Coming In Hot Box Set

by Gina Kincade

  “Audra,” she whispered, waiting until she had made eye contact with her before continuing, “I’m going to help you. I know you’re scared, but don’t be. I promise you’ll feel better soon.”

  Audra’s eyes filled with tears. “Thank you,” she whispered back.

  After making sure the emergency personnel were all actively engaged in their own activities – including her partner, who was now making his way down into the ravine of all fucking places – Rosie closed her eyes. Blanking her mind of everything but awareness of her breathing, she summoned her healing power. Envisioning it as a soothing light, she moved her hands over Audra’s body, stilling her shudders.

  Audra ceased her anguished cries. Rosie opened her eyes. Unconsciousness had claimed the victim, and a peacefulness settled across her face.

  A bluish light beamed from Rosie’s palms as she glided them across the wounds. The world brightened and shrank to a pinprick so she could only see her hands. Her shallow breathing did little to bring enough air to her lungs. Dizziness clouded her head. On the verge of passing out, Rosie cut her power, visualizing dunking her hands in a pail of cold water to short circuit the blue-white glow.

  Immediately, she could breathe again. The world darkened to a normal color, and her head cleared. God, she was shaky, though. A terrible hunger hollowed her out, but she pushed it aside. No time to think about food, Audra still needed her.

  A quick check confirmed none of the men had noticed her doing anything. Good. She wasn’t always so lucky. One of the many reasons she’d lost so many partners. Speaking of partners, where the hell was Jack?

  Duke Johnson, one of the firemen, hurried past her, lugging a stretcher. He plunged down the ravine, making it look easy even with all his gear on.

  Rico Estrada, another firefighter, approached bearing a spine board. On the ball as usual. Rosie appreciated Rico’s work ethic. Too bad he wasn’t a paramedic. He would have made a great partner.

  “Thought you might need this.” Rico placed the spine board on the road and expertly helped her move Audra’s inert body onto it. He made sure the IV bag didn’t tangle.

  “Thanks.” Rosie paused to swipe a strand of hair off her cheek and behind her ear. “Where’s Duke going with the stretcher?”

  After a glance down at Audra, presumably to make sure she was unconscious, Rico said, “Grady found a dead body. Guess she had a passenger.” He glanced over his shoulder at the college boy, now handcuffed and sitting in the back of the cruiser. “And his life has just gone straight to hell.” No sympathy gleamed from Rico’s dark eyes, and his expression was grim. Rosie sighed. Guess her partner hadn’t been screwing off after all, but there’d been no indications of more than one person in the SUV. Audra had not once called out for anyone. Of course, she’d been seriously injured and hardly able to think straight.

  The wail of the ambulance sounded half a mile down the road, growing steadily louder as the vehicle navigated around the stopped traffic.

  “Will she be all right?” Rico looked at Audra.

  “I think so,” Rosie said, although she was sure of it.

  “Good.” Rico climbed to his feet and headed toward the fire truck. He turned back to give Rosie the thumbs up. She returned the sign and waited for the EMTs to take over.

  Chapter TWO

  Rosie glared at Jack in the hospital parking lot. “I drive the squad.”

  Jack let his hand drop away from the door handle on the driver’s side before his partner slapped it away. Bossy.

  “You drove last shift.” He winked before sauntering around the vehicle so he could climb into the passenger side.

  Rosie vaulted into the squad and started the engine. Gripping the wheel with both hands so tightly her knuckles shone white, she turned her head to give Jack a daunting stare. Damn, she was gorgeous, but scary as hell.

  “I drive every shift. Fairhaven is my home town. I know every dirt road and byway for fifty miles. Unlike you. City boy.” She said the last two words as if they tasted nasty.

  “I can follow GPS directions as well as anyone.” Jack said. “I managed to get the squad to the hospital while you rode in with the patient.”

  “That’s different. And all you had to do was follow the ambulance.”

  “All we’re doing is driving back to the station.”

  “Don’t argue with me.”

  “I’m not arguing. We’re having a discussion. We aren’t married, and you aren’t my boss. That makes this a discussion.”

