Reckless (15 page)

“No,” she said, hearing the traces of velvet in her voice, watching his eyes darken to a near navy blue as he heard it, too. “That's not a no.”

He froze into place, so close Zoe could see his pupils flare, and there was no softening the keen edge of the thrill in her blood at the desire banked behind his stare. “Zoe.”

“Alex. I wish you would—”

His fingers were on her lips, quelling the rest with a single stroke. “You should be careful what you wish for.”

But the connection of Alex's fingers, still hot on the center of her mouth, took her from bold to brazen in the span of a breath. “Is that what you want?” she asked, catching his hand in hers. “For me to be careful?”

“No. It's not.”

The answer vibrated through her, and despite the caution sensors clanging full-bore in the back of her mind, Zoe wanted him to say it again.

Because careful was the furthest thing from what she wanted.

But then a familiar set of footsteps echoed, first on the floorboards of the dining room, then on the kitchen tiles at the pass-through door, and Alex and Zoe flew apart like smoke in a stiff wind.

“Hey, you two.” Tina stopped just past the threshold, clasping a manila file folder over the front of her purple blouse with a smile that didn't come close to reaching her eyes. “I'm sorry to interrupt. I know you're in the middle of breakfast prep.”

“You're not interrupting,” Zoe chirped, just a beat too fast and a shade too bright. But then she registered the look on Tina's face, and her friend's troubled expression hijacked the heat from Zoe's veins to replace it with concern. “Tina? What's the matter?”

“We've got two new residents, Rochelle and Kenny. They're mother and son, but there are some extenuating circumstances about their stay. Social services brought them both in about an hour ago.”

Alex's brows winged upward, his attention clearly as focused on Tina as Zoe's was. “Isn't five in the morning a little unusual for that kind of thing?”

Tina nodded, the half-moon shadows beneath her eyes growing more pronounced with her frown, and Zoe's pulse did double time as her codirector turned toward her, all business. “Everything about this one is unusual. Look, I know there's a staunch rule against food leaving the kitchen and the dining area. I also know there are good reasons for those rules.”

“There are,” Zoe said, calling up the city's code in her mind. It was strict for any number of reasons, not the least of which was proper sanitation and to keep residents from hoarding food. “The health department regs are pretty cut and dried, Tina. We'd have to have a damned good reason to violate food service rules and risk getting written up, or worse.”

“Well, we might have one. Kenny's father, Damien, beat Rochelle senseless two days ago, and she's terrified he's going to come here and find her.”

Zoe's stomach pitched at the same time Alex went triple-knot tight at her side. “Jesus,” Zoe breathed. “Did she file a report?” If social services was involved, chances were good that the police were, too, but domestic cases were dicey. Zoe had heard of way too many women refusing to file out of fear, or worse.

“The doctors at the clinic called in the FPD. Apparently this wasn't the first time they'd seen her, and her injuries were . . . more significant this time,” Tina said, pausing to dip her chin in agreement at Alex's muttered curse before she continued. “Of course, Damien made bail after spending twenty-four hours in the tank. Social services is trying to place Rochelle and the little boy with some family in Grand Rapids. But for right now, we're the only bed they've got.”

“And how old is the kid? Kenny?” Alex asked.

Tina slipped her thumb and forefinger over the bridge of her nose. “Five.”

Zoe reached out for the counter in front of her, gripping the stainless steel in an effort to steady the emotions flinging themselves around in her chest. “Okay. Millie and Ellen will be here in a few minutes, and I'll get them on food prep for breakfast service. Alex, I need you to get the dining room set up.”

He nodded, no hesitation. “I can tell Millie and Ellen what's going on when they get here, too.”

“Thanks. I'm going to make two hot meals and bring them over right now, Tina. Then you and I can connect after breakfast to get a longer-term plan in place for how to handle the rest of their meals while they're here. Let's get this woman and her son taken care of.”

“Thanks, sweetie.” Relief washed over Tina's face, loosening her shoulders. “Normally, I wouldn't ask you to break the rules, but this woman is terrified to leave her bed.”

