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  Blessedly, that week had now seen its end. She stopped just inside the station bay doors, the sunlight illuminating her from behind, casting her in a glow of almost angelic beauty. Cory blinked, his eyes quickly adjusting to the contrast. She wore olive green slacks with a black baby doll style t-shirt and black pumps. She'd pulled her hair back on the sides, her bangs falling in a ruler straight line over her brows. It was a far different look than the pony tail, oversized T-shirt, and jeans of their first meeting. As his gaze slid down the figure fitting outfit and his hands began to itch, he had to admit he liked this look best.

  "Hey, space cadet." Terri slapped the hood of the rescue, startling Cory and immediately yanking his attention back from his trip down the Rayne Jasper fashion runway. "Did you hear a word I just said?"

  Actually no, he hadn't. Was it something about the new brand of latex gloves they'd taken to carrying on the rescue truck? "Sorry, Ter, I was, umm…"

  "Checking out the babe that just walked into the station," Terri supplied, her gaze on Rayne rather than him. "Not bad if you like the Sunday school teacher type."

  Sunday school teacher type? Cory turned his head, looking back at Rayne. Max had spotted her and was already headed in her direction. She obviously hadn't yet noticed Cory. He took the opportunity to study her more closely. Yeah, okay, he saw it now. The slacks and blouse formed quite sexily to her curvy body making her look anything but a girl on her way to Sunday school. The glasses, however, he hadn't even known she wore glasses, and her hair pulled back in a barrette that way did give her the sweet angel appearance. Taking in the complete picture from the sensible pumps and dream-of-me figure, all the way to the I'll-educate-you glasses and the no-nonsense hair style, he decided her whole ensemble was more Sunday school pet dying to be bad.

  Memories abounded. Her body pressed to his, pressed to the wall as he kissed her sultry lips. Her breasts in his hands as he explored her generous curves. The heat of her sex even through her jeans, through his, as she gyrated against his knee. Oh, yeah, he knew real well just how good Rayne Jasper could be when she was bad.

  Across the bay, Rayne laughed at something Max said. The musical sound drifted on the air to make Cory’s heart somersault in his chest. God, he'd missed her this last week. With his roommate working double shifts and nothing more to occupy his own time, he'd spent likely far too much of his brain power on Rayne. "Is that…" Terri began and then answered herself. "It is. That's Max's sister. What did you say her name is? Rayne? That's Rayne. The one you're hung up on.” Cory winced because at that exact moment Rayne finally glanced around Max and spotted him. "You want to say that a little louder, Terri? I don't think the guys at the fire department over in Billings heard you."

  Terri grinned, pure mischievous satisfaction. "Sorry, dude," she said, sounding anything but. "Am I right? Is that the mysterious, hump-me-in-the-hallway sister of our beloved lieutenant, Rayne Jasper?"

  Cory groaned and closed his eyes. Why did he tell her everything? "Yes, okay. That's her."

  "She's pretty." The simplistic way Terri commented had him looking at her sideways.

  "But?" he prodded. "I can clearly hear a but there."

  "No but except, geez, you’d think these guys have never seen a woman walk into the station house before. Forget the two women who work this freaking shift. Look at them!"

  "Yeah, but neither you nor Bailey ever dress like that." Terri and Bailey Lamont Barrett always dressed like one of the guys at the station. Jeans, boots, fire department t-shirt, the same casual dress uniform they all wore. Okay, both women looked far more striking in the uniform than any of the guys. Both with their well-built, work toughened muscles, Bailey with her long chestnut hair and green eyes, Terri with her bob of blond locks and sea blue eyes. Still, neither woman made his heart thump like the one now surrounded by his fellow crew mates.

  Understanding dawned. You’d think these guys had never seen a woman walk into the station house before. Terri hadn't meant all the guys. No, she'd been speaking of one guy in particular. The guy who—hey, back up, bro—was currently smiling that bright, straight, white, Ivy League smile at Rayne.

  “Anyone filled the new guy in on the rules?” Cory asked, not taking his eyes off Thad Carter.

  Terri shifted closer to him. He felt more than saw her shrug. “Not sure. I guess they don’t teach them all at the academy. Wanna do the honors?”

