On A Night Like This (Callaways #1)

was dead.
    Aiden's eyes flew open. He sat up in bed, his heart pounding, his body dripping with sweat, the nightmare in his head so real he could smell the smoke and feel the heat. Drawing in gulps of air, he tried to calm his racing heart. It was just another one of the bad dreams that would haunt him for the rest of his life.
    In this dream Kyle hadn't looked at him with accusation, hadn't asked him why the hell he hadn't called for retreat when the winds changed. Not that Kyle had said that to him on that terrible day. At least, Aiden didn't think so, but his memory had been fragmented by the concussion he'd suffered during his fall. The fall had actually saved his life, literally throwing him out of the path of the fire.
    Afterwards, he'd tried to put together the events of that day from other's accounts, but there were still gaps and questions that continued to elude him. Had Kyle really taken off his helmet? It seemed unthinkable. Kyle was a trained firefighter, one of the best in the business. He knew what to do and what not to do.
    Maybe his dreams were distorted. His memories didn't jive with the accounts given by the rest of the team, some of whom said they'd seen him and Kyle together and didn't understand how they'd gotten separated. Hawkins' cousin had told the investigators that Aiden was too cocky, too reckless, too determined not to let the fire win that he'd lost his ability to reason.
    He'd heard those criticisms before. He did push his team and sometimes the limits, but his gut told him that something else had happened that day. He just didn't know what. But he did know that Kyle had been distracted days before the accident, but he hadn't shared what was on his mind, and Aiden hadn't pushed. He should have pushed. But since Kyle had gotten married and become a father, they weren't as close as they used to be.
    If only the fire had waited another day, Kyle would have been in San Francisco with his wife and baby son. They'd recently bought a condo in the city after several years of living near the base in Redding. With the new baby, Vicky had wanted to be closer to her family. Kyle hadn't appeared to be as happy with the decision, but he'd gone along with it, saying that marriage was about compromise, and it was something he had to do.
    Aiden sighed and rolled over on his side, wondering if he was just rationalizing what had happened. Was his subconscious trying to find a way to shift the blame off his shoulders to someone else – maybe even to Kyle? Hell of a friend that made him, trying to blame the victim instead of himself. He'd been in charge of the crew. It was his responsibility to bring everyone home. He'd failed.
    Knowing he wouldn't sleep anymore, he slid out of bed and got to his feet. A glance at the clock told him it was two o'clock in the morning. He had a long time to go before dawn. He moved to the window. His room over the garage looked into the Davidsons' backyard. The familiar sight brought back more memories, but these were much sweeter.
    He'd stood at this window many times in his teen years, often watching Sara trying to turn her backyard into a wonderland of flowers and waterfalls. Her mother used to help her in the garden, and the sounds of their laughter had often drifted through his open window.
    Sara had been happy in her garden, far happier than in the house where her father ruled with an iron fist. He was a little surprised that she'd come home to visit her father. They'd never had much of a relationship, and as far as he knew she hadn't been home to visit in at least eight or nine years. It had been easier for him when she moved away. She was a distraction he didn't need.
    A light suddenly came on in the yard. It appeared to be coming from the back patio. Why would Sara be wandering around outside at two o'clock in the morning?
    Without thinking, he threw on a shirt, jeans and shoes and walked down the stairs. There was a gate right next to the driveway.
    When he entered the backyard, he saw her sitting in a chair at the patio table, a bottle of wine by her elbow. Sara wore black leggings and a t-shirt with a big, thick sweater. Obviously, she couldn't sleep either. But that didn't mean he needed to talk to her.
    He was going to retreat, but he was too late.
    She jumped to her feet.
    "Who's there?" she demanded, grabbing the nearest thing for a weapon, which happened to be a pillow from the wicker chair.
    "What are you going to do with that?" he drawled. "Tickle me to