One man wants her dead.

Another will do anything to protect her.

Firefighter Kenzie Hughes never thought saving lives would make her a target. When someone rigs her car and sexy Stephen Galway offers to be her bodyguard, the flames of danger burn red-hot. Stephen lost his fiancée to violence years ago, but he can’t resist Kenzie. Can he keep Kenzie safe and out of his arms when they’re forced to confront what they fear most?

REGAN BLACK, a USA TODAY bestselling author, writes award-winning, action-packed novels featuring kick-butt heroines and the sexy heroes who fall in love with them. Raised in the Midwest and California, she and her family, along with their adopted greyhound, two arrogant cats and a quirky finch, reside in the South Carolina Low Country, where the rich blend of legend, romance and history fuels her imagination.

Also By Regan Black

Escape Club Heroes

Safe in His Sight

A Stranger She Can Trust

Protecting Her Secret Son

Braving the Heat

The Coltons of Shadow Creek

Killer Colton Christmas

“Special Agent Cowboy”

The Coltons of Red Ridge

Colton P.I. Protector

Colby Agency: Family Secrets (with Debra Webb)

Gunning for the Groom

Heavy Artillery Husband

The Specialists: Heroes Next Door (with Debra Webb)

The Hunk Next Door

Heart of a Hero

To Honor and To Protect

Her Undercover Defender

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Braving the Heat

Regan Black

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07913-6

BRAVING THE HEAT

© 2018 Regan Black

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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“Kenzie?”

She glanced over her shoulder to find Stephen watching her from the corner of the building. Was a man supposed to look that sexy with a scowl on his face?

“More trouble?” she asked, coming back to the bottom step. Why couldn’t Murtagh be satisfied wrecking her career with the lawsuit?

“No.” Stephen crossed to her with a few ground-eating strides and the light from the camper window washed over his face, revealing the depth of concern in his gaze. “You’re safe here with me behind this fence. I promise.”

He looked so earnest, so determined to tolerate her invasion of his space until everything in her world was back to normal. “I appreciate that.”

Leaning forward, she brushed her lips to his cheek. A light, friendly, platonic gesture was all she intended. Instead, he caught her as if he thought she’d lost her balance, his hands hot on her waist. Then his lips touched hers. Bracing her hands on his strong shoulders, she wanted to sink a little deeper, explore his taste as his masculine scent and the summer night enveloped her.

* * *

Be sure to check out the next books in this miniseries:

Escape Club Heroes—Off-duty justice, full-time love

Dear Reader,

Welcome back to Philadelphia, PA, and the Escape Club! This riverside hot spot is the place to find both great music and a safe haven if you have a problem that doesn’t fit within the framework of typical law enforcement.

Stephen Galway first appeared in Safe in His Sight, my debut book for Harlequin Romantic Suspense, and though I’ve written several novels in between, I’ve never been able to put this brooding man out of my mind. I’ve wanted him to have a happy-ever-after since the first moment he showed up on the page, grumbling at his brother.

Kenzie Hughes, a PFD firefighter, is in trouble and her options are dwindling when help comes from an unlikely source: Stephen. For some reason he sees right through her independent nature, which is currently propped up by little more than bravado and a big smile. Time after time he listens and then quietly steps up and does what’s needed and all without trampling her pride.

Life has dealt Kenzie and Stephen some serious challenges and alone they found unique ways to cope and compensate. But now that they’ve met, it’s time to make some hard choices about who they are, what they really need and how those revealing answers will shape their future.

Live the adventure,

Regan Black

For my friend Sam, a man who consistently stepped up as a sheriff’s deputy, as an author and as my inspiration for Stephen’s dad, Samuel Galway.

I am forever grateful for the light and laughter you added to my world.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

Dear Reader

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

Standing at a prep counter in the Escape Club kitchen, Kenzie Hughes stuffed the last bite of her sandwich into her mouth and added her plate to the rack loaded for the dishwasher. She thanked the cook and slipped the strap of her backpack over one shoulder. Pausing at the doorway to the main floor, she scanned the empty stage, looking for Grant Sullivan, owner of the establishment.

The extra personnel Grant had brought on for the summer concert series were resetting for the evening show. Leaving them to cover her workload through the afternoon changeover didn’t sit well with Kenzie, but her landlord had called. She had only a few more hours to clear out whatever she didn’t want exposed to termite fumigation and the dust and debris from the repair process.

If she hustled she could get to her apartment and back again before the doors opened for the evening session. That would please her as much as it would please Grant. It wasn’t as if she had anything better to do with her time, other than finding an affordable place to crash for a couple weeks.

Though her pay from the Philadelphia Fire Department had continued during her current administrative leave, storage units and short-term room rentals added up fast. She’d asked both her union representative and her lawyer if she could visit her mom in Delaware while her apartment was out of commission, and been told she had to stay in Philly. Both the union rep and her lawyer implied that her leaving town could be perceived as an admission of guilt.

“Can’t have that,” she muttered to herself.

If there was anything Kenzie dreaded more than the potential outcome of her current legal trouble, it was having nothing productive to do while she waited out the process.

She had, in fact, been cleared of any wrongdoing during a PFD investigation that followed a complaint from a man she’d rescued from a fire. He’d claimed her incompetence had resulted in minor injuries that could have been avoided. Just when she thought she’d be back on the job, the victim had filed a civil suit against her personally. She knew she wasn’t guilty of any error in the process of saving his life. The victim disagreed. Loudly, publicly and constantly.

Stop, she ordered herself. Dwelling on the negative situation only fouled up her mood. The jerk didn’t have a case at all. If he had, the PFD would have fired her outright weeks ago. Her lawyer assured her most civil cases settled out of court; it was simply a matter of working the case and being patient with the system. Oddly enough, the only place Kenzie successfully exercised patience was while working emergency calls and fires.

Unable to find Grant, she tracked down Jason Prather at the bar. The latest full-time addition to the Escape Club, Jason was the closest thing Grant had to an assistant manager. Tall and wiry, bordering on skinny, he, too, had a few years with the PFD on his résumé. Whenever she looked at him, she thought he could pass as a front man for one of the bands that came through if he’d let his thick black hair grow out.

“If Grant asks, will you remind him I went to clear out my apartment? I should be back in time for opening tonight.”

Jason gave her a long look over the tablet he was using to record inventory. “You need any help? I can send—”

“No, thanks. I’ve got it,” she managed to reply. If she said anything else, she’d probably break down in a puddle of frustration. Grant was doing enough for her already, keeping her busy with this job. She refused to impose on anyone else.

Hurrying out of the club and across the street, she cringed at the sight of her road-weary compact sedan. Though the primer-and-rust color scheme was a fright, it ran, and that was the important thing. And it was paid for. She’d sold her car and paid cash for the rust-bucket sedan so she could redirect her previous car payment to her legal fees for the civil case. When she didn’t have those extra expenses anymore, she could go back to a better car. One with a powerful engine and serious sex appeal, she thought, indulging in a quick fantasy of a classic American muscle car.

As if. Although owning a classic Camaro was on her bucket list, this case meant it would be a long time before she’d be able to make that kind of investment.

After unlocking the driver’s door, she tossed her backpack into the passenger seat and slid behind the wheel. She turned the key in the ignition, expecting the sputter and catch of the small engine, but hearing silence instead.

