“So, Lauren Conway. Do you know you have a twin?”

Lauren hugged the hospital bedsheet closer. “No. But I gather this Dana looks like me.”

Alex cocked his head, then reached into his back pocket and withdrew his wallet. He leafed through several pictures before he stopped, pulled one out and handed it to her.

Lauren looked down. In the picture was a woman with long, luscious hair and curves to die for outlined in a wild-print bikini. She held a surfboard and leaned on the smiling, sun-burnished man whose arm was around her. The man was Alex.

The woman looked exactly like Lauren.

The similarity made her light-headed and caused her heartbeat to falter. What was going on here?

Dear Reader,

Welcome to my contribution to the CODE RED series. It’s been a pleasure to participate in this project—three Superromance novels, an anthology, a twelve-book continuity, then four sequels—all about my favorite people, rescue personnel. It was a joy to work with the other authors involved in this series. I liked getting to know them and contributing to the story lines. But don’t worry. The Unknown Twin can stand alone, too.

As many of you know, I wrote some firefighter books for Harlequin a few years back, and it was a pleasure to revisit America’s Bravest. I did have to do some additional research, though. Fire fighting in California is different from that in New York State, where I did my original research of riding the trucks, eating at the firehouses and participating in classes and drills. I met with a wonderful former California firefighter, who helped plan out the staff and station house for us. I also called on my other friends in the Rochester Fire Department, particularly Joe Giorgione, who was always there to help out with technicalities and plot elements. All of the firefighters I worked with were wonderful and gave me very important information.

Lauren and Alex’s story is a classic romance about opposites attracting—the macho, charge-right-in hero and the creative, sensitive heroine. I love to put people who are so different together and see what happens. I didn’t expect all of what transpired in the book. It was fun to watch Lauren and Alex wrestle with their relationship. I hope you enjoy their trek to happily-ever-after.

I love to hear from readers. My e-mail is kshay@rochester.rr.com and my Web site is www.kathrynshay.com. Though few use it, I still have a snail-mail address: P.O. Box 24288, Rochester, New York 14624. Write and tell me what you think.

Kathryn Shay

The Unknown Twin
Kathryn Shay

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS TOUGH having an imaginary friend at thirty-two. Lauren Conway stared down at hers, now captured in living color in a brand-new comic strip, Dee and Me, that she’d agreed to create for the Courage Bay Courier. She’d moved to the California-seaside town two weeks ago to begin drawing the cartoon, which was based on the imaginary friend she’d first made when she was a child.

Looking down, she reread the strip she’d just finished.

Frame One:

You got yourself a job, Lily! Twelve-year-old Deirdre’s smile is pleasant. It always is, even when Lily does something stupid.

Lily looks nervous. Yeah, for the summer.

Frame Two:

Lily is first this time. I hope I don’t blow it. Like I do everything else.

Don’t be lily-livered. Dee laughs at her pun. You’re not gonna blow it.

Frame Three:

Flexing her muscles, Deirdre picks up the free weights and raises them in an arm curl. Lily stares helplessly at her.

Deirdre asks, You wanna try it?

Frame Four:

Lily appears horrified. Dee, please. I can’t.

If you think you can’t, Lily, you’re right.

Frame Five:

Lily stares helplessly out at the reader. Easy for her to say.

Lauren studied her drawings. “Is it any good?” she asked aloud. Leaning back in her chair, she stared up at the ceiling; the cheerful fresco of blue sky and sun she’d painted there made her smile. She’d worked in a cubicle on the other side of the building for a week while she fixed up this office on her own time. It was so small, so run-down, nobody else at the Courier had wanted it. And since she had just started as a part-timer, she hadn’t been high priority for amenities. Rising, she crossed the room to two oversize beanbag chairs she’d stuffed in the corner, since there wasn’t room for much else. Kicking off her canvas sneakers, she stretched out on one and put her feet on the other. She continued to stare up at her own personal sky, inhaling the spicy scent of potpourri she’d scattered throughout the office and pondering the direction of her cartoon.

Her new boss, Perry O’Connor, had studied the prototype when she’d presented the concept to him in an interview several weeks ago. “It’s got a lot of potential, Conway.” He nodded to the drawings. “I like the self-effacing nature of the klutz. Cute dynamic with her alter ego. Puberty adds a lot. But you need a focus. A tack.” His expression was thoughtful. “We’re looking for something to draw readers to the Courier’s Web site. Maybe we could do this cartoon on the fly.”

“On the fly?”

“Yeah, have readers write in saying what they like and what they don’t like, and see if we can roll with it. It doesn’t have to be in every day. Then you could tailor the cartoon to public opinion.” He stared hard at her from beneath bushy gray brows. “Think you can do it?”

Could she? “Yes.”

“Okay, let’s give it a shot. You’re hired. Don’t let me down.”

“I won’t.”

So she’d moved from Benicia, in the northern part of California, to this small community of Courage Bay, close to L.A., hoping she’d be able to realize a dream she’d had for a long time. And realizing that dream was why she was at the office at midnight.

She shot a look at her battered oak desk. Tomorrow, Saturday, she would come in and strip and re-stain it.

Maybe you should come in and work on our cartoon. Ah, that voice. Her imaginary friend, Deirdre, aka Dee. Just as Deirdre advised Lily when she was at her wits’ end, she was also there for Lauren in the worst of times. There had been a lot of those lately.

Placing her bare foot on the carpet remnant she’d put down—it was thick with a geometric print—Lauren sighed. “I can do this,” she said aloud. “I want to do this.”

Then do it, Deirdre told her. Make me come alive like I am in your imagination. Like you have since we were little.

Lauren concentrated on visualizing the face of her imaginary friend—and sometimes alter ego. Lauren’s face. Red hair—though Lauren’s had turned auburn now—dark brown eyes, freckles and a bow-shaped mouth. “Come on, Dee, help me out here.”

Okay, close your eyes. Picture me on the surfboard. Picture Lily on the dock, wishing she could surf.

“Lily would wish she could swim.” Just like Lauren did.

Breathing in, Lauren lost herself in the scene. The rush of the ocean was loud. The air was hot, tempered by a delicious breeze. It kissed Lily’s skin. Overhead, seagulls swooped and dived. Ah, it was so peaceful…

BING-BONG!

Alex Shields bolted upright from his cot when the alarm went off. Lights blinked on, and ten other firefighters bounded out of their bunks alongside him as the dispatcher’s voice crackled over the PA. “Fire at the Courage Bay Courier. Engine One, Ladder One and Paramedic One go into service.”

“Hell, that’s right in our backyard,” Louis Alvarez said as they threw on their uniform pants over the gym shorts that, along with T-shirts, all firefighters wore to bed. They raced to the bays, where the rigs were parked and ready to go.

As senior captain of Courage Bay Fire Department’s Squad Two, the shift currently on duty, Alex ducked into his office and yanked the printout from the computer. He scanned it as he headed for the trucks. Fire in the newspaper office. Occupants unknown. Alex knew the presses worked until about two, but who would still be there at 3 in the morning?

At his locker, he shoved on his bunker pants and boots, grabbed his turnout coat and air-pack and snatched up his red captain’s helmet. He was on the truck in seconds, along with the other four assigned to Ladder One. The bay doors went up almost simultaneously, with a teeth-grating iron screech. Sirens blared in unison as the three vehicles raced out of the house, onto Jefferson Avenue and around the corner to Fifth. They lurched to a stop in front of the Courier’s building.

Alex bounded off the truck and took a quick tour of the exterior. Thick smoke billowed out the Fifth Street side—from lower floors, as well as the roof—disappearing into the dark, warm early morning. No flames on the west side or the back of the building, but there was an open window at the front west corner. No light on inside, though. Back at the trucks, he set up a makeshift Incident Command from which he could direct the maneuver, called for generators to be put in place and calmly gave his orders into the radio. “Engine One. Attack from primary entrance on Fifth Street. Check to see if there’s a guard.” His engineer—the rig driver and second in command—would know where to position the units. “Ladder One, get the aerial up to the top of the west side and start a master stream.” It looked like the fire was contained in one side of the building, but the flames could spread fast.

Minutes later, the hoses were laid for both an exterior and interior attack. Alex listened over the radio as his men worked.

“I got water,” Robertson shouted when he reached the basement. He’d taken one hose and aimed it at what he perceived to be the seat of the fire.

The aerial dumped water on the roof.

Two of the truck’s men had followed the hose in and were now dragging out the guard. Gonzales, a paramedic, rushed over to the unconscious man. The truck crew hurried back in to search and rescue. It didn’t appear they were going to need roof ventilation.

Now that everything was in place, Alex strode to the rig. He dragged out a single ladder, meant to mount a one-or two-story wall, and hauled it to the corner of the building.

Kellison, another paramedic, jogged over. “What’s going on?”

“I saw an open window at this end. Somebody might be in there working late.”

“Any lights on?”

“Can’t see any. Still, I’m gonna check it out.”

Together they positioned the ladder. Donning his face mask and starting his air, Alex glanced at Kellison. “Stay here. I’ll need somebody to heel the ladder if I come down with a victim.” Grabbing the rails, Alex shinnied up the rungs, then climbed inside the open window.

The smoke wasn’t opaque, but it was thick enough to do harm. And it was getting hot. He shone the flashlight he carried into the room and surveyed the area. The shapes were amorphous in the smoke, but he could make out a desk, a chair. A tiny beacon of light, invisible from outside and obscured by the smoke, lit the corner and something near it, which resembled a couch. Then he heard, “Ohhh…”

He raced over and found a sleeping woman, stretched out on something. He bent down and tried to rouse the victim. He couldn’t see her clearly, and she was tough to wake. “Ma’am, can you hear me?”

“What?” She was too slow to respond, so he picked her up. She was slight and easy to carry.

Striding back to the window, he yelled out to Kellison, “I got one. Stay with the ladder. I can carry her easy.” Setting the victim down, he shook her again. Finally, she awoke, but she was groggy. Kneeling her against the sill, he climbed outside and reached in. She went over his shoulder like a bag of feathers. Grasping the ladder, he descended. She stirred partway to the bottom. “Shh,” he said gently. “You’re all right, I got you.”

When they hit the last rung of the ladder, Kellison, assisted by Gonzales, took her from him. They laid her on the ground and, in the light of the generator his men had set up, Alex got his first good look at her. Though her face was covered with a thin layer of grime, he recognized her instantly. “Dana?”

