Slow Burn Page 5

  Ben reappeared and opened his locker, which was only two down from Cale’s. “I can find out, you know. Tilly would tell me if I asked her for specifics.”

  Cale let out an exasperated huff of breath. “I just can’t win, can I?”

  Ben grinned, something he didn’t do nearly often enough.

  “Fine,” Cale complained. “Her name is Maggie. Satisfied?”

  Brady chuckled as he started removing his gear. “So that explains the goofball look.”

  Cale frowned at his partner. “Goofball? Now wait just a minute…”

  “I had a feeling it was a woman,” Ben said.

  “It’s not a woman. Not the way you’re thinking.” That wasn’t a total lie. Was it?

  Ivan “Fitz” Fitzpatrick slung his hand over the top of the door to his own locker. “Is she young?”

  Cale shrugged. Great. Now the entire house would know about Maggie. “Around twenty-eight or so,” he guessed. “Maybe a little younger.”

  “I bet she’s pretty,” Noah Harding, the main driver of the engine crew, added.

  Cale’s frown deepened. “Yeah, so?”

  “What’s her problem?” Tom “Scorch” McDonough called from the other side of the row of lockers.

  Cale really hated that his personal life was no longer personal and shot a glare at his brother for opening this line of questioning. “What does that have to do with anything?” Cale shouted to Scorch.

  The fellow paramedic walked around the row of lockers. “Young, pretty and in need of a knight in shining armor. Classic Cale Perry.” Scorch nodded toward the door. “Right, Drew?”

  “I could hear you guys all the way downstairs in the day room,” Drew said. “What’s up?”

  Hank Martinez, another member of the engine crew, dropped onto the wooden bench in front of his locker. “Cale’s found himself another damsel in distress.”

  Drew grinned and, as usual, Cale was struck by old memories of his mom. There was something about the way his little brother’s mouth tipped upward, just like Mom’s had when she’d been amused.

  “Is that so?” Drew crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorjamb. “Who is she?”

  Ben spoke up. “The name Maggie ring any bells?”

  “Maggie?” Brady asked, his dark eyebrows tugging downward. “You mean the broad from the paint warehouse?”

  Cale tucked his shirt into his jeans, his frown deepening farther as he glared at Brady. “She’s not a ‘broad.”’

  Fitz laughed good-naturedly while he nudged Chance Mitchell with his elbow. “Defensive, ain’t he?”

  “Yeah, Cale,” Chance added. “Why are you getting your boxers in a twist?”

  “He must be involved with her,” Drew said with an all-knowing nod of his head.

  Cale scowled at the guys, his younger brother in particular. As if Drew should talk. He was the one with the revolving bedroom door, not Cale. “I’m not involved with anyone.”

  “Except the broad from the paint-warehouse fire,” Brady clarified.

  “The redhead?” Noah let out a low whistle. “Man, she’s a looker.”

  The guys might be simply giving him a good old-fashioned hard time, something they all did regularly because it helped them blow off some steam, but Cale sure as hell didn’t want them referring to Maggie as a “broad” or even a “looker.” He wasn’t about to question the whys behind it, either. That would mean admitting he had feelings he wasn’t willing to say existed. She was, after all, a total stranger.

  Instead, he shifted his attention to Drew. As an arson inspector, Drew could have answers to questions that might help her rediscover her identity. “Has there been any word on the cause of the fire at the Harrison Paint and Wallpaper warehouse yet?” he asked Drew.

  His brother pushed off the wall and walked toward Cale. “It wasn’t my scene. I could find out, though. Why?”

  “Because Maggie doesn’t know who she is. I was hoping maybe someone—an employee, the owner, anyone—might know who she is and why she was in the warehouse.”

  The guys that hadn’t made it into the showers yet stopped cold and stared at Cale. Oh, great, here we go.

  “What did you say?” Drew questioned.

  The look on Ben’s face wasn’t filled with half of the surprise that was on Drew’s. In fact, Ben appeared more resigned, as if he’d expected something like this.

