Page 58 of Fire and Smoke (Nothing Special #9)

Ramon Vasquez

There was no recollection of time in this darkness, no yesterday or tomorrow. Just endless floating.

Vasquez drifted in a black ocean, weightless and heavy at the same time.

Voices seemed to echo around him, but they were too muffled to understand or hold on to.

Pain didn’t feel like pain . Instead, it felt like heat, a roaring pressure under his skin dragging him down when he tried to rise.

Sometimes, he thought he was still in the locker room, staring at himself in that scratched-up mirror, the tainted badge on his chest.

Other times, he was sure he heard his father coughing, whining, and begging for help.

Worse were the flashes of Joshi. His strong jaw and dark beard. The feel of his touch on his cheek and lips along his throat.

Vasquez did all he could to lean into those feelings that felt so real it was cruel, because he could never hold on to it. Every time he tried, it slipped right through his fingers like water.

He didn’t know if he was dead or alive. He’d never been a religious man, both of his parents had worked on Sundays.

He didn’t know if he was in Heaven, Hell, or Purgatory. He’d made choices that could’ve condemned him to any three. Had played both sides of the line until his world split beneath him.

If this was the price for his choices, so be it.

But he’d only wished he’d gotten the chance to say goodbye.

Vasquez stared at the gray-speckled ceiling tiles so long his vision blurred.

He tried to shift his position, but a bolt of pain ripped through his middle that made him bite his tongue to keep from screaming.

Fuck .

He’d been awake for nine days, before that, it’d been an endless black void.

Now he existed again, and every inch of him hurt like a motherfucker.

When he’d first come to, it’d been so excruciating and intolerable he’d begged for death instead.

The doctor had come and listed all his injuries and surgeries as if he was reading a grocery list.

Three bullet wounds. One had ripped through his lower abdomen, puncturing his small intestine. Another had lodged near his right kidney. The third had torn into his shoulder and exited through his lower back.

He’d had two emergency surgeries. One to repair the bowel perforation and stop internal bleeding. Another to remove fragments and reconstruct muscle tissue in his shoulder. There’d be a lot more work ahead. Physical therapy. Occupational therapy. Follow-ups with half a dozen specialists.

But the doctor said—in an optimistic tone—he should be able to walk again. And with hard work and determination, maybe even return to full duty.

“You were lucky, officer. Not many survive that kind of maliciousness.”

Vasquez turned his head and stared at the slim sliver of city skyline through his hospital window.

Duty. Lucky. Maliciousness.

He let out a quick, humorless scoff that scraped his dry throat.

He’d known there’d be a price when he’d taken Mercer’s money and fed him the bad intel.

Some debts had to be paid in blood.

He just hadn’t realized it’d be so much of his own shed all over a sidewalk one block from his precinct.

He’d made the mistake of asking the nurse yesterday if anyone had come to see him while he’d been in the coma.

“Um, no,” she’d said softly. “Nobody. We tried to contact your next of kin but got no answer.”

He thought he’d be used to no one giving a shit about him by now. But it still felt like someone had driven a rusty spike through his chest.

Kiran .

He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the sting that built behind them. Where the hell was he?

Had he bailed because Vasquez was damaged goods? Had Joshi asked around and realized who he was and the kind of man he was?

He pictured Kiran’s dark eyes and warm touch. His smile.

Before he could get further lost in his thoughts, the door swung open and a nurse breezed in, smiling with relentless cheer as if she’d been sheltered from the worst parts of the world.

He shifted again, wincing as a deep ache flared under his ribs.

“Morning, Officer Vasquez!” she chirped. “Just going to check your vitals before we take you down for imaging.”

Officer .

He grimaced as she wrapped the blood pressure cuff around his bicep.

“I need to make a phone call today?” he rasped. “I need to call my dad’s nursing home. Make some arrangements.”

“Of course.” She gave him a sympathetic smile. “We can help you with whatever you need.”

Can you?

