Quinn blew out a breath and looked at Washington Boulevard for the ninetieth time before she declared herself totally insane. The street in front of Station Seventeen looked just as it always did at six thirty in the morning, with daylight beginning to illuminate the brownstones and storefronts on either side of the block and the yellow caution lights blinking out a steady sign that the fire house was business as usual.

“Just breathe. You’ve got this.” Quinn repeated the words Luke had said to her in some form or another over the course of the last twenty-four hours. She hadn’t meant to open her mouth and let her fear spill all over the place yesterday morning. But there he’d been, sitting next to her bed with that calm, quiet stare that made her feel so safe and yet strong at the same time, and her feelings had been out before she could press them back.

Luke had been there. He’d been threatened by Ice, just as she had. He understood.

And when he said they were going to be okay, she believed him.

Getting out of her Mazda, Quinn triple-checked that the locks were engaged and the sidewalk was clear before walking the half-block to Station Seventeen’s front door. They kept the house locked up tight during non-business hours and the garage bays closed whenever they weren’t in use, but the keypad mounted next to the doorframe gave her access to the front lobby, and she stepped all the way inside the warm, empty space.

Her heart tapped faster in her chest, but for the first time in a week, it was rooted in more comfort than fear. Laughter-tinged voices filtered in from the hallway leading to the bunks and the locker room, just like it always did pre-shift change. The buttery scent of Hawk’s homemade biscuits wafted from the kitchen, making Quinn’s mouth water and her stomach sound off in a snarl that probably would’ve made even the meanest of junkyard dogs quake and head for cover. The unease that had gripped her so tightly just a few days ago slipped, and she managed to get an inhale past the pressure in her lungs.

She was okay. She was back at work, ready to spend the next twenty-four hours taking care of people who needed help. The intelligence unit was going to find Ice and eliminate the threat to her and to everyone she cared about.

She would be safe. She had this.

“Hey. There you are,” came a voice from behind her, and despite the fact that she was smack dab in the center of one of the most secure facilities in at least a five-mile radius, Quinn whirled around with a full-body flail.

“Oh jeez!” she yelped, her pulse rocketing fast enough that, truly, someone should probably alert NASA. “You two scared the crap out of me.”

“Sorry,” January said, and Shae matched the blonde’s apologetic expression. “We didn’t mean to startle you.”

Quinn splayed a hand over the front of her green and white top, readjusting the duffle bag on her shoulder as she managed a soft laugh. “No, it’s okay. I must’ve been distracted by the smell of Hawkins making breakfast.” Eh. Not the best twist of the truth she’d ever brewed up, but for a pinch, it’d do.

Shae, bless her, fell for it hook, line, and biscuit. “Preach, sister. That man’s culinary skills are amazeballs. I would do unspeakable things for his chicken cacciatore. Just saying.”

The three of them fell into step together, headed toward the locker room. “At any rate, I’m glad you’re finally feeling better,” Shae continued. “You hightailed it out of the Crooked Angel pretty early the other night. Dempsey and Gates had a beer or six too many and talked Kennedy into busting out the karaoke machine. You missed out on some serious fun. Also, major blackmail material.”

Quinn eked out a laugh. “That does sound fun.”

“Mmm,” January said, turning toward Shae, and—oh no, no no—Quinn registered the knowing glint in her eyes just a half-second too late. “I don’t think she missed out on all the fun. Slater gave her a ride home.”

Shae’s boots clattered to an ungraceful halt on the linoleum at the same time Quinn’s heart clattered, full-speed ahead. “Shut up! I didn’t even know he was there, much less that he gave you a ride home!”

“He was, and he did.” January’s smile turned contrite when the heat tearing a path over Quinn’s face had clearly translated to a blush. “Sorry,” January said. “But I work at the Crooked Angel, too, you know. No way was Kennedy not sharing that dirt with me.”

Quinn inwardly cursed her jumbled brain for blanking on the fact that January filled in behind the bar a couple nights a week when Kennedy needed extra hands.

