by Amber Kallyn
His lust completely unabated, Scott gave up and turned back. Surprisingly, her gaze, softer, darker, followed his every move. Maybe she wasn’t so stiff after all. Interesting.
He pulled out the map and laid it between them on the stack of scattered papers. One of these days, he really was going to get them all filed. Calla scooted her chair closer, staring at the red circles.
“Which one is the Riley farm?” she asked, her voice coldly professional. But he was beginning to suspect that beneath her cold exterior, she might have a little heat inside.
Scott pointed to the circle on the far left, watching her long fingers grip the pen as she scribbled more notes. She asked about the rest, nibbling the tip of the pen between questions. His cock ached as he pictured those pink lips nibbling him.
After going through the dates and buildings burned, she traced the circles, then looked up, wide-eyed. “Am I seeing this right?” she asked.
He nodded, a breath of relief escaping his tight chest. So she’d caught it too. They were the beginnings of a spiral. And if the arsonist continued, the spiral would end in the center of town, which happened to be exactly where the firehouse sat.
“Did anyone figure out if an accelerant was used?”
Her tone scratched him wrong. Trying not to grind his teeth, he snapped, “We may be in the backcountry, ma’am, but we’re not hicks.”
She glanced up from her notes, eyes wide, mouth forming a pretty O. “I didn’t mean to imply anything. Look. These are standard questions. I ask the same things of everyone.”
Slightly mollified, Scott tempered his voice. “We don’t know. None of the buildings were used to store any flammable materials. There was no odor of gas, or alcohol, nothing we’d expect to find with the way the fires spread. Damn quick, hard to put out. The only thing a few of us smelled—at every site—was matches. You know, the tangy, bitter smell you get when you put a match out?”
“Sulfur,” she whispered. Her hand twitched, the pen slipping from her fingers. Calla caught it before it hit the floor.
He’d hit a nerve. “What is it?”
“Nothing.” She shook her head, staring at the notepad. “How’d you put them out?”
He let it pass. For now. “Most places around here have at least one well. Our trucks are equipped with foam tanks, but also hoses to draw on the wells if needed. Cost of living in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by forest. We have to get the fires out quick, otherwise they spread.”
“Did the foam work?” she asked, still avoiding his gaze.
She definitely knew something. “Not very well. In fact, the first blaze almost reached the trees before we realized it. Funny thing though.” He watched for her reaction. “As soon as we started using water, it went out easily. The last few, we went straight to the wells.”
“You said some of you smelled the sulfur. How many?”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
Calla finally looked at him, her lips tight. “Answer the question please.”
“Two. Me and Fred,” he grumbled, ready for her to say something. The guys had made it a running joke around the station. No one counted on Fred for anything important. Which meant Scott was on his own.
She blinked rapidly, the corner of her lips twitching. The woman would make a terrible poker player, but it gave him an advantage. “You gonna tell me what’s going on?”
She blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Come on, lady,” he said, frustration getting the better of him. “I think I’ve got a right to hear what you know. There’s no telling when this guy’s gonna strike again.”
* * *
Calla took a deep breath and pressed her lips together. She looked him over, wondering just what she was supposed to tell him. The truth wasn’t exactly believable. She could just see it. Mr. O’Neil, here’s the scoop—a fire breathing dragon is terrorizing your town. Yeah, I know. You don’t think dragons exist. Well, if you like, I’ll shapeshift here in your office and prove you wrong.
Yeah. That would get her kicked out of town so fast she’d be left in the ashes.
Ignoring the twinge of guilt, she lied. “I’m not sure yet.”
His gaze hardened, disbelieving. Calla stared back, trying to keep a straight face. Scott was the first to look away.
Taking a silent, relieved breath, she glanced at her pad. “Has your sheriff done any investigating?”
“We only have a county office. They’re about thirty miles away, in Payson.”
“Thirty miles?”
“Yup. But…” His voice trailed off.
