by Jill Shalvis
He could never have committed arson. She’d have sworn Aidan would have known that as well, but apparently she was wrong.
“There’s evidence—” he began, but she shook her head.
“Circumstantial.” She swallowed hard but a lump of emotion, the one that had been there since Blake’s death, remained. “I see that you’re no better a friend than you were a boyfriend.”
He opened his mouth, but before he could respond, the nurse pulled aside the curtain and entered the cubicle, followed by a doctor. “Everyone out,” the nurse ordered.
“I’m the only one here,” Aidan said.
“So get out,” the nurse responded sweetly.
Kenzie closed her eyes and lay back. She didn’t look at Aidan again; in fact, she didn’t open her eyes until she heard the rustling of the curtain, signaling he’d left.
Which was fine. Perfect, really. Because she’d sure as hell rather be alone than look into his eyes and see things she didn’t want to see.
AIDAN EXITED the emergency room, feeling like a class-A jerk. Though how that was possible, what with his saving her life and all, he had no idea….
Okay, he knew.
She’d seen the look in his eyes; she’d understood something she hadn’t wanted to understand—that he knew Blake was involved with those arson fires.
Aidan felt torn up about it, sick over it, but facts were facts. Blake had been placed at the scene of each arson by various witnesses. He had been depressed since losing Lynn, his partner before Cristina, in a fire the year before. His home had been seized and searched, and in his garage they’d found a stack of wire mesh trash cans, similar to the ones identified as the point of origin in each of the arsons.
Most damning, Aidan’s partner, Zach, had also seen him holding a blowtorch just moments after Zach’s house had been set on fire, with Zach and Brooke inside. Zach had almost died there.
And Blake had died there, perhaps deliberately. He’d died, leaving all of them, Zach, Aidan and the other firefighters, even Tracy, the woman he’d had such a crush on, everyone, destroyed.
Kenzie was in denial. He got that. She was angry. He got that, too. She needed someone to vent that anger at, to place it on, and he’d been handy enough.
I see that you’re no better a friend than you were a boyfriend.
Yeah, that had been a direct hit. Having her look at him as if he was the bad guy had really gotten to him, especially considering he still had the scrapes and bruises from saving her.
The late afternoon sun was sinking fast, cooling off the day. Having been up for two straight days now, he desperately needed sleep. He could close his eyes standing up right there in the hospital lot, and not wake up if a cyclone hit. He was so tired that he’d probably sleep completely dreamless. Well, except for maybe dreaming about Kenzie’s bare ass. Yeah, now that he’d seen that again, he’d most likely dream about it for a good many hours.
Days.
Years.
“Aidan.”
Hell. Tommy was leaning up against Aidan’s truck, a file in his hands, mouth pinched tight, looking as if he had plenty of things to say, and all fantasies about Kenzie’s ass vanished. “What now?”
“I wasn’t aware that you knew her personally.”
“Who?”
“Come on, Aidan. Don’t play with me. Mackenzie Stafford. You didn’t say that you knew her.”
He sighed. “So?”
“So it felt to me like maybe you knew her…well.”
“Yeah. Once upon a time.”
“Okay, and so once upon a time, did you know she was Blake’s sister?”
Getting into tricky territory here. No one had known he and Kenzie had dated in the past. It’d been a quick, hot thing, very hot, and he certainly hadn’t been in any hurry to tell Blake he’d gotten his sister in bed. Kenzie hadn’t told Blake, either, for her own reasons, and then when Kenzie had gone off to Los Angeles, it hadn’t mattered anymore.
Did it matter now, with Blake dead? He couldn’t see how it did. “Yeah, I knew she was Blake’s sister.”
“Did you know that boat was Blake’s?”
“Where are we going with this, Tommy?”
“Did you?”
Aidan let out a breath. “Not until we were in the water and she told me.”
Tommy nodded. “Because you always sit around with someone you’re rescuing and chat about property ownership.”
“I asked her why she was there, on that boat. I was under the impression that she was in Los Angeles.”
“Yeah?” Tommy’s eyes studied him, considering. “So just how well do you know her?”
“Irrelevant.”
“I wonder if Blake would have thought so.”
Aidan fished his keys out of his pocket. “I’m going home to sleep. For many, many hours. When I’m back on duty you can drill me all you want. Maybe I’ll be able to think more clearly.”
“Maybe I don’t want you thinking more clearly.”
“And what the hell does that mean?”
“It means I need answers now. Did you know she was staying on the boat? Did you maybe visit with her there before the fire?”
“I told you. No. And no.”
“Ms. Stafford thinks Blake is innocent. That he was not only framed but possibly murdered, and she intends to prove it.”
Sounded right. Kenzie might look like a pretty ball of fluff, but she had sharp wits and was loyal to a fault. She also had the tenacity of a bulldog. Once she got her brain wrapped around an idea, there was nothing anyone could do to change her mind. Not about falling in love with him, not about being an actress and most definitely not about believing that Blake couldn’t be guilty of arson.
“So the question stands,” Tommy said quietly. “How well do you know her?”
