“It must have been a serious injury,” Lukas said.
I looked down at my lap. There were only a handful of people who knew how serious it had been—even Grandma hadn’t gotten the full story out of me. She just knew I was in for a slow recovery.
“Can we not talk about that?” I asked.
Lukas nodded. “Tell me about your funniest bag,” he said.
I thought about it for a few moments—there were lots of stories; anyone on the force in a city like New York had dozens. “An eighty-year-old drug dealer,” I said. “Well, a drug dealer and nudist. We caught him in his meth lab, in an abandoned building, and he was cooking naked.”
Lukas snorted. “Oh god, and that didn’t traumatize you?”
I shook my head, laughing a little. “It was close,” I said. “I’ll never be able to look at Sudafed the same way again.”
“Did you lock him up still naked?”
I shook my head. “No—thank god, we got him into a jumpsuit.”
“How did you get him taken down?” Lukas wanted to know.
I explained the whole situation, which reminded me of another case, and we kept talking about the oddest cases I’d handled, laughing over the details together. I noticed Lukas was moving closer and closer to me, leaning in, and I didn’t stop him—I didn’t want to.
“Lukas!” a man yelled. “Chief said you were at Virgil’s.” I didn’t recognize the man walking up to us. Lukas sat back, pulling slightly away from me but not releasing my hand.
“Sheriff Baker,” Lukas said, nodding. “What can I do for you?”
Baker hadn’t been a sheriff when I’d been in town last. He looked to be about sixty, graying, with the start of a beer gut, but otherwise in shape.
“I hate to interrupt your date,” the sheriff said, glancing at me then back at Lukas. “But I was hoping to have time to talk to you about the youth intervention program. Chief said you’d be interested in helping.”
“Definitely,” Lukas said. “You guys have been doing good work.”
“I also wanted to introduce myself,” the sheriff said, turning to me. “You must be Kendra Powell. I was just starting here when you moved out of town.”
I released Lukas’s hand, extending it to Baker. “Nice to meet you.” The sheriff shook my hand.
“Your grandmother has been talking you up a lot,” Sheriff Baker said. “She mentioned you might be looking for an alternative to your job at the NYPD. And I’ve got to say, if you’re looking for something a bit lower-intensity, I’ve got a deputy retiring soon, and we’d love to have you.”
I smiled but made a mental note to tell Grandma to butt out of my career. “I haven’t made any long-term decisions yet,” I said, taking my hand back once it was polite to do so. “I’m still up for evaluations and all of that.”
“But if you’re interested, just know that we could use someone with your kind of experience and talent.”
“Thank you, Sheriff,” I said. “I’ll keep it under advisement, for sure.”
“We’ve got a case right now I could use your eyes on,” the sheriff said. “Normally, we’d get outside law enforcement in…”
“That serious?” I asked. Despite myself, I couldn’t help but be curious.
“String of B&Es,” Sheriff Baker replied. “Not a lot to go on—usually in a small town like this, it’s obvious who the suspects are, but here…”
“I might drop by and look at the evidence you’ve gathered so far, offer some insights,” I said politely.
“I’d appreciate it,” Sheriff Baker told me. “Anytime you’re free—just as an outside opinion.”
“Well,” Lukas interjected. “If you can email me the stuff about the youth intervention program, I’d love to see it. I’ll figure out how we can best offer support, what the scheduling will be like—all that.”
“Right,” Sheriff Baker said, nodding. “Like I said—I hate to interrupt your date, but I didn’t know when I’d get a chance like this again. Enjoy this fine weather we’re having.” He shook my hand again and left, heading toward the other end of the park and the exits.
I looked at Lukas and laughed. “Date?”
“Yep. Date.” He grinned.
“I forget just how subtle people are in this town,” I said.
Lukas chuckled. “Well, you’ve got an alternative to your exciting NYPD career, if you want it,” he pointed out.
“I do,” I said, rolling my eyes slightly. “I mean, I guess it might not be the worst idea. Probably fewer shootouts here.”
