Julie Miller - Kansas City's Bravest

He’d tried to harden himself against her independent spirit that desperately needed someone to care. He’d tried to focus on the woman who worked overtime to pretend that she didn’t need anyone at all, not the world-weary soul underneath who needed someone to love her more than she’d probably ever admit to herself.

He wouldn’t deny the physical attraction that sparked like kinetic energy between them. But she wasn’t the woman he’d loved two years ago. This Meghan was tougher, stronger—and yet more vulnerable.

He was her friend. Her protector. Nothing more.

Except he was dangerously close to becoming the man who loved her.

Again.

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Julie Miller attributes her passion for writing romance to all those fairy tales she read growing up, and to shyness. Encouragement from her family to write down all those feelings she couldn’t express became a love for the written word. She gets continued support from her fellow members of the Prairieland Romance Writers, where she serves as the resident “grammar goddess.” This award-winning author and teacher has published several paranormal romances. Inspired by the likes of Agatha Christie and Encyclopedia Brown, Ms. Miller believes the only thing better than a good mystery is a good romance.

Born and raised in Missouri, she now lives in Nebraska with her husband, son and smiling guard dog, Maxie. Write to Julie at P.O. Box 5162, Grand Island, NE 68802-5162.

Gideon Taylor—It’s up to this arson investigator to figure out who’s burning down Kansas City one building at a time. But can he uncover the truth before the arsonist destroys a very special woman from his past?

Meghan Wright—Hot to the touch. Gideon once taught her about love and fighting fires. Now that a madman has her in his sights, she returns to the one place she feels safe—with Gideon.

Daniel Kelleher—The owner of four properties destroyed by fire is wondering if he made an unfortunate investment—or if the destruction is something personal.

Jack Quinton—Is the former convict back to his old tricks? Or is he passing on his fiery skills to an apprentice?

Saundra Ames—This reporter has the hottest story of the summer.

John Murdock—Is Meghan’s partner watching her back just a little too closely?

Dorie Mesner—For years she has taken in troubled children.

Pete Preston—The memory of that monster just won’t go away.

Alex—A former Westside Warrior. Who is a young man supposed to trust?

Edison—Just don’t call him that. He’s pretty darn smart for a ten-year-old.

Matthew and Mark—They are too young to understand the truth.

Crispy—Just like Meghan and her “boys,” this pooch wants a real home.

With thanks to

Germane Friends and Michael “Fireplug” Jordan of the Kansas City Fire Department for answering all my questions and sending me the wonderful pictures of real KCFD firefighters.

Any mistakes are mine.

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Too late. Too late.

The nightmare’s fiery talons cut deep into Gideon Taylor’s dreams.

The impact of raw, compressed air exploding into a ball of flame lifted him off his feet and dumped him on his backside.

“Luke!” The hoarse shout from Gideon’s ravaged throat echoed inside his mask.

Trapped in the throes of the hideous dream that wouldn’t die, Gideon twisted in his bed and struggled toward consciousness and peace. But the nightmare wouldn’t release him.

He needed her.

The groans of the ancient rafters in the condemned apartment building matched the groans of mortal pain sifting through the hiss of static in Gideon’s ear.

“Luke!” Gideon rolled onto his side, straining against his heavy gear, weighed down by a fearful extra burden of guilt.

It was alive now.

Ignition. Fuel to burn. Oxygen to live and breathe.

A simple yet deadly recipe for fire.

Gideon lurched to his feet. Stooping low, he closed his grit-filled eyes and concentrated on the sounds that could lead him to his partner. “Talk to me,” he whispered, willing the collapsing fortress to reveal its secrets.

The mournful howl of iron girders buckling from the intense heat taunted him from above. An invitation.

The tornadic gasp of air currents, rising and gusting ahead of the flames hit his chest and pushed him back. A warning.

The wheezing rasp of his best friend, urging him away from the heart of the fire where he lay dying, cried in his ear.

His destiny.

Gideon’s internal radar tuned in to that last, weak sound. He made the world go quiet inside his head. He forced his pounding heart and his own ragged breathing into silence.

He zeroed his horrible sixth sense in on Luke.

There.

Gideon plunged into the wall of smoke, lengthening his stride as much as he dared. He strode into the belly of the fiery beast to retrieve his friend.

“Taylor! Redding!” The order from the receiver inside his helmet went unheeded. “I said clear out!”

“Luke’s down.” Gideon’s brief reply spoke volumes.

He didn’t spare another breath to argue Deputy Chief Bridgerton’s orders. The chief would understand. A firefighter wouldn’t leave a man behind.

Feeling his way along the wall, Gideon tripped through the remnants of the blasted doorway into the boiler room and dropped to the floor. One knee hit concrete.

The other hit something softer.

Luke.

Gideon took his hand and squeezed it tight in his fist, offering a silent promise, trading an unspoken comfort. He stretched out beside his partner on the floor, peering through the six-inch window of clear air next to the floor. Luke was flat on his back. The burning bramble of rafters and twisted metal had pinned his right shoulder and chest to the floor.

“I’m here.” Gideon barely heard the words himself. “You with me?”

Luke’s helmet rolled back and forth as he tried to shake his head. “No good. Get— Sumbitch—”

“You insulting me?” Gideon crooked a smile as if Luke could somehow perceive it through his closed eyes and pain-filled delirium.

Gideon hooked his arms through Luke’s elbow and around his knee and pulled. Trapped.

He needed a pickax. A crane. Two more men.

If God was listening, he needed a miracle.

“Honey?” Gideon moaned out loud, desperate to escape the certain doom that awaited him in his dream. He needed to hear that taut, sexy voice—full of spunk and sass one minute, full of vulnerable tenderness the next. He reached out for her.

Gideon pulled his hand away from the metal framework. Sticky strings of melted rubber glommed onto the tips of his gloves, snagging his fingers in a deadly web.