Flashback Read online

  But there’d been the occasional night where he’d sat himself in front of a game and caught a promo for Kenzie’s soap. There’d also been the few times at the station where one of the guys had flipped on the TV during her show.

  Three times exactly—and yeah, he remembered each and every one. The first had been five years ago, and she’d been wearing the teeniest, tiniest, blackest, stringiest bikini in the history of teeny-tiny black string bikinis, her hair piled haphazardly on top of her head with a few wild curls escaping, looking outrageously sexy as she’d seduced her on-screen lover. It’d taken him a few attempts to get the channel changed, and even then it hadn’t mattered. That bikini had stuck with him for a good long while.

  The second time had been a few Christmases back. She’d been wearing a siren-red, slinky evening dress designed to drive men absolutely wild. She’d been standing beneath some mistletoe, looking up at some “stud of the month.” Aidan hadn’t been any quicker with the remote that time, and had watched the entire, agonizing kiss.

  The third time had been for the daytime Emmys. She’d accepted her award, thanking Blake for always believing in her, and then had thanked some guy named Chad.

  Chad.

  What kind of a name was Chad?

  And where was Chad now, huh? Certainly not hauling her off a burning boat and saving her cute little ass. Guys named Chad probably only swam when playing water polo.

  In the ambulance, Dustin said something to Kenzie, and she opened her eyes, flashing a very brief smile, but it was enough.

  She was okay.

  Aidan forced himself to move, to get back to the job at hand, and it was a big one. The explosions had caught the boats on either side of Blake’s Girl, escalating the danger and damages. They had the dock evacuated, and as the sun streaked the sky, they were working past containment, working to get the flames one-hundred-percent out.

  With one last look at Kenzie, Aidan entered the fray.

  IT TOOK HOURS.

  Aidan and his crew piled into their rigs just as the lunch crowd began to clutter the streets of Santa Rey. If he closed his eyes, he could still feel the imprint of Kenzie in his arms. He’d held onto her for what, three minutes tops? And yet she’d filled his head and his senses, and for those one-hundred-and-eighty seconds, time had slipped away, making him feel like that twenty-four-year-old punk he’d once been.

  He’d been with Kenzie for one glorious summer, and she’d wanted to stay with him, which should have been flattering. She’d wanted to wear his ring and have a house and a white picket fence.

  And his children.

  But it hadn’t been flattering at all. It’d been terrifying.

  So he’d acted like a stupid, shortsighted guy. There was no prettying that up, or changing the memory. Fact was fact. He’d gotten a great job, and he’d had the world at his feet, including, he’d discovered, lots of women who found his chosen profession incredibly sexy.

  He’d not been mature enough to realize what he already had; he’d been a first-class asshole. He’d sent Kenzie away, pretended not to look back and had filled his life with firefighting, women, basketball, woodworking, more women…

  A hand clasped his shoulder. “Hey, Mr. 2008. Home sweet home.”

  “Shut up.” They’d pulled into the station. He hopped out of the rig and went straight to Dustin, who was cleaning out the ambulance. “The victim? How is she?”

  Cristina poked her head out from the station kitchen. “Hey, guys, there’s food—” At the sight of Dustin, who she’d gone out with several times before unceremoniously discarding him without explanation, she broke off. “Oh. You’re here.”

  Dustin looked at her drily. “What, is the food only for the staff that you haven’t slept with and dumped?”

  Aidan winced at the awkward silence, and if he wasn’t in such a desperate hurry to hear about Kenzie, he might have refereed for the two of them, because if anyone needed refereeing, it was these two. “The vic,” he said again to Dustin.

  “Sorry,” Dustin said, turning back to him. “She’s not bad, thanks to your quick thinking. A few second-degree burns, possible broken wrist, some lacerations.”

  “Her head trauma—”

  “No concussion.”

  “Stitches?” he demanded, causing Dustin to take a quick glance at Cristina, who raised an eyebrow.

  Aidan knew he was bad off when the two of them could share a worried look over him.

  “No stitches,” Dustin said. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” Aidan took his first deep breath in hours, which prompted another long look between Dustin and Cristina.

  “You sure?” Cristina asked.

  Jesus. “Yes.” Leaving them alone to work through their issues, he headed inside the station. After he’d showered, cleaned up and clocked out, he got into his truck and debated with himself.

  Home and oblivion were attractive choices.

  Or he could go to the hospital, see Kenzie and get a question or two answered.

  Not quite as attractive, because nothing about sitting with Kenzie and looking into her soulful eyes was going to be simple. Nope, that was a guaranteed trip to Heartbreak City.

  Home, then, where he wouldn’t have to do anything but fall facedown into his bed. Yeah, sounded good. He put his truck in gear.

  And drove to the hospital.

  KENZIE OPENED HER EYES and stared at a white ceiling. She was on a cot in the emergency room, her cuts and burns all cleaned and bandaged, her wrist wrapped, her head stitched back on—okay, so it’d only needed butterfly bandages. Now she was being “observed,” although for what, she had no idea.

  At least she was warm again, or getting there. She had three blankets piled on top of her, which helped, and a hospital gown, which didn’t.

  She’d just seen the fire investigator, Mr. Tommy Ramirez. Tommy was short, dark, and quite to the point. The point being that he’d found it extremely odd that she’d been on Blake’s boat at the time of its explosion.

  She did, too, considering she’d only gotten to town that night. Closing her eyes, she frowned. She also found it odd that he was wasting his time questioning her instead of investigating the real perpetrator of the arsons, because her brother was innocent. No way had Blake set all those awful fires they were trying to pin on him. Blake, sweet, quiet, loving Blake, the brother who’d been there for her when their parents had died fifteen years ago, when they’d gone through foster care, when she’d wanted to go off to Hollywood. He’d never have hurt a fly much less purposely hurt another human being. And endanger a child?

  Never.

  God, she hated hospitals. They smelled like fear and pain and helplessness, and all of them combined reminded her of her own uncertain childhood. She wished she was back on the L.A. set of Hope’s Passion, acting the part of the victim instead of really being one. Comfort food would help. Maybe a box of donuts—

  From the other side of her cubicle curtain came a rustling, and then the hair at the back of her neck suddenly stood up, as if she was being watched. Opening her eyes, she blinked the room into focus. Everything was white and…blurry. But not so much so that she missed the back of a guy’s head as he ran off and out of sight. “Hey!”

  He hadn’t been wearing scrubs but a red T-shirt, so he couldn’t have been hospital staff. Who’d come to see her and then leave without a word? She struggled to think but she was so tired, and a little woozy still, and when she let her eyes drift shut, she ended up dozing off…

  “NOT THE SAME TYPE of point of origin as the other fires.”

  Kenzie opened her eyes and turned her head, taking in the curtain, now pulled all the way closed around her cot. She was a woman who liked change, who in fact thrived on it, but she had to say, she didn’t like this change. Not at all.

  How much time had passed?

  “So you’re saying what, Tommy, that the chief has you on a gag order?”

  Oh, boy. She didn’t need to peek around the curtain to know that voice. Tha