Keeping an eye on Haustin, Yael returned to Wendy on trembling legs. He was real. Her thoughts spun, unable to settle. His presence dug up every single one of her nightmares, but with the trepidation came a healthy dose of excitement too, the kind that came from meeting a good-looking guy.

Wendy caught sight of her approaching and excused herself from Alex and his buddies.

"I can't believe it," she gushed, drawing Yael into a shadowed corner.

"I know. I mean, I've always been curious when it came to him." Yael's fluttering fingers combed through her hair. "Has Alex told you anything?" The words sounded silly, reminding her of life as a freshman and how they used to giggle over the upperclassmen, but it was too late to take them back.

"Divorced, or in the process of, two kids."

"That much I know."

"He's a legend with the department. A hero with no limits, no fear. Be careful. though. According to Alex, Haustin has some pretty nasty demons—drugs, temper, kind of a lone wolf."

She nodded. "Things I can understand."

"I just don't want you adding more to your plate right now."

"But what are the odds of seeing him again? That he works with your boyfriend?" Wendy opened her mouth, ready with more concerns, but Yael cut her off. "He's taking me home."

"Yael!"

"That's all, Wendy. Relax."

Studying Haustin across the bar as he chatted with one of his friends, she tried to be subjective. He intrigued her. His restless, brooding energy called to her, and she wondered if his hands were calloused, what they would feel like on her skin. Fire ignited in her belly, and, next to her, Wendy snorted.

"What?"

"I take it back. Judging from the look on your face taking him home might be exactly what you need."

"Wendy!" A blush crept into her cheeks, and the tingle intensified. Interesting, she observed as desire wrapped its claws around her stomach and a bad idea.

Besides, he probably didn't go for train wrecks like her.

Shaking her head to clear away the thoughts, she cursed her lack of self-confidence. She turned to Wendy and hugged her.

"I plan on being a good girl. I'll call you tomorrow."

Her friend squeezed tight before letting go. "It's nice to have you back."

Yael wound through the crowd to where Haustin waited. In his presence, the shock returned. It really was him. When her gaze met his, a flare of anxiety shot through her body. The last time she looked into them, she was frightened for her life, trapped in a tiny room. Forcing herself to breathe, she clung to her purse for support.

"Ready?" he asked.

She nodded, and he led her outside to where a couple of taxis were waiting at the curb. They got into the first one and, after she told the driver where to go, rode to Seventh in complete silence. Yael fought to relax into the seat. She was acutely aware of Haustin beside her, his leg bouncing up and down in rapid-fire. His proximity unnerved her. It'd been years since she had felt attracted to someone. It turned her into a teenager again, her hands straightened her clothes restlessly, and she wished she had a breath mint or a chance to check her mascara. Raccoon eyes were not attractive. Not that she wanted to be. Well, maybe a little.

They were dropped off on the edge of Central Park, five blocks from her building on Fifth Avenue, not far from where she'd wandered earlier before the meeting. Trees, heavy with spring blossoms, arched over the low stone wall, and their fresh scent invigorated her, loosened the knots in her neck. Haustin strolled beside her, his long strides matching hers.

Half a block later, she asked, "Why a firefighter?"

"That's easy." He smirked. "Ever since I was a kid, I dreamed of rescuing people, of being a hero, like my dad."

"So it runs in the family?"

"Yep. You'd be surprised how many of us are second, third, even fourth generation firefighters. I used to toddle around in my dad's gear." His voice sobered. "He died on the job, thirteen years ago, a week from retirement, and Mom followed a couple months after."

"We've got that in common then, unfortunately. We're both orphans." She tried to swallow the bitterness the word left on her tongue. "Family, as much as I miss it, can be draining. My grandmother ran our business after my parents died and I skipped town. Now she's sick and expects me to step in and take over."

"You don't want to?" he asked, his voice soft.

"I'm not sure I can, you know?" She sighed. "I'm not the person they need. It's hard enough getting through the day sometimes. Me and the stress of running a business would not play well together. They'd all watch, waiting for me to self-destruct, not understanding what I'm freaking out about."

A soft chuckle filled the space between them. "Let me guess. Even though you're clean, you always expect the next episode to come crashing down, for everything to unravel and pull you over the ledge again?"

Yael flashed back to the bottle of pills he showed her. How bad was it for him?

"It gets better." She bumped his shoulder with hers playfully to keep the shadows at bay. "These days, instead of reaching for a needle, I hustle to a meeting. Much better reaction."

He gazed at her, unvoiced questions swirling through his green eyes. "I can't imagine sitting in a room full of strangers and sharing my problems. Life is hard for everyone. Why bore them with the demons keeping me up at night? The pills aren't really a problem anyway. I only need them on the crappy days."

She recognized the denial and her heart reached out for him. She used to be in his shoes, thinking her addiction was manageable, going through life feeling like an accident looking for a crash site. No one should live that way. With Haustin, she had an opportunity to help.

But he changed the subject. "Why L.A.?"

"It was the farthest I could get from here, both in distance and lifestyle." They crossed Fifth, drawing closer to the green awning of her building. She paused, nearly smelling the salty air, the scent of caramel popcorn and hotdogs from the Santa Monica pier. "In the beginning, I used to go to the beach every day or drive into the mountains. Unfortunately, the city is also full of temptations. There's a reason L.A.'s called the City of Lost Angels. It stopped being an escape pretty quick."

"Do you ever wonder if the same thing would have happened if you stayed here?"

"Constantly. School and work might have kept me centered for a while or fueled the emptiness more, made me turn to drugs regardless. I'll never know."

"And are you married?"

"No. My love affair was with whatever fit into a syringe. I've gone on a couple dates the last few months, but I get the feeling I'm a little high maintenance. Once they find out about the recovery thing, they see a truckload of baggage."

"Their loss," he said with a grin. "Siblings?"

"My parents tried to have more children after me, but it didn't happen."

"Same here. I was enough trouble on my own."

She stopped next to a spectacular flower pot on the sidewalk, steps from the door to her lobby. Haustin stared up as if noticing their surroundings for the first time and scowled. "This is where you live?"

The growl in his voice startled her. Chills snaked up her arms, and she hugged herself. Her good mood soured as she gazed at the hard lines of his face.

"Technically, I live in California. I'm staying here. It used to be my parents' home, but now it's a company apartment for clients and associates. My grandmother's place is a couple blocks over, so it's convenient." She cocked her head. "Is it a problem?"

"Nope. Just never pegged you as a rich girl, then or now."

"I'm not."

He shot a skeptical look at the doorman with his uniform and white gloves. "Sure."

"I'm not," she repeated. "You're the one acting like a snob."

"How do you figure?" He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her.

"Judging me by a piece of real estate."

"Easy assumption to make. Any idiot knows what the rent is like in this part of town."

"You got the idiot part right," she mumbled, opening her purse and pulling out a pen and paper. "Look, this is my number. I'd like to see you again, if you can get over yourself."

Nothing flickered in his unreadable expression as he snatched the slip of paper from her. Glancing at it, he muttered, "Jesus. You're a Malkah? As in the Malkahs?"

"Yes. I'm guessing it's another mark against me?"

Shaking his head and shoving the paper deep in his pocket, he strode away without another word, spine stiff, fists tight at his sides. Yael sighed. She didn't know what caused his hesitation or why he seemed offended by her address and name, but she genuinely hoped he got over it.

Looks like Yael isn't the only one with issues.