Calla glanced at him, waiting for the rest. The intensity of his gaze made her quiver deep inside. It was hard to sit here, her senses taking in his scent, her hands itching to touch the yummy eye candy.
He was definitely interested, considering the way he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Again, she reminded herself of the uselessness of the craving. He was human. She was not.
Yet, he’d scented the sulfur. Maybe… No. She broke off that line of thought and headed back to the conversation. “But what?”
Scott smiled devilishly. “You could talk to the retired sheriff. He lives in town.”
“Okay. Where is he?”
The trap sprung. “Smokey’s Bar and Grill, right outside of town.” The corners of his mouth twitched as his gaze dared her to refuse.
Whether the man just wanted to get her into a bar or not, she’d go. She needed to talk to someone local with connections to the sheriff’s office.
Lifting her chin, she stared down the cocky fire chief. “My car or yours?”
Chapter Two
Calla strode into Smokey’s Bar and Grill, Chief O’Neil inches behind her. Not only had he driven, but he’d opened the truck door for her. After the fifteen-minute drive filled with strained silence, he’d jumped out and raced around to open the door again.
Though men surrounded her at home, Calla wasn’t used to gentlemanly chivalry. Her brothers were more the rough and tumble type, no matter how much their mother had tried to impress manners on them. Her heart ached at the reminder of the woman. She shoved the memory out of the way. The tears would come later, as always.
Scott led her to the bar, a hand hovering near her lower back. His magnetism and warmth reached her skin even without a full touch. His enticing scent wrapped around her. Calla shouldn’t be so aware of the man. Hell, she was near handsomer, buffer men all the time. None affected her like this.
The bar seemed dark after the colorful sunset outside. Music blared from a jukebox in one corner and neon lit most of the back wall. A sign proclaimed the local live band played at eight. Tables and booths crowded near a real sawdust dance floor. At least the place didn’t live up to its name—the air was clear and clean.
Calla eyed the stool warily, then set her bag on the bar before hiking her skirt well past modesty and climbing onto the darn chair.
“Would you like some help?” Scott failed to muffle his laugh.
Sending him an irritated glare, she pulled out her notepad and pen, daring him to make this about anything other than business. “So where is he?”
Scott’s eyes flashed amusement, but at least the grin disappeared. “Two specials, Smokey!”
“Really?” Her lips twitched. “Don’t tell me that’s his name.”
Scott drummed his fingers on the bar, walking them closer to her hand. “His real name is Orville, but don’t let him know I told you. He’s always gone by Smokey.”
“Why?”
A grizzled bear of a man slammed two beer mugs in front of her. His voice, deep, rough, and amused, answered, “Because I was a troublemaker in my youth, that’s why.”
His dark gray hair was drawn back into a ponytail, and a salt and pepper biker’s beard flowed down to touch his chest. Green eyes sparkled with merriment as he leaned his elbows on the bar. “Now, boy, what do I got to do to keep your mouth shut? Orville, ha. Ain’t my name no more since my ma died. You think anyone else d
ares call me that?”
Scott laughed. “Maybe a free round might seal my lips.”
Smokey shook his head. “Now, lovely lass. Who might you be?”
Maybe it was something in the water, or maybe this town just had a shortage of women. She’d have to watch it, otherwise all the flirting shot her way might go to her head.
She held out a hand, muffling a gasp at the warmth of his palm. “I’m Calla.”
Scott added, “She’s the arson investigator the city sent.”
Smokey’s gaze sharpened. “A bitty thing like you? You’re too pretty to do such a dangerous job.”
Calla couldn’t help but smile, though comments like that normally struck the wrong nerve. “That’s close to what my family keeps trying to tell me. But I ask you, why shouldn’t a woman be an investigator?”
Scott answered. “Maybe your family just wants to protect you.”
Calla waved a hand at him, unwilling to start an argument. Instead, she took a gulp from the mug. And spluttered as her tongue numbed. “What is that?”
Smokey winked. “Oh, it’s my special brew.”
