Braving the Heat

by Regan Black

  “About my car?” That didn’t make any sense. “Why?”

  “You may not know it, but he likes to stay busy,” Grant said. “He took a look at your car as soon as he got back to his shop.”

  “Did he find the problem already?” She braced herself for the worst, assuming Stephen had mentioned parts, labor and prices.

  “Yes. He says he can fix it fairly quickly, though he’s not sure that’s the wise choice since the car’s a rolling wreck. His words, not mine.” Grant sat upright suddenly and the chair squeaked a protest. He ignored the grating sound, massaging at the scar tissue in his shoulder, the way he often did when he was thinking. “Any chance you forgot how your dad taught you to care for a car and accidently dumped sugar into your gas tank?”

  What? “Of course not.”

  Grant’s intent brown eyes turned weary from one blink to the next. “Didn’t think so.” He blew out a breath and rubbed his temples. “Stephen can explain all the details, of course. I just wanted to be the one to give you the big picture.”

  “Which is?” she prompted when he hesitated.

  “Everything Stephen found suggests that someone sabotaged your car.”

  “Sugar in the gas tank is hardly the problem people think it is,” she said, latching on to the one factor she could comprehend in this bizarre situation. It was a fairly affordable fix to change the clogged filters and flush the tank and fuel lines. “Maybe the previous owner pissed off someone who didn’t know keying a car was a better form of revenge.”

  “Maybe,” Grant allowed. He looked as if he wanted to believe her theory as opposed to the evidence that contradicted it. “How long have you had the vehicle?”

  She gripped the straps of the backpack, resisting the logic and implications he was forcing on her. “Three weeks.” He arched an eyebrow. She didn’t need him to say it for her. “If I’d bought the thing with sugar in the tank it would have given me problems long before now.”

  “So you bought the car at the same time you had to hire an attorney for the civil suit?”

  “Yes,” she replied, grudgingly.

  “Then whoever dumped sugar in the tank was targeting you.”

  “Unless they didn’t realize the car had been sold.” She rushed on when Grant rolled his eyes. “It’s an inconvenience, that’s all.” She could do the repairs, assuming Stephen would let her borrow space and the tools.

  Grant glanced at the clock over the office door. “You need help, Kenzie. Support.”

  She understood it wasn’t a question. Help was what Grant did. He’d never been able to depart from his inherent need to get involved from his days on the police force. He probably hadn’t tried too hard.

  She gathered the fraying remnants of her pride. “My attorney has it under control,” she said. “He assures me it’s a matter of wading through the system.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” Grant stood up, ending the meeting. “It’s okay to remember you have friends willing to help, too.”

  “Thanks.” She hated the idea of dragging her friends into her problems. Besides, there wasn’t anything to do except let her lawyer handle the case.

  She escaped the office and the club, relieved and troubled in equal measure. Outside, she paused and breathed deeply. The air at this hour was clear along the river and as cool and pleasant as Philly could be in the summer. The stars in the inky sky above were faint, the lights from buildings on both sides of the river offering more sparkle.

  Only a few cars remained in the lot, and she assumed the small SUV parked next to Mitch’s truck was the car Stephen had brought for her. Standing between the two, the Galway brothers turned to her as she approached. She sensed she’d interrupted something important.

  “Hi,” she said. “Sorry for the delay.”

  “No problem.” Stephen opened the passenger door of the SUV for her. “I’ll drive to the shop and you can take it from there.”

  “Okay.” She glanced at Mitch. “Thanks for loaning me your truck today.”

  “No problem.” Lines of tension bracketed the stern set of his mouth. It wasn’t a look she often saw on his face. “Be careful, Kenzie.”

  “Always,” she promised, before sliding into the seat. He couldn’t be warning her about his brother. “You told him about the clogged fuel filter?” she asked, as Stephen slid behind the wheel and started the car.

  “Saves him a trip to the shop tomorrow,” Stephen replied, pulling away from the club.

