Page 4 of Single Mom's Firefighter SEALs
“Elena’s friends with their woman, isn’t she?” Calder asks.
Neither Weston nor I lifts a brow. We don’t talk about Elena, but we all know plenty.
“She is, but I don’t think this has anything to do with Kira,” I say. “Atlas and those guys would be all over it.”
“There’s been a black SUV loitering in sight of the general store.” Calder’s opening and closing compartment doors, checking latches while we talk. “Driver stays in the vehicle. Leaves after twenty to thirty minutes. Same tinted windows.”
“So we’ve got a file pulled, a fire set, and one or more cars lurking around town,” Weston says. “What are we going to do about it?”
“I’m going to go talk to her,” I say. “And we’re goingto handle it.”
Elena’s home is one of the single-story renovated houses a few blocks from the center of town. It has a covered porch and a small yard bordered by a low fence. Her SUV is in the driveway, and light shines through the curtains in the front window.
When I knock at the door, she pulls aside the curtain to peer out, and I make a mental note to get her set up with a security system.
After a couple of clicks, the door opens just wide enough for me to see her face. “Can I help you?”
I give her a nod of greeting. “Do you have time to talk?”
She turns and looks inside for a moment before looking back at me. “It’s my son’s bedtime, and I usually read to him. I thought you’d come to see me at the school.”
“This is off the record.”
Her brow furrows, and the fingers holding the door tighten their grip. “I shouldn’t be more than fifteen minutes. Would you like to wait?”
“Sure.” I take a step back, but she opens the door wider, letting heat and warm light spill out into the night.
“Come in.”
“I’ll wait on the porch.”
She cocks her head, her lips pursing into a frown. “Are you sure? It’s cold out.” I wonder how she’s adjusting to winter here in the mountains after all her years in San Diego.
I zip up my coat. “I’ll wait outside. Take your time.”
She offers me a blanket, but I decline. I don’t deserve comfort from her.
The neighborhood is quiet, as most are after dark this time of year. The houses are close on this street, and I’m glad Elena isn’t living out on one of the desolate roads on the outskirts.
Less than ten minutes later, the front door opens again, and she beckons me inside. Guilt and duty war inside me as I step over the threshold, and guilt wins the battle soundly when my body responds to Elena.
Since she’s been in Moon Ridge, I’ve only seen her in jackets and coats, and usually in professional clothing. She always looks good. Tonight, she’s wearing snug sweatpants and a long-sleeve, faded Twenty One Pilots t-shirt, and I can’t ignore her body’s lush curves no matter how hard I try.
Her hair, which has always been pulled back from her face, hangs loose in glossy brown waves. She tucks it behind her ear on one side, and I notice every damn thing about the motion, from the way her shirt tightens across her chest, to the pale pink tips of her fingernails.
I clear my throat. I’m better than this.
“Sit wherever you like.”
I choose one of the chairs in the living room and pull my eyes away from this beautiful woman to scan the space. The dining room and kitchen are all in view. There’s an open entryway to a den on one side of the room and a hall that presumably leads to bedrooms on the other.
Her home is warm in both temperature and mood, with cheery colors and soft furniture. A plaidfleece throw is neatly arranged on the back of the sofa. A LEGO project is underway on the coffee table. There’s a reusable lunch bag and a school notebook on the round wooden dining table.
Tyler Ramirez’s service portrait, the one with him in his dress uniform, holds a place of honor on the bookcase next to the TV. I force myself to look at it for a few seconds, both for the sharp ache it delivers and because it reminds me of the importance of my visit.
“Would you like something to drink, Fire Marshal … I didn’t get your name earlier.”
“No. Thank you.” A pause, a deep breath. “I’m Buck. Buck Brennan.”
