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“Sure,” Summer smiled. “Give my arms a break for a few minutes. I’ll put this stuff back under the sink.”
Ashton turned with the baby and began walking down to the basement. He knew where it was from a hot-water-heater problem a few months before. As a matter of fact, for a newer condo, this place tended to have a lot of issues. But he definitely wouldn’t complain.
It gave him a chance to see Summer. Even if it was as the handyman.
Little Chloe began jabbering to him in her baby language, laughing as he bounced her as he went down the stairs. He didn’t know why the little girl liked him so much, but he would take it while he could.
Someday she would find out Ashton was the reason her dad had died. Then neither she nor her mom would want anything to do with him.
* * *
SUMMER LOVED HEARING her daughter squeal with delight as Ashton took her down the stairs. She felt safe leaving Chloe with Ashton. Not only had he proven over and over again that he was patient and gentle with her, Joe Matarazzo—one of Summer’s closest friends—had vouched personally for Ashton.
Joe had first sent Ashton over when she’d had a garbage disposal problem a few months ago. She’d somehow found multiple reasons for him to come back since. He must think she was completely useless around the house. But he never seemed to mind coming over to help with whatever she needed.
So Summer kept calling. And Ashton kept showing up.
With his tall, gorgeous body and thick brown hair. Muscular arms that stretched the sleeves of his T-shirts.
She had to admit, she didn’t mind the view whenever he was here.
She hadn’t gone so far as to actually break anything herself to get him to come over, but she’d never tried to fix even the smallest problem when it occurred. Since the unit was really bigger than she and Chloe needed—three bedrooms, two different levels, plus a basement—there did seem to be a lot of different things she could call him for.
Summer began putting back the cleaning supplies she’d moved out of the way before Ashton had arrived. Ashton barely ever talked while he was there. At least, not to Summer. She could hear him keeping up a steady stream of conversation with Chloe, but the most Summer got were short, direct sentences. He was shy and a little bit awkward. Unbelievable in a man with his looks.
Not that Summer would know what to do if the man could get a full sentence out and began to really talk to her. Then she’d be the one stuttering.
So she kept her one-sided attraction to herself. She was sure she wasn’t really his type. She didn’t know what that type may be, but it was probably someone more into things he was into...
Like being quiet.
She knocked her head softly against the sink cabinet door. She didn’t really know anything about Ashton. She knew some basics—that he’d been raised on his parents’ farm, that he still went out to Wyoming to see them as often as he could. She knew he was kind and gentle with her daughter and always polite to her. But she had no idea what he was into, what he liked. Only knew he tended to be reserved. A man of few words.
And that he had a face, hair and biceps to die for.
She would’ve totally given up on any possibility of anything ever happening between them if she didn’t catch him looking at her with heat in his eyes every once in a while. Like he felt the same attraction she did but couldn’t seem to move on it. He never moved on it.
Maybe because he was too shy.
Or maybe she’d just imagined those looks.
She put a stack of sponges where they belonged before closing the cabinet and resting her head against the wood. It had been too long since Tyler died. Too long since she’d had a man’s attention focused on her. And as much as she’d like that focus to be from Ashton, she didn’t see that happening any time soon.
“Okay, got your water turned back on and everything should be great.”
As she stood back up, Summer couldn’t help but notice his shirt had gotten a little damp, probably while he’d been under the sink, and clung to his midsection, showing off the perfectly defined abs underneath.
Weren’t plumbers and maintenance guys supposed to have beer bellies and ill-fitting pants? She may not know what Ashton did on his time off, but it definitely wasn’t sitting around watching TV and drinking beer, that was for sure.
And then she noticed how he kept Chloe up high in his arms so her little legs wouldn’t get damp from his shirt.
And darn it if that wasn’t almost as sexy.
“Ashton, thank you again for coming by. Especially since you weren’t planning to work in our complex this morning.”
He looked a little sheepish, she had no idea why. Chloe reached for her. “Ma-ma.”
Summer took her daughter, nuzzling her soft hair. “Hey, sweetheart. You have fun with Ashton?”
