Wasn’t that special. He hadn’t dealt with a flood since six weeks ago, in the Midwest, where his unit had been called in to assist with SAR.

He and Matt had both gone in, but only Jason had come out.

Yeah. This was going to be a kick.

He headed straight for the bed and felt some of the tension leave him in anticipation of sleep. With a long sigh, he stripped out of his pants, then stretched out on the mattress with only his boxer briefs and dark thoughts.

Tired and edgy, and feeling old for his twenty-nine years, he let himself relax, hoping like hell he was too far gone into exhaustion to dream. As he drifted off to the wild winds pummeling the house, his stomach growled, and he promised it that even if a naked woman appeared at his side right then and there, food-not sex-was next on the list.

JASON AWOKE with a jerk and leaped to his feet to run for his gear. When he realized he wasn’t on the line but back at home, he lay down again and swiped a hand over his face as the rain and wind continued to batter the house around him.

He didn’t like to admit that he wasn’t decompressing fast enough, or that his hand was trembling, but he’d deal with both. Because that’s what he did-deal with things. That was his claim to fame, his skill, his MO.

Letting out another long, careful breath, he took in his surroundings and realized it was nearly dawn.

Which meant he’d slept straight through the night.

And then he realized something else. He’d been awoken by an assortment of brain-racking noises. The crazy wind. The steady drum of rain pounding on the roof and the windows.

Adding to the racket was the ringing of a phone, and then the click of a message machine.

“You know what to do at the beep,” came Dustin’s recorded voice from somewhere nearby.

And then a soft, female voice, crackling through static and hard to hear. “Dustin? Dustin, are you there?”

The male in Jason, the one who hadn’t been with a woman in so long, took in the pretty voice and thought, Go, Dustin, but even through the incredibly bad connection, he recognized that she wasn’t trying to be seductive and fun. No, she was filled with nerves. Something within Jason automatically reacted to that, the same something that had put him in the military in the first place, the thing that made it impossible for him to walk away from a fight or someone in trouble, and he lifted his head, searching the still dark room for the phone.

There wasn’t one, not in here.

“I think I need help,” she went on as Jason ran out of the bedroom to find the phone, wondering if she was Cristina, Dustin’s fiancé. With the horrible connection, there was no way to tell for sure, but he doubted it. The Cristina he knew didn’t ask for help.

He finally narrowed in on a blinking red light on the nightstand in Dustin’s bedroom, and knew he’d found the machine. He reached for the phone connected to it, but the receiver wasn’t in its cradle. “Shit.”

“Dustin?” she said again, her voice breaking up with static.

Jason could hear the storm ravaging in the background, both through the phone and the windows, coming in with unexpected surround sound.

“I know you’re not scheduled to work this weekend,” she went on, “so I’m really hoping you’re there.”

“Hang on,” Jason told the machine and slapped on the light, squinting into the sudden brightness as he searched for the on-the-loose phone. Gotcha, he thought triumphantly, eyeing the cordless handset lying on a dresser. He hit the talk button with his thumb and…nothing.

The battery was dead.

“Don’t hang up,” he yelled at the machine as if she could hear him, and once again went running, slamming his shoulder into the doorway. “Goddammit.” In the living room, he looked around in the wan light for another phone.

There. On the small table beside the couch. Lunging for it, he barked “Hello!” into the receiver, just in time to hear the click.

He’d lost her.

He was getting good at that, losing people-and yeah, there it was, right on cue, the helplessness surging up into his chest, making it impossible to breathe without pain.

He rounded back toward the bedroom, holding his aching shoulder, going for his cell phone. Seemed he was on a mission after all-to first find Dustin and then, through him, hopefully the woman with the worry in her voice, the woman who needed help.

AS LIZZY MANN TOSSED aside her cell phone and drove through winds that were jarring her little Honda around like it was nothing more than a Matchbox car, she wished her sister would call again. Not that wishing had ever gotten her anywhere with Cece.

Ever.

“Evacuations are beginning,” the deejay announced through her radio, and Lizzy tensed.

“The Santa Rey bowl is filling up, starting at Main,” he said. “All the way to the high school.”

“Don’t say Eastside,” she murmured, glancing at the radio as if she could actually affect the report. “Please. Please, don’t say-”

“And all of Eastside, starting at Second.”

