Burning Love

by Debra Cowan

  "Good night," she whispered, pressing a soft kiss on the side of his mouth.

  She opened the door and he picked up his jacket, stuffed his tie in the pocket. He gently ran his thumb across her bottom lip then turned and walked to his car. Behind him, her door shut quietly. Hell, he was the biggest idiot ever born.

  * * *

  Jack couldn't sleep. A stop at the gym and five rounds with the punching bag hadn't relieved the frustration boiling inside him. Pure physical need. How long had it been since he'd felt this sharp gnawing ache for a woman? Too long to remember.

  Exhaustion pulled at him, but his mind refused to click off. More than the razor-edge of need sawed through him. He'd never thought he would open his heart again, but Terra's spirit, her intelligence, even her hesitation to get involved had opened a place inside him that he would've sworn was irreversibly sealed.

  Fighting the remembered feel of her breast in his hand, the taste of her, Jack tried to empty his mind and go to sleep. After long, futile minutes, he resorted to his most extreme sleep-inducer and turned on the television. He punched the remote until he came to one of those home shopping channels that always put him out.

  Finally the tautness inside him eased and he drifted off. In and out mostly, caught between reality and dreams where green eyes still invited. Where the phantom feel of Terra's body finally soothed him.

  A crashing noise jerked him awake. He automatically reached for his 9mm Glock and sat up slowly, his hand closing around the familiar steel. His breathing shallow, heart thundering, he tried to identify the noise as he moved silently out of his room, up the hall and toward the front of the house.

  Before he reached the living room, a bitter odor drifted to him. Smoke? Just as he thought it, a thin wisp of black floated down the hall toward him. He thought he heard something crackle.

  He drew even with the corner of the living room wall and—What the hell!

  Flames shot up from his carpet. Bright orange, they stretched higher, longer, traveling across the floor and lapping at a chair leg, reaching for the sofa.

  He'd been expecting a burglar, not fire.

  Coughing, he started to run across the room and grab a bucket from his garage when a cracking noise sounded, this one in front of him. The window flanking the front door crashed inward. Something dark hit the floor twenty feet away from him, shattered, then exploded with an earsplitting burst.

  Jack reflexively threw his arm up to protect his face. In the half second before he turned away, he recognized the object as a bottle. A Molotov cocktail.

  Eyes burning now, he hit the floor. Flames erupted, reaching out to gorge on the fire already racing along the floor. Dark gray smoke filled the room as if expelled by a rocket and he coughed. Heat seared his lungs.

  The fire moved like a tide, washing over the sofa, flowing to the walls. He had only seconds before the thing reached him. Killed him.

  Gripping his gun tightly, he stayed low to the floor, moving on his belly back to his room. Thick smoke obliterated his already limited vision, making him as good as blind. It didn't matter. His eyes watered too badly for him to see anyway. Every breath stung his lungs.

  His hand finally curled around the doorjamb. His bedroom. Staying on the ground, choking on the smoke that chased him from the living room, he scrambled to his bed, slid his hand along the edge of the frame and groped for his nightstand. From there, he charged straight to the window.

  He could hear the fire now, spitting and hissing, tearing its way toward him. Yanking up the mini-blinds, he fumbled for the locks and threw open the window. He punched out the screen. Turned and grabbed his badge and cell phone from the nightstand, and a pair of sweatpants from a chair next to the window.

  Then he dove for safety like he was the next big-screen action hero. He hit the ground, jolting his shoulder painfully, but he kept moving until he was several hundred feet away from the house. He sucked in clean air, his lungs screaming. Chest heaving, he punched in 9-1-1 on his cell phone and gave his address, watching in shocked disbelief as flames snaked out of his living room window.

  The damp grass chilled his feet and the sensation finally pierced his dazed astonishment. Jack jerked on his sweatpants and ran to alert his neighbor, Mr. Plumley.

  What in the hell had just happened?

  Chapter 10

  Jack's hands were on her, stroking, teasing, torturing. Just as he peeled off her panties, a noise trilled in her ear. And trilled. And trilled.

  She tried to hold on to the dream, but the annoying chirp ground it into dust.