  “That’s...thoughtful.” So why did Mitch seem aggravated?

  Stephen’s gaze slid from the nearly deserted streets to her and back to the road. “Practical. I’ve got your car in pieces already, easier for me to put it back together. If that’s what you want.”

  “It’s what I need,” she replied. When the case was settled she would take great delight in buying a better car. “You didn’t have to give me a loaner this nice.”

  “This was what I had available.” He shifted in the seat as if he wasn’t comfortable with the conversation. “You needed something with better security.”

  She could argue the point, though the irritating sabotage spoke for itself. “We don’t even know the prank was aimed at me. It could be someone who thought the car still belonged to the previous owner.” A weak argument was better than none.

  He snorted, clearly not any more convinced of that than Grant had been. “Better not to tempt fate again. This one has a tamper-proof tank and hood.”

  “Guess that limits someone to cutting the brake lines, slashing tires, rerouting exhaust, planting a GPS tracker or even an explosive,” she said. She’d meant it all as a joke, but the list unnerved her.

  “Your safety isn’t a joke. Did you ask Grant for protection?”

  “No.” The idea was absurd. She could take care of herself. She leveled her toughest stare at him, the one she saved for those who aimed sexist comments at her when they heard she was a firefighter. There had been far too many opportunities to perfect the expression since Murtagh went public with his complaint and civil suit. “While I’m dressed as a waitress at the moment, you might recall safety is an essential aspect of my career.”

  “I only meant—”

  “I’m an adult,” she interrupted. “As a firefighter I’m trained to cope with any number of crises, including saving people and property. It’s my job to put out fires.” At least she put out fires whenever lawsuits didn’t keep her on the sidelines. “I’m merely pointing out there’s no way to prevent all forms of trouble. That, too, is an element of my career.”

  He didn’t reply and in profile she noticed his jaw set in a hard line. She imagined if the radio were off she would have heard his teeth grinding.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “That was really rude.” Embarrassed, she toyed with the straps of her backpack. “You’ve gone above and beyond to help me today. Despite the rant, I do appreciate it.”

  “Forget it,” he said. “I understand irritable.”

  He stopped in front of a wide gate barring the entrance to Galway Automotive. Plucking a key ring from the cup holder, he pressed a button on a fob that must have been connected to his security system. The gate slid back, rolling along the inside of the tall fencing surrounding the business. Rather than put the car in Park, he drove through the opening and the gate slid closed behind them. She caught the cameras mounted at the gate, assumed there were more around the property.

  She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but it wasn’t the well maintained blacktop pavement surrounding an L-shaped building. What must serve as his office jutted slightly forward from the line of bays stretching to the side. Several cars were parked on a strip of gravel at the far end of the building and the tow truck had been backed into a space near the gate where Stephen could leave quickly if necessary.

  Bright security lights mounted around the property were aimed at the building
and they came on as he drove by. The manufactured sunlight smothered any hope of shadows. Made of metal rather than stone, the garage didn’t have much in common with a fairy-tale castle, yet Stephen had definitely created a fortress. The only things missing were a moat and a vigilant dragon.

  A dragon? The whimsical thought was a clear sign the late hour had taken its toll. She felt a bizarre wish to stay right here in this sheltered place until her troubles went away. Too bad lawsuits didn’t disappear if they were ignored.

  He parked next to the office, away from the other cars, and the headlights glanced off the gleaming silver siding of a sleek, bullet-shaped camper.

  “It’s bigger than I expected,” she said.

  “The trailer?”

  “No.” She laughed now, giddy and definitely overtired. “The business.”

  He gave her a long look. “I own the block now.”

  Impressive. She managed to swallow several prying questions about the man and his work that were none of her concern.

  “Do you need anything from your car?” he asked.

