Flashpoint (2 page)

He turned to the cupboards while she took in the kitchen. The table was huge, with at least twelve chairs scattered around it. On the counter ran a line of mugs the length of the tile. “How many of you are stationed here?”

“We're on three rotating shifts, with only six firefighters and two EMTs each, which makes us…twenty-four? Down from thirty, thanks to some nasty cutbacks.”

A medium-size station, then, but huge compared to the private ambulance company she'd last worked for, where there'd been only four on at all times.

She'd have to be far more social here than she was used to. The firefighters worked twenty-four-hour shifts to the EMTs' twelve, but it was still a lot of time together. She told herself that was a bonus, but really it just drove home that, once again, she was the new kid in class.

Zach eased over to the coffeepot. “Black, or jacked up?”

“Jacked up, please.”

He reached for the sugar. Without her permission, her eyes took themselves on a little tour, starting with those wide shoulders, that long, rangy torso, and a set of buns that—

He turned and, oh perfect, caught her staring.

At his butt.

Arching a brow, he leaned back against the counter while she did her best imitation of a ceiling tile. When she couldn't stand the silence and finally took a peek at him, he was handing her the mug of coffee, his eyes amused.

“Thanks,” she managed.

“You're not from around here.” He poured another mug for himself.

All her life she hadn't been “from around here,” so that was nothing new. Getting caught staring at a guy's ass? That was new. New and very uncomfortable. “Is that a requirement?”

“Ah, and a little defensive,” he said easily. “You look new to Santa Rey, that's all.”

“And you know that because…?”

“Because of your skin.” Reaching out, he stroked a finger over her cheek, and instantly she felt as if all her happy spots sparked to life. She sucked in a breath.

So did he.

After a pause, he pulled his finger back. “Huh.”

Yeah, huh.

“You're pale,” he said. “That's what I meant. You're obviously not from a beach town.”

Okay, so they weren't going to discuss it. “I'm just careful, is all.”

Zach nodded slowly. “I didn't mean to ruffle you.”

Even though he was clearly ruffled, too. He slid his feet into his boots, leaving them unlaced as he set down his coffee and shrugged into his uniform shirt.

Maybe he hadn't meant to ruffle her, but that's exactly what he'd done, was still doing just by breathing. “I'm a big fan of sunscreen.”

With a nod, he came close again, his gaze touching over her features. “It was a compliment. You have gorgeous skin, all creamy smooth.” Again, he stroked a finger over her cheek, and like before, she felt the touch in a whole bunch of places that had no business feeling anything.

He was ruffling her again. Big-time ruffling going on, from her brain cells to all her erogenous zones, of which she had far more than she remembered.

“Back East?” he guessed.

“Massachusetts.” Brooke was trying not to react to the fact that he was in her personal bubble, or that she was enjoying the invasion. “You, uh…” She wagged her finger toward his shirt, still partially opened over the invitation to bite him, which she suddenly wanted to do. “Didn't finish buttoning.”

“You distracted me.”

Yeah. A mutual problem, apparently. This close, he seemed even taller and broader, and now his surfer good looks were only exaggerated by the firefighter uniform. “Are the surfboards outside yours?”

“Why?” He flashed a smile that must have slayed female hearts across the land. It certainly slayed hers. “Because I look like a surfer?”

“Yes.”

“Do you surf?”

“I've never tried,” she admitted. “I'm not sure it'd be a good idea.”

“Why?”

“I'm…” She paused, not exactly relishing telling this gorgeous specimen of a man her faults.

“A little uptight?” he guessed, then looked her over. “Maybe even a little bit of a perfectionist?”

“Are you suggesting I'm anal? Because I'm not.”

He just kept looking at her, a little amused, and she caved like a cheap suitcase. “Okay, I am. What gave me away?”

“The hair.”

Which she had in a neat braid. “Keeps it out of my way.”

“Smart. And the ironed cargoes?”

She slid her hands into her pockets. “So I hate wrinkles.”

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, wrinkles are a bitch.”

Damn it. He was gorgeous
and
perceptive. “Fine. I'm a lot anal.”

He let out another slow and easy grin.

And something within her began a slow and easy burn.

Oh, this wasn't good. It was the opposite of good. “Maybe I should just come back—”

But before she could finish that thought, a loud bell clanged, and in the blink of an eye the surfer firefighter went from laid-back and easygoing to tense and alert.

“Units two and three, respond to 3640 Rebecca Avenue,” said a disembodied voice from the loudspeaker.

“That's me.” Zach set down his mug as movement came from down the hall.

People began filing into the front room in various stages of readiness, most of them guys—really hot guys, Brooke couldn't help but notice—half of them pulling on clothes, some shoving on shoes, others giving orders to others. All looked exhausted, and somewhat out of sorts. Having been up all night, they couldn't be thrilled at having to move out now, but she still expected someone to ask about her, or even acknowledge her, but no one did.

“Mary's temp is here,” Zach said into the general chaos. “Brooke O'Brien, everyone.”

