HEART OF FIRE
Sedona Venez
Copyright © 2019 Heart of Fire by Sedona Venez
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this book ONLY. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the authors’ rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Published in the United States of America
This book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover photographer: rplusmphoto
Model: Blake Sevani
Contents
1. Kendra
2. Kendra
3. Lukas
4. Kendra
5. Lukas
6. Kendra
7. Lukas
8. Kendra
9. Lukas
10. Kendra
11. Lukas
12. Kendra
13. Lukas
14. Kendra
15. Kendra
About the Author
OTHER TITLES BY SEDONA VENEZ
Excerpt: Taming the Beast
Excerpt: Claimed by Her Two Alphas
1
Kendra
When I pulled up to my grandmother’s house, I had to do a quick double check. Although I’d driven to her house probably a thousand times—maybe more—since I first learned to drive, it had been years since I’d seen the place.
I spotted the old pear tree next to my grandmother’s battered old mailbox, shaped like a 1950s-era pickup truck. I’d never understood why Grandma insisted on keeping the mailbox—why she’d repaired and painted it again and again instead of ever replacing it, but it made it easy to find her house, set back a bit from the street. I maneuvered my SUV onto the driveway, feeling the cramp in my leg as I pressed harder on the brake. Son of a bitch.
I put the car in park and shut off the engine, taking a deep breath to steady myself. It had been weeks since my “officer-involved shooting incident.” The wound was healed but had been severe. My bulletproof vest had caught the shot the perp had aimed at my chest, but my thigh still had a deep scar from the second shot he’d gotten off as my partner had knocked him down from behind. The physical therapist told me I could expect to get full function back, but I bet it would keep aching for the rest of my life, just a token of my service to the NYPD.
I got out of my vehicle and stretched my leg, hoping to ease the cramp along the scar tissue. I looked around me, and almost without thinking, my gaze went to a spot across the street. There was a house there, newer-looking than all the other ones on the block. Brick facade, little garden boxes in front of a bay window, stained-glass inset on the front door, white trim. I frowned, rubbing my leg, trying to work out the details of the house and why it looked so different from what my memory told me would be there.
It hit me all at once. The last time I’d seen the house on that plot, it was ablaze. Whoever had bought the property had just bulldozed the wreckage and built fresh, which was why it looked so out of place among the older homes on the block. The fire…
I stopped rubbing my leg, remembering that night and remembering the family that used to live in that house. More than the family, the kid they had. The first person to welcome me to the neighborhood when I’d been a sad, scared, thirteen-year-old who’d just lost her mom to cancer and never lived outside of the Bronx. The one who’d helped me navigate the suburban middle school Grandma enrolled me in, ripped out of the cramped, crowded, noisy New York Public School system. Lukas. I sighed and rubbed at my leg again.
I heard the screen door open with a creaky groan and turned to see Grandma coming out of the house.
“Hi, Grandma,” I called out.
“Hey, baby girl,” she returned with a huge smile.
Most people had mistaken Grandma for my mother when I was growing up, and even now, at seventy-five, she didn’t look old enough to be a grandmother, much less the grandmother to a twenty-nine-year-old adult woman. Grandma only had a few strands of silver in her neatly braided hair, and while her ebony-hued skin had some wrinkles, they were what you’d expect on a woman of fifty-five, maybe sixty. Grandma had taught me her secret when I was a teenager—every day, she washed her face with black soap then smoothed on shea butter. She also drank eight glasses of water every single day, starting with a big glass first thing in the morning.
Grandma made her way down the walk to my SUV, pulling me in for a big hug. Clutching her back, I inhaled her familiar scent of lavender. God, I missed her.
Pulling away, Grandma pinched my cheek before stepping back and moving toward the rear of my SUV. “Open the back,” Grandma ordered. I rolled my eyes before clicking it open, limping a bit as I tried to stop her from yanking out my luggage. I knew it wouldn’t work—I would not talk her out of it, but I had to try.
“No, Grandma. I got it.”
“You’re a guest in this house, Kendra Powell,” Grandma rebutted.
“And I’m your granddaughter. I used to live here,” I countered, reaching for my suitcase.
“You haven’t lived here in years,” Grandma insisted. “That makes you a guest in my house.”
“They’re too heavy for you,” I said, trying for another argument.
“And you with your injured leg—they’re easy for you?” Grandma asked me, turning to pin me down with her gaze. I felt my cheeks warm up, and I sighed heavily.
“You take one, and I take one?” I suggested.
Grandma grinned. “That’s fair.”
I knew that although she looked like she was maybe sixty at most, Grandma wasn’t as strong as she used to be. I let her grab the lighter of my two suitcases and took the heavier one for myself, balancing it against my bad leg for a second while I put my weight on my good leg before pressing the button to shut my liftgate.
“Are you going to get up the porch steps okay?” I asked, shoving my keys into my pocket and following behind her. Grandma nodded without so much as looking at me.