  Terra pushed up on one elbow as she registered the beep of her pager. Several seconds passed before her training kicked in and the sensual fog of her dream slid to the back of her mind. Her breasts, sensitive and heavy, were reminders she couldn't disregard as easily.

  She rolled out of bed, struggled into her jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt then a flannel shirt. En route to the scene, she called dispatch from her truck.

  When Maria gave her the address, the lingering warmth of Terra's dream disappeared in a frigid swell of panic. "Repeat, Dispatch. Repeat."

  "1718 Antelope Drive."

  Jack's house? "Are you sure?"

  "Yes," the other woman confirmed. "You all right, Investigator?"

  "I'm on my way. ETA ten minutes."

  "I'll radio the responding unit."

  When Terra arrived at Jack's, the blaze was out, but her heart rapped painfully against her ribs. She parked up the street ahead of a ladder truck and rushed out of her SUV, sloshing through the water in the street toward the curb of the neighbor's drive. Black-brown smoke hazed the chilly night air, hanging like a veil over the trees of the older subdivision. Anxious to find Jack, her gaze skimmed the blackened front porch, the sodden yard, the driveway.

  "I want to know, dammit!" Jack's voice sliced through the air.

  Terra turned in time to see him slam Dane Reynolds up against the back end of Station Two's ladder truck. Relief that Jack seemed all right collided with apprehension. What in the world was he doing?

  She darted across the pavement toward the two men. A turnout coat covered his broad shoulders and he wore steel-soled rubber boots like hers. "Jack!"

  A female police officer raced from the other direction. Terra reached him and Reynolds, saw the reporter straining on his tiptoes in an effort to escape Jack's grip.

  Reynolds's eyes were slitted, fervid with anger and uncertainty.

  "Jack, let go. What's going on? Let go!"

  He didn't seem to hear her. He pinned Reynolds to the fire truck, one hand wrapped around the man's throat. "You got here before the first officer on the scene. Why is that?"

  "I…heard it…over the scanner," the reporter rasped out. "I wasn't…far away."

  "You never seem to be far away."

  "Jack, please. Let go." Terra put her hand on his arm. He felt like a solid block of steel.

  The female officer, red hair tucked into her uniform cap, moved over to Jack's other side. "Spencer, take it easy. Let the guy up for air."

  "Jack, tell me what's going on." Terra kept her voice low and steady, but her heart hammered like a hyped-up junkie.

  He looked over at her, a flicker of recognition in his eyes.

  "Let go." She kept her gaze locked on his, trying to penetrate the raw fury she saw there. She pulled at his wrist in an effort to ease the vice grip he had on the reporter. "Jack, please."

  He stared at her for a moment, refusal making his eyes obsidian hard.

  "Come on, Detective." The female officer shouldered her way between the two men and stared Jack down.

  His gaze shifted back to Reynolds. His blue eyes burned with a hard light Terra had never seen. She didn't think she wanted to see it again.

  He jerked his hand off the reporter's neck, saying to the other officer, "Get him out of here, Russell."

  Reynolds bent at the waist, dragging in deep breaths and coughing. After a few seconds, he straightened, holding his throat protective
ly. "Your commanding officer will hear from me, Spencer."

  Jack succinctly told him where to get off.

  The reporter bristled and Terra tightened her hold on Jack's arm, afraid things would start all over again between the men. Officer Russell slapped a restraining hand on the reporter's chest. Finally, Reynolds walked off with her.

  Jack pivoted and stalked toward the front of the truck. A breath shuddered out of Terra. Reassured that Dane was fine, she followed Jack around Station Two's ladder truck. "Jack?"

  Head bowed, shoulders heaving, he didn't look up. She laid a hand on his back.

  He turned, eyes smoke-reddened and swollen in the shadows. "Sorry."

  Had the smoke done a number on him? Or had Reynolds? "What happened back there?"

  Jack stepped over, staring down the street at the reporter who stood readjusting his jacket. "Clark Kent got here before the first officer. Almost at the same time as the fire trucks."

  "And?"

  "Why?" Jack braced his hands on his hips, his features cold and hard. Intimidating. The coat parted to reveal his bare chest again. "Why was he the first one here? Why has he been first at every scene?"

