Flashpoint (7 page)

“Because—” Because it was a hidden talent, and now she was wondering at his other hidden talents. “I'm just impressed, that's all.”

“Well, welcome to the twenty-first century,” Cristina muttered, still glaring at Aidan. “Where men cook. And in case you haven't heard, us women can vote now, too.”

Everyone laughed, and Brooke rolled her eyes, but when she looked around, she realized they weren't laughing
at
her at all. She was included in the joke.

Zach was gazing at her, his mouth curved, looking relaxed and easygoing and, damn it, gorgeous, and something came to her in that moment.

She belonged.

Aidan and Cristina were still bickering, Blake and Dustin were thumb wrestling for the last serving of lasagna, Sam and Eddie were shoveling in their food and laughing over something…they were all as dysfunctional as they could be, and they were a family.

And she was a part of it.

Sam took the last of the lasagna and everyone protested. “Hey, there's two kinds of people in here—the fast and the hungry. I'm the fast, that's all.”

Zach smiled at Brooke with a genuine affection that stole her breath.

And replaced it with heat.

Oh boy, a lot of heat.

“Hey,” Sam said. “Don't forget, I need everyone to sign up for party duty. The chief's b-day bash isn't going to throw itself.”

“Yeah, and why are we doing this again?” Blake asked, classic Eeyore.

“To have an excuse to have a party,” Eddie explained.

“To kiss up, you mean,” Blake said, sounding disgusted with all of them. “Don't forget the kissing-up part.”

“Well, maybe if Zach spent some time kissing up—” Sam accompanied this with kiss-kiss noises “—he wouldn't be called to the principal's office to get spanked every other day.”

Zach sighed.

Cristina reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “I'd rather be spanked than hold my tongue.”

“Me, too,” Aidan said, in between mouthfuls of food. “Me, too.”

“Yes, but…” Blake sent Zach a frustrated look. “It wouldn't hurt to lay low, let the chief get distracted by someone else's ass once in a while.”

Zach shook his head.

No can do on the lying low thing, apparently.

“I can tell on Sam,” Eddie suggested. “For leaving porn in the bathroom. Maybe that would take some of the heat off Zach.”

“Hey, what did porn ever do to you?” Sam protested.

They all laughed, and Zach smiled, but Brooke could see that it didn't reach his eyes.

Later, she sought him out in the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator for a bottle of water, then leaned back against the counter, taking a long drink. He was behaving himself. Not mixing business and pleasure.

He was also quiet. Hurting.

Telling herself she was crazy, she walked toward him and took the water from his hand.

He just looked at her.

“That friend thing…” she started.

“Yeah?” He gripped the edges of the counter by his sides, and she wondered if that was to ensure he didn't touch her. She wished he could have put those hands on her, but she'd seen to it that he wouldn't try.

For her own good.

Damn, she was tired of for her own good. “If we're friends,” she said softly, “then I should be able to do this.”

“What?”

She set her hands on his chest, then let them glide up around his neck, bringing her body flush to his as she hugged him.

For one beat he held himself rigid, then with a low, rough breath, let his hands drop from the counter and come around her, hard.

She didn't look into his face, knowing if she did, she'd kiss him again, and this was just a hug, comfort.

Friendship.

So she pressed her face into his throat and held on.

“Brooke,” he murmured, and the hand he had fisted in her shirt low on her back opened, pressing her even closer as he buried his face in her hair and just breathed her in. “Brooke—”

The kitchen door opened, and Eddie looked at them, brows raised. “If I cook tomorrow,” he asked, “can I have the same thank-you?”

 

M
UCH LATER THAT NIGHT
, back at her grandmother's house, Brooke thought about the evening. About the hug and her reaction to it. Partially, because her body was still revved from what should have been an innocent touch, but there was more to it.

According to Sam, she could be the fast, or the hungry. But when it came to her life, she'd always been the fast, never slowing down, never relaxing, always doing, going, running. And for what? To always end up alone, wondering what she was missing? She'd come here out of duty, but she'd also wanted to find herself. Maybe…maybe she couldn't do that at the speed of light, maybe she had to slow down. Maybe
that's
what was missing.

She needed to give herself time to catch her breath, time to relax.

Needed to do that whole let-loose thing.

Moving through the kitchen with a mug of tea, she looked out the window at the dark night and thought about it, thought about Zach. As she did, a now-familiar tingle began low in her belly and spread. And suddenly, she had a feeling she knew exactly how she should be letting loose. And it included mixing business and pleasure.

A
lot
of mixing.

Z
ACH RAN
in the mornings. It woke him up, kept him in shape and gave him time to think. Typically, he thought about work or, more recently, Brooke. He really liked thinking about Brooke.

But this morning, after having a dream about the arson fire, it wasn't Brooke on his mind, and he changed his routine, running past Hill Street. When he reached the fire site, he thought maybe he was still dreaming.

The place had been demolished, razed.