“No.” She dropped her head to the steering wheel, almost ready to give in to the threat of tears she’d been fighting off all week. Her apartment closing, if only temporarily, the civil suit claiming she was unfit for firefighting, and now a car that wouldn’t start.

Crying over this heap of metal was pointless, but it was one obstacle too many right now. She ruthlessly swiped away the lone tear rolling down her cheek. It wasn’t the potential expense of repairs, though cash was currently tight. No, what upset her more was the idea of asking another friend or family member for more help. Her independence had taken enough of a beating lately. Here she was at thirty years old, feeling less self-sufficient now than when she’d crossed the stage for her high school graduation. Unlike so many of her peers, back then she’d had clear goals and a clear path planned to reach them.

“This is not happening.” She tried the ignition again, got the same result.

With a colorful oath, she removed the key and pulled the hood release. After slamming out of the car, she raised the hood and stared into the filthy engine. Her father, a car aficionado and passionate weekend race car driver, might have wept at the sight. He’d taught her everything he knew about cars and engines, and when she’d bought this one, it had been functional, if ugly. The new battery she’d installed after the purchase was the only clean thing in view. With a critical eye, she assessed the rest of the machinery, looking for an obvious problem.

“It has to get better,” she said aloud, willing herself to believe the words.

Life hadn’t been perfect. She’d experienced her share of sorrows to offset the celebrations and happy milestones of being an independent adult. Overall, she’d been content through both the highs and lows. Until the last fire she’d worked, three months ago, turned into a difficult rescue and ongoing nightmare. Though she tried to ignore it, a small voice inside her head wondered again if that would be the last fire she ever fought.

“All of this will pass.” Just like every other pain, challenge and setback she’d faced. She calmed herself with the assurance that she’d be back at the firehouse, back with her crew on the truck soon. She couldn’t afford to let her mind wander away from anything less than her ideal outcome.

Returning to the driver’s seat, she turned the key again, listening for clues. Was it the alternator or starter? It couldn’t be a broken fuel gauge. She’d just filled up with gas yesterday. “Come on, baby, tell me what’s wrong,” she said to the car. “We’ve got things to do.”

If she didn’t figure this out, she’d leave Grant shorthanded during what was sure to be a packed house tonight. She shook the steering wheel. Sure, Grant might understand, but that wasn’t the point. Letting people down, shirking commitments wasn’t how she operated. Besides, working at the Escape Club distracted her, filling all the empty hours while the PFD kept her off the job.

As tears threatened again, she jerked the rearview mirror around and glared at her reflection. “You are a firefighter,” she said to the moody face in the mirror. She pushed the wisps of hair that had escaped her braid behind her ears. “You’re one of the best,” she said, willing away the doubt in the blue eyes staring back at her.

And if you lose the case and your career is over, who will you be?

She was really starting to hate that pesky negative voice that kept sounding off. Shoving the mirror back into place, she tried to start the car once more. Instead of getting anything out of the engine, she heard a knock on the window. She jumped in the seat, startled to see Mitch Galway on the other side of her open door. Her friend, part-time Escape Club bartender and fellow firefighter, Mitch had suggested she ask Grant for a job to help her through her current crisis. Momentary crisis.

“Car trouble?” he asked, tipping his head to the exposed engine.

“It won’t turn over.”

“Let me hear it.” He signaled her to try again. Mitch knew cars and often helped his older brother with custom restorations at the Galway Automotive shop over in Spruce Hill. At the lack of response, he frowned and walked out of sight behind the open hood.

She silently prayed he could help as she checked the time. If she didn’t make it to her apartment soon, all her belongings would be out of reach for at least two weeks. The last thing she needed was the expense of buying a new wardrobe.

“Any ideas?” she asked as she joined him. “I know it has gas in the tank.”

He frowned at the engine. “In that case, my first guess is an alternator,” he said. “You need a good mechanic?”

“I am a good mechanic,” she reminded him. Or she had been when her dad was alive. With the right tools and time, she could probably sort this out on her own. Too bad she didn’t have either.

“True.” He dropped the hood back down and dusted off his palms. “You know I can hook you up,” he said with a quick smile.

“What I need is a good car.” She explained the dwindling time issue to Mitch. “I never should’ve waited until the last minute to do this.” She didn’t share the still more embarrassing fact that she had no idea where she would stay tonight or any night until she could go back to her apartment. Mitch had offered his spare room to her last week, but she’d turned him down. Newlyweds, he and his wife didn’t need her underfoot.

Mitch tossed her the keys to his truck. “Go get your stuff,” he said. “I’ll call my brother and get your car towed to the shop.”

Dollar signs danced through her head. Maybe she could trade labor for parts or something if his brother was amenable. “I’m not sure—”

“We’ll figure it out,” he said, waving off her concerns before she could name them all. “Get going.”

“All right.” Arguing with him to save a smidge of pride only robbed her of more time. “Thanks.”

She grabbed her backpack and dashed over to Mitch’s truck. She appreciated his generosity as well as his gracious acceptance of her circumstances. Everyone on the PFD knew she was in over her head with the civil suit and working every available hour at the Escape Club to pay for a decent lawyer to defend her.

A former firefighter himself, the plaintiff, Randall Murtagh, knew better than most people what should be done during a rescue. That he’d made it nearly impossible for her to save him didn’t seem to have any relevance to his injuries, in his mind. A card-carrying member of the old guard who believed only men were capable of pulling people out of burning buildings, he made no secret of the fact that he wanted women drummed out of the ranks. If he couldn’t get all the females off the PFD with this case, he seemed hell-bent on making her a prime example against equal opportunity employment.

And there she was dwelling on the negative again. She couldn’t control his issues, only her response, and she wouldn’t let a jerk like Murtagh take any more chunks of her life.

Fortunately, she was soon distracted, packing all the belongings she cared to take as swiftly as possible. She crammed clothing and linens into two suitcases, boxed up her stand mixer and kitchenware, and filled two more boxes with family pictures and hand-me-downs that were irreplaceable. Per the instructions from the landlord, she labeled her bed and dresser, the only furnishings she’d added to the apartment when she moved in, and locked the door.

An intense, inexplicable sadness came over her as she secured the last box in the truck bed. This wasn’t an ending. It wasn’t as if she’d been evicted. That would come later, if she lost her job. This was one more untimely circumstance in a life that had suddenly been filled with high hurdles.

With a final glance at the lovely old building she’d called home, she headed back to the club and a long shift that would keep her mind and body busy for the rest of the night.

* * *

At Galway Automotive the phone rang, a shrill sound interrupting the throbbing pulse of the heavy metal music filling the garage. Under the back end of a 1967 Camaro SS, Stephen Galway used the voice control to lower the volume on the music. At an hour past closing on a Friday, he wasn’t obligated to answer the phone, but a heads-up for what problems might be showing up tomorrow never hurt.

“Pick up, Stephen. It’s Mitch.” His brother’s voice wasn’t nearly as soothing as the heavy metal had been. The oldest of Stephen’s younger siblings, Mitch was the one who consistently refused to let him stay off the family radar for too long.

“I know you’re there,” Mitch pressed.

Where else would he be?

“He’ll come through,” Mitch promised in an undertone to someone on his end of the call.

“Not your job to make promises for me, little brother,” Stephen muttered.

