Rewinding the hose, Haustin returned it to the rig now that the scene had been declared safe. Malkah Enterprises Enterprises. Karma possessed a sick sense of humor, like it was goading him to see Yael again. Across the street, Abel and Carl were clearing the last of the people from the bank. He considered it a damn miracle no one had died. Most walked away with a few minor cuts and sprains, a couple with broken bones, and one woman sustained a severe head injury from being trapped in her car.

Construction workers gawked at what remained of the crane in disbelief, mouths agape, no longer running around in a panic, and luckily the press had been kept at a distance. The slewing unit lay twisted in the street, a toy looking as if a giant had trampled it. Nearby, the shattered operator's cab rested on its side, empty when it plunged to the ground.

The long horizontal jib was the biggest miracle of all.

It was the part of the crane that did the work, moving and lifting materials. Haustin saw them all over the New York skyline. The machine's arm was at least a hundred feet long, stretching nearly an entire city block. As it fell, it could have sheared into neighboring buildings, guaranteeing casualties, but it didn't. It appeared to have fallen straight down to the street, one end grazing the bank's ground-level lobby and smashing cars.

Jesus, what a mess. He wondered how it affected Yael, whether she was working in the company yet like her grandmother expected her to. If only he hadn't mutilated her phone number. Not like he could call now. Eight damn days was too long, especially since he'd acted like a first-class jerk. Talk about a bonehead move.

Glancing up, it was as if he'd thought about her often enough to conjure a mirage. He blinked. It was her. A few dozen yards away, Yael gazed at the building wearing a mask of horror. The sound and commotion disappeared, leaving only her. She looked beautiful, just as he remembered, and his gut clenched. He did want to see her again—no use denying it. Screw the differences in their lives. Right as he was about to stride over, she shut her eyes and said something to a man beside her. The dude leaned in, replying, and Haustin bristled at the level of familiarity between them. Irritation flared, too. What right did he have to be jealous?

Then, she ducked into a fancy car, and it drove off.

His heart trailed along behind her, and, instinctively, he knew she must not have been able to handle the similarities between this and the Trade Center. He didn't notice anymore, having learned long ago not to let those coincidences rule him. If he panicked around skyscrapers, he'd be well and truly screwed.

He watched the man who seemed so at ease with Yael jog in his direction, heading for the blue and white barricades NYPD had put up. They were supposed to keep everyone out, including slick hotshots with handsome faces and no debilitating pill addictions. Hell, the guy looked like a damn GQ ad with his perfectly styled hair, chiseled jaw, and piercing eyes.

Haustin stepped into his path, blocking his attempt to move the wooden barricade, and placed a gloved hand on his chest. "No one is allowed any closer."

"I'm Casey Castañeda , CEO of Malkah Enterprises. We own this building."

"Right, and Donald Trump is my gardener." He looked the guy up and down, resisting the urge to growl. Well, he snapped a little. "It's not safe. We don't know if any more pieces of the crane are loose up top and a danger to those on the ground."

"You don't understand. Those are my people." Casey planted his hands on his hips and leaned closer. "I already wasted thirty-five goddamn minutes in traffic trying to get here. I need to make sure no one is hurt."

"Leave it to the professionals. FDNY was called here to assess and control the situation. Until we're finished, this perimeter remains intact and people are to be kept clear of the area." He didn't see the point of telling him it had been ruled safe. In his mind, that still meant no outsiders.

"You're playing with your hose. Apparently things are secure enough."

"I have orders, asshole."

"Dammit, I don't have time for a fireman with an ego problem," the man muttered as he offered a business card, and Haustin stared at it with disinterest. He might have been willing to eventually let Mr. CEO in, based on whose name was on the building, but now he wanted him to suffer.

"That's not an automatic free pass. If you get hurt, it's on me."

"I have every right to be here."

"What qualifies you? The fancy threads? The shiny shoes? Unless you are a member of the FDNY or the NYPD, you're staying put. Trust me," he grinned, "it will keep your shoes from getting scuffed."

Castañeda's face flushed. "Look, dickweed, I'm responsible for the company's holdings and projects, including this one, and for anyone who may have gotten hurt. You're trying to do your job. So am I."

"And the last thing we need is one more body running around where it doesn't belong," Haustin growled. "You can go in when it's clear."

Grant, the lead foreman on the construction project, rushed over. Haustin had met him when they arrived, and he seemed to be an okay guy. His flannel work shirt and face were caked in dirt, but the bleak expression in his eyes said the most—he felt responsible. He and some man named Tom from Malkah Enterprises had been accommodating, very cooperative, having arrived before the barricades went up. Too bad their manners didn't transfer to their boss.

"It's alright, let him in, he's in charge," Grant told Haustin.

Scowling, Haustin moved aside. As they passed, he snuck in a departing, yet juvenile, jab. "Have a nice day, hotshot."

They paused a few paces away and, busying himself with his pack, Haustin eavesdropped. Normally, he wasn't so nosy, but Yael's involvement piqued his curiosity.

