Dear Reader,

It’s a classic recipe for disaster: Take one bridesmaid
who thinks pink is the root of all evil. Mix with a best
man who’s hotter than a four-alarm fire. Add in their
explosive sexual attraction, a nightmare bridezilla,
two catfights, and an emergency call, and you have
the wedding from hell! Come get to know Anne and
Danny, the heroine and hero of Consumed, and see
their relationship go from friends with innuendo to
holy-$&*#-did-that-just-happen?! Is this the start of
something good for them? Or just an erotic one-night
stand that rocks them both but is never to be
repeated? Only their hearts know the answer to that,
much as their minds might disagree.

Happy Reading,
J.R. Ward

chapter

1

Thursday, October 29

T minus 48 hours ’til blastoff

College Row, New Brunswick, Massachusetts

B

ecause women are not frickin’ groomsmen! That’s

why she can’t be in the goddamn wedding!”

As Anne Ashburn walked in the back door of the

shotgun apartment, that happy little explosion was
not only what she’d expected all along, it also offered
her the out she’d been praying for. And it was
probably the one and only time she was ever going to
agree with the bride.

Not about the role of females in bridal parties, but

that Anne wasn’t going to be in the “goddamn
wedding.”

Everyone standing in the kitchen turned and

looked at her: Deandra Cox, the impending wearer of
the white dress; Robert “Moose” Miller, her exhausted
fiancé and Anne’s fellow crew member down at the
499 firehouse; and . . . Dannyboy Maguire.

Who was the only one she really noticed and, for

that reason, the person she refused to look at.

Too bad Danny always made an impression. Like

most firefighters, he was in great physical shape, his
big body thickly muscled and ready to snap into
motion in an instant. With his heavy arms linked over
that chest and his long legs crossed at the boots, he
was leaning back against the chipped countertop, his
too-blue stare missing nothing. He was fresh from a
shower, his glossy black hair wet, and Anne tried not
to picture him naked under the spray, his tattooed
torso arching as he rinsed the shampoo out of his—

She put her hands up to stop herself as much as the

argument. “Look, I don’t want to cause any
problems. I’m happy to step aside—”

“And now I have one too many bridesmaids.” The

bride-to-be refocused on her intended. “My count is
wrong. You wait until two days before the wedding to

tell me this when you know I’m not going to like it,
and now my count is off!”

As the groom focused on the linoleum floor, it

was impossible not to picture a wax version of the
couple on a multi-tiered cake: Deandra in skinny
jeans and that tight cashmere sweater, her dark hair
streaked blond, her body cocked forward like she was
going to throat-punch the man she was going to
marry; Moose in his New Brunswick Fire Department
T-shirt, all broad-shouldered and bearded around the
face, easing back like someone with the flu was about
to sneeze in his face.

Ah, true love.
“I didn’t think it was a big deal,” Moose muttered.

“Anne’s a member of the four-nine-nine crew, and
everyone else is with me.”

“She’s a girl.” Deandra pointed at Anne. “It

throws off everything.”

“I really don’t want to cause any problems.” Anne

put her hands up again. “So I’ll just be in the
congregation. It’s perfectly fine—”

Deandra’s glare swung Anne’s way. “The count is

still wrong. And my friends have already paid for their

dresses. They were a hundred and twenty dollars
apiece.”

And that’s my cue to go, Anne thought. Moose

may have volunteered for this, but no one else had or
needed to—

“I think women can be whatever they want.”
As Danny spoke up, everyone looked at him—

including Anne, who suddenly felt shades of what
Deandra was throwing out.

Don’t you dare, she mouthed at him behind the

bride’s back.

Danny just shrugged like he’d thrown on a

pantsuit and was channeling Oprah, Michelle
Obama, and Hillary Clinton all at once. “I mean,
Deandra, you’re above all that sexism, aren’t you? No
one’s going to tell you what’s right and wrong for
your own wedding. You’re more secure than that.”

I am going to kill you, Anne vowed. “I think

Deandra wants things done properly for her only
wedding.”

Danny frowned in pseudo-confusion. “So you’re

saying it’s okay to have a double standard for men
and women? That’s a shocker given how you are at
the station. I thought you believed in equality.”

“I do,” Anne snapped. “But this isn’t about

equality.”

“You sure? I don’t know how you can support

traditional gender roles when it comes to a wedding
ceremony at the same time you defend the right for
women to be firefighters, cops, and on the front lines
in the military.”

“Spare me someone who’s never been in a dress

having an opinion about women’s issues, okay?”

“I’m just pointing out that you don’t want

women out of dresses.”

“It’s her wedding.” Anne jabbed a finger at

Deandra. “She’s the bride. She gets to say what’s right
and wrong for her, and she does not need some man
telling her what to do.”

“Even if I’m defending the rights of women?”
“Until you grow a set of ovaries, you can shut the

hell up about our rights!”

As Anne’s voice ricocheted around the kitchen,

she realized that she’d marched right up to Danny—
and that Deandra and Moose were watching the two
of them in total stillness.

She cleared her throat and took a step back.

“Anyway, Deandra’s made up her mind. And I

support her decision.”

Deandra’s eyes narrowed on Danny, and

something about the way the woman looked at him
didn’t seem right.

“Actually,” the bride said, “maybe she should be in

the wedding party.”

Anne prayed her expression stayed neutral. “Don’t

compromise your vision on my account.”

“I won’t.” The woman stared at Danny. “Fine.

Let’s put her in a tuxedo like the rest of the men. She
can walk my sister down the aisle, just like a man
should. Her shoulders are too big for a gown, anyway,
and that way my count stays the way it should.”

Anne rolled her eyes. Let’s hear it for girl power.
“So it’s settled,” Deandra said with a tight smile.

“You need a tux. Unless you already own one.”

For a moment, Anne waited for somebody to

argue with the woman. Like Moose. But he was
clearly done falling on swords over the wedding
details, and Danny had just gotten what he wanted so
he wasn’t going to say a damn thing.

And the truth was, after how many years of

fighting fires with these men, they were her brothers
in all but blood. Even though she thought Moose had

lost his ever-loving mind marrying this beautiful but
sour woman after knowing her for a matter of
months, Anne was still going to stand up for the guy
if he wanted her to—and he did. He’d asked her down
at the stationhouse specifically.

“Where did you guys rent your suits?” Anne said

to him.

“Tuxedoes,” Deandra corrected.
The groom blinked like he’d forgotten how to

speak English. Then again, he’d been doing that a lot
at the firehouse lately. “You’re actually going to wear
one?”

“What the hell do I care?”
“Yes, she is wearing one,” Deandra cut in.
Danny spoke up. “I’ll go with you. I know where

the place is.”

Danny Maguire prepared for a death ray to get sent in
his direction, and man, did he call that one. Anne’s
eyes were like the sights of a pair of sniper rifles
trained on him, and he was surprised that his skull
and the cabinets behind him didn’t vaporize on
impact.

Then again, Anne had always had that effect on

him. From the moment she’d walked into the open
bay of the 499 two years ago, she had gotten his
attention—and not just because she was the younger
sister of the New Brunswick fire chief, Thomas
Ashburn, Jr. Even as a newbie fresh out of the
academy, she had had a confidence and competence
that had been intimidating.

And then they’d started working scenes together.
Anne was his favorite partner on a charged line

because there was never any question what she was
going to do or where she was going to be. They
thought the same, reacted the same, moved in sync.

He could always read her mind.
Like right now? She was castrating him, throwing

his balls down the disposal in the sink and hitting the
switch.

“Just tell me which place it is,” she gritted out at

Moose.

Leaving that question hanging in the breeze,

Danny straightened off the counter and headed for
the back door. Outside, her Subaru Outback was
parked next to his truck and he went around and got
in its passenger seat.

When she came out and saw where he was, she

stopped on the back stoop and glowered like she
wished she could blow her own car up.

God, you’re beautiful, Danny thought.
Funny, how the right woman could turn running

tights, a black fleece, and Brooks trainers into a ball
gown and stillies. Forget Deandra and those fake
cubic zirconia earrings, the wafts of perfume, the lash
extensions, and the push-up bras. Anne was all
natural; from her sun-streaked hair that was pulled
back with a band to her clean face and her soap-and-
shampoo scent, she didn’t have to add anything to be
a knockout.

And speaking of KO’s, the object of his lust and

fascination marched over and ripped open her door.
“You are such an ass.”

He put his palms up. “I’m helping. And

supporting the women’s movement.”