“What happened to her hair?” Kellison asked, popping the canister to activate the oxygen.

Standing over them, Alex shook his head. “I have no idea. What the hell is my EMT doing in the newspaper office at three in the morning?” She was supposed to be at an Emergency Medical Systems training seminar in San Diego.

She coughed and sputtered. Alex stared at her. Something wasn’t right. Not just the hair; she’d felt lighter, too.

“Shields,” a voice called out over Alex’s radio. “We need you on the east side.”

“She’s all right, Alex,” Kellison said. “Her vitals are good. Go.”

Alex took one last look at the woman he’d once loved, and headed around the corner.

LAUREN COUGHED and breathed into the oxygen mask. Looking at her gown, she wondered if the pretty pink sweater she’d worn earlier was ruined. She’d smelled like the inside of a barn when she arrived at the hospital. Lauren smiled, remembering the sweet firefighter who had rescued her. That was the good news.

The bad news was that everybody had lost his senses.

First it had been the paramedic. “Come on, Dana, baby, take more oxygen.”

Then the hunky, if deluded, firefighter. He’d picked up her hand as they were putting her in the ambulance and kissed it, for God’s sake. Even though he was a stranger, she’d been moved by the tender gesture. But then she’d realized the guy must have inhaled too much smoke because he’d said, “I thought I was past these feelings for you, Dana.”

Finally, the nurse at the hospital, Jackie Kellison, acted as if she and Lauren were best buddies.

Hell, maybe Lauren was still out cold and hallucinating.

A doctor poked his head in her cubicle. An older man, he had a full head of gray hair and a kind smile. He looked familiar. “Hello. They treating you okay here?”

“Yes.”

“I’m George Yube, chief of surgery.”

Ah, yes. Perry O’Connor’s friend. Lauren had seen him at the office once.

“I’m Lauren Conway.”

He gave her a fatherly smile. “I know. Perry told me who you were last time I was at his office. And then I recognized you when they brought you in. I just had to make sure you were all right.”

She smiled back.

After asking a few questions about what had happened to her, he squeezed her arm. “Well, glad to see you’re doing fine.” Then he left.

She’d just closed her eyes and sunk into the pillows when the nurse entered. “Look who I found.”

The firefighter who’d kissed Lauren’s hand was behind her. He’d cleaned up and changed into tight-fitting blue jeans, a green Nike T-shirt and sandals. Lauren had often watched the Courage Bay firefighters from her office window in the week since she began work, though she hadn’t met any of them. The whole rescue unit—fire department, police and hospital—was located in a small, two-block area, and was lauded as an exemplary prototype. Their comings and goings had fascinated her. Though macho, high-profile men scared the daylights out of Lauren—and Lily—they were exactly Deirdre’s type.

The firefighter’s hair was damp. He smelled like soap and citrus aftershave, despite the fact that there was still a growth of beard on his jaw. His smile was thousand watt as it broke through the shadow. “Hey, how’s our girl?”

Swallowing hard, she closed her eyes. This was ridiculous. “I’m fine, but I think you have me confused with someone else.”

The nurse and firefighter exchanged worried looks.

“Dana.” He picked up her hand again with that same tenderness as before. “Are you playing another one of your practical jokes on us?”

She shook her head.

As if he had a right to, the guy brushed the long bangs out of her eyes. His fingertips were callused. “And when did you cut all your hair off?”

“About twenty-five years ago,” she said dryly.

The nurse frowned. “Dana, does your head hurt?”

“Look, I’m not Dana.” Discomfited, she picked at the hospital sheet. “But in any case, thanks for rescuing me.”

“You know you were in a fire at the newspaper office. You remember that, don’t you?” The man’s tone was patronizing but concerned. “What were you doing there at three in the morning?”

“I work there.”

After exchanging another look with the firefighter, the nurse said, “Alex, maybe she got hit on the head.”

The man—Alex—raised his dark brows, and his eyes, the color of aged whiskey, narrowed. “Don’t you know who I am?” he said.

“No, I’m sorry.”

“Call Doc Murdock.”

“Who’s that?” she asked.

“A psychiatrist.”

“Look, I don’t need a psychiatrist. I know who I am. Lauren Conway. I just moved here from Benicia.”

Alex ran a big hand through his hair. If she had the chance, she’d paint the color with different tones of brown and gold to achieve his natural color. She’d call the painting “Confused Hero.”

He took her hand again. “Honey, no more jokes. We’re worried about you.”

“This isn’t a joke. Look in my purse. At my driver’s license.”

“You don’t carry a purse!”

“Of course I do. It’s got all my stuff in it.”

They just stared at her. She felt her heartbeat speed up. Whipping back the sheets, she made to get up but went into a fit of coughing.

Jackie stepped around Alex and stopped her. “Here, sweetie, get back in bed.” She eased Lauren against the pillows and started to draw up the covers.

But Alex held up his hand. “Wait a minute.” He grabbed hold of her left foot. “What’s this?”

Lauren felt uncomfortable. Right above her ankle, she had a small brown spot which resembled a leaf. “It’s a birthmark.”

“Dana’s birthmark is on her right foot,” Alex said. “But it looks just like this.”

“I told you, I am not Dana!”

Awareness dawned on Jackie’s face. “Wow. Except for your hair, you’re a dead ringer for Dana Ivie. She’s a friend and a firefighter on Alex’s squad.”

Alex peered closely at her. “Not exactly.” He reached out and tipped her chin. “Your features are more delicate. I can see that now that it’s light out and you’ve cleaned up.” He stared hard into her eyes. “And your eyes are a shade darker.”

Jackie frowned. “How could this be?”

Alex shook his head. Whipping out his cell phone, he punched in numbers. “Give me the San Diego Days Inn.” He looked at the nurse, then back to Lauren again. “Yeah, hi. Dana Ivie’s room, please.”

Lauren hugged the bedsheet closer to her chin.

After a moment, Alex’s eyes widened. “Dana? Is that you?” He chuckled. “Nothing, I just wanted to make sure…okay, okay, I know it’s seven. Sorry for waking you. Go back to sleep.”

He clicked off.

“She’s there?” Jackie asked.

“Uh-huh.” He turned his interesting eyes on the patient. “So, Lauren Conway. Do you know you have a twin?”

“No. But I gather this Dana looks like me.”

Alex cocked his head, then reached around into his back pocket and withdrew his wallet. He leafed through several pictures before he stopped, pulled one out and handed it to her.

Lauren looked down. In the picture was a woman with long luscious hair and curves to die for outlined in a wild-print bikini. She held a surfboard and leaned on the smiling, sun-burnished man whose arm was around her. The man was Alex.

The woman looked exactly like Lauren.

The similarity made her light-headed and caused her heart to trip. What was going on here?

“THIS REALLY WASN’T necessary.” Lauren, dressed in baggy hospital scrubs, turned in the front seat of Alex’s Blazer to face him. She’d showered before she was released and her hair curled softly around her face. He didn’t know if she normally wore makeup, but without it, he could see the few freckles smattering her nose. Just like Dana’s. It was hard to believe she wasn’t related to his friend. “But I appreciate it.”

“I don’t mind. I was on my way home, anyway.”

“Still, it was nice of you.” She coughed. “I didn’t feel like driving.”

“Smoke inhalation can be bad. You should take it easy today.” He reached for the door handle. “The landlord said he’d meet you here, right?”

“Yeah.” She glanced down at her watch; her wrist so slender he’d be able to encircle it with his fingers. She touched the timepiece lovingly.

“A special possession?” he asked.

“My mother gave it to me.”

“Does she live in Courage Bay?”

“She and my father were both killed in an accident.” A shadow crossed her pretty eyes. “A little over a year ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

She gave Alex a half smile that did something to his insides. It was a smile similar to Dana’s when she was being soft and feminine. “At least the watch was spared in the fire.”

He smiled. “You’ll probably get your purse back. The flames were contained to the east side of the building. Smoke damage is the worst your office got, and that can be cleaned up.”

“Thank God I’d moved out of the side that burned. I’m lucky, I guess.”

“Well, at least you weren’t hurt badly.”

“When do you think I’ll be able to move back into my office?”

“As soon as the arson team finishes.”

Her eyes widened. “Arson team?”

“Yeah, we couldn’t determine the cause of the fire, so the arson investigator, Sam Prophet, was called in. It could have been an incendiary blaze.”

“That means set intentionally, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

She shivered.

“Come on, let’s get you inside.”

Rounding the car, he opened her door and helped her stand. She was trembling. It was about seventy degrees, warm enough at eight o’clock in the morning. “You cold?”

She rubbed her bare arms. “A little.”

“Shell-shocked, I’d guess.”

“It’s sinking in.” She peered up at him with doe eyes. “I could have died in that fire.”

That was true. People slept through fires and never woke up.

Something made him slide his arm around her. Just a little human compassion, he guessed. Still, it felt good when she leaned into him. She was slight—a lot slighter than Dana. That had registered when he’d carried her down the ladder, but didn’t make sense until now.

And she was a lot more fragile. Alex was accustomed to being around women who could beat him now and then at racquetball or who were at least worthy opponents in pickup beach volleyball.

The landlord pulled up, inquired after Lauren’s well-being, unlocked the house, then left them alone. She turned in the doorway. Wrapping her arms around her waist, she smiled at Alex. “What do you say to a man who saved your life?” she asked softly. Her voice was different from Dana’s, too—mellower, more feminine—but her speech patterns were the same.

“Thanks is enough.” But the scared look on her face made him add, “Or maybe offer him a cup of coffee. Us smoke eaters really need our caffeine, ma’am.”

Laughing, she stepped inside. “That’s the least I can do.”

She led him into her home. Studying the room, he let on a low whistle. It literally took his breath away. He’d never seen such a wide array of colors, textures and unusual furnishings. The living-room rug was raspberry and so thick that his sandals sank into it.

“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll fix the coffee.” Before she left, she opened two huge windows. The tinkle of wind chimes drifted in. Then, she disappeared into the kitchen.

He bypassed the off-white, nubby couch and sat on a long chaiselike thing that conformed to his body when he stretched out. Plump rose-colored cushions enveloped him. Picking up one of the several geometric-patterned pillows that accented the blues, grays and pinks in the room, he scanned the rest of the place.

