Page 60 of Controlled Burn
It was her voice in the morning. Her laugh in the truck. The way she saw people. The way she saw him.
But now she was a target. And that was on him.
He'd promised himself he'd keep her safe. Keep it professional. Keep it clean.
Instead, he'd let himself get tangled in her like she was oxygen and he'd been suffocating.
He hadn't touched his wife in almost a year. They didn't fight anymore, just traded work schedules and bank transfers like business partners. His son barely looked up from his screen.
He'd grieved his marriage long before this.
But Talia— Talia had cracked something open.
And now he'd bared his teeth for her in front of the entire crew like some animal guarding its mate.
He was in too deep. But hell if he could stop.
He stared at the dark window, the reflection of his own haunted eyes, and wondered: Was he protecting her, or damning her?
Talia
She lay awake after shift, staring at her ceiling, the dark too quiet.
The weight of Jake's words clung to her skin like smoke. Her mouth still tasted bitter with it. Her stomach twisted every time she replayed the moment—his voice, the threat in his smile, that sleazy breath too close to hers.
But worse—so much worse—was how her body had responded when she heard Dean stood up for her.
Her thighs clenched at the memory.
What did that say about her? What did that say about them?
She didn't know. She didn't want to know.
But the part that kept her awake, the part that made her ache, deep and hot and terrified—was the fear that maybe that was it. Maybe Dean had just needed a break in the storm. A release. Something physical.
Maybe he'd scratched the itch. And she was already fading into an afterthought.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
Because wanting more was dangerous. And trusting him to want more? That might destroy her.
Chapter 22
Scorched Earth
Maddox
He didn’t expect to see her.
Not today. Not here.
But there she was — standing in the middle of the engine bay like she owned the place. Skinny jeans. Wedges. Mirrored sunglasses. Her hair was blown out, glossy, and sharp like every strand had been flat-ironed in anger. Designer bag slung over her shoulder like a weapon.
Rachel Maddox hadn’t visited the firehouse once in fifteen years. Not for birthdays, not for retirements, not even when he was promoted to Captain.
And now, here she was.
Mid-shift.