Zoe turned toward the pantry, her resolve already tacked firmly into place as she said, “Sometimes you've got to chuck the rules in order to make a difference.”

Chapter Fourteen

Alex made his way through the swinging door between Hope House's kitchen and dining room, his body in the here-and-now even though his mind was still squarely stuck two hours in the past. Everything about this morning had taken a whack at his comfort zone, from his impulsive offer to let Zoe teach him to cook to the gut-twisting news Tina had brought about the shelter's new residents. The only thing that had kept Alex grounded this morning was the way Zoe had moved through the kitchen as she'd shown him the basics, so fluid and easy and completely at home in her space that despite his reservations, he couldn't help but feel that way, too. The teasing confidence she'd shown before Tina had arrived had made it all too easy for him to slide into the cocky demeanor he wore like a set of broken-in turnout gear, and her fiery determination to hang the rules to help the young mother and her son had made it all too obvious that Zoe's bold side lived closer to the surface than she'd like to let on.

Trouble was, when Zoe Westin got reckless, Alex wanted to hang the rules, too. And the more he let his attraction to her smolder and burn, the less he'd be able to resist giving in to the heat growing between them.

“Oh, Alex. Great timing.” Ellen's warm smile unstuck his thoughts, and he slapped together a return gesture that hopefully covered up any traces of where his impetuous brain had taken him.

“Hey, Ellen. What's up? Do you two need another round of clean coffee mugs out here?” He turned to check the shelf behind the food service counter where Ellen and Millie usually spent their volunteer shifts, but Ellen cut off the movement with a laugh.

“No, no. Nothing like that. We've got plenty of plates and mugs. It's just that breakfast is winding down a bit, and, well . . .” The gray-haired woman dropped her gaze past the serving tray of scrambled eggs in front of her, focusing on her plain white tennis shoes as she pressed a hand to her lower back. “My sciatica is acting up, and quite frankly, I'd love a break.”

He blinked. “Oh. Okay. I'll go get Zoe for you, then.” “Sweetheart, please,” Ellen said, lifting an eyebrow as she waved him into the spot she'd vacated at the counter. “She slipped next door a little while ago to check on that poor girl who arrived this morning, and I wouldn't dream of pulling her away so I can take a breather. Zoe said you're part of the crew. That's more than good enough for me.”

“She said that?” Alex tried—and failed—to keep his shock in check. But come on. Only a week ago, Zoe had done her Sunday best to boot his ass out the door. Not that he hadn't given her good reason, but at the time, he'd have rather had a fistful of root canals than spend a minute more than necessary in her kitchen.

Damn. Had that really only been last week?

“She said it this morning when you were getting things set up out here,” Millie offered, gesturing to the dining room and adding her nod along with Ellen's. “You've been a big help, especially today.”

“I'm just trying to do my job,” Alex said, sending his gaze on a quick tour around the halfway-full dining room. “Listen, all of these residents have already been served, and breakfast really is winding down. Why don't you two both go take a breather? If we get an unexpected last-minute crowd, I'll holler.”

Both women's faces creased in concern, but Alex amped up his smile. “Ten minutes, girls. You can time it if it makes you feel better.”

“You're quite the charmer, aren't you?” Millie asked, but it didn't escape his notice that she hadn't said no.

“That's the rumor. Go on, you two. I promise not to sneak any bacon.”

He shooed both ladies through the swinging door leading to the kitchen, taking a closer look at the dining room. Most of the people were seated and already eating, with only a few milling about the clearing station to return their trays and dishes to the kitchen. Alex had to admit, Zoe really had come up with an efficient system, with designated bins for trash and recycling, plus bus bins for dirty utensils and dishes requiring a run-through with the geriatric dishwasher in the back. Even understaffed and understocked, Hope House ran like a precision instrument, from the regulations to the routines.

And every last one of the people who came in hungry and in need would leave with a full stomach. All because Zoe cared enough to make it happen.