Jeez, look at that. In the corner was a full-size hammock. He got up and crossed to it. He’d never seen one indoors. The wall behind it was decorated with an array of mesmerizing paintings. He circled around the hammock to examine them closely. The artist’s signature read “LAC.” Delicate, wispy strokes etched out the water, the mountains, the forest. They were abstract, but he knew for certain what each painting portrayed.

“What do you think?” He turned to see her holding a small tabby kitten. As he watched, she rubbed her cheek on the animal’s furry little head. Another kitten scurried at her feet.

“Are you kidding?” He pointed to a small picture. “It feels like I’m wading in that lake. I can smell those flowers.”

Her smile was broad. “I’m glad you like them.” She set the kitten on the floor—it stayed at her feet like a toddler would its mother—and, crossing to the wall, reached up and took a painting down. “Here, as a thank-you for saving my life.”

“You don’t have to do that. Just tell me who the artist is and I’ll look him up.”

“The artist is a she.”

He cocked his head. She seemed…proud. “You, Lauren?”

She nodded.

“They’re wonderful. They should be in a gallery. For sale.”

Her frown was instantaneous. “No. I wouldn’t want to do that.” She fingered the delicate teak frame. “It would be like selling a child.” She handed him the canvas. “You can adopt it. It’ll be safe with you.”

Grinning, he took the painting. She was downright charming.

“Who’s this little guy?” he asked, squatting to scratch one kitten’s head. Both sidled against his legs, making him smile.

“Butterscotch. The other’s Caramel.”

He chuckled at the names.

When the coffee finished dripping, they sat together on the couch, sinking deep into the overstuffed cushions. Over the rim of his mug, also one of her works of art, he watched her drink. She’d made herself tea—Dana preferred it over coffee, too—and she inhaled the scent first, then sipped. She closed her eyes when she swallowed. Smiled. When she finally licked her lips, he felt his body respond. He had to look away.

“I hope you like hazelnut.”

“Hazelnut?”

“The coffee’s flavored.”

“Um, sure. I do.” He had no idea what he was drinking.

He searched the room for something to focus on instead of her mouth. A picture sat on the odd-shaped end table next to the couch. It was an eight-by-ten close-up of two older people and Lauren. He slid over so he could see it better. The couple was attractive; both had vibrant blue eyes, thick gray hair and they were smiling. In the photo, Lauren was laughing, too, her brown eyes sparkling. He stared at it for a minute, then glanced at her.

“Your parents?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You were adopted.” It wasn’t a question.

“What?” She grinned. “Oh, no. I wasn’t. I know I don’t look like them, but I wasn’t adopted.”

This was odd. “Lauren, you had to be adopted. Two blue-eyed parents can’t have a brown-eyed child.”

“That’s what they say. I studied eye-color genes in biology class. When I asked Mom and Dad about it, they said I must be some kind of mutation because she saw me come out of her body and Dad cut the umbilical cord. Actually, I saw it on the home video they took.”

Alex shook his head. “This goes against everything I know. I studied genetics—my mother’s a geneticist—before I decided to follow in Dad’s footsteps. From what I learned in my courses, this is a scientific impossibility.”

She shrugged. “I guess I’m a rare breed.”

He scanned her place again. He didn’t doubt that. But something wasn’t adding up. And it bothered him. What about her similarity to Dana? What were the chances of someone looking almost exactly like his friend? Slim. What were the chances of a genetic abnormality—impossibility, really—with that same person? Nonexistent, in his mind. But he said only, “Well, I’ll ask Mom about it to be sure.”

Her look was indulgent. “Don’t bother. I know who I am.”

Suddenly he hoped—for her sake—that was true.

CHAPTER TWO

THE FIREHOUSE WAS a kaleidoscope of sights, sounds and textures. As Lauren stepped through the open door into one of four bays and onto the cold concrete floor, she ran her free hand over the rough wall. And sniffed. Gasoline. Oil. The faint acrid smell. The bays were full. Huge red trucks towered over her; they were different sizes and shapes and, she assumed, performed different tasks, as one had ladders, the other hoses. Another was the medical truck she’d ridden in. Walking up to it, she ran her hand over the cold steel surface, sensing the strength emanating from it. Everything here was so big and powerful. Intimidating. Still, she had a delivery to make. She crossed to the station house and entered the building proper. She found the kitchen by scent. It was noontime, and somebody was making lunch. The aroma of cooking beef, French fries and coffee made her stomach growl.

The kitchen area was mammoth. A hulk of a guy bent over the stove against the far wall; he was humming off-key as he mixed food in a huge frying pan. Another man prepared salad at the counter. He was also big. Two more men and a woman were seated by the window at the long oak table, which Lauren knew would be smooth and cool to the touch. It overlooked the rec area, where, from her own office window, she’d watched the firefighters play basketball and sometimes grill outside. Today, they were dressed in the dark blue uniform of Courage Bay firefighters, complete with badges on their chest pockets, a Maltese cross patch on their short sleeves, and name tags.

“Hello,” she said softly.

They peered over at her. “Dana?” the woman asked. She was more diminutive than the rest, but well-defined muscles stood out beneath her short sleeves. Briefly Lauren wondered what it would be like to be brave enough, strong enough to do what this woman did.

A woman like Dee.

“No. I’m Lauren Conway. I was at the newspaper’s offices when they caught fire last week.”

“Hey.” The man at the table stood. “I’m Mick Ramirez. Now I recognize you.”

“They said you were a carbon copy of Dana, but wow.” This from the woman again. “It’s hard to believe you could look so much alike and not be related. You sure you’re not?”

Lauren shook her head. “I’m sure.” She held up a huge shopping bag. “I brought you all something by way of thank you.”

“Something to eat?” the chef asked. “I’m Nick LaSpino, by the way.”

Everybody else gave names Lauren knew she’d never remember.

“Cookies. I made them myself.” She glanced around. “I particularly wanted to thank Alex Shields. He, um, carried me out.”

The men exchanged knowing looks.

“Alex is out back playing a pickup basketball game.”

“Oh.” It was just as well. She’d thought entirely too much about the sexy captain in the few days since the fire. Since she’d last seen him. “I won’t disturb him. I’ll be on my way to the Courier.”

“You aren’t back in the offices yet, are you?” LaSpino asked.

“No, we’re still in the temporary space set up in the vacant building next door.”

Ramirez pointed outside. “Go out through the back. You can get to the newspaper that way and catch Alex before you leave.”

“Showing off, as usual,” the woman noted in a patronizing tone.

Lauren hesitated. “All right.” She said her goodbyes and made her way to the door. One of the guys got up and opened it for her. He towered over her. Jeez, were they all giants?

Just because you’re a shrinking violet around manly men.

Damn, she thought. Go away, Dee. She didn’t need her imaginary friend nagging at her any more than she had all week. Call him, stop by the fire house, act, you sissy.

She smiled at the man who’s name tag read Begay as he opened the door for her. “Alex’d kill us if we let you go without talking to him.” His voice sounded teasing. “They’re playing over there.”

“Thanks.” Once outside, she walked the few feet to the blacktop court, which sparkled in the May noonday sun. She stood behind a barbecue pit so she could observe.

And was mesmerized by the sights and sounds.

Grunts.

Heavy breathing.

A word of direction.

Several curses.

At one point, Alex grabbed the ball, leaped up and seemed to freeze in the air—she’d title the scene “Poetry in Motion” if she had a chance to paint it. He released the ball. It arced, then swished into the net.

“Hot damn, I’m good.” He executed a high five with another guy; two others swore.

One man grabbed the ball, jogged to the top of the court and cracked his hand on it. That must signal game in play because the four men began running all over the place.

“I’m open,” somebody yelled. The ball handler hurled the ball at him, just as Alex stepped in front. He intercepted it and turned, but somebody rammed into him, landing him right on his fanny.

“Oh!” she said with a gasp.

As a group, they turned. Alex, from the blacktop, smiled up at her. It was a male smile, one that said I’m glad to see you. “Hey, Lauren, hi.”

“Are you all right?” she asked, edging up to the court.

“Yeah, sure.”

“His butt’s as hard as his head,” one guy put in.

From the firehouse, somebody called out, “Lunch in ten, guys.”

“We’re done, anyway,” another player said. They bade goodbye, leaving Lauren alone with Alex.

Lithe as a cat, he rolled to his feet and crossed to her. She fought the urge to back up. She hadn’t remembered him being quite so big, but today, out here, he looked…overwhelming. Tall, at least six-two. Really broad shoulders under a sweat-soaked gray T-shirt. His hair was damp, his face ruddy and dripping. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve. It didn’t help. “Good to see you.”

“You, too.” Her voice sounded raw, even to her own ears.

He gave her a studied look. “Still not feeling well?”

“Why would you ask that?”

“Your voice is hoarse.”

She shook her head. “No, I’m fine. I, um, came by on my way to work to bring you some cookies I baked as thank-you.”

He propped a foot up on a nearby bench and leaned over, resting his elbow on his knee. His legs were corded with muscles and covered with a sparse growth of dark hair. He wore heavy high-tops on his feet. “I got a beautiful little painting for my bedroom wall as thanks from you.”

“You put it in your bedroom?”

His light brown eyes darkened. “I will as soon as my house is painted.” He nodded to the fire station. “Hey, you wanna stay for lunch? We’re having sloppy joes and French fries.”

Oh, God, and eat with this one hundred eighty pounds of pure male flesh? “I don’t think so.”

“Why?”

She bit her lip and his eyes focused on the action. She felt his gaze in her stomach—and lower. “I’m going to the office.”

“You’re up and running again in the place next door, right?”

“Yeah. Lucky thing it was vacant. Our press is still operating in the old building’s basement, though. It wasn’t damaged.”

“How long will you be working out of the temporary offices?”

“Another couple of weeks, I guess. The west side will have to be rebuilt, but they’ll wall it off and we can work in the rest of the space.”

“I’ve been wondering how you were.”

Then why didn’t you call me? she wanted to ask. But didn’t, of course.

“As I said, I’m fine.”

His eyes flashed with male appreciation. “I’ve been thinking about you, Lauren.”

“Oh?”

“I saw your first cartoon. I recognized Deirdre—she looks like you.”

“Did you like it?”

“Sure. Is it autobiographical?”

Yes. “Of course not. It’s just a cartoon.”

“By the way, I talked to Dana. She was fascinated to have a look-alike right in town. She’s dying to meet you when she gets back.”

“That would be nice.”

He scowled. “I still can’t get over the resemblance. My mother’s away at a conference and I couldn’t reach her.”

