Page 4 of Fire Peak

Outside, she set a slow pace toward the park, through the suburban neighborhood where she’d spent the last years of high school. It was early May, and everyone’s forsythia bushes were in full bloom. Daffodils nodded cheerfully from sunny borders, and the sound of lawnmowers droned in the distance. The air smelled of blossoms and fresh grass, and she could practically taste the lemonade her grandmother would have made for her after a track meet. It was so calm here, so tranquil, and yet…

And yet…

She couldn’t wait to take off again. It was too tame, too predictable. She didn’t belong here.

She didn’t belong anywhere.

At the edge of the park, the figure of a man up ahead caught her attention. A runner; a good one, too. She knew a decent stride when she saw one. She didn’t recognize him, the way she did most of the other joggers around here. He must be new to the neighborhood.

She slowed her pace, not wanting to cross paths with a stranger, even a good-looking one. Stellar ass, she noted. Those running sweats really showed it off. As she entered the park and the shade of the freshly budding maple trees, she saw the man slow his pace, then stop at the edge of the path. He bent over, hands on his knees, peering at something she couldn’t make out.

Curiosity killed the cat, she scolded herself. But she couldn’t help it. Charlie had always been insatiably curious. Her curiosity, along with her thirst for revenge, had driven her to learn about the financial system that had brought down her father. Combine that with her love of coding and the need to right wrongs…well, it added up to trouble. And yet, several extremely worthy nonprofits had felt the benefits. Like everything, it was a mixed bag.

She paused next the man. “Dead body, this early in the summer?” she asked lightly.

He barely spared her a glance. That was unusual in itself. With her height, and ever since she’d grown into her dramatic features, she tended to attract attention.

But the jogger kept his focus on the leaf debris under the maple. “Shh. You might scare him. The poor little guy’s one shock away from perishing.”

She came a step closer and saw a bird on its side, fluttering in the pile of dead leaves. Its feathers were a soft speckled gray, its one visible eye bright as a jet bead. “He looks like he’s trying to fly. Do you think his wing is broken?”

“Looks like.” On his knees, he inched forward and piled leaves around the bird. Using them to form a cushion under the bird, he gently scooped it up. “I can’t just leave it, my daughter would kill me.”

A daughter. And yet, she saw no ring on any of his fingers. He had dark sweat-thickened hair that curled against his skin. And muscles. And big hands. The way he cupped that pile of leaves in his hands was unreasonably sexy.

“I’d offer to take it in, but my new goldfish might object. Not that she’d tell me. She’s still not speaking to me.”

He finally looked up at her. Dark, dark eyes to go with his hair. Stubble. Lots of stubble, framing finely curved lips. “Silent treatment, huh? Been there.” Using only the strength of his legs, he made his way to his feet. “Do you know the closest vet around here?”

So he wasn’t local.

“I don’t. But I know a pet store that sells fish food. It’s not far. They might be able to help.”

“Great.” He waited for her to continue. In his hands, the bird opened its beak and gave a weak chirp. He murmured to it, “Don’t you worry, Hector. I’m gonna take care of you.”

“Hector?”

“Famous Greek warrior. I’m using positive reinforcement.”

Charlie sighed. He was just too cute, she couldn’t take it. “I’ll call the pet store.”

The pet store clerk told them about a wildlife refuge that took in wounded animals, including birds. It was located just outside of town. “Just try to keep it comfortable until then,” she advised.

“I’ll drive you,” Charlie told the man cradling the bird in his hands. “Hector looks pretty comfortable right now, you can’t put him down.”

“Are you sure? You haven’t even gotten your run in yet.” He shot a quick glance down her body. It left a trail of scorching awareness in its wake.

“I can run later.”

“You don’t have to get to work?”

The question was innocent enough. Most people probably had jobs to get to at this time of day. But Charlie didn’t like to answer questions like that. “Don’t you?”

“I work for myself.”

“Same.”

They left it at that, as if neither one felt the need to know more. That relaxed Charlie; she hated fending off questions with half-truths or evasions. How could she explain that she was a self-appointed Robin Hood hacker who targeted the worst corporate wrongdoers and secretly redirected funds toward nonprofits that needed them more?

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