“It’s not dirt,” she argued, spectacularly failing at her effort not to fidget. For God’s sake, she’d never needed a poker face with her friends in her life. Of course she sucked at this. “I wasn’t feeling great, so Slater gave me a ride home.” Truth.

Then he stayed and didn’t leave until five o’clock this morning, and, oh hey, here’s a fun fact: I actually lost count of how many mind-altering orgasms he gave me with his mouth alone.

Hashtag moretruth.

“How did you not tell me this, you tricky bitch?” Shae asked, although her monster-sized grin canceled out any heat the words might have possibly carried. “Seriously. Does the girl code mean nothing to you?”

Quinn couldn’t help it. She let a soft puff of laughter escape. “There’s…you know, not much to, um. Tell?”

At her friends’ twin expressions of are you kidding me, Quinn caved. “Okay. Okay!” she admitted, shushing the immediate stream of near-giggles that followed even though—damn it—she was giggling a little, too. “There might be a teensy bit to tell.”

“Oh my God. You besmirched the rookie!” Shae crowed, clapping her hands with glee. “You did, didn’t you? Please tell me there was besmirching. I have been dying for you two to get it on!”

Quinn shot a glance up and down the hallway. She might be willing to confide in two of her closest friends, but telling the whole fire house she’d had thirty-six hours’ worth of white-hot sexcapades with her co-worker so wasn’t part of her game plan. “There was some…God, Shae, Capelli’s giant brain is really rubbing off on you. Is besmirching honestly even a word?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, would you prefer the term wild monkey sex?” Shae asked.

January snorted. “Gotta admit, she has a point. The deed is the deed, girl. No matter what you want to call it.”

The thought made Quinn pause. Yes, she and her friends were closer than most, and yes again, they usually did a fair amount of dishing on their sex lives. That didn’t change the fact that a) Luke was a pretty private guy, who—oh, by the way—also worked with them; and b) Quinn couldn’t really explain to January and Shae what had brought her closer to Luke without talking about the kidnapping. She had to keep things close to the vest, at least until the intelligence unit put Ice behind bars.

“Okay, yes. Luke and I slept together,” Quinn said, because no way would either of them let her off the hook without at least that much. Speaking of which… “And before you badger me, Shae, yes. It was fantastic.”

“I knew it,” Shae sing-songed, but now it was time to nip the rest in the bud.

“It’s also not that big of a deal,” Quinn said, although ouch, the words felt as ill-fitting as a five-inch stiletto after a long day of work. “We’re spending more time together now, and things just sort of…happened. But what’s going on with us is casual.” Annnnd more ouch.

January either seemed to get the hush-hush vibe or be content with the sparse details, because she said, “Well, I think it’s great.”

“I told you he was into you,” Shae murmured, straightening a second later when Faurier came whistling down the hallway from the locker room.

“Oh, hey, Copeland.” He stopped to give her a charming smile, per his MO with any woman over the age of twenty-one who also maintained a steady heartbeat. “You feeling better today? You kinda had us worried with that stomach thing.”

“Oh, she’s feeling better, all right,” Shae said, letting out a soft ooof when Quinn directed a not-so-subtle elbow into her friend’s rib cage. Both January’s and Shae’s expressions suggested they were T-minus one heartbeat away from devolving into a fit of laughter, and gah, Quinn bit her lip as hard as she could to keep herself from following suit.

“I feel great,” Quinn managed. Barely. “Thanks for asking.”

Faurier’s light brown brows tucked in confusion. “Okaaay. Did I miss something major, or is this one of those feminine mystique things I’m not going to get because I’m from Mars, or whatever?”

“Mystique,” Quinn barked out before Shae or January could say another word. “Mmm hmm. Yep! Definitely that.”

“Right.” He took a cautious step backward on the polished floor tiles, and God, Quinn really couldn’t blame the poor guy. “Well, I’ll see you ladies at roll call.”

“See you, Sam.”

As soon as he was out of earshot, Quinn turned toward January and Shae, stuffing back her smile and trying on her very best and-I-mean-it face. “Cone of silence, you two. Seriously.”