“Oh, well, that’s not necessary.” She stepped to the side. “I’ll let you get to your lunch.”

He laid a gentle hand on her arm. “Want to have dinner some night with me, Lauren?”

“Dinner?”

“Yeah, you know, like on a date.”

“A date?”

“Uh-huh, where two people agree to go somewhere together.”

“Um, I’m busy.” She raised the purse she carried to her chest, effectively shrugging off his touch.

“I didn’t give you a day or time.”

She sighed.

“Look, if you don’t want to go out with me, just say so.”

“It’s not that.” She studied his sturdy, rugged form. His handsome face. “I just don’t think we’re very well matched.”

“Never know until you try.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. Thanks anyway.” She had to get out of there. “I hope you enjoy the cookies.” And coward that she was, she scurried through the backyard of the firehouse, crossed the street and ducked into the new offices.

She didn’t look back. If she did, she might change her mind. And that was not a good idea. She didn’t date men like Alex. She liked the poetic, sensitive, smaller kind of guy. Felt more comfortable with them.

Oh, yeah, sure. Deirdre was back. Dating men like James Tildan is a great idea.

Well, her ex-fiancé had been her type.

Until he stole from you.

God, that stung. Lauren had buried the hurt and didn’t let it surface too often. Just because James had turned out to be a creep didn’t mean all men like him were.

Except for James, you haven’t kept one of those sensitive types around yet.

No, and she didn’t miss them all that much. Though she did miss sex. A lot. As she stepped into her makeshift office, she let herself think for a minute what sex would be like with Alex.

Dazzling. Exciting. Adventurous.

She remembered how strong he was, carrying her down the ladder. How safe she’d felt when he put his arm around her in front of her house. But damn, she couldn’t handle a big, strong, tough firefighter. His physical presence intimidated her.

Nope, she’d made the right decision.

Yeah, sure you did, you lily-livered wimp.

THEY WERE GATHERED around the window when Alex strode into the firehouse. Which was all he needed. He was good and pissed.

“So, she say she’d go out with you?” Robertson asked.

Ramirez snorted. “She get swept away by your charm like all the ladies, gringo?”

When he remained silent, Robertson winked at the others. “Don’t tell us you didn’t ask her out. We know you did.”

“Like hell.” They’d never let him hear the end of it if they knew she’d blown him off.

LaSpino called out, “Hey, come look at these.”

Saved by the chef, who had a legendary sweet tooth. Alex crossed to the table and looked down at the cookies Lauren had brought. “Holy hell.”

There had to be twenty dozen of them. He picked one up. “A Maltese cross.” The insignia of firefighting. “It’s beautiful.” Frosted in red and yellow, Lauren had even put a badge number on it. 527. His.

“There’s some boots and helmets, too,” LaSpino murmured. They were also frosted with details—a black line for the sole, yellow reflectors.

“They had to take her forever,” Janey Lopez said.

Another asked, “Why’d she wrap each one in plastic?”

“So they’d stay fresh, moron,” LaSpino told him.

“Didn’t she know we’d chow ’em down right away?”

Still, nobody moved to take one.

“Well, lookee here.” This from Alvarez. “A helmet, frosted in red.”

“It’s probably for me,” joked Will Begay, the captain on the engine. Captains wore colored helmets so they could be found easily in an operation. Everybody knew, just like the badge number, this cookie was for Alex.

Then why the hell had she said no to a freakin’ date? “Women!” he quipped, and stalked out of the kitchen to the bathroom. The guys’ razzing followed him.

Under the shower’s spray, he thought about her. She wasn’t exactly Miss America. Still, she was pretty. As pretty as Dana? Hmm. He hadn’t thought about Dana in those terms for years. But Lauren was definitely as pretty, only in a different way. He could still remember how she’d drunk the tea, how she steeped herself in it. Cherished it. Hell! Just thinking of that had an effect on his body.

And she was softer than Dana. Delicate. But delicate women were probably a lot of trouble. They’d need coddling. You’d have to do things for them. They had never been his type. Out of the shower, he pulled on sweatpants in deference to the woman subbing on their shift and grumbled, “I don’t need any wilting flowers in my life.”

“She looks more like a vibrant little rose to me.”

Damn, he didn’t know anybody else was in here. Will Begay had come out of one of the stalls and was washing his hands at a sink. Rubbing his head with a towel—it was too late for backpedaling—Alex mumbled something unintelligible.

At least Will was trustworthy. The only Native American on Alex’s squad, he seemed more self-possessed than the rest of the guys. He and Alex had been friends for years.

Will leaned against the wall as Alex dried off. “She said no, didn’t she?”

“Yep.”

“You haven’t been shot down in a long time.”

“Nope.”

“Giving up?”

“Uh-huh. Before I invest. I got a feeling she’s high maintenance.”

“She seemed pretty interested in you. I looked out the window, and she was watching you on the court. Acted like she was studying a foreign species, but she was fascinated.”

“Yeah?”

“And the red frosted helmets weren’t for me.”

He snorted.

Begay hesitated, then spoke. “She’s a dead ringer for Dana.”

There was something about his tone….

“So?”

“That’s not why you’re interested, is it?”

“Nope.”

Will pushed away from the wall. “Good.”

Alex asked, “Will? Your wife, Mareeta?”

“Yeah?”

“Is she high maintenance?”

“In my experience, Shields, all women are. You just gotta find one who’s worth it.” He nodded to the bay. “We saved you some food. What time are we training?”

“This afternoon. About four, if there are no calls.”

“On what?”

“Orientation for that new warehouse they just finished over on Twelfth Street.”

The PA blared. “Car accident at Ronstat Street. Truck One and Paramedic One go into service.”

Alex grabbed his stuff. “That’s me,” he said, and raced out of the john.

When he got back, he did some paperwork until four, then called the group together. There were nineteen of them, including the HazMat guys, who were also housed in the Jefferson Avenue firehouse. They’d need this training, too, because the warehouse would contain hazardous material.

When the crowd settled down, Alex explained the purpose of the session and told them they’d be going to the site on their next shift to check out the place before it opened. He gave them stats with questions to go with them. “I’d like you to look at the information I’ve got here. First, the warehouse is three thousand square feet. How long will it take to search it out for victims?”

“Not usually a lot of people in a warehouse.” This from LaSpino.

“No, but a thorough search still needs to be done.”

Somebody suggested a time frame.

“So how long does one SCBA last?”

They got the picture and discussed ways to search effectively and divvy the warehouse into manageable parts to accommodate their air supply.

“Second point—which hoses do we lay?”

Janey tackled this one. “Our usual? The one and three-quarters.”

Alex said, “It’s only forty-five feet long. Can it make it to all the walls?” When everybody shrugged, he said, “Let’s figure it out.” They did the math on a blackboard Alex had set up behind him. That length of hose would stretch to some walls and not others. They discussed alternatives.

In the next hour, Alex covered other points: he talked about what would be housed in the warehouse from the list provided by the owners. They studied it.

“Now let’s analyze the conditions here that you wouldn’t encounter in a bedroom fire. Any suggestions?”

The guys speculated there would be additional oxygen from all the doors that would be open when they attacked with water. They also mentioned decreased visibility.

Alex ended the session with some recommendations of his own: “We need to use the closest access doors. We need to back up with larger lines. And accountability is an absolute.” He waited for this to sink in. “Last thing to talk about is the trusses…”

When they finished training, it was after five. Restless, Alex wanted some fresh air and privacy. He grabbed the paper and headed outside before dinner. Telling himself he was just curious, he sat at the picnic table and flipped to the comics. Lauren’s cartoon, Dee and Me, wasn’t in every day, so it probably wasn’t even here.

It was.

Frame One:

The ocean. Deirdre and Lily stand on the dock. Deirdre wears a chic suit, holds a surfboard. Come on, Lily, let me show you.

Lily is dressed in a dowdy bathing suit, horn-rimmed sunglasses and has zinc oxide on her nose. I can’t swim. You know that.

Frame Two:

Dee is in the water. You said you were taking lessons.

The bubbles indicate Lily’s thoughts. I wish I was more like her.

Frame Three:

Lily stands on the dock looking dejected. She’s at the very end, where waves crash, watching Dee, mumbling Some people have all the fun.

Frame Four:

Other swimmers jostle Lily as they jump into the water.

Lily teeters on the edge of the dock after one particular shove.

Frame Five:

A big, muscle-bound boy skids into view, grabs her from behind before she falls.

A little eek comes from Lily.

Alex reread the cartoon. Hmm. A shy retiring female being rescued. Did this have something to do with her? With him? He glanced up at the building temporarily housing the newspaper. He’d never been a no-means-yes kind of guy, but the comic, coupled with the cookies, made him think trying again for a date was a good idea. He’d just whipped out his cell phone to call her, when she emerged from the building.

With news reporter Toby Hanson. Toby covered the fire-department beat and often showed up at their calls. The guy was her height, slender, nicely dressed. He wore wire-rimmed glasses. Alex remembered thinking before he was kind of nerdy, not really a man’s man. Right now, he had his hand at Lauren’s back. They walked toward a small Toyota, and Hanson opened the passenger door for her. She was just about to get in when she looked up. She must have seen Alex staring, phone in hand, because she gave a slight wave and slid into the car.

I’m busy.

For some reason, he had never thought about her having a boyfriend. So that’s why she’d blown Alex off.

It made him feel better to know that.

Sort of.

LAUREN STARED at Toby Hanson and realized that she’d never been more bored. Immediately, she chided herself for the unkind thought. Toby had been sweet and sincere with her since she arrived in Courage Bay. “I’m sorry about not sitting on the rooftop,” he said. “My allergies are bothering me.”

“That’s all right.” She’d have preferred to be in the outdoor restaurant. Would Alex have wanted to sit up there? “This is a great place inside, too.” It was. The Courage Bay Bar and Grill was an off-duty hangout for the rescue personnel in the community and bore signs of its main customers.

“Isn’t it? The father of the owners, the Goodmans, bought this building when it was an old movie theater, then converted it to a restaurant. His son Larry and daughter-in-law run it now. They’re all descendants of the sailors of the Ranger who settled here.”

Lauren had researched the history of Courage Bay before coming here. The ten-mile strip of coastal area, near Los Angeles, had been inhabited solely by Native Americans until a ship called the Ranger came upon the coast during a horrific storm. The ship was ready to capsize when twelve very brave natives had risked their lives to save the sailors, who ended up staying and intermarrying with their rescuers. Lauren loved reading the stories, especially the somewhat mystical connection of the town’s current rescue personnel and those brave natives who’d put themselves in danger for others.