  “You could do it for me. Keep the peace between us men.”

  “I doubt it will be necessary. I’m staging a shopping expedition. Should take care of both our problems at once.”

  Cory shot her a grin. “Always the woman with the plan.”

  “You bet your sweet ass. Now, go get your future woman away from my future man.”

  Cory stepped away from the Rescue truck, wondering if Terri realized how possessive that little phrase, my future man, had sounded. Could he be witnessing the first episode of the take down of Terri Vega? If so, it would likely be one hell of a show.

  * * * *

  Rayne felt like the center of attention at a beefcake fest. Damn Skippy, the guys of SSFD B shift were TDH to the max! Okay, a couple of them weren't exactly tall. Still, they had the dark and handsome meter pinned. Only one was conventionally movie star handsome, though Mr. Preppy, as she quickly named another, wasn't far behind. Ryan Magee, former Navy SEAL now recently promoted lead nozzleman for Engine Co. 1 could be next in the running for People Magazine's Handsomest Man Alive. No doubt about it, Magee would make his page in the SSFD calendar smoke.

  Next up for the calendar of too hot to put anywhere but the front cover slot was the captain, Dean Wolcott. He stood in the doorway to the station's kitchen where everyone had moved to upon figuring out why Rayne had come to visit, one broad shoulder leaning against the frame, his feet crossed at the ankles. His hair was dark, his face handsome with lines around his mouth and eyes that showed a truly happy man. Peeking just below the stretched sleeve of his department t-shirt was a tattoo of, was that X-Men's Wolverine?

  The remaining men of B shift sat around a rectangular table, a couple of them kicked back in total relaxation, while others propped elbows on the tabletop and stared at her obviously awaiting further explanation. Her gaze met each of them in turn, lingering on Cory Nox long enough to have her blood pressure sky rocketing even as her pussy grew damp from heated memory. Oh, yeah, he was thinking about it, too. Did he want a replay? She damned sure did. Only this time, the cast of characters should include only herself and Cory. No Sunshine allowed. Although, if Sunshine had been present the other night with Ford….

  Rayne pulled her gaze to Dean Wolcott. "Here's what I would like to do, Captain, with your permission, of course."

  She wanted to lean on something, or cross her arms for comfort, or squirm because the looks each of the men in the room were giving her felt way too intense. Instead, she forced her spine straight and stood rather than sat at an empty space at the table. She allowed herself only the luxury of resting her fingertips on the table top as she spoke.

  "If each of your firefighters is in agreement, I would like to meet with them in turn, set up a time of about an hour, two at most, for a photo shoot."

  "What do you have in mind for the photos? Or should I say where? For the background, I mean."

  Rayne turned her head in the direction of the voice, the female voice belonging to the Meg Ryan look-alike who stood leaning against the counter by the fridge, her hands braced on either side of her, one knee bent and foot resting on the lower cabinet door. She looked, Rayne thought, as if she were posing for her own calendar spread. What was her name again? They'd been introduced when everyone first gathered in the kitchen. Tammy, Tracy, Tara, Terri?

  Terri. Terri Vega. A very exotic name for an equally exotic beauty. She was also Cory's EMT partner. That little fact had a jealous snake coiling in Rayne's belly.

  "Something fitting the profession," Rayne answered and then, because she knew that was such a vague answer, she went on. "The
sole purpose of this calendar is to raise money for victims of Hurricane Emilio. I thought what better backdrop for the photos than the scenes of destruction? Show the public what their money will be spent to rebuild. The hospital, for instance, the small building that housed a few offices for the onsite doctors. It was totally demolished. Cory, being both firefighter and EMT, would fit perfectly with that scene as his backdrop."

  Terri shot a look at Cory, a small smile playing with her model-worthy lips, then looked back at Rayne and nodded. "Not bad."

  "Why not just take pictures of the trashed-out sites? People have this almost morbid fascination with destruction and pain these days. A few demolished buildings, a couple of wiped out homes, the old bridge connecting Silver Springs to Billings that's half falling into the Gulf, that's all you’d need to sell a butt load of calendars."