Chloe began jabbering an entire story only she could understand.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to pay you extra for your time? Coming out here—out of your way? I feel bad.”
Ashton’s eyes widened. “No. No. That’s really not necessary. You definitely cannot pay me. Summer, I should—”
He stopped, rubbing a hand over his forehead.
“You should what?” she finally asked when it became apparent he wasn’t going to say anything more.
As usual.
He gave a tiny sigh, then a smile. “Nothing. Really, it was no problem helping you. Just call me if there’s anything else you need.”
What if she needed to ask him to dinner? What would he say to that? No doubt he would stutter and get embarrassed.
But would he stutter yes or stutter no?
Summer had been out of the dating game for a long time. She and Tyler had been married three years when he’d died nearly two years ago. So it had been over five years since she’d asked anyone—or been asked by anyone—for a date. She wasn’t sure she even knew how to start now.
All she knew was that it was nice to be around a man who didn’t know that her husband had died suddenly and tragically. Didn’t look at her with barely veiled pity in his eyes.
She turned toward the kitchen counter and grabbed a plate. “Well, I made you some muffins. Blueberry.”
She thrust the plate holding the half dozen oversize muffins toward him.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
Now she felt like an idiot. “Oh. Yeah, well, I just felt like baking.” At four o’clock this morning when she’d realized he might be coming over in a few hours to fix the leak. “And thought you might like some. I can’t eat them all.”
She wished she’d never brought it up.
“Oh, well, they look delicious. Thank you very much.”
He took the plate. She ignored the tiny bit of guilt she felt over the knowledge that he’d probably return the plate in the next couple of days and she’d get to see him again.
That was not why she’d baked him muffins.
He was a single guy. He probably didn’t get a lot of home-cooked items. That’s why she’d baked him muffins.
He glanced at his watch and winced. “Okay, I’ve got to get going. Just call me if there are any other problems, okay? And thank you.” He held up the plate.
He reached over quickly and tickled Chloe’s cheek, causing her to laugh. “Bye, you little heartbreaker. Be good for your mama.”
He was out the door before she could say anything else.
What would she say anyway?
Bring me back my muffin plate tomorrow and when you do, ask me to dinner!
She wished she had the guts.
Summer put Chloe in her high chair and set some Cheerios in a small plastic bowl on the tray. Within seconds, they were spread out all over the tray and she was trying to feed herself with both fists at once.
Chloe wasn’t much of a conversationalist either.
Summer had lost her husband to useless violence so long ago now. She missed Tyler every day, wished he was here to see his daughter and what a beautiful, smart, delightful baby she was. But Summer had long since accepted Tyler wasn’t coming back. He wouldn’t want her to waste her life pining over what couldn’t be changed. He would always live in her heart.
So maybe someday soon she would ask Ashton out. He seemed like a good man, if a little shy, but solid, steady, dependable.
And hot as all get-out.
Summer could use a little solid-and-steady, even if the words sounded boring to her. She’d had enough excitement in her twenty-six years. First Tyler’s death, then eight months ago when a crazy stalker linked to Tyler’s case had taken her and Chloe and trapped them in a burning building.
Some Omega Sector agents who worked with Joe Matarazzo had gotten her and Chloe out. Joe had been able to stop the stalker and save his wife, Laura—whom the psycho had also taken—although only barely.
Summer didn’t remember a lot of what had happened in that building. She’d been drugged so everything had been hazy. She just remembered a man in full combat gear, breaking through the door of the small room where she and Chloe had been placed and carrying them both out to safety—as if carrying them had been no difficulty for him at all. The whole scene had been so chaotic, Summer hadn’t even been able to thank him.
So yeah, she’d had enough of excitement. Was ready for a little bit of boring, like maybe a quiet handyman. Although she doubted Ashton was boring once someone got to know him. At least she hoped not.
Summer almost absently gave Chloe more Cheerios before reaching down to grab the ones that had been knocked to the floor and throwing them in the trash.