“I see we haven't run you off just yet,” came a familiar voice from the other side of the service counter, and despite the gravity of his morning, Alex's grin was inevitable.

“I'm hanging in there, Hector. Have you had your cup of coffee this morning?” He gestured toward the carafe at the back of his workstation, but the old man waved him off with a lift of his weathered hand.

“I was first in line, fireman. But don't worry, Miss Millie filled my cup to the top.”

“Good to know she's taking care of you,” Alex said, pausing for a second to do the same for the woman who had stepped up next to Hector with an empty coffee cup on her tray. “So how's life in the fast lane? Are you behaving yourself?”

Hector's laugh welled up, rusty and deep. “I'm trying. The windows over by my bed let in a draft something awful, but it's not so bad now that the weather's turning warmer.”

Alex's eyes skimmed the painted cinder-block walls, landing on the windows at the far end of the dining room by the double doors leading to the street. “Yeah, this building is probably twenty years old, at least. I had the same problem with the windows at my place a couple of years ago.”

“I wanted to put something around the windowsill—I have an extra sweater I could stuff in the cracks—but Miss Tina says it's against the rules.”

“Take it from an expert, you definitely want all possible exits unimpeded. Just in case you need them,” Alex said, his mind tumbling back for only a second before he added, “You know, I ended up being able to fix a bunch of the windows at my place with new weather stripping. It's not a permanent solution, but it helped for a while before I could get the windows replaced. If Zoe can spare me for a few minutes between now and lunch, I'll come take a look, see if I can't get you fixed up over there.” He remembered those drafts all too well, and the weather stripping hadn't been too tough of a fix. With a handful of materials and just as many hours, he could probably hook Tina up pretty quick.

“Oh.” Hector blinked, his surprise magnified by the thick lenses of his glasses. “You're kind of handy for a fireman, aren't you?”

Alex's gut squeezed behind the thin white cotton of his apron, but he covered the sensation with a half shrug. “Gotta be prepared, Hector. You never know what life's going to throw at you.”

The hard-edged
bang
of the door leading in from the street stole whatever response Hector had planned to give, and Alex's pulse did a lightning fast zero-to-sixty even though he moved nothing but his eyes. A man he'd never seen before appeared in the door frame, wild-eyed and radiating anger. His shoulders were drawn up tight around his neck, his movements broken and rough as he crossed over the threshold, and every last internal alarm bell in Alex's arsenal went ballistic.

“I'm going to guess this guy's not a regular.” Alex kept his tone low and purposely neutral despite the increasing worry lining Hector's face, and the older man's barely there head shake was all he needed in response. Although the stranger hadn't spoken or moved from the front of the dining room since bullying his way through the door, he was clearly agitated and
very
clearly searching the room for something he couldn't find.

This guy had thirty-one flavors of
not right in the head
written all over him.

“He looks like trouble. Do you want me to go get Miss Zoe?” Hector asked, and Alex's head jacked around on a fresh push of adrenaline.

“No.” He forced an inhale past his vocal cords, long and deep. Channeling every last ounce of his waning nonchalance into the move, Alex took his cell phone from the back pocket of his jeans and slid it nice and easy over the food service counter. “I want you to take this and be ready to call nine-one-one. Don't get Zoe or Tina. Do you understand?”

Hector had barely closed his fingers over the phone before Alex rounded the food service counter to the back of the dining room. He'd memorized the layout after his third hour at Hope House, complete with all possible entry and exit points, only some of which were doors. Blocking out the extraneous variables like averted glances, hushed murmurs, and clattering silverware, Alex shrank his focus down to one, single pinpoint, assessing, collecting, calculating.

Six feet tall. Linebacker frame. Worn flannel shirt and even more worn out work boots.

A face full of rage and dark, flat eyes that promised nothing short of murder.

Zero percent chance this wasn't Damien, doing exactly what Rochelle had feared.

“Rochelle!” The man's shout echoed through the room like cannon fire, kicking Alex's breath through his lungs. “This is the only damn shelter on this side of the city and I know you ain't got the cash to get far. Where the hell are you?”

