Flashpoint. Jill ShalvisЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Chapter 3

      ZACH WATCHED how Brooke handled herself and something inside him reacted. He didn’t know her, not yet, not really, other than that they had some serious almost chemical-like attraction going, but she was crew, and as such, she was family.

      Except he felt decidedly un-family-like toward her. Nope, nothing in him looking at her felt brotherly.

      Not one little bit.

      The gang was being hard on her, there was no doubt of that, but he’d seen many new hires hazed over the years—six in the past few weeks—and it had never bothered him.

      Until now. This bothered him. She bothered him, in a surprising way. A man-to-woman way, though that wasn’t the surprise. It was that he felt it here, at work.

      People came in and out of his life on a daily basis. It was the nature of the beast, that beast being fire. Every day he dealt with the destruction it caused, and what it did to people’s existence. Hell, he’d even experienced it in the most personal way one could, when he’d lost his own parents to a tragic fire. He coped by knowing he made a difference, that he helped keep that beast back when he could.

      What also helped were the constants in his life, and since the loss of his mom and dad at age ten, those constants were his crew. Aidan, his partner and brother of his heart. Eddie and Sam, fellow surfers. Dustin, resident clown, a guy who gave one hundred percent of himself, always, which usually landed him in Heartbreak City. Blake, whom he’d gone to high school with and who’d lost his firefighting partner Lynn in a tragic fire last year, a guy who’d give a perfect stranger the heavy yellow jacket off his back. Even Cristina, a woman in a man’s world, who was willing to kick anyone’s ass to show she belonged in it. All of them held a piece of Zach’s heart.

      For better, for worse, through thick and thin, they were each other’s one true, solid foundation. They meant everything to him.

      But the emergency community they lived in was a lot like the cozy little town of Santa Rey itself—small and quirky, no secrets need apply. Everyone knew that the constant gossip and ribbing between the crew members acted as stress relief from a job that had an element of danger every time they went out. Zach had always considered it harmless. But looking at it from Brooke’s perspective, that ribbing must feel like mockery.

      She dropped her bag to the ground and walked to the tree.

      She was going to climb it for the cat. And hell if that didn’t do something for him. He didn’t interfere—she was Dustin’s partner, not his—but he wanted to. The chief would have a coronary, of course, but the chief wasn’t there throwing the rule book around as he liked to do. Zach wasn’t much for rules or restrictions, himself, or for drawing lines in the sand—which hadn’t helped his career any. Nor did he make a habit of stretching his emotional wings and adding personal ties to his life. How many women had told him over the years that he wouldn’t know a real relationship if it bit him on the ass?

      Too many to count.

      And yet he felt an emotional tie now, watching Brooke simply do her job. It shouldn’t have been sexy, but it was. She was sexy, even in the regulation EMT uniform of dark blue trousers and a white button-down shirt, with a Santa Rey EMT vest over the top, the outfit made complete by the required steel-toed boots.

      She made him hot. He thought maybe it was the perfectly folded-back sleeves and careful hair twist that got him. Her hair was gorgeous, a shiny strawberry blond, her coloring as fair as her hair dictated. He knew after any time in the sun—and in Santa Rey, sun was the only weather they got—she’d probably freckle across that nose she liked to tip up to nosebleed heights. She was petite, smallboned, even fragile-looking, and yet he’d bet his last dollar she was strong as hell, strong enough for that tree.

      She looked up at the lowest branch, utter concentration on her face. A face that showed her emotions, probably whether she wanted it to or not. It was those wide, expressive baby-blue eyes, he knew. They completely slayed him.

      She put her hands on the trunk of the tree and gave it a shake, testing it. Nodding to herself, still eyeing the cat as if she’d rather be facing a victim who was bleeding out than the howling feline on the branch twenty feet above her, she drew a deep breath.

      Unbelievable. She was slightly anal, slightly obsessive and more than slightly adorable.

      And she had guts. He liked that. He liked her. She was taking his mind off his frustration over the Hill Street fire and Tommy’s investigation. But while his career was shaky at the moment, hers was not, and she was going to climb that damn tree if no one stopped her. “Dustin.”

      Cristina shushed him. Blake, the one of them who couldn’t stand to see anything suffer, even before losing Lynn last year, shot her an annoyed look. Zach leaned toward Dustin. “Stop her.”

      “On it.” The EMT stepped forward and put his hand on Brooke’s shoulder, saying something that Zach couldn’t quite catch, though he had no problem reading her expression.

      Relief that she didn’t really have to climb the tree.

      Embarrassment that she’d let them all fool her.

      And a flash of a temper that made him smile. Good. She might be reserved, but she wasn’t a doormat.

      Aidan grabbed the ladder. Zach helped him. As he passed a brooding Brooke, their eyes met before he climbed the ladder to reach Cecile.

      Yeah, quiet and reserved, maybe, but also a little pissed. So was Cecile, but she was one female he could soothe, at least, and when he brought the cat to Phyllis, he had to smile.

      Brooke had the older woman sitting on the curb and was attempting to check her vitals, which Phyllis didn’t appear to appreciate.

      “Ma’am,” Brooke said, “you have an elevated blood pressure.”

      “Well, of course I do. I’m eighty-eight.”

      Brooke lifted her stethoscope, but Phyllis pushed it away. “I don’t need—Cecile! Give me my baby, Zachie!”

      Blowing a loose strand of hair from her face, Brooke gave Zach a look. “Zachie?”

      “Small town.” With a half-embarrassed shrug, he handed the cat to Phyllis.

      “I used to change his diapers,” Phyllis told her, and patted Zach’s cheek with fingers gnarled by arthritis. “You’re a good boy. Your mother would be so proud of you.”

      He’d found it best not to respond to these types of statements from Phyllis, because if he did, she’d keep him talking about his family forever, and he didn’t like to talk about them. He thought about them every day, and that was enough. “I thought we decided you were going to keep Cecile inside.”

      “No, you decided, but she hates being cooped up.” She nuzzled the cat. “So how’s all your ladies, Zachie? Still falling at your feet?”

      Brooke arched a brow but Zach just smiled. “You’re my number-one lady, Phyllis, you know that.” Her color