“The day I can’t get up the steps is the day I get Martha Peters’s son Jackson to come and install a ramp,” Grandma said. “And I will probably die a week after it’s built, at that.”
I snorted, sparing one last look at the new, pretty house on the block where there had been a burned-out husk before. I shook my head and continued up the driveway and onto the stone walk toward the front porch, trying not to think of Lukas. I stepped up onto the stairs, and my bad leg cramped up again, making me stumble. In an instant, Grandma had my suitcase out of my hand and her arm under me, holding me up and helping me onto the porch.
“I’m fine,” I said.
Grandma tsked, shaking her head and letting me into the house. “You should have let me take that one,” Grandma said, steering me through the front door and setting down my suitcase.
“I said I’m fine,” I protested. “It’s just a cramp.”
“Uh-huh,” Grandma said dryly. “Did they even clear you for lifting?”
I sighed. “They cleared me for everyday tasks and light chores,” I told her. “I’m just not cleared for duty yet.”
“And if it weren’t my birthday, you’d be back in New York, in that tiny Brooklyn apartment, chomping at the bit to at least be on desk duty,” Grandma said, picking up the heavier of my two suitcases and gesturing for me to take the lighter one.
I didn’t want to discuss this thorny topic fu
rther. “Happy birthday, Grandma.”
“Well, thank you, baby girl,” Grandma returned warmly while propping my suitcase against the couch. She took the moment to kiss and hug me quickly, before bustling off toward my old room. “Are you able to keep up with me, or should I make two trips?” she asked me, glancing worriedly over her shoulder.
I hefted the lighter suitcase and followed her down the hall, to the room I’d lived in from eighteen until college, when I’d moved out for good. I followed her into my room, setting down my suitcase near the door. Grandma had changed nothing, other than occasionally cleaning the room and changing the bed linens since I’d last been in there. Missy Elliott posters, pictures of my friends from high school, and I could even still—barely—smell the horrible perfume I’d spilled on the carpet.
Knowing that Grandma was concerned about my well-being and recovery, I mumbled, “Grandma, my job is competitive. With being one of the very few black women to make detective, I have to work hard, take as many cases as possible.”
“I know, I know,” Grandma said, wiping her hands dramatically on her pants. “You had to make a name for yourself. I know my ambitious granddaughter. But all work and no play is a recipe for disaster.” She eyed me. “I just want you to slow down, enjoy life, and take some time for you. And for goodness’ sake, visit me more. I ain’t getting any younger, baby girl.”
She was right. I’d been going full throttle at work for so long that I’d forgotten what was important to me—my health, happiness, and Grandma, my only family. “Forgive me?” I asked, giving her my best doe-eyed look.
Grandma laughed and kissed me again, cupping my face in her hands and peering up into my eyes. “It’s about time you slowed down, baby girl,” Grandma said. “Maybe you’ll get a taste for it.”
“Maybe,” I said while moving over to the bed and sitting down. “But my commanding officer back in the precinct is staying on top of any updates on my condition, my potential readiness to come back.” Reaching down, I pulled off my sneakers, sighing while wiggling my toes.
Grandma shook her head. “You’re still not listening to what I’m saying.” Marching over to me, she plopped down beside me. “I’m proud of you and how much you’ve accomplished, but I haven’t heard shit about your personal life.” She pinched my cheek. “Like, when’s the last time you were on a date? Or had sex?”
Grandma and I had a very candid relationship, so talking about sex wasn’t awkward. “Too long,” I grunted.
She laughed huskily. “So, I’m getting more action than my twenty-nine-year-old granddaughter.”
“Sadly, yes.” I hadn’t had sex in over a year, and that hookup was fast and unsatisfying. Frankly, I missed sex, but I wanted more than meaningless fucking with some random dude. I didn’t have time for dating. Besides, I intimidated most men because of my job in law enforcement. “But finding Mr. Right isn’t easy.”
“You’re beautiful and smart. It can’t be that hard,” Grandma returned.
“That’s easier said than done.” I rolled my eyes. “My occupation brings a boatload of challenges to a romantic relationship. The mere act of trying to date is difficult. It’s hard to find someone who wants to go out on a date with me when I get off at six in the morning.” And sorting through all the physical and emotional issues my job brought into a new relationship was difficult for any man to deal with. “The dating struggle is real.” I pulled my hat off my head and fluffed out my thick, curly, shoulder-length hair. “And the stereotypes of women in law enforcement are fucking ridiculous. Most men think I’m carrying a gun all the time and always eating donuts. There’s a real lack of understanding of what I do daily.”
Grandma snorted. “I’m not talking about dating some asshole. I’m talking about all the good men out there who will understand and respect what you bring to the table, baby girl.” She paused. “Maybe you need to look for the right man in a smaller pool, like right here. There are lots of hot men in small towns.”
“Lots?” I narrowed my eyes. “Here? I doubt it. The dating pool here dwindled when all the young people, like me, got the hell out of here, either after graduating from high school or college.”
