by Debra Cowan
Watching him move on and off the dance floor with obscene regularity, Kiley saw no trace of the wounded man from yesterday. Just the heartbreaker she’d heard about, the one she planned to avoid. As a high-tempo dance song ended, he escorted Shelby Fox off the floor, and the pair joined a group in a corner that included Kiley’s sister, Kristin.
Deciding she’d rather talk to him in a crowd as opposed to alone, Kiley made her way toward the corner. She recognized Clay Jessup, the lanky cop who stood between her sister and Shelby, but the man to her sister’s left was unfamiliar. Kristin’s hair was the same dark gold as their mother’s, with enough wave to coax it into whatever style she wanted. Tonight she wore it down and loose, just as Kiley did. The fluttery white blouse she had paired with Kiley’s long black satin skirt was as dressy as the bronze knee-length dress Kiley had chosen.
More than one guy had asked Kristin to dance, but Kiley noted Collier hadn’t. Probably because he’d been too busy dancing with everyone else.
She walked up to the edge of the group, and her sister smiled. “Hi, Ki.”
“Hello.”
Kristin pulled her into the circle. “Does everyone know my sister?”
“Hey, Russell.” Clay Jessup smiled and Shelby waved.
Kiley and Clay had gone through the police academy together, and she knew Shelby because the woman was one of Clay’s closest friends. Kristin introduced Trey Vance, a computer technician from her office.
Kiley felt Collier’s gaze burning her skin and finally met his eyes. “Hello, McClain.”
“Detective.” His gaze skated over her body, and reaction clenched her belly.
Why, why, why did she have to feel anything? Determined to ignore the drumming pull of awareness she felt, she started to move next to him and ask if they’d had any responses yet from the prisons. Someone tapped on the microphone situated on the small stage a few feet away, and she paused.
After a few seconds of screeching feedback, Mayor Griffin greeted everyone and encouraged applause for the band as its members left the stage for a break. The mayor then invited everyone’s attention to the newly completed building and this spacious room, which would host community events such as senior citizen exercise classes or the citizens’ police academy.
The shiny wooden stage steps were trimmed with the same blue-and-gray flecked carpet that covered the floor and complemented the blue walls. The large space, which could be partitioned off to make four rooms, sparkled with the shine of newness. After a few moments the mayor introduced everyone who had worked on the community center’s planning committee.
When he introduced prominent criminal defense attorney Raye Ballinger, Trey Vance said, loud enough for their small circle, “I can’t believe they let her serve on the committee. The best thing the ‘Ball Basher’ could do for Presley would be to leave.”
Mayor Griffin turned the program over to Raye for her comments, and Kiley grimaced, unsure about what to expect from the woman. She’d had dealings with the dogged attorney in court.
Raye Ballinger was dressed to kill in a dramatic off-the-shoulder black-and-white gown with black elbow-length gloves. Her blond hair was piled atop her head; light caught the sparkling necklace and matching earrings she wore. From what Kiley had heard, the attorney earned enough to afford real diamonds.
“The city probably paid for those earrings and that necklace,” Kristin said behind her.
“We’re probably still paying.” Trey’s voice was low. “You know, her brother committed suicide several months back. Everyone expected her to sue the city, and sure enough, she instigated a lawsuit last month.”
Raye Ballinger had also brought a suit against Presley about three years ago for a policeman who said he’d been fired unfairly. She had intimidated every witness she could, and Kiley had the scars to prove it. She hadn’t folded under the lawyer’s sharklike attack, but others had. The woman was relentless to the point of cruelty, and Kiley had never liked her.
It appeared no one in this small circle did, either. Raye had once ripped Kiley to shreds on the witness stand during a rape case. She hated to think what the woman might have done if they’d been alone.
“If that lawsuit gets to court, there’s no justice,” Clay Jessup said to Collier.
Kiley glanced over at the two men. “What happened with her brother?”