“The hell you are.” She got in and glared at him

some more. “I had an out and you threw me under
the bus.”

He smiled. “Come on, you can’t miss the drama.

This wedding from hell is going to be a cross between

a UFC fight and that dress show Deandra forces him
to watch whenever she’s over here.”

“Say Yes to the Mess.”
“Is that what it’s called? And seriously, you think

I’m going through this shit on my own?”

“Yes, I do.” She shut them in together. “Moose is

your roommate—”

“He’s on your crew—”
“—and this doesn’t have anything to do with me

and—”

“—so it would be weird if you were not there—”
“—more importantly, Deandra can’t stand me.”
“—and Deandra doesn’t like anybody.”
They both stopped at the same time. Then Anne

put her hands on the wheel and slumped. Looking
over, she shook her head. “I had the best excuse on the
planet and you screwed me.”

His eyes dropped to her lips before he could stop

them. To cover up the slip, he laughed. “Like I said,
it’s you and me against the world for this train
wreck.”

“Even if you have to pretend to be a feminist,

huh.”

“Hey, I love women.”

“I know, your reputation precedes you.”
Danny frowned as she started the car. “What’s

that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, why is he marrying her? I’ve never met

more of a production in my life—”

“Anne. What was that crack about?”
Her eyes swung back to him. “Oh, come on,

Danny. I know you try to hide it from me because
I’m the ‘girl’ on the crew, but your exploits are always
a topic of discussion, if not legend.”

“They are not.”
She put them in reverse and twisted around to

look behind them. “You know they are. Look, I don’t
judge. It’s none of my business what you do in your
personal life, for one thing, and for another, it’s just
not that interesting to me. Do not, however, try to
play like you’re a shy retiree with the ladies.”

As Anne hit the gas and shot them down the thin

lane that ran parallel to the tall, narrow duplex, that
fleece did little to hide the contours of her body, and
those leggings highlighted the sleek muscles of her
thighs. And when he noticed each and every thing
about her, he thought it was crazy that until he’d met
her, he hadn’t realized he had a type.

Turned out he liked no-nonsense, straight-talking

athletes who had a work ethic to match his own.

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” he muttered.
“Thank God or you’d be making a fool out of her

with all those other females.” Anne K-turned in the
street. “But again, it’s not anything I’m worried
about. Now, where are we going?”

Nowhere, he thought. Goddamn it, we’re going

nowhere.

“Mike’s Tuxedo Rental, down on Chester and

Main.” He put his seat belt on to kill the dinging.
“And you really have the wrong opinion about me.”

“Like I said, it’s not relevant.” She hit the gas,

sending him deep into his seat on the acceleration.
“All I care about is how well you fight fires and there
are never any complaints on that—”

“I mean just because I’ve gone on a couple of dates

—”

“Is that what you call doing the receptionist of

that hair salon in the back room?”

“That was six months ago.” That was also

Deandra, but there wasn’t any reason to put a name
to it. “And before you even bring the Fourth of July

up, I was not the one who had sex in the middle of the
parade on that float.”

She glanced across the seats. “Yes, you were—”
“No, I was not,” he snapped. “That was Duff.

Don’t bring me into shit I have nothing to do with.”

“Why are you getting so defensive?”
“Because you’re accusing me of being a whore and

I don’t appreciate it.”

“Sorry.”
As he crossed his arms over his chest, he glared out

the side window. Nothing was worse than a trap of
your own invention, but the truth was, ever since
Anne had come into his life with her NBFD T-shirt
and her take-no-prisoners attitude, every other
woman had looked like a box of Kleenex to him.
Unfortunately, his previous exploits were a speeding
car with too much momentum for the brakes to
catch: Even though he’d changed, there was no
denying what he’d been like before, and that was what
preceded him.

Reflecting on his many mistakes, he was reminded

of why he hated taking any R&R. It led to too much
thinking, and the last thing he needed was time to
dwell on how impossible it was for him to ever know

what Anne Ashburn felt like. Tasted like. Looked like
first thing in the morning and last thing at night.

These four days off for Moose’s stupid idea were

going to depress the fuck out of him.

chapter

2

M

ike’s Tuxedo Rental was a bolt-hole of polyester

knockoffs sandwiched between a Dunkin’ Donuts on
the corner and a local flower shop on the other side.
As Anne parallel-parked across the street from it, she
checked the clock on her dash and was relieved they
had an hour before the shop closed at five.

“So you want something to eat?” she asked her

morose passenger. “I got a Fiber One in my workout
bag.”

“I’m okay.”
“No, you’re hangry.” She reached back into her

Nike duffel. “Here. Eat this before you haymaker
someone.”

As she held the bar out to him, Danny stared at

her. His eyes were the blue of an autumn sky, so clear

and resonant they almost hurt to look into, and those
lashes were as black and thick as his hair. He had what
looked like a sunburn, but the color in his face was
actually from the night before. October in
Massachusetts could be cold, and they’d battled a
two-alarm over by the New Brunie campus at four
a.m. The water from the hoses had been blown back
at them, and the thirty-two-degree temperature had
turned it into freezing rain.

“You’ve got the wrong idea about me,” he said.
Anne looked away. “I don’t have any idea about

you. Which is the way it should be. We work
together.”

“If we didn’t, what then.”
All the air seemed to get sucked out of the Subaru,

and she could sense his body as if she were touching
him: Proximity had somehow become contact,
somehow, the undercurrents that she always
convinced herself were misinterpretations on her part
now an alchemy that was unexpected . . . and yet
inevitable.

“Hypotheticals are a waste of time.” Her voice was

so damned hoarse. “Total waste of—”

“Answer the question anyway.”

But that isn’t a question, she thought. It’s an

invitation that I may not be able to turn down.

Cursing herself, she tossed the Fiber One in his lap,

popped her door and got out. “Eat that and come on.
We don’t have a lot of time.”

With a pounding heart, she jaywalked through the

light traffic and hopped up on the curb. Marching
over to the tuxedo shop, she yanked open the door
and walked into—

A sea of flowers.
Instead of mannequins sporting black-and-white

penguin suits, she was surrounded by roses and
carnations and bundles of baby’s breath in buckets.
There were clay pots of orange and yellow mums, and
then all kinds of novelty witches, ghouls, and
vampires strung on fishing line from the ceiling.

“May I help you?” the lady behind the counter

asked.

“Ah, no. No, I’m fine. Thank you—”
The bell on the door chimed, and Danny came in.

“The boutonnieres are already ordered.”

“What?” Anne backed into a vampire mobile, all

sorts of Dracula getting tangled in her hair. “Excuse
me—oh, all right. Okay, let’s not . . .”

She pulled the caped bloodsucker off her and

yanked her fleece back into place. “Right. Already
ordered. Of course. Let’s go next door. Thank you for
your time.”

Head up, shoulders set, she made it back out to the

sidewalk without putting her foot in a tub of roses.
And then with determination more appropriate to a
military crusade, she went over to Mike’s Tuxedo
Rental and nailed the entry, walking into the right
place.

Yup, nothing but racks of suit jackets and slacks in

black, white, and red, and displays of pre-knotted
satin bow ties with matching cummerbunds. The fake
wood paneling of the place reminded her of Raymour
& Flanigan furniture ads from her childhood, and the
posters of male models from the eighties pulling
Zoolanders and sporting perms made her worry that
the establishment only rented stuff from the Flock of
Seagulls era.

The man behind the cash register—like the place

would have a computer anyway?—was sixty and
pruned like a topiary, his pin-striped suit and jaunty
orange-and-black tie a seasonal advertisement for his
wares.

“And here’s the lovely bride,” the guy said as he

came around. “I’m Mike Junior, and I’m here to help
you—oh, you brought your groom.”

Anne shook her head. “No, we’re not, I’m not,

this is not—”

“When’s the special day?” Mike asked.
“It’s not, I’m not—”
“This Saturday,” Danny said as he put his arm

around her shoulders. “I’m such a lucky man.”

“That doesn’t give us a lot of time.” Mike tugged

at his cuffs, pulling them down like he was ready to
get to work. “But we can take care of you. It’s the
Mike guarantee—”

“We are not getting married,” Anne said as she

pushed Danny away.

“So you’re eloping.” Mike clapped his hands.

“Exciting. Now, let’s see, you’re a thirty-six long—”

“That’s right.” Danny smiled. “God, you’re

good.”

Mike frowned. “Haven’t I seen you before?”
“We are not getting married!” Anne cut in.
As Mike fell into a shocked silence, she wanted to

elbow Danny in the gut.

