Читать книгу Flashback - Jill Shalvis - Страница 8

BY THE TIME AIDAN HAULED himself out of the water, Ty had handed Kenzie off to the EMTs. Dustin and Brooke took her away from the flames and straight to their ambulance.

Good.

Chilled, drenched to the skin, Aidan made his way through the organized mayhem to his rig, where he stripped down and pulled on dry gear, the questions coming hard and fast in his head.

What the hell had Kenzie been doing there? Odd timing, given that in all these years, she’d not shown up in Santa Rey, not once. At least that he was aware of. Blake had never mentioned any visits, but then again, why would he? He’d had no idea that Aidan had dated his baby sister, and then walked away rather than engage his heart. They’d never told him, knowing he wouldn’t have liked it.

Nope, Kenzie hadn’t been back, not even for Blake’s memorial service, and yet suddenly here she was, on Blake’s boat, a boat that just happened to blow sky high once she’d set foot on it.

Odd coincidence.

During the time the two of them had been in the water together, the sky had lightened. Dawn had arrived. The chief had put an explosives team in place, and had a plan to contain the fire. Aidan needed to get back into the thick of it, but first he had to see Kenzie and make sure for himself that she was okay. She’d had a head laceration and multiple cuts and wounds, and that had been before he’d tossed her into the water.

He looked through the horde of people working the flames—Eddie and Sam, Aaron, Ty and Cristina, plus the guys from Thirty-Three, all on hoses and past the explosives experts surveying the still burning shell of Blake’s Girl to where the ambulance was parked.

Kenzie was seated at the back of the opened rig between Dustin and Brooke. She was dripping everywhere, her clothes revealing what he already knew, that she was petite and in possession of a set of mouth-watering curves that had gotten only more mouth-watering in the past few years. She wore layered tees, the top one pink, ribbed and long-sleeved, unbuttoned to her waist, the one beneath white with pink polka-dots, opened to just between her breasts, both soaked through and suctioned to her body enough to expose her bra, which was also pink, lace and quite sheer.

He’d been a firefighter for years and he’d rescued countless victims, many female, some of whom had been as wet as Kenzie, and never, not one single goddamn time, had he ever stopped in the middle of a job to notice their breasts.

It was his first clue that he was in trouble, deep trouble—but when it came to Kenzie, that was nothing new. He chose to ignore his observation for now, for as long as he possibly could. His gaze dropped past her shirt with shocking difficulty, to a pair of button-fly jeans low on her hips, also dangerous territory because he’d always loved her legs, especially how bendy they could get…

Don’t go there.

She shoved her hair out of her face, which still looked far too pale, even a little green, although that didn’t take away from her beauty. Once upon a time she’d been a gorgeous study of sexy, frou-frou feminine mystery to him.

Some things never changed.

As if she felt his gaze, she looked up, and from fifty feet, between which were other firefighters, equipment and general chaos, she found him.

Between them the air seemed to snap, crackle, pop.

Six years ago, the thought of a long-distance relationship had been as alien to him as a close-distance relationship, and he’d told himself he had no choice but to break things off, even though that had really just been an excuse.

He’d broken things off because she’d scared him, she’d scared him deep. And apparently, given the hard kick his heart gave his ribs, she still did.

She’d been able to get inside him, make him feel things that hadn’t been welcome, and, yeah, he’d run like a little girl.

He felt like running now.

But this time it was Kenzie who turned away. Dustin unfolded a blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders, while Brooke checked her pupils, then dabbed at the various cuts on her face.

Kenzie sat still, eyes closed now, looking starkly pale but alive.

Alive was good.

She huddled beneath the blanket, cradling a wrist, nodding to something Brooke asked her. Aidan knew that Brooke and Dustin, both close friends, would take good care of her. They took good care of everyone, which meant that Kenzie was in the very best hands.

Still in the thick of the organized chaos around him, Aidan took a second to let his gaze sweep over her. She really did seem as okay as he could hope for, and he told himself to turn away.

He was good at that. After all, he’d learned to do so at a young age from his own family, who’d shuffled him around more than a deck of cards on poker night. Yeah, he was good at walking a way. Or at least good at pretending he didn’t care when others walked away from him.

And after all, he’d done the same to her.

God, he’d been cruel to her all those years ago. Not that he’d meant to be. Going through the academy had been a life lesson for him. He could belong to a “family.” He could make long-lasting friends. He could love someone with all his heart.

But loving his fellow firefighters like the brothers they’d become was one thing.

Loving Kenzie had been another entirely.

Since she’d left, he’d seen her only on TV. As a rule, he didn’t watch soaps. He didn’t watch much TV at all, actually. If he wasn’t working, he was renovating the fixer-upper house he’d bought last year, emphasis on fixer-upper. If he wasn’t doing that, he was playing basketball, or something else that didn’t cost any money because the fixer-upper had eaten his savings.

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

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

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

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

Chad.

What kind of a name was Chad?

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

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

She was okay.

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

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

IT TOOK HOURS.

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

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

And his children.

But it hadn’t been flatteringat all.It’d been terrifying.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Her head trauma—”

“No concussion.”

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

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

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

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

“You sure?” Cristina asked.

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

Home and oblivion were attractive choices.

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

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

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

And drove to the hospital.

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

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

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

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

Never.

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

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

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

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

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

How much time had passed?

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

Oh, boy. She didn’t need to peek around the curtain to know that voice. That voice had once been the stuff of her daydreams, of her greatest fantasies. That voice had used to melt her bones away and rev her engines.