“Lauren?”

“Sorry, I was just thinking about the Ranger.” She glanced around. “I love the interior of this place.” The dining room was softly lit, with buttery-cream walls and smooth, rich oak trim. It smelled like seafood and the freshly baked bread they’d served before dinner. She broke off a piece and brought it to her mouth. It was flaky. Light. “I hope all the food’s as good as this.”

His eyes were riveted on her mouth. “Did anybody ever tell you you have a really sensuous way of eating?”

“Yes, people have said that. I enjoy food.”

“You savor it.”

“Observations from an ace reporter.”

He shook his head.

“What? Your coverage of the goings-on with the police and firefighters is very insightful.”

“I wish Perry would give me more challenging stuff. Or that I’d have the gumption to leave the Courier.”

The waiter arrived and took their orders for Veal Marsala. She and Toby were well matched in tastes. Alex would no doubt have picked the prime rib. A man’s meal. Toby was more her type.

Deirdre’s voice broke into her thoughts. Then why are you thinking about the hunky firefighter so much?

I’m not.

“Lauren, you look like you’re someplace else again.”

“Oh, sorry. You were talking about your job.”

“I like it well enough. I just think I’m underappreciated.”

“Then you should do something else.”

“Is that why you moved here?”

“No, I came to Courage Bay because my roommate from college teaches school here. After my mother and father died a year ago, I was at loose ends in Benicia. I’d been trying to get the cartoon off the ground, so this seemed like a good opportunity.” And since her parents, who were both lawyers, had left her a lot of money, she was free to pursue her interests and work only part-time.

She didn’t tell him about her broken engagement. Or James’s deception.

“Do you mind doing the layout Perry assigned you until you get the cartoon going?” he asked her.

“No, it’s fine. I like helping with the artwork.”

He nodded to her clothes. “That jacket’s a work of art itself.” It was several shades of pink and wine, like a patchwork quilt. Gold threads outlined each small square.

“I made it.”

“A woman of many talents.”

They managed small talk while they ate their salads, then their meals arrived. She sipped the white wine he’d ordered for them both and cut the veal. “This is so tender, it melts in my mouth.”

Again he watched her. Smiling. Hmm. Seemed as if he was interested. She wondered what he’d kiss like. Then she wondered what Alex would kiss like.

The dinner finished pleasantly. “I’d like to see the rest of this place,” she told Toby. “I’ve only been in town two weeks and I’ve never been here. Would you mind if we looked around before we left?”

“No, of course not. It’s cool. You’ll love the Wall.”

“What’s that?”

“I’ll show you.”

He led her to the far side of the room to the Remembrance Wall. It was filled with names and pictures of rescue personnel who’d died in the line of duty. “This is remarkable.” Lauren ran her finger along the frames, studying the faces of the men and women who’d lost their lives saving others.

“The Goodmans’ son is here.” Toby pointed to a picture.

A young, redheaded boy stood, looking proud in his fire department blues. She saw so much life there, so much missed. It made her sad.

“He was a paramedic. After he died, Larry and Louise put up this wall.”

“A lovely tribute.”

They headed to the back, to what was called the Function Room. She laughed when she saw it. It was a man’s paradise: three huge TVs, pool tables, darts and framed photos and articles around the perimeter. It even smelled male—with a faint hint of aftershave. “Did you write any of these articles?”

“I’ve written some they’ve hung in the bar, though I don’t think there are any of mine in this room. I don’t hang out much in here. I’m not good at these games.”

Lauren perused the pictures. One was captioned “Captain Saves Little Girl.” The captain was Alex. He was smiling broadly, holding a small child. His face was grimy, and he was dressed in turnout gear, which was dirt smeared. For a moment, she couldn’t take her eyes off him.

She followed Toby, looking at other articles, photos and various memorabilia in the back room, then they went to the bar. More accolades were out there.

More Alex. A casual shot of him with his crew. Lauren’s eyes zeroed in on a woman. Dana. Damn. She looked even more like Lauren in this picture.

Toby gave voice to her thoughts. “She could be your twin.”

Lauren peered over at him. “You must know her, Toby. Why didn’t you ever say anything about how much I resemble her?”

He shrugged. “You’ve only been here two weeks. Truthfully, I thought maybe you were related, and since you didn’t say anything, you must not want to talk about it.”

“That was thoughtful. But we’re not sisters, or anything else.”

“Okay. Just fate, I guess.” He nodded to the wall. “Here’s an article I wrote.”

She moved closer. Please don’t let it be about Alex.

It was an off-the-job rescue. Alex had been out of town on vacation and drove past a house on fire. He’d spotted a kid in the window two stories up. He’d called 911 and then shinnied up a tree to rescue the child. On the way down, a limb had cracked and they’d fallen. The girl was fine, but Alex had broken his arm. He’d received a medal from the mayor for his actions.

By the time they left the grill, Lauren felt she’d been to dinner with Alex Shields—he’d been in her thoughts so much and his pictures had been all around. Damn. She got her car from the newspaper office parking lot and drove home, wondering about her preoccupation with the man. She was distracted as she parked in the driveway, got out and hurried up to her house. When she had moved here, she’d wanted her own space. Since she had the money, she’d rented, with an option to buy, this small stucco one-story home on a quiet street. The landlord had even agreed to go half on any redecorating. She liked the place, she thought, as she reached the porch and unlocked the door.

But once inside, she stopped in her tracks.

It could be nothing, but…the room smelled different, almost like cologne. The scent was male.

And the desk drawers were slightly ajar.

And her throw pillows were on the floor.

Lauren was neat, and knew she hadn’t neglected to close the drawers. She hadn’t scattered pillows on the floor before she’d left, either.

With a sinking feeling, she realized somebody had been in her home.

CHAPTER THREE

ALEX STARED out at the second-graders and thought about the fact that by now he could have had a seven-year-old child. He was thirty-four. Sometimes he regretted that he hadn’t already married and started a family. Sometimes, he was glad as hell. Still, he wanted a woman to share his life with, to eventually have kids with. It just hadn’t happened yet.

“Alex?” The teacher, Hannah Nielson, smiled up at him. She was engaged to his friend, Vince Wojohowitz, a cop, and Alex liked her. “You with us?”

“Yeah, sorry I’m a little vague. I was on last night and we had calls.” Then, when he finally did get to sack out, he’d dreamed of…damn, he wasn’t going to do this.

“Well, we’re ready to start if you are.”

“Sure.”

“Hannah?”

Both of them turned to the door. Lauren. Jeez, what was fate up to here?

“Hey, Lauren.” Hannah smiled. “Have you met Alex Shields, one of our bravest?”

Lauren bit her lip. Some lipstick—the color of rum—came off on her teeth. “Yes, I have.” She smiled. “He’s the one who pulled me out of the fire.”

Hannah’s brows arched. “Oh, Lord, I didn’t know that.”

Lauren’s eyes filled with emotion. “I’m very grateful to our bravest.”

“Just part of the job, ma’am. And those cookies you made—we feasted, I’ll tell you.”

“I’m glad you liked them.”

“What are you doing here?” he asked her.

“I volunteer in Hannah’s classroom.”

Hannah squeezed Lauren’s arm. “We were roommates at UCLA.”

As with Toby Hanson, Lauren had thought it curious that Hannah hadn’t ever mentioned her likeness to Dana. She had asked about it earlier, and Hannah said she’d never met Dana personally in the year she’d been in Courage Bay. She associated more with Vince’s cop buddies. When Lauren had found a picture of her on the Net and showed Hannah, her friend had gasped at the similarity. She, too, found it hard to believe they weren’t related. Lauren wished people would stop saying that.

“How about you?” Lauren asked. “Why are you here?”

“Alex does most of the fire instruction in this school. I think he’s a frustrated teacher.”

“Please, I could never handle them on a day-today basis.” He nodded to the class.

“Speaking of which, I think the natives are restless.”

Flushing, Lauren stepped away. “I’ll just go to the back of the room.”

Alex watched her walk away. She wore a gauzy sage-green skirt, which swirled around her calves, and a matching top. It was a peasant kind of style with the tie around the neckline. Her dangly earrings accented the outfit. They were made of tiny green stones.

Damn! What was wrong with him, noticing every little thing about the woman. He turned to the students. “Hi, guys. Remember me?”

“Captain Shields.” They all spoke at once.

One kid asked, “We gonna get to do the fire extinguisher again?”

“Not today. We’re going to talk about what a person should do if he or she catches on fire.”

From the back of the room, Lauren gasped.

He threw her a knowing grin. “Some people think we shouldn’t scare you with all the possibilities of what could happen, but we’ve already talked about how to prevent fires and precautions to take. It’s important to know what happens in the event of a fire.”

Lauren blushed. He gave her a smile that was meant to ease her embarrassment. She blushed deeper.

“So, look up here.” He turned and wrote on the board. “Everybody repeat this for me.”

The kids yelled, “Stop, drop and roll!”

“I don’t suppose there are any volunteers who want to help me illustrate the technique?”

Sixteen hands shot up. God, he loved this. Maybe he was a frustrated teacher.

THE MAN UNNERVED HER. Lauren was right to have said no to a date with him. So what if she couldn’t get him out of her mind? She would, if she could stop having contact with him. Who would have guessed that he’d be at school today? She’d agreed to help out Hannah with some end-of-the-year art projects, and never imagined she’d run into the one guy she’d been thinking about way too much.

Concentrating on the stars she was drawing, she listened to his strong baritone and the rumbles of laughter from him and the kids. She stole a sideways glance at them. He didn’t seem to mind being on the floor with the kids, even though he wore a nice outfit: a red silk T-shirt that outlined his broad shoulders and washboard abs, and pressed khakis, which highlighted his trim hips and long legs. “Man At Ease With Children,” she’d title the scene at the front of the room. He had the kids circled around him. A little girl was demonstrating the technique of Stop, drop and roll. Alex spoke softly to her. Gently he eased her down to the mat he’d spread out. The tender gesture made Lauren think of husbands and fathers. Her own father had been a wonderful man, even if both her parents had been as different from her as desert to ocean. They’d loved her dearly and were stymied by the fact she’d always felt a sense of not belonging. Thoughts of the loving man and woman who had raised her made her eyes mist.

