Page 13 of Anchor Point

She sat at the head of the table, notepad in front of her, and listened while they addressed everything from uniforms and bunker gear to the state of the equipment.

“Why do we have a four-million-dollar building, and we’re using outdated, glitchy equipment?”

“That’s a good question, Chief,” Thoren piped up. “Maybe ask the city manager or the mayor. We gave them our list of problems before they opened this station, but nothing was done.”

I leaned back in my chair, chewing on my toothpick, arms crossed over my chest because it physically hurt to be in her vicinity, but I knew I had to speak up. “I was on the consulting team for the station build-out and equipment specs. More than once, my concerns were overridden in lieu of aesthetics for the building. Thankfully, they listened on the engine requirements.”

She turned to face me. “Hence the fancy red sliding doors on the bay?” The full effect of her attention on me nearly stole my breath.

Nate saved me by replying, “The money wasted on those doors alone could’ve been used to upgrade the equipment. They do look really cool, and the truck is super nice, thanks to Capt. But what does it matter if they leave the little issues unchecked?”

“Having reliable communication is not a little issue.” Mo glared at Nate before shifting his attention to the chief. “And that’s the administration’s mentality too. It’s just a radio. What does it matter?”

She made a note on her pad. Efficient, knowledgeable, listening.

From there, more conversation unfolded. She gave each person equal opportunity in the discussion. It really sucked that she seemed good at her job.

I didn’t want her to fail, but I also didn’t want her here, dredging up old memories. Making me feel things I had no business feeling. Especially when there was no reaction from her at all. She could’ve at least given me a second glance. I mean, damn. We’d spent a whole week wrapped up in each other. Best sex of my life.

How many times over the years had I wished that I’d gotten my head out of my ass and just asked for her number? How many times had I regretted forsaking the connection we’d had? Had it just been a time-and-place thing? Tropical paradise and a brokenhearted fool looking for a willing someone to make him forget.

And now there was a random kid on social media with a photo of us, looking for her father.

I studied Liv. The avoidance. The stilted interaction. Maybe there was more happening here than her just avoiding me. Maybe I did have a kid, and Liv didn’t want me to know.

This was fucking confusing.

“Captain Collins?”

My name from her lips did things to me.

And I’d been so caught up in just staring at her, I’d completely missed a whole-ass discussion. I realized, belatedly, that not only was the entire shift looking at me, but they’d also caught me staring at her mouth.

I met her steady gaze, heart hammering.

“Did you have anything to add?”

The bossy attitude was a total turn-on.

“Has anyone discussed the arson cases with you?”

There. See? I was engaged. And had a contribution that we could work with. Because I was a fucking professional.

Her brow dipped in concern. “No. I’m not aware of any open cases.”

I glanced at Thoren and then took the reins, certain he’d rather not have to spill the details about his twin brother. “Recently, we had a situation, a series of arson fires, and an active investigation that culminated in the perpetrator being apprehended after he caught one of our guys in an active structure fire. Both men were sent to the hospital. However, the suspect managed to slip away from his police guard at the hospital.”

She sat back in her chair, frowning. “No one has even mentioned it.”

“I gave the officer responsible, and his lieutenant, a piece of my mind. Since then, relations with that shift have been… less than ideal. Sometimes hostile, even. I’m surprised you weren’t warned about the situation.”

Her lips pressed together as she made a series of notes, then met my eyes. “Thank you for telling me.”

“There’s more to the story,” Thoren added flatly. The rest of the crew shifted, bristling in defense of their brother. “The arsonist is my brother.”

Had to give her credit. She didn’t even flinch. Instead, she grew still, her voice soft and gentle as she suggested, “How about you fill me in on the rest of the story.”

“My brother was targeting me because he’s a sick fu—person.” He cleared his throat, color creeping up from the collar of his uniform shirt. “Anyways, he thought the best way to torment me was to set fire in places he knew I’d respond to. My girlfriend’s apartment, her yoga studio, all in my station’s zone. We caught him, but not before he’d done irreparable damage.”

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