Swallowing, she squeaked, “So, Mr. O’Neil tells me you used to be the sheriff?”
“Mr. O’Neil, huh?” Smokey laughed.
“I’m fine with Scott,” he said, taking a drink of his own mug without the aftereffects.
Calla grabbed her pen. “Can you tell me what the deputies are doing about your arsonist?”
“Only if you can drink my beer,” Smokey challenged.
“Sir, that is not beer.” She softened the words with a grin.
“Maybe. Maybe not. So, big girl investigator. Can you handle it?”
Thankful her metabolism didn’t allow her to get drunk easily, Calla grabbed the mug and downed the drink, the fire numbing her tongue, her chest, all the way to her stomach.
Trying not to cough, she set the mug back on the bar and stared at Smokey. “Good stuff.”
Smokey and Scott both stared at her.
“What?” Calla asked when her mouth worked again.
“Wow,” Scott said.
“You can say that again. I didn’t actually think you’d take me up on my offer, lass.” Smokey cleared his throat. “Atta girl. Maybe you’ll do after all.”
Slightly dizzy, and unusually relaxed by Smokey’s banter, Calla laughed. “Now, tell me what the sheriff is doing to catch your arsonist.”
“Damn feisty.” Smokey slapped the bar. “Sharon, take over,” he called, heading to a corner booth separated from the rest, beckoning her and Scott. She slid into the booth, paper and pen still in hand, and gazed at Smokey expectantly.
“All right. Now, first, you got to understand, the new sheriff ain’t really a friend of mine. But, I still got plenty of contacts over there.”
Three mugs landed on the table. Calla sipped the home brew while Smokey outlined the few, unsuccessful steps the sheriff, a bumbling man in the barkeeper’s words, had taken.
“So, lass. What’re you gonna do about our arsonist?” he asked.
Feeling as if in the company of a friend, she opened her mouth and almost let the word dragon escape. Snapping her teeth shut, biting her tongue, she took a second to corral her thoughts. And her voice. A waitress passed by. Ordering a glass of water gave her an extra minute to come up with something.
Pretending to study her notes, she replied, “I need to see the sites, of course. I have the map, so I can visit them tomorrow.”
“Absolutely not—” Scott interrupted.
“Nah, lass. Ain’t gonna work,” Smokey stated.
“Why not?” she demanded, her self-sufficiency surfacing.
“This isn’t the big city,” Scott said.
Smokey leaned closer. “We’re a small town. Everyone pretty much knows everyone.”
“After everything, a strange face won’t be welcome,” Scott added.
“Huh.” Smokey’s eyes twinkled. “Scott’s not on call tomorrow. He’ll take you around.”
Scott nodded as Calla shook her head. “I don’t need—”
“Good. It’s settled then,” Smokey replied as he slid from the booth. “I’ll let the two of you finalize your plans so I can get back to work.”
As the giant retreated, Calla felt outnumbered and outmaneuvered. Just like at home. Well, she was tired of overbearing, overprotective men trying to run her life. “I don’t need an escort. I can find my way, and keep out of people’s hair. If anyone has a problem, I have my badge.”
“Things will be easier if I’m with you,” Scott replied. “You want it to take a few hours, or all day?”
Calla didn’t need the distraction of a sexy playboy while she hunted for the cause of their arsons. And if it turned out Eric was behind it all, the man sitting next to her would only be a hindrance.
As Scott pushed her drink closer to her hand, he grinned. “I’m not going to take no for an answer.”
Calla wanted to argue. She wanted to rail. Tell this arrogant male she could damn well take care of herself in ways he couldn’t even begin to imagine. But as she met his strange blue-green-gray gaze, she saw a stubbornness in his eyes only matched by that of her older brother.
She rarely won an argument with Garreth. Which was why she’d jumped on the chance to get out of the valley and from beneath his hawkish gaze. Knowing stubbornness would only cost her precious time, she repressed her misgivings and finally nodded her agreement.
“You got the map?” Scott asked.
