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Colleen smiled brilliantly. “Now that I know you don’t think I’m crazy, I will.” She took a sip of tea, then added, “Too creepy and too much of a coincidence not to be related.”
Lucia hoped Colleen was wrong.
“Nice jacket,” Colleen said, fingering the collar of Rafe’s leather jacket, which Lucia had brought into the house and hung across the back of a kitchen chair. “Doesn’t look like anything I’ve seen your brothers wearing, though.”
“It’s not,” Lucia admitted, remembering that she had caressed the soft leather in the same way her friend was doing now. “It belongs to Rafe—Rafael—Wright.” When her friend raised her eyebrows in question, she tacked on, “The guy from the hospital.”
“Ah…the one you didn’t rescue. The one who’s not ugly.” Sipping her tea, Colleen gazed at Lucia over the top of her mug. “You’re finally ready to move on?”
“Maybe,” Lucia admitted.
The expression in Colleen’s eyes softened. “Not every guy is the kind of lowlife Stan was.” Then she smiled. “This Rafe…Rafael guy…he might be the answer to my prayers for you. Tall, dark, handsome, gainfully employed.” She paused a beat while she took another sip of tea, smile lines crinkling at her eyes. “And somebody who wants you just as you are.”
Lucia grinned at her friend. “Sounds like the guy you should be praying for—not for me, but for yourself.”
“Hey. Maybe your guy has a brother.”
“Two sisters,” Lucia said.
“I’m going to be good and not even say a word that you would know about the man’s family.”
They talked a while longer, their comfortable conversation turning to family matters, the plans Lucia had for her day off before going back to work for another twenty-four-hour shift and the research Colleen was doing for a new story—a series of articles about how drug traffic had changed in Colorado Springs since the demise of the drug cartel taken down the previous year. Since both of them had brothers who had been very involved in the case, the story was personal for Colleen.
After she left, Lucia worked around her house for a while, starting a load of laundry and taking care of other chores before heading for the hospital, where she would spend a few hours so her mother could get a break. That was a routine she would be happy to give up, Lucia thought as she drove to the hospital, her automatic prayer for her father’s quick recovery at her lips. Quick, though, hadn’t happened.
“Whatever Your greater plan, Lord,” she quietly prayed, “help us to understand.” Though she believed the potential for good flowed from every situation, she was hard-pressed to imagine what greater good was to come from her dad’s lingering coma.
She arrived a half hour early as she had planned so she could check on Ramón and Teresa, or at least their sister. With that in mind, she made her way to the makeshift children’s ward. She found the children with their parents, who spoke no more English than the children did. Immediately frustrated with the limited communication available with her own poor Spanish and vague hand gestures, Lucia cut her visit short, wishing she spoke the language well enough to communicate and wishing Rafe had been with her to translate.
Leaving the ward, she went through the main rotunda of the hospital and was drawn to the security tape that cordoned off the damaged pediatric wing. The fire doors at the entrance to the wing were closed. They didn’t keep the pungent scent of smoke, water and charred debris inside, however, the odors oozing into the rotunda.
“It sure smells awful, doesn’t it?” came a voice from the other side of the rotunda.
Lucia turned around to see Chloe Tanner, an intensive-care nurse who had thwarted a second attempt on her father’s life, coming toward her. That alone would have made her an honorary family member. She had also been a great nurse, taking good care of Lucia’s dad during those first harrowing days after he was shot.
That had been the beginning of a romance between Chloe and Colleen’s cousin Brendan, and they had recently announced their engagement.
Smiling, Lucia said, “It does, but it’s about the usual.”
“I saw the trucks for your station here.”
Lucia nodded. “We were the first to arrive.”
“I just don’t understand how a fire of that magnitude happened,” Chloe said. “After all those false alarms kept happening, one of the chiefs was out here several times doing inspections. You would have thought he might have noticed the problem with the sprinklers.”
“Do you remember which one?” Lucia asked.
Chloe grinned. “I won’t be forgetting about a man who talked to me like I had the IQ of a gnat. Battalion Chief Neil O’Brien. He’s in charge of your station house, isn’t he?”
Again Lucia nodded, knowing just how Chloe felt. “A gnat, huh?”
Chloe’s smile widened. “We might be insulting gnats.”
Lucia laughed, reminded of how much she had appreciated Chloe’s wry humor during those first tense days her dad was in intensive care. “I just had to come see—even though I knew I wouldn’t be able to get in. It was a strange fire.” That was an understatement. From the explosion to the two kids in the chapel to Rafael Wright, there wasn’t a single ordinary thing about it.
“I’m so thankful no one was seriously injured,” Chloe said. “Only some smoke inhalation, though that can be very serious, too.” She walked with Lucia toward the wide staircase that led to the first floor.
“Let’s keep an eye on the weather,” Lucia said as they parted ways. “I’d be more than happy to take your kids skiing some weekend.”
Chloe laughed. “My kids, but not me.”
“You, too.” Lucia grinned at her. “I suppose I could even put up with Brendan, too, if he can get away.”