  “Cale, what have you done this time?” Drew asked him.

  “Nothing!” he said defensively. “I’m just trying to help her, that’s all. Besides, it’s only temporary.” Too late, he realized his mistake.

  “What do you mean ‘temporary’?” Ben asked. “She’s living with you, isn’t she?”

  Brady let out a sigh. “Here we go again.”

  “What do you guys know?” Cale groused none too politely.

  “You,” his brothers, Scorch and Brady all said in unison.

  Cale ignored the concern in Ben’s eyes. Instead, he focused on the rabble-rousers and crossed his arms over his chest. “And your point is…?”

  “Gracie Kennedy,” Drew supplied.

  Chance nodded in agreement. “Oh, yeah. A perfect example.”

  “She needed my help,” Cale argued, unwilling to publicly admit he’d allowed himself to be conned…although he hadn’t minded at the time. Gracie had a body made for sin and had been damned generous in sharing it with him.

  Scorch shoved a hand through his flame-red hair, but the permanent case of bed-head refused to be tamed by something as innocuous as his freckled fingers. “She needed you to help move her, what? Three, four times?” he reminded them.

  Cale sat on the bench to slip his feet into his tennis shoes and grinned. “Ever help a woman set up a bed?” When Scorch gave him a blank stare, he added, “They like to try them out.”

  “What about Paulette Johnson?” Chance asked.

  “I remember her,” Brady added and cringed dramatically. “A real cling-on.”

  Cale remembered her, too. Big green eyes, lethal curves and pouty red lips.

  He glanced up at his partner. “Okay, so she was a little insecure.”

  Brady laughed. “A little? You had to turn off your cell phone whenever we were on a call because she wouldn’t leave you alone.” He looked at Ben and Scorch. “Did you know she even bought a police scanner so she could keep tabs on Cale?”

  “That’s not needy,” Scorch said. “That’s creepy.”

  “Stalker material,” Chance added.

  Cale tied his shoes. “She wasn’t all that bad,” he muttered, but deep in his gut, he couldn’t really disagree. Paulette had become a little too possessive…something a restraining order had eventually cured.

  “Remember Tracy Newton?” Brady asked the guys.

  “Wasn’t she the one who tried to sweet-talk Cale into marrying her?” Drew asked.

  Scorch laughed. “No, that was Shelby Monroe. Tracy buffaloed him into house-sitting for her while she went to Palm Springs—with some other guy.”

  He couldn’t argue since Tracy had definitely played him for a fool.

  Cale sighed. It wasn’t that all women took advantage of him. And while he did admit on the surface it appeared he had a penchant for women with problems, not every woman in his life held the title of temporary damsel in distress. Well, maybe most of them, but definitely not all of them.

  Cale stood and closed his locker. “It’s not what you’re thinking. This time it’s different.”

  That statement brought gales of laughter from the crew of Trinity Station.

  “They’re all different,” Drew reminded him.

  Cale had had enough abuse for one night. “I’m outta here. You guys can dissect Ben’s love life. Oh, wait,” he said with a snap of his fingers and shot his brother a look. “Ben doesn’t have a love life. Well, try picking on Scorch. I hear he’s all hot and bothered over some nurse.”

  Scorch sputtered in response, sent a nervous glance in Drew’s direction, then blushed a
shade of crimson even brighter than his hair, if that was possible.

  To Drew, Cale quietly murmured, “See what you can find out about the paint warehouse for me, okay?”

  Drew slapped his hand on Cale’s shoulder. “Sure thing, brother. I’ll stop by in the morning.”

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me? Ben coming, too?” Now that his brothers knew about Maggie, only an act of God would keep them from satisfying their curiosity.

  Drew’s smile widened. “Did you for a minute think we wouldn’t?”

  Cale let out a sigh, resigning himself to the fact he’d never have a personal life that didn’t include his brothers’ interference in one form or another. “No,” he said as he headed for the door. “But a guy can hope, can’t he?”

