Page 10 of Burning for Alexander
I barked out a laugh. “Oh my god, you were Kitsoned!”
He closed the hatch and moved closer, standing close enough for me to remember how much taller he was. “Explain,” he said with narrowed eyes.
“Maureen Kitson will flick her housecoat at any man in uniform around here. Ten bucks says Cody McMasters threw you under the bus. Mrs. Kitson spent eight months trying to seduce him until he finally figured out how to drop a casual mention of having a contagious and chronic STI. Even that didn’t work until he described his… lesions… in gory detail.”
Kincaid looked put upon. “And then?”
“And then she moved her attention to the sheriff, only he spun a tale about a long-lost love he’s never been able to get over. And then it was Marco’s turn, back before he moved over to SERA…”
“I’m going to kill McMasters,” he grumbled. “Spent two hours thinking she was just a close talker before she asked me to triple-check the gas smell in her bed.”
I couldn’t hold back the shout of laughter. “Oh my god, tell me you sniffed her sheets! Please tell me you got into that woman’s bed and humored her.”
He shot me an annoyed look, but I could see the barest hint of a smile at the edge of his mouth. “Maybe I would have, if I hadn’t already discovered she doesn’t have natural gas or propane service to her house.”
My laughter nearly stole my breath, and tears leaked out of myeyes. “No gas, and she called in a gas leak? What the fuck caused you to stay for two hours?”
“While she didn’t have a gas leak, she absolutely did have three smoke detectors wildly out of date. Which she apparently knew since she’d already bought the replacements.”
I rolled my eyes. “So you did the Boy Scout thing and installed them for her.”
He shrugged. “It was either that or hold the ladder while I tried not to look up her housecoat. And believe me, I’d already determined she was going Scottish kilt-style under that thing.”
The laughter returned, only now it made me snort and howl. I doubled over and stomped my boot on the ground. “Stop, stop, I can’t breathe.”
He took the opportunity to pound me on the back so hard I nearly staggered to the side. “Take it easy, there, Firebug. It wasn’t that funny.”
When I finally caught my breath, I sniffed and eyed him. “Seriously, why are you out here? I told my sister I had a slight fire incident and stomped it out. I only needed her to bring me a jug of water to be sure it was all out before leaving.”
“She said there was a suspected arson in progress at?—”
“Shut the fuck up! Are you serious?” I cried.
And then Judd fucking Kincaid grinned a wide grin that transformed his face from the gruff asshole, hell-bent on catching me in a code violation, into the world’s most stunning man.
“Of course I’m not serious. She called Javi to ask him to run out here and help, but he called me since it involved a person of interest in an ongoing fire investigation.”
“Are you kidding? Is he for real? What the fuck?” I didn’t appreciate the fact that I sounded like a dog’s squeaky toy since this asshole fire chief came to town, but apparently, I couldn’t stop it.
Javier Sujo was dead to me. No more two-dollar refills on his girlfriend’s favorite chardonnay.
“The man’s just doing his job, Alex. He knew if he came out here as a civilian and something happened, I’d fire his ass.”
I tried standing up a little straighter so he’d take me seriously. “Stop following me around. It’s harassment.”
He tilted his chin as he peered down at me, his body language relaxed enough to be in complete contrast with mine. “Stop lighting shit on fire. It’s illegal.”
I thought about continuing to fight with him, to try and win. But then my eyes caught sight of the skin on his forearm as he raised a hand to run fingers through his hair. His uniform sleeve was rolled up, and the way the odd light from the headlamps caught on his skin, making it look rough and scarred, grabbed my attention.
My experience in and around commercial kitchens was enough to have had plenty of exposure to minor burn scars. This was more than that. This was something awful.
I’d heard enough horrible fire stories from someone in the firefighting industry to know that most fire injuries came with stories of horrific pain and long, painful recoveries.
Kincaid’s damaged skin made me want to reach out, run my fingers along the artifact of whatever he’d gone through that day, if only to soothe him, toseehim. But I quickly remembered this man wasn’t for me. He wasn’t mine in any way.
He was a stranger. An acquaintance. An enemy.
“Yes, sir,” I said, clearing my throat and throwing a jaunty salute at him. “No more fires. Sounds like a plan. Have a nice night.”