Instead, she announced, “I need a tuxedo for the

Miller wedding to match all the ones that have been
ordered for the groomsmen.”

Mike looked at Danny. Looked at her. “You know,

women aren’t groomsmen usually.”

“Yes,” she said as she glared at Danny. “I know.”

All things considered, Danny took it as a good sign
that Anne had missed the mark and gone into that
flower shop first. Her detour suggested the
conversation in the car might have gotten to her a
little, and maybe . . .

Hell, he didn’t know.
“You want to rent a tuxedo,” Mike repeated.
Anne went over to a rack of suit jackets that had

satin collars. “Yes. I mean, you must fit small men?
Or boys, what about a boy’s tux?”

When Mike glanced in his direction, Danny

manned up. “What if you measured her, and we find
something that works?”

“Ah . . . I usually only work with men.”
“Gimme the tape. I’ll do it.” As Anne wheeled

around, Danny put a hand out to the guy. “She and I

work together. We’re friends.”

The truth was, if he had to watch Mike, Jr.—or

any other man—measure up the inside of Anne’s
legs? A hundred thousand Fiber One bars weren’t
going to do shit to keep him from ripping some limbs
off and burying the rest of the body where the
groper’s family would never find it.

Man, he was such a charmer, wasn’t he.
“Yes,” Mike said. “Okay, that would be better.”
As a cloth tape measure was pressed into Danny’s

palm, they were directed to go behind a black curtain
where the dressing rooms were.

“Come on, Ashburn,” Danny said. “Let’s do this

quick and move along. Painless, totally painless.”

For her, at least. Him? He wasn’t so sure because

she had that hostile look in her eye again—the one
that made him pray to God he didn’t pop an erection.

“I can do it myself,” she muttered.
Mike pushed a pad and a pencil at them. “Each of

the measurements on that list. Just write ’em down.”

Danny pulled the curtain aside. “I’ll only help if

you need it.”

Anne snatched the tape measure and walked into

the rear area. As she stopped dead, he bumped into

her—and then he totally got why she’d pulled up
short. He’d been kinda shocked too when he’d first
seen it.

“Did they think paint wouldn’t stick to the

ceiling?” she whispered as he let the curtain fall back
into place behind them.

Shag carpeting, the kind that Scooby-Doo would

have appreciated, started at the floor and climbed the
walls and ceiling on an up-and-over that was utterly
inexplicable. And that was before you got to its
harvest-gold-and-orange nap.

“Now you know what it’s like to be in a bag of

Cheetos, right?” Danny murmured.

“I wonder if it has adhesive qualities?”
“You want to throw me against a wall and see if I

stick?”

Plastic runners, like highway lanes, had been laid

out for people to walk on, obviously to protect the
stuff from being worn down by foot traffic in and
and out of the three cubicles.

“At least it’s seasonal?” Danny said as he reached

out and petted a wall.

“Does this mean he switches it out to red and

green for Christmas, then gold and black for New

Year’s? Pastels for Easter?”

“And beaver brown for Groundhog Day.” As she

shot him a look, he shrugged. “What?”

“That’s nasty.”
Going over to a cubicle, he opened the flap door.

“I wonder if it started as an area rug and then
metastasized.”

“How we doing in there?” Mike called out from

the far side.

Anne winced. “Your decor is . . .”
“I know, isn’t it historic,” Mike chimed in. “This

shop was my father’s. He was way ahead of his time.”

“Well, time has caught up and kept right on

going,” Anne said under her breath. Then, more
loudly, she offered, “It’s unusual for sure.”

Danny nodded at the fitting platform. “Stand on

that thing and let’s get to taping.”

“I’d rather do it here. I’m afraid of getting any

closer to that ceiling.”

“I’ll play secretary.” He checked the pad. “We need

your arm length first.”

Anne held one end of the tape to her shoulder and

let the thing fall to her wrist. “I’m twenty-six?”

He scribbled on the line. “Let me do shoulders

across the back.”

“Yeah, that is going to be tough without bending

everything out of shape.”

She gave him the tape measure, and he put the pad

and pencil down. Stepping close to her, he became
completely and utterly aware of her: how tall she was,
how her waist dipped in before her hips flared out,
how her long, long legs were so damn shapely in those
running tights.

Swallowing hard, he stretched the tape over the top

of her shoulders—and as it slipped out of his hold, he
nearly shoved his hand down her fleece to catch it.

“Sorry, I’m sorry—”
“Here you go.” She caught it and handed the roll

back to him. “Slippery little devils.”

“Yeah.”
Danny slowed. Then froze. Across the way, there

was a floor-length mirror, and he couldn’t help but
stare at their reflection, him standing behind her, her
focusing down on the wall-to-everything carpet.

I want to fuck you, he thought—with such stinging

desperation, that he prayed he hadn’t said the words
out loud.

“You got it?” Anne prompted.
“Yeah.”
Except he didn’t. He didn’t have shit.
Her pale eyes lifted, and locked on his own in the

mirror. As her lids flared, he knew there was too much
hunger showing on his face and he hated the position
he was putting her in. But he had run out of patience,
out of pride, out of sanity.

All he was, as he stood behind her, was need.
Anne’s chest rose and fell as she took a deep

breath. “You need to measure me,” she said in a low
voice.

Oh, I am, he thought, as his stare drifted down her

body.

Her head shook back and forth, but she didn’t step

away and she didn’t stop looking at him. “This can’t
happen.”

It sounded like she was trying to convince herself,

and he took that as a good sign.

“Yes,” he growled. “It can—”
“Danny—”
“I can’t pretend anymore. It’s killing me, Anne.”
The shock on her face was open to interpretation:

Was it because he’d offended her? Or was it because

she’d been fighting the attraction, too?

“How we doing in there?” Mike said from the far

side of the curtain.

Talk about shattering a moment.
Without any prompting, Danny measured those

shoulders, noted the number, and then went around
and got down on his knees. Lifting his eyes, he stared
up her body.

“I won’t fuck you over,” he said. “I promise.”
Annoyance crossed her face. “I won’t let anyone

fuck me over, so don’t worry about that.”

You’re so hot, he thought.
But he didn’t want to press his luck. “I can do this

measurement for you. And I won’t get—you know,
inappropriate.”

“Little late for that,” she muttered. But then she

widened her stance. “If that hand of yours goes
anywhere it shouldn’t, you’re going to get put on
disability. Permanently.”

As a wave of lust shot through him, Danny

swayed, but caught his balance. “Put your heel on the
end.”

Tucking the tape under her running shoe, he

stretched the length up inch by inch, passing her tight

calves, and her knees, and the teardrops of her thigh
muscles.

Inside her legs . . . inside, toward her . . .
Anne stepped back. “Let’s just estimate that. What

have you got so far?”

His brain lagged in translating. “Ah. . .”
After he reported some sort of number, she said,

“Tack on another three and call it a day.”

“What about your waist? Or your hips, I think it

is.”

“I’ll do that.” She snatched the tape and put it

around her pelvis. “Thirty-six. And waist is . . .
twenty-six.”

“I’ll take these out to Mike,” he said. “And we’ll

see what we got.”

As he stepped out of Shag-la-la, Danny was

breathing too deep and his head was ten-beers-in
fuzzy. Then he doubled back and leaned through the
curtain again.

Anne was staring at herself in the floor-length

mirror, her brows down tight, her arms wrapped
around her waist. When she saw him, she jumped.

“Did we forget something?”

He lowered his lids. “You’re going to the bachelor

party, right? Because that’s in the job description of a
groomsmen, straight up.”

chapter

3

A

t eight o’clock, Anne stepped out of her house and

locked the door. Shoving her hands in the pockets of
her Patagonia parka, she blew out a breath and
watched the white cloud disperse into the dark night.
Her street was quiet, which was why she chose to live
on it. The neighborhood was made up of young
families with kids who went to bed early and retirees
who kept the same schedule for different reasons—

As a stretch limo turned onto her street, its

bumping din was an out-of-place that made her add
another regret to her list for the weekend.

And that was before Moose popped out of the

sunroof,

a

beer

in

each

hand.

“Siiiiiiiissssssssssssssssssttttttttttterrrrrrrrrrr!”

Everyone at the damn firehouse had a nickname,

and she’d gotten hers because she was the chief’s
frickin’ sister.