His entire life felt as if it was officially over.

He didn’t have a dollar to his name. Everything he’d harbored was gone. He’d closed the offshore account the morning of the press conference, leaving him with nothing. Not even his father’s living fees were paid.

He was about to close his eyes again when the nurse straightened, looking past his shoulder.

“Officer…it looks like you have a visitor.”

“I’ve already taken care of the nursing home,” a deep, wonderful, familiar voice answered.

Vasquez’s heart skipped a beat.

Joshi stood at the threshold, in a dark polo shirt and tailored denims. He had a shadow of beard stubble that matched those beautiful, intelligent eyes. His gaze fixed on him…studying and dark.

The air rushed out of his lungs. He almost wanted to leap out of the bed and bury himself in Joshi’s chest. He needed to feel his solid, strong arms around him.

But his body refused to move even an inch. Just the thought of rising hurt too much.

Joshi’s eyes softened when they saw the tears he couldn’t hold back.

The nurse hurried and finished checking his IV lines before she left quietly, pulling the door shut behind her.

Silence stretched long and uncomfortable between them.

Joshi didn’t move at first. He just stood there in the doorway with his mouth in a firm line, as if he already knew the whole deceitful, vengeful, bloody story, and was holding back a storm of accusations.

Joshi’s gaze dropped to the floor for half a second… and that was the tell. The confirmation.

Vasquez swallowed hard. His voice scraped out like rusty steel.

“You know…don’t you?”

Joshi’s face tightened before he gave him a slow nod.

Vasquez stared at the blanket, feeling unworthy to meet his eyes.

“Are you here to officially charge me? Handcuff me to the bed?”

Joshi slowly came closer, shaking his head. “No. There’s not enough evidence to charge you.”

Vasquez frowned, confused.

Joshi folded his arms over his chest. “Remember, I told you I’m good at sniffing out bullshit? It’s what I do for a living.”

Vasquez blinked. “What are you talking about?”

Joshi exhaled, as if deciding how much to reveal.

“I’m not IA. I’m from an investigative firm out of San Antonio.

I was brought in to look into God’s task force.

To see if they’d gone too far from protocol to remain operational, and if any of them were on the take since their busts kept coming up empty…

or if it was as they’d suggested, a leak in the department. ”

Vasquez’s stomach dropped.

Joshi searched his face. “I knew you were hiding something, Ramon. I could feel it. But there wasn’t enough proof. No solid evidence tying you directly to Mercer. It was all circumstantial.” Joshi sighed. “If you were charged, even a public defender could’ve gotten you off.”

He paused, voice gentler. “So, I finally completed my report. I recommended the task force undergo a full audit. And that you be released from duty.”

Vasquez inhaled a harsh, rattling breath that made him feel like he’d gotten shot all over again.

He shouldn’t’ve been surprised. Deep down, he’d known this was how it would end. No badge, no friends…no one to love. But the devastation still gutted him.

He didn’t care about the Atlanta PD anymore. But he had cared about keeping Kiran.

He closed his eyes, the pain in his voice betraying him. “So, you and me…it was all a part of your investigation. The dinners…inviting me to your home…kissing me. It was just you doing your job?”

Joshi frowned as if the words physically hurt him. “At first…yes. It started that way.”

Vasquez chuckled—pain searing his chest—at his own fucking luck.

Joshi stepped closer. “But then I saw you. The real you. Under all that anger and bullshit . You’re a good man, Ramon. You just got lost. All men get lost sometimes…even the good ones.”

Vasquez tried to scoff, but it came out as a dry cough.

“I gave you the information on the bust, but Mercer wasn’t tipped off. The raid was a success.”

Vasquez bit his lower lip to keep from saying anything incriminating, although it was most likely too late. He’d been fired.

“I’ve been in my line of work long enough to believe in redemptive sacrifices. Even when they’re messy,” Joshi said.

He paused, those dark eyes locked on him.

