Her Secret Santa
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Jill Shalvis
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15,3K
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8
CHAPTER 1
Thanksgiving Day
IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN the scent of pumpkin pie assaulting her senses, but instead, she was surrounded by the smell of scorched wood and melted steel. Arson investigator Ally Dauer carefully scanned the burned-out shell of what had only yesterday been a home improvement warehouse.
And then she found it. “Gotcha,” she murmured, crouching down for a better view of the dark triangle burn spot on the concrete floor.
A spot she’d be willing to bet was the origin of the fire.
She’d pulled on disposable gloves so as not to destroy evidence, but there was nothing to do about her clothes at the moment. Having been called away from Thanksgiving dinner with her parents, siblings, aunts, uncles and cousins, she still wore her little black dress and favorite black heels.
The Dauers dressed for Thanksgiving.
They also fought, a lot. Except this year, she’d actually made it through the pre-dinner social hour and then meal itself without being tempted to use the gun she was licensed to carry. Then she’d been paged just before dessert, the best part of the evening.
That had sucked.
Promising herself a run for ice cream when she was done, she lifted the digital camera from around her neck and began snapping away while attempting to keep her dress down far enough on her thighs so as not to flash any of the other fire personnel around her.
“Excuse me, Ms. Dauer?”
“Yes?” She glanced over at a tall, well-built man. Ageless. Dark hair, dark eyes. Wearing black trousers and a blue button up, looking like he’d been trying for office casual, but not even the respectable clothes could hide the edgy, slippery air around him.
That was odd.
She was on a fire scene, and possibly a crime scene, as well. No one was allowed but personnel, but she didn’t recognize this guy. Her job was half-firefighter, half-cop, and the cop part of her kicked in now. “Who are you?”
“Damon Claus,” he said, quickly flashing a department badge. “I just wanted to let you know that your toy drive has been shifted from your jurisdiction to mine.”
It took her a minute to shift gears, going from an arson investigation to…toys. The annual toy drive was an unofficial part of her job. And since the official part of her job revolved around bad guys doing bad shit, she’d really been looking forward to the toy drive. “Why?”
Damon lifted a shoulder, noncommittal.
She narrowed her eyes, unwilling to concede. She loved Christmas, or at least the idea of it. Making sure every kid in Santa Rey had a gift was a mission she’d wanted. “I don’t recognize you. What do you do again?”
“Toy director.”
At that she laughed, relieved. Brushing off her hands, she stood up and looked around. “You at it again?” she yelled out to an invisible prankster. “I’ve been here six months already!” Determined to ignore the on-going hazing that came with being the lone woman in a sea of men, she went back to work, ignoring “Damon Claus.” When he’d walked off, she once again lost herself in the work, shifting through the melted metal and blistered paint for more clues, alternating between taking notes and pictures.
It was definitely arson, she eventually decided, looking at this like she always did, like a puzzle that needed solving. Fires like this, hell most fires, did not start on their own. She already knew, from her initial research, that the company that owned this warehouse had been struggling financially for nine months. This was their third warehouse to have an unexplained fire.
She had no doubt that the insurance company would cry foul and launch their own investigation, as well.
Ally walked through the rest of the warehouse and out the back, where there were rows and rows of building material, most of it destroyed. The economic down turn had pretty much crashed and burned the building industry here in Santa Rey.
Then, out of the corner of her eyes, she caught a flash of movement. A small man, she thought, or maybe a teenager. “Hey,” she called out. “This is a crime scene—”
The crack of a gun being fired answered her, and then the resounding ping of the bullet finding a home over her head in the steel frame of the warehouse behind her as she dove for cover.
At this rate, she was never going to get dessert!
When she heard running footsteps, she tossed aside her camera, pulled her gun from her thigh holster, and took off after the man, yelling behind her for back up in the form of Tommy, her boss, the head of Arson Unit.
She caught sight of her perp at the far back corner of the yard. He was limping, and swearing and sweating as he tripped over something and hit the ground hard.
Definitely a teenager.
She’d just about reached him when he leapt up and attempted to climb the chain link fence. He got about three feet up when she yanked him to the ground and put a knee to the small of his back.
By then, Tommy had come jogging up, tossing her a pair of handcuffs. “Nice,” he said, yanking the perp to his feet. “But it was my turn to have the fun.” He looked at the kid. “You start this fire?”
“No, I swear!”
Tommy turned to Ally, who shrugged. They both knew that most arsonists returned to the scene of the crime. But if this warehouse had burned for the money factor, the kid didn’t exactly fit the profile.
Frowning, Ally let Tommy handle the situation and made her way back to where she’d left her camera and squatted down. Pulling her gun on the kid—even if he’d been the one to fire a shot—was going to mean extra paperwork and explanations, which didn’t improve her mood. “Damn,” she murmured, eyeing the cracked lens. Another one bit the dust. Then she went still as a prickle of awareness slid down her spine.
Two steel-toed black boots stepped into her field of vision.
Her gaze slid up, way up, past long, long legs, and then a torso covered in protective fire fighting gear, all six feet two inches of the body covered in soot and grime.
And even so, he was still the most deadly sexy guy she’d ever been dumped by.
Eddie Weston.
Slowly he crouched at her side until they were eye level. Though she knew he’d been up all night battling the fire, there was an alertness to him, a quiet stillness that other men seemed to lack.
His movements were fluid as he reached out and pulled something from her hair.
A few ashes.
