by Davis, Jo
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Teaser chapter
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Praise for Trial by Fire Named Year’s Best Contemporary and Debut of the Year by Romance: B(u)y the Book
“Romantic suspense that has it all: a sizzling firefighter hero, a heroine you’ll love, and a story that crackles and pops with sensuality and action. All I can say is, keep the fire extinguisher handy or risk spontaneous combustion!”
—Linda Castillo, national bestselling author of Overkill
“A five-alarm read . . . riveting, sensual.”
—Beyond Her Book
“For a poignant and steamy romance with a great dose of suspense, be sure to pick up a copy of Trial by Fire . . . as soon as it hits the bookstores!”
—Wild on Books (5 Bookmarks)
“Jo Davis set the trap, baited the hook, and completely reeled me in with Trial by Fire. Heady sexual tension, heartwarming romance, and combustible love scenes just added fuel to the fire. . . . Joyfully recommended!”
—Joyfully Reviewed
SIGNET ECLIPSE
Published by New American Library, a division of
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,
New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto,
Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Penguin Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2,
Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)
Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124,
Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)
Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park,
New Delhi - 110 017, India
Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632,
New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)
Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue,
Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa
Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices:
80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
First published by Signet Eclipse, an imprint of New American Library,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
First Printing, May 2009
eISBN : 978-1-101-10574-0
Copyright © Jo Davis, 2009
All rights reserved
SIGNET ECLIPSE and logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
http://us.penguingroup.com
For my husband, Paul, my headstrong alpha male with a mushy heart of gold. You are the light of my life, my muse, my hero. We’ve come a long way, baby. May the next eighteen years hold as many wonderful surprises.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As always, my heartfelt thanks to:
My husband and children, for their steadfast support, and for smiling when I’m on deadline and declaring that ordering pizza for the third time this week is a great idea.
Roberta Brown, my agent, miracle worker, and friend.
Tracy Bernstein, my fabulous editor; Angela Januzzi, my awesome publicist; the art and marketing departments and all of the folks at NAL who work hard behind the scenes. You guys rock.
Tracy Garrett and Suzanne Welsh, the best critique partners and friends a girl could ask for.
The Foxes, without whom I cannot imagine getting through a single day. I’d always wanted a sister, and now I have nine.
Captain Steve Deutsch and the C-shift firefighters, for their wisdom and inspiration.
Note: Any mistakes I’ve made or liberties I’ve taken for story-line purposes are completely my own.
1
The back end of the SUV filled Zack Knight’s windshield before his exhausted brain jolted to awareness, screaming the belated message to slam on his brakes.
Too late, he jammed his foot hard to the floorboard. Only a split second to realize he wasn’t going to be able to stop on the rain-slickened pavement, for his stomach to plunge to his toes. One heartbeat to curse his stupid mental lapse and recognize the very real irony of a firefighter/ paramedic causing a traffic accident.
A brief, muffled squeal of tires sounded in his ears. His classic 1967 Mustang was low to the ground and built like a sleek silver bullet, and the car hydroplaned right into the tail of the SUV with slightly less force than a shot from a gun.
A loud, sickening crunch of metal, and the bone-jarring impact was over before he could blink. Just like that. One millisecond of inattention. On the job, he’d seen the tragic results often enough.
Fortunately he was alive and seemingly unhurt, if a little dazed and breathless.
Mortification cut through the shock. Good God, he’d just rear-ended someone! “Oh, Jesus.”
Unfastening his seat belt, he glanced behind him to check for oncoming traffic in the left-hand lane, then threw open his door and slid out. Taking a couple of steps, he grimaced in pain. The impact had wrenched his back and neck. Not too bad right now, but by tomorrow he’d be damned sore. Putting aside his discomfort, he limped to the driver’s side of the SUV he hit. The sight that greeted him made his heart lurch. A woman sat behind the wheel, face buried in her hands, expression hidden by long honey brown hair.
“Ma’am?” She didn’t move, so he knocked on the window, his pulse jackhammering. “Ma’am, are you all right?”
Slowly, she lowered her hands, raised her head, turned to peer at him . . . and the world did a funny little flip.
Wow. The lady had a lovely oval face that would make angels weep. Frigging supermodel drop-dead gorgeous. She opened her door and he stepped back to accommodate her, nervous and embarrassed. On top of everything, he’d never been good at relating to women on any level—pathetic, but true—and now he had to keep from staring like an idiot at the goddess standing in front of him.