Damien stomped up the aisle bisecting the two sides of the dining room, slanting nasty, narrow-eyed glares at all the residents who had been effectively shocked into their seats, and Alex was moving across the floorboards before his brain got the oh-hell-no message all the way to his feet. Damn it, there had to be fifty people in here, all of them in close enough proximity that this scenario could go pear-shaped in less than a second. As twitchy as he was to act first and ask questions later, his most viable option was to chill this shit-bag out. At least until he could boot his ass back outside the shelter.

“Can I help you?” Alex asked, scraping up the words as he laced his arms over his chest.

Damien turned to flatten Alex with a beady-eyed stare, and hell. He looked rabid-dog mean, and just as remorseless. “Who the fuck are you?”

Alex's jaw cranked as tight as his fists, and he scratched together every last fragment of his willpower. “I'm serving breakfast. And you need to watch your mouth.”

“What I
need
is to find my kid.” Damien raked him with a gaze, slithering a step closer, then another. “You in charge of this shit hole? Because I ain't leaving without my boy, and I know he's gotta be hiding in here someplace with his little bitch of a momma.”

Pure anger climbed the back of Alex's throat, turning his response barbed-wire sharp. “Oh, you're leaving, and you're leaving right now. There are a lot of different ways this can go down. Only one of them has a happy ending for you. Now get out before I haul you out.”

“I told you.” Damien stabbed his boots into the floorboards, growling along with a stare made of pure malice. “I want my boy. And if you're in charge, I'll go through you to get him.”

Alex's decision took less than a second. He lurched forward, every last intention of dragging this miscreant out of Hope House burning fast and hot in his blood. But a very familiar, very furious voice stopped him clean in his tracks.

“If you want the person in charge, then you're looking for me. But I can promise you, you're still not going to get what you came here for.”

 

 

Zoe's heartbeat slammed behind her breastbone, the white noise
whoosh
of blood pumping so hard against her eardrums that she was almost dizzy. Okay, so mouthing off to Damien might've been a little impulsive, but she'd had to do
something
to keep Alex away from the guy. She'd called nine-one-one the second she'd passed through the side door from the shelter and heard Damien slam his way through the dining room.

“You run this fucking place?” Damien turned on his heel to fasten her with an unrelenting stare at the same time Alex froze over the floorboards to look at her in disbelief, but she blocked out one in favor of the other.

“I do. And you need to leave.” She pulled in a shaky breath, sticking it with all her resolve. “Now.”

Damien's smile was all teeth, the tread on his boots calling out a hard
thump
as he took a step toward her, then another. “That's not how this works, little girl. You got something that belongs to me, and I
will
get it.”

Zoe jammed her hands over her hips, mostly to stop them from trembling. The fresh memory of Kenny, curled up against the side of his mother's body not encumbered by the sling holding her dislocated shoulder, flashed through her mind, strengthening her words to steel. “Unless you've got a court order I'm not aware of, no. You won't.”

For just a breath, everything in the dining room stood stop-motion still, the hum of the overhead fluorescents the only thing cutting through the palpable tension in the room.

And then everyone moved at once.

Damien sprang toward her, creating a shock wave of startled shouts and scraping chairs in his wake. Zoe's lungs constricted in spite of her burning need to inhale, her pulse tearing through her veins on a flood of high-octane adrenaline. From the corner of her eye, she caught flickers of motion in the center of the dining room, scraps of speed and undeniable intention. But by the time she registered the blond hair, the blue eyes turned dark with fear and ferocity, Damien's fingers had wrapped around her upper arms, digging in without quarter.

“Give me my boy.” The stale-whiskey stink of his exhale hit Zoe full force with the bite of every word, and oh God oh God oh God oh God, she couldn't get out of his grasp.

“No.” Her voice betrayed her with a wobble, and Damien's hands cranked down over her thinly covered arms, sending twin spears of pain all the way to her fingertips.