Chapter Nine
“Ashton, it means the world to me that you would come here to fix this first thing in the morning.”
Ashton Fitzgerald, top sharpshooter for Omega Sector Critical Response Division’s SWAT team, had his head and half his large torso under the kitchen sink of a condo unit in Masking Ridge, a community just south of Colorado Springs.
He knew Summer Worrall, owner of said sink, didn’t expect much of a response from him, so he just grunted as he put a little more elbow grease into tightening a stripped nut on her piping.
“I don’t know when it started leaking, but it was definitely bad when Chloe got me up this morning.”
As if in agreement, nineteen-month-old Chloe began gurgling in her mother’s arms and clapping loudly. She obviously wanted to be let down onto the floor to play with Ashton, but Summer was keeping her out of the way.
“It’s no problem,” Ashton muttered.
Actually, it was a problem. He was going to be late into Omega Sector’s SWAT training facility. Not that there would be any true harm in that; the team was just running exercises today unless something real came in. But as soon as they realized why Ashton was late—because Summer Worrall thought he was the maintenance man again—they were going to tease him mercilessly.
Again.
They all knew, or at least knew of, Summer and Chloe. Her husband had been killed in a hostage situation gone wrong nearly two years ago. Then she’d been kidnapped by a psychopath eight months ago in another incident involving the Omega Sector’s Critical Response Division, an elite interagency task force with some of the country’s best agents.
So no one on the team actually begrudged Ashton helping out the young widow. What they found so hilarious was the fact that Summer thought he was the handyman for the entire condo complex.
And Ashton could admit he was a pretty mechanically minded guy. Growing up on his parents’ farm in Wyoming had given him a lot of skills with his hands. He could fix most household problems, given the time and tools.
“I think I’ve got this under control,” he said. “It’s nothing big, just some piping that needed to be realigned and tightened.”
“Oh good. I didn’t want to turn a big, formal request in to Joe.”
Joe Matarazzo, the main hostage negotiator at Omega Sector, who also happened to be a billionaire, owned the condos in which Summer and Chloe lived. That’s how this crazy misunderstanding had started in the first place. Summer had needed a handyman and called Joe. Joe had said he’d send someone trustworthy right over.
But then Joe had an emergency with Omega and asked Ashton if he could take care of Summer’s problem. Instead of calling someone, Ashton had just gone over to Summer’s home himself. He’d had no intention of misleading Summer, and had even introduced himself as Joe’s friend.
Evidently she’d taken that to mean Joe’s handyman friend.
When he’d given her his number, telling her to call him if anything else came up, Summer had taken him up on that offer. Eight times in the last few months.
Now Ashton had no idea how to tell her the truth.
And that wasn’t even the worst secret he was keeping from her. He grimaced and worked his way out from under the sink.
“Okay, I think I’ve got it all fixed under here. I just need to turn your water back on in the basement.”
Ashton pulled himself the rest of the way out from under the sink and stood. He smiled at Summer, trying not to let himself be taken aback again by her beauty. Petite, with rich auburn hair, pale skin with freckles dusting her cheeks and nose. It was colder weather now, but Ashton knew from the tank tops she wore in warmer temps that her shoulders were dusted with freckles, also.
But he definitely did not want to be thinking about her bare shoulders or how he’d love to play connect the dots on them with his fingers or—even better—his lips. Summer wouldn’t be interested in any law-enforcement lips after what she’d been through. Especially his.
“Ah-ta!” Little Chloe squealed and threw herself forward from her mother’s arms, reaching for Ashton. He caught her, taking her from Summer and pulling her to his chest.
“Sorry,” Summer murmured.
“Don’t worry about it.” It happened every time he came by. Little Chloe loved to see him. Not able to say the word Ashton, she’d taken to calling him Ah-ta last month.
“Hey, gorgeous.” He smiled at the baby. “You shouldn’t be so quick to jump out of your mama’s arms.”
He knew he wouldn’t be.
Chloe put both her tiny hands on his cheeks. “Ah-ta.”
“Yeah,