A visibly upset, wide-eyed, long-legged goddess wearing black leather pants and
high-heeled boots, a snazzy black leather coat, and a fuzzy red sweater underneath. Oh, wow.
And, holy shit, those eyes! Golden and dark-edged around her irises, like a jungle cat’s. Exotic. For a brief second, he allowed himself to wonder what it might be like to just throw in the towel and let himself get eaten.
Shaking himself from his stupor, he held out a hand. “God, are you okay? I’m so sorry. I—”
“Don’t they stop at red lights where you’re from, Forrest Gump?”
Ouch. No doubt she wouldn’t believe the man who’d just plowed into her backside—now, there was a double entendre he didn’t need—possessed a so-called genius IQ of 150.
“Like I said, I’m sorry. I’m Zack Knight, and I’m a firefighter and paramedic. Would you sit in your truck and let me check your vitals?” Oh, Christ. He’d like to check a helluva lot more than the lady’s pulse, if the stirring in his poor, neglected groin was any indication.
She laughed, a bold, brassy sound, and plenty jaded. Like life was one big, unfunny joke after another, usually on her. Zack knew the feeling well.
Her smile was breathtaking, wide and full of straight white teeth, dispelling the notion she was the frightened victim he’d first thought. No, this woman was capable of handling anything, and probably had. Twice.
“My vitals. Right. Like you haven’t done enough already? Thanks, sugar lump, but I’ll take my chances. Let’s see the damage.”
She walked to the rear of her SUV, a sporty red Explorer with the bumper and hatch door buckled inward at the bottom, the paint scratched. And wasn’t his insurance agent going to be ecstatic? This ought to do wonders for his premium, which he couldn’t afford in the first place.
Even the Mustang, built in an era when manufacturers didn’t use plastic soda bottles for bumpers, had sustained a mangled grille and buckled hood. Hundreds, if not thousands of dollars down the drain. Zack swayed a little, feeling sick.
Heaving a deep breath, he tugged his wallet from the back pocket of his regulation blue pants and removed one of his cards. He forced himself to meet her amber gaze squarely.
“This has my work and cell phone numbers on it. I’ll call the police so they can make a report, and write my insurance information on the back while we’re waiting. Sound okay?”
She nodded. “Fine.”
“Are you sure you’re all right? I really think you should go get examined.” He ought to do the same, but wouldn’t. He had to get his ass to the station, pronto, before the captain served it to him roasted on a platter.
Her mouth tightened. “Let’s just get on with it, hotshot. It’s colder than a well digger’s butt out here and the rain is getting harder.” Tucking a damp strand of hair behind her ear, she started to turn.
“Wait. What’s your name?”
Arching a brow, she gave him a penetrating look, as though deciding whether to grace him with the information. For the first time, he realized how very tall she was. In the heels, she topped his six feet by an inch or so. Without them, she’d still almost match his height.
Sensual lips curving upward, she stuck out a slender hand tipped with bloodred nails. “Corrine Shannon, exotic dancer. Cori, if you like.”
Shit, yeah, I like.
Her throaty voice flooded his mind with naughty images of her lips nibbling down his naked body in the dark—
Whoa. Down, boy. He cleared his throat and clasped her hand. “That’s nice. Company or p-private?” Immediately, he wanted to slice off his tongue. What the hell had made him blurt such a stupid question?
“Private. I work birthdays, anniversaries, bachelor parties . . . whatever. Thursdays through Saturdays, six p.m. to two a.m.” The smile became knowing, feral. Her tawny eyes sparkled as she reached out, pushed his gold wire-rimmed glasses higher on his nose, then trailed a long nail down his cheek. “Don’t sweat it, fireboy. You can’t afford me.”
His eyes widened. “I—I didn’t mean . . . I wasn’t—”
Cori turned on her elegant heel, strode back to her vehicle, and climbed in, leaving him with his mouth hanging open, the memory of her touch scorching his skin. Until he reminded himself the woman was an admitted pro. Seduction came naturally to her, probably meant nothing more than bigger tips. And his experience with women was sadly lacking.
Just as he turned to walk off, she leaned out her open door. “Listen . . . are you all right?”
The soft question, posed with genuine concern and without a trace of her earlier attitude, almost did him in.
He managed a weak smile that felt lopsided on his face. “Yeah, I’m good.”
She frowned. “You don’t look so good, Zack Knight.”
Which made today like any other.
“I’ll be fine, but thanks.”