“Last spring—April, I think—we got a call about a house fire,” Collier said. “Three stations responded and were able to get to the guy by using the ladder, but as they climbed down, he took a dive. It was Ballinger’s brother.”
“I remember.” She thought back to the coverage, done to the point of saturation, by local television stations as well as Presley’s and Oklahoma City’s newspapers. “It was pretty awful.”
“I guess the scene turned ugly,” Jessup said. “Shelby said Ballinger went ballistic, blaming everyone around.”
“She talked to the mayor right after it happened.” Kristin tucked her hair behind her ear. “But no one heard anything else until she filed the lawsuit.”
Collier shook his head. “I don’t see that she has grounds. Jamie Ballinger tried to kill himself by torching that house, and when that didn’t work, he jumped from the ladder. Everyone did their jobs. There was no negligence.”
“Well,” Clay said. “Skip Dickens was a known drunk with DUIs on record, and she got him reinstated, plus his back pay and a two-million-dollar settlement out of Presley.”
His reminder about the policeman Raye Ballinger had represented came as the lawyer finished her remarks. Applause swelled throughout the large room.
Kiley watched as the woman stepped down from the stage and moved through the crowd, stopping here and there to speak to people. She had a reputation for disliking cops. Evidently, hose draggers were on her list, too.
Clay asked Kristin to dance and the pair moved to the center of the room. Trey and Shelby followed.
“Looks like we’re alone at last,” Collier drawled with a twinkle in his eye that said he knew he made Kiley jumpy.
She’d be darned if she let on that his “come getcha some” tone turned her nerves to jelly. Or caused a surge of energy to zip through her body. “I wanted to talk to you, anyway. Did you hear back from any of the prisons?”
“Not yet. I did finish e-mailing and faxing everyone on our list.”
“Wow, you were busy today—”
“Hello, Detective Russell.”
Her muscles tightened at the sound of the frigid, silky voice just behind her. What could Raye Ballinger possibly want? Kiley turned. “Hello, Counselor.”
The attorney swept her long, red-nailed fingers through the air in an encompassing gesture. “We certainly appreciate you coming to the dedication.”
“It’s very nice. The residents will get a lot of use out of the center.”
“We value all the support we get from the police department.”
Kiley met the woman’s hard blue eyes, unable to tell if the attorney was being sarcastic or not.
Raye shifted her gaze to the tall man in front of her. “And the fire department, too. I understand congratulations are in order, Collier. For your promotion to the fire investigator’s office.”
“Thank you.” He slid a hand into the front pocket of his slacks and smiled easily at the barracuda.
Raye’s ruby-slicked lips curved, and Kiley blinked at how the smile softened her eyes, making her appear almost shy. “Perhaps you’d whirl me around the dance floor once, Investigator?”
Well, well. It looked as if Fireman Flirty could bring out the human side of the disagreeable woman.
As smooth as French silk pie, Collier responded, “I’d be honored, Counselor, but I’ve already promised this dance to Detective Russell. Thank you, though.”
“Some other time, then.” Once again Raye was cool as she moved off.
Before Kiley could say “over my dead body,” Collier’s hand was at her back and he guided her onto the floor.
“I mus
t’ve missed your promise to dance,” she drawled, giving a little hop to avoid being stepped on. She had to catch his rhythm so she wouldn’t trip.
“You were my closest out.”
“Oh, please stop.” She batted her eyelashes at him, exaggerating her best Southern accent. “You keep talkin’ like that and I might melt into a puddle right at your feet.”
He grinned. “Serve and protect. I thought that was your creed.”
“I doubt you need either one, especially from a woman,” she said smartly.
“Raye would’ve chewed me up and spit me out if you hadn’t rescued me. Besides, now we have a chance to talk without being interrupted.”
“I thought you said you didn’t hear anything today.”
“I didn’t.”
She tried to ignore the way her body melted against him as if starved for his. As they glided around another couple, Collier’s hand moved up her back, touching bare skin between the open vee of her dress. The warm press of his slightly callused flesh on hers caused her heart rate to hitch.
