Storm Watch

Lizzy was well aware that this was all her hang-up, that Cece was smart enough to evacuate, but Lizzy had been the mom for so long she couldn’t rest until she knew for certain.

Especially now that Cece was pregnant…

Unfortunately Lizzy’s car wasn’t equipped for driving in these conditions. Her tires were shot, and with the roads under a few inches of water, there was no way she could get to Third Avenue, where Cece had moved shortly after her transformation six months ago.

She’d called her neighbor, an ex-cop named Mike, but he hadn’t picked up. She’d left him a message to keep an eye on her place, and let her know if anyone showed up there. Her next call had been to Dustin. They were friends from the hospital where Dustin, an EMT, often delivered patients. She had a whole group of friends from the hospital who would have helped, but for proximity reasons, she’d tagged Dustin as her best bet. He could get to Third in the storm with his SUV. All she had to do was find him. She knew he wasn’t scheduled to work at the firehouse today, and he wasn’t at Cristina’s place—she’d checked.

Which meant he had to be home. Hopefully.

“Going to get more than twenty-four inches of rain,” the deejay said. “Crazy.”

Two feet of rain, Lizzy thought, her fingers tightening on the steering wheel. Two feet in California. It boggled her mind. On a good day, Santa Rey was a sweet, little, quirky, fun beach town, with tourists filling the unique downtown streets, enjoying the outdoor cafés, shops and art galleries while skate-boarders and old ladies alike vied for the wide oaklined sidewalks.

Not today.

Today, Lizzy was alone on the roads, the beach void of the surfers and tan seekers.

She turned onto Dustin’s street, water spraying up on her windshield from the already flooded curbs, blinding her for a second. The only car in his driveway was a Jeep she didn’t recognize, but Dustin had a huge garage. If he was home, and she hoped like hell that he was, he’d be parked inside. Pulling up the hood on her thin hoodie sweatshirt, she opened her car door.

And stepped into several inches of water.

The icy wetness seeped up into the hospital scrubs she hadn’t taken the time to change out of, the thin cotton clinging to her calves and sucking the breath out of her lungs. She eyed Dustin’s house, which, like her own, was on a raised foundation, as were most of the other houses on this street, and therefore elevated off the ground. Hopefully, the concrete footings would be enough to keep them from flooding.

Unfortunately, Santa Rey sat squarely between a set of low, gently rolling hills on the east and the Pacific Ocean on the west, in a little nature-made bowl of a valley.

Now with fifteen-foot swells threatening to rise even higher, and the heavy rainfall steadily sliding down the mountains with no growth to stop it thanks to last year’s tragic wildfires, that bowl was filling up.

Leaving the town in serious trouble.

By profession, Lizzy was good in an emergency. Her job depended on it. She was strong of mind and body and spirit, and she knew how to be cool, calm and collected.

Or at least appear that way.

But right now, she was having a hard time. She just needed to see Cece, and then she’d relax.

Sloshing through the water up Dustin’s front path, the driving wind nearly knocked her off her feet. At the door, she pounded her fist on the wood to be heard over the unbelievable din of the storm raging around her, and reached for the doorknob at the same time, surprised and relieved when it turned in her fingers. “Hello!” she called out into the dark house. “Dustin? It’s me…”

The living room and kitchen lights weren’t on, but she saw a light coming from down the hall. She turned back and fought the front door closed. “Dustin? Cristina?”

In answer, a shadow came along the hall. A very tall, built shadow, over six feet. But here was the thing—Dustin wasn’t six feet. Plus he had a long, lanky runner’s body that tended toward skinny.

Truth was, Dustin looked like Harry Potter all grown-up, complete with the sweet and kind characteristics—not like his body had been honed into a lean, mean, fighting machine.

Such as the one heading toward her.

Uh-oh.

He kept coming at her, in tune to the house shuddering and moaning around them, like something out of a horror movie, and she reminded herself that horror movies made her laugh. But she instinctively moved back a step, tripping over her own two very wet feet and—

Landed on her ass.

She’d been doing Tae Bo for at least five years. She should be able to kung fu his ass—all she had to do was stand up and execute a roundhouse kick—

Except the shadow crouched down to her level. “Are you okay?”

The question only further scattered her brain. Why would a bad guy ask her if she was okay? “Keep your mitts off me.”

“Okay.” He lifted them in surrender. “Are you the woman who called here? Do you need help?”

Dawn had barely broken and, with no lights, he was still nothing more than a dark outline of a man. A very tall, built man that she blinked up at. “How did you know I called?”

“Because I was trying to get to the phone. I couldn’t find it, and then when I did, the battery was dead.”

He didn’t sound like a bad guy. He sounded like a sleepy, slightly irritated guy who’d been woken up, his voice low and raspy.

“You hung up too fast,” he told her.

Yeah, definitely irritated.

And also, oddly familiar. Who the hell was he?

Chapter Two

“CAN YOU HEAR ME?” he asked her. “Are you okay?”

Lizzy knew that voice. How did she know that voice?

Why did she know that voice?

The guy straightened to his full height. She heard a click, and then the room was filled with light from a lamp next to the couch.

Her bad guy was wearing a pair of army-green boxer briefs.

And nothing else.

Well, except a gorgeous body that appeared to have been chiseled with the same care and build of a Greek god, layered with sinew and sleek, tanned skin and dipped in testosterone for good measure.

Holy smokes. “Um.” She shoved back her hood. “I’m looking for Dustin—” But as she focused in on him, specifically on the tribal band tattoo on his biceps, she broke off her words. He had a tat on his pec, too, a military troop number, which was new, but the one on his arm was not, and her gaze jerked up to his face.

His voice had been familiar for a reason, and her confusion vanished, replaced by shock and surprise, and not a happy one at that. Yeah, she knew him—as the bane of her existence.

At least that’s who he’d been in high school—Jason Mauer.

Dustin’s brother.

He was staring at her, as well, full recognition on his face. “Wow. Lizzy Mann, all grown up.”

“I was about to say the same.”