The extralong forty-eight-hour double shift ahead seemed an impossible feat. And when the looming bad weather finally hit, their emergency calls would more than triple. A wave of sheer exhaustion swamped him anew, with no relief on the horizon. Discouraged, he returned to the Mustang and used his cell phone to call the police. Next, he phoned the station and spoke to Eve Marshall, the station’s only female firefighter, and his closest friend.
“Zack, you’re almost an hour late! Sean’s in a shitty mood, my friend, and this doesn’t help. Where are you?”
“I was in an accident, Evie. The police—”
“Oh, shit! Are you hurt?”
“No, no. Just a fender bender.” To the tune of about a hundred wrenched muscles and a few thousand in damages to the vehicles, but he left that part out.
Eve sighed in relief. “Thank God.”
“Tell the captain I’ll be there as soon as I can, will you?”
“Huh. I’ll try, but he’s been holed up in his office since we came on shift, barking at everyone who sticks their nose in, including Six-Pack. We heard them yelling at each other earlier. It got real nasty.”
Zack closed his eyes. Lieutenant Howard “Six-Pack” Paxton and Captain Sean Tanner were tight, the best of friends. Over the years, they’d been through hell and back together, and more than anyone, Howard had been struggling to see his friend through a horrible personal down-slide. Six-Pack was as patient as they came, a solid rock of a guy. If those two were tearing strips off each other, Zack could only imagine the joyful reception he’d get later.
“Wonderful. If he asks, just let him know I’m coming. Tell Six-Pack, too.”
“Sure thing. Glad you’re okay, buddy,” she said warmly.
Her obvious concern helped, just a little, and he smiled in spite of the crappy morning. “Thanks.”
Settling in to wait for the police, he ran a hand through his short, wet hair.
Lightning flashed across the sky, stretched a bony white finger to the ground in the distance. A clap of thunder followed, promising that the steady freezing rain would gather in velocity for the fierce winter storm the forecasters had been predicting. The light and sound show was beyond strange for January.
He shivered; whether from the chill gripping his soaked body or from the eerie disquiet an approaching storm always evoked in him, he couldn’t say.
The cop, when he finally deigned to show, proved to be a bored, sarcastic prick. In Zack’s experience, working closely with the police at traffic accidents and various emergencies, most cops were cool, if somewhat rough around the edges. This one wasn’t. Zack’s lucky day, all around.
Jerk or not, he took down the pertinent information about the accident with efficiency, and handed Ms. Shannon the promised card Zack provided with his insurance information written on it. Of course, the cop couldn’t resist a parting jab or two as he returned to conclude business.
“Nice car. A classic. In a bit too much of a hurry in dangerous weather?”
Zack made an effort to sound respectful instead of annoyed. “I wasn’t speeding.”
The cop arched a brow. “In a ’sixty-seven Mustang? Right.”
“You don’t believe me.” Big surprise.
“People
yank my weenie all day, Mr. Knight. I got no reason to think you’re any different, fire department or not.” He held out a small yellow card and tapped a beefy finger at eight digits he’d written on top.
“This is the number of my traffic report. Give that to your insurance rep when you call. Bada-bing, you’re set. Try not to pulverize anyone else, will ya?”
Biting back a retort, Zack tucked the card into a pocket inside his coat to protect it from the persistent rain, which had ramped up to a downpour. He was so cold and miserable, his face had gone numb. His chest felt heavy and his body ached as though he’d been beaten with hammers, and not just because of the wreck. Worse, he was now so late for A-shift that the captain would definitely chew his ass, spit it out, then devise some wicked method of punishment. Fantastic.
“Oh, by the way,” the cop said, rubbing his chin. “You got any business east of town, stay away from the Sugarland Bridge. I heard the Cumberland is swelling by the hour, and they’re sayin’ what with the runoff from the melting sleet we’ve had all week, the storm will have the river overflowin’ the banks by this afternoon. Hope you boys don’t get any calls out there.”
Zack nodded, somewhat revising his opinion of the man in light of his genuine concern. “Me, too. I appreciate the advice.”
The cop jogged to his cruiser and jumped in. After the man drove away, Zack contemplated the wisdom of apologizing to Cori Shannon one more time, making sure she’d be fine before he left.
She settled the matter by giving him a quick wave good-bye out her window, then rolling it up and pulling carefully into the morning traffic. So much for chivalry. With a weary sigh, he followed suit, dreading the imminent confrontation with Tanner.