“But I did read the copies of your notes from all the fire murders. I’m planning to try and contact Alan Embry again in the morning. Do you want to go?”
“Absolutely.” Her tone was ridiculously breathless, but maybe he would think it was caused by the dancing. An urge came over her to smooth her palm over his wide shoulder, but she resisted. Why couldn’t she keep her mind on business? McClain didn’t seem to have any problem doing so. “Maybe we can get somewhere with him.”
“Maybe so. Since we’ve had no luck finding him at home, I’m hoping we can catch him at work, so let’s try him first at the city’s maintenance division.”
At the husky tone in his voice, Kiley glanced up and found his gaze locked on her. Desire burned in his eyes, making them a deep green, and her body went soft, as it had when they danced at the Christmas party. Like it had last night. She should’ve let him take his chances with Raye Ballinger.
“I tested the towels we found at the warehouse.” His voice was low, his breath brushing her temple. “Just as we thought, there was no accelerant. A match and some rags, exactly like the other fires.”
“What does that tell you?” Kiley was amazed she could form a coherent sentence. Her movements shadowed his in a sensual rhythm. The sound of music and laughter and voices faded until she could hear only the rapid-fire beat of her heart and smell the dark woodsy scent she’d already come to recognize as Collier’s. “Did the arsonist know what he was doing or just choose that method because it’s easy?”
“Hard to say. If we’re right about our theory that the fire was set only to draw firefighters to the scene, then this was the perfect way to do that. The towels and an ignition are enough to start the fire, then catch a pallet like those at the warehouse. Or start up the wall like the flames did at the high school gym. This method gives an arsonist plenty of time to get out and leave the scene before the firefighters arrive.”
She knew she should step away, but the languorous sensation moving through her body overruled common sense. She struggled to keep her mind on the case. “How much about fire would a person need to know in order to plan something like that?”
“Some,” Collier admitted, his gaze roaming over her face.
“Could a firefighter have started the blaze?”
“Sure, but so could someone with a lot less experience.”
“So we still don’t know what kind of person we’re looking for.”
“Not yet.”
They danced breast to chest, hip to hip, and Kiley’s body strained to get closer. His thumb stroked slowly across her bare back, and she ached to feel more of him. Her gaze moved to his lips, and she imagined kissing him, tasting him.
It hit her then, that skittish, jittery feeling she’d gotten the first time she’d danced in his arms. He might be her partner in this investigation, but he was bad news in any other way. She stepped out of his hold just seconds before the song ended.
“Hey, what—”
“Song’s over,” she said brightly, looking for an escape.
He glanced at the band, then back at her. “Couldn’t wait, huh? I’ve never known a woman as jumpy as you are.”
“No, I suppose you haven’t.” She started for the edge of the crowd. “It probably would’ve done you some good to be turned down occasionally.”
“You have to be asked before you can turn someone down, Detective.” Strong, hot fingers closed on her arm and he guided her through the crowd. “What is your problem?”
They reached the wall, and Kiley faced him. “I’ve heard about your reputation.”
“Which is what?”
“That you should publish your own phone book to keep up with all the women you’ve dated.”
His eyes darkened. “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”
“Look, you’re not my type. That’s all.”
“What type is that? Or do you even have one?”
She glanced around, glad to see they weren’t attracting attention. “It isn’t a guy who charms a woman into bed, then walks away.”
“I never make promises to any woman,” he said tightly. “And I’m up-front about that.”
“Bravo. It doesn’t mean people aren’t hurt.”
His gaze narrowed on her face, and his hold on her arm gentled. “People like you?”
She didn’t like the gut-deep, instant connection she suddenly felt to him, the flare of naked panic that he had recognized something in her that most people didn’t.
His voice lowered in a way that made her feel he was touching her. All over. “What’s the matter, Russell? Afraid you might like me in spite of yourself?”
It was already too late for that. “Don’t misunderstand. I think we can work together just fine, but let’s keep things strictly business.”