  "I don't think you're going to get answers by beating him up. You can't just go wild like that. We'll have to interview him."

  "What if he's our arsonist?"

  "What if he's not?" Terra countered. "We don't have any proof yet."

  "He stuck that damn mike in my face and asked me how I got out. Not 'how did the fire start?' or 'did I have any comment?' No, he asked how I got out."

  "It's a little odd, Jack, but it doesn't prove anything."

  "I know." He shoved a hand through his hair then shook his head. "I looked up from that fire and there he was. I lost my cool."

  He'd gone after Reynolds with the unleashed force of a guard dog. She'd feel more calm if she got Jack as far as possible from the reporter. "Let's go talk to Captain Sandusky."

  "I'm okay. You can trust me to stay away from Reynolds."

  "I want you to come with me. Please."

  After a moment, he fell into step with her.

  She caught a glimpse of his hard, bare chest, a shadow of hair there. Sweat pants hung low on his hips. "Nice out-fit," she said. "Did you get that somewhere special?"

  "Quit lusting after me, August. People will talk."

  Relief ached in her chest. She ducked under the crime scene tape and waited as he did the same. "Are you all right?" she asked in a low voice.

  "I'm fine." He ran an unsteady hand through his hair, knocking loose some ash. Soot streaked one cheek.

  "Are you burned anywhere?" She wanted to throw herself on him, hold him tight so she could feel every inch for herself, but she contented herself with a squeeze of his arm.

  "Detective, are you okay?" Captain Sandusky from Station Two caught up with them. The wizened veteran stood about five foot eight and had the wiry strength of weathered leather. He gave a loose, two-fingered salute. "Hey, Terra."

  "Hey, Captain. What do we have?"

  "Stations Two and Three both responded since Detective Spencer lives on the northwest border of Quadrant Two. The fire was contained within three minutes and completely doused inside of fifteen. They stopped the flames before they spread out of the living room."

  "Good. What areas are most affected?"

  "The living room, edge of the kitchen and hallway." He hooked a thumb toward Jack. "The detective and his neighbor were already working on putting out the blaze when we arrived. He still hasn't let the paramedics check him out."

  Terra peered more closely at Jack. Was part of his eyebrow singed? The sharp jab of concern in her chest was unexpectedly severe. Police car headlights brightened Jack's yard and illuminated one side of his face. She didn't spot any soot around his nose or mouth, but it might be a couple of hours before some indications of smoke inhalation appeared.

  "Are you burned, Jack?" she repeated the question Captain Sandusky's arrival had interrupted.

  Coughing, he turned the back of one hand toward her. "My right hand. It's just a blister."

  "Are you nauseous? Having trouble breathing?"

  "No. My throat's sore. I feel like I swallowed a ball of fire."

  He would bear close watching over the next forty-eight hours. "You're not sleepy or light-headed?"

  "No."

  "Confused?"

  "Hell, no. Someone tried to kill me tonight. I'm real clear about that."

  She turned him so the light fell on the other side of his face. His hair, eyebrows and eyelashes didn't appear to be singed. His blue eyes were lucid, but tired and smoke-reddened. She spied a raw burn the diameter of a pencil eraser on the side of his neck. "I'll make sure he gets medical attention, Captain," she said to Station Two's leader, then asked Jack, "Has anyone given you a damage report?"

  "A firefighter named Fox saved my nephews' drawings from the fridge and she said my truck seemed all right."

  Terra made a mental note to thank Shelby Fox for her thoughtfulness.

  "But I lost my boxing gloves autographed by Joe Frasier." After another spasm of coughing, he continued, "My sister practically hocked her car in high school to get those."

  Terra hated that he had lost a prized possession, but she was thrilled he was all right. She knew his sister would be, too.

  "Nothing's been moved," Captain Sandusky said. "You may be able to figure out things pretty quickly."

  She glanced at Jack, trying to ease the panic that still lapped at her. "Did you see anything? Hear anything?"

  "I heard crashing glass. That's what woke me up. I followed the sound to the living room and saw flames." He cleared his throat. "Then a bottle came through the front window and exploded."