“Pick up,” Mitch said, bossy now. “I’ve got a friend here at the club with car trouble. Tow it out of the employee parking lot and we’ll come by and look it over when I have time tomorrow.” He gave the make, model and license plate number of the car.

Huh. Stephen rolled out from under the Camaro, wiping grease from his hands. His brother knew as much about cars as he did. If Mitch couldn’t get his friend’s car rolling, there was a serious problem. Still, he didn’t pick up, waiting to see if his brother would sweeten the deal.

Mitch swore. “Come on, Stephen. The club has your kind of group onstage tonight. I’ll buy you a beer and help you hook up the car.”

Stephen picked up the handset. “I’ll head over.” He glanced down at his stained T-shirt and jeans. The customer waiting on the Camaro wasn’t in any rush, preferring this rebuild and restoration be done perfectly rather than by a specific date. If only they could all be that patient, Stephen thought. “Give me an hour or so.”

Dropping the receiver back into place, he scowled at his stained hands and T-shirt. Promised beer or not, if he wanted inside the Escape Club during business hours he had to clean up. He put his work space to rights and lowered the bay door. The Camaro would be waiting when he returned.

He walked through the office and around to the refurbished camper he’d parked behind the building. Not that long ago, he would’ve headed to the house he once shared with Mitch, but his brother and Julia, his recent bride, had eventually settled there after their honeymoon.

Stephen had promised his mom he’d find a decent house somewhere near the shop. It was a good neighborhood. Instead, he kept taking on more work, limiting his time to search. The last time he’d gone house hunting had been with his fiancée, Annabeth. Even after three long years he still couldn’t walk a property without hearing in his head how she’d react.

Last year, when his parents had suggested he move back home with them, he’d bristled. He hadn’t taken it any more gracefully when Mitch and Julia swore he wouldn’t be in their way. The newlyweds didn’t need a big brother crowding them. His parents didn’t need him returning home when they could all but taste the empty nest. His youngest sister, Jenny, was almost ready to spread her wings.

Although they meant well, there were days when he was sure he’d drown under all the love and good intentions of his family.

Losing Annabeth before they’d had a chance to experience the life they’d dreamed of didn’t make him an invalid. He maintained a successful business and supported the PFD and other causes in the community that mattered to him. Stephen continued to give special attention to the after-school program where his fiancée had worked, and where three years ago she’d been shot and killed for having the audacity to help kids avoid gangs and drugs.

He’d long since given up on shedding the melancholy that hovered like a storm cloud over his life. What his family wanted for him and what he knew he could handle were two different things. He didn’t bother trying to convince them anymore. Work was all the sunlight he needed. Cars and engines he could understand, fix and make new again. People were too fragile, himself included. In his mind, that was all the rationalization necessary for the old Airstream trailer he’d purchased. After months of work, inside and out, he considered it home, though he wasn’t yet brave enough to use the word within his mother’s hearing.

As the oldest, he really should get more respect for his good judgment, if only by default.

Having washed off the pungent smells of the shop, he debated briefly about clothing. He’d prefer shorts on a summer night, but since he was going to hook up a car, he opted for jeans and a red polo shirt. When he finally reached the club, he found room for the tow truck near the back of the employee parking lot across the street. With the Escape Club perched at the end of the pier, few cars were granted the prime spaces on busy nights. No one emerged from a parked car or otherwise expressed any interest in his arrival, so he walked down to the club.

On the rare occasions his brother got him here, Stephen couldn’t help but admire what Sullivan had made out of his forced early retirement and an old warehouse. He’d never heard anyone question Sullivan’s choices, or express worry over what he was or wasn’t doing with his life. Though admittedly, a club naturally was a more social environment than an auto shop. People came from all over for the bands the Escape Club drew to Philly.

Striding straight to the front of the line, Stephen realized maybe he had more in common with Sullivan than he thought. Galway Automotive was building a solid reputation and people were calling from all over the region to get their cars on his restoration schedule.

“Unless you hire a female mechanic, you’ll never meet a nice girl under the hood of a car.” His mother’s voice broke into his thoughts. Myra Galway had a way of saying things that slid right past his defenses and lingered, mocking him with her maternal logic. If only his mom would admit there was more to life than filling lonely hours with pointless chatter with women who sneered at his stained fingernails and the rough calluses on his palms.

At the burly doorman’s arched eyebrow, Stephen gave his name and was quickly waved inside.

The bold, heavy sounds of the metal band onstage slammed into him and battered away at the discontent that persistently dogged Stephen since his fiancée’s death. He leaned into the music, weaving through the crowd until he reached Mitch’s station at the service end of the bar, closer to the kitchen.

His brother eyed him and popped the top off a bottle of beer, setting it in front of him between serving other patrons. Good. Stephen wasn’t in much of a talking mood. The delayed conversation was no surprise, considering the sea of humanity supporting the band from all corners of the club.

“Took you long enough,” Mitch said at the first lull between customers. “You might be here awhile.”

Stephen checked his watch. He’d said an hour or so and had hit the mark precisely. “How come?” he asked, though he didn’t care about the time, since the band was as good as Mitch had promised.

“No way I can get out there right now. This set just started.”

Stephen shrugged and swiveled around on the bar stool to watch the band. They were good, from the sound to the showmanship. He was enjoying the music, the process of being still and people-watching. Waitresses in khaki shorts and bright blue T-shirts emblazoned with the Escape Club logo brushed by him with friendly glances and quick greetings as they exchanged trays of empty bottles and glassware for the fresh orders Mitch filled with startling efficiency. From Stephen’s vantage point everyone in the club seemed to be focused on excellent customer service. Sullivan had definitely created an outstanding atmosphere.

“Do you always ignore the signals?” Mitch asked when another waitress walked off, tray perfectly balanced.

“What are you talking about?”

Mitch shook his head. “Signals from interested women,” he said. “If you’d pay attention, you’d see it for yourself.”

“Please. Not you, too.” Stephen glared at his little brother. “You know I’ve got too much work to spare time for dating.”

“Uh-huh.” Mitch slid another city-wide special across the bar to a customer and marked the tab. “Then I’m sorry I called you. Another beer?”

“Water,” Stephen answered, then checked his watch again. The band would probably take a break soon. He drained the glass of water Mitch provided and pushed back from the bar. “Tell your friend I’m waiting out in the truck. No rush. Thanks for the beer.”

“Stephen, wait.”

Not a chance. What was it with married people? His parents and married siblings were ganging up on him lately, and being relentless about it. Was there some statute of limitations on grief he didn’t know about? He’d tried believing that crappy philosophy of it being better to have loved and lost, and couldn’t pull it off. He’d loved, he’d lost everything and it sucked.

They kept wanting him to be happy, checking in on him week after week, never letting it rest. Was he happy? He didn’t know. At this point he wasn’t sure he cared about happiness. Business was good. Booming, in fact. If that was enough happiness for him, his family should back off. Not everyone got a happy ending. He’d accepted that hard truth; why couldn’t they?

“Hey! Stephen Galway?”

Nearly to the truck, he turned at the sound of his name. Recognizing the waitress uniform, he was tempted to ignore the slender blonde jogging his way with a long, ground-eating stride. His brother earned points for tenacity. Stephen made a note to punch him at the earliest opportunity.

“You are Stephen, right?”

“That’s right. And you are?” The lamp overhead cast her features in shadow, illuminating pale hair pulled back from her face. He remembered seeing her in the bar. She was the one with the long braid that fell to the middle of her back, and great legs anchoring that willowy body.