It was just another example of the legacy that hung

over her: her father, Tom, Sr., a supposed hero in the
department until his death, and then her brother,
Tom, Jr., a ball-busting badass who made dealing
with a kraken seem like a cakewalk.

The limo lurched to a halt at the end of her

driveway, and she hustled down to it on the theory
that the faster she got in, the quicker her neighbors
would be left in peace.

“What’s going on, groomsman!” Moose hollered.

“We gonna do this or what!”

The rear door opened, and old-school Stones

blared as Danny vacated the interior and stretched to
his full height. She was surprised to see him in slacks
and a button-down. He was usually in an NBFD
wardrobe whether he was on or off duty.

“Hey,” he said as she came up to him. “I talked to

Moose. No strippers. Deandra put her foot down. So
we’re just going to hang at the Local.”

The Local was the firefighter union’s meeting hall,

and not a place anyone would ever jump naked out of

a cake.

Anne shrugged. “I can always Uber home if I don’t

like what’s going on. Moose needs to do Moose
without regard to me.”

On that note, she ducked down and leaned in. A

cheer rose up, eclipsing the rock and roll.

Everyone she expected was there: Jack and Mick,

Moose and Danny’s roommates, who were on the
SWAT team; Patrick “Duff” Duffy, the 499’s
resident golden boy; Deshaun Lewis, the engineer,
and his cousin, Ty, who was on Search and Rescue;
and Emilio Chavez, who was another member of the
499 crew.

If you counted Danny and the groom, it was well

over seventeen hundred pounds of muscle, and she
wondered how the limo’s suspension was handling
the load.

“How we doing, boys?” she said as she shuffled

herself in.

All kinds of “fuckin’ great” rippled around while

she parked it in the only vacant space, between Duff
and Jack. As a beer was passed her way, Danny
squeezed his heft in and pointed at Duff.

“You, move.”

“What?” the blond guy asked.
“Move. You’re in my seat.”
The chatter died down, and Anne had to admit

she was surprised, too. But Danny was not joking.

“Come on, Dannyboy, what—”
“Move.”
Duff got up grousing. “Whose lap am I in then?”
“Mine!” Moose said as he patted his knees. “Last

night as a single bastard, I want to live it up!”

“Well, if you put it like that.” Duff changed the

song. “I might as well put on a show.”

Danny sat down next to her as a hush fell over the

crew, and then—

Of course, Anne thought. Like a Virgin.
As the song started, Duff looked over his shoulder

at Moose and blew him a kiss. “ ’Cuz I ain’t never did
this before.”

“That’s J. Cole,” Deshaun said. “Not Madonna.”
“Don’t interrupt the art, my dude.” Duff extended

himself out the sunroof and went full-on Pavarotti.
“I

made

it

throuuuugh

the

wiiiiiiiiiiiildernesssssssssssssssss,

somehow

I

maaaaaaade

it

throoooooooooooooooooooooough . . .”

Duff had a beautiful face and a great body, but

dear Lord in Heaven above, he moved like a white boy
who’d had both his legs recently broken. And his
singing? Not only was he not a candidate for The
Voice, she imagined dogs all over town were looking
for noise-canceling headphones.

“So how you been, Anne?” Jack asked her while

Moose slapped that ass.

As Danny’s roommate looked over at her, she was

happy for the distraction and struck by how
handsome he was. He had a military haircut that was
so tight, his scalp showed around his ears, and he was
in all black, from the slacks to the button-down.
Heavily muscled, just like Mick, he had the air she had
come to associate with trained killers: He was totally
calm, as if he knew, from firsthand experience, that he
could handle anything that might come his way.

“Good,” she answered. “You?”
Duff tackled the chorus like only a tone deaf, half-

drunken, former linebacker could: all volume, no
pitch, desecration all around.

“I got teargassed today in training.” Jack wiped his

face. “My eyes are still stinging. So if I tear up?”

“It’s not because you’re emotional over Duff’s

dancing and singing.”

“Well, maybe I’m a little emotional about that—

but it’s not pride or envy, I’ll tell you that.”

As Moose threw his head back and laughed until

he was red in the bearded face, she felt sad. He had
always been the loud noise with the soft heart, and she
was worried about this marriage for him: Such a good
guy, and Deandra was not the right match from
everything Anne had heard down at the station.

When the limo made a turn, Danny leaned across

the aisle to Moose. “I thought we were going to the
Local?”

“Change of venue.” The groom grinned. “Don’t

tell Deandra.”

“So where are we going?”
“Shhhhh. It’s our little secret.”
New Brunswick was a city on the ocean about

forty-five minutes down the coast from Boston. With
a population of around a million, it was an also-ran
in a lot of ways compared to Beantown, but it had
enough density to support a business district, a state
university, and a level-one trauma center that culled
patients from Cape Cod.

It also had the Stripper Strip, as it was known.
Back at the turn of the century, New Brunie had

been defined by its manufacturing, all manner of
wares and textiles being produced around its bay and
shipped off or sent by rail across the nation. The
boon didn’t last. Over time, as that sector of the
economy had gone overseas, the warehouses and
plants had tried to transition into other uses, but
most had ended up abandoned.

Some businesses had come in to the void, however.
And not all of them were places Anne would go

with a bunch of drunken men. On a night when
questionable choices were part of tradition.

As the limo came to a stop at a light, Anne

wondered whether she could make a break for it.
Probably not. She’d have to climb over at least four of
them to get to the door—

And now they were hanging a Louie and heading

down to the bay.

The Stripper Strip was on the far edge of the

warehouse district, a lineup of some ten or fifteen
“gentlemen’s clubs” that were interspersed between
tattoo parlors, rooming houses, and a blood donation
clinic. She’d been down it countless times, although

not as a patron: The 499 firehouse was only six blocks
to the west, and was the response unit for the entire
area.

She knew each of the places by heart and she

prayed it wasn’t—

Moose stood up out of the sunroof again. “Cat’s

Meow, here we come!”

Oh, dear God.

Danny was ready to kill Moose. The guy had sworn
up and down that the Local was hosting the party—
in other words, nothing inappropriate would be going
down. No strippers, no sloppy drinking, just a bunch
of hardies hanging out and telling stories and toasting
Moose.

This re-routing had taken them directly into naked

territory.

Danny didn’t judge strippers or sex workers, but

he’d never been into that scene. Even when he’d been
an idiot in college with more hormones than brains,
he’d always preferred to find enthusiastic partners
rather than remunerated reluctants, because the

objectification had never been something he was
comfortable with.

Yeah, he’d gotten shit for it from his fraternity

brothers, but he didn’t care.

Add Anne on top of all that? Yeah, he was riding a

whole lot of fuck-this on Moose’s bright idea.

Ten minutes later, the limo pulled up to the Cat’s

Meow, a blacked-out tri-decker of iniquity, and
Moose was all about it, throwing the door open and
falling onto the sidewalk. He caught himself before he
face-planted, and Danny had to be impressed by that
physical control.

Jack leaned around Anne. “I can’t go in there,

Dannyboy. SWAT raided the place last week.”

Mick spoke up, too. “No way we can hit it as

members of SWAT.”

“Yeah,” Danny said. “I’m not going in, either.”
A chorus of hollering made them all look out of

the door. A pack of some twenty guys came rushing
at Moose, and Danny recognized them as fraternity
brothers.

Deshaun and Ty shuffled out of the limo. “We’re

Ubering. You want to share?”

“Yup.” Jack followed them. “This has shitshow

written all over it. And as much as I love the guy, I’m
not losing my credentials over Moose’s last hurrah.”

Emilio and Duff also no-go’d.
Danny glanced at Anne. “Hey, you want to walk

back to the four-nine-nine with me? I was supposed
to bring Moose’s truck home anyway.”

That was kind of BS. But he wanted to spend time

with her outside of work and he’d engineer that
anyway he could.

Call him Mr. Smooth.
“Okay.” She put her beer aside and clapped her

hands on her legs. “I could use some fresh air.”

And now the night was looking up, he thought as

he emerged and offered her a hand. She shook her
head and exited herself—and that made him smile. He
always felt like he was chasing her, even when she was
right in front of him.

“Where are you guys going?” Moose demanded.

“Wait, you’re coming in, right?”

“Uber’s on the way,” Deshaun said. “Got us a

minivan.”

“What?” Moose came back over, his arms

stretched out, those open containers in both hands

technically a violation of the law. “You guys are my
best friends! My roommates! What the fuck!”

In the background, that group of frat boys was

funneling into the strip club, ready to tear it up, and
as Jack and everybody else who was bailing looked at
Danny, it was clear he was going to have to lay down
the hammer.