Naturally, and for Lizzy, the storm took a right turn from nasty into Hell-ville. Because Eastside was where she had to go. Of course it was where she had to go. Because this wouldn’t be a Cece situation if it didn’t put Lizzy in danger or jeopardy.

Not fair, Lizzy reminded herself. Her sister had changed. She really had. Yes, growing up after losing their parents meant that Lizzy had always been the mom, the one in charge, but now they were both adults. And what might have started out as a New Year’s resolution, a slightly drunken one, had become a new life’s resolve for Cece. Her baby sister was getting her stuff together, turning things around. No more drinking, drugs, lying and, especially, no more wild men. No more men period.

Actually, they’d both made that vow.

Since then, for the past six months, Lizzy had watched Cece bloom into a determined, independent twenty-four-year-old, which had been amazing to witness.

But that was about to be tested, because her sister was alone in this storm, and given her lifelong fear of them, she was also most likely terrified. And an alone, terrified Cece was never a good thing.

Sure, they’d talked earlier, at Lizzy’s midnight break at the hospital, where she worked as an E.R. nurse. Cece had sworn she was fine. But now she wasn’t answering her phone.

Lizzy was well aware that this was all her hang-up, that Cece was smart enough to evacuate, but Lizzy had been the mom for so long she couldn’t rest until she knew for certain.

Especially now that Cece was pregnant…

Unfortunately Lizzy’s car wasn’t equipped for driving in these conditions. Her tires were shot, and with the roads under a few inches of water, there was no way she could get to Third Avenue, where Cece had moved shortly after her transformation six months ago.

She’d called her neighbor, an ex-cop named Mike, but he hadn’t picked up. She’d left him a message to keep an eye on her place, and let her know if anyone showed up there. Her next call had been to Dustin. They were friends from the hospital where Dustin, an EMT, often delivered patients. She had a whole group of friends from the hospital who would have helped, but for proximity reasons, she’d tagged Dustin as her best bet. He could get to Third in the storm with his SUV. All she had to do was find him. She knew he wasn’t scheduled to work at the firehouse today, and he wasn’t at Cristina’s place-she’d checked.

Which meant he had to be home. Hopefully.

“Going to get more than twenty-four inches of rain,” the deejay said. “Crazy.”

Two feet of rain, Lizzy thought, her fingers tightening on the steering wheel. Two feet in California. It boggled her mind. On a good day, Santa Rey was a sweet, little, quirky, fun beach town, with tourists filling the unique downtown streets, enjoying the outdoor cafés, shops and art galleries while skateboarders and old ladies alike vied for the wide oak-lined sidewalks.

Not today.

Today, Lizzy was alone on the roads, the beach void of the surfers and tan seekers.

She turned onto Dustin’s street, water spraying up on her windshield from the already flooded curbs, blinding her for a second. The only car in his driveway was a Jeep she didn’t recognize, but Dustin had a huge garage. If he was home, and she hoped like hell that he was, he’d be parked inside. Pulling up the hood on her thin hoodie sweatshirt, she opened her car door.

And stepped into several inches of water.

The icy wetness seeped up into the hospital scrubs she hadn’t taken the time to change out of, the thin cotton clinging to her calves and sucking the breath out of her lungs. She eyed Dustin’s house, which, like her own, was on a raised foundation, as were most of the other houses on this street, and therefore elevated off the ground. Hopefully, the concrete footings would be enough to keep them from flooding.

Unfortunately, Santa Rey sat squarely between a set of low, gently rolling hills on the east and the Pacific Ocean on the west, in a little nature-made bowl of a valley.

Now with fifteen-foot swells threatening to rise even higher, and the heavy rainfall steadily sliding down the mountains with no growth to stop it thanks to last year’s tragic wildfires, that bowl was filling up.

Leaving the town in serious trouble.

By profession, Lizzy was good in an emergency. Her job depended on it. She was strong of mind and body and spirit, and she knew how to be cool, calm and collected.

Or at least appear that way.

But right now, she was having a hard time. She just needed to see Cece, and then she’d relax.

Sloshing through the water up Dustin’s front path, the driving wind nearly knocked her off her feet. At the door, she pounded her fist on the wood to be heard over the unbelievable din of the storm raging around her, and reached for the doorknob at the same time, surprised and relieved when it turned in her fingers. “Hello!” she called out into the dark house. “Dustin? It’s me…”