CHAPTER ONE

      TONY LEANED FORWARD in the passenger seat and braced one hand on the dashboard.

      “I think you can make it,” he yelled. “But it’ll be close.”

      Kevin kept his hands on the wheel of the rescue truck and frowned, his neck and shoulders tight with concentration. “Wish these tourists would learn to park,” he muttered.

      A small red car was double-parked on a bustling downtown street. During the height of spring break season in Cape Pursuit. And the driver’s-side door was standing open, just asking to be taken off by the rescue truck. Kevin remembered the tense voice dispatching them to a 911 call for a child who wasn’t breathing. Every second counted when someone’s life was on the line. The siren was loud, even inside the cab, and his adrenaline still rushed as much as it had when he was a new firefighter, over five years ago.

      Tony pulled the air horn and the noise reverberated off the commercial buildings lining the street. “You’ll barely squeeze by if nobody does anything stupid.”

      Kevin hoped, as always, that no one would risk their life by stepping into the street. His heart sank when three teenagers on bicycles suddenly swerved off the sidewalk and pedaled against traffic on Kevin’s left. No helmets, no brains. Tourists.

      The teenagers, cords from their earbuds flapping, looked up in panic at the massive emergency vehicle bearing down on them.

      “Anyone in that red car?” Kevin shouted. He knew it was too late to stop, and even slowing down wouldn’t help much.

      “Not that I can see,” his partner said.

      Kevin held his breath and veered to miss the cyclists at the last second. The heavy-duty ambulance barely shuddered when it sliced the door off the double-parked red car and deposited it in the street in a sparkling rain of shattered glass.

      Tony twisted to look backward out the passenger-side window. “No injuries. Unless you count heart-stopping surprise.”

      “Call it in,” Kevin said. “We can’t stop. Other two ambulances are already out.”

      Tony got on the radio to the local police and reported the non-injury accident. Kevin glanced in the side mirror and saw a blonde woman rush into the street toward the destroyed car. She carried a large box in her arms. He couldn’t see her face, but he could guess she’d just learned a valuable lesson about double-parking and leaving her car door open. At least she wasn’t hurt. It was bad enough hitting a car, but if he’d hurt someone in the line of duty, he’d turn in his helmet and boots.

      “Never gonna live this one down,” Tony said.

      Kevin breathed heavily through his nose, trying to calm his racing heart and focus on getting to the call. Kid not breathing. The worst. Focus.

      “Remember how much crap you gave your brother when he backed into a post with the pumper last year?”

      “Shut up, Tony.”

      “This wins. No contest.”

      “Look for the address,” Kevin replied. Not that it would be hard. Cape Pursuit was a town of fifteen thousand year-round residents. Just large enough to have problems, but just small enough for the fire department to know every street in town. During tourist season, the population doubled but was mostly concentrated in the hotels, bars and restaurants that lined the coast along the Atlantic Ocean.

      The address the dispatcher gave them was on a street with small cottages usually rented out to tourists. Kevin wasn’t worried about finding the place. He’d been to that street before. And with a call this serious, there’d be someone waiting for them out front. Panicked. Waving their arms.

      There always was.

      * * *

      “OH, NO!” JANE SAID, surveying her friend’s car with wide eyes.

      Nicole felt empty. As if the screaming ambulance had either squashed her flat or taken her with it. She stood in the street holding her box, broken glass glistening on the pavement at her feet. The door of her car lay crumpled in front of it. Hysterical laughter bubbled up her esophagus. This could not be happening. She’d been in Cape Pursuit five minutes.

      “Say something,” Jane said, brows furrowed, staring at Nicole.

      “They didn’t even stop,” Nicole said, her voice sounding far away. “Don’t they have to stop?”

      “Technically, but maybe they were on their way to a life-threatening emergency. They did have the lights and siren going,” Jane said.

      A tear slid down Nicole’s cheek, but her hands were full so she let the tear drip onto the pavement, which was already shimmering with broken glass. If she’d used her severance package to go to Italy, she was sure this would not be happening. Mental note: run away to a foreign country next time, not a beach town in Virginia.

      “Not that I’m defending them,” Jane added, hands up in the air.

      “Firefighters,” Nicole huffed, her voice shaky.

      “Sorry, honey,” Jane said. She took the box Nicole was holding and set it on the sidewalk before returning to give her friend a hug. “It’s going to be okay. Just a freak accident. You’ll like it here. It’s a fresh start.”

      Nicole gave her friend an openmouthed look. “A fire truck took off my car door on my first day in town.”

      “It can only get better from here. Right?”

      That was what Nicole had been telling herself for the past year. When one of the worst things that can happen to you happens, your luck has to improve after that. She took a deep breath and pulled herself into the present. “Maybe I’ll get a new car,” she said, nodding as if she were encouraging herself. Her chin-length blond hair bobbed with the movement.

      “That’s the spirit,” Jane said. “If I were you, I’d punch whoever was driving that truck right in the gut and then just shake it off. But not until you talk to the city’s insurance agent. Make them sweat so they’ll replace your whole car.” She shook her finger at her friend. “Don’t settle for a new door.”

      Nicole gave a wobbly smile. “I could get a better car. Like a crossover or something with leather seats. This was almost paid for.” She swiped away tears with the back of her hand. “They owe me.”

      She stood shoulder to shoulder with Jane, her best friend of six years, staring at the wrecked car. She sighed. This definitely would not happen in Tuscany or Milan or Naples. They have sunflowers and wine there. Ruined villas with flowery vines. Endless vistas and possibilities.

      A police car approached, its siren echoing off the shops, bars, restaurants and hotels that occupied the strip one block back from the ocean.

      “Want me to do the talking?” Jane offered. “I know everyone in the fire and police departments. After all, I’m on the town council that pays their salaries. I’m your muscle.”

      Nicole looked at her friend. Even at five-five, Nicole towered over Jane. An artist specializing in watercolors, Jane wore a smock and had her long red hair wound up and secured with a pencil.

      “I’ll see how it goes,” Nicole answered. “But I’ll call out the big guns if I have to.”

      An attractive, graying police officer stopped behind Nicole’s car, blocking the street completely and leaving his flashing lights on. Now that the initial shock was over, Nicole’s stomach lurched and her hands were