  “With an attitude like that, it’s no wonder you’re single and can’t hold a job longer than six months.”

  Jack grinned. “How do you know I’m single? Did you check? Did you ask Rico or Duke?” He couldn’t keep the delighted amusement out of his tone, nor did he particularly want to.

  A slow flush suffused Rosie’s pale skin. Her mouth tightened, probably to swallow back a hot retort as she struggled to hold onto her temper.

  “You talk about me behind my back,” Jack smirked.

  “I do not!”

  “Then how do you know I’m single?”

  Rosie squirmed in her seat. “You’re not wearing a ring, are you?”

  Jack shrugged. “So I’m not married. I could be seeing someone.”

  “How? You just moved to town three weeks ago.”

  “Maybe I’m in a long-distance relationship. With a city girl.” Jack put deliberate emphasis on the last two words, and Rosie made a sound halfway between a growl and a groan.

  “But,” Jack said cheerfully, “it just so happens I am free as a bird at the moment. What about you? No ring on your finger. You, as you point out every chance you get, grew up in this town. So maybe you have a boyfriend. Do you? Spill.”

  “What the hell do you care?” Rosie snarled. “What business is it of yours?”

  “None.” Jack flashed her his cheesiest grin, and she made the exasperated sound again. “I’m just nosy.”

  “Obviously.” Rosie braked for a red light, tapping her fingers impatiently on the wheel as if willing the red to morph to green.

  Jack paused a beat. “Sitting here waiting. A relatively handsome man wants to know your relationship status, most women would be leaping to let him know.”

  “You conceited ass.”

  Her exasperated tone made Jack want to laugh, instead he widened his eyes and said, “Am I to infer you do not hold the opinion I could be appealingly attractive? I’m crushed.”

  “Oh, bullshit.” Rosie drummed her fingers harder and huffed a strand of blonde hair out of her face. “You’re enjoying every minute of this stupid conversation.”

  “It’s not stupid. We’re getting to know each other. You know. Like partners do.” Jack shrugged. “We’ve worked together for two weeks straight, and all I know about you is your name, your job title, and you vote Democrat.”

  “How do you know how I vote?” Rosie sputtered.

  “Your Obama bumper sticker. From last election. So I also know you drive a yellow Mustang – nice – and you don’t bother to remove outdated stickers. From that I could infer you are either lazy, forgetful, or you still want to make your point four years later. I vote for the last one.”

  The light turned green. Rosie muttered under her breath and stomped on the gas with such force Jack grabbed for a hand hold.

  “What’s that? I didn’t quite catch it. Son of a something?”

  “Shut up.” Rosie shot him a scathing look. Annoyance turned her blue eyes glacial. “You’re relentless. What gives you the right to pass judgment on me just because I have an old bumper sticker on my car?”

  “Mustangs are nice cars. They shouldn’t be used as billboards,” Jack said, and held up both hands. “Personal opinion. Just a personal opinion. I am entitled to them, aren’t I?”

  “I’d prefer you keep them to yourself.”

  “I’ll bet.” Jack took a deep breath, telling himself to stop while semi-ahead, but that little voice inside him was easy to ignore. “Rosie, we have to work t
ogether. Why can’t we get to know each other?”

  “All we need to do is work together as a team. Professionally.” Rosie’s voice grew louder when Jack opened his mouth to speak. “Let me finish. You’ve had your say. Here’s mine. I don’t care if you’re married, divorced, single, or looking to be abducted by aliens. I don’t want to know what your favorite TV show is or what kind of music you like. I don’t want to know who you voted for last election, what religion you follow, or whether or not you believe in gay marriage. I just want you to show up for your shifts and do your damn job. Can you do that? Because sometimes I wonder. Like finding the dead body today. How did you know to look for him? There was no indication there was anyone else in the SUV. The victim didn’t call for anyone. Yet you walked down into the ravine just like you knew the body was there. How’d you do it? Why?”

  Jack considered telling her the truth and watching her freak out. Could be fun. Ah, screw that. He’d only been on the job two weeks. He wanted to last in this town longer than that.

