Firestorm: a Coworker Enemies-to-Lovers Romance

“Don’t come any closer!” The greasy-haired man yelled.

Firefighter Alex Beckett kept his expression carefully neutral as he held his hands out and away from his body in a gesture meant to convey compliance. No way would he—or his coworkers, who were frozen beside him in the same stance—make any kind of move on this guy. Not with the bloody knife in his hand and the unfocused look in his eyes.

“I’ll jump, I swear!” As if to make his point, the man straddled the balcony railing.

They were on the third floor of an apartment building in the more dicey part of Reno, Nevada. If the guy jumped, he probably wouldn’t kill himself, but who knew? His pupils were completely blown. Whatever drugs he was on, he had no idea what he was doing.

“I swear I’ll do it!” The man waved the knife at them, and Alex flinched. Wigged-out druggies were one thing, but the knife took the situation to another level of crazy.

His gaze darted to the woman slumped against the railing on the far side of the balcony. She wasn’t moving, and there was blood smeared on the sliding glass door behind her.

The asshole had stabbed her—perhaps multiple times.

His coworker, Maizy Johnston, shifted beside him. “What’s your name?” she said.

The drug addict stared at her. “My name?” he said. “Who cares about my name? I don’t have a fucking name as far as you’re concerned!”

“Maizy.” Her partner, Lucas ‘Oz’ Osborne, spoke in his usual calm voice. “We need to wait for the police.”

“We can’t wait,” Maizy hissed. “She’s dying.”

Alex had the same gut feeling. As a firefighter, he’d seen his share of domestic disputes, but usually the cops were on scene when they were—followed closely by the paramedics.

What’s taking them so long?

“Oz is right,” he said. “Protocol says we wait.”

Maizy spared him the briefest glance. “The hell with the protocols. That woman needs help now.”

She took a step toward the wacko with the knife. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt your friend.”

“April,” the man said, his wild eyes darting to the brown-haired woman. “Her name is April.”

“I know you care about April,” Maizy’s voice soothed in the slight southern drawl that usually only made an appearance when she was trying to talk someone into something.

She took another step toward the man.

Alex tensed. “Maizy!”

His terse warning was ignored; she took another step.

Typical.

The woman constantly did the opposite of whatever he wanted her to do. Just last week she’d double-rolled the hose even after he’d told her to single-roll it. He swore she did it just to piss him off.

But this was different; she could get badly hurt. He could feel the tension radiating off Lucas and knew he felt the same.

“I killed her.” The man’s eyes flooded with tears. “I deserve to die!”

“You didn’t kill her,” Maizy said. “We can still help her. But you have to put the knife down.”

“I… I can’t.” The man’s hand shook violently.

“You can,” Maizy said firmly. She took another step.

Sweat pooled at Alex’s lower back. He so did not want to get stabbed, but there was no way he was going to let this low-life hurt Maizy. His eyes met Lucas’s, and when his teammate shifted toward the balcony, Alex did, too.

The man lowered the knife, his eyes unfocussed. “I…” He swayed and nearly lost his balance. He dropped the knife as he made a grab for the railing.

Now or never.

Alex lunged for the man. Beside him, Lucas did the same. They both got a fistful of the man’s shirt and yanked.

The man went sprawling. Alex was about to jump on him when he heard the sweetest word in the world.

“Police!”

It was about time.

Alex backed away from the would-be jumper and looked toward the battered woman. Maizy was already bent over her, checking vitals.

“Get the paramedics in here!” he yelled.