“Kenzie Hughes.” She stuck out her hand, then let it fall when he didn’t reach out to meet her halfway. “You probably don’t remember me.”

“Should I?” The name wasn’t ringing any bells.

“Guess not. I was in the same high school class as Mitch.”

Stephen was ready to march back into the club and punch his brother right now for orchestrating this elaborate setup. He had work to do without dragging the tow truck out on a wild-goose chase. What bad idea or wrong impression had Mitch planted in her head? He stared at her, struggling for a polite way out of this. It wasn’t her fault his brother was an idiot.

“Um, anyway,” she continued, “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.” She pulled keys from her pocket. “The car’s right over here.”

Now he felt like a complete jerk. Stephen had assumed he’d be helping out one of Mitch’s male buddies. “Great.” He fell in behind her and put his mind back in car mode. “Let’s take a look.”

He tried not to wince when he saw the vehicle. Not his business what people chose to drive, and people who drove rust buckets like this one made up a core segment of his business. He let her explain Mitch’s opinion of the situation while he listened to a whole lot of nothing going on in her engine. Something didn’t smell right under the normal scents of oil and gas.

“If Mitch couldn’t get you running here, we’re better off hauling it in.” He dropped the hood, checked the latch. “Do you have a way to get home?”

She climbed out of the car and he noticed the interior was packed with boxes and suitcases. He couldn’t imagine Sullivan allowing any of his employees to live out of their car, and if she was doing so, she hadn’t left much room for herself.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, her gaze sliding to the crammed interior. “Here.” She handed over the keys. “I’ll get your number from Mitch and call you tomorrow.”

“One second.” Hughes, PFD, female. It all clicked into place and embarrassment flooded through Stephen. “You’re Mackenzie Hughes.”

Her entire body went on the defensive in one fluid movement. “Yes. Is that a problem?”

“No.” He couldn’t believe he didn’t recognize her in the club. Her name was at the center of a public debate about the ability of female firefighters. In person, her height and poise were evident and she looked far more capable than she did on television, where the images provided focused on her photogenic and fine-boned, feminine face.

“Of course not,” he reiterated, when she cocked an eyebrow at his long perusal. He’d heard his brother rant more than once in Kenzie’s favor. Like most people of his acquaintance, Stephen thought the gender bias was in the past. “I’ll take good care of the car,” he promised. “What’s with all the boxes?”

Now her shoulders slumped. “Do I have to unload them for you to tow the car?” She looked around as if a storage shed would appear out of thin air. “I didn’t think of that.”

“If you don’t have a problem with it, I don’t. Things might get jostled as I load and unload the car.”

“No. My stuff will be okay.” She backed away. “Thanks so much. I’ll pick up the boxes tomorrow.”

He trailed after her as if someone had set him on automatic pilot. “How?”

She skidded to a stop. “Pardon me?”

“If I have your car, how are you getting around?”

She gave him a weak smile. “I’ll figure it out.”

He blamed it on having sisters. Only her car was his business, but he still felt compelled to get a better answer from her. “What time are you off tonight?”

“Two.”

“Have Mitch bring you over to the shop.”

She gaped at him. “You can’t be serious. At two in the morning?”

Something about her response had him changing his mind. “Good point.” His brother had a wife waiting at home. “I’ll bring over a loaner car for you.”

“At two in the morning?” she repeated, incredulous.

He rolled his shoulders and resisted the urge to shift under that intense blue gaze. “That’s when you need it, right?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“Then I’ll be here. Unless you won’t have time to drop me back at my shop on your way home?”

She snorted. “No, I can do that.”

“Good. We’re all set.” He turned away before she could argue, and went to load her car onto the flatbed tow truck. Being near her put an odd pressure in his system, as if his heart was a half-beat too slow. He glanced back over his shoulder and caught her staring at him.

Couldn’t blame her; he barely recognized himself in his actions since she’d caught up with him. For his own peace of mind, he chalked up his uncharacteristic behavior to Mitch’s frustration on Kenzie’s behalf. According to his brother, she’d had a rough time of it since the PFD put her on administrative leave after a victim blamed her incompetence and weakness as a woman for his minor injuries.

She hadn’t looked the least bit weak to Stephen, and if Mitch vouched for her, she could handle the job. That must be why he was so determined to do more than the bare minimum of towing in her car for an evaluation and repair.

* * *

Kenzie worked the rest of the night with a little more spring in her step. Hope flashed bright and hot though her system at odd and unpredictable intervals. It was nice to feel a genuine smile on her lips. Maybe the recent circumstances hadn’t permanently smothered her courage and optimism, after all.

As she cashed out and split her tips with the rest of the staff, she realized she’d earned enough on this shift to cover an economy motel for the night and give Stephen some money for the tow and repair. Every penny left over would go to the lawyer fund.

“Grant’s looking for you,” Mitch said, as he walked into the break room. “And I have a text for you.” He held out his phone.

“For me?” Who would text Mitch to reach her?

“About your car,” he said.

Belatedly, she realized she’d been in such a hurry to get back to the club that she’d forgotten to give Stephen her cell phone number. The text message asked Mitch to tell her he was waiting outside. Kenzie replied with her cell phone number and let him know she needed only a few more minutes. She rolled up her apron and shoved it into her backpack, then headed for Grant’s office.

Rapping a knuckle on the open door, she stepped inside when Grant turned from his computer monitor. He smiled and waved her in, asking her to close the door. His constant energy belied the gray salting his hair. She suspected the creases bracketing his warm brown eyes were a result of laughter as much as the challenges he’d faced in his career as a cop and a nightclub owner. He reminded her of her dad, she realized with a prickle of nostalgia. Not in appearance—Grant had a barrel-chested, stocky build and her father had been tall and slim. The similarities were in the general demeanor of both men. Grant cared for his club and his employees with the fatherly affection and protectiveness she remembered her dad exhibiting every day of his life.

The chair squeaked as Grant leaned back. “Was it a good night?”

“Yes. Thanks again for giving me so many shifts.”

“I prefer employing people who are willing to work,” he said. “You know, you remind me of your dad in that way.”

“I didn’t realize you knew him.” She knew she was overtired and overstressed when tears stung behind her eyes. Fifteen years had passed since they’d buried him, and she usually didn’t feel melancholy anymore unless it was the anniversary of the warehouse fire or Christmas. Her mother had been determined her daughters would smile with hearts full of happy memories when they remembered their father. She insisted living well was the best way to affirm all the love and gifts he’d given them.

Grant nodded. “There are few circles in Philly tighter than those of us who worked the front lines.” His thick eyebrows drew into a frown over his assessing gaze. “I heard about your car trouble.”

The swift change of topic helped restore her composure. “Mitch called his brother for me. Stephen came out and towed it to his shop. He, ah, offered to loan me a car until mine is fixed.” She still wasn’t sure how she was going to cover the extra expenses.

“That’s good.” Leaning back in his chair, Grant drummed a quick rhythm on the edge of his desk. “Here’s the thing. I just got off the phone with Stephen.”

“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 dropped 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.

She had not failed that victim. Randall Murtagh was alive because she’d done the right things. She’d pulled him out of a terrible fire with minor burns that were probably healed already.

