by Jill Shalvis
But there’d been the occasional night where he’d sat himself in front of a game and caught a promo for Kenzie’s soap. There’d also been the few times at the station where one of the guys had flipped on the TV during her show.
Three times exactly—and yeah, he remembered each and every one. The first had been five years ago, and she’d been wearing the teeniest, tiniest, blackest, stringiest bikini in the history of teeny-tiny black string bikinis, her hair piled haphazardly on top of her head with a few wild curls escaping, looking outrageously sexy as she’d seduced her on-screen lover. It’d taken him a few attempts to get the channel changed, and even then it hadn’t mattered. That bikini had stuck with him for a good long while.
The second time had been a few Christmases back. She’d been wearing a siren-red, slinky evening dress designed to drive men absolutely wild. She’d been standing beneath some mistletoe, looking up at some “stud of the month.” Aidan hadn’t been any quicker with the remote that time, and had watched the entire, agonizing kiss.
The third time had been for the daytime Emmys. She’d accepted her award, thanking Blake for always believing in her, and then had thanked some guy named Chad.
Chad.
What kind of a name was Chad?
And where was Chad now, huh? Certainly not hauling her off a burning boat and saving her cute little ass. Guys named Chad probably only swam when playing water polo.
In the ambulance, Dustin said something to Kenzie, and she opened her eyes, flashing a very brief smile, but it was enough.
She was okay.
Aidan forced himself to move, to get back to the job at hand, and it was a big one. The explosions had caught the boats on either side of Blake’s Girl, escalating the danger and damages. They had the dock evacuated, and as the sun streaked the sky, they were working past containment, working to get the flames one-hundred-percent out.
With one last look at Kenzie, Aidan entered the fray.
IT TOOK HOURS.
Aidan and his crew piled into their rigs just as the lunch crowd began to clutter the streets of Santa Rey. If he closed his eyes, he could still feel the imprint of Kenzie in his arms. He’d held onto her for what, three minutes tops? And yet she’d filled his head and his senses, and for those one-hundred-and-eighty seconds, time had slipped away, making him feel like that twenty-four-year-old punk he’d once been.
He’d been with Kenzie for one glorious summer, and she’d wanted to stay with him, which should have been flattering. She’d wanted to wear his ring and have a house and a white picket fence.
And his children.
But it hadn’t been flattering at all. It’d been terrifying.
So he’d acted like a stupid, shortsighted guy. There was no prettying that up, or changing the memory. Fact was fact. He’d gotten a great job, and he’d had the world at his feet, including, he’d discovered, lots of women who found his chosen profession incredibly sexy.
He’d not been mature enough to realize what he already had; he’d been a first-class asshole. He’d sent Kenzie away, pretended not to look back and had filled his life with firefighting, women, basketball, woodworking, more women…
A hand clasped his shoulder. “Hey, Mr. 2008. Home sweet home.”
“Shut up.” They’d pulled into the station. He hopped out of the rig and went straight to Dustin, who was cleaning out the ambulance. “The victim? How is she?”
Cristina poked her head out from the station kitchen. “Hey, guys, there’s food—” At the sight of Dustin, who she’d gone out with several times before unceremoniously discarding him without explanation, she broke off. “Oh. You’re here.”
Dustin looked at her drily. “What, is the food only for the staff that you haven’t slept with and dumped?”
Aidan winced at the awkward silence, and if he wasn’t in such a desperate hurry to hear about Kenzie, he might have refereed for the two of them, because if anyone needed refereeing, it was these two. “The vic,” he said again to Dustin.
“Sorry,” Dustin said, turning back to him. “She’s not bad, thanks to your quick thinking. A few second-degree burns, possible broken wrist, some lacerations.”
“Her head trauma—”
“No concussion.”
“Stitches?” he demanded, causing Dustin to take a quick glance at Cristina, who raised an eyebrow.
Aidan knew he was bad off when the two of them could share a worried look over him.
“No stitches,” Dustin said. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” Aidan took his first deep breath in hours, which prompted another long look between Dustin and Cristina.
“You sure?” Cristina asked.
Jesus. “Yes.” Leaving them alone to work through their issues, he headed inside the station. After he’d showered, cleaned up and clocked out, he got into his truck and debated with himself.
Home and oblivion were attractive choices.
Or he could go to the hospital, see Kenzie and get a question or two answered.
Not quite as attractive, because nothing about sitting with Kenzie and looking into her soulful eyes was going to be simple. Nope, that was a guaranteed trip to Heartbreak City.
Home, then, where he wouldn’t have to do anything but fall facedown into his bed. Yeah, sounded good. He put his truck in gear.
And drove to the hospital.
KENZIE OPENED HER EYES and stared at a white ceiling. She was on a cot in the emergency room, her cuts and burns all cleaned and bandaged, her wrist wrapped, her head stitched back on—okay, so it’d only needed butterfly bandages. Now she was being “observed,” although for what, she had no idea.
At least she was warm again, or getting there. She had three blankets piled on top of her, which helped, and a hospital gown, which didn’t.