  5

  SHE WAS going to be late if she didn’t hurry. Juggling her black Italian baguette purse and the letter-sized box secured with a scarlet ribbon while she shrugged into her trench coat, she managed to tap the button on her answering machine. A quick brush at a piece of lint on her sleeve, and she reached for the door. One useless pull, and nothing happened. The darned thing was stuck again.

  She swore softly. Despite being rushed, she smiled briefly, recalling a woman’s gently scolding voice. “You might step in it, dear, but a lady should never say it.”

  Giving the base of the door a swift kick with the toe of her overpriced black calfskin flats, she tugged again. Still no luck. The doorman was holding a cab for her, her bags were already loaded. The meter was ticking, and not just in the cabbie’s favor. She needed to drop off the package, and if she didn’t escape her apartment in the next five seconds, she might even miss her flight.

  Whacking the door once more with her foot, she yanked hard, then stumbled when the door swung wide, knocking her off balance. She made a note to remind the building superintendent about the warped door. Now that summer had officially arrived, turning the climate from hot to hotter, as well as unbearably humid almost overnight, the sticking door would only get worse. Since she’d be out of town for at least a month, it’d be the perfect time for him to fix the problem.

  With one last look around her cozy apartment while running though her list to make sure the appliances were unplugged and the gas turned off on the stove, she slipped over the threshold. As she turned to secure the locks, a large male hand grabbed hold of her shoulder…

  SOMEWHERE, in that place between sleep and wakefulness, Maggie carefully eased her body slightly to the left and readjusted her cast on the throw pillow beside her. She heard the soft snore of Pearl resting on the floor next to the sofa. Maggie opened her eyes briefly and realized that night had fallen. Frankie or Johnny, she still didn’t know which was which, lay curled next to her hip, while her counterpart bathed herself on the back of the sofa. That must’ve been what Maggie had felt—Johnny or Frankie alighting on the perch above her because, other than Cale’s pets, she was definitely alone.

  Strange, she thought. For the first time since she’d awoken in the hospital a little over a week ago, she felt safe and oddly secure. She breathed in, then tugged the homemade afghan higher over her chest, closed her eyes and waited for sleep to reclaim her.

  MAGGIE KEPT her back to the wall and crouched low, expertly maintaining her balance so as not to set off the intricate laser alarm system protecting the floor safe. The safe, which she believed held the blueprints of the Louvre’s storage area where the priceless artifacts were kept, was her primary target. She could care less about the forty-carat diamond-cut ruby that supposedly had belonged to Nefertiti, although there had been a time in Maggie’s career when the gem would have been her sole purpose. She’d been damned good at her job…once.

  Part of her missed those days, but she had to admit her life served a higher purpose now, even if the legitimate job market for someone in her line of work was slim to none. The competitiveness still stimulated her, and there weren’t many people on the planet with the ability to do what she did. It was in her blood. She was one of the best cat burglars, certainly, but there was only one person she would openly admit was better. Fortunately, their paths hadn’t crossed in about two years. In fact, she fully expected to find him in the area considering the value of the rare manuscript illuminations that had arrived at the museum less than three months ago.

  Several attempts had already been made against the jewels, but Nefertiti’s ruby remained untouched, and Maggie had no plans to change that status.

  She’d studied the laser pattern for weeks. Obtaining the security details of the Louvre had been a walk in the park. A little up-close-and-personal time with the head of security, snatching the plans then having them reproduced and returning the originals before anyone had been the wiser, had been a ridiculously simple task. Too easy, which always made her err on the side of caution.

  She pulled an aerosol can filled with water from the slim backpack holding her tools and prepared to spray the area to obtain a clear visual of the lattice pattern surrounding the floor safe.

  Her hand stilled. She heard her name, a soft, gentle whisper that could only be her imagination. No. That wasn’t right. Someone had actually called her name.

  Impossible. Wasn’t it? No one knew she was in Paris. She hadn’t seen him in nearly two years, not since she’d turned. Still, she’d easily wager her numbered Swiss account she’d just heard his voice.