She tried to wriggle free of the sheets, nearly ripping them away before she remembered they weren’t hers. Her skin clammy with the sweat of the nightmare, she found herself registering other details. This wasn’t her bedroom. The space was too bright, the mattress too firm, and the scent of the laundry detergent on the linens was wrong.

Scrubbing at her face, she felt the rest of her situation crash over her like a bucket of ice water. At least the last wisps of the nightmare were gone. She untangled her legs from the sheets and paused as a variety of sounds and smells drifted by her waking senses.

For a moment she wallowed in the comfort and familiarity of clean motor oil, grease and new rubber tires. She heard the pulse of heavy metal music underscored by the whirr of power tools. All of it mingled with the promise of another hot and humid summer day in Philly.

She straightened the bedding and then headed for the bathroom, which was almost roomy, considering the limits of the camper. Fifteen minutes later she emerged refreshed and feeling human again. Dressed in denim cutoff shorts and a T-shirt sporting the logo of a local microbrewery, she made a cup of coffee and tried to figure out what to do with all the hours between now and her shift at the club tonight.

Her stomach growled, but she didn’t feel right about helping herself to Stephen’s groceries, despite his hospitality. Of course, with the loaner car he’d given her, she could restock his supplies easily. It still felt weird going through his cabinets for a bowl and cereal. She added milk and found a spoon in the basket of utensils on the counter. At the table she ate her cereal and used her cell phone to scroll through travel sites, looking for the best prices on decent motels near the club.

She knew she was hiding from Stephen, and life in general, when she’d washed her dishes and caught herself reorganizing her backpack. Stephen deserved better from her. For that matter, she deserved better. The sooner she got out there and helped him with her car, the sooner she could be on her way. She shoved her bare feet into her tennis shoes and headed over to the garage to say thanks again and refine her plans to get out of his hair.

The music crashed over her as she approached the garage through the open bay door nearest the office. Though her car was in pieces, she grinned, recognizing one of her favorite heavy metal bands doing a cover of one of the recent pop chart hits. She was about to follow the sound of an impact wrench to the other side of a champagne-colored minivan on a lift when the phone rang.

Stephen didn’t seem to hear it over the tools and the music. Kenzie assumed he had a machine or service that answered calls for him. He might even have his calls forwarded to his cell phone during business hours. The phone kept ringing and, following impulse, she picked it up. “Galway Automotive.”

“Hello?” a woman said, clearly startled. “Where’s Stephen?”

Is this a girlfriend? “His hands are full changing a tire at the moment,” Kenzie improvised.

“Who are you?”

Not as much jealousy as speculation in those three syllables. “I’m Kenzie,” she replied, using her best polite-receptionist voice that she’d refined during her first week of administrative duty for the PFD. “May I take a message for him?”

“Umm, sure. This is his sister Megan. I was checking on my minivan.”

Kenzie smiled. She’d heard a few typical big-brother stories from Mitch, but never met Megan. “If you can hold a moment, I’ll see if I can get an update for you.”

“Great.”

The curiosity and confusion came through loud and clear and Kenzie had to stifle a chuckle. Stephen must not keep a receptionist around. The place did have the feel of a one-man operation. Accustomed to working with a team and having people around constantly, she couldn’t imagine so much solitude. She didn’t want to risk making a mistake with the hold button and cutting off Megan’s call, so she placed the handset gently on the desk and hurried into the garage.

She saw her little rust-bucket in pieces, but her gaze locked for a long, reverent moment on the classic Camaro SS. A 1967, she knew. Oh my. Her hands tingled to peek under the hood. It would benefit from fresh paint and oh, that pure American muscle cried out for a touch. This was as close as she’d come to a car like this since her dad died. She hoped Stephen would be willing to show it to her and fill her in on the details later.

A classic Camaro was her dream car, if money weren’t an object. It was a pipe dream at the moment, and likely would remain so for the next decade. One day, she promised herself, exerting significant willpower to stay on track with the minivan, when she would’ve happily gone exploring the Camaro.

From her vantage point only Stephen’s legs and lower torso were visible under a minivan on the last lift. She failed in her attempt to ignore the appeal of those long legs and the T-shirt lifting to reveal toned abs when he stretched for something. Whew. She tucked away that little buzz of attraction.

Kenzie had no chance of getting his attention over the blaring music. It wasn’t hard to find the speakers, but she didn’t see the controls. She shouted. He didn’t flinch. There were too many things in a working garage that might catch a finger or hand wrong if he was startled. She came around the front corner of the car and shouted his name again.

This time he froze. Slowly, he turned in her direction, and she could see the wire brush he was holding in hands darkened by brake dust.

He stared at her as if he couldn’t figure out why he wasn’t alone. “Kenzie.”

She started to shout, pausing when he held up a finger and lowered the volume with a voice command. “Your sister Megan is on the phone,” she said. “She’s asking about her minivan.”

He rolled his eyes and then glared down at his hands. “Give me a second.”

“I can handle the call for you. You’re doing both front and rear brakes?” she asked, when he didn’t volunteer any information.

“No. Just rear brakes, and new tires all around,” he replied.

Kenzie glanced about, judging his progress. “Do you want her to come by this afternoon?”

“Not really,” he muttered.

Kenzie laughed, understanding the sibling dynamics. “When works for you?”

“She’s such a nag,” he grumbled. “When she dropped it off, she made me agree to deliver it for her at Sunday dinner tomorrow.”

“No problem. Leave it to me.” Kenzie returned to the office and picked up the phone. “Megan?”

“Yes.”

“Thanks for waiting.” Kenzie smiled as she explained Stephen’s progress and his confidence that the minivan would be delivered on time to Sunday dinner.

“Great. Thanks, um, what was your name?”

“Kenzie.”

“I’m so glad you’re there. It’s about time he hired good help,” Megan said. “Have a good day,” she added brightly.

“You, too.” Replacing the phone in the cradle, Kenzie sat back in the chair and swiveled side to side gently. Maybe she could give Stephen some time in the office or the garage while she waited to return to her normal schedule at the firehouse.

“Was she rude?”

Kenzie smothered the reaction as the deep burr of Stephen’s voice skimmed over the nape of her neck. He stood just outside the door frame, wiping dark streaks from his hands with a shop towel. Something about him sent her heartrate into overdrive. This was not the time for her hormones to take a detour.

“Not at all,” she replied, she managed in a steady voice.

His eyebrows arched in disbelief. “She didn’t do any wheedling to get her minivan back today?”

Kenzie shook her head.

“Huh. Thanks.”

The man was pretty cute when he was baffled. “No problem.” She was about to ask about her own car when the phone rang again. Stephen’s face clouded over with a scowl. “Go on back. I’ll handle it,” she told him.

“Really? Thanks. Just take messages,” he said, practically running back to the shop.

She handled the various inquiries for the rest of the morning. When her stomach was rumbling around noon, she wandered back into the shop with the intent of picking up lunch for both of them. Stephen wasn’t in the garage. The bay where the minivan had been was empty and Kenzie followed the sounds of water running outside.

She found him power washing the brake dust off his sister’s tire rims, and her first thought was that he should hire someone to handle that kind of thing. It would be a great job for some high school kid. Not her business how he wanted to run his garage.

Her second thought, and those that followed right after it, were centered on the way his T-shirt, damp from the spray of water, molded to his chest. When he turned that serious, brooding gaze on her she nearly forgot she was here about lunch.