  "Bottle?" She frowned in the direction of the house. "Molotov cocktail?"

  "That's my guess. I'm sure you'll know more once you get inside and do your hocus-pocus."

  She smiled, jotting down Jack's answers in her pocket notebook. "Any of your neighbors see or hear anything?"

  "Detective Spencer has already canvassed the neighborhood," Captain Sandusky put in with a chuckle. "No one saw or heard anything until he made it over to his next door neighbor's house and told him about the fire."

  "Mr. Plumley. He lives there." Jack pointed to a gray brick house on the south side of his. "He's talking to the fireman with the video camera."

  "I'll touch base with him."

  Captain Sandusky clapped Jack on the back. "Detective, I need to get my crew rounded up here. I know I'm leaving you in good hands."

  "Thanks for your quick response."

  "Sure."

  As the other man walked off, Terra studied Jack. His face appeared calmer; his eyes did not. They were stormy and cold as his gaze lasered in on Reynolds.

  "You sure you're okay?"

  "Yes." He coughed again, his gaze fixed on the street now teeming with rescue personnel, neighbors and news reporters.

  Tension vibrated from him. Even in the dim light, she could see the muscle in his jaw flex.

  Terra glanced at the street and saw Reynolds start toward her with his cameraman. After a few steps, he halted, his gaze locking on Jack. Reynolds's gaze flicked to Terra then he pivoted and walked back to the street, motioning T. J. Coontz to follow.

  T.J. rolled his eyes, hefting his large-lens camera up to his shoulder as he made his way carefully behind Reynolds.

  Terra's gaze shifted to the big man beside her. Another glimpse of his bare chest had her wondering if he felt the cold at all. "Jack, I'm worried about you."

  "I'm mad as hell." He stared at his splintered front door, the broken windows. "Was this some kind of prank? Or someone trying to get even?"

  "Has one of your collars recently been released from prison?"

  "Corrections usually lets me know when someone gets out, but some do slip through the cracks. I'll check in with them."

  Hands braced on his hips, he stared through slitted eyes at his damaged home then turned away as if he cou
ldn't bear to look any longer.

  Terra's heart ached for him. Around them, firefighters squished through the yard, rolling up their hoses, storing a couple of axes in the trucks.

  Jack's voice sliced through the night air. "What the hell is he doing here?"

  Terra followed his gaze and spotted LeBass.

  "He doesn't work out of Station Two."

  "No, he doesn't." Terra studied the fireman whom she'd just learned had a reason to be very angry at Harris. Angry enough to kill. "I'll find out why he's here, but it looks as if he's definitely working this fire."

  "Call me paranoid, but I don't like seeing two of our suspects show up at a fire at my house."

  "I don't either."

  He rubbed his neck, looked into her eyes. "It's probably just the arson making me hinky. It's not every day I get a Molotov cocktail thrown through my living room."

  "You're entitled."

  He coughed again, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palms.

  "You really need to let the paramedics check you out."

  "And you need to get to work."

  She squeezed his arm, wishing she could do more. "Can I call someone for you?"

  "I called my sister. Didn't want her or the kids to hear about this on the morning news. She's going to call our parents."

  "Do you want to spend the night with me? I mean, do you need a place—"

  "Got a one-track mind, Investigator?" Despite the exhaustion etching his handsome features, he winked. "Wanting to pick up where we left off?"

  "You wish." She grinned.

  "Absolutely." Their gazes met as the memory of their heated kisses played through Terra's mind.

  "Thanks for the offer of a bed, but my sister's on her way over to pick me up. I'll stay with her tonight. I'll figure out something else tomorrow."

  "Okay."

  She discreetly slipped her fingers through his, hiding their hands between the bulky turnout coats they wore. "I'm glad you're all right," she said softly, surprised at the clutch of pain in her chest.

  "I am, too, sweetheart. You're not getting rid of me that easily. Remember what we talked about earlier."

  "As if I could forget." She wanted to kiss him right now, tell all these people to go away so she could take care of Jack herself. "Will you call me when you get to your sister's? Just so I'll know you made it there all right?"