  Feeling unsettled, she ducked away from his gaze and nudged the backpack with her knee. “I’m set for tonight. Is there a good time for me to swing by and pick up everything tomorrow? I guess I mean today?” The clock on the dash showed it was already past three. “I can help with the repairs to my car, too.”

  He didn’t jump on her offer. “Where will you take your things?” He cut the engine and held on to the key.

  She had no idea. “I’ll figure something out.” Although she couldn’t leave town, maybe her belongings could. Her mom had extended the offer. Kenzie just needed to make time to drive up there.

  The burnished gold eyebrows flexed over his eyes. “You don’t have anywhere to stay, do you?”

  She was too weary to fib or bluster through. “I figure there’s an available motel room somewhere in town.” She waved a hand at the clock. “I only need a few hours of sleep. Tell me what time to come by.”

  His lips pressed together and he nodded once as if an internal debate had just been settled. “I didn’t think so. You’ll stay here tonight.”

  He got out of the car and walked to the camper. She gawked at him through the windshield, trying to make sense of his statement. Trying to catch up as her pulse went racing ahead of her at his abrupt declaration.

  When he noticed she wasn’t behind him, he came around to the passenger door and opened it. “Come on.”

  She gripped the edge of the seat. “No thanks. If you’ll give me the car key and open the gate I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “As you said, it’s already tomorrow,” he said, completely ignoring the salient point that she would leave and handle her troubles on her own. He reached past her for the backpack, his forearm brushing across her bare knees.

  “Hey, that’s mine. What are you doing?” She shifted her leg, pinning his arm. Mistake, a small voice warned her too late. His skin was warm against hers and in this position his handsome face was close enough that the security lights sparked in the dark blond stubble shading his jaw.

  The tough, callused palm of his free hand landed on her leg and he extracted his trapped arm and simply lifted her out of the car. He handled her as if she weighed nothing. Worse, he behaved as if he had the right to move her about at will. Where was her fight?

  “You’ll stay here tonight,” he repeated, setting her on her feet. “I’ll stay on the couch in the office. We’ll sort out the rest in the morning.”

  She dug in her heels as he opened the camper door and waited for her to go inside. “Stephen, this isn’t right. It’s too much,” she added, when he refused to agree with her.

  He tipped his head. “Go on in and make yourself at home. We’ve both lost enough sleep as it is.”

  Nothing else he could have said would have convinced her to cooperate. Fully aware she’d been a big imposition already, she obediently walked up the steps. She glanced back before he could close the door. “Stephen, why are you doing this?”

  He shrugged. “Good night, Kenzie.”

  She watched him disappear into the office, bewildered by his unexpected kindness.

  Emotions she’d rather not examine churned inside her as she stood in his camper. It was neat and clean, and the evidence that he lived here was everywhere. The plain, heavy white mug stationed near the coffeepot on the narrow counter. The mail tucked into a slim wire basket next to a laptop computer on the shelf behind the table. She passed the bathroom and caught a whiff of the crisp, green scent she’d noticed on his skin.

  Why would Stephen give his home to her, even for a night?

  Her pride had taken a hard tumble in recent weeks and she’d been so consumed with the lawsuit that she couldn’t ask her friends to let her crash on couches or in spare rooms. Requests like that left her too vulnerable. Her friends, with lives and concerns of their own, didn’t need to hear her worries and fears about her future.

  Her backpack slid from her grasp and hit the floor with a soft thud when she spotted the stack of clean towels at the foot of the perfectly made bed. He must have found the trouble with her car and then cleaned up in here, turning his home into a guest house. For her.

  Gratitude swamped her. Everyone but Stephen had let her get away with her small fibs about having things under control. He didn’t even know her. They were basically strangers. How had he seen through her defenses so easily?

  It was a question she would never answer while she was exhausted. She stripped away the Escape Club uniform and readied herself for bed. As she slipped between the cool, clean sheets, she decided none of the whys and hows of Stephen’s actions mattered as much as figuring out what she could do to make it up to him.