“You keep hedging on if you’re going back,” Lukas observed. “I take it the ‘officer-involved shooting incident’ was a little more intense than you’re saying? Maybe you’re not sure whether you want to go back to the job at all, even here?”
I thought about it for a second and then nodded. “I have some issues,” I admitted. “I’m working through them. I don’t really enjoy talking about it beyond that…but you know.”
“Yeah, I get it,” Lukas said. “I’ve got guys from back in the service—people I know—with issues. It takes time. No need to rush it.”
“Do you want me to tell you about it?” I asked.
Lukas looked at me for a long few seconds. “You can tell me when you’re ready.” He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to mine. “Until then, it’ll only make things awkward, right?”
I swallowed. His compassionate words were not what I had expected to hear. “Right.” My voice was barely a whisper.
He reached up, cupped my face with his hands, and pressed his lips to mine. We stayed like that for a while before he finally pulled away, but he kept his hands on my cheeks. “I want you, Kendra. But I won’t push if this is not what you want.” He stroked my cheeks with his thumbs.
His words unlocked my last resolve. I kissed him. As I slid my hands around his waist, he slid his hands around my neck, wove his fingers into my curly hair, and tugged me closer. Lukas kissed me hungrily, greedily.
My body flooded with fire as I kissed him back, nipping his lips, tangling my tongue with his before finally pulling back, even though I didn’t want to.
“That was something,” I said, catching my breath.
Lukas licked his lips as if savoring my taste on his skin. “Damn, I’ve wanted to do that from the moment I saw you at the party,” he said. “And you’re a way better kisser than you were in the ninth grade.”
“Oh, shut up,” I said, smacking him on the shoulder. “That wasn’t even the same thing at all. You just wanted to kiss a girl—any girl—to see what it was like.”
“I’ve gotten practice since then,” Lukas said. “I’d love to show you some tricks I’ve learned.” He smiled secretively.
“I’m sure you would. But I think we’ve given the town enough to talk about.”
“Well, how about you at my house, tomorrow night?” He took my hand, then joined our fingers together. “I’ll cook us dinner. I’m a good cook, you know—comes from so much time dealing with fire.”
A corner of my lip lifted. “Every firefighter I’ve ever met is a good cook. FDNY guys feed us sometimes.”
“I’m better than FDNY,” Lukas said. “And it’ll give us some privacy.”
My spine tingled, not just with arousal but with something baser, an appreciation for this flirty game we were playing. “I’d love to have dinner at your place tomorrow night.” I looked him in the eyes. I knew what a date at his house meant, and it wasn’t going to be just dinner and kissing. “Now, we should get going before someone else from town interrupts us with urgent news or a request.”
Lukas chuckled, giving my hand a playful little squeeze. “You just don’t want to risk me getting you hot and bothered in public.”
“I have some self-control,” I huffed mockingly. “And I have my dignity.”
“We’ll see how dignified you are tomorrow night,” Lukas said, letting his voice drop a bit. “After you’ve tried my food.”
“Are you that good?” I asked hus
kily.
“I’ll let you decide for yourself, Detective Powell.” He pulled me to my feet before we walked out of the park together, holding hands.
7
Lukas
I took a step back from the stove, looking at everything I had going on. I’d started on dinner as soon as I’d gotten home and cleaned up. The department had been doing a controlled burn to prevent some fires later on in the season when it would get scorching hot. And I’d come home covered in smoke, soot, and dirt. Not the look I wanted for my date with Kendra.
Tonight, I’d gone simple with the rigatoni and a “Sunday sauce” recipe I’d gotten off a friend in my unit back in the Philippines. I’d gone out to the store the night before, after Kendra had gone home, and picked up grass-fed beef shank and Italian sausage, along with ground beef and veal for the meatballs. I had about half of what I needed in the pantry—pasta and canned organic tomatoes—but I’d picked up some wine and the fresh vegetables I’d need. I’d even stopped by the Harlequin Bakery to get a fresh baguette to make garlic bread with.
The sauce was simmering away, with the meatballs ready to go in, and the bread was in a warm oven, getting hot and buttery, stuffed with so much garlic that a vampire would stay away from both of us for weeks. The pasta would go on at the last minute, and I had nothing to do but let things stay in a holding pattern once I put in the meatballs.
I heard a knock at the door just after I got the meatballs in the sauce, and I hurried to get it. It could only be Kendra—there was no one else who might come over tonight—but I wanted to answer it quickly. The kiss the day before had left me tense, waiting for what would come next. I was in such a hurry, I didn’t even take off the apron one guy at the firehouse had gotten me as a half-joking Secret Santa gift the year before. And when I opened the door and Kendra saw me, she burst out laughing.
“What?” I asked, looking down. The apron was useful, but I couldn’t deny it looked ridiculous. On the front, it had the figure of a busty maid, with her tits and ass barely covered. “Hey, it’s practical,” I said, taking it off quickly.
“I believe you,” Kendra said teasingly.
I let her into the house, and just as I closed the door, I grabbed her by the hand and pulled her close, kissing her on the lips. Just a quick kiss—I still had dinner to cook—but the feeling of her body pressed to mine, the taste of her lips, was enough to make me wish I didn’t have to worry about anything else. I made myself pull back and guided Kendra into the kitchen, where dinner was in progress.
“Have a seat, Detective. I’ll pour you a glass of wine.” I paused. “I got us a Lambrusco and a heavier red to go with the meat.”
“You really went all out on this,” Kendra said, breathing deeply. She was in a button-down shirt and a pair of tight jeans that showed off how great her ass was.
“Just something simple,” I remarked, pulling the foil off the top of the bottle. “A friend in my unit taught me the sauce—supposedly his grandma’s recipe, but I suspect he held out on some secrets. Or maybe she did.” Kendra chuckled, and I gave the sauce a quick stir before pouring the wine.
“If she’s a real Italian grandma, she probably held it back,” Kendra said. I handed her a glass of the sparkling red, and we clinked before taking our first sips.
“It’s still good,” I told her, “but not as good as the stuff she sent in a care package. I don’t know how she figured it out, but she managed to get it through to him on base.”
“It’s probably an ingredient you couldn’t get your hands on anyway,” Kendra said, taking a sip. “Oh! This is good.”
“I don’t drink wine a lot, but if I drink it, it better be something good,” I told her. “And according to my buddy, it has to be red wine with this meal.”
Kendra took another sip from her glass. “It’s not a bad Lambrusco.”
“No, it’s not,” I said, turning my attention back to the food. I went to the fridge and got out some olives and other things to keep Kendra entertained while I finished dinner.
“When in the world did you learn to cook?” Kendra asked as I started the last stage of getting everything ready. I drained the pasta, set the meat from the sauce aside to eat as its course, and put the rigatoni in a big bowl to toss with the rich, tomato goodness.
“I learned in the Army,” I said. “Honestly, I got to be a food nerd, weirdly enough. And when I was in the Philippines, there wasn’t a lot of action, so I had time to hone my cooking skills.”
“The Philippines is a good place to learn to cook,” Kendra agreed before stabbing an olive with a toothpick and popping it into her mouth.
“I got a lot of practice, and then once I was back stateside, I sort of branched out,” I clarified. I carried the food to the table and sat down, adding more wine to my glass and Kendra’s. “Taste it.”
“I already tasted the wine, Lukas,” Kendra said saucily.
“You know what I mean, woman,” I told her. “Taste the food.”
“Such a bossy firefighter,” she grumbled before taking a forkful of rigatoni and bringing it to her mouth. The lusty moan that escaped her lips as she tasted what I’d cooked was worth all the trouble and more. I tasted the pasta, and it was good enough to merit the reaction I’d gotten from Kendra.
“Damn. This is amazing,” Kendra said once she had swallowed. “I can’t even imagine what could make it better—whoever that grandma is, she has to be Italian magic.”
I laughed and we both dove into our food and wine, just like at the café with the coffee and cake, talking between bites. We’d done our catching up, so instead of asking about careers and travel, we started talking about all of the ridiculous shit we’d gotten into as kids. It was good, thinking about that stuff—without rehashing the hell I’d gone through during the same years.
“Oh! I almost forgot,” I said, “I have paperwork for you.” I got up to retrieve the file folder the chief had given me before I’d left for the day. “It’s the contracts and that kind of thing, for the photographer gig. If you’re interested.”
“I gave it more thought, and it sounds like fun,” Kendra said. “I’ll look over the paperwork, but I don’t know if I have all the gear I need.”
“Don’t worry, we’ve got the gear,” I told her. “Bob, the photographer we used to work with, left it to us in his will.”
“That’s handy!” Kendra exclaimed. “Could I have a little more pasta, please?”
“Sure, but leave room for the meat,” I told her, adding a few scoops of pasta onto her plate.
It was dark outside by the time we finished, and Kendra gathered up the plates and carried them over to the sink.
“Hey!” I said, getting up to follow her. “You’re a guest.”
“You cooked,” Kendra pointed out. “It’s only fair that I help.”
I grabbed a dish towel, letting Kendra take over the washing, and taking the plates and cups and everything else she passed me. It felt good, comfortable, and weirdly nice—washing dishes together, dividing it up, standing in my kitchen like we’d done a thousand times before.
“I’ll put away the leftovers,” I said. “After I’ve made you a plate to take home.”
Kendra laughed. “You better.”
I stepped behind her, putting my arms around her narrow waist. Pressing a kiss to the back of her neck, I breathed in her decadent feminine scent—a mix of lavender and vanilla.
I heard a shout from outside—the neighbors’ kids—and then sharp, loud, popping sounds, firecrackers going off.
Kendra tensed in my arms. The glass fell from her hands, shattering against the sink.
She gasped then twisted around in my hold, like she was preparing to run.
“Whoa.” Instinctively, I tightened my grip on her. “Are you okay?” I asked.
“No,” Kendra replied in a breathy voice. “No. No. No.” I tugged her against my chest, pressing my head against hers. She mentioned issues, she talked about an officer-involved shooting incident, but she hadn
’t given me any specifics. After years of working with guys in my unit and out of it, helping them deal with their trauma, I could tell at least a bit of what had happened. Kendra had PTSD.
“It’s okay, baby,” I said calmly. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.” She shivered as more of the neighbors’ kids’ firecrackers went off. With arms wrapped around her, I repeated comforting words—but the firecrackers stopped. I pulled back just enough to check her eyes, her face, to see how she was doing.
“I’m sorry,” Kendra said. There were tears in her eyes, and she was still shaking.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for, baby,” I said. “Did you have a flashback?” Kendra nodded. I gave her another tight hug before guiding her carefully into my living room, letting her sit down.
“I broke your wineglass,” Kendra whispered.
“Like I care,” I told her. “Besides, I’ve been meaning to get new ones.”
Kendra was still shaking, her hands trembling. “I’ll be right back.” I went into the kitchen to get her glass of wine. It didn’t take long for me to bring it back to her.
“Do you want to know?” She took a sip of wine. “What happened, I mean.”
“Only if you want to tell me,” I said while sitting down next to her. “If you’re not ready to talk about it, then you don’t have to.”
“I want to tell you,” Kendra said, taking a deep breath. She looked steadier. “Just…just so you understand.”
“Take your time, Kendra,” I told her. “And stop if you want to at any point.” I brushed my finger along her cheek.
She started, “It was pretty much typical. I mean, obviously, it didn’t end up that way, but it was a simple apprehension. A raid. This guy…I tried to talk him down, get him to just put his gun down, but he was high on PCP.”
“And he shot you?”
She bit her bottom lip. “It isn’t even the shooting. I’ve had to have shrapnel taken out of my shoulder once. Usually, they instinctively shoot for the chest, forgetting we have vests.”
HEART OF FIRE Page 5