Aidan.

“I’m not saying anything,” Tommy said. “Except what I told Zach weeks ago. I’m on this. It’s a kid glove case. So you need to back off.”

“I want to see Kenzie when she wakes up.”

He’d been the one who’d looked in on her? She didn’t know how she felt about that. Had he seen her sleeping? Had she been snoring?

Why hadn’t he come back when she called out?

“Tell me this much at least,” Aidan said, presumably still to Tommy. “Did either you or the chief even know Blake had a boat?”

“No, but I was waiting on a full investigative report from the county, and it would have shown up on there.”

“And then you would’ve what, seized the property as evidence?”

“Yes, of course. To search it, just like we’ve done with his house. All the current evidence regarding the case points to Blake being in on the arson.”

In on the arson. Kenzie absorbed the odd choice of words. Did he mean that he thought there could be more than one arsonist?

“So who beat you to the boat, Tommy? Who wanted to make sure there was no chance of extracting any evidence from it?”

The answer actually gave Kenzie hope—because it meant that someone else could possibly be proven to be responsible for the arsons, maybe even someone who’d framed Blake.

“There’s been at least seven highly destructive fires,” Tommy said. “Adding up to millions of dollars in damages. The chief’s ass is on the line, and so is mine. If Blake was still alive, he’d be behind bars. That he’s not doesn’t change anything. The investigation is ongoing.”

“But it’s possible he was working with someone,” came Aidan’s voice. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“No comment.”

“Do you know who?”

“No comment.”

“You know something’s off, Tommy, or you wouldn’t be here.”

“Yes,” the investigator agreed tightly. “Something is off, and…”

Their voices lowered to a whisper. She leaned toward the curtain, but they were talking so quietly now she couldn’t hear anything but…her name. Definitely, she’d heard her name.

Why were they talking about her?

She scooted even closer to the edge of the cot and cocked an ear, but still couldn’t hear anything. Dammit! Blake couldn’t have done any of those things they’d accused him of. She knew it, and she was going to prove it herself if necessary, starting with eavesdropping on this conversation. Tommy said something Kenzie couldn’t quite catch, so she leaned even further, and—

Fell off the cot to the floor. “Ouch.”

At the commotion, the curtain whipped open. She tried to push herself upright but with one wrist useless and the other pinned beneath her, she was pretty much a beached fish. A nearly naked beached fish, with her butt facing a crowd of three: Tommy, the nurse and, oh, perfect—Aidan. She could see the tabloids now: Ex-Soap Star Mackenzie Caught Panty-less. “Ouch,” she said again and rolled to her back, gasping when the cold linoleum hit her bare backside. She sighed just as someone dropped to his knees at her side, and then Aidan’s face swam into her vision.

“Are you okay?” he demanded.

Sure. Sure, she was okay. If she didn’t think about the fact that she’d just mooned him.

“Here.” After helping him get her back on the cot, the nurse fussed a moment, checking all of Kenzie’s various injuries. Luckily, Tommy had backed out of the room, vanishing, for now at least.

“What the hell were you doing?” Aidan demanded when the nurse left them alone, too.

“Oh, a little of this, a little of that—” Realizing her gown was twisted very high up on her thighs—which, of course, was nothing to what he’d just seen—she grabbed her blanket and tried to cover herself up. A little like closing the barn door after the horse had escaped, she knew, but she was mortified. Except the movement made her want to throw up, and she reached up, holding her head tightly.

“Here.” He took over the task of covering her, quickly extricating his hands when he was done, not quite meeting her gaze as he sat at her side.

Awkward moment…“So,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking in on you.”

Yep. And he’d gotten to look in on far more than he’d probably intended.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Depends on your definition of all right.”

At that, his eyes cut to hers and he sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face, his fingers rasping over the growth there. He looked and sounded exhausted. “I’m sorry, Kenzie.”

“For what? That I just mooned you, or that I’m here at all?”

Aidan got to his feet, pulling the curtain shut again to give them privacy, privacy that she wasn’t sure she wanted.

He’d changed his clothes. He wore a pair of jeans now, loose on his long legs, low on his hips, with a long-sleeved shirt unbuttoned over a gray T-shirt that seemed to emphasize his broad shoulders and tough, athletic build. “Your shirt isn’t red,” she said slowly.

“What?”

“Before, somebody in a red shirt was looking at me.”

“When?”

“I don’t know.” She rubbed her temples. “I’m out of it.”

“It was a tough night.”

“Yeah.” But he didn’t look like he’d just worked his ass off and managed to save her life to boot; he looked casual, relaxed.

Cool as a cucumber.

And so hauntingly familiar, not to mention gorgeous, that she couldn’t keep her eyes on him. How unfair was it that he’d gotten even better-looking with age? “Thanks for stopping by, Aidan, but you can see I’m fine. You can go.”

He looked doubtful.

“Seriously. I’m really okay.”

She almost had him, she could tell, but then she ruined it by shivering.

Without a word, he grabbed another blanket and settled it over her. She appreciated his sense of duty, but what she would appreciate even more would be his vanishing.

Or her.

Yeah, that might bebetter. If she could just vanish on the spot. Poof. “Okay, now I’m good, thanks. Really.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I mean you can’t even look at me, so—”

Lifting his head, he met her eyes, his hot enough to singe her skin.

“Oh,” she breathed, feeling her heart kick, hard.

“I can’t look at you?” he repeated in low disbelief. “Are you kidding me? Kenzie, I can’t do anything but look at you.”