“The Briar Heights GoFundMe received an anonymous seventy-thousand-dollar donation a few weeks ago. Free was able to track it to an account in the International Belize Bank.”

Vasquez froze, unable to breathe.

Joshi’s mouth curved. “Under the name Nomar Valjean.”

“Shit.”

“Lucky for you, Free and Lieutenant Tucker are all tech and no literature . They couldn’t hack the name. But I did.”

Joshi’s voice softened. “Valjean. Hugo’s misunderstood criminal in Les Misérables . A man driven by desperation…and love. He steals to feed his family. He’s bad but wants to be good and live a better life, to belong.”

Vasquez shook his head, “That doesn’t mean it’s—”

“ And,” Joshi stressed, “Nomar…is Ramon spelled backward.”

Vasquez’s laugh faded into silence.

He didn’t think anyone would ever figure out that damn name or link it to him. Which only proved that Joshi was too fucking smart for a dumbass like him.

Joshi moved in close and cupped Vasquez’s cheek. His palm was as warm and steady as he remembered. A balm that was better than any medicine he’d been administered.

“Money that was meant for bad…you made good. You could’ve kept it, but instead, you gave those families their homes back.”

Vasquez wondered if he’d end up working for Atlanta’s solid waste services after he healed, since he was such a piece of shit.

“My time in Atlanta is done,” Joshi whispered. “I’m going back home.”

“You’re leaving?” His voice broke.

“I have to.”

Vasquez had to fight back the urge to beg. He forced his voice to stay steady. “You gotta move on, right.”

Joshi hesitated a long moment before he said, “Well, since you’re pretty good at catching people on video…” He cracked a tiny smile. “There’s a job open in my firm. Have you ever thought about doing PI work?”

Vasquez knew his mouth was hanging open, but he couldn’t close it.

Joshi pressed his hand more firmly to his face. “Ramon, what we had… It wasn’t supposed to be real. But it was for me.” He paused a second before he added. “Come back with me. You can start over, and maybe we can continue what we started.”

Vasquez stared into those eyes for a long time, his throat tight as hope and fear warred inside him.

“My father is here…alone.”

“My father is alone in San Antonio. He lives with me. Maybe they can be friends.” Joshi shrugged. “He’s one annoying ass curmudgeon, I tell ya. But your dad seemed to like me well enough…after I shut up and let him finish watching Gun Smoke .”

“I don’t deserve any of this,” he whispered, his heart squeezing. “I don’t deserve you.”

Joshi sat on the edge of the bed.

“I’m no one to judge anyone’s life, Ramon. I’ve made my own mistakes that I thought I’d never atone for.” Joshi looked down at his hands, then back at him. “If I hadn’t been given a second chance, I’d still be wallowing in my own self-pity as well.”

Joshi reached forward, curled his fingers around his wrist, and squeezed. “You do deserve it. Maybe not a fuckin’ Nobel Peace Prize, but at least a shot at peace.”

Vasquez drew a breath so deep it hurt and whispered the truth he’d never thought he’d say, “I do want to start over, Kiran.”

Joshi leaned in, eyes steady on his, and pressed a gentle, lingering kiss on his cracked lips. It was slow, full of understanding, and forgiveness.

He didn’t know what he deserved. He had sins he’d never wash clean, but for the first time…he didn’t believe he deserved to be punished forever.

With Joshi by his side, he was going to take his last chance at hope.

A sharp knock at the door made them both turn as a man in light-green scrubs poked his head inside. He glanced at the clipboard in his hand, then said happily, “I’m here to take you down to radiology, Mr. Vasquez.”

Vasquez could feel the blood draining from his face.

“Right now?”

Joshi kissed him one last time, then stood.

“It’s all right,” he said, sliding his blazer off and rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt. “I got you.”

Vasquez swallowed hard and braced for the agony before Joshi slid his strong hand under his arm to steady him. It hurt like a sonofabitch…but at least he no longer had to endure his hurt alone.