“We’re out, Moose.” As the guy started to argue,

Danny shook his head. “Illegal prostitution, buddy.
None of us are going in there.”

“Come on, man. Don’t bring the drama.”
“This place gets raided while we’re in there, Jack

and Mick are fucked because they’re on SWAT. And
the rest of us don’t need the headache. I can just see
the headline now—‘Firefighters and Search and
Rescue sergeant arrested along with local fraternity
alums at strip club.’ ”

“You guys are my crew.”
Danny stared at the hurt on the guy’s face and felt

like shit. But not enough to roll the dice on an arrest.

“We’ll all be there for the stuff that counts.”

Danny clapped a hand on the guy’s thick neck. “You
do your thing, but listen. Don’t get caught, okay?”

Moose rolled his eyes. “She’s out with her girls. She

won’t know nothin’. ”

Danny took the beers, spun the guy around, and

gave him a shove toward the club’s black door. “Use a
condom if you slip up. You don’t want to get to
clapping on your wedding night.”

As Moose jumped forward and grabbed one of

their frat brothers around the waist, Danny turned to
Anne.

“You ready?”
“Where we going?” Duff asked.
Danny narrowed his eyes. “She and I are getting

Moose’s truck.”

“You want to walk with us?” Anne said.
I will Conan the Barbarian you with my bare

hands, Danny telegraphed to his buddy.

“Ah . . .” Duff looked at Deshaun. “Mind if I

squeeze in with you guys?”

“No problem,” their engineer said. “We’re going to

Timeout.”

“I’ma head there with them.” Duff thumbed over

his shoulder. “You know, with them.”

Danny nodded. “Have a great night. Come on,

Anne.”

“Bye, you guys,” she said.
The men waved at her and studiously avoided

looking at him. But whatever. He was in a weird
mood, and he didn’t care who noticed.

His head was a mess for no good reason. Looked

like Anne wasn’t the only one who needed fresh air.

chapter

4

A

s Anne fell into stride with Danny, she put her

hands in her parka and liked the cold air on her face.
She had long legs, so it wasn’t hard to keep up with
him. In fact, they mirrored each other’s footfalls
exactly.

So she skipped a step to make sure they were not in

sync.

Thinking back to that moment in the tuxedo

shop, when things had gotten waaaaay, way, way too
real, she reminded herself that it was important not to
do anything she couldn’t live with later. They worked
together, for godsakes, and even though she’d never
had a reason to check the regulations, she was pretty
sure that there was a no-fraternization rule for

firefighters. If not within the whole department, then
certainly within a given firehouse—

Wait . . . was she really thinking that if that wasn’t

the case, she might sleep with him?

She glanced over. Danny’s expression was grim, his

brows down, his jaw locked. And as they left the Cat’s
Meow in the dust, an image from the week before
barged into her brain.

The crew had just come back from a box alarm. It

had been a no-BFD, only a minor kitchen fire,
hamburger patties cooked past well-done and into
incineration. Deshaun had backed the engine into the
bay and they had all gotten off.

It was the kind of thing that they did over two

hundred times in a month, nothing unusual or
remarkable. But it had been at sundown, and the
golden rays penetrating the firehouse’s vehicle floor
had bathed Danny in a glow that was unreal. Anne
had ducked her head and watched him as he’d
shucked his turnouts, peeling off the heavy flame-
retardant jacket and hanging it in his locker, then
shucking his suspenders and stepping out of his boots
and pants.

His shoulder muscles had flexed as he’d twisted

and turned, his biceps stretching his T-shirt sleeves
thin, his pecs bulking and then releasing. He’d been
laughing at something Deshaun had said, that smile
cocky and sure, those Irish eyes flashing blue.

And then he’d caught her staring.
An expression similar to the one he had now had

overtaken his face, and that big body had stopped in
mid-motion.

As Anne refocused on the sidewalk ahead, she

thought of When Harry Met Sally—the part where
Harry tells Sally that men and women can never be
friends.

Funny, she had been alone with Danny so many

times at work. Whether they were going into a
burning building together, or playing pong in the rec
area, or working out in the bays, there had been
countless incidences of them isolated from the rest of
the crew.

Tonight, it was different.
Then again, she had never hung out with him by

herself on her off time. Tonight . . . things felt date-
ish.

“My SCBA still needs a new mask,” she said. “Do

you know whether Captain Baker’s submitted the
equipment order for this month yet?”

When in doubt, talk shop, she thought.
“Yeah, he has. But I’ll find you another medium.

The lens get scratched again?”

“Remember the three-alarm on Monday at that

dry cleaning store?”

“The one where you busted that window out with

your body?” He glanced over and smiled. “You were
like a stuntman going through that pane of glass. You
blew that shit up.”

She laughed. “It was so much fun. But Captain

Baker was not happy.”

“In his defense, the front door was about three feet

over.”

“Dead-bolt required a key. I tried that exit first.”
“Really? I wondered what was going on. I was

charging another line from the hydrant, and I looked
up to see this explosion. I thought the contents fire
had gone flash point, but nope. It was just Ashburn,
using herself to vent the flames.”

“I didn’t have any other tools with me, and we

needed to get that temperature down before the damn

thing went structural. What was I supposed to do?”

As Danny chuckled, she tried to claw her way back

to normal, to the way it had always been between
them, with her just one of the guys. She was on a
slippery slope, however, and she felt like she was
falling into a destination she didn’t want to put a
name to.

To distract herself, she looked around. They were

passing by another strip club, the sound of pumping
music vibrating through its walls. A wait line had
formed to the left of the entrance, three bouncers
checking IDs before they let groups of partially
dressed women and tattooed men inside.

“If Moose had picked here, would you have gone?”

she asked. “I’ve never heard of any problems here.”

“Only if I could pay the dancers to put their

clothes back on.”

“I never pictured you as a prude.”
“I’m not. I just don’t like that scene.”
No, he liked full-on naked, from what she’d heard.
As a spike of lust shot through her, she wanted to

kick her own ass. Just friends, damn it, they were just
friends—no, they weren’t even that. They worked
together.

Colleagues was the word.
“Let’s walk faster,” she muttered as they crossed

the head of an alley. “It’s cold out.”

“You want my coat?”
Sure, that was exactly what she needed. More of

his aftershave in her nose. “Nah, I’m good—”

“Help! Oh, God, help! He’s been stabbed!”
Stopping short, Anne looked at Danny and then

zeroed in on a disembodied female voice emerging
from the shadows down the alleyway.

“Come on!” Anne said, grabbing his arm.

Danny took off behind Anne as she fell into a run
toward the commotion, the pair of them tearing
down a narrow lane created by a boarding house on
one side and the blood donation clinic on the other.
Halfway down, in the dim glow from a security light
six stories up, a man was circling someone who was
sprawled on the pavement. Another person, a
woman, had thrown herself over the injured, putting
her body in the way.

“—fucking asshole! You fucker!” The knife in the

aggressor’s hand flashed. There was blood on it. “I’ma

fucking kill you!”

“Leave him alone!” the woman yelled.
As the attacker noticed Anne, he tucked the blade

behind his back. “Walk away, bitch. Just walk away.”

“I’m an EMT.” She put her palms up. “If he’s

hurt, let me treat him—”

“Get the fuck out of here!”
“Help us!” the woman begged as she reached out

with a bloody hand. “He’s bleeding bad.”

“Shut up.” The attacker outted the knife again and

pointed it at the woman. “You fucking shut your
mouth—this is your fault—”

Danny lunged forward into the hazy circle of light,

battling for control of the weapon, locking a hold on
a thick wrist. The attacker torqued and threw a punch
that landed on the side of Danny’s head, but Danny
knew that he couldn’t let go or he was going to be
stabbed next. Grunting, he put all his weight and
strength into a pivot that swung the man in a circle
and slammed him face-first into the boarding house’s
brick walling.

But the guy was a fighter—and strung out on

something. Even as his nose exploded with blood, he
yanked and shoved against Danny’s grip, trying to pry

the knife loose. And then Danny tripped, his hold
slipping free.

The blade slashed in an arc, and Danny ducked

just in time, the whistling sound so close to his ear, he
put a hand up to make sure he wasn’t cut. But then
the knife was coming at him again, the stabbing,
sharp tip aimed at his gut. Jumping back, he bent at
the waist and was missed by a millimeter.

