He passed every night of the next week in Alex's arms.

So why did it feel like his angel still kept him at arm's length?

The sex was heavenly. It was out of this world. Every time she invited him into bed with her, Landon felt like he grew wings of his own. For a woman who claimed to have gone through an extended dry spell, she sure knew how to work him. Landon let her take anything and everything she wanted from him; he always came down from the high feeling like it was time deliciously spent.

But regular sex with Alex didn't make living together any easier. They were learning how to cooperate both inside and outside of the bedroom, but they still differed on one incredibly important opinion: namely, where and when it would be all right for Landon to return to work.

"It's too soon." She stared him down over her dinner plate. She had barely touched the meal he had spent the past two hours cooking, and Landon wondered if she was on to him. His mother had always told him most arguments could be solved over a good meal, and he had taken that advice to heart in an attempt to sway Alex to his side.

"It's not too soon." True, he didn't share her medical background, but Landon still felt certain he knew his body better than the woman who insisted on working it into a fevered sweat night and day. "Hank's been calling me. Some of the new volunteers aren't cutting it. He wants to know when I can return to the fire. I told him my shoulder's good, but there's still the matter of the evaluation—"

"It's too soon," Alex repeated stubbornly. "And I'm basing my opinion on your injuries, Landon."

"No. You're not." He surprised himself by arguing the point. "There's something else, Alex. I've sensed it all along, even when you were taking care of me back at the hospital. So what is it?"

"It's nothing outside of what I just told you."

"Bullshit." He met her eyes. "You're holding me back. I don't know why. But maybe it's time I make one thing clear: Fighting fires is my job, but it isn't something I just do for a paycheck. I volunteered to come down here."

"I get that, Landon. I do. And . . . I know I don't have any right to be so insistent. I'm sorry."

Landon blinked. He sat back in his chair. "Are you worried about me?" he pressed cautiously. "Is that what this is all about? You being worried I'll get injured again?"

"I have to go to work." Alex rose abruptly.

Landon caught her arm before she could escape. He kept his pressure gentle but firm. He didn't want her getting out of this conversation so easily. It was his life, his career, on the line. What's more, he suspected his very sanity might hang in the balance. If he wasn't out there making himself available for those who needed him . . .

"Do you really?" he asked her.

"One of my few paid shifts," she said grimly.

He believed her. He let his hand slip from her arm. "I'll pack your dinner up for you." He rose also. Guess it's dinner with Raphael again tonight.

"That won't be necessary."

"You're not eating out of the vending machine anymore," he said. "Not while I'm around."

Alex spun on her way out. "What? Who told you that I—?"

"Cherise told me. Dyna confirmed it. Both of them say you're a fan of the strawberry toaster strudels." Landon crossed his bandaged arms and leaned against the sink. "Not exactly a balanced meal."

Alex bestowed him with a tired, crooked smile. "Well, I didn't have you around before, did I?"

He held onto those words for a long time. Half an hour after she'd gone, once he’d assured himself she wasn't going to come back and surprise him, Landon made his way into her bedroom.

"Don't look at me like that," he muttered to Raphael as he nudged open Alex's door. "Not like I'm not in here every night anyway."

But he couldn't shake the guilty conscience that hung off his shoulders like a lead shroud. He knew what he was about to do was wrong, but he couldn't stop himself now. He had to get to the bottom of what was going on with Alex. He had to break through the last of the emotional barriers she had erected. If he didn't, it wouldn't be just his career on the line, but their blossoming relationship. He wanted them to succeed.

So he opened her closet and pulled out the cardboard box he had seen stowed there. Scrawled across one side in a hasty hand that he recognized from hospital forms was one name: Henry.

Raphael wound around his legs, purring, as he knelt down to sift through the contents. He would just skim a few items off the top, he told himself. A few photos.

"Handsome fella," he told Raphael. He wasn't surprised at the revelation, of course. Henry's picture could still be found almost everywhere around the house, although he'd noticed in recent days that several of the framed photographs had gone missing. He was unsurprised to find them now at the top of the box's secreted stash.

His fingers grazed something cool and metallic. He pulled the object out and found that it wasn't just some token, but a medal. He let the short ribbon run over his fingers reverently as he turned it around in the light. "I recognize this," he mentioned to the circling cat. "This is awarded to police officers when—"

His throat closed over the words. He set the medal back where he’d found it and pulled out a newspaper clipping. He stared into the grainy face of Henry, seeing the headline. His eyes caught on a series of smaller words below.

Killed in the line of duty. Survived by his wife.

Landon sat down, leaning his back against the bed, and buried his face in his hands. Images of Pete flashed before his eyes: his friend laughing, his friend grinning that damn goofy grin he’d had for one summer only when his tooth got knocked out skateboarding, his friend reaching for him as the flood wall raced toward them . . .

Henry was dead, and Pete was long dead. Still, their ghosts lived on and only seemed to gain power over those living, until their memories morphed into an unshakeable stranglehold. Who was he to help Alex get over her dead husband when he had never really let go of the tragedy of that summer? He would be a hypocrite of the highest order.

But he had to try something. If he couldn't break them both out of this miserable routine of anguish and heartbreak, then maybe he could break her out. She thought she was saving him, but maybe she was the one who needed rescuing.

Landon replaced the box inside the closet, closed the door, and went back into the living room. He called Hank.

"I'm coming in," he said.

"Yeah? You been cleared for duty yet?"

"I'm feelin' one hundred percent myself again, Chief, I'm telling you. Having Alex take care of me has done me wonders. My arm still aches sometimes, but my mobility is back. I'm going to take the exam with medical again."

"I'll send Kingston over to help sweet talk some of the female medics," Hank said.

"You really don't have to do that," Landon replied. "Besides, what would your sister say?"

"Hell, it was Sook's idea. She brought it up days ago."

Landon grinned. "Glad to know the family misses me."

"We need you, brother. Now more than ever. Get your ass down to the station and let me know how it goes."

"Will do.”

Landon hung up and turned.

Raphael stood in the doorway, round eyes glinting gold, his whiskers puckered in a frown. "Don't look at me like that," Landon repeated.