  "Sadly, you're right." Rayne flipped though her mental rolodex for the firefighter's name. Radio operator. Yes. And his name was…. "Zack, and firefighters sell calendars, too. Put the two together and we'll have a real money raiser. At least that's the idea."

  "You really think we can do it? I've seen calendars like what you're talking about. My sister has one of the FDNY hanging in her closet. You think we can really compete with those guys?"

  Rayne turned her attention to the far end of the table. Smooth, rich boy looks complemented by slightly mussed, blondish-brown hair, straight white teeth that must have cost a fortune, and a nose that belonged in an advertisement for the world's best plastic surgeon. He'd been one of the first to greet her when she'd entered the station. Thad Carter. No doubt short for Thaddeus. He was, like Ryan Magee, one of the picture perfect handsome firefighters on the shift. Different from Magee in the polished, Ivy League frat boy sense, but the hard toned muscles and warrior gleam was evident. Thad would certainly sell his own fair share of the calendars. Yet, what had he asked? Did she really think the men of the SSFD B shift, Thad included, could compete with the hunks of the FDNY?

  She let her gaze search his for a long moment and realized, only when his gaze flicked away and he actually squirmed in his seat, that he was serious. That question hadn't in any way been a joke or a play for an ego boost. He really didn't see himself as good looking enough to compete. Looked in the mirror lately there, Thad? She bit her tongue over the words and nodded instead.

  "I definitely think you guys can compete. Hell, you'll skunk those guys from the FDNY," she added because what man didn't like a good challenge and a woman's utter conviction that he'd come out the supreme winner. The comment got her a hoo-yah from Magee, echoed by a few hoops and chuckles. She smiled and met Dean Wolcott's amused gaze.

  "If we do this, gentlemen, it won't be a competition against the FDNY, or any other department for that matter," Dean said sternly, but the twitch to his lips was obvious. No one in the room could have missed it. He looked at Rayne. "I have no problem donating time, even money."

  "And our bodies," one of the firefighters cut in.

  "And our bodies to this project as long as it remains tastefully done and in no way interferes with department and/or shift business."

  "Thank you, sir." Rayne nodded and felt her stomach settle as the dread boiling within calmed. She'd been concerned they would say no. "You have my word this project will not cause the department any trouble, and if anything, will shed a positive light on B shift's and the SSFD's efforts to continue their commitment to take care of the people of our city."

  "Good enough." The captain pushed off the door. "You have my permission as well as my agreement to participate."

  "Veronica is going to love this one." Jason Graham chuckled.

  Veronica Abbott Wolcott was the captain's insanely beautiful, highly sexual, very bold wife.

  "Yep, you can bet she will," the captain told Jason. Then he looked to Rayne again. "You may want to consider talking with Veronica when the calendar gets printed. I'm sure Romantic Illusions would be happy to be the first on your list of stores to carry a huge stock."

  "Thank you. I’ll put that at the top of my to do list.” It was a great idea. She could probably even talk Veronica into hosing a calendar signing at her shop.

  "If you have all you need from me for now, I have some work to do in the office." And with that, Dean left her to the fishes. Or rather, Rayne thought as she looked around the kitchen again, the beefcakes.

  Jason Graham, Ryan Magee, and Thaddeus Carter of Engine Co. 1, her brother Max on the HAZMAT truck, David Karlston and Kyle Shannon on Ladder Co. 12, and radio operator Zack Houston. Oh, and how could she forget Cory Nox on Rescue 4?

  Rayne's gaze met Cory's once more and she found herself thinking, Somebody give this particular beefcake a candle. It's time to celebrate being cooked.

  * * * *

  "It's the stuff." DEA Agent Michael Cosmos leaned back in his chair behind his desk, his elbows propped on the armrests, fingers laced together over his stomach. The man was a picture of laid back cool, calm, and in control and certain. "There's no doubt in my mind about that."

  Ford had worked with Michael often since his move to narcotics detective and he knew the picture wasn't just an act. The man really was as cool as they came. He was also one of the best DEA agents Ford had ever come across, as well as being jaw-dropping intelligent and calculating and ruthless enough to be downright scary.

