After Cassie signed her paperwork and agreed to follow the safety rules, Jack turned her over to Cody and assured her the department would do whatever it could to make sure she got everything needed for her story.

“I tend to ask a lot of questions,” she said to Jack. “I hope that’s okay. I ask far more than necessary, but I find the more I understand how things work, the better my piece turns out.”

“Sounds like you put a lot of work into a few-minute segment,” Jack said.

“That’s for sure.”

“Well, Cody loves to talk, so ask away,” Jack said with a laugh.

It was obvious Cassie was already in on the joke, because she laughed right along with him, and it secretly pleased Cody that this woman, so new to his life, already understood a little bit about him. Still, he rolled his eyes at his captain’s bit of shit-giving, because that’s what was expected.

“The fire chief might show up at some point during the day,” Jack told her. “Feel free to interview him, too. I’m sure he’d enjoy that.”

“Fred Moran?” Cassie asked. “Late fifties, bald? I think I saw his picture on your website.”

“That’s right,” said Jack.

“Bald as a baby’s butt,” Cody said, immediately thinking maybe he shouldn’t have said it. But it was true.

Chief Moran was basically a good guy, although it had been a long time since he was on a truck. Besides being bald, he was stocky now that he wasn’t running calls, and wore an over-the-top handlebar mustache. Cody didn’t have a problem with him for the most part, and he had skill in winning grants for the department, but Chief played politics with the best of them, and when Jack said he might show up, what he really meant was that he’d definitely show up. When he said Chief would enjoy being interviewed, what he meant was he wouldn’t leave until he was.

In any case, Cassie laughed, and her laugh made him think of blue summer skies. As she looked at him, she tucked her hair behind an ear, and if he knew her better, he would have liked to do that for her. He felt a strange warm protectiveness toward her that unsettled him, because he’d never felt it before about anyone, let alone a woman he’d just met.

Stop staring at her, you idiot, he lectured himself.

“Ready for a tour of the rest of the station?” he asked, gesturing for her to step toward the hallway.

During the tour, Cody led her through the exercise room, the study with its row of computers, gave her a quick glance into the bunkroom, and finally took her to the big, echoing bay that held the fire trucks. She looked around every space as if memorizing it, and for someone who’d just warned she’d be asking a lot of questions, she was darn quiet the whole time.

Not that Cody minded quiet.

But still, it surprised him.

So far, everything about Cassie Holt surprised him.

* * *

Cassie stood in the cavernous bay where the fire trucks were parked and found herself holding her breath. The entire tour, she’d felt a tense buzz in her core and a hyper-awareness of her body, the result of full-on lust for her firefighter escort. She simultaneously felt too close and not close enough to him. She’d relied on words her entire life, but the physical sensation she had being so near Cody rendered her unable to think of anything to say.

You’re a reporter, she scolded herself. Do your job!

She stepped away from him and walked deeper into the bay, right up to the closest fire truck, which was so gleaming red she couldn’t help but slide a finger across it.

“How often do you wash these?” she asked, relieved a question had come to her. “I used to walk by the fire stations in Manhattan, and I swear, they washed their rigs every day.”

“Yeah, we wipe them down every day, and wash them once a week minimum, more if needed. In winter, sometimes that’s every day because of the mud.”

“But why? Do they really need it?”

“We’re very routine-oriented here,” Cody said. “Being on a fire crew is an exercise in working together on a common task. You’ve gotta show your crew you’re someone who pulls your weight, remembers your training, and gets things right the first time. I mean, we do take pride in having a shiny rig, but I think it’s more about the discipline. About practicing for crisis. I know how every single one of these guys is going to respond in any given situation, and they know the same about me. That doesn’t just happen. It comes from our shared discipline, whether it’s from years of washing the truck together or years of running calls.”

The man speaks! And at length!

Cassie’s jaw wanted to drop open, but she wouldn’t let it for fear of making Cody retreat back into silence. She’d known he was deep just from his watchful eyes, but his answer was more profound than she would have expected. More than just a pretty face, she thought.

“What are you smiling about?” he said.

“Oh!” She felt herself redden. “Was I?”

Thankfully, she was saved from having to tell him anything because a pitched series of tones came across the intercom, followed by a dispatcher’s voice.

