The rational voice in her head told her she was projecting. That coming home from work to find her home covered in smoke had upset her. That being upset had manifested itself in her short tone and strong emotions. Like hatred.

Yes, the rational voice said. She was definitely projecting. But then, she’d never prized rationality in stressful situations. That was why, when she’d been left at the altar a year before, she’d attended the wedding reception. She’d eaten the cake. She’d gone on her honeymoon.

Rationality wouldn’t make her feel less stressed. Nor would it make her less emotional. And rationality wasn’t going to save one of the only things in her life that was still important to her.

So when an idea occurred to her and the rational voice warned against it, she knew she was going to do it. And though it was a bad idea—a terrible one—she would do it anyway.

Heaven help her.

She turned, walked a few steps away from the wall of men blocking the path to her house, and let out a bloodcurdling scream.

They hurried towards her, and later she would think that they must have made quite a picture. Those huge, muscular men in their official uniforms—some firefighters, some police—hurrying over to her as if they were lions and she were fresh meat.

She would also later think that at least ten men hurrying over to her had been overkill. But right now she was pretending to be a damsel in distress, and she was certain that merely the idea of that caused men to flock.

Really, her duping them was their own fault.

And that of her excellent acting skills.

Unfortunately, being a copywriter for a cybersecurity company didn’t often allow her to illustrate how dramatic she could be.

‘I think... I think I just saw a person.’ She gripped the shirt of the man closest to her. ‘Right there—down the path at that bush.’ Now she injected a layer of panic into her voice. ‘It’s so close to the fire, Sergeant. And it looked like my neighbour. An old man with no teeth.’

There was a beat when she wondered whether she’d gone too far. She had laid it on a little thick. Mr Kinney was barely fifty. He had all his teeth and he wasn’t in danger.

To make it more believable, she let out another tiny little screech. And when the man who’d blocked her from getting near her house moved forward to comfort her she cried, ‘No, no, not me. Help him. Help him!’

If the fire didn’t do the job first, Ava knew she was going to burn in hell.

But it worked, and three of the men ran down the pathway while the others moved forward, bodies tensed, ready to help if necessary.

It was all she needed. Without a second thought for how irrational she was acting, Ava bolted up the incline of the road she’d been blocked from earlier, and didn’t stop until she was so far from the men she’d left behind she could barely see them.

Nor could she see in front of her.

When panic crept up her throat, she ignored it. Told herself to remember all those nights she’d spent unable to sleep and Zorro had comforted her. To remember that it was only when she was looking after him that she felt capable. Able. And not as if some of her personality traits—her honesty, her bluntness—meant she somehow couldn’t be a partner. A wife.

But all thought fled from her mind as her body adjusted to its new environment. The smoke seemed to be stuck in her mouth. Clogging her lungs. Burning her eyes. She pulled off her shirt and tied it around her nose and mouth, trying to keep her eyes open.

It didn’t make much difference. The smoke was so thick she could barely see her hands in front of her. And the more she tried, the more her eyes burned.

So she wasn’t entirely surprised when she walked right into a wall.

The force of it stunned her. But after a moment she realised it wasn’t a wall. Not unless this wall had suddenly grown hands and gripped her arms to keep her from falling.

She was pretty sure she’d walked into a human. A human man.

As opposed to an alien man?

Clearly the smoke was doing more damage than she’d thought.

She heard a muffled sound coming from the man. He was obviously trying to tell her something, but he was wearing a firefighter’s mask and she couldn’t make out a single word. She shook her head and then, deciding that this interaction was taking precious time from her rescue mission, she pushed past him.

But she’d forgotten he had his hands on her arms, and they tightened on her before she could move.

‘What are you doing?’ the man asked now, wrenching off his mask.

She still couldn’t see him. Which, she thought, was probably a good thing, since his voice didn’t indicate that he felt any positive emotion towards her.

‘I have to get to my house.’

‘Ma’am, this area has been evacuated. The fire could reach us at any moment.’

‘So why aren’t you out there, making sure that it doesn’t?’

‘Are you serious?’ The disbelief in his tone made his voice sound familiar. ‘You have to leave, ma’am. Your property is not as important as your life. Or mine.’

‘It isn’t about my property,’ she said, her voice hoarse from smoke and desperation. ‘My cat is in there.

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