She slipped it from her bag and laid it on the table. Scott opened it and traced an outline on the paper with a long, tan finger, moving from site to site in the order to visit, based on what time families were home.
“Why do they need to be home?” Calla asked. She’d rather study the damage without the owners hovering.
“Like I said. This is a small town.”
“Then why don’t we stop wherever they work and get permission?”
Scott laughed. “You don’t have much experience with small towns, do you? Most of these places are working farms, ranches. People don’t come into town to work—they’re somewhere out in the forest or the field. I don’t relish the time needed to track ’em all down. Trust me, this is the fastest way for you to get your job done.”
When he finished, he folded the map and slipped it in his back pocket. She wasn’t sure if he did it out of habit, or if he wanted to make sure she didn’t go by herself.
Scott leaned back and asked, “So, Miss Calla. Where are you from?”
Another set of mugs landed on the table. Scott took a long drink. The strangely sexy sight captured her in ways she’d never before experienced. His chin tipped up, showing her his stubble-covered throat undulating. A picture flashed in her mind of crawling over the bench and laying her tongue against the muscles working beneath his skin. Licking her way to his mouth.
As he set the mug down, Calla reined in her galloping sex drive. What the hell was up with her body today?
Averting her gaze, Calla tapped a thumbnail on the table. “Right now, I live in Phoenix.”
She didn’t want to get into all this small talk, but the man was her ride. Although if he kept drinking, it might be her doing the driving.
Scott peppered her with questions, either oblivious to or ignoring her short non-answers. She kept checking her watch, but the dense man didn’t seem to notice that, either.
As the live band began setting up, Calla thought she scented the distinct odor of sulfur. Her breath caught in her chest and her heart tried to race away. Before she could even glance around the bar, the scent disappeared.
Just her crazy imagination? Or something more? Maybe she was losing her mind. First the stunning, encompassing lust for the fire chief. Now this.
Maybe it was this town, or the aftereffects of the last argument with her father. Her family hated the fact she refused to stay at home and let them all protect her. They hated her job, even though by the time she got to the site of a fire, it was usually safe.<
br />
Scott pestered her with more questions. Before her jaw broke, she relaxed her clenched teeth and gave clipped one syllable answers. She didn’t ask anything in return, but the man seemed happy to freely share about his life.
A half hour later, and a third mug of Smokey’s special brew gone, she realized she was enjoying herself. Slightly. The bar was comfortably warm, and so was her stomach from the drink. Scott’s voice with the slight western twang soothed her.
“I’m from here originally,” he said. “My parents died in a car accident when I was twelve. Me and my two younger sisters stayed at the local orphanage until I turned eighteen and enlisted in the navy.”
“The navy? Why?” she asked, curiosity piqued. “The ocean is a far cry from this desert.”
He answered, but she didn’t hear him. The scent of sulfur hit, unmistakable. Calla studied the people in the bar, searching for a flash of dark hair, dark eyes. Searching for the twisted grin that made thousands of tiny ants invade her spine.
Eric. Dragon, but not. Not anymore. Now, he was Other.
“So you got family?” Scott asked.
“Yeah,” she absently replied.
He noticed her distraction and glanced around.
“I’m the fourth of eight kids,” Calla practically shouted, trying to draw him back in. She didn’t want to give away her awareness. Not before Eric revealed himself. As the smell increased, she knew she’d done right.
Scott smiled. “Wow.”
“Mmm, hmm. We’re all over the place.”
He leaned closer. “So what made you get into arson investigation?”
Calla tried to surreptitiously look around without letting Scott know what she was doing. It took a minute to formulate her words into a coherent sentence. “Well, fire runs in my family.”
It was such an understatement, she almost bit her lip to hold in a bark of laughter. Considering just about everyone in her family was a shapeshifting dragon, yeah, fascination with fire kind of went along with it. But she only said, “My family’s business is pyrotechnics. They do fireworks for anything from the Fourth of July to rock concerts.”