  “How do you keep a blonde busy?” he asked instead, stifling a grin when she stiffened and got that irritated-as-hell expression she always got when he told blonde jokes. He winked at her, savoring every second before the punchline. “Write ‘flip’ on both sides of a piece of paper.”

  He couldn’t help laughing. It was funny, goddamn it, but Rosie’s face turned choleric red, and he swore if she hadn’t been driving, she would’ve gone for his jugular with her fingernails.

  “I hate blonde jokes.”

  He was still laughing when she whipped the squad into reverse and backed them into the station so fast he had to close his eyes to avoid vertigo. He sobered a little when she thrust open her door, jumped onto the cement floor, and stalked toward the stationhouse kitchen like a pissed-off jungle cat.

  Blonde jokes deflected a lot of awkward questions. Like how do you find all those hidden dead bodies, Jack? Unfortunately, with a blonde, female partner, most of the jokes fell flat. At least his ex-partners, even the female, had laughed some of the time. Rosie never laughed. Not ever. Christ, he didn’t believe he’d even seen her crack a smile.

  “Thank you, universe and my revered ancestors, for passing along this wonderful gift of mine. It makes my life such a breeze,” he muttered as he exited the squad and headed for the coffee maker.

  Chapter THREE

  Halfway home from work, Rosie’s stomach cramped so hard she had trouble keeping the Mustang straight on the road. Jesus. She’d spent the rest of her shift snacking from the station fridge, but she needed more than leftover meatloaf and pie. She dug her fingers into the open bag of microwave popcorn on the seat beside her and scooped a mouthful of salty kernels into her mouth. Chew, swallow, repeat. Still not enough.

  The neon glow of the Mayflower Tavern’s sign beckoned from the darkness. Rosie swung into the parking lot. Grocery shopping could wait until after a large pizza and maybe some chili-cheese fries. They said never shop on an empty stomach. Not only would she buy more than she needed, but she’d probably eat half the packaged food before she hit the checkout line.

  She grabbed at her jeans to keep them from slipping down her hips as she climbed out of the car. Forgot to bring her belt again. She’d probably lost five pounds healing the car crash victim this afternoon – the side effects of her ability.

  She’d lost her temper too with Jack. While she wasn’t impressed with the man, she shouldn’t have snapped at him the way she had, but after healing, every damn thing seemed to scrape at her nerves, ramping her irritability factor up into the stratosphere. Maybe she should apologize, but that would give him an in to try to weasel into her personal life again.

  No, he’d have to learn to live with her prickly nature. Or quit or transfer like her former partners had. Thank God, her job remained safe. Cap would never fire her. Not after he’d seen her heal with her hands.

  Unlike Louise, her first partner, Captain Tremaine hadn’t flipped out and called her a freak when he saw what she could do. He’d kept his distance ever since, but Rosie couldn’t blame him. She was a freak. Even if she tried to help people, what she could do was weird and terrifying. She didn’t even know how it worked or where the power came from. How could she expect anyone else to accept it? Even her partner.

  Sighing, Rosie opened the tavern door and scanned the interior for a table. Preferably in the back. The last thing she wanted was to run into someone she knew and have to justify inhaling a large pizza and fries by herself. There. By the jukebox, which currently played an old Olivia Newton-John song. One of songs from the Xanadu soundtrack. Sort of upbeat for her mood, but not many bars played dirge music after all.

  After taking the chair with the kitchen wall to her back, Rosie stretched out her legs beneath the table. A tired-looking waitress took her order, barely raising an eyebrow as she wrote the items on her pad. Perhaps the Mayflower Tavern would become a semi-regular stop after healing. A non-judgmental wait staff was a huge plus.

  The scents from the kitchen – tomato sauce, frying burgers, and a tantalizing odor of baking crust – made her salivate. Another hunger cramp squeezed her stomach. God, how long would it take to make the pizza? Surely, the chili-cheese fries would come right up, wouldn’t they?