“He’d like that.” Chloe waved goodbye.
With that, Lucia headed for the intensive-care wing where her father was. Though at least one FBI agent was always in the hallway outside her dad’s room, Lucia still wasn’t used to their presence. The man on duty today said hello as she walked past him and headed for her mother, who was sitting next to the bed.
“Hi, Mom,” Lucia said from the doorway.
“You’re early,” her mother said.
“Not that much.” Lucia moved into the room, taking off her coat. “I’ve been reading to him, and to be honest, now I’m wanting to know how the story turns out.”
They talked a few minutes longer, and after her mother left, Lucia sat down next to the bed and began reading to her dad, a novel from his collection of Zane Grey Westerns. He loved those stories, and she understood why. In the end, justice prevailed and evil was vanquished. That thought took root, along with the newspaper ad that Colleen had shown her.
What if Colleen was right and it was a message? Lucia looked up from the book to her father’s sleeping face. She thought about that some more, trying to analyze the problem the way her brother Sam would. As a detective, he was good at sifting through the puzzle pieces and putting the right ones together.
If the message was a warning, she wondered if it was somehow connected to her dad’s shooting. Or was she simply giving too much importance to her own family? And if the ad was connected to her father somehow, surely one of the FBI agents who had been assigned to the case would see how everything fit together. Deciding others were far better equipped to figure out the puzzle, if there even was one, Lucia returned to reading to her father.
She spent the rest of the afternoon with her dad, not leaving until one of her sisters-in-law arrived, a continuation of the family agreement that Mayor Vance would always have a family member by his side.
Lucia left the hospital, her attention drawn to the leather jacket on the front seat of her car. Since she had looked up Rafe’s address before she left home and discovered he lived only a couple of miles from the hospital, returning his jacket seemed the neighborly thing to do. Except that she hadn’t called, mostly because she hadn’t been able to figure out what she would say after the initial hello. Her internal argument continued while she drove. Since it wasn’t yet five o’clock, maybe he wouldn’t even be home. So she’d be off the hook, a thought that brought a pang of disappointment.
Her stomach clenched with unaccustomed butterflies as she pulled into the parking lot. The apartment complex where he lived was large, but she easily found his building. The jacket firmly wrapped in her arms, she climbed the two flights of exterior stairs to his floor, found the apartment number and knocked on the door.
She could hear music from inside, so clearly someone was home.
A second later, the door opened and a tall, good-looking man with coffee-colored skin and dark eyes smiled at her.
“I was looking for Rafe,” she said.
His smile widened. “I wish I could say that you found him.”
“Is this the right apartment?”
He nodded. “Right apartment, wrong guy.” He extended his hand. “I’m his roommate, Malik Williams. And you are?”
“Lucia Vance,” Rafe said, appearing behind Malik.
The butterflies in her stomach fluttered at the sound of Rafe’s deep voice. Her gaze latched on to his, and she lost herself within his green eyes that were so at odds with his dark brown hair and olive skin. The outside of the iris was a pure, dark jade. As she realized he was studying her just as intently, her own gaze shifted to Malik’s openly curious and teasing one. She noticed a bandage above one eyebrow.
Malik’s smile grew into a wide grin that flustered her even more. He took her hand. “He wouldn’t tell me a single thing about the lovely firefighter, except for your name.” He clucked his tongue. “I knew you’d be pretty.”
They had talked about her, Lucia thought, the butterflies beating against her chest, her attention still on Rafe’s smiling face. His hair was longer than she had remembered, the color a warm, dark brown.
“And I’m pretty sure you have something else to do,” he said, taking Lucia’s hand out of Malik’s and drawing her into the apartment. “Like now.”
Malik laughed. “I do?” At Rafe’s glower, he repeated, “I do. Something very, very important back here that I’m sure I’ll remember real soon.” He slapped Rafe on the back. “She’s fine, so you be extra nice.”
Completely bemused, Lucia watched Malik amble toward a hallway. Rafe’s hand around her own was warm and solid, which made sense since the man had proven to be both yesterday.
Rafe led her through a living room that was dominated by a huge black leather couch, a matching loveseat and an equally masculine recliner. An enormous black television was surrounded by various high-tech components, smooth jazz emanating from the speakers. The kitchen was small, the stainless-steel appliances gleamed, and the counters were neatly lined with various gadgets, from a cappuccino machine that looked too complicated to use to an electric ice-cream maker. Something savory-smelling bubbled in a glass-lid-covered pot on the stove.
Letting go of her hand, Rafe said, “I’m glad to see you. Would you like something to drink?” Without waiting for an answer, he opened the refrigerator. “A soda or a lemonade, or the ever-popular iced tea?”
I’m glad to see you. Those simple words warmed her beyond anything reasonable—maybe because it was an echo of how she felt. She realized he was looking at her expectantly, and her attention shifted to the open refrigerator door.
“Iced tea.” At the breathless tone in her voice, she silently marshaled her thoughts into some coherent order. “That sounds good.”
