Free Hearts of Fire by Kira Brady Page A

away. She hadn’t been strong enough to help Desi or her parents. What was the point of being a nurse if she couldn’t save the ones closest to her?
    “Let go of me!” she demanded.
    He complied, and she stumbled back. It was foreign, this helplessness. She was supposed to be the strong one—the rock. At the moment, she was weak as a kitten. Desi wouldn’t recognize her. Embarrassment burned across her cheeks. How long had this guy been watching her? She hadn’t heard him enter. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”
    “Name’s Hart.” The stranger leaned back against the metal door, aloof and detached. He was big—almost a head taller than she and shoulders twice as wide—and seemed to take up half the oxygen in the room. Even with fresh scrapes on his skin, he was a rugged sort of handsome. His face was compelling, as if his features had been hewn by wind and rain from some lonely mountain crag. The rain had plastered his coal-black hair over his forehead. His dark eyes studied her, wolflike, from under shaggy brows. The gaslight warmed his copper skin, giving him a sun-kissed glow at odds with the gloomy winter skies outside. He seemed dressed for combat in a dark brown leather bomber jacket, worn and patched with age and hard use; charcoal-gray pants with bulging pockets; and heavy black boots. The butt of a rifle stuck out over his shoulder and a scabbard hung at each hip. How did he get in here armed?
    In spite of the weapons, he made her think of a wild animal, graceful yet predatory. It was in the wise wildness of his gaze; the inquisitive tilt of his head; the way he held himself, perfectly still, muscles clenched, poised to run at a moment’s notice. He had a definite air of danger, and the weather-worn creases at the corners of his eyes only made his face more intriguing.
    A shock of blinding white marked his dark hair on the right side. A memento of some injury? She reached out to explore that thick mane, but caught herself before she touched him.
    How embarrassing. First she cried on the man’s chest, then she almost molested him—what was next? What was wrong with her? She rubbed the ache between her eyes. “I’m Kayla, Desiree’s sis—”
    “I know who you are. Just what do you think you were doing?”
    Of course he had to notice her mental breakdown. Grief had made her completely irrational. There was no door inside her. No magical light. “I ...” She couldn’t answer. Couldn’t explain something that didn’t make sense to herself. Logic, for the first time in her life, failed her. “I don’t know.” She turned away, trying to hold together the last shreds of her dignity.
    She felt Hart step nearer. The heat and energy that radiated from his body was like a living thing. It skimmed along her skin and down her spine.
    “Don’t do it again.” He grasped her chin and turned her head to examine her. His gaze bore into her with an intensity that stripped her to blood and bone.
    “Don’t touch me.”
    He leaned closer and sniffed her. What the hell? “You’re human.” He sounded ... confused.
    Well, duh. Her raised brow said it all.
    “Never mind. Doesn’t matter.” He dropped his hand abruptly. “Where is the necklace?”
    “What necklace?”
    “Be straight with me, and this will go down easier.”
    “Are you one of Desi’s friends?”
    “Never met the chick.” He shook his head and glanced down at the paper bag she had dropped beneath the table. “I need to search the belongings found on her.”
    “Why?” She didn’t want him touching her sister’s things. “You think she has a necklace that somehow belongs to you?”
    He hesitated, as if debating to tell her the truth. “She stole it from my boss.”
    “Bull.” Desi was a little wild, but she would never steal.
    “How well did you know your sister?”
    She pointed her finger at him, but her lips wouldn’t form words. Desi had been her best friend, the sun to her moon. They’d known all each other’s