They both sobered. “Okay. Of course,” January said, and Shae lifted one finger to draw an imaginary X over the front of her uniform, right next to the RFD crest.

“We’ve got your back, girl. Even if Slater’s got your front.”

With one last round of laughter, Shae and January resumed their trip toward the common room, while Quinn aimed herself at the locker room. She knew she couldn’t forget what had happened last week. Hell, she’d had to coach herself through walking the half a block from her car to the stupid building less than fifteen minutes ago. But these small pockets of goodness were better than nothing, and they were definitely better than the full-time dread she’d felt directly after the kidnapping.

They reminded her how to breathe.

Going through the motions of changing into her uniform and stowing her street clothes in her locker, Quinn got ready for the shift ahead of her. Her heart played epic-battle hopscotch with her rib cage when Luke ducked into the locker room, but other than to give her a quick, too-sexy-to-be-just-friendly smile, he treated her exactly as usual—nothing awkward or out of the ordinary. The pure comfort of her routine wrapped around her like a blanket, and by the time she got through both roll call and breakfast, the dread that had threatened to sideline her had been mostly relegated to a back shelf in her mind.

“So.” Quinn pulled herself up into the back of the loaner ambulance, sliding a glance at the spot where Luke sat across from her as she unzipped her first-in bag to check her inventory. “We never did get to that sign language lesson last week.”

His expression went blank, his unreadable blue stare traveling out over the engine bay. “No. I guess we didn’t.”

Although they’d talked quite a bit in between trips to her bedroom (and her living room couch…and once to her shower, which she’d never be able to look at the same way again, thank you very much), the conversations had mostly focused on her—what kind of movies she liked and what she did in her spare time and fire house stories from before he’d joined Seventeen. But whenever Quinn had tried to ask Luke about himself in return, he’d adopted the same impenetrable expression and either given the bare minimum of a reply or swung the focus back around to her.

She trapped her tongue between her teeth, and for a heartbeat, she nearly kept it there. Maybe she hadn’t been off the mark when she’d told Shae and January what was happening with Luke was no big deal. They might be partners—okay, partners with benefits—but that didn’t mean he owed her an all-access pass to his personal life.

But then Quinn caught a flash of emotion in his eyes, brief but definitely there, and the truth slapped into her all at once.

Luke wasn’t blowing her off. He was trying to build trust.

And Quinn wanted him to trust her with his emotions, the same way she trusted him with hers.

“Look,” she said, keeping her voice wholly matter-of-fact. “I know you don’t like to go prime time with your personal stuff. We don’t have to talk about your sister if you really don’t want to. But I’d still like to learn some sign language. You know, if you’re still willing to teach me a few things.”

Luke sat back on the bench seat, his dark brows lifted up toward his closely cropped hairline. “Okay. Sure.”

After a quick pause to make sure their first-in bags were properly stocked and their equipment was in good working order, Luke motioned for her to sit in the seat across from him in the back of the ambulance.

“It’ll be easier to teach you if we’re face-to-face,” he explained, settling back on the gray vinyl of the bench. He sent another quick glance out to the engine bay, where the sounds of both engine and squad getting their house chores done echoed off the walls in muted tones.

A smile tugged at the corners of Quinn’s mouth when he turned his attention back to her and kept talking. “Being fluent in ASL is more than just memorizing a bunch of signs. It’s like any other language, with its own grammar, terminology—even slang.”

“Wow,” she said. “I had no idea it was so complex.”

“Most people don’t. A lot of signs are based on letters, and some things like names have to be finger-spelled, so the best thing for you to learn first is the alphabet.”

Made sense. “Okay,” Quinn said, but after twenty minutes of Luke’s teaching and her subsequent fumbling, she couldn’t help but frown.

“You’re wondering how you got yourself into this mess, aren’t you?” she asked, letting him adjust her finger placement for the letter P.

Funny, Luke shook his head. “Not really.” He let go of a small smile, his fingers brushing over hers with just enough heat to be both encouraging and distracting as hell. “I mean, you’ve been patient with teaching me how to start IVs and run rapid trauma assessments. I have to imagine that’s harder than this.”