She’d just seen the fire investigator, Mr. Tommy Ramirez. Tommy was short, dark, and quite to the point. The point being that he’d found it extremely odd that she’d been on Blake’s boat at the time of its explosion.
She did, too, considering she’d only gotten to town that night. Closing her eyes, she frowned. She also found it odd that he was wasting his time questioning her instead of investigating the real perpetrator of the arsons, because her brother was innocent. No way had Blake set all those awful fires they were trying to pin on him. Blake, sweet, quiet, loving Blake, the brother who’d been there for her when their parents had died fifteen years ago, when they’d gone through foster care, when she’d wanted to go off to Hollywood. He’d never have hurt a fly much less purposely hurt another human being. And endanger a child?
Never.
God, she hated hospitals. They smelled like fear and pain and helplessness, and all of them combined reminded her of her own uncertain childhood. She wished she was back on the L.A. set of Hope’s Passion, acting the part of the victim instead of really being one. Comfort food would help. Maybe a box of donuts—
From the other side of her cubicle curtain came a rustling, and then the hair at the back of her neck suddenly stood up, as if she was being watched. Opening her eyes, she blinked the room into focus. Everything was white and…blurry. But not so much so that she missed the back of a guy’s head as he ran off and out of sight. “Hey!”
He hadn’t been wearing scrubs but a red T-shirt, so he couldn’t have been hospital staff. Who’d come to see her and then leave without a word? She struggled to think but she was so tired, and a little woozy still, and when she let her eyes drift shut, she ended up dozing off…
“NOT THE SAME TYPE of point of origin as the other fires.”
Kenzie opened her eyes and turned her head, taking in the curtain, now pulled all the way closed around her cot. She was a woman who liked change, who in fact thrived on it, but she had to say, she didn’t like this change. Not at all.
How much time had passed?
“So you’re saying what, Tommy, that the chief has you on a gag order?”
Oh, boy. She didn’t need to peek around the curtain to know that voice. Tha
t voice had once been the stuff of her daydreams, of her greatest fantasies. That voice had used to melt her bones away and rev her engines.
Aidan.
“I’m not saying anything,” Tommy said. “Except what I told Zach weeks ago. I’m on this. It’s a kid glove case. So you need to back off.”
“I want to see Kenzie when she wakes up.”
He’d been the one who’d looked in on her? She didn’t know how she felt about that. Had he seen her sleeping? Had she been snoring?
Why hadn’t he come back when she called out?
“Tell me this much at least,” Aidan said, presumably still to Tommy. “Did either you or the chief even know Blake had a boat?”
“No, but I was waiting on a full investigative report from the county, and it would have shown up on there.”
“And then you would’ve what, seized the property as evidence?”
“Yes, of course. To search it, just like we’ve done with his house. All the current evidence regarding the case points to Blake being in on the arson.”
In on the arson. Kenzie absorbed the odd choice of words. Did he mean that he thought there could be more than one arsonist?
“So who beat you to the boat, Tommy? Who wanted to make sure there was no chance of extracting any evidence from it?”
The answer actually gave Kenzie hope—because it meant that someone else could possibly be proven to be responsible for the arsons, maybe even someone who’d framed Blake.
“There’s been at least seven highly destructive fires,” Tommy said. “Adding up to millions of dollars in damages. The chief’s ass is on the line, and so is mine. If Blake was still alive, he’d be behind bars. That he’s not doesn’t change anything. The investigation is ongoing.”
“But it’s possible he was working with someone,” came Aidan’s voice. “Is that what you’re saying?”
“No comment.”
“Do you know who?”
“No comment.”
“You know something’s off, Tommy, or you wouldn’t be here.”
“Yes,” the investigator agreed tightly. “Something is off, and…”
Their voices lowered to a whisper. She leaned toward the curtain, but they were talking so quietly now she couldn’t hear anything but…her name. Definitely, she’d heard her name.
Why were they talking about her?
She scooted even closer to the edge of the cot and cocked an ear, but still couldn’t hear anything. Dammit! Blake couldn’t have done any of those things they’d accused him of. She knew it, and she was going to prove it herself if necessary, starting with eavesdropping on this conversation. Tommy said something Kenzie couldn’t quite catch, so she leaned even further, and—
Fell off the cot to the floor. “Ouch.”
At the commotion, the curtain whipped open. She tried to push herself upright but with one wrist useless and the other pinned beneath her, she was pretty much a beached fish. A nearly naked beached fish, with her butt facing a crowd of three: Tommy, the nurse and, oh, perfect—Aidan. She could see the tabloids now: Ex-Soap Star Mackenzie Caught Panty-less. “Ouch,” she said again and rolled to her back, gasping when the cold linoleum hit her bare backside. She sighed just as someone dropped to his knees at her side, and then Aidan’s face swam into her vision.
“Are you okay?” he demanded.
Sure. Sure, she was okay. If she didn’t think about the fact that she’d just mooned him.
“Here.” After helping him get her back on the cot, the nurse fussed a moment, checking all of Kenzie’s various injuries. Luckily, Tommy had backed out of the room, vanishing, for now at least.