“Engine One, for altered level of consciousness, 122 Bridge Street, Unit 8.”

At the same time, a red LED display mounted on the wall flashed red, followed by scrolling letters: E1 ALOC 122 BRIDGE ST UNIT 8.

“That’s us,” Cody said. “We’re up. Ladies first.”

He gestured for Cassie to get in the truck ahead of him—which was fine, although she was very aware he was getting one hell of a view of her backside. She grabbed the handlebar and easily pulled herself up. All her years of Pilates and StairMaster cardio, plus the recent addition of spin class since moving to Golden Falls, had given her a strength most people didn’t notice because her frame was so slight. It was a secret pride of hers, and she was glad she hadn’t lost her footing or needed a boost to climb into the rig.

Not that she would have been opposed to getting a boost from Cody. The thought of his hands on her ass gave her a pleasant tingle all over her body.

“You can sit here,” he said. “Middle jump seat.”

She took her place, so excited for the action that it felt as if she was responsible for the victim’s wellbeing. The rest of the crew showed up a few seconds later. Sean climbed into the driver’s seat, while Jack Barnes rode shotgun. Another firefighter climbed into the back with her and Cody, nodding as he took his spot next to her.

“This is Dylan Hart,” Cody said, introducing them. “I don’t know where the hell he was when I was giving you the tour.”

“Dude, I was cleaning the john.”

“That would explain it.”

Cassie loved the easy way they all talked with each other. She doubted she’d be at KFLS long enough to develop such camaraderie with her coworkers—plus, she and her coworkers didn’t do bonding sorts of things like save lives and fight fires. At best, they filmed other people being heroic. People like Cody and Dylan and Sean and Jack.

“So what are we doing?” she asked. “What’s an altered level of consciousness?” It sounded self-explanatory, but one of the first rules of journalism was to assume nothing and clarify everything.

“It’s a med call—like most of our calls,” Cody said. “That’s the ‘Rescue’ part of ‘Golden Falls Fire and Rescue.’”

“And do all of you respond? Is the ladder truck going, too?”

“Nope, just one unit at a time, unless it’s a serious call or a big fire.”

Cody reached forward and fastened her harness-style seat belt. His finger grazed her clavicle as he set the harness in place, and Cassie felt that tense buzz in her core again and also felt her nipples harden. Bad girl, she thought. Settle down.

The next thing she knew, his eyes were watching her closely. Way. Too. Closely.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” she said in a rush, hoping he hadn’t caught her lust, so completely inappropriate at a time like this. “Go on.”

“Altered means you’re not as awake or as alert as you are normally. Maybe you can’t speak clearly or follow a conversation or understand what’s going on around you. That’s what would probably make someone notice that you need help.”

“Mmmm,” she said, stuck now on his lips as she’d watched him form his words. She loved getting lost in a good kiss, and Cody’s lips looked quite delicious.

Cody seemed confused by her response, and she couldn’t blame him—she’d felt like she was in an altered state of consciousness ever since she’d laid eyes on him, and he, trained to notice such things, had probably picked up on it.

“It can be caused by lots of things,” Dylan added. “Often, alcohol or drugs are involved. Other times, maybe something’s messed up with their medicines, or some chronic illness is causing problems, or they’re dehydrated, or worst case, they’ve got a stroke or head injury.”

How about lust, Cassie wondered. Can lust cause it?

She didn’t need to ask, because she already knew it could. Granted, it wasn’t an ambulance-worthy affliction, but instead a fun, not-unwelcome one.

“We’ll find out more as we’re en route,” Cody said, handing her a headset. “Here, put this on. It’ll allow you to hear what’s going on over the noise of the engine as we drive.”

As Cody took his spot next to her, Cassie put the headset on and had the sudden sensation of her hair being yanked out.

“Ouch.”

Her hair had gotten caught in the Velcro straps of the headset. She struggled to free herself and tried again with the same result.

“Need help?” Cody’s eyes twinkled.

“No, thanks, I’ve got it.”

But her fingers fumbled a third time, and when Cody leaned close and put her headset on correctly, he brushed her shoulder-length hair back out of the way, and she wished she’d let him help earlier.

At this point, she’d do just about anything to get his hands on her.