His hand extended again, strong and calloused as his finger ran over her jaw. If she hadn’t been rendered stupid by his nearness, she had been now, thanks to the visceral spark that had just zinged through her body.
Damn him.
Six months ago, when she’d first transferred to Santa Rey from Los Angeles, they’d gone out exactly twice. On the second date, they’d shared a couple of bone-melting kisses and a tantalizing hint of what the rest of the night could have been like before she’d been paged to go into work.
After that night, and in spite of herself and her policy of keeping work separate from pleasure, she’d started to fall for him.
Then nothing.
He’d never called her again.
It wasn’t entirely unexpected. He and the guys at firehouse #34 had a fairly wild—and well-earned—reputation. Eddie wasn’t a heartbreaker necessarily, but neither had he shown any signs of being a keeper.
She wasn’t, either, though she wanted to be. Problem was, her job tended to scare men off. She worked a lot, and she faced a considerable amount of danger. Most guys couldn’t take the pressure…or the intimidation.
Translation—she tended to get dumped.
She and Eddie ran into each other on the job frequently—her with her attitude, and him with the best ass in Santa Rey. Though there was always heavy flirting on his part and heavy whimsical inner desire on hers, nothing ever came of it.
And since she’d choke on her pride before asking him what the hell, she’d kept her cool.
At least on the outside.
As for Eddie, he was always cool. Simply put, he was the most startlingly, stunningly cool, laid-back, easy-going, sexy man she’d ever met.
His teeth flashed white against his dirty face. “Hey, cutie,” he said, breaking the silence. “Nice tackle.”
Cutie? Well, why didn’t he just pat her on the head? “Thanks.” She stared at her camera. Her broken camera. She’d really liked this one, too.
Still crouched at her side with knees splayed, he braced his elbows on them and dipped his face to see more clearly into hers, his eyes warm and curious.
His nearness did something warm and curious to her insides. Specifically the parts of her that were clamoring for a man’s touch. “Can I help you with something?” she asked in her most professional voice.
“No. I just like watching you work.”
Maybe that was true, but if so, he was alone in that enjoyment. Most guys were intimidated by her work.
Hence her dateless status.
Her orgasm-less status.
She met his gaze, and what she found there was something that made her forget about her broken camera.
Heat.
So much that she had to purposely let out a breath and then just as purposely draw another.
He’d had his chance!
Like his smile, his startling blue eyes stole her breath. He had fine lines fanning out from them, not from age but from squinting into the sun.
Yeah, he was sexy as hell.
And irritating.
“Did you catch the perp’s face when he realized he was taken down by a woman?” He laughed. “God, it was great. You were great, Ally.”
He had a nice laugh, all low and husky, and with his easy, genuine approval, she felt a funny quiver in her belly. “Thanks. Look, I’m pretty busy here. Got some evidence, and a teenager to question.” So if you could go before I beg you to ask me out one more time…
Eddie craned his head and took in the sheer destruction around them. He and his partner Sam, along with their entire unit from Firehouse #34, had battled the blaze all night long. He had to be exhausted. “I just wanted to remind you. The toy drive started this week. I already have a box of stuff at the station, so I’ll bring them by your office.”
He was the firefighter assigned to help her with the drive? And that reminded her. “Do you know anything about a Damon Claus? He’s new.”
Eddie shook his head. “Never heard of him. Besides, how can he be new? We’re on a hiring freeze.”
Huh. Very true. Then what he’d just said sank in. He was going to come to her office, probably looking like sin on a stick. “Listen, you don’t have to bring the toys. I’ll come get them.”
On another day. When you’re off duty.
“That’s not how it works,” he said. “It’s my job to pick all the contributions from the stations every week and bring them to you. Your job is to distribute them.”
“Oh.” She could handle this, handle seeing him a few extra times this month. She’d just strap on her big girl panties and ignore the fireworks she felt whenever he was near her.
He was watching her, apparently reading her hesitation. Just as apparently, it amused him. “You looked thrilled to be seeing me once a week. Don’t worry, Ally, we’ll keep it painless.”
He needed to speak for himself.
Then he leaned in close, surprising her. But he simply ran a finger over her shattered camera lens. “A damn shame. It was a nice SLR.”
“You know cameras?”
“I do. I even have one just like this one, if you want to borrow it until you replace yours.”
His radio squawked, and she heard his captain’s voice calling him back to his rig. Reaching out, he tweaked her ponytail and smiled as he straightened up, offering her a hand to do the same. “Take it easy out here. Stay safe.”
“Thanks,” she murmured, craning her neck to watch him walk away. Yeah, he was dangerous to her mental health and she needed to keep clear. But hell, she wasn’t blind. Even in his fire fighter uniform, even covered with soot and grime, she wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity to watch his butt as he walked away.
With a sigh that might have been a little dreamy, she headed back inside to continue her investigation.
When she was gone, a tall, dark shadow stepped out from behind one of the aisles of building material.
Damon Claus.
His hands were in his pockets, his eyes covered in his Ray-Ban sunglasses, his mouth tight. Christmas spirit pissed him off. And little Miss Hot and Sexy Fire Investigator might be tough-as-nails, but that tough-as-nails shell hid a huge, fiercely loyal heart, one with Christmas spirit in abundance.
He knew that unless he tripped her up somehow, she was going to make this year’s toy drive the most successful yet, spreading that Christmas spirit like wild fire.
He needed a distraction.
And as he watched her watch Eddie Weston as he headed toward his rig, Damon thought he might just have found one.