  "The guy's not talking." Ford sat in the visitor's chair in front of Michael's desk as leaned back and picture perfect cool as Michael, but inside, he was anything but. He'd spent hours in the interrogation room with the second motherfucker picked up in a week for possession of the cleanest vials of opium to hit the Coast quite possibly in forever. Hours of questions, casual conversation, heated temper, and friendly banter that gained him absolutely nothing.

  "There's a surprise," Adrien Bingham commented from his place at the window on the far side of the office.

  Average height with styled blond hair, tanned skin, and a trim, lean body, the DEA agent was prettier than some of the women Ford knew. Pretty enough, he admitted only to himself, that if he weren’t attracted to women, he’d find the other man lust material.

  "The question is how do we make him talk?" Adrien turned to Michael, his eyes imploring. Neither of the agents outranked the other as far as Ford knew, but he'd seen Adrien look to Michael for answers and direction on more than one occasion.

  Michael glanced over and up, meeting the other man's gaze. The unspoken exchange almost had Ford squirming in his seat. The two men shared an understanding, an intimacy few agents or partners ever found. They weren't gay. At least Michael wasn't to the best of Ford's knowledge. Adrien, however, was blatantly and proudly out of the closet. Still, the way the two men looked at one another sometimes could be a bit alarming. Ford saw it and understood it, knowing that he and his roommate tended to share the same meaningful looks.

  "We go for the classic approach," Michael said after a moment. He turned his attention back to Ford. "We cut him a deal."

  Ford had suspected that would be the agent's answer and he shook his head, not afraid to make his disagreement known. "I spent hours with this guy. He won't budge. No way is he going to give up any information."

  "He'll give." Michael's voice rang with utter conviction. "We just have to give him the right incentive."

  "Did you try that with the other guy?" Adrien moved to the side of Michael's desk and hiked a hip on the edge. His pant leg rose and he wore rainbow socks in the gay pride colors. Ford had to bite back a grin. He caught Ford looking and flashed him a quick, knowing smirk that nearly had Ford losing his battle not to smile. "The first one, the guy brought in last week," he clarified.

  Ford shook his head. He and Michael had interrogated the guy and both reached the almost immediate conclusion that he was hopeless. The guy seemed to be more or less looking to be thrown back in the slammer. A career drug addict and criminal with a string of felonies just serious enough to put him behind bars for several good stints, but not bad enough to keep him there ind
efinitely. The second guy, however resistant to questioning he'd been, was different.

  "There wasn't much hope for baby felony guy, but this one," Michael leaned forward and tapped the mug shot that faced up from an open folder on his desktop, "he's squeaky."

  "So we offer him a deal, information for a clean slate," Ford concluded. "Then what?" He knew what he would do, but with the DA calling the shots, he couldn't be sure how it would go down.

  "Then we put a tail on him," Adrien answered, anticipating Michael's response. Or maybe he read Ford's mind. Maybe the gay DEA agent was as in touch with those around him as he was with his inner self.

  Michael nodded. "Then we put a tail on him."

  "He'll hold back," Ford predicted. "Even in taking the deal, he won't tell us everything. The guy fucked up by getting busted, but he's not stupid. He'll hold back on us."

  "And whatever it is he doesn't tell us in words, he'll reveal in his movements," Michael said. "Maybe this guy will give us the break we need or, at the very least, lead us to it."

  Yeah, they definitely needed a break in this case and they needed it fast. "You want someone at the department on this or you want one of your guys?"

  "I'm on it," Adrien said before Michael could answer. "This one is mine."

  He spoke with such conviction that Ford wondered if the agent had an ulterior motive for wanting to bring down the bastards who'd put this particular drug on their streets. All Ford could think of was if that were the case, more power to the guy.

  * * * *

  "Take off your shirt." At Cory's lifted brow and cockeyed grin, Rayne felt her cheeks heat. She cleared her throat and let out a short laugh. "Wow! That sounded really dominatrix of me, didn't it?"

  "I wasn't complaining." Cory gripped the material of his T-shirt, bunching it in his fists to tug it free of his pants before pulling it over his head. "Actually, I don't mind being ordered around by a woman now and then."