  Chapter 2

  Almost three hours later, Stephen woke with the sun and a colorful vow to find something to cover the bare window on the back wall. He supposed he could board it up, but that seemed extreme for a temporary situation. He squinted at the window and considered planting a tree. That would have a lasting benefit even if it didn’t help in the short term.

  Short term, he reminded himself. Kenzie wouldn’t be in his trailer for long. She gave off independent vibes as bright as the sunshine glaring in his eyes. He sat up, scooping his hair back from his face as his bare feet hit the cool vinyl flooring. At least it wasn’t winter, when the freezing temperatures tried to climb right through the heavy-soled boots he wore in the shop.

  With no hope of more sleep, he decided to get to work. He grabbed clean clothes from the pile he’d brought over last night and headed into the bathroom wedged between the office and the storage room. The cramped space didn’t have an ounce of aesthetics, since clean, efficient and functional were all the design elements he’d cared about when he made the improvements.

  Back in the office, he punched the button on the machine to brew coffee, and checked phone messages. Disappointment crept in when none of the callers asked about the restored Mustang he’d listed for sale last week. It had been in rough shape when they found it at an auction. He’d warned his brother that particular car would drain time and money. At least he had a better distraction today.

  Turning, he opened the cabinet over the coffeemaker and pulled a foil-wrapped toaster pastry out of the box. Filling a stainless steel mug with fresh coffee, he carried it and the pastry into the shop and circled Kenzie’s disassembled car while he waited for the caffeine and sugar to kick in. The poor excuse for transportation put a knot in his stomach as he debated where to start. So many options, and the best choice might be scrapping it for parts. Couldn’t move forward on any of it until they discussed what she wanted. Please scrap it, he thought. It would be a public service.

  He drank more coffee, savoring the jolt of caffeine, and shifted his focus to the far more appealing 1967 Camaro SS. This was the car that got Stephen out of bed every morning since the client, Matt Riley, had dr
opped it off. A total rebuild, inside and out, and despite the need for fresh paint, about as far from Kenzie’s nondescript junker as a car could get. He’d cleaned every inch of the engine until a person could practically use it for a dining table, and now that the muffler was installed the Muncie four-speed transmission was ready for a second test drive.

  Inside the Camaro, the upholstery was in decent shape, with only a few repairs and touch-ups needed. Same with the body. Stephen wondered where Riley had managed to find such a gem and if he’d share the source.

  The Camaro wasn’t the only thing waiting on him, just the most fun. Finishing the pastry, he dusted the crumbs from his fingers and trashed the wrapper. Time to get busy. With a sigh, he turned to the car parked in the last of his four service bays. His sister Megan had dropped off her minivan for new brakes and fresh tires. Naturally, she was hoping he’d deliver it when they were all at family dinner tomorrow.

  Did none of them realize he could smell these setups a mile away? Megan and her husband could pick up the minivan as soon as he was done this afternoon. By insisting on making the exchange tomorrow, they made sure he couldn’t skip the dinner. He supposed he should be grateful for Megan’s willingness to go without her beloved minivan for nearly forty-eight hours. Given half a chance, she’d tell him to appreciate her devoted-sister sacrifice, but he recognized his mother’s influence at work. No one was better at keeping family together than Myra Galway.

  With more affection than gratitude, Stephen turned up the music and put the vehicle on the lift to knock out the single straightforward job on today’s agenda.

  * * *

  Kenzie came out of the recurring nightmare riding the hard wave of adrenaline and confusion. It always started with the same call to the row house fire. The same search protocol. When she found the victim, the nightmare shifted on her. The man was too heavy for her alone and the fire was burning too hot and fast, blocking every route as her team tried to reach her. The victim shouted at her, berating her until his throat went dry, yet none of his ideas was remotely plausible. Huddled in a corner, surrounded by smoke with flames marching toward them, she would wake up with the unbearable pressure of failure in her chest and the sheets tangled around her legs.