“All right.”
“Which means we probably shouldn’t be dancing.”
He released her arm. “Gotcha.”
She nodded, relief mixing with disappointment. “So, I’ll meet you in the morning at Embry’s office?”
“Eight o’clock okay?”
“Yes.”
“See you then.”
Ignoring the sinking feeling in her stomach, she watched as he turned and made his way through the crowd toward the bar. Good. Now there would be no misunderstandings, no more dancing, no more touching.
Her gaze traced the broad line of his shoulders, the slightly ragged edge of his dark hair as she recalled the seductive feel of his hard body against hers. Who was she kidding? What she felt for him was hotter and more dangerous than mere “like.” She wanted to jump his bones. And she just wasn’t going to do that with Collier McClain.
Chapter 4
At eight o’clock the next morning, Collier pulled up to the building that housed the City of Presley Maintenance Division where Alan Embry should be starting his day. Russell was already in the parking lot, standing inside her open driver’s-side door and writing something in a notebook on the roof of her red Mustang. Waiting on him.
There was no denying the adrenaline that shot through his system. She’d put him in the hot zone the first time he’d seen her, every time he’d seen her, and today was no different.
After last night he couldn’t get around that. His impulse to dance with her in order to escape Raye Ballinger might have saved him a few minutes of aggravation, but it had left him with more than an hour of hot, hard want.
She wore dark slacks and a deep-purple sweater beneath a sleek, fur-lined black leather coat. The frigid air, hazy with the promise of more sleet, had color snapping in her cheeks and her eyes glowing like jewels. If he hadn’t already known the pure blue-green color of her eyes, he would’ve been able to tell from feet away. The tousled mane of hair she’d worn loose last night was pulled back into a twist. It looked neat and professional, and he wanted to get his hands in her hair and mess it up.
He needed to get a grip and focus on the job.
Sleet had begun falling just after he’d arrived home last night. It had stopped before he’d rolled out of bed early this morning, and the streets and sidewalks were coated with a thin layer of ice, as was the parking lot.
As he carefully guided the fire investigator’s Explorer into the space next to Kiley’s car, she glanced up. They were on the south edge of the lot, which was bordered by a line of trees stripped bare of leaves, their spindly branches sheathed in glittering ice.
Killing the engine, he eased out of his truck and shut the door, testing the slickness of the asphalt. Frigid air stung his cheeks.
“Hey, McClain,” she said cheerily with no sign of the tension that had been between them last night when he’d walked away from her. “Looks like you made it without slamming your truck into a curb.”
“Hose draggers can drive in any weather, just like cops, Russell.” He made his way gingerly to the rear bumper and took a few steps closer to her.
She grinned and bent to reach inside her car, coming up a second later to hand him a foam cup. “Coffee?”
“Thanks.” He took it as she reached inside for her own cup. He remembered the look on her face when she told him she didn’t like his type. Someone had hurt her. Who? He shouldn’t want to know, shouldn’t care, but he’d been wondering since last night. Since she’d stepped out of his arms before he’d been ready to end their dance.
“I’ve got to have something hot when it’s this cold out. Do you want cream or sugar?”
“No, thanks.”
“How about a doughnut or a bagel?”
“What are you, a mobile coffee service?” He leaned over and peered inside her car. “What else do you have in there?”
“Just a little supply of things. I have an apple. Would you like that?”
He shook his head. Collier wasn’t a breakfast person, and was she really this bright-eyed and smiley so early in the morning?
She closed her car door and started with him across the slick surface.
He sipped his coffee as he glanced at the opposite side of the parking lot where city employees were already spreading salt and sand in an effort to prevent people from slipping on the ice. “Maybe by the time we’re finished with Embry, they’ll have reached our side of the lot. Then we’ll be able to move a little more quickly. The weather guy said this stuff probably won’t melt off the trees and power lines for another two or three days. It’s not supposed to get above twenty degrees.”
