Flashpoint

Shit.

He was as hot as she remembered. He didn’t look tired this morning. Instead, the corners of his mouth were turned up, and his eyes—cheerful and wide-awake—slid over her, making her very aware of the fact that while she might have a little crush going, it was most definitely, absolutely, a two-way thing.

Which didn’t help at all.

“Guys,” he called out over his shoulder. “She’s here.”

“Number Seven showed?” This from a tall, dark and extremely drool-worthy firefighter in the doorway to the kitchen.

“Meet Aidan,” Zach said to Brooke. “He dated New Hire Number Two and she never came back, so he has orders to stay clear.”

“Hey, I didn’t plan on the shellfish giving her food poisoning,” Aidan said in his own defense. “But just in case…” He flashed a smile at Brooke, a killer smile that rivaled Zach’s. “We’d better not go out for shellfish.”

Several more men crowded into the hallway to take a look. Yeah, they really did make them good-looking here. Must be the fresh sea air. “Hi,” she said, waving. “Brooke O’Brien.”

The bell rang, and everyone groaned, their greeting getting lost as they headed for their gear.

“Aidan and I roll together,” Zach said, stepping into his boots. “With Cristina and Blake.” He gestured to two additional firefighters, the first a tough-looking beautiful blond woman who smiled, the other, male, tall and lanky, not smiling.

Zach shook his head. “Or, as we call Blake, Eeyore.”

Okay. Brooke wasn’t smiling, either, so she put one on now, but it was too late; they’d turned away.

“You’re with Dustin,” Zach called back.

Dustin, who looked like Harry Potter The Grown-Up Years, complete with glasses, raised his hand. “We’re the two EMTs on this shift. Nice to meet you. Hope you orientate fast.”

She hoped so, too.

Dustin gestured to the door, nodding to the two firefighters not moving. “This is Sam and Eddie. Their rig wasn’t called, so they get to stay here and watch Oprah and eat bonbons.”

They took the ribbing with a collective flip of their middle fingers, then vanished back down the hall.

“Actually, they’re scheduled to go to the middle school on Ninth this morning and give a fire safety and prevention speech to the kids,” Dustin told her with a grin. “They’ll eat their bonbons later. Let’s hit it, New Hire Seven. It’s a Code Calico.”

“Code Calico?”

But he was already moving to the door that led directly to the garage and the rigs.

Cristina brushed past Brooke and set her mug in the sink. “Good luck.”

“Am I going to need it?”

“With Dustin, our resident McDweeb? Oh, yeah, you’re going to need it.”

“What’s a Code Calico?”

Cristina merely laughed, which did nothing to ease Brooke’s nerves.

Blake poked his head back in the door. He’d pulled on his outer fire gear, which looked slightly too big on his very lean form. “Hey, New Hire. Hit it means hit it.”

So she did what was expected of her—she hit it. Dustin drove, while she took the shotgun position. “So really, what’s a Code Calico?”

Dustin navigated the streets with a familiar sort of ease that told her he knew what he was doing, not even glancing at the GPS system. “Want to take it?”

“Take it?”

“Be point on the call.” He glanced at her. “The one in charge.”

She sensed it was a test. She aced tests, always had. That was the analness in her, she supposed. “Sure.”

He pushed up his glasses and nodded, but she’d have sworn his lips twitched.

Huh. Definitely missing something.

When they pulled onto a wide, affluent, oak-lined street, she hopped out and opened the back doors of the rig.

“Gurney’s not necessary on this one,” Dustin told her.

Behind the ambulance came the fire truck. Zach and the others appeared, smiling.

Why were they all smiling?

Before she could dwell on that, from between the two trucks came an old woman, yelling and waving her cane. “Hurry! Hurry before Cecile falls!”

The panic in her voice was real, and Brooke’s heart raced just as Dustin nudged her forward, whispering in her ear, “All yours.”

This was the job, and suddenly in her element, her nerves took a backseat. Here, she could help; here, she could run the show. “It’s okay, ma’am. We’re here now.”

“Well, then, get to it! Get my Cecile!”

“Where is she? In the house?”

“No!” She looked very shaky and not a little off her rocker, so Brooke tried to steer her to the curb to sit down, but she wasn’t having it.

“I’m not sitting anywhere! Not until you get Cecile!”

“Okay, just tell me where she is and I’ll—”

“Oh, good Lord!” The woman blinked through her thick-rimmed glasses, taking a quick look at the others, who stood back, watching. “She’s another new hire, isn’t she?”

“Yes,” Brooke said. “But—”

“What number are you?”

Brooke sighed. “Seven.”

“Well, get a move on, New Hire Number Seven! Save my Cecile!”