Damn. She was feeling too much today. Probably because she hadn’t slept enough last night. When she’d gotten home, she’d been sure someone had been in the house.

First, there was the scent of the man’s aftershave in the air. The policeman who’d come had thought she was crazy….

“Let me get this right,” Officer Carlos Jerado asked after he’d checked out the house and taken her statement. “You smelled somebody?”

“I know it sounds silly, but I have a heightened sensory awareness. Besides, there were the other things.”

Like the pillows that weren’t where she’d put them.

“You know where every pillow is?” Jerado had asked, indicating the ten or twelve in the living room. “As for the desk drawers, you sure you closed them?”

By the time the cop left, Lauren had felt like a fool.

Still, she knew she wasn’t imagining things.

Would Alex have believed her?

Ah, back to the sexy captain, who right now was laughing so hard with the kids he was holding his stomach. It made her own stomach do a funny little two-step.

“GOODBYE, CAPTAIN SHIELDS.” Interesting how a group like this could speak in unison.

“Bye, guys. I hope I see you next year.”

Hannah came up to him. “Thanks, Alex. I’m going to take the kids to an assembly now.” She looked to Lauren, who sat facing the back of the room. “Lauren, I’ll see you in a bit.”

Lauren glanced over her shoulder. “Okay, Hannah. Goodbye, Alex.” She returned to her task.

After Hannah left, Alex stared at Lauren. Drawn to her like fire to air, he ambled back, not exactly sure what he was going to say. Over her shoulder, he saw she’d cut out stars and was sketching faces on them. The faces were those of the kids who’d just left.

“Those are beautiful.”

She jumped. “Oh.”

He put his hand on her shoulder. Her hair gleamed in the overhead lights. He could smell the lemony scent of her shampoo. “Sorry.”

She pivoted in the chair, dislodging his hand. “No, that’s okay, I’m just spooked today.” She smiled up at him. Mauve smudges shadowed her eyes. “Sounds like you had a good time there.”

“I love working with kids.”

“They obviously love you. I’m sorry if you thought I was critical before.”

“No, it’s okay. A lot of people are afraid to talk to kids candidly.”

“Yes, I know. I always felt that protesters of sex education in schools were nuts.”

Sex, huh? “Me, too.” He studied the lines on her face. “What did you mean you were spooked today?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Tell me.”

She stood then, so she was more on eye level with him. “Last night when I got home, I thought somebody had been in my house.”

“What?”

“No, let me clarify that. I know somebody had been there.” She told him about the clues. “The policeman thought I was crazy. He said there were no signs of anyone breaking in.” She shrugged. “He finally suggested the landlord had come in without telling me.”

“Did you ask the landlord?”

“No, he wasn’t answering his phone last night or today.”

“Does anybody else have a key?” Alex asked.

“Hannah. She told me she wasn’t at my house last night.”

Arching his brows, he couldn’t help flirting with her. “No guy has a key?”

Her brown eyes twinkled. “No, no guy.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What, that there’s no man or about the break-in?”

“Definitely about the break-in.”

She shook her head, then turned, as if uncomfortable with the exchange. “Well, I’ve got to get back to this.” She nodded to the artwork. “I wanted to finish before the kids return from the assembly.”

Her dismissal stung. “Sure.” He straightened. “Take care.”

Feeling like a second-grader himself, he headed out to his car. This was dumb. The lady was definitely not interested. He tried to shrug off his pique as he strode to his Blazer and slid inside. He was tired, so he’d go home, sack out, then find something interesting to do tonight. For a minute, he stared at the school. Lauren was an enigma. And it looked as if she was going to stay that way.

He caught sight of the morning’s paper that he’d tossed on the front seat. Hell. He picked it up and leafed through the pages. Sure enough, another Dee and Me.

Frame One:

The muscle-bound boy, still holding on to her arms, smiles at Lily. You okay?

Lily is being shy. Oh, sure.

Frame Two:

They’re off the dock now. Lily peers up at the boy. Bubbles indicate her thoughts: Jeez, he’s so big. So handsome. Eyes the color of amber.

Amber? Alex’s eyes were light brown. That was amber, wasn’t it? He read on.

The boy has a goofy expression on his face. Wanna go get a soda with me? he asks.

Frame Three:

Um, no thanks.

Oh, okay. Looking dejected, the boy walks away.

Frame Four:

Lily appears despondent.

Deirdre is on the scene. You wanted to go out with him. Why didn’t you?

He makes me uncomfortable.

Frame Five:

Deirdre shakes her head in disgust. Boys are supposed to do that to girls. It’s their job.

Alex stared at the cartoon. If this wasn’t a message, he didn’t know what would be. Right then, he saw her exit the building. He got out of his truck as she walked toward her car, which, apparently, happened to be near his. Must be fate, he decided.

She came up to him. “Something wrong?”

His grin was cocky. He held up the newspaper. “Not that I can see. I read today’s Dee and Me.”

Talk about being uncomfortable. She shifted on her feet. “Oh, did you, um, like it?”

“Lauren, you really do want to go out with me, don’t you?”

“I said I didn’t think it was a good idea.”

He tapped the newspaper on his leg. “Then why did you write this?”

“It’s a cartoon, Alex.” But he could see her blush. “And from the input on the Web site, readers like the hook of the muscle-bound boy.”

“I think your unconscious mind knows you want to go out with me.”

Her smile was dazzling. It gave the sun competition. “Are you always this persistent?”

“I don’t usually have to be.” Never in his life had he pursued a woman so aggressively. Like jealousy, it just wasn’t in his dating repertoire.

The arrogant comment drew a smile from her. “I don’t doubt that.” His phone rang. “Well,” she said, like a prisoner given a late pardon. “You’d better get that.”

“I will.” He grasped her wrist, his fingers easily encircling it. “You are staying, however.” He dug out his phone and flipped it open. “Shields.”

“Alex, this is Sam Prophet.” The arson investigator. “The cause of the fire at the newspaper office has been officially declared arson.”

He saw Lauren’s quizzical look.

“I see.”

“We’ve already done interviews with everybody, but we’re going to talk to your men again, as well as the occupants of the building that night.”

That would include Lauren. “Sam, hold on a second.” He covered the mouthpiece. “The fire was arson.”

“Oh, dear.”

“The investigator wants to talk to you again.”

“Of course.”

Sliding his fingers from her wrist to her hand, he spoke into the phone. “Sam, I’m with Lauren Conway. You should talk to her right away.”

“I’m swamped this afternoon.”

“I think you’ll want to do it soon. Her house was broken into last night.”

The investigator muttered an expletive. “Do you think the incidents are connected?”

“I wouldn’t rule it out.”

“Can she come over right now?”

Her face had paled when Alex told her about the arson. Now that he’d made a connection with the break-in, she was ashen. He felt an urge to protect her.

“Lauren, can you talk to the investigator now?”

She nodded.

“I’ll bring her,” he told Prophet, and clicked off.

She squared her slim shoulders and withdrew her hand from his. So she had some grit. That trait reminded him of Dana. Thoughts of his friend made him wonder if Lauren’s resemblance to Dana had any bearing here. He’d been…disconcerted by that right from the start. Was the fire somehow linked to her similarity to Dana? Was there something sinister in that connection?

She said, “You think the fire and the break-in at my house are connected?”

“Let’s just say it’s a big coincidence.”

“So you think…” Her voice broke off. Fear flashed in those dark brown eyes. “You think somebody wants to harm me?”

“It’s a possibility. Come on, let’s go see Prophet.” He took her elbow and began to usher her around to the other side of his Blazer.

“My car…”

“We’ll come back and get it.”

She looked away. “All right. Thanks, I appreciate you going with me.”

He grinned, trying to lighten the moment. “Well, I’m sure Dee would approve.”

She smiled and he opened the car door for her.

SAM PROPHET WAS a big man—they seemed to grow them that way here in Courage Bay. He was over six feet tall with dark blond hair and smoky gray eyes. Though he smiled, he was all business. “Ms. Conway, nice to see you again.”

Lauren stared at the arson investigator. This whole thing was turning into a surreal dream. “Nice to see you again, too.”

He shook his head, watching her. “I can’t get over how much you look like Dana Ivie. I thought that when I first met you.”

“Everyone’s been saying so.”

“It’s somewhat uncanny.”

She shrugged.

“I take it you’ve recovered from the fire.”

Nodding, she said, “The smoke inhalation wasn’t that bad.”

“So, it’s arson.” Alex sat beside her facing the captain. She glanced at him when he spoke. His long, rangy body was stuffed into a small chair, and his legs were stretched out to accommodate his size.

“Yeah, and we know the source of the fire. I wanted to talk to you again, Lauren, to see if you’ve remembered anything more that might have looked or felt suspicious.”

Concentrating hard, Lauren sighed. “I don’t think so, Captain. I fell asleep in my office about midnight, which means I’d been out three hours before Alex rescued me.”

“Hear or see anything when you came into the office?”

“I’d been there all day. The only people I saw that night were Perry O’Connor and Toby Hanson.”

“Yeah, they were working late, too, you said.”

“Truthfully, I just assumed they were working late. But Toby told me the other night he’d left at the end of the day and come back.”

The investigator knit his brow. “Then he wasn’t there the whole time…”

“Is it important?”

“It may be. We’re trying to get a bead on the comings and goings of everyone who works in the building.”

“What was the cause of the fire, Sam?” Alex asked.

“It was set in a storage room where back issues are kept. The torch ignited them. We found evidence of gasoline. Definitely amateur. It doesn’t fit the arson-for-profit profile.”

Lauren didn’t understand. “Excuse me?”

“There are several types of arsonists.” He held up a folder. “We’ve got profiles on each one. They’re broken down by kinds of fires set, accelerants used, personality types for each one.” He pointed to the computer. “With new software, we can draw some of our own conclusions.”

“That’s good,” Lauren said. “Then you know what you’re looking for?”

“Except in this case, the guy doesn’t really fit any of the profiles.”

“You know it was a man?” she asked.

“Most arsonists are male, Caucasian, young, below-average intelligence, have some kind of criminal history and have difficulty establishing normal social relationships.” He sounded as if he was reading from a report.

“Wow.”

He leaned forward in his seat and out of the corner of her eye she saw Alex scowl. Sam Prophet seemed to be showing off a bit. Was it for her? “Some studies say forty percent of all fires are set for profit. Half are set for revenge, the remaining ten percent are for fun—pyromaniacs, juveniles.”

