They closed the blind rams in the blowout preventer and shut in the well, stopping the flow of oil.
I backed the Athey wagon up several more feet, then killed the engine. Robichaud shut down the water pump. Other than the low hum of the air conditioner in the trailer house, all was quiet. It was strange, after days and days of the roaring fire.
When I stepped out of the shed, I saw Conaway, who looked ready to jump up and down and squeal, she was so excited. But she managed to videotape everything without an excess of physical enthusiasm. All the same, she kept repeating, “That was so fucking cool!”
I assumed she could edit that out later. Something told me that her professor at UCLA might mark down for yelling F-bombs in the middle of a documentary.
Although the crew and I were covered in oil, it was primarily on our fire suits and hard hats. The men climbed out of their suits and left them in a heap close to the truck while they broke out the whiskey and made congratulatory toasts, looking pretty funny dressed in only their boxers and steel toed boots.