People gave a quick wave, one or two even quicker smiles, and kept moving. Zach squeezed her shoulder as he headed to the door, once again a simple touch from him giving her a jolt. “See you around, New Hire Number Seven.” And just like that, he was gone.

They were all gone.

Yeah. Definitely still the new kid.

B
ROOKE SPENT
that night walking through the three-story Victorian her grandmother had so unexpectedly left her, marveling that it was in her name now. She'd never met Lucille O'Brien, who'd been estranged from her only child, Brooke's mother, Karen, so it'd been a shock to everyone when Brooke had been contacted by an attorney and given the details of Lucille's will.

As she'd been warned by the attorney, every room was indeed filled to the brim with…stuff. For Brooke, for whom everything she owned could fit into her car, this accumulation of stuff boggled the mind. All of it would have to go in order to sell the house, but she didn't know where to start. Her mother had been no help, wanting nothing to do with any of it, not even willing to come West to look.

But Brooke was glad she'd come. If nothing else, being in Santa Rey, experiencing that inexplicably over-the-top attraction to Zach, staying here in the only place her family had any history at all, gave her a sense that she might actually have a shot at things she'd never dared dream about before.

She finally decided to go top to bottom and headed to the attic. There she went to the first pile she came to and found a stack of photo boxes that unexpectedly snagged her by the throat. The way she'd grown up hadn't allowed for much sentimentality. None of her few belongings included keepsakes like photos. She'd told herself over the years that it didn't matter. She
liked
to be sentiment light.

But flipping through boxes and boxes of pictures, she realized that was only because she hadn't known any different. Karen and Lucy hadn't spoken in years, since back when Brooke had been a baby, so she hadn't known her grandmother, or how the woman felt about her. But some of the pictures were from the early 1900s and continued through her grandmother's entire life, enthralling Brooke in a way she hadn't expected.

She had a past, and flipping through it made her feel good, and also sad for all she didn't know. She and her mother weren't close. In fact, Karen lived in Ohio at the moment, with an artist and wasn't in touch often, but now Brooke wished she could just pick up a phone and share this experience.

That she had anyone to pick up a phone and call…

She fell asleep just like that, surrounded by her past, only to wake with a jerk, the sun slanting in the small window high above her. She had two pictures stuck to one cheek, drool on the other. She'd been dreaming about the big house, filled with memories of her own making.

Was that what she secretly wished for? For this house to represent her roots?

Was that what she needed to feed her own happiness?

She glanced at her watch and then panicked. Tossing off the dream and the photos, she raced through her morning routine, barely getting a shower before rushing out the door, desperate not to be late on her first day at work.

The hammock by the firehouse was empty, and she ignored the little twinge of disappointment at not getting to gawk at Zach again. Not that she was going to gawk. Nope, she was going to be one hundred percent professional. And with that, she stepped inside.

“Well, look at you. You really came back.”

Danger, danger…sexy firefighter alert. Slowly she turned and looked at him, thinking,
Please don't be as hot as I remember, please don't be as hot as I remember—

Shit.

He was as hot as she remembered. He didn't look tired this morning. Instead, the corners of his mouth were turned up, and his eyes—cheerful and wide-awake—slid over her, making her very aware of the fact that while she might have a little crush going, it was most definitely, absolutely, a two-way thing.

Which didn't help at all.

“Guys,” he called out over his shoulder. “She's here.”

“Number Seven showed?” This from a tall, dark and extremely drool-worthy firefighter in the doorway to the kitchen.

“Meet Aidan,” Zach said to Brooke. “He dated New Hire Number Two and she never came back, so he has orders to stay clear.”

“Hey, I didn't plan on the shellfish giving her food poisoning,” Aidan said in his own defense. “But just in case…” He flashed a smile at Brooke, a killer smile that rivaled Zach's. “We'd better not go out for shellfish.”

Several more men crowded into the hallway to take a look. Yeah, they really did make them good-looking here. Must be the fresh sea air. “Hi,” she said, waving. “Brooke O'Brien.”

The bell rang, and everyone groaned, their greeting getting lost as they headed for their gear.

“Aidan and I roll together,” Zach said, stepping into his boots. “With Cristina and Blake.” He gestured to two additional firefighters, the first a tough-looking beautiful blond woman who smiled, the other, male, tall and lanky, not smiling.

Zach shook his head. “Or, as we call Blake, Eeyore.”

Okay. Brooke wasn't smiling, either, so she put one on now, but it was too late; they'd turned away.

“You're with Dustin,” Zach called back.

Dustin, who looked like Harry Potter The Grown-Up Years, complete with glasses, raised his hand. “We're the two EMTs on this shift. Nice to meet you. Hope you orientate fast.”

She hoped so, too.

Dustin gestured to the door, nodding to the two firefighters not moving. “This is Sam and Eddie. Their rig wasn't called, so they get to stay here and watch
Oprah
and eat bonbons.”

They took the ribbing with a collective flip of their middle fingers, then vanished back down the hall.