"Mr. Castañeda, I have no idea how this happened. We're looking into what caused the crane to break loose and fall." He paced, waving his hands in the air. "I've got some pricks from OSHA here demanding answers. The crane was up to spec. We had no indication anything was wrong. Hell, it's brand new."

"Don't worry about that right now, Grant. We'll figure it out. Most important thing is whether or not we've confirmed if anyone was hurt."

"Quite a few minor injuries and one woman was rushed to the hospital with pretty serious head trauma. I'm waiting on word about her. FDNY's been here searching the scene, but they think we're in the clear, at least casualty-wise. Most the cars it hit were parked and empty." The foreman cursed under his breath. "Here comes Corrigan, he's the adjuster from the insurance company. Got here about five minutes before you. Says the policy is lapsed or something equally ridiculous."

They moved beyond hearing range, and Haustin returned to his job, slipping tools and Pulaski's where they belonged. He was replacing the oxygen tanks when Abel strolled up next to him, an unlit cigarette clamped between his teeth.

"Pretty strange coincidence," he said.

"I know." Haustin leaned against the bright red engine. "I have this nagging suspicion fate is trying to kick my ass."

"Why?"

He fussed with the buckles on the front of his bunker jacket, trying to find a way to word his response. Abel beat him to the punch.

"Jesus. You haven't called her, have you?"

"Didn't know there was a time limit," he grumbled.

"Of course there is." Chuckling, Abel asked, "How long has it been? A week?"

"Eight days."

"You're in trouble."

"What'd he do now?" Alex inquired, dropping his gear to the ground. "It's weird this mess belongs to Malkah Enterprises."

Abel pulled the cigarette from his mouth. "Dumbass here hasn't called Yael. It's been over a week."

"Ouch," Alex said. "I thought you were smoother than that, Haus."

"Laugh it up, jerks. And pick up your damn gear, Alex."

"Do they know what happened?" Alex asked, changing the subject as he stored his tanks and mask in the truck.

"Heard they're thinking sabotage. The lead foreman has his crew searching for the bolts, hoping they're faulty."

"Abel, you're such a gossip," Alex teased.

"He's right. I overheard the foreman saying there wasn't any insurance on it." Haustin pushed off the truck, studying the crumpled crane and the insurance adjusters snapping pictures. "Someone was looking to make a statement. Maybe they thought it'd crash into its own building instead of nearly taking out a whole block."

"I could talk to my cousin, see if he can do some snooping for us."

"He's a forensics detective, right?" Alex asked Abel.

"Yep. Bet we can have him look into why Haustin is walking around with a folded up number in his pocket if he doesn't intend to use it."

"How do you know I have her number?"

"I got eyes, idiot. You'd think you have the winning lotto numbers on it or something."

"Joke's on you, then. The paper is ripped so it's pretty much worthless."

Abel stared at Haustin with his mouth hanging open as Alex tried to hide his snort behind his fist.

"But you still carry it and gaze longingly at it?" Abel asked once he recovered.

"Shut up."

"I, I really have no words right now, Haus."

Alex cut in. "I can get it from Wendy. Just say the word."

"Kind of pointless," Abel said. "Say you do and give it to him. He'll just walk around another two weeks with it in his pocket."

"Asshole," Haustin muttered.

"I love you, too."

"I'll get it, and then you should call her." Alex slapped him on the back.

"You don't think it's weird?" he found himself asking, unable to stop the needy words. "After all this time, to call her up and ask her to dinner? After I was such a dick?"

Abel shot him an amused look. "You're the one who mentioned fate earlier. There has to be a reason she keeps crossing your path."

"You sound like a hippie." Yet it did make a twisted sort of sense. He'd only admit it in the privacy of his own mind, but he was terrified. He didn't think he had it in him to be the right kind of guy for her. She deserved a man who had his life together... like the hotshot, for instance.

"Then let me add one more hippie-type thing." Alex paused dramatically. "Take a chance. She isn't who her last name implies, anyone can see that. You will never know until you try."

"Didn't Yoda say something like that?"

"Close." Alex glanced at Abel and distorted his voice. "Do, or do not. There is no try."

"Ah, that's right. Wise words."

"She was here," Haustin blurted.

"What do you mean? Here, at the scene? Did you talk to her?" Abel demanded in rapid-fire.

"Didn't have a chance. Saw the look on her face. It freaked her out. She left." He leaned his head back and stared at the sky.

"Perfect, it gives you even more of an excuse to get her number and call," Abel suggested. "Make sure she's okay."

"If you gossip geese are done, load up," the captain hollered at them. "Malkah Enterprises is bringing in a truck to haul the crane away to a secure location once the investigation is over. Stop yappin' and stow your gear."

The crew scrambled to finish loading the truck, and once they were settled in the cab, Haustin's thoughts returned to Yael. He wanted to see her, to talk to her, watch the way her brown eyes shifted to a more golden color when she laughed.

Plus, if he didn't at least try, the guys would never let him live it down.