Quinn looked at her hands, which clunked along in such a poor imitation of his fluid motions, and ugh, she doubted it. “Nah. You’re a really quick study.” She laughed, because it was either that or throw her hands up in frustration. “Okay, seriously. You make it look far too easy. How are you so good at this?”

“I’ve had ten years of practice,” Luke said, the words sending a prickle of surprise up Quinn’s spine.

“Your sister wasn’t born deaf?” The young woman in the photo on his phone had definitely looked older than ten. Luke had told Sinclair she was already in high school, so…

“I, ah. No.” His shoulders snapped together beneath his navy blue RFD T-shirt. “She wasn’t born deaf.”

Shit. She hadn’t meant to push. “You know what, we can just—”

“Hayley contracted bacterial meningitis just after her seventh birthday.”

Luke’s words arrived so quietly that at first, Quinn wasn’t entirely certain she’d heard them. Her chest squeezed in response. But she wanted to give him room to share at his own pace, so she didn’t say anything, and after a beat of silence and a few more small tweaks of her letter-signs, he continued.

“At first, my grandmother and I thought Hayley had the flu. She had a nasty fever and chills and aches.”

“Those are all symptoms that point to the flu,” Quinn agreed gently. God, they saw it all the time, especially in the colder months when people were cooped up inside.

“That’s what her pediatrician said, too. Then, after a couple days of not getting any better, she began to get confused. Her fever spiked to a hundred and five, so we took her to the ED. But by then, her infection was already off the charts.”

Luke braced his forearms over his thighs, her lesson temporarily forgotten as he dropped his chin toward the floor of the ambulance. His expression was loaded with remorse, and even though Quinn found it odd that he hadn’t mentioned his parents, she also knew that pushing to find out why only had the potential to make him clam up.

So she voiced what was in her heart rather than in her head. “I’m so sorry, Luke. An illness like meningitis is just awful.”

He nodded, although he’d blanked the emotion from his face as if it had never existed. “Once she was diagnosed, the doctors treated her aggressively. She recovered well, all things considered, but the damage was done. Hayley’s been profoundly deaf since then.”

“Wait.” Quinn did some rudimentary math in her head, still coming up confused. “This was ten years ago, right? So you were, what…”

“Fourteen,” Luke said.

Whoa. “That seems like a lot for a fourteen-year-old to have on his shoulders.”

A shadow flickered through his eyes, turning his stare to steel. “It’s been just the three of us for a long time. I didn’t really have a choice.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Quinn said, and oh, how she meant it. She knew all too well how much of a non-question it was to care for a loved one when they were sick and needed help. Even when you were too young for the role. “But kids aren’t usually vaccinated for meningitis until they’re eleven or twelve. Plus, there’s no way you or your grandmother could have known Hayley would get so sick, so fast, or that she would have the complications she did. I’m not saying you shouldn’t have taken on such a big responsibility.” Her heart squeezed, pressing hard against her breastbone. “But I am saying you shouldn’t blame yourself. It sounds like you’re a pretty great older brother.”

For a minute, then another, Luke simply looked at her, his face as unreadable as ever. But then his fingers flexed, his body shifting like he was about to reach out to her…

And the jarring sound of the all-call stopped him short.

Engine Seventeen, Squad Six, Ambulance Twenty-Two, Battalion Seventeen. Structure fire, ninety-two ten Bayside Avenue. Be advised. Police are en route to the scene. Requesting immediate response.

Quinn’s heart rattled in her rib cage. The police were never called to a scene unless there were reports of an active crime. “That’s down on the pier.” Despite her best efforts, her voice shook. “Right in the middle of North Point.”

“We’ve got this,” Luke told her, his boots thumping on the concrete floor as he jumped down to the engine bay. Rather than hustling toward the ambo’s passenger seat, though, he swiveled on his heels and reached up for her hand. “We’re in it together, remember?”

There. Easy. Breathe.

Quinn inhaled. Set her resolve. And took his hand.

“Then let’s go help someone who needs it.”