He stared at it in disbelief. On a hunch, he ran back to his house, got into his truck and drove to the site of a different fire, the one from a few months previous, a fire he'd also “cried” arson to Tommy about and had gotten his wrist slapped for.

That property was also demolished.

And the one before that? Yeah. Demolished. Standing at the edge of the third lot, where nothing remained but dirt, he pulled out his cell phone, but didn't hit any numbers as his last meeting with the chief ran through his head. He'd been asked, and not very nicely, to do his own job and no one else's.

Somehow he doubted stalking the fire sites would be considered doing his own job.

Shit.

Tommy Ramirez had told him to be on his best behavior, but that was proving damn hard to do. Driving home, he called Aidan, but had to leave a message. While waiting for a return call, he tried to distract himself with a Lakers game but his mind kept wandering to the arson.

He couldn't let it go. Driven to do something, Zach pulled out his laptop. He'd already typed up all his thoughts and notes on the fires. Now he needed to talk it out with someone, and oddly enough, the person that kept coming to mind wasn't Aidan, but someone with sweet baby blues and a smile that pretty much destroyed him.

Brooke. He was driven by her, too, because, damn, she was something. She was something, and…and she wanted a relationship.

Driven as he was, he didn't do relationships. Relationships always came to an end, and he hated endings. He didn't need a shrink to attribute that to losing his parents so young, to growing apart from the brother he had nothing in common with except grief and, in a way, losing him, too.

No, he didn't like endings, and therefore, avoided beginnings.

Still, Brooke drew him. She was a little buttoned-up, a little rigid, and—and hell. She had a smile that could melt him from across town, and a way of looking at him that suggested she could see right through to all his flaws, and she didn't mind those flaws.

Jesus. He went back to his laptop, burying himself. He had property deeds, architectural plans, records of sales, and looked it all over for the hundredth time to see if there were any obvious connections.

When his doorbell rang, he figured it was Aidan. When he opened the door, it turned out to be a beautiful redhead.

Nope, not Aidan, but his neighbor Jenny with a pizza in one hand, a six-pack dangling from her other, and a fuck-me smile firmly in place.

“Hi, neighbor.” She lifted the pizza. “Interested?”

She was a high school librarian, but nothing about her was a stereotypical keeper of books. She hosted a weekly poker party, enjoyed car racing, and brewed her own beer. They were friends, and so far,
just
friends, but she'd made it clear that she was ready for that to change. Now here she was, flirting. Normally he'd flirt right back, but he didn't. Stress, he decided. Stress and frustration. “I'm sorry, Jenny. It's not a good time—”

“Don't even try to tell me you're not hungry. I'll have to take your temperature.” She pushed her way in, carrying the food, swinging the beer. “Everyone has to eat.”

True. And she'd obviously decided the way to his heart was by way of his stomach, maybe with a side trip past other certain body parts. Up until a few weeks ago, he might have been happy to take that side trip, but he no longer wanted to. Not with another woman on his mind.

Jenny turned to face him, and her smile slowly faded. “What's the matter?”

“I'm not sure.” Yes. Yes, he was. He wanted a blue-eyed, sweet, sexy EMT with a smile that slayed him.

And only her.

“Zach?” Jenny waved a hand in front of his face. “You look like you were just hit by a train.”

Uh-huh. The Brooke train. At some point, probably during the wild kiss, he'd decided no one else would do.
Holy shit.

Jenny set down the food and popped the top off two of the beers, handing him one. “Here. You look like you could use this now.”

“Thanks.” He took a long pull.

“So who is she?”

“I didn't even know there was a she until two seconds ago. How did you know?”

“It's all over your face.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face, images of Brooke coming to him. That very first day when she'd woken him, or when she'd so fiercely approached Code Calico, and then Viagra Man…or the way she'd looked at him with her heart and soul in her eyes when she'd said she wanted a relationship.

“Damn,” Jenny said softly, still staring at him. “She's…special, isn't she?”

“I—yeah.” He managed to meet her gaze. “I'm sorry.”

“Not as sorry as I am.” With another sigh, she stepped toward him, and in a show of how stunned he was, managed to nudge him down to the couch with a single finger. Then she plopped next to him and clinked her bottle to his in a commiserating toast. “You're good and screwed, you know that, right?”

He leaned back and shook his head. “You have no idea.”

 

O
N THE DRIVE
to work, Brooke took in the high morning surf on her left, and the joggers, walkers and bikers on her right. She'd lost track of how many times she'd moved in her life, but all of those places had been big cities. She had to admit small-town living appealed. Little to no traffic, good parking spots…

But she was almost four weeks down, and only two to go. Past halfway. Soon enough she'd be gone, far away from here, starting over yet again. She'd found jobs available in both Seattle and L.A., and had filled out applications, telling herself there was just something about the West Coast.

But actually, there was just something about Santa Rey, and it had little to do with the great weather and everything to do with the fact that in spite of herself, she was making ties here.

Blake was on his laptop when she entered the firehouse, and at the sight of her, he jumped guiltily, quickly slapping the computer shut.

“Don't worry,” she quipped. “Your porn is safe with me.”

