Page 130 of Rising Heat

“Cause that’s reassuring.”

It shouldn’t be.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

tyler

I’ve been waiting in the bay trying to look busy a full twenty minutes before she shows up. I’m leaning against the side of the truck with my arms loosely crossed, gaze drifting over equipment I’ve already checked twice.

Totally normal behavior.

The bay doors are cracked just enough to let cold air slip in, mixing with diesel and rubber and that faint metallic smell that never fully leaves.

Somewhere in the kitchen a cabinet slams, and I hear Coop bitching about someone stealing his yogurt as if he’s never committed petty theft from the fridge himself.

“I bought it,” Trick yells back at him.

“That doesn’t mean you can eat it!”

“I literally bought it!”

Without thinking, I call over my shoulder, “Check the second shelf. Marco hid it behind the orange juice.”

A beat.

“Oh, you son of a—” Coop’s voice echoes through the station.

I shake my head, grinning to myself.

Then I hear the front door—the shift of air, then footsteps on concrete.

Just so I don’t look completely pathetic, I make myself wait a second before glancing up.

When I finally do, I spot her inside the threshold, taking in the trucks, the open space, the organized chaos of a station between calls. Her bright eyes wander over the bay before finally finding me and giving me a small smile.

“You weren’t kidding.”

“About?”

“You actually live here.”

I push off the truck.

“Told you. This is the glamorous side of public service.”

I gesture around the bay just as somebody calls from the apparatus floor.

“Ty!”

“Yeah?”

“Cap’s looking for the inventory sheets.”

“Desk in the watch office.”

“Found ’em.”

I turn back to Darcy.