Alex asked, “What about vanity fires?” Jeez, was he showing off, too? He addressed Lauren. “Those are started by the guy who sets the fire sticks around to help out firefighters, to get credit for assisting.”

“They’re often ex-firefighters or wanna-bes.” Prophet again.

“I had no idea arson was so…predictable. It’s fascinating.”

“If this case doesn’t fit the arson-for-profit profile who are you looking for?” Alex asked.

“Well, three areas come up as possibilities. Concealment of a crime leads me to suspect a juvenile fire starter, although those kids usually set fires in vacant buildings or at home in garages or basements. It could be a thrill seeker, since the devices they use tend to be simple, like this one. Or it could be hate/revenge arson.” He focused intently on Lauren. “That’s what I want to talk to you about, especially since Shields said you had a break-in.”

“Well, I think I had a break-in, but the police don’t.”

His gaze was razor sharp. Lauren realized she wouldn’t want to be a suspect questioned by him. “In any case, is there anybody you know of that would want to harm you? Or scare you? I think if this guy was really after you, the fire would have gotten to your office sooner. The fire department had plenty of time to put it out before it reached your side of the building.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“Can you think of anybody?”

“Seriously, no. I don’t have any enemies, as far as I know.”

Alex grinned. “Now why doesn’t that surprise me?”

She smiled at him.

“How about disgruntled boyfriends?”

She looked taken aback.

“I’m sorry to pry, Ms. Conway, but this is a criminal investigation. I’m a police officer, too.”

“Oh, sure.” She moved restlessly in her seat and glanced at Alex.

“Would you like Captain Shields to leave?”

“No, of course not.” She lifted her chin. “I was engaged before I left Benicia.”

She saw Alex stiffen.

“Who broke the engagement?”

“I did.”

“May I ask why?”

“He stole from me.”

“What?” Alex blurted out.

“James and I were engaged. He’s an investment broker. I inherited some money when my parents died and he offered to invest it for me.”

“Did he get a lot?” Alex asked.

“No, I caught on quickly.”

Prophet had written down what she was saying. “Has he contacted you since you moved here?”

“Yes.”

“Has he come down to Courage Bay?”

“Once, to try to talk me into coming back to Benicia.”

She sighed, thinking of James’s sensitive face and lying tongue.

“Tell me about the theft.”

“He has a gambling problem. He contends it’s an addiction and he meant me no harm.”

“As I said, torches often have prior criminal records.”

“I didn’t prosecute.”

“Why not?” Alex sounded outraged.

“Several reasons. One was because I got most of the money back. The others I’d prefer not to discuss, if you don’t mind.”

Prophet seemed okay with that, but Alex’s look said he minded.

“We’ll need to talk to him,” Prophet told her.

Her heartbeat sped up. “I don’t really want to see him again.” It was too painful to confront the man she thought she loved. And to confront her own feelings of inadequacy regarding James.

“No reason you have to,” Alex told her. “Right, Prophet?”

“Not that I can see.” He glanced at his watch. “Could you give me the particulars on him now, Ms. Conway?”

The litany Lauren gave of James’s vital stats—forty, divorced, no history of violence or uncontrolled rage—drained what little energy she had. Finally she finished, stood and bade goodbye to Prophet. As she and Alex left headquarters and drove to get her car, she could feel the strain in her sagging shoulders.

In the school parking lot, Alex pulled to a stop by her Accord and turned in his seat. He was really good-looking, with his sculpted features and strong jaw. “I’m sorry, Lauren. This stuff about James must be hard on you.”

“On my pride, maybe.” Now that he knew about James, she wondered how a man like Alex could still be interested in her.

Tenderly Alex reached over and smoothed his knuckles down her cheek. “The guy must have been nuts to blow it with you.”

“Thanks for saying that.”

“It’s the truth.”

Glancing out his windshield, she stared at the setting sun. At the clear blue of the sky. She loved this time of day in California, just before supper. “Alex?”

“Yeah?”

“How would you like a home-cooked meal tonight?”

His smile was so sexy it made her heart trip in her chest. “I’d love one. Especially if you’re gonna cook it for me, pretty lady.”

“I’ve already cooked it. I was restless this morning and made quiche, an ambrosia salad and fudge brownies.”

Again, the smile.

She gave him a sideways glance. “Unless you don’t eat quiche.”

“Is this some kind of test, Lauren?”

“Of course not. Guys don’t actually believe in the adage, ‘Real men don’t eat quiche’ anymore, do they?”

“No, ’course not, ma’am.” His eyes were twinkling. The red of his shirt highlighted their amber color.

“Have you ever had quiche, Alex?”

“Sure. Lots of times.”

“Did anybody ever tell you you’re a very bad liar?”

“Me, lying?” He nodded to her car. “I’ll follow you.”

Lauren hummed on the drive home. She and Alex laughed all the way up the steps to her house. The mirth stopped, however, when she opened her front door. And felt the breeze.

“Did you leave your windows open, Lauren?”

Fear paralyzed her.

“Lauren?”

“No, I didn’t leave any windows open.”

CHAPTER FOUR

VINCE WOJOHOWITZ LOOKED like a younger version of Arnold Schwarzenegger. Alex had called his friend, a police detective, when he and Lauren discovered the open window in her living room. Not wanting a repeat of last night, where the cop, who turned out to be Vince’s partner, had doubted Lauren, Alex had decided to call in his buddy.

“Okay, Lauren, let me get this down on paper.” Perched on the edge of her lounger, Vince whipped out a pad and grabbed the pencil from behind his ear. “Shoot.”

Lauren ran a shaky hand over her kitten Caramel’s back. The movement of her fingers was slow and languid, and Alex’s eyes were glued to it. Hannah, sitting next to Lauren on the couch, touched her friend’s shoulder. She and Vince had been about to go to dinner when Alex called.

Alex listened to Lauren’s melodic voice retell the simple facts: they’d come home, she was certain she hadn’t left the window open or unlocked, especially after thinking someone had broken in the night before, yet the window was ajar. Alex bent down and picked up Butterscotch, Lauren’s other cat. The appropriately titled feline burrowed into him, much like Lauren had when she’d discovered the window. He’d been moved by her vulnerability. “Be sure to tell Vince about last night.”

“I already did.”

“You need to again, so I get it right.” Vince glanced at his fiancée and smiled.

After they finished, Vince rose. “Well, I’ll be going.”

From where he stood by the window, Alex saw Lauren frown. “What do you mean, I?”

“Honey, I’m going to stay with you.” Hannah gave her a sympathetic look. She was dressed to the nines in a slinky black dress and killer heels.

“No way. I’ve already interrupted your evening. I’m fine.”

The couple looked torn.

Hannah said, “You shouldn’t be alone.”

“I’ll stay.” Alex grinned. “Lauren promised me dinner anyway.”

Hannah shot her a quizzical glance. “Oh, well then.” She rose and leaned into Vince. “I’ll come back after dinner to spend the night.”

Watching Vince’s face, Alex had to bite back a smile. Police officers and firefighters routinely sacrificed personal time for the job. But Alex could tell his buddy had romance in mind, and the guy was struggling to conceal his disappointment.

“Absolutely not.” Dislodging the cat, Lauren stood. “Under no circumstances will you do that.” When her friend started to object, Lauren insisted. “I won’t let you in if you come back, Hannah. I mean it.”

Alex liked her spunk, well hidden under her demure manner. Not to mention her unselfishness. She’d been mighty scared when she thought someone had broken in a second time.

“All right. But if you get frightened after Alex leaves, promise you’ll call my cell.”

“I promise. Now scoot so I don’t completely ruin your evening out.”

Dropping the cat on the floor, Alex walked them to the foyer with Lauren. “Thanks, buddy,” he said, punching Vince in the arm. “I owe you one.”

“Call Sam Prophet about this.”

“We will.”

When they left, Lauren turned and faced him. “You’re a nice guy, Alex Shields.”

He couldn’t help it. Reaching out, he pushed a stray tendril of silky hair behind her ear. He brushed the knuckles of his other hand over her equally silky cheek. The texture of Lauren entranced him. “You okay?”

She wrinkled her nose. “I hate inconveniencing anybody.”

“People care about you, Lauren. They want to help.”

“I know.” She smiled. “Thanks for staying.”

“Hey, it’s a tough job, but somebody’s got to do it.” He watched her. “I want to be with you, Lauren.”

She smiled and leaned into him. Man, he liked that. He held her close, though he’d never seen himself as a cuddler. Lauren brought out unexpected reactions in him.

“I want to be with you, too.” She drew back. “Now, come to the kitchen with me and I’ll start dinner while you get us a drink.”

He cocked his head. “What does one drink with quiche?”

“Something sweet and syrupy.”

He grimaced.

“Just kidding. I’ve got Scotch, I think. Maybe a beer or two.”

“A woman after my own heart.”

As he followed her to the kitchen, Alex wondered if Lauren Conway was going to be the one to capture his heart permanently. The thought wasn’t at all unpleasant.

THE QUICHE, CHEESY AND HOT, tasted as good as she had hoped it would. The bread was as light and airy as froth. The wine was tart. But Alex kept distracting Lauren from the food. “Didn’t your mother feel bad when you switched majors in college?” she asked after he told her about his jump from genetics to fire fighting.

“She didn’t seem to. My mom’s a special person.” His smile was warm and loving. It made Lauren’s heart clutch, thinking about her own mother. It had only been a year, and she still missed her parents so much she found it hard to talk about them.

Alex, on the other hand, seemed to love to talk about his mother. “She and Dad are so different. She met him when he was treated at the hospital for burns and she was in med school.”

“Did she worry about the danger of fire fighting?”

“A smoke-eater’s wife can’t afford to worry.”

“What about a smoke-eater’s mother?”

He knit his brows. “Probably. Though she never showed it.”

“I’d worry. I can’t imagine the man I love risking his life every day. Or my son. I’d be a wreck.”

“It’s funny. Before nine-eleven, I never heard spouses of firefighters talk about that. But now that time has passed, the worrying seems to have leveled off.” He sipped his Scotch. Leaning back in his chair, he draped his arm over the back. She’d title this picture “Man After Dinner.” He said, “Tell me about your parents.”

Emotion constricted her throat. She fiddled with the napkin in her lap. “They were a lot alike. Both lawyers. Both right brained. Serious people. I was a surprise to them.”

“Having you, you mean?”

“No, my creative streak. Most of the time, they didn’t know quite what to make of me.”