  The waitress returned with Rosie’s beer, and yes! The fries. Rosie barely waited for the red plastic basket to settle on the table before she began shoveling chili-drenched fries into her mouth. Hot, hot, hot. A slug of beer. More fries. Rosie didn’t pause to look up until the basket was empty with just dribbles of cheese and chili remaining on the wax paper lining. Reluctantly, she pushed the basket aside. Better not lick the paper. Too many people might stare.

  The waitress returned bearing a steaming pizza piled high with pepperoni, hamburger, onions, and peppers. The mouthwatering scent made her want to groan. She forced herself to wait to scoop up the first slice until after the waitress had turned her back. Then all bets were off.

  A blond busboy stared at her as he cleared a nearby table, but only for a moment before he returned to his task. He looked familiar somehow. She tried to place him. Right. Andy Masters. She’d been to his house more than once thanks to his father’s fists. Andy seemed to recognize her at the same moment she identified him. They exchanged strained smiles, but he didn’t come over to say hello. The last time she’d seen him, he’d had a split lip he wouldn’t let her examine, and his shirt tail had been drenched with his mother’s blood from trying to wipe her face clean. Rosie had used her healing hands on the sister, Susan, who had been the main focus of the father’s rage. Andy and his mom had just gotten in the way.

  Without Rosie’s healing powers, Susan would have ended up in the hospital. Instead, she’d been well enough to refuse the ambulance. The father spent the night in jail, but no one had wanted to press charges – the usual, heartbreaking story.

  At least Rosie hadn’t had to go back to the Masters house since. Maybe that incident had thrown a scare into the whole family. Who knew?

  When she was halfway through the fourth slice, an amused greeting cut through her hunger-haze. Hastily swallowing her mouthful, Rosie looked up into the intensely dark eyes of Jack Grady. Shit! Where had he come from?

  “Mind if I join you?” Jack didn’t wait for her to say yes – probably because he knew damn well she’d never say it – and pulled out a chair with his booted foot.

  “Cowboy boots in Massachusetts? For real?” She knew she sounded snide, but damn it, this was her off time. Her relationship with Jack was supposed to be strictly work related.

  She’d never seen him in street clothes before. He wore jeans well. His turquoise-studded belt buckle winked in the dim overhead lights as he took his seat. The black tee-shirt under his denim jacket molded to his flesh like a second skin, highlighting his toned chest.

  “These boots were handmade on the rez,” Jack said. “My mom gave them to me a couple birthdays ago.”

  “Rez?” Rosie reluctantly set down her pizza slice. She’d box up
the rest and go home to eat it in peace.

  “Reservation,” Jack said, flashing her one of his crooked grins. Too bad the man was such an annoying idiot – he had to be one of the most attractive men she’d ever laid eyes on. She’d never let him know though. Hell, no.

  “My belt buckle came from there too. Saw you – admiring it – as I sat down.” His dark eyes sparkled teasingly.

  Rosie flushed.

  “In case you hadn’t figured it out. I’m Ute. One hundred percent.”

  She had figured out he was Native American. Raven hair, intense brown eyes, dark skin. In his street clothes it proved undeniable.

  “With a name like D’Angelo, I’d peg you for Italian, but the blonde hair and blue eyes kinda throw me.”

  Rosie scowled. “Grady doesn’t sound very Native American, yet that’s what you are.”

  “When my grandfather moved off the rez, he decided if he was going to live in the Anglo world, he’d need an Anglo name. So he changed Great Eagle into Grady. I thought it was ingenious when he told me about it.” The audacious man reached out and snagged a piece of her pizza. Without being invited!

  “Help yourself,” Rosie said in a strangled voice, hoping her sarcasm showed.

  He grinned and took a huge bite – half the slice in one gulp.

  He chewed and swallowed, making the pizza look so good Rosie’s stomach clenched in jealousy.

  “So are you?” He grabbed a wad of napkins from the dispenser and wiped his greasy fingers.

  “Am I what?” Mesmerized by his chewing, had she missed something?

  “Italian,” he said so patiently she wanted to kick his shin beneath the damn table.

  “I don’t know.” There. Let him stew on that one, the nosy jerk.