“What the hell were you doing?” Aidan demanded when the nurse left them alone, too.
“Oh, a little of this, a little of that—” Realizing her gown was twisted very high up on her thighs—which, of course, was nothing to what he’d just seen—she grabbed her blanket and tried to cover herself up. A little like closing the barn door after the horse had escaped, she knew, but she was mortified. Except the movement made her want to throw up, and she reached up, holding her head tightly.
“Here.” He took over the task of covering her, quickly extricating his hands when he was done, not quite meeting her gaze as he sat at her side.
Awkward moment…“So,” she said. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking in on you.”
Yep. And he’d gotten to look in on far more than he’d probably intended.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Depends on your definition of all right.”
At that, his eyes cut to hers and he sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face, his fingers rasping over the growth there. He looked and sounded exhausted. “I’m sorry, Kenzie.”
“For what? That I just mooned you, or that I’m here at all?”
Aidan got to his feet, pulling the curtain shut again to give them privacy, privacy that she wasn’t sure she wanted.
He’d changed his clothes. He wore a pair of jeans now, loose on his long legs, low on his hips, with a long-sleeved shirt unbuttoned over a gray T-shirt that seemed to emphasize his broad shoulders and tough, athletic build. “Your shirt isn’t red,” she said slowly.
“What?”
“Before, somebody in a red shirt was looking at me.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.” She rubbed her temples. “I’m out of it.”
“It was a tough night.”
“Yeah.” But he didn’t look like he’d just worked his ass off and managed to save her life to boot; he looked casual, relaxed.
Cool as a cucumber.
And so hauntingly familiar, not to mention gorgeous, that she couldn’t keep her eyes on him. How unfair was it that he’d gotten even better-looking with age? “Thanks for stopping by, Aidan, but you can see I’m fine. You can go.”
He looked doubtful.
“Seriously. I’m really okay.”
She almost had him, she could tell, but then she ruined it by shivering.
Without a word, he grabbed another blanket and settled it over her. She appreciated his sense of duty, but what she would appreciate even more would be his vanishing.
Or her.
Yeah, that might be better. If she could just vanish on the spot. Poof. “Okay, now I’m good, thanks. Really.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I mean you can’t even look at me, so—”
Lifting his head, he met her eyes, his hot enough to singe her skin.
“Oh,” she breathed, feeling her heart kick, hard.
“I can’t look at you?” he repeated in low disbelief. “Are you kidding me? Kenzie, I can’t do anything but look at you.”
4
AT AIDAN’S WORDS, Kenzie’s breath caught and held. She didn’t know how to take him, especially the way he was looking at her, as if maybe he could see all the way through her, to her heart and soul, right to the very center of her being, where all the hurt was so carefully bottled up.
She’d gotten over him. Years ago. She really had. She’d gotten over how he’d once made her laugh, made her think, made her happy…
Made her come…
No way could he possibly reach her now. Not with that hard body, not with the look in his eyes and definitely not with the memories.
Okay, maybe the memories got to her, just a little bit. For one glorious summer, he’d been the best part of her life—before he’d walked away without so much as a glance back, that is.
Good. There was her anger, which would hopefully negate the fact that he was standing right here in the flesh looking good enough to…well…That thought made her want to sweat. But apparently she could be both over him and turned on by him at the same time, which confused her to say the least. She had no idea what that was about. No idea at all.
None.
She’d moved on years ago from that young, sweet, innocent girl. Now she was a woman with a backbone of sheer steel that had gotten her through some tough times.
She knew people tended to look at her carefully cultivated outer package—thank you, stylist to the stars—an outer package that was petite and willowy, even fragile-looking, and completely underestimate her.
But on the inside she was one-hundred-percent survivor, thank you very much. She’d lived through losing her parents early, through a happy-as-it-could-be teenage-hood with just Blake. She’d lived through being in the public eye, through the ups and downs of TV fame and most recently, through the death of her brother. All of that would have cracked most women, but she wasn’t easily cracked.
She would get to the bottom of this mess, no matter what she had to do in order to get there. No matter what. Even if she had to use her beauty, her checking account, her damn body.
She would do it.
Whatever it took.
For Blake.
“I heard you talking to the investigator,” she said softly.
Aidan’s eyes met hers, and she wished like hell she could read his mind. But she couldn’t, and he didn’t say another word to help.
“I think he’s wondering if I’m guilty of something.”
He just looked at her some more.
“The only thing I’m guilty of is knowing that he hasn’t done his job if he thinks Blake did those things.”
At that, his face softened, and regret filled his eyes, along with a grimness that had her shaking her head before he even spoke.
“Don’t say it,” she warned, not willing to hear it, not from him. Not from anyone. Not when she was this close to a breakdown. A grief breakdown. “Don’t.” She knew Blake, goddammit. She did. She didn’t remember much about her parents before they’d died in a car crash, but she remembered Blake. Every bit of him. He was the boy who’d held her hand every time they’d had to move to a new foster home. He was the teenager who’d punched a boy in the face when he’d hurt her, he was the man who’d believed in her enough to work double shifts to pay for her publicity shots so she could pursue her acting dream.