Instead of laughing, he grabbed his laptop and left the room.

Cristina was on one of the couches reading a
Cosmo.
She flipped a page. “Hey, New Hire. Maybe you should read this when I'm done. There's an article here on how not to scare off men.”

Brooke shot her an exasperated look. “One of these days you're going to call me Brooke.”

“I doubt it. Oh, and don't forget to read this article. ‘How Not To Be Annoying At The Work Place.'”

Giving up, Brooke went into the kitchen. Her eyes automatically strayed to the counter—the scene of her two indiscretions: one a heart-stopping kiss, the other the best hug she'd ever had. Letting out a breath, she poured herself some iced tea and was adding sugar when the door opened behind her.

“Hey.”

At just the one word, uttered in that easygoing, low, husky voice, she dropped her spoon. “Damn it.” She crouched down, and so did Zach, handing her the spoon, smiling at her. He was in uniform, filling it out with that mouthwatering body, but there was something…quiet about him today. Something quiet and, frankly, also outrageously sexy.

He helped her up. “You've been getting sun.” He touched the tip of her nose. “And a few freckles.” He stroked his finger over her cheek, her jaw.

Her body was so pathetically charged her toes curled at his touch. That's what happened when she spent her spare time dreaming about seeing him naked.

“You're looking at me funny again. Do I have something in my teeth?”

“No.”

“Do I smell bad?”

That tugged a laugh out of her. He smelled delicious, and she suspected he knew it. “No.”

“Then what?”

“I dreamed about you,” she admitted.

“Ah. Were we mixing business and pleasure?”

She opened her mouth to say yes, oh most definitely yes, but then shut it again. No need to give him more power.

He just laughed softly. “We were, weren't we?”

She felt the blush creep up her cheeks.

“Yeah.” Another low laugh and a naughty grin. “We were.”

“Zach—”

“Was it good?”

She bit her lower lip but it must have been all over her face because his eyes went all sexy and sleepy. “Off the charts, huh?”

She closed her eyes. Oh yeah, off the charts.

Tell him you want to do the mixing in person.
She was still trying to find the words when he said with a smile, “So, exactly how off the charts were we?”

“Zach!” yelled Dustin from the other room. “Phone!”

Zach sighed. “I'll be back. Don't move.”

When he was gone, she let out a breath and fanned her face, saying the words she'd meant to say in front of him. “I was wrong. I
want
to mix business and pleasure. Just once.” She smacked her own forehead. “How hard is
that
to say?”

Behind her, someone cleared his throat.

Oh, God.
Wincing, she turned around. Blake had come in the back door in his silent way and stood there. “Sorry.”

She just closed her eyes.

“No, it's okay. I didn't hear anything.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing,” he said.

“Really?”

“Nothing except you want to jump his bones.”

“I didn't say that!”

“Then I didn't hear it.” He strode to the refrigerator, where he scrounged around and pulled out a soda, raising a brow when he realized she was still staring at him. “What? I won't tell anyone.”

“Everyone tells everyone everything around here.”

He acknowledged that with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Okay, you know what? I'm going to need a secret of yours.”

He choked on his soda. “What?”

“That way I can guarantee that neither of us will talk.”

Blake looked at her, then turned away. “I don't think that's a good idea.”

“Are you kidding? It's a great idea.”

His narrow shoulders were tense now. “But my secret is really someone else's.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing. Never mind.” Abruptly, he set his soda on the counter and walked out.

“Blake?”

But he was gone, carrying her very revealing secret. And then the fire bell went off and she put it out of her mind.

 

L
ATER THAT DAY
, Brooke and Dustin were in the kitchen devouring a box of cookies between them while standing in front of the opened refrigerator trying to cool off.

“We're having a poker game Friday night at Cristina's,” Dustin said. “You should join us.”

“Did you ask Cristina?”

“Don't worry about her. She'll be happy to see you.”

“Happy? Really? Cristina?”

“Okay,” he said with a fond smile. “So she can be aloof, but it's just a facade. She's really just a toasted marshmallow.”

“What did you call me?” Cristina came into the kitchen. She was in the bottom half of her fire gear, with a snug T-shirt on top. Her hair was pulled back and she looked hot, grumpy and irritated as she grabbed a handful of cookies.

“A
toasted
marshmallow.” Dustin grinned at her, leaning back against the counter. “Crispy on the outside, soft and gushy on the inside.”

Cristina hopped up on the counter next to him and set her head back against the upper cabinets, arms and legs spread in the aggressive sprawl of an alpha female who knew her place in the world. “Dustin?”

“Yeah?”

“The next time you call me a marshmallow, I'm going to pound you into the ground.” She uttered this threat with her eyes closed, without moving a single muscle. “Next time.”

Dustin winked at Brooke. “Definitely crispy on the outside.”

“I can be a marshmallow sometimes, too,” Brooke said.

A sound escaped Cristina, who still didn't move or open her eyes. “You don't know crispy. Dustin? Get me a water?”