“I’m sorry. Were you unhappy as a kid?”

“Not in the way you mean. They loved me to pieces. I fascinated them, though, in how different I was.” She frowned. “They did everything they could to make me feel accepted and loved. I was, I know that. It’s just that I’ve always had this feeling of not…belonging, I guess.”

Alex looked concerned but didn’t respond.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

She studied him. “Tell me.”

“It’s just the eye-color thing. And if you were that different from them…” He let the suggestion trail off, but she got the implication.

Shaking her head, she toyed with her fork. “That doesn’t mean I’m adopted, Alex. My mother saw me being born. I have the tape.”

“Lauren, I think you should meet the Ivies.”

Her heart rate sped up. “Why?”

“Because of your likeness to Dana.”

“That would be giving this whole thing credence, don’t you think?”

“Not necessarily. What I do know is they shouldn’t just run into you on the street. It would upset them.”

She wouldn’t want to do that.

“If it was my mother, or yours, wouldn’t you want to prepare her?”

“Of course. This is just…disconcerting.”

He leaned over and took her hand. His was callused and big. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

She squeezed his fingers, enjoying the rough feel of his fingertips and palm. “No, it’s all right. You’re just looking out for the Ivies. I’ll meet them.”

“Good.”

Studying him, she fit together a few more pieces of the puzzle that was Alex Shields. He was a man who cared deeply for his parents, and others in his life. “I guess we have one thing in common—a nice childhood. Acceptance.”

“This feeling of not belonging that you told me about? Is that where Dee comes in?”

“Dee?”

“Your cartoon. She’s everything Lily’s not.”

She’s my imaginary childhood friend, and current alter ego. But Lauren wouldn’t admit that to Alex.

Embarrassed, Lauren shook her head. “I told you, Alex, it’s only a cartoon. It has nothing to do with me.”

“Well, damn. I kinda liked the idea of being the muscle-bound boy.”

Oh, God, what had possessed her to let the story go down that road? She’d been fooling around with several plotlines and Perry had favored that one, so she went ahead with it. Then there’d been a ground-swell of approval from the Web site. I love Dee…poor Lily, can’t you give her a boyfriend…yummy for the muscle-bound boy.

The doorbell rang, making her jump.

“Easy,” Alex said, but she noticed how his big shoulders tensed under the red T-shirt. A wave of tenderness calmed her unease. She was so glad he was here.

“You expecting anybody?” he asked.

“No. I hope it isn’t Hannah. I think they have better things to do than baby-sit me.”

Despite the intrusion, his eyes sparkled. “I think they do, too.”

Whoever was at the door was getting impatient, first pounding on it, then yelling. What the hell? Alex threw back his chair, said, “Stay here.” He strode to the foyer.

Ignoring his instructions she got up and followed him. The kittens, who’d been sleeping by the window, awoke and Caramel scampered after her.

Alex peered through the peephole. “Some guy’s out there.”

From the other side of the door, she heard, “Open up, Lauren.”

“Damn.”

Alex pivoted. “You know who it is?”

Sidling in front of him, she took a quick peek. “It’s James.”

“Lauren, I hear you inside. Let me in.” He paused, then added, “Please.”

She sighed in frustration. Despite what he’d done, Lauren felt sympathy for him. He was simply a weak man. “It’s all right. He’s harmless. Physically at least.”

“Sam Prophet wasn’t so sure.”

“Well, you’re here. And I can’t let him disturb the whole neighborhood.”

She pulled open the door, coming face-to-face with the man who had made her feel like a failure. She was swamped by the insecurity a woman inherits when a man she loves uses her.

James was a few inches taller than she, about five-eight, and had a runner’s body, the type Lauren had thought she liked. His light brown hair was cut short, and his hazel eyes were troubled. Uncharacteristically, his gray pin striped suit was wrinkled. “I want to talk to you.”

“I’m busy, James.”

He looked past her. The belligerence drained from his face. “Who is he? Don’t tell me you’re dating somebody else.” He swallowed hard. “Lauren, you’re my fiancée.”

“Not anymore. I’d like you to go away.”

When James shook his head and said no, she felt Alex come up behind her and place his hands possessively on her shoulders. Instead of feeling overwhelmed by his presence, like she often did, this gesture made her feel safe.

“The lady asked you to leave.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not going until I get some answers.” With that he tried to step into the foyer.

Nimbly Alex blocked James’s path, towering over him. “I wouldn’t try it, pal.”

At her feet, Caramel scurried away. Lauren said, “It’s all right. I’ll answer his questions.” The air crackled with tension. She put her hand on Alex’s arm. “Please, Alex.”

He moved aside and James crossed into the living room, which connected to the dining area. He stopped short when he saw the table. Lauren tried to view the setting through his eyes—lit with softly flickering candles, pretty mauve tablecloth, blue napkins, the remains of their food. The soft crooning of Harry Connick Jr. filtered in from the background. She’d title the scene “Seduction.”

He turned on them. “Lauren, I—” There was hurt etched in his face.

Ignoring it, she folded her arms over her chest. After what he’d done, she couldn’t afford to feel sorry for him. “What do you want, James?”

He glared at Alex. “I want to talk to you alone.”

“Ain’t gonna happen,” Alex said.

She faced James. “Whatever you have to say, it will have to be said in front of Alex. Tell me what this is about.”

“A man came to see me today.” James scowled. She remembered trying to figure out that scowl on so many occasions. Had she caused it? Why was he unhappy? She’d spent hours on end deciphering the puzzle that was James Tildan. “A Sam Prophet. He wanted to know where I was last night. If I’d come here to see you.”

“Oh.”

“Did you tell him you thought I’d broken into your place?”

“No, of course not. He asked me a lot of questions. Your name came up.”

“And what you did to her.” This from Alex, who was standing stiff and uncompromising.

James swore, crudely.

Alex grabbed his arm. “Watch your mouth around Lauren, or I’ll personally throw you outta here.”

Shrugging Alex off, James gave him a sizzling look before turning back his gaze to Lauren. “This isn’t over, Lauren. I made a mistake in what I did to you, but now I’ll do anything I have to to rectify it.” Without giving her a chance to respond, he stalked to the foyer and out the front door.

“Well, that was fun,” she said, just as Alex’s cell phone rang.

He fished it out of his pocket. “Shields.” He watched Lauren. “Yeah. Uh-huh. We already know, Sam. I’m at Lauren’s. He showed up here. Pissed as hell.” A worried look. “Okay, I’ll tell her.” He clicked off. “Ready for this one?”

She sank onto the couch and picked up Butterscotch, who’d settled there. “No, but tell me.”

“Your friend James lied about his alibi for last night.”

Before she could react to that news, the phone rang again. This time it was hers. “Hell,” she said, and looked up at him.

He shrugged. “Want me to get it?”

“No.” She picked up the phone. “Hello.”

“Ms. Conway?”

“Yes?”

“This is Hank Holmes.” Her brain spinning, she drew a blank on the name. “I own the house you’re renting.”

“Yes, Mr. Holmes.”

“You been tryin’ to reach me?”

“Uh-huh. I was wondering if, for some reason, you were in my house last night when I was out.”

“I was at the dog track last night. Lost my shirt.” He hesitated. “Something happen?”

“No, it’s okay. Thanks for returning my call.” She hung up and faced Alex.

“I take it the landlord wasn’t here.”

“No.”

“That settles it.”

“Settles what?”

“I’m staying the night.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m staying the night.” Alex nodded to the corner of the room. “In that man-size hammock over there.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “Unless you have a spare bed.”

“The other two rooms aren’t furnished yet.”

“Then it’s me and the hammock.” He arched a brow. “Is it comfortable?”

“Yes, but it’s not necessary for you to stay tonight.”

He crossed to the couch and squatted in front of her. He grasped her free hand and cradled it in his. “Humor me, then. I won’t sleep a wink knowing you’re here alone.” He shrugged. “It’s in a firefighter’s genes to protect women, ma’am.”

Her heart was beating fast. She didn’t know if that was from the news she’d just gotten about James, from the landlord’s call or Alex’s suggestion that he sleep here. “That’s ridiculous. I’ve got a dead bolt, I’ll put it on.”

“Does the regular key fit the dead bolt?”

“Yes.”

“If someone’s been in here, he’d have the key to that lock.”

“I suppose.”

“Look, I’ll stay tonight, then call one of my crew who’s a locksmith on the side. He can come out tomorrow and change your locks.”

She had to smile. “Do you know everybody in town?”

“Comes from growing up here. Anybody I don’t know, Mom and Dad do.”

Trying to conceal her concern, she glanced at the door. “I could call Hannah.”

“Oh, yeah, they’d appreciate that. Imagine what they’re doing right about now.”

She could. And it caused heat to flush her face. Because she could imagine doing the same thing with the sexy, smart man before her. Who wanted to stay the night.

As if he read her thoughts, he brushed her hair back, letting his hand rest at her nape in a possessive gesture that made her shiver. “Lauren, you know I’m attracted to you. I want to see you. To date. But the offer to stay tonight doesn’t come with strings.”

A branch batted against the window, and she jumped.

His arched eyebrow taunted her. See, you are afraid. “Do you think that I’d take advantage of you? Pressure you in some way?”

Like he’d have to do that to women. “No, of course not. I just hate to inconvenience you.”

“You can cook me breakfast in the morning.”

Smiling, she reached out and squeezed his shoulder. His eyes lit with her touch, and she couldn’t stop herself from caressing the soft silk of his shirt, feeling his muscles flex under her hand. “What do you like for breakfast, Alex?”

Way to go, girl. Flirt your heart out.

Lauren smiled.

Alex smiled.

“Anything you’re serving.”

They watched a movie—Backdraft—and Alex explained what was portrayed realistically and picked on some of the Hollywoodisms.

At one o’clock, she yawned.

“Time for beddy-bye,” he joked.

“I’ll get you a pillow and a light blanket.” She pointed toward the back of the house. “Bathroom’s through there.”

He rose. “I’ve got a gym bag in my car. I’ll go get it.”

“Keep it on hand for unexpected overnighters?”

He didn’t take offense. Instead, he drew her up from the couch. Once again she felt dwarfed by him. He rested his hands lightly on her arms, and the weight of them felt good. “Lauren, I like women. I go out. I’ve had some serious involvements—I was almost engaged once—but I’m not promiscuous. Or indiscriminate. Basically, I’m just a normal guy.”

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