“Actually, they're scheduled to go to the middle school on Ninth this morning and give a fire safety and prevention speech to the kids,” Dustin told her with a grin. “They'll eat their bonbons later. Let's hit it, New Hire Seven. It's a Code Calico.”

“Code Calico?”

But he was already moving to the door that led directly to the garage and the rigs.

Cristina brushed past Brooke and set her mug in the sink. “Good luck.”

“Am I going to need it?”

“With Dustin, our resident McDweeb? Oh, yeah, you're going to need it.”

“What's a Code Calico?”

Cristina merely laughed, which did nothing to ease Brooke's nerves.

Blake poked his head back in the door. He'd pulled on his outer fire gear, which looked slightly too big on his very lean form. “Hey, New Hire. Hit it means hit it.”

So she did what was expected of her—she hit it. Dustin drove, while she took the shotgun position. “So really, what's a Code Calico?”

Dustin navigated the streets with a familiar sort of ease that told her he knew what he was doing, not even glancing at the GPS system. “Want to take it?”

“Take it?”

“Be point on the call.” He glanced at her. “The one in charge.”

She sensed it was a test. She aced tests, always had. That was the analness in her, she supposed. “Sure.”

He pushed up his glasses and nodded, but she'd have sworn his lips twitched.

Huh. Definitely missing something.

When they pulled onto a wide, affluent, oak-lined street, she hopped out and opened the back doors of the rig.

“Gurney's not necessary on this one,” Dustin told her.

Behind the ambulance came the fire truck. Zach and the others appeared, smiling.

Why were they all smiling?

Before she could dwell on that, from between the two trucks came an old woman, yelling and waving her cane. “Hurry! Hurry before Cecile falls!”

The panic in her voice was real, and Brooke's heart raced just as Dustin nudged her forward, whispering in her ear, “All yours.”

This was the job, and suddenly in her element, her nerves took a backseat. Here, she could help; here, she could run the show. “It's okay, ma'am. We're here now.”

“Well, then, get to it! Get my Cecile!”

“Where is she? In the house?”

“No!” She looked very shaky and not a little off her rocker, so Brooke tried to steer her to the curb to sit down, but she wasn't having it.

“I'm not sitting anywhere! Not until you get Cecile!”

“Okay, just tell me where she is and I'll—”

“Oh, good Lord!” The woman blinked through her thick-rimmed glasses, taking a quick look at the others, who stood back, watching. “She's another new hire, isn't she?”

“Yes,” Brooke said. “But—”

“What number are you?”

Brooke sighed. “Seven.”

“Well, get a move on, New Hire Number Seven! Save my Cecile!”

“I'm trying, ma'am. What's your name?”

“Phyllis, but Cecile—”

“Right. Needs my help. Where is she?”

“That's what I'm trying to tell you!” The woman jerked her cane upward, to a huge tree in front of them. Waaaay up in that tree, on a branch stretched out over their heads, perched a cat.

A big, fat cat, plaintively wailing away.

Brooke turned and eyeballed Dustin, who seemed to be fascinated by his own feet, and that's when she got it. She was going through some ridiculously juvenile rite of passage. “I'm beginning to see how they got to number seven.” Good thing she was used to being the newbie, because she hadn't been kidding Zach yesterday. Little scared her, and certainly not a damn cat in a damn tree.

“Hurry up!” Phyllis demanded. “Before she falls!”

“I'll get her.” Zach had separated from the others and walked toward the tree.

Oh, no.

Hell, no.

They'd wanted to see her do this, they were absolutely going to see her do this.

“Brooke—”

“No.” She kept her eyes on Phyllis. “Cecile is a cat,” she clarified, because there was no sense in making a total and complete fool of herself if it wasn't absolutely necessary.

“Yes,” Phyllis verified.

Okay, it was going to be absolutely necessary. Damn, she hated that.

By now, Barbie Firefighter Cristina was out-and-out grinning. Cutie Firefighter Aidan was smiling. Harry Potter look-alike Dustin was, too. Not Eeyore, though. Nope, Blake was far more serious than the others, she could already tell, though she'd have sworn there was some amusement shining in his gaze.

Zach was either wiser, or maybe he simply had more control, but his lips weren't curved as he watched her. Quiet. Aware. Speculative.

Sexy as hell, damn him. Fine. Seemed she had a lot to prove to everyone. Well, she was good at that, too, and she stepped toward the tree.

“Brooke—”

She put a finger in his face, signaling Don't You Dare, and something flashed in his eyes.

Respect? Yeah, but something else, too, something much more base, which would have most definitely set off one of their trademark chain reactions of sparks along her central nervous system, if she hadn't been about to climb a damn tree. “I can do this,” she said.

His eyes approved, and even though she didn't want it to, that approval washed through her.

So did that sizzling heat they had going on.

Oh, he was good. With that charisma oozing from his every pore, he could no doubt charm the panties off just about any woman.

But though it had been a while since anyone had charmed Brooke's panties off, she wasn't just any woman.

Reminding herself of that, she stepped toward the tree.