Rafael Wright wasn’t the first man she had ever found alluring. But he was the most potent.
FOUR
“I’ve got to warn you,” Rafe said, taking the jug of tea out of the refrigerator. “It’s sweet tea—a taste I acquired when I was living in North Carolina a few years ago.”
“That’s fine,” Lucia said. “Were you fighting wildfires there?”
Filling the glasses with ice, he nodded. “They were having a drought, and I spent most of the season there.”
“Fires have a season?”
He grinned, that killer dimple flashing. “They do. Brush fires as early as February or March, sometimes, in Florida and southern California. Or late. There was a big fire in the Everglades in November the same year I worked in North Carolina.” He filled the glasses from a pitcher in the refrigerator. “I see you brought my jacket back.”
She glanced down at the coat still clutched in her arms. “Yes.”
He handed her the glass. “I was hoping it would turn up.”
She extended her arm so he could take the jacket. “It looks like you’ve had it a long time.”
“I have.” He set it over the back of a chair and motioned her toward the living room. “It was a gift from my sisters one Christmas.”
“The schoolteacher and the homemaker,” she said, heading for one end of the monstrous black leather couch, where she sat down. Setting the iced tea on the chrome-and-glass coffee table, she slipped off her lightweight coat.
“You remembered,” he said.
She didn’t respond to that, especially since everything from yesterday was vividly etched in her mind. “Your friend that you were visiting when the fire started, how is she—”
“He,” Rafe corrected, cocking his head toward the hallway. “Malik. He was released this morning.” Rafe sat down on the other end of the couch, extending one arm across the back and balancing the iced tea glass on his thigh. “A ladder fell on him during a training exercise, and since he had a concussion to go with the gash over his eye, they wanted to keep him overnight for observation.”
His gaze on her was so thorough that she looked away, noticing details about the room beyond the high-tech, masculine toys. The mostly barren glass and chrome shelves didn’t have a speck of dust—unlike her own oak furniture. There was a picture of Rafe with a couple of pretty women, the kind of photo she would have thought was a posed family picture, except they didn’t look anything like him.
“My sisters,” he said.
She looked back at him.
“I was adopted when I was nine,” he added, as if understanding her unasked question of why there wasn’t a family resemblance, and smoothly moved on to a new subject. “I went by the children’s ward this afternoon to find out how Ramón and Teresa—and their sister—were doing.”
“I did, too,” she said.
“They told me I had just missed you.” His gaze roved over her face.
She smiled. “I was wishing you were with me…or that I spoke Spanish. I couldn’t understand them.”
“They were happy you came to see them,” he said. “Their sister has some rare kind of bone cancer, and she’s going to be in the hospital for a while, so you’ll have other chances to see them.”
“I’m sorry for that. Not that I’ll have a chance to see them, but because their sister is sick. That’s hard—the long wait and not knowing…”
“You’re talking about your father?”
“Yes.” She met his gaze, reassured when she saw only curiosity and compassion in his expression. Speculation about the extent of her father’s injuries and whether he would be able to return to work had dominated the news. Lucia hated the spotlight that her family had been thrust into.
He moved his arm from the back of the couch to take her hand. “Your family has had a rough several months, if the reports on the news are to be believed.”
His touch was warm, offering support that she didn’t quite know what to make of. When she pulled her hand away to once again pick up the glass of iced tea, she had the fleeting thought that a hug from this man would be just as warm, just as supportive. Those were the kinds of thoughts she couldn’t afford, even though she had told Colleen that…maybe…she was ready to move on. The all-too-familiar knot in her stomach reminded her that she was no longer as confident as she once had been or as certain of her own judgment of others. She reminded herself that she had come to return his jacket—that was all. The sooner she drank her tea and left, the better.
Taking a sip of the tea and focusing on the last thing he had mentioned, she said, “You know the news—you have to make it exciting somehow. And the truth is, we’re just waiting for him to wake up, just as we’ve been doing since those first days.”
“Waiting and praying,” he said.
“Yes,” she breathed, her silent admonishment to hurry lost beneath the feeling that Rafe somehow understood. “Exactly that.”
“Then you’re doing all you can.”
“It doesn’t feel like enough,” she said, setting the glass back on the coffee table.
“Prayers are heard.”
She met his kind gaze once more, feeling as though the ground had subtly shifted beneath her. He had confirmed what she had been taught all her life, what she believed to the depths of her soul. Prayers were heard. One more thing that added to her awareness of him.
“Now then.” He winked at her. “I have a mondo huge favor to ask.”
The butterflies returned as she realized he was flirting with her. “I’m not sure I know you well enough for ‘mondo huge’ favors.”
“I figure being trapped together by a fire means you know me very well,” he said. “My niece’s birthday is coming up, and my sister tells me she’s not old enough for Barbie dolls, which were always my fallback gift for my sisters.”
“A safe choice.” Personally, she hadn’t been that interested in playing with dolls when she was a girl, nor had she had the endless fascination of dressing them that she had seen in her friends.
“And since I’m her only uncle and her godfather—”