  She remained still, listening. Only the gentle hum of the air-conditioning met her ears. That, and the rapid cadence of her own heartbeat.

  “Maggie?”

  Her palms started to sweat. He never called her Maggie. To him she was always Margaret Elizabeth.

  She lost her grip on the aerosol can. As if watching herself from above, she saw the can slip from her fingers. She stared, stunned, as it floated onto the marble floor where it clattered and rolled toward the laser beams. Any second now, the high-tech system would send an alert that security had been breached.

  She parlayed her attention between the shadows and the can. Had she heard something else? No, a movement had caught her attention.

  She peered deeper into the shadows. There he stood. She couldn’t see his face clearly, yet she knew it was him.

  The can rolled to a stop a hairbreadth away from setting off the alarm.

  He stepped forward ever so slightly into the pale, thin ray of moonlight and extended his hand. Dangling from his fingertips was a red silk handkerchief with an embroidered V.

  “MAGGIE?”

  Maggie struggled to escape the voice threatening to pull her out of the dream. The firm grip on her shoulder and the gentle hand shaking her had her opening her eyes.

  Soft light illuminated the room, but this time she found no comfort, none of the sense of well-being she’d experienced earlier. Still haunted from the disturbing images running through her mind, she shivered.

  My God, who was she? Worse, what was she? Some kind of thief? That much was unfortunately obvious. But if she was indeed a thief, wouldn’t she have been fingerprinted at least once in her…career, for lack of a better word? And if she had been printed, why hadn’t anything shown up when the locals tried to I.D. her? Surely they would’ve accessed the FBI’s extensive computer system.

  Nothing added up, unless she was such a good crook she’d just never been caught. Adding to her confusion was the first segment of her dream. She’d been in a hurry. She’d had an apartment, which she was pretty certain had been located in a large metropolitan area if she took into account the doorman and the cab that had been waiting for her. It had been as if she were a “normal” person, not a criminal. Unless the package she’d been carrying had been the booty from a recent job, but for reasons she had little hope of explaining at this point, she didn’t believe that to be the case.

  “Maggie? Are you all right?”

  No, she wasn’t all right. She was scared, confused and about eighty percent certain she’d operated on the wrong side of the law.

  “I was dreaming,” she said evasively. Despite being
radically spooked, she couldn’t help the feeling of awe. For the first time since the explosion, instead of wisps of memory every now and then, she recalled with distinct clarity the details provided by her subconscious…even if she didn’t like what she’d just learned.

  She looked up at Cale and stared, mesmerized by his sexier-than-sin blue eyes. Though still emotionally rattled by the dream, she almost sighed at the mere sight of him. Certainly not because he loomed over her, trapping her between his large, warm body and the buttery soft leather sofa as he gently shook her awake.

  No, that couldn’t be it.

  She was merely relieved not to be alone after learning she could very well be nothing more than a common thief. Could that have been the reason she’d been alone in the paint warehouse? Had she been after something? But what?

  The increased pounding of her heart had absolutely nothing to do with the unexpected sharp tug of desire suddenly demanding attention and everything to do with a disturbing revelation about her possibly nefarious identity.

  At least that’s what she wanted to believe. And maybe, just maybe, she was somewhere in the vicinity of the truth.

  “I was dreaming,” she repeated. She didn’t bother to push herself up into a sitting position. In fact, as she lay back against the throw pillow, the sudden urge to reach up with her good hand and pull his head down to hers, to slip her mouth over his and lose herself in what she suspected would be a bone-melting kiss, overwhelmed her nearly as much as the strange, disjointed dream had spooked her.

  She attempted to convince herself she merely sought comfort, in any form, a thought that died a quick death thanks to the increasing need to feel Cale’s lips against hers, to feel his hands gliding hungrily over her body. Maybe all she really wanted was to touch something real, not a misty haunting image.

  Cale nudged her hip as he shifted his position on the sofa beside her. “What kind of dream?”

  His tone might have been absolutely nonsexual, but that didn’t quell the desire to be near him.