Summer dreamed a lot—almost every night. Vivid, lifelike dreams. For a while they had been terrifying ones of Tyler’s death. Thankfully those had gone away.
Now she often dreamed about her kidnapping and the fire. She dreamed about the man who’d gotten her out. Who’d carried her safely in his arms.
Capable. Strong. Calm and steady under pressure.
But in every dream, no matter how it started or what she did differently, there was only one face she ever assigned to her hero: Ashton’s.
Ashton Fitzgerald may be strong. And even capable in a lot of situations. But he was no rush-into-a-burning-building sort of hero. Which was fine. There were all types of heroes. Ashton was just the type who came by early and fixed sinks, rather than leaping tall buildings in a single bound. Summer had no problem with that.
She just wished she could convince her subconscious.
Chapter Two (#u9c6b789b-f83c-56ec-8300-d90dd93a0220)
About an hour north, in a building the polar opposite of any of the lovely condos in Colorado Springs, Damien Freihof was bored.
And generally when he became bored, people started dying.
He took a deep breath and feigned interest in what the other two men were saying inside the abandoned warehouse just outside of Denver, where they all had agreed to meet since none of them knew each other.
One waxed poetic about the need for change. He wore an ill-fitting, charcoal-gray suit with a red tie and paced back and forth. He kept a baseball cap pulled low on his head to make his features, if not exactly indistinguishable, at least more difficult to describe.
“We will rewire the entire American law enforcement system,” he argued from the shadows. The man obviously wanted to keep his face—as he had wanted to keep his name—out of the equation.
Which was fine for now.
Damien raised his fist in the air. “Yes! Fight the power.” He barely restrained from rolling his eyes.
Red Tie stopped his pacing. “We will fight the power. We will change everything by destroying the law enforcement status quo. Once Omega Sector crumbles, other law enforcement agencies will follow. We will stop the corruption.”
It was obviously a rehearsed line. Damien had no idea how deep Red Tie’s following went, whether the man had only practiced his speech in front of the mirror or if he had dozens of soldiers lined up for his cause of restructuring the law enforcement system.
But Damien knew he worked relatively high within the elite law enforcement group of Omega Sector and wanted to destroy it.
That made Red Tie Damien’s new best friend. Inconsequential things like names and faces could come later.
If Damien guessed, he would say the man was some sort of active agent or SWAT member, based on his general discomfiture with his suit. He obviously didn’t like the restriction and was probably used to wearing the superhero uniforms the SWAT team wore. Plus, he was definitely fit. Maybe not quite right in the head, but definitely physically capable of doing harm.
The other man, Curtis Harper, the man Damien had contacted and brought to this meeting, had no qualms about standing in the open, his face and identity known to everyone.
Harper tended to be much more whiny and annoying in general. He finally spoke up.
“Dude...”
Damien had found in his years of experience that nothing intelligent ever followed the word dude.
“Dude,” Harper said again, “I’m not interested in no revolution. I just want to get revenge on the man who killed my father.”
Red Tie stared at Harper, his arms crossing over his chest. Everyone stood in silence for a long time.
“Damien.” Red Tie turned to him. “I’m not sure we’re all on the same page he—”
Damien held out a hand to stop the man’s words. He didn’t want Red Tie to scare Harper away. Harper served an important purpose.
An important, disposable purpose.
Damien walked over to Harper, putting a friendly arm around his shoulders. He led him away from Red Tie, toward the door of the warehouse. “Mr. Harper, you want revenge. Rightfully so.”
“Damn straight.” Harper nodded and moved his jaw strangely. Damien realized he had chewing tobacco in his mouth.
The urge to snap the man’s neck right now rushed through Damien’s body. He could feel the tingling need zip through his arms and fingertips. He’d be doing everyone a service by killing this uneducated, woe-is-me bigot right now. But Damien resisted the urge.
Barely.
“I understand,” he said instead, keeping his hand around the man’s shoulder. “And I want to help you get that revenge against Ashton Fitzgerald.”
Harper’s eyes narrowed. “That bastard killed my daddy. Murdered him in cold blood.”