“Keys are in the loaner,” he added, after requesting a meatball sub from the pizza place down the block.

“They are?”

“Well, sure. It’s yours to use whenever you need it. The key fob will handle the security gate for you.”

She was still processing all the implications of his easy generosity when she returned with lunch. He’d finished the brakes and cleaned up the service bay during her brief absence, and she marveled at his efficiency.

A man who obviously appreciated solitude, he didn’t want her hanging around while they ate, she assumed, but she didn’t want his well-earned break interrupted by the phone. He’d seemed almost afraid of the thing earlier.

“So what’s with delivery over having Megan pick up her minivan?” Kenzie unwrapped her sandwich and took a big bite. “This is amazing.”

He nodded, his mouth full, too. When he’d swallowed, he said, “Delivery tomorrow isn’t ideal, but I’m already doing the job for the cost of parts. If I do it in record time, they’ll never let me rest. Do you know how many Galways there are?”

She did a quick head count. “You have four siblings, right?”

“Yes,” he said between bites. “Add in parents and cousins and in-laws, and a man wouldn’t have time for anything else.”

“I thought Mitch helped you out.”

“He does. He prefers the custom work more than the maintenance stuff,” Stephen said.

“Don’t we all?” There was an excitement in restoration, in breathing new life into quality machinery.

Stephen raised an eyebrow. “To be fair, he would’ve handled Megan’s van if I’d been slammed.”

“Based on the phone calls I managed this morning, I’d say you could be slammed at any given moment. If you can spare the bay, and time with the tools, I can fix my car on my own,” she said. “After hours, so I can stay out of your way.”

“You know cars?” he asked.

“My dad taught me more than enough to handle that particular car.”

He lifted a bottle of water to his lips and Kenzie caught herself staring at his jaw and throat. It was as if he was carved from some substance that could shift between a solid and fluid state at will. He was almost too lean and the shadows under his eyes were a sure sign he didn’t sleep as much as he should.

She belatedly recalled he’d been engaged a few years back, the woman murdered before the wedding. It put Kenzie’s own issues into sharp perspective. Her career was at risk thanks to Murtagh, not her life.

“You think your car is overwhelming for me?”

“I think my car is a piece of crap and well beneath your level of expertise.” She found herself on the business end of that inscrutable expression. What was going on behind the hazel eyes shadowed by those burnished gold eyebrows?

“I can spare the space and tools,” he said. “Thanks for helping out with the phone. I usually just check messages at the end of the day.”

“I didn’t realize you had an answering machine,” she said, trying to contain the happy urge to bounce in her chair. Working on a car, even the pitiful rust-bucket, would be a fabulous distraction until she was back on shift. “That makes me feel better about leaving you this afternoon.”

His brow wrinkled. “You’re leaving?”

“Yes,” she replied. “I’m scheduled on the late shift again tonight at the club. Between now and then I need to find a place to stay.” She pointed to the boxes he’d stacked for her near the storeroom. “I can’t just leave all my stuff here in your way.”

Stephen’s hands stilled, the sandwich wrapper balled up between his palms. “You have a place to stay.”

Finding herself the focus of his full attention made her mouth go dry. She felt like the proverbial deer in headlights. It took two attempts to get the right words past her lips. “Last night was too kind. I’m not kicking you out of your house.”

“It’s yours,” he stated. “For as long as you need it.” He stood up, as if that was the end of the conversation.

“But last night you said—”

He cut her off. “I said we’d sort it out today.” He tossed his trash and leaned back against the counter, apparently waiting for her to say something else he could shoot down.

“That feels like way too much of an imposition.”

“You’re wrong.” A muscle jumped in his tense jaw. “I know what firefighters make,” he stated. “And I know what lawyers can charge. If it makes you feel better, keep answering the phone and taking messages when you can.”

“That’s hardly a fair trade for kicking you out of your home,” she protested.

His fingers flexed around the edge of the countertop. The muscles in his forearm bunched and relaxed slowly. “If it’s all I’m asking for, why argue the point?”

“Do logic and reason ring a bell?” Why was he insisting she stay here?

“Does sabotage ring a bell for you?” he countered, his gaze heating up.

This wasn’t the conversation she’d planned on having with him, but it was too late now and she was too aggravated to successfully turn the topic to the Camaro. “I don’t need protection.”

He folded his arms over his chest. “Duly noted. Do you want to file a police report about the damage?”

That gave her pause and she took her time to think it through. As both Grant and Stephen had previously pointed out, someone had most likely targeted her with the sugar in her gas tank. At the moment she could think of only one person angry enough with her to try such a stunt. “No.”

“Because you know who did it?” Stephen pressed.

“What good would it do to file a report? I have no idea when it happened.”

“Based on the settling and filter damage, I would guess it happened within the last week,” Stephen said, his voice as hard as his gaze now. “A police report is an official record. It could establish a time line or a pattern of behavior.”

“Stop. Please.” She held up a hand as she studied him. There was obviously a bigger issue on his mind than a disabled car. Filing a report would also mean suggesting Murtagh as a suspect, which could make her look like an idiot grasping at straws to undermine his credibility in the lawsuit. She had to trust her lawyer’s advice that the truth would come out and clear her of any wrongdoing or errors.

“I hear what you’re saying,” she continued. “This was probably a prank gone wrong. Yes, the timing makes it unlikely, but it is possible this was a case of mistaken identity.” Logic and odds aside, she couldn’t risk giving voice to the outrageous theory that Murtagh had done it. “I’ve only had the car three weeks.”

“It’s paid for?” Stephen asked.

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll put it back together for you.” He sighed and pulled such a grimace, she laughed, startling them both.

“That isn’t necessary,” she said. “I can handle the repairs, and help with the phone when I’m here.”

He shot her a skeptical glance. “And you’ll work at the club and jump through hoops for your lawyer, too?”

That image made her grin. “He keeps telling me he’s the one jumping through hoops on my behalf.”

Stephen rolled his eyes. “You’ve got a deal, if you agree to stay in the trailer.”

She counted to ten. Slowly. “I don’t like the idea of pushing you out of your place.”

He shrugged that off. “You’ll get over it.”

It was such an unexpected reply she laughed again.

He pushed away from the counter and reached into the fridge for another bottle of water. Pausing at the desk, he skimmed the messages she’d taken, various expressions flitting across his stern features. He turned over one message slip and wrote out a short list.

“Can you get these parts ordered for me?”

She glanced at his neat, block-style printing. “Sure.”

“Thanks.” He looked her over head to toe and back up. “If you hit a snag, be sure to ask for help.”

“I promise.”

“I have coveralls you can borrow. What about better shoes?”

“There are steel-toed boots in one of the boxes over there.” They were battered, but though she’d had few chances to use them in recent years, they still fit.

“All right.” With one last look, he walked out. A moment later the music started pulsing again.

Sensations continued to fizz through her system long after he left the office. Part of it was the anticipation of getting her hands dirty and seeing the result of fixing something. Another part was pure lust over the opportunity to work near a man who was bringing that classic Camaro back to life. Both man and machine had her system revving, she thought with a wistful sigh.

She couldn’t recall the last time any man as sexy as Stephen had studied her so thoroughly. Her face felt hot and her fingers trembled as she ordered the parts he’d requested.