“Many people of the younger generation are moving back here in droves. It’s refreshing that they’re coming back to their roots to settle down. They’ve come to their senses and realized that the big city ain’t where the action’s at.” She winked at me.
“If you say so,” I answered. Unlike most occupations, police work often defined a person in the mind of a potential mate. There was an odd fascination with women in law enforcement. I didn’t have the time or the patience to wade through that cesspool of crazy. Besides, it could be very intimidating for a man dating a female cop who carried a gun and had a legal authority to take a life.
Grandma grinned at me. “I say so.” She patted my leg. “Enough about that. My party is tomorrow night, and you’re here at least a week. I’ll get the chance to fatten you up and make sure you’re resting.”
“I’m guessing your party is a big deal around here.”
Grandma laughed, throwing her head back. “Baby girl, it is the party of the year. Down at the country club, lots of food, good people… I hope you’re ready to see your grandma treated like the queen bee of the town.”
“You’ve always been that,” I pointed out.
“You’re damn right I have, and it’s about time this town recognized it,” Grandma said. “I hope you have something pretty to wear for it.”
“I have something appropriate,” I told her.
Grandma gave me a little look—the look I’d gotten more than a few times living with her as a teenager, the look that told me she had a juicy secret she wasn’t about to tell me.
“Good,” Grandma said. “Because you never know who you’ll meet.”
I rolled my eyes. “Grandma, there’ve never been more than fifty thousand people in town,” I pointed out. “My entire high school was less than the graduating class at PS 111. I can’t meet anyone I haven’t already met.”
Grandma shrugged. “Still,” she said while getting to her feet. “People come and go. You never know if Mr. Right will come strolling back into your life.”
I frowned, watching her bustle out of my room. What is she up to?
2
Kendra
Grandma was right about her birthday party being the event of the year. The people who organized the event had gone all out at the Five Pines Country Club, putting up streamers in Grandma’s favorite colors—pink and green—making sure the catering was on point, and getting a band and a DJ to cover the music for the night. I had to wonder just how much Grandma’s friends had spent on the whole shindig, because given the number of people and the amount of food and alcohol, it had to be a group effort.
It had been years since I’d been in town, and Grandma was telling everyone I had come, sending them my way as she made her way around the area set up outside Five Pines for the party, talking a little to everybody. As I wandered around the party, I was stopped every few minutes, waylaid by someone I knew from high school or hadn’t seen since I’d graduated from college.
“Oh my god, Kendra! How have you been?” Tracy Anderson called out, hugging me as tightly as she could, given she was sporting an enormous pregnant belly.
“Not too bad,” I said, smiling and hugging her back. She and I had never been super close friends, but I’d always liked her pretty well.
Tracy released me, giving me a genuine, big smile. “Your grandma is always telling us about how you’re doing on the NYPD. How you made detective and all. I don’t know how you get anything done—all those men in uniform?” She pretended to fan herself at so much heat.
I laughed huskily. “Trust me, when you see them gearing up or rushing to the bathroom after they made a bad choice on stakeout food, they’re not so hot.”
Tracy pouted teasingly. “Well, that’s disappointing. Anyway…how long are you back in town for?”
I didn’t
know how many people Grandma had told about my incident and injury, but Tracy seemed to put a lot of weight into her question. “Haven’t decided yet,” I replied. “I’m on leave, but I should go for evaluations soon.”
“Evaluations?” Tracy asked, frowning.
I took a deep breath. I knew I’d have to talk about it—at least a little—while I was staying with Grandma.
“Someone injured me in the line of duty,” I said. “So, they want to make sure I’m all good before they put me back on the beat.” I kept the emotion out of my voice.
“Oh no!” Tracy said, but I could tell she wasn’t all that surprised at the news. I knew from experience that gossip traveled through this small town faster than the speed of light.
“It’s part of the job,” I countered. “But, hey.” I grinned. “I’m in one piece, more or less.”
“Well, I hope we can have time to catch up before you head back to the big city,” Tracy said, reaching out to hug me again.
“Anytime,” I said, hugging her back and finishing up the small talk before I kept it moving.
Ignoring the interested gazes of men as I moved through the crowd feeling sexy and confident in my all-black attire—a sleek silk blouse with a plunging neckline, paired with fitted pants that stressed my voluptuous ass. I had a thing for clothes, but given my long hours working undercover and trying not to stand out during assignments, it wasn’t often I could wear the clothes I loved.
Grabbing a drink, I kept making the rounds, occasionally taking a break to dance a bit or to check in on Grandma. She was right in her element, living it up, talking to her old-lady friends, cutting loose on the dance floor. Ruth, Grandma’s bestie for as long as I could remember, was dancing up a storm, and according to her, “Showing you young’uns how we used to do the damn thang.” Grandma looked every inch the queen bee in her fitted purple dress, golden tiara, and silver birthday sash.
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