Given that the attacker’s weight had shifted

forward, Danny jerked to the side, clasped his hands
together, and brought them down on the nape of the
other man’s neck. The force was so great, it drove the
aggressor to the pavement, and Danny jumped on
top, digging one of his knees into the small of the
back as he grabbed onto the wrist controlling the
weapon again. With his other hand, he palmed that
skull and pushed the man’s face into the asphalt.

“Drop the knife,” Danny growled. “Or I’ll break

your fucking arm.”

“Fuck you!”
“Drop the knife!”
The bastard tried to get up, and Danny looked

over at Anne. She was bent over the downed man,
and her face was composed as she opened a Red Sox

parka to inspect the injuries. But as she put her cell
phone up to her ear and glanced at Danny, her eyes
were dilated with adrenaline.

I am not going to die in front of that woman,

Danny thought.

The man underneath him bucked hard and almost

got free, but it was time to end this. Danny cranked
that hand with the knife around and twisted,
twisted . . . twisted.

“I’m gonna break your fucking arm,” Danny

gritted out. “Drop the knife!”

Anne started talking into her phone. “I am a

trained EMT. I am in an alley at Harbor and
Fifteenth with a stabbing victim. I need an ambulance
and a police unit—my partner is subduing the
assailant. I suspect we have an internal bleed in the
gut, pulse is weak, and victim is in shock—”

Snap!
The attacker let out a howl of pain as his arm

dislocated from its shoulder socket—and that meant
the knife was no longer a threat. As everything went
limp, Danny tossed the weapon across the alley.

The woman by the victim started weeping. “Is he

going to die?”

As she looked back and forth between the men, it

wasn’t immediately clear which one she was talking
about.

Every move.

Anne had been aware of every move Danny had

made as he jumped the guy with the knife. That
deadly weapon, already dripping with blood, had
slashed and stabbed as the two had fought for control
of it. Terror had threatened to freeze her, but she
couldn’t give into the emotion. She had a victim to
triage.

Crouching down, she’d identified herself as a

medic and asked the woman to ease back. The instant
Anne had opened the parka and yanked up the shirt
from the jeans, she’d known that they were in trouble.

The puncture wound was in the lower gut, where a

lot of messy stuff was located. There were also some
big blood vessels down there, as well as an artery that,
depending on how deep the knife had gone, could lead
to a mortal event.

She had the man’s blood on her hand as she dialed

9-1-1. Putting the phone to her ear, she’d looked over

at Danny.

That was when their eyes had met.
The look on his face was one she would never

forget. They had been through a lot together on the
job, had walked into burning staircases, rooms where
the wall paint was bubbling up, and attics that were
hotter than stoves. But they were trained for all that.

This situation was doubly dangerous because there

was human blood on that blade and there was no
telling what the victim could transmit. And then
there was the very real possibility that Danny could be
killed outright.

I don’t want to lose you, Anne thought. Not tonight.
Not ever.
As the realization hit her, there was a loud

snapping sound—and she had heard enough bones
dislocate on the job to know what it was.

And then the knife got thrown away.
Danny cranked a submission hold on the attacker,

but the guy was out of gas, lying limply on the
pavement and moaning in pain.

“I called for help,” she said in a voice that cracked.

“They’re on the way.”

Danny was breathing hard. “Good.”

“Is he going to die?”
Anne looked at the woman who couldn’t seem to

decide which man to worry about. “Can I have your
scarf?”

The woman pulled the wool length free. “Here.”

Then she focused on the unconscious man. Looked
back at the attacker. Refocused on the other guy. “It
wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

Anne wrapped the length around itself and placed

it onto the wound. Pressing down, she said to the
woman, “What’s your name? I’m Anne.”

“C-c-candy. This is Rob. That’s Antonio.”
Leaning upward, Anne said, “Rob? Can you talk

to me?”

Sirens sounded far away and grew in intensity,

doubling up. Meanwhile, the victim was non-
responsive, his breathing shallow, his eyes closed.

Please let that ambulance be for us, Anne thought.
“Does he have any medical issues you’re aware of?”
Candy shook her head. “None. He’s my boyfriend.

And that’s . . . my brother.”

Rob started to shake his head and mumble just as a

police unit came around the corner. As the bright
headlights shone down the alley, Anne got her first

clear look at Candy. The woman looked forty under
her heavy makeup, and her hair was dyed badly. Her
skirt was so short her pink panties were showing, and
even though it was thirty-two degrees out, she had
nothing but a blouse on under a light windbreaker.

There were ligature marks around her throat, the

bruises not fresh but a day or so old, showing purple
against her skin.

And she was bone thin.
‘Rob,’ if that was indeed his name, popped his eyes

open. “Pimp. Not brother, pimp.”

Candy sagged. “No, he’s my brother, and I’m not

pressing charges.”

chapter

5

I

t was one a.m. by the time Danny pulled Moose’s

truck up to Anne’s house, and as he hit the brakes,
there was so much he wanted to say. Putting things in
park, he looked across the messy cab.

Anne was staring out the windshield. After a

moment, she shook herself and looked around at the
empty cans of Mountain Dew, the crumpled bags of
Doritos, the wrappers of Snickers bars and Starbursts
and . . .

“You okay?” he asked.
“Of course.” She bent down to the mess in the

footwell. “You know, I can’t stand this debris field.
I’ve got to do something.”

“Here, I think there’s an empty Star Market bag—

wait, I got two.”

Danny flapped one of the things open and held it

for her as she put seven empties in it. Then she
gathered the rest of the stuff and crammed it into the
bag, the fluffy trash taking up room without weighing
anything.

Then they were both quiet again. She glanced at

him. “Are you hungry?”

“Starved.”
The truth was, food was the last thing on his

mind, but if there was a chance they could go inside
and talk? He’d put his own shoes on a plate and eat
them with ketchup.

“I don’t have much to offer.”
“It doesn’t matter.” He killed the engine. “Do you

have any beer?”

“No, but I think I have some Jack Daniel’s.

Remember how Duff gave those bottles to everyone
for Christmas last year? I never touched mine.”

“Perfect.”
They got out together and walked up to her front

door. Her house was only about a thousand square
feet, but the Cape Cod had good windows and doors
—the kind that locked solidly and had alarm contacts
on them. He knew this because she’d hosted a Pats

game in early September, and he’d surreptitiously
checked the security of the place.

As well as looked for any evidence that she had a

boyfriend or was seeing anyone.

She’d been clear that she lived alone and she’d

never talked about dating anybody. There were also
no pictures of some idiot standing next to her with a
stupid smile on his face like he’d won first prize in a
competition.

“Things are kind of messy,” she said as she opened

her front door.

“Moose-messy or . . . ?”
Stepping inside, he saw a blanket unfolded on her

couch, and through the archway into the kitchen,
there was a mug next to the sink on the counter. The
tux Mike had rented her was laid out across the table
in its plastic sheath, and a duffel bag with her
workout clothes was on the floor next to it.

“If this is your version of sloppy?” He shut the

door. “You haven’t lived with four guys. I mean, this
is straight-up parents-weekend, panic-stricken, don’t-
kill-my-lease clean.”

She took off her jacket. “You’re still living the

college life even though you’re almost thirty.”

Danny frowned. “It’s not forever.”
“When do you plan on changing?”
It was a throwaway comment, something she said

as she went to wash her hands at her sink. But it hit
home.

Because he wanted to be more for her. He wanted

to be . . . everything . . . for Anne.

And that was some fucked-up shit. When had

attraction and sizzle turned into something bigger for
him?

Then again, what did timing matter when a

destination had been reached? And he knew there was
no going back from this.

“Mind if I borrow some of your soap, too?” he

said gruffly.

“Please. And you should have let the EMTs check

you out.”

“Nah, he didn’t get me.” Danny followed her

example at the sink, making fast but thorough work
of his hands. “It’s all good.”

“I’m going to take this out to recycle.” She held up

the Star Market bag. “Check my fridge and see what
you like? The Jack is in the cupboard over by the
coffee pot.”

As he dried things off, he watched her go out her

rear door and just stood there as she went off around
the side of the house. When she came back in, she
stopped and looked at him.

“What?”
“I’m sorry,” he heard himself say.
“For what?”
“Anne . . .”
Details of that drama they’d fallen into flickered

through his mind: him fighting for control of that
knife, then holding the attacker down as the police
arrived; her rendering aid and transferring care to the
EMTs when they came with the ambulance; the sad
state of affairs between that woman and those two
men.

