“Are you serious right now?” Harper asked incredulously.
Wren shrugged, feeling silly. Okay, maybe she was still feeling insecure. Everything between her and Tate was still so new. And she was still so unsure about—everything. She still had no home and nothing really to her name. Her entire life was up in the air, and she had no idea where it was all going to land, but she felt somehow secure, knowing that she had Tate in her life. Standing by her side. Keeping her steady, keeping her safe.
Making her feel cared for.
“We love that you and Tate are giving this a go. I mean, compared to Levi . . . ” Harper’s voice drifted, and she shot a guilty look in Delilah’s direction.
“What?” Wren asked, staring at her friends. Hard. Like that could make them talk. “Spit out what you want to say.”
“Levi is still just a silly little boy looking for someone to stroke his ego,” Harper explained, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, he’s created some app that made him a millionaire or whatever, but he still acts like a kid. He’s just an adolescent boy inside a man’s body who gets his rocks off by surrounding himself with people who constantly feed his ego.”
“Exactly.” Delilah nodded in agreement. “But Tate? He may act cocky sometimes. And he knows he’s gorgeous. But he’s a man who takes care of his own. He’s a freaking hero every single day that he goes to work. And it sounds like he’s a total goner for you. Why would you want to be with anyone else when you could be with Tate?”
Wren couldn’t help but totally agree.
THE STATION PHONE rang, startling Tate out of his stupor. Three days into his four-day shift and it had been nonstop. The tourists were out in droves, and they were reckless as hell. He’d been on countless medical aid calls, wellness checks, and the occasional fire, all of them small and easy to put out, thank God. But he was exhausted. They all were.
Hence they were all indulging in a little siesta time after lunch. They’d gone on a middle-of-the-night call and didn’t stumble back into the station until around four in the morning. He’d been dozing in his bed, his thoughts full of a naked Wren, when the annoying shrill of the phone ringing busted through his pleasant dreams.
He ran out into the hall and answered the phone, hoping everyone else was at least still napping.
“It was arson,” Josh said as greeting. “It’s been confirmed.”
Tate frowned, his exhausted brain not fully computing. “What was arson?”
“The house fire at Wren Gallagher’s residence. I was wrong. It wasn’t caused accidentally.” It sounded like it took a lot for ol’ grumpy Bailey to just admit that he was wrong. Lucky for him, Tate wasn’t in the mood to rub his face in it. “The same accelerant used to cause the other fires was also used at her residence.”
Dread pooled in the pit of Tate’s stomach, and he swallowed hard. “So what do you think? Was this something personal or what?”
“I don’t know what to think or if Wren was targeted,” Josh started, but Tate interrupted him.
“Of course she was targeted. Why else would her house be the only residential structure that was included in our arsonist’s so-called ‘projects’?” Tate ran a hand through his hair and looked around the empty hallway, feeling helpless. Damn it, he wanted to rush home to Wren right now and hold her in his arms. Protect her from whoever was after her. What if the asshole was still after her? “Do you think she’s being followed?”
“I don’t know. I doubt it, but I already talked to Lane Gallagher, and he’s on it.” Josh’s voice was grim. “He’s going to put a tag on her, which will probably be himself. See if someone could potentially be following her.”
“Christ.” Tate closed his eyes for a brief moment and pressed his forehead against the wall. He couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to harm Wren. She was a good girl. Solid and smart and kind to everyone—except for him, but that was when she believed he was a player. “This is all sorts of fucked up.”
“Tell me about it,” Josh muttered. “There have been no more new leads and no more new fires since Wren’s. I don’t know if he got scared because of the totality of the house fire or if he’s just . . . given up.”
“Keep dreaming. He hasn’t given up. I think he’s far from finished,” Tate said, pushing away from the wall and accidentally getting wound up in the telephone cord. Damn phone was older than he was, but the state of California refused to replace it. Besides, even he could grudgingly admit it still worked just fine. “More like he’s quietly biding his time while planning his next move.”
And if the arsonist’s next move included Wren . . .
Tate frowned. If her life was in danger, if something happened to her, he’d never forgive himself. Ever.
“If that’s the case, she’s in safe hands, what with her family and who they are,” Josh said. “Maybe she should move back in with her parents. At least her dad is there all the time.”
Tate remained quiet. Her father had been the idol of pretty much every firefighter in the ranger unit, especially about fifteen, twenty years ago. Until he became a no-good, cheating bastard who drank too much and ignored his wife and kids. He retired early, went out on disability, and spent his days sulking, drinking, or fishing.
“She’s at my place,” Tate finally said. “She’s safe there.” He wanted her nowhere else. Hell, he wanted to leave work early so he could go see her. Make sure she was okay.
“But you’re at the station most of the time. Lane can’t follow her around twenty-four/seven,” Josh pointed out.
“And her dad can’t keep tabs on her every hour of the day either. She’s not stupid. She’ll keep herself safe. Plus she’d notice anything suspicious, especially once we tell her what’s going on.”
Josh breathed deep. “See, that’s the thing. Her brothers don’t want us telling her what’s going on.”
“Say what?” Tate lowered his voice, hoping he hadn’t woken anyone. “Are you fucking kidding me?”