“Did.” Well enough that when he’d looked into her eyes, he’d felt an odd stirring, a sensation almost like coming home. Yeah, once upon a time he’d known her well. As well as he’d known anyone. “Past tense.”
“Good enough.”
“For what?”
“To get you to tell her to stay the hell out of this investigation and not interfere.”
“People don’t tell Kenzie what to do.”
“You’re going to. Because the chief has put out the word. If anyone hinders this investigation, we’ll have them arrested, Blake’s sister or not.”
Great. Perfect. If Aidan told her that, she’d jump in with both feet, because one thing he remembered and remembered well—nothing scared her. Nothing. “Seriously. It’s not a good idea for me to tell her anything.”
“Well, then, I hope she has bail money.”
Shit. Aidan watched Tommy walk away, then he turned to his truck. Needing sustenance before he passed out cold for at least the next twelve hours straight, he stopped at Sunrise, the café that was the perpetual hangout for everyone at the station. The two-story building was right on the beach. Downstairs was food central, while the second floor was the living quarters for Sheila, the owner. The rooftop was the place to go to view the mountains, the ocean, the entire world it seemed, and to think.
Stepping inside, his sense of smell immediately filled with all the aromas he associated with comfort: coffee, burgers, pies…Sheila smiled at him, and as the sixty-two-year-old always did, fawned over him as he imagined a mother would.
His own mother wasn’t too into fawning, at least not over him. She’d divorced his father when Aidan had been two, and he’d spent most of his childhood years being shuffled from family member to family member while she’d relived her wild youth. Granted, he’d been more than a handful of trouble, purposely going after it in a pathetic bid for attention, so in hindsight he didn’t blame anyone for not keeping him around for long.
Eventually, he’d ended back up at his dad’s, where the two of them had spent a few years doing their best to tolerate each other until, when Aidan had been fifteen, his dad had remarried and promptly given his new wife three babies in a row.
Now Aidan had five half brothers and sisters, and didn’t quite belong on either side of the family.
Not that he’d had it as rough as Blake and Kenzie had. He knew exactly why the brother and sister had been as close as they had, and exactly why Kenzie would fight tooth and nail to prove her brother’s innocence.
What he didn’t know was how to convince her to let the law handle things, or if he even had a right to ask such a thing of her.
Between a rock and a hard place.
He ate his fill, and by the time he set down his fork, he felt halfway human. He still needed his bed, badly, but with Tommy’s words echoing in his head, he knew he had to try to talk to Kenzie again first. He needed to warn her to let Tommy do his job. For old times’ sake.
Or so he told himself.
He pulled out his cell phone and called the hospital, but was told she’d been released.
Where would she go? Back to Los Angeles? No, she wouldn’t leave Santa Rey, not until she did what she’d come to do, which was prove Blake’s innocence, so he asked Sheila for the local phone book and a slice of key lime pie, both of which he took up to the roof. Sitting facing the ocean, he began calling. But as it turned out, Kenzie wasn’t registered at any of the three hotels in the area, probably because there were two conventions in town and everything was fully booked. He looked at the remaining list of several dozen motels and B and Bs, and sighed. He’d made his way through the most likely candidates when Sheila came out on the roof with a fresh mug of coffee.
“What’s up for you tonight?” Even with her bouffant hair, she barely came up to his shoulder. “You planning on saving any more damsels in distress?”
He didn’t bother asking her how she knew about last night’s fire—the gossip train in Santa Rey was infamous. “No damsels, distressed or otherwise. I have a bed in my immediate future.”
“You sleeping alone these days?”
Unfortunately, yeah. The last woman he’d gone out with had found someone else, someone with more money and more time, and he’d gotten over her fairly quickly but hadn’t yet moved on. He couldn’t tell that to Sheila, though, or she’d set him up with her niece, as she’d been trying to do all year….
“My niece would be perfect for you, Mr. 2008.”
He winced. “You saw the calendar.”
“Honey, I saw, I bought, we all drooled. Now about my niece…”
Her niece was divorced with four kids, and while she was a very lovely woman, a waitress at Sunrise, in fact, he wasn’t anxious to help create yet another fractured family. “I’m sorry, Sheila. But at the moment, I’m—”
“Enjoying being alone,” Sheila finished for him with a sigh. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it before.”
Standing, he handed her back the phone book, then gave her a hug. “How about you? You could marry me.”
She cackled good and long over that one, and walked to the roof door. “If I was thirty years younger, you’d be sorry you said that….”
He laughed, but his smile faded fast enough. With no idea how to track down Kenzie, he left and drove home, thinking he’d just go horizontal for a little while and then figure it out, but as he drove up to his house, he saw a red convertible Mercedes Cabriolet in his driveway.
And the outline of a woman sitting on his porch, lit from behind by the setting sun.
She was wearing two hospital gowns layered over each other and a pair of hospital booties, reminding him that her clothes had gotten sliced and diced pretty good and probably any luggage she’d had on the boat was long gone.
Her hair, wild on the best of days, had completely rioted around her face in an explosion of soft waves, the long side bangs poking her in one eye and resting against her cheek and jaw, where she had a darkening bruise that matched the one above her other eye, accompanied by a two-inch-long butterfly-bandaged cut. She was cradling her splinted left wrist in her lap. Her good hand was cut up as well, and so were both her arms—nothing that appeared too deep or serious, but enough to make him wince for her. Her legs were more of the same.