Chances were he and Anne would never know the

end of the story. Maybe there would be something in
the paper or on the police blotter, and they’d find out
whether the boyfriend lived. But the rest of it,
whether Candy got off the street and what happened
to the pimp and if the boyfriend stayed around?

Those details were a book never to be read, a movie

never to be watched.

And he cared about the ending, even though they

were all strangers.

As Anne put her hands to her face, she shook her

head. “I can’t get all that out of my mind.”

“Neither can I.” He touched his temple. “I just

see . . . pictures, you know?”

That was a partial lie. Now it was all about her, a

snapshot from a two-alarm scene back when she had
first joined the service taking over. Her face had been
sooty and sweaty, her hair a mess from having been
under her hood and helmet, a red bruise on her jaw.
They had been returning to the fire station in the
engine, her in the jump seat behind Deshaun, Danny
facing her. Their knees had bumped as the truck had
gone over potholes in the road, and he had teased her
until she had smiled.

Her teeth had glowed brilliant white.
That was when he’d first wanted to kiss her. The

urge had been so strong, he had started to lean
forward—until Duff had cracked a joke and reality
had broken through the fantasy.

Danny stared at her lips again. And could not look

away.

Anne felt her eyes flare as she looked up at Danny.
Whenever they were at the firehouse, he was always
joking with her, teasing her, being his charismatic self.
That was not who he was right now.

The curtain had been pulled back on all that, and

what was behind it was a sexual intensity that went
through her in a blaze of heat.

And she wanted him, too.
Even though it was a bad idea on so many levels,

she didn’t care about any of that reasonable stuff.
Not right now. Not after she’d watched him fight
with that man, that blade flashing, that threat so
much closer than when they were at fires.

He took a step forward. “Anne.”
As he said her name, his voice was so guttural, it

was nearly inaudible.

There was no going back, she told herself. If she

opened this door and they went through it, they
would forever be on the other side.

Could she handle that? Seeing him day to day,

night to night at the firehouse?

Hearing those stories about him with other

women . . . ?

Danny’s eyes burned, the blue glowing, the thick

lashes unblinking. His face was drawn in tight lines,
the shadow of his beard growing in over his grinding
jaw, his brows down hard. He looked like a hunter,
but she wasn’t frightened in the slightest.

She wanted to be caught.
Anne felt herself move forward before she was

aware of making her decision, and Danny’s eyes flared
as if she had shocked him.

Then he was reaching for her, drawing her against

his body. In response, her hands, her treacherous,
disloyal, full-of-bad-ideas hands, rose up to his heavy
shoulders.

Danny tilted his head one way. She tilted hers the

other.

And then it was happening, their faces getting

closer . . . their mouths . . . meeting.

Soft. So much softer than she had expected.
She had prepared herself for grinding, taking, full-

on demand. Instead, he was slow and careful,
brushing his lips over hers, cajoling . . . asking, not
demanding.

Anne was the one who made them get real.

Latching a hand on the base of his neck, she pushed

her breasts against his pecs and pulled him down with
a jerk.

He did not require an engraved invitation to take

things to the next level. Now he was holding her hard
—and harder still—his strong arm locking her in as
his tongue entered her mouth and he dug his free
hand into her hair. She couldn’t get close enough to
him, but that was not a problem with proximity.

Too many clothes was the issue—
The sound of a cell phone going off broke the

moment, making them both jerk back. As Danny
cursed, she looked down to his pocket.

“Ignore it,” he said harshly. “It doesn’t matter.”
But it was a timely reminder of the outside world,

Anne decided as she dropped her arms and stepped
away from him.

Shit. Shit, shit . . . shit.
The ringer silenced. And then started going off

again.

“Goddamn it,” he muttered as he took the thing

out. As he looked at the screen, he shook his head.
“Deandra.”

Anne walked over to her throw blanket and folded

it properly, hanging the thing off the arm of her little

sofa. “You might as well answer it. Looks like she’s
determined.”

“When is she not.” Danny answered and put the

call on speaker. “Hey.”

Deandra’s voice was tinny, but the pissed-off came

out loud and clear. “Where is he? Where the hell did
you take him?”

“I’m at Anne’s house. I’m not with Moose—”
“The Local is empty. There’s no party here. I’m

standing at the front door—”

“Did you call him?” Danny glanced across Anne’s

little living room and rolled his eyes. “Because I think
this is a conversation you need to be having with
him.”

“He won’t answer his phone and he’s taken his

location off.”

Somehow it was not a surprise that the woman

traced him, Anne thought.

“Deandra, listen, I’d like to help you, but this is

not any of my business.”

There was a long silence. “So like you, Danny.

You’re a fucking ghost when things get real.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow at the rehearsal dinner,” he

bit out. “Take care.”

The woman was still talking as he ended the call

and turned off his ringer. Then he put the cell phone
away and dragged a hand through his hair.

“So.”
Anne cleared her throat. Twice. “I think you

better go. It’s going to be a long weekend and I need
to go to bed. Alone.”

His eyes closed briefly. And then he nodded.

“Yeah. I get it. See you tomorrow night.”

chapter

6

Friday, October 30

T minus 24 hours ’til blastoff

St. Mary’s Cathedral, Old New Brunswick

T

he following evening, Anne showed up at St. Mary’s

Cathedral and managed to get through the rehearsal
without rolling her eyes, cursing in church, or walking
out. The same couldn’t be said for all of the wedding
party. Moose was looking like hell, the green
undertones of his face suggesting that he’d had so
much to drink at his bachelor’s party that his
hangover was just starting to hit him.

Or maybe Deandra was what was making him ill.
The bride-to-be marched off halfway through the

mock ceremony, locked herself in the bathroom with

her bridesmaids, and stayed in there so long the priest
said he had other commitments and only ten more
minutes before he had to go.

No doubt it was fallout from the strip club visit

from the night before. And when everyone had
looked at Moose to solve the problem, he had shaken
two more Motrin into his palm, swallowed them on a
oner, and headed off for a cigarette.

As the Jeopardy! theme had threaded through her

mind, Anne had become totally aware of Danny, who
was standing one person over in the tux lineup at the
altar.

He’d been staring at her through lowered lids.
And she’d known exactly what he was thinking

about, remembering . . . wanting more of.

Because as much as she wished she could pretend

otherwise, she felt the same way—and didn’t it seem a
sin to be thinking lustful thoughts right at the foot of
Jesus on the cross?

She wasn’t that lapsed.
After what seemed like longer than the ten

minutes the priest had to spare, the bridesmaids had
come out from the narthex, the flouncing, perfumed
brigade of blondes like a remake of The Hills. Then

Moose and Deandra had walked down the aisle side
by side. At the altar, the bride had put her head up
and kicked her shoulders back in her skin-tight dress.

Funny, it seemed as if, under all her forbearance,

she was getting a kick out of the attention.

When things finished up, Anne hustled out of the

cathedral and headed for her Subaru. The night had
turned bitter, and as she wrapped her wool coat more
closely around herself, she thought of all the trick-or-
treaters who were going to be forced to put long johns
on under their costumes.

Next stop on the wedding train was D’Angelo’s,

an Italian restaurant on the north end of New Brunie.
Deandra had insisted on them renting the whole place
out, or at least that was the gossip, and you had to
wonder how she and Moose were paying for all this.
Deandra didn’t come from a family of means, and
Moose had been in the foster-care system, so neither
had parents who were cutting any checks.

Then again, the guy was always taking side jobs,

like a lot of firefighters did. He’d probably been
working on roofs and decks every second he had off
and was going to have to continue to do that for a
while to pay off the debt. Deandra didn’t earn much

yet. She’d recently finished cosmetology school, but
was still only a receptionist at a hair salon, not a
stylist—

“Can I catch a ride with you?”
Anne looked over her shoulder as she opened her

car door. Danny had followed her as the others
dispersed, and his hooded eyes were nothing she could
read in the gloaming.

His body, however, was throwing off so much

heat, she nearly unbuttoned that coat of hers.

What did you do to yourself when you were alone in

your bed, she asked in her head. Where did your hands
go—

“Stop it—”
“What?” he said.
“Ah, nothing. Sorry.”
“Can I get a ride? I came with Jack and Mick, but

they just got called to their HQ.”

“Do they need backups with firefighter

experience?” she muttered as she saw Moose and
Deandra arguing by the guy’s truck.

“I could ask.” Danny glanced at the couple. “You

know, I’m fifty-fifty on whether they follow through
on the rings tomorrow.”