With that task done, she rooted through her belongings and found her boots, then eyed the clock. Now that she didn’t need to find a place and move her stuff, she could potentially get started flushing the fuel lines before heading to the club.

She was almost—no she was definitely relieved when a call came in for a tow truck and he agreed to go pick a vehicle up. Relieved. Yes. If she went out to the garage and tried to work beside him now, with all this fizz, there was no telling what kind of stupidity her hormones would talk her into.

Neither of them needed that kind of complication.

* * *

What the hell was wrong with him? Stephen wondered a few hours later, as he worked alone in the shop. Every time he thought he had his head on straight, the memory of Kenzie’s laughter sent him spinning, the echo of the sound rattling through his head. Cranking the radio didn’t help. He left the garage and went out to detail his sister’s van. Spoiling her with that kind of surprise was probably a mistake and his mood soured further.

That mouth on Kenzie, he thought, so mobile and expressive. Her lips were quick with a smile and he couldn’t keep the images out of his head. Her laughter astounded him, the merry sound full and loud and rich, as if she didn’t care who heard her. He envied that wide-open spirit, even when it grated against the solitude he’d carefully built here.

How could Kenzie laugh at anything with a civil suit that threatened her career hanging over her head? He shot a glance back at the garage, fighting off the urge to get in there and just do the work for her.

She claimed she could handle it, and it wasn’t a complex task to flush a little sugar out of a fuel system. If only that was all that junker needed. He was almost embarrassed to have such a sorry-looking car in the shop.

Not sorry to have Kenzie around.

The errant thought startled him and he shoved it away. He didn’t like extra people milling about in his space, but having her answering calls had been a big help. Mitch was about the only other person he could work with. Even his dad got under his skin after a few hours.

At least she wasn’t here tempting him into conversation just so he could hear her voice. The last time a woman intrigued him like this, he’d been engaged to her. Stephen fought back the unwelcome spark of interest. Kenzie was a temporary anomaly in his self-contained life. She needed a break and he could tolerate having her around for a few days as long as she didn’t start in on him with questions about the business or why he was a loner.

Finished detailing his sister’s minivan, he parked it next to the cars he was ready to sell. While he’d been out with the tow truck, Mitch had called, claiming to have a buyer lined up for the Mustang. Stephen hoped his brother closed the deal on that one soon. The upholstery and paint alone had cost them a small fortune.

He tried to work up irritation over having it sit here and failed. The car looked amazing and they’d get their asking price eventually. The swell of pride in the work drained enough of the persistent tension out of his neck and shoulders that when his mom’s sassy red sedan pulled through the open gate, he managed a rare smile.

“Happy Saturday, sweetheart,” she said, drawing him into a hug. “You look good.”

Her hugs never changed, no matter what was happening in his life. She must have just come from the salon, he realized, as a wave of feminine scents swept over him. Her hair was sleek and smooth and the gray effectively hidden by a perfect application of ash-blond color. “You look great, Mom.”

“Nice of you to notice.” A little pink warmed her cheeks as she beamed at him. “Hopefully, your father can be persuaded to take me out tonight.”

Stephen didn’t think it would be much of an effort. His parents were still in love after all this time and the challenges life tossed at them. While he knew that wasn’t in his future, he valued the rare treasure of their relationship. “Car trouble?”

“Not a bit.”

Her gaze slid past him toward the office and he realized his sister had tipped her off that a woman had been here. Answering phones and relaying messages. Stephen managed not to roll his eyes at his mother’s obvious agenda. “If you’re looking for someone in particular, she isn’t here.”

His mom’s expression fell so fast he felt terrible for busting the bubble of hope wreathing her face. “What do you mean?”

“Please.” He walked toward the office, urging her to come out of the heavy, late afternoon heat. “Megan called you, right?”

Myra nodded.

“There’s nothing to it, Mom. I’m just helping out one of Mitch’s friends. She had car trouble.”

“You’re helping Kenzie Hughes,” she stated.

“Nothing gets by you,” he said. It had been that way all his life. Myra Galway had a mysterious, maternal inside track on information involving her children. Wishing he had a better explanation for the stack of boxes near the wall and the folded linens at the end of the couch, he offered her something to drink.

“Water, please.”

He handed her a bottle of water from the fridge and waited for her to explain her visit. It didn’t take long.

“Kenzie was Mitch’s classmate all through school,” Myra told him. “You probably don’t remember her at all.”

“No.” He was tempted to ask what his mom might know about Kenzie’s dad, but that would only stoke her persistent hope that he would eventually open his heart to a relationship again. Not a chance. He couldn’t handle that kind of vulnerability again.

“Well, the poor girl’s name has been splashed all over the news lately.”

Stephen was very selective about when he turned on the news. Sometimes knowledge wasn’t power, only more pain. “Mitch told me some of it.”

“Your brother says she’s one of the best firefighters around. He’s convinced the suit will fall apart.” His mother’s gaze took in all the things that were out of place in his office. “You let her sleep here?”

He chose not to explain the precise definition of “here.” “Her landlord is fumigating or something. Her stuff was in her car.” He gestured toward the boxes. “Her car was here. It was late...” He pushed his hand through his hair. “Made sense to me at the time.”

Her smile, a mix of maternal delight and concerned tenderness, put him on edge. “You turned out all right,” she said, clearly satisfied with her parenting skills. “Here’s another bit of sense for you. Bring her to Sunday dinner tomorrow.”

No. “Mom.” He set his jaw against the persistent lance of pain searching for his heart. “She probably has plans,” he added. Kenzie at Sunday dinner was a terrible idea.

“You’ll ask and find out,” she said breezily. “There’s always room for one more at the table.”

Did she practice these careless phrases that eviscerated him? By now he and Annabeth should have been working on their first baby and joining his married siblings in testing their mother’s theory about room at the table. A lousy drug dealer had decided Annabeth had done enough good in this life, and snuffed her out with a cowardly ambush at the community center.

Three years after her death there were still nights when Stephen was convinced he’d heard those gunshots. The community center was too far from the garage for that to be possible, but the sounds haunted him anyway. I should have done more for her, he thought, though there had been nothing within his power to do. Logic seemed to have no effect on overwhelming grief.

Stephen turned away, wishing the water in his hand was a beer or a whiskey. Conversations like this one were better with a whiskey close by. Distracted by those dark memories, he flinched when Myra touched her hand to his shoulder.

“I consider Kenzie a friend of the family,” she said gently.

“Then you should be the one to extend the invitation.” Though the churlish tone shamed him, he wouldn’t take it back. She had to know she was asking too much of him.

“That is actually why I came by,” she pointed out. “Since I missed her, I trust you’ll handle it on my behalf. Politely and graciously as I would.”

“Mom.” He gazed down at her, wondering why thirty-two years hadn’t been enough time for him to build up immunity to the mom voice. She wouldn’t drop it until he agreed. “I’ll text you if she can’t make it.”

His mother’s eyebrows lifted and she tried and failed to suppress an amused smile. “Thank you.” She rocked back on her heels. “Do you have time to show me the progress on the Camaro out there?”

He knew she was trying to put him back on his feet after dealing a blow, and he let her. “The engine is in and the transmission came together,” he said, as he walked with her around the car. “It needs a test drive and I’m waiting on a few more original pieces I found from a dealer in Ohio. Then it’s off for the finish work.”

“Do you know what the color scheme will be?”

