WILD HEAT

by Bella Andre

  She struggled to pull her gaze away from the flames. The out-and-out annihilation.

  The fire chief studied her face for a long moment. “Are you related to Tony Jackson?”

  Oh God, how could she have forgotten for even one second that this had been Tony's domain? He'd been Lake Tahoe Fire Department, Station 3, and his station's tanker truck was parked ten feet away. Tony should have been in the parking lot with these guys or up on the roof, checking for hot spots.

  She nodded to give herself time to recover from the sudden blow. “I am.”

  The chief shook his head. “I'm sorry about what happened to your brother.” He held out his hand. “Patrick Stevens. I'm the new chief. I apologize for not returning your last few e-mails and phone calls. I've been swamped these past couple of weeks getting up to speed. Since you're in town, would you like to arrange a time to sit down and discuss the situation?”

  She blinked hard, tried to get everything untangled in her head. And heart. “Yes. Thanks. I'm in Lake Tahoe to investigate the Desolation Wilderness fire currently burning,” she said, each word sounding robotic and stiff to her own ears as she tried to get herself back on track, “but as soon as I wrap this up, I'll come by your office.”

  He nodded. “I'm happy to help any way I can. Tony was a good one. Real good. He's been missed.” He paused, clearly uncertain about whether he should continue.

  Hope flared in her chest. “What is it? Have you learned something?”

  He shook his head. “No. In fact, I was going to say that all signs point to the fire that took Tony's life being an accident. You know that, don't you?”

  It was just what she was afraid of. They were getting ready to close Tony's case for good.

  “Signs aren't good enough,” Maya said. “I want facts.” Even though facts wouldn't bring Tony back. Nothing would.

  Just then, Logan shifted beside them and she realized he'd been standing there the entire time, listening quietly.

  So much for keeping secrets from him. She hadn't wanted him to know about Tony. Too much personal information in the wrong hands was never a good thing. Who knew what he'd try to pull now that he had even more ammo to use against her?

  But instead of asking about her brother, Logan pointed to the box at Patrick's feet. “Is this all you were able to recover from Room 205?”

  “I'm afraid so,” Patrick replied. “The rest of your luggage is gone, Ms. Jackson.”

  Maya squatted down to get a better look. She didn't care about losing her clothes, her makeup, or even her computer, which lay in a melted black heap in the bottom