“After she locked herself in the bathroom? I’m

forty-sixty.” She nodded to her car. “Yeah, you can
ride with me.”

Ordinarily, that would have been a casual

statement, but she wanted to be alone with him—so
it felt manipulative. Then again, he could have asked
Emilio and Duff, or any of his fraternity brothers . . .
so maybe he was feeling the same way?

As they got in, she tried not to smell his spicy

cologne. Attempted not to notice the way his dress
slacks pulled across his heavy thighs. Definitely didn’t
picture him without his coat, his shirt . . . his pants.

Okay, fine, she failed at all that. Especially the last

part.

At the fire station, during the summer months, he

sometimes went shirtless when he lifted in the bays,
and the remembrance tattoos on his torso were
burned into her memory.

Yeah, but how many other women had seen them?

Kissed him? Been a one-and-done that the other guys
joked about? Even if she got past the professional
issues, she was not going to be added to that very long
list.

Starting her car, she muttered, “I can’t wait until

this weekend is over.”

Danny had been up all night. Alllllllll fucking night.
And not because Deandra had called him every hour
on the hour and then Moose had stumbled in drunk
at five a.m. and started throwing up in the bathroom.
He had ignored the impending bride and groom.

No, the problem was that he’d been consumed by

thoughts of Anne.

If he didn’t get his hands on her, his mouth on her,

his body on her, he was going to lose his frickin’
mind.

It was so bad, he’d jerked off three times over the

course of those dark, tortured hours—and now, as he
sat beside her in her car, he was getting hard again.
Fantasies of them together were so vivid, it was as if
she were under him already, naked and straining and
—

“You want to get out now?” she asked. “Or are

you going to sit here all night?”

Refocusing, he found they were in the parking lot

of D’Angelo’s, plugged into a spot between Duff’s

Mustang and Ty’s Dodge Ram. He’d spaced the
entire trip across town.

“Sorry, just tired.” He rubbed his face. “Moose

came home from the rager a mess and Deandra called
all night looking for him.”

That last one wasn’t totally accurate. The one and

only time he’d answered his phone, she’d wanted to
come to see him—and not because she was in search
of her groom.

She’d been after a hookup with Danny. Just like

before, she’d told him. When they’d been together.

That was never going to happen. Even if he’d been

attracted to her, which he wasn’t, and she hadn’t been
looking to use him as a way to get back for the whole
strip club thing, which she was, there was no way he’d
do that to his boy. Moose was his best friend, and no
one, woman or man, was going to come between
them.

God, he wished Moose wasn’t doing this—
“God, I wish Moose wasn’t doing this,” Anne

muttered.

Danny had to smile. Just like on a charged line, the

two of them were in sync. And he was willing to bet
Anne would rather be doing anything other than

waste time sitting around a table, eating food she
wasn’t tasting, as he made a speech as best man about
a couple no one thought should be getting married.

“What?” she asked. “Why are you smiling.”
He turned and looked across the seats at her. She

was dressed in dark slacks and a nice blouse, the wool
coat over the outfit nothing he’d seen before—which
reminded him that she had a life outside of work.
Friends. Places to go. Movies to see and vacations to
take.

He wanted to be a part of all that.
As usual, she wasn’t wearing much makeup and

her hair was back. From time to time, at work, she let
the stuff out of its perennial tieback, and he loved
when she did.

It made him want to see it on his pillow, fanned

out in a tangle because he’d been running his fingers
through it.

Her eyes dropped down and she opened her car

door. “Come on, you’ve got a speech to make, and I
have to push food around a plate. It’s a busy agenda.”

Inside the restaurant, they were shown over to a

long lineup of tables that ran down the center of the
open seating area. The place had been closed for the

party, and as he and Anne were the first ones there, he
knew what his immediate goal was.

“Let’s sit here.” Thank God Deandra hadn’t done

place cards. “It’s close to the exit.”

“Good call.”
As others arrived, his old fraternity brothers got

rowdier and rowdier until their voices rang in his ears
and his temper got short. The other firefighters and
SWAT guys seemed to agree with him, the crew
becoming quieter and quieter.

And then Deandra and Moose came in.
The bride’s eyes went directly to Danny, and then

narrowed on Anne.

Don’t you dare, Deandra, he thought.
Turning to Anne, he said, “So . . .”
She took a sip from her glass of wine. “So?”
When their eyes met, the other people disappeared.

The waiters filling water glasses dematerialized. The
restaurant became as fog, something vague and
indistinct.

Her stare was all that he saw.
As she shook her head, he told himself it didn’t

mean anything. He knew better, though. She was
closing the door on what had been started the night

before in her living room—but he didn’t think it was
going to be so easy to set that electricity aside.

Genies out of bottles, and all that.
Except then he thought about his reputation.

Anne was not the kind of woman who’d let herself get
used—not that that was his intent with her.

Far from it.
Food came in waves, great platters of pastas and

meats set in the center of the table. From time to
time, Danny looked down the way at the bride and
groom. First they were arguing, then Deandra gave the
guy the silent treatment.

But just before dessert came out, Moose started to

talk at the woman urgently.

Next thing anyone knew, she was stroking his face

and kissing him like she was checking the structural
integrity of his molars with her tongue. After that?
The bride held the groom’s hand and sparkled like she
was a disco ball. All apparently was well . . . for the
next foreseeable ten minutes.

“Dannyboy?” Moose called out from across the

table. “You ready for your speech?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

Danny stood up and clanked his dessert spoon on

the side of his water glass. As people kept talking, he
shouted, “Shut up.”

Pin. Drop.
As all eyes swung in his direction, he cleared his

throat. But then his mind went utterly blank—which
made sense, he guessed, given that Anne was in his
peripheral vision, and the only person he truly saw.

Picturing her eyes as they stared up at him the

night before, he started to speak, the words not
coming from his brain, but somewhere behind his
sternum.

“Many of you know that I lost my twin brother,

John Thomas, in a fire three years ago.” All of the
firefighters around the table twitched in their seats—
and Anne jerked to attention. “I don’t talk a lot
about it. But he’s with me every day and night—or
the fact that he’s not here with me is more like it. For
those of us in this dangerous profession, we live with
the possibility of loss every time we go out on an
alarm. We know we can walk into a building or a
home and not come out. It gives you a lot of
perspective on how short life is, and that means good
times and good people—and a good woman . . . is a

rare thing that should not be wasted. I never believed
in love. For the longest time, I thought it was just a
word, a title folks gave to daydreams and
misconceptions about destiny, a lie folks told to
themselves to make them feel solid in this imperfect,
unreliable, and mean-ass world.”

He took a deep breath and focused properly on

Anne. Then he looked away so people wouldn’t catch
on. “Now, though, I know it can happen between
two people. And it doesn’t have to make sense
because it’s not about logic. And it doesn’t have to
have good timing because forever is like infinity,
without beginning or end. And it doesn’t have to be
defined because truth is like faith—it just is.”

Abruptly, Danny realized he was talking to Anne

instead of the intendeds, so he got himself back on
track and raised his glass. “So, let’s toast to Moose
and Deandra. I can’t think of a better guy to have my
back, and I wish the both of you the best of luck.”
Because they were going to need it. “And happiness,
too.”

“To Moose and Deandra,” a number of others

chimed in lackadaisically.

“To a wedding night on all fours,” one of the frat

boys shouted.

“Is that Moose or Deandra you’re talkin’ ’bout!”

another of the drunks added.

As Danny sat back down, he was aware of the

bride shooting daggers in the direction of the Barstool
Sports peanut gallery—and he was willing to bet
Moose was going to catch another round of pissed off
from her.

But that wasn’t his problem. All he cared about

was Anne.

Tonight was the night. He was going to tell her

how he felt. One way or another . . . he was going to
lay his cards on the table and pray she felt the same.

Or at least didn’t slam the proverbial door in his

face.

Don’t miss the next installment of

the wedding from hell

Coming August 2018 from Piatkus!

Anne Ashburn is a woman

consumed: by her troubled past,

her family’s scorched legacy, and

her current case: chasing a deadly

killer.

Find out what happens next for Anne in

Consumed, available October 2018 from

Piatkus!

Consumed

ORDER YOUR COPY TODAY!

COPYRIGHT

Published by Piatkus

ISBN: 978-0-3494-2218-3

All characters and events in this publication, other than
those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any
resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely
coincidental.

Copyright © 2018 by Love Conquers All, Inc.

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Cover photography © Alfonse Pagano/Taxi/Getty Images

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