She was alone and beat up, and hell if that didn’t grab him by the throat and squeeze. Then there were those melt-me eyes that lifted to his and filled.
Jesus. He thought he was so damn tough but one soft sigh from those naked lips and he was a bowl of freaking jelly.
She had a plastic bag beside her, and one peek at it tugged at him harder than he could have imagined given what he did for a living and how often he’d seen this very thing.
Her clothes from the fire.
Probably all that she had left here in Santa Rey. In her unsplinted hand she clutched a small prescription bottle, most likely pain meds. Hell. He was such a goner.
“I haven’t taken any yet,” she whispered, shaking the bottle. “Couldn’t, because I took a cab from the hospital to the docks where I had my car, which I drove here.”
“Kenzie—”
“You had a package. It was torn, so I looked in.” She lifted one of a stack of firefighter calendars, with his own mug and half-naked body on the cover.
“Nice,” she said, a ghost of a smile crossing her lips. “Mr. 2008.”
He bit back a sigh. “It’s for charity.”
“And you definitely contributed.” She waggled her eyebrows, then winced. “Ouch. I’m not allowed in Blake’s house—evidence. And the hotels are all booked up, just my luck. Did you know you have a convention of dog trainers in town? Why are there five hundred dog trainers in Santa Rey?”
“Because we let dogs on our beaches.”
“Oh.” She sighed. “So we let dogs on our beaches, but not me into a hotel. Kinda makes sense when you think about it.”
How that made sense, he had no idea.
“Because my karma sucks.”
“Okay, come on.” Gently, he pulled her up, taking the bag. Letting her hold onto the medication, he led her inside, telling himself he was going to give her Tommy’s warning and that was it.
Other than that, he was going to stay out of it entirely.
But holding onto her, he realized she was trembling, and as he took her into his living room, she went directly for his couch, which she sank onto with a grateful little sigh. “I think she went on vacation.”
“Who?”
“My karma.” She gave him an exasperated look, like he wasn’t listening to her, and then very carefully leaned her head back and closed her eyes.
“Hey.” Squatting down before her, he put his hands on her thighs, looking into her eyes when she opened them. “You okay?”
She let out a sound that might have been a laugh, or a sob.
He hoped to God it was the first. “Rough twenty-four hours,” he murmured.
Another nod, carefully slow and precise, giving her away. She definitely wasn’t laughing. In fact, she was in pain, lots of it; rising, he went into the kitchen for a glass of water. Bringing it back to her, he pried the prescription drugs from her fingers, read the label—yep, painkillers—and shook one out.
“I’m okay.”
“You don’t look it. You look like hell.”
“You say the nicest things.”
With another sigh, he once again hunkered down at her side. “Look, you’ve been through a lot. I know you’re alone and…”
“If you say helpless, I’ll slug you with my good fist.”
Once upon a time she’d been the most amazing thing in his life.
The. Most. Amazing. Thing.
On the outside she’d been so mind-blowingly, adorably, effortlessly sexy. Inside, she’d been pure warmth and sweetness, loyal to a fault, always believing the best in everyone, willing to defend what she believed in to the death if necessary.
From their very first moment together, she’d wreaked havoc with his common sense. Before her, nothing in his world had been warm or sweet or p
articularly loyal. She’d brought lightness into the dark.
Until he’d sent her away. “Not helpless,” he said a little thickly. “Never helpless.”
“Okay, then.” She hugged herself and shivered.
With a frown, he moved to the fireplace. For late summer, the evening did have a chill to it, and she probably was still in some shock. He set up kindling and held a lit match to it until it flamed with a low whoosh.
With a startled cry, Kenzie shrank back from the small flames, covering her face.
Yeah, still in shock. He should have thought about how she’d feel about a flame of any kind, and cursing himself, he rose and went to her.
“I’m okay,” she whispered, peeking out from between her fingers, very carefully not looking at the flickering fire. “It’s the crackling.” She grimaced. “And, okay, the sight. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“It’s normal.”
“I don’t feel normal.”
He didn’t feed the small fire, letting it burn out. “I’m sorry. Let’s go with the heater instead, okay?”
Once again she leaned her head back, carefully not moving a single inch more than she absolutely had to. “Thanks.”
She was killing him. “Kenzie—”
“Could we not talk? It’s threatening my head’s precarious perch on my shoulders.”
“Take the pill.”
“I guess I could use a little oblivion. Okay, I could use a lot of oblivion….” Turning her head, she eyed the fireplace as if it were a spitting cobra. “You know, they don’t call me Kenzie in Los Angeles.”
“Or in the gossip rags.”
Without moving another muscle, she arched an eyebrow, appearing to be genuinely surprised. He’d given himself away.
“You read them?”
“Hard to miss when you’re going through the grocery store,” he said defensively. “They’re right next to the candy bars.”
The smallest smile crossed her lips.
“You dated that underwear model. The one who danced naked on all the commercials. Chad.”