At some point in the past, the paint had been a metallic champagne. “Silver with black rally stripes. He’s career army.”

“Make sure you take pictures if I don’t get over here before your client picks it up.”

“Sure thing, Mom.” She ignored the fact that he had a portfolio of before and after pictures online she could access anytime, insisting that he show her in person. He knew it was because she worried he spent too much time with the quiet thoughts in his head.

If she had any idea how disquieting his thoughts were she’d have real reason to worry.

Myra made a bit more small talk, and when she seemed convinced he wouldn’t do something stupid like take the rest of the day off and wallow in grief and alcohol, she left him in peace.

Stephen closed the gate when she’d gone and set the emergency number to ring through to his cell phone. Too restless to work, he cleaned up his tools, gave Kenzie’s car another hard look and went to move more of his things out of the trailer and into the office.

It felt rude to him to keep invading space he’d given her. Better to keep as much distance as possible between him and Kenzie. His gaze landed on the denim cutoffs and T she’d worn earlier, on a corner of the bed. A vision of her long, gorgeous legs filled his mind, followed closely by an echo of that bold laughter.

Basic human nature explained why her legs got under his skin, but the effect of her laughter baffled him. Maybe the happiness of it, a sound foreign in the shop, was what bugged him. That sound shouldn’t fit in and yet something deep inside him wanted to make room for it. Damn, he needed more sleep.

He closed his eyes and brought Annabeth’s serene face to his mind. A dark beauty with generous curves, his fiancée had had a steady, pleasant outlook underscored with integrity and grit that made her someone people trusted. The kids confided in her about things they were too scared to share with anyone else. On appearance alone, Kenzie was the polar opposite, not to mention the vast personality differences, and yet he had a random, discomfiting thought that they might have been friends.

Twice he picked up his phone to text Kenzie about dinner with his family. Twice he stopped, deleting the messages before he could send them. If his mother caught wind of him taking the easy way out, he’d get a lecture and a heavy dose of that sad disappointment she wielded so effectively.

He and his siblings agreed on one thing without fail: it was always better to make Myra Galway flat-out mad than to disappoint her.

To do this right, and avoid a mom lecture, Stephen would either have to go to the club or wait up for her. Resigned, he took a shower and changed clothes to go back to the Escape Club. He considered taking the Camaro, to get a feel for the clutch and the suspension, but he was too restless to listen to the car.

Instead, he grabbed a dealer plate, put the For Sale sign in the rear window of the Mustang they needed to move, and planned a route through the city that might spin up some interest. If that particular route took him by the community center where Annabeth had worked, that was just coincidence.

Right. Not even he believed that.

The community center was a central, positive influence working persistently to keep a toehold in a neighborhood framed with rough edges. The area was hard on the eyes and residents in broad daylight. Once night fell, those rough edges turned razor-sharp and mean.

Since losing Annabeth, Stephen continued teaching the basic automotive class despite the vicious ache in his chest every time he came near the building. After her killer was acquitted, he’d picked up the habit of frequently driving through the neighborhood in various vehicles. Occasionally, he parked a block out and walked in, daring any of the local thugs to take a swipe at him.

They often did.

His walks and drive-bys were random. Sometimes they paid off and he caught a picture of a drug deal that he forwarded to the police, or he caught wind of a name while he wandered past on foot. For all the good it did. The police would pick up one dealer and another stepped up, keeping business rolling. Once in a while he timed his visits or ended his classes so he could walk other staffers to their cars, as he should’ve done every day for his fiancée. Sometimes he just circled the block, letting the deep purr of a big engine serve as a warning to the petty criminals skulking in the shadows.

So far, the man he wanted to confront, the man who had killed his fiancée, had yet to make himself a target. Stephen didn’t have anything better to do with his life than wait him out.

Tonight, he circled the block like a shark, generally being a nuisance and interfering with the fast deals that happened at the corner. The thugs tasked with backing up the dealer showed their guns on his third pass. The familiar dance put a kick in Stephen’s pulse. He was aware they knew who he was and where to find him when he wasn’t trying to interrupt their business. Just one reason he kept upgrading the security at the garage. He used to lie awake at night, praying someone with ties to Annabeth’s murder would come by and get caught on his cameras.

Spoiling for a fight, he parked the Mustang under the floodlights and security cameras in the community center parking lot and went for a quick stroll. At this hour the facility, church and other buildings on this side of the street were deserted and locked up tight.

He walked around to the front of the building and sat on the steps. Although the building owners tried to keep security cameras operational, anything aimed in the general direction of the dealer on the corner was repeatedly disabled. Stephen had decided he had to stand in whenever possible.

Annabeth’s blood had long since been washed away from the area, but the fresh paint they’d used on the railings was peeling again after three years of weather. He knew where they stored the paint and he had a key to the center. He’d almost decided to take care of it now under the glare of the streetlights when a rusty station wagon from the nineties pulled up to the corner. It made Kenzie’s sedan look good by comparison.

Stephen raised his phone and hit the record button, making sure the video light caught the driver’s attention. The car sputtered and rolled away, deal incomplete. From across the street, the thugs shouted a warning at him.

Stephen lowered the phone and gave them a wave without leaving his post. He scared off another two cars before the enforcers stalked across the street with orders to make him leave.

Finally.

He waited for them, his weight balanced and his knees loose. They could just shoot him. Luckily for him, they knew as well as he did that two innocent people dead on these steps might inspire someone to actually come through this neighborhood and clean it up for good.

“Get the hell outta here,” the first kid said. He couldn’t be more than twenty, probably younger. His T-shirt, emblazoned with a classic arcade game character wielding an AK-47, was partially tucked into dark jeans. Stephen noted the bulging biceps and the brands seared in faint patterns on the kid’s dark skin.

At Gun-shirt’s nod a second man walked to the base of the stairs to face Stephen. Bald, his pale head lit by streetlights, he wore a white undershirt and faded jeans that rode low on his hips, revealing the band of his boxers. Stephen assumed the open jacket must be hot in this weather. An unfortunate circumstance for Baldy, since the jacket did nothing to conceal the gun shoved into his belt.

“You need to leave,” Baldy said. He drew the gun and took aim at Stephen’s midsection. “Go willingly, or go permanently, your choice.”

Stephen raised his hands. “Willingly,” he replied, starting down the steps.

At the sidewalk, Gun-shirt grabbed Stephen’s arm and drove a fist into his gut. Although Stephen was braced for it, the blow took a toll, stealing his breath. He gasped, doubling over, hands on his knees. When Gun-shirt leaned close to make more threats, Stephen punched him in the throat. The thug staggered back into the street, bouncing off the hood of a slowly passing car before he caught his balance.

The bald man swore and aimed his gun once more, but Stephen was quicker. He kicked out, connecting with the guy’s knee. Baldy crumpled into a whimpering heap.

Across the street, the furious dealer called for reinforcements. Stephen shouted out a crude suggestion before he ran for the parking lot. He knew none of these criminals wanted to get caught chasing an innocent civilian by those cameras.

Safely in the Mustang, Stephen drove off. He was several blocks away before the pain started seeping through the adrenaline rush. He kept to the rest of his planned circuit, cruising through much nicer streets filled with people out for the evening at restaurants and posh bars. Hopefully, the sign in the rear window would attract some positive inquiries.

The sooner they moved this car the better. He had other builds in mind and more plans to keep himself busy through the summer.

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