Fearless

by Kimberly Kincaid

  Cole laughed. “One or two.”

  “Are we still on?” she asked, determination flashing in her eyes.

  “I’m a man of my word, darlin’. If I make a promise, I’m good for it.”

  “Oh, I know,” Savannah said, her ponytail swinging over her shoulder as she dished up the sassy grin that got him right in the gut every single time. “But I made a promise, too. Your record is toast.”

  As Cole watched her line up with Donovan and Crews and Jonesey, laughing and jawing and looking perfectly at home, he knew she’d make good on her promise.

  Just like he knew he’d always love her.

  Don’t miss the first Rescue Squad novel,

  RECKLESS,

  available now!

  SOMEONE’S BOUND TO GET BURNED . . .

  Zoe Westin may be a fire captain’s daughter, but feeding the people in her hometown of Fairview is her number one priority. Running a soup kitchen is also the perfect way to prove to her dad that helping people doesn’t always mean risking life and limb. But when she’s saddled with a gorgeous firefighter doing community service after yet another daredevil stunt, the kitchen has never been so hot.

  Alex Donovan thrives on adrenaline, and stirring a pot of soup doesn’t exactly qualify. He’s not an expert at following the rules either, not even when they come from the stubborn, sexy daughter of the man who’s not only his boss, but his mentor. Determined to show Zoe that not every risk ends in catastrophe, Alex challenges her both in the kitchen and out. One reckless step leads to another, but will falling for each other be a risk worth taking, or will it just get them burned?

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  Two things in firefighter Alex Donovan’s life were dead certain. The first was where there was smoke, you could bet your lunch money there was going to be fire. The second was wherever there was fire, Alex wanted in.

  No contest. No question.

  “Okay, listen up, boys, ’cause it looks like we’ve got a live one,” Alex’s lieutenant, Ian Gamble, hollered over the headset from the officer’s seat in the front of Engine Eight, scrolling through the confetti-colored display from dispatch with a series of clacks. “Dispatch is reporting a business fire with smoke issuing from the windows at a warehouse for a chemical supply company on Roosevelt Avenue. Looks like the place has been abandoned since the company went under last year.”

  “Is that down in the industrial park by the docks?” His best friend Cole Everett’s tried-and-true smile disappeared as he reached down from the seat next to Alex to yank his turnout gear over his navy-blue uniform pants, and yeah. This wasn’t going to be your average cat stuck in a tree scenario.

  “Yup. Nearest cross street is Euclid, which puts it four blocks up from the water and smack in the middle of Industrial Row.” Gamble looked over his shoulder and into the back step of the engine, jerking his chin at the two of them in an unspoken get your asses in gear, and hell if Alex needed the message twice.

  “Pretty shitty part of town,” he said, his pulse jacking up a notch even though he reached for the SCOTT pack in the storage compartment behind his seat with ease that bordered on ho-hum. Not that his adrenaline wasn’t doing the hey-now all the way through his system, because it sure as shit was. But getting torqued over a promissory note from dispatch without seeing the reality of flames only wasted precious energy. He’d learned that well enough as a candidate eight years ago.

  Plus, there would be plenty of time to go yippy-ki-yay once shit started burning down.

  “Does it matter that we’re headed into Fairview’s projects?” Luke Slater asked from Alex’s other side, yanking his coat closed over his turnout gear with more attitude than anyone with three weeks’ experience had a right to.

  Hello. The candidate has a sore spot. Not that it would change Alex’s response, or his delivery. Sugarcoating things was for ass-kissers and candy store owners, and neither title was ever going to go on his résumé.

  He fixed Slater with a hard stare. “It does when there are probably squatters inside the building, Einstein. How do you think a fire starts in an abandoned warehouse anyway?” Even money said the place hadn’t seen running electricity in a dog’s age. With the city still in the hard grip of winter, there was zero percent chance this call site had nobody home.

  “Oh.” Luke dropped his chin for just a split second before picking up the slack with the rest of his gear. “Guess I wasn’t thinking of it like that.”

  But Alex just shrugged. He’d never been one for getting his boxers in a wad, let alone keeping ’em that way. Especially over the small stuff.

  After all, life was too short. And hell if he didn’t know that, up close and personal.

  “Gotta use it for more than a hat rack, rookie.” Alex tossed back the emotion in his chest like a double shot of Crown Royal, and it burned just the same as he slapped the kid’s helmet with a gloved hand. “You’ll learn.”

  Gamble eighty-sixed his smile just a second too late for Alex to miss it, the wail of the overhead sirens competing with the lieutenant’s voice over the headset as he blanked the momentary blip of amusement from his face. “There’s no reported entrapment, but Teflon’s right. An abandoned warehouse in a neighborhood like this is ripe for squatters, even in the daytime. Plus—” Gamble broke off, the seriousness in his voice going full-on grim. “We don’t know what kind of chemicals might’ve been left in the place. We need to go by the book on this one. Thirteen’s already on-scene.”

  “Outstanding,” Cole muttered, tacking on a few choice words to the contrary about their rival house, and Alex’s gut nose-dived in agreement.

  “Those guys are a bag full of dicks.” Not to mention their captain was a douchebag of unrivaled proportions. Alex might not stay mad at most people for long, but he sure as hell knew a jackass when he laid eyes on one.

  “I mean it, Teflon.” Gamble’s warning went from dark to dangerous in the span of half a breath. “I don’t like those ass-clowns at Thirteen any more than you do, but a call’s a call. Head up, eyes forward.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Copy that.” Alex took off his headset, his mutter falling prey to the combination of Engine Eight’s growl and the rush of noise that accompanied the final prep for a real-deal call. He went the inhale-exhale route as he triple-checked his gear, monitoring his breath along with his time as they approached the edge of town leading into Fairview’s shabbier waterside neighborhoods.

  “So, um, how come your nickname is Teflon?” Slater shifted against the SCOTT pack already strapped to his back, the heel of one boot doing a steady bounce against the scuffed black floor of the engine.

  Alex’s laugh welled up from behind his sternum, and what the hell. The rookie might be ten pounds of nerves stuffed into a five-pound bag, but at least he was curious, too. “I guess you could say it’s because I’ve got special talents.”

  Slater’s head jerked back. “You cook?”

  Cole flipped the mouthpiece of his headset upward, tugging the thing off one ear to interject. “Hell no,” he said, although his tone coupled with his laugh to cancel out any heat from the words. “Clearly you didn’t partake in dinner last week when he was on KP.”

  “Hey,” Alex argued, although he had a whole lot of nothing to back it up. He was a single guy who’d lived all by his lonesome for twelve years. Sue him for not being a gourmet chef. “Dinner wasn’t that bad.”

  “Dude. You fucked up spaghetti.”

  “Italian cuisine can be extremely tricky.” He tried on his very best cocky smile, the one that got him out of speeding tickets and into the panties of every pretty woman he set his sights on, but of course, Mr. Calm, Cool, and Buzzkill just snorted.

  “The directions
are on the freaking box.” Cole lifted a hand to stop Alex from going for round two, turning his attention back to Slater. “To answer your question, Donovan here got his nickname for exactly what you just witnessed.”

  The candidate’s dark brows lifted upward, nearly disappearing beneath the still-shiny visor on his helmet. “Which is . . . ?”

  “He’s slick enough to sell a cape to Superman. No matter what he gets himself into—and believe me, I’ve seen him get into some high-level shit—he talks his way right out of it. Trouble always slides right off him.”

  “Ah.” Understanding dawned on Slater’s face, and he swung his gaze from Cole to Alex. “Nothing ever sticks to Teflon.”

  “Nope,” Alex said with a grin. Going through life on a bunch of should-haves and maybes was about as appealing as a prostate exam with a root canal chaser. If he wanted something, he did it without hesitation. Dealing with consequences was for after the fact, and despite Cole’s smart-ass delivery, he wasn’t wrong. Alex could handle anything that came his way, no matter how big, how bad, or how dangerous.

  And he tempted all three on a regular basis.

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  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Kimberly Kincaid writes contemporary romance that splits the difference between sexy and sweet. When she’s not sitting cross-legged in an ancient desk chair known as “The Pleather Bomber,” she can be found practicing obscene amounts of yoga, whipping up anything from enchiladas to éclairs in her kitchen, or curled up with her nose in a book. Kimberly is a 2011 RWA Golden Heart® finalist who lives (and writes!) by the mantra that food is love. She resides in northern Virginia with her wildly patient husband and their three daughters.

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