Connor sat down at the breakfast table, dropping a plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of him. Usually, he looked forward to firehouse breakfasts. They were simple fare: bacon, eggs, and crappy white bread. Not a linseed or avocado in sight, thank goodness. He couldn’t fault them, he supposed, the small but growing legion of women that had managed to take down his squad members, one by one. It came from a place of love, trying to keep their men healthy, but if he saw one more breakfast smoothie or smashed avocado, whatever the hell that meant, he was going to throw up. He burned off enough calories on the job to eat as much crap as he wanted. That was his excuse, anyway, and he was sticking to it.

Except that morning, he couldn’t work up much of an appetite, even for the crappy white bread, slathered in butter.

He’d gone out for a beer with the guys last night. Why any of them felt the need to hang out together when they were about to be stuck with each other for twenty-four hours, he didn’t know. If he had someone waiting for him at home, then Connor could think of far more enjoyable things to be doing the night before he went on shift. Or maybe he just hadn’t noticed. The corners of his mouth tilted up at the memory of the night before. Sometime after 8 p.m., nearly twelve hours before they had to be back at the firehouse, most of his squad had found an excuse to leave. Liam was first, but he had a legitimate excuse. Meg was ready to pop any day now, and Liam didn’t want to leave her alone for too long. That Connor agreed with. Dean was next, claiming he needed to accompany Amy when she walked their dog, Penny. Again, Connor agreed. He’d want to be there, too, if the lady closest to his heart was walking the streets, even with the evenings being a little lighter now the last of the seasonal chill had finally been thrown off. He was even fine when Mason made his excuses and left, but when Shane followed, Connor raised an eyebrow. Then Seth. Then Matt, until it had been just him and Jeremy sitting at the table, beers in hand. Giving up, they’d called it one drink later, and Connor had headed home.

However, it hadn’t been the company that had Connor’s stomach turning even before he’d taken a mouthful of breakfast. No, it had been what he’d heard about Scarlett. He was surprised as hell when Mason brought her up, wondering at first if he hadn’t managed to be as discrete as he’d thought. But then Mason had shocked him further by telling the guys that Scarlett would be around the firehouse for the next while. Apparently, her captain and Chief Stone had gotten it into their heads that the two fires they’d been called out to were—perhaps—not as isolated as they’d first thought.

After Connor had radioed Scarlett’s find of the tanks out to Alex, he’d turned back to find her. Scarlett hadn’t been standing in the room any longer. In fact, she hadn’t been in the house at all. He’d tracked through, checking every room just in case, before finally exiting back through what was left of the front door. He’d finally been able to take a deep breath again when he spotted her across the lawn. She was standing in front of her captain’s squad car. They’d been too far away for him to hear anything, but if her flying arms and the captain’s stoic face were anything to go by, he’d done something that had royally pissed her off. He’d smiled. At that point, Connor didn’t think he’d care if he’d been on the receiving end of what looked like a fiery temper. It would be better than the cold indifference he’d gotten from her that morning, or completely shutting him down when he’d tried to raise any possibility of seeing her again.

He turned back to his breakfast, his stomach souring all over again as he remembered what had started his little trip down memory lane. As Scarlett looked to be joining the house as an honorary member, Mason had revealed the real reason he’d suggested they all grab a beer the night before a shift. They’d all heard the rumors; it was impossible to avoid them, particularly when it had first happened. Out of respect for Scarlett, no one had ever spoken much about it out loud. It had seemed easier for her—or maybe for them—to simply not bring up the whole fucked-up mess around her.

Derek Christensen had been on loan to the ATF, working undercover with a suspected local terrorist group. No one had been sure if they were a group of disenfranchised young guys looking to be a pain in the government’s side, or something else. It turned out they were more—a lot more. Derek’s head had been found first, left in a garbage can two blocks from where his mutilated body was eventually discovered. The assholes had killed him and then left his dismembered corpse to rot in an alley behind the two-car garage of their modern townhouse right in the middle of town. God, what would Scarlett have gone through to identify her husband? Connor had no idea how she was continuing to show up for work every day. To lose someone she loved so tragically—he wasn’t sure that he’d ever be able to do the job again.

He thought back to the times he’d seen Scarlett since . . . inter-departmental events, sports games, even when they all grabbed a drink together after a case they’d all attended. Come to think of it, no one even mentioned Derek’s name. It was as if he didn’t exist anymore. Was that easier for Scarlett, or did not being able to talk about him make everything that much harder? Surely she’d never forget him. Connor wouldn’t expect her to. Not having anyone she could talk to seemed like it made a situation he could barely understand almost unbearable.

He closed his eyes, taking a long sip of his coffee. That much he would have to stomach, getting roughly zero hours sleep the night before, images of the most spectacular sex he’d ever had tumbling with murder and dismembered corpses in his dreams. After Mason’s chat, he felt as guilty as hell for being attracted to Scarlett. It wasn’t something he could control, but he could damn well control what he did about it.

He’d let her take the lead, no more pushing. If she wanted whatever was going on between them to go anywhere, then he’d wait for her to make the first move. Until then, he’d be her friend. If that’s all she ever needed or wanted from him, he’d deal. If he made her life a little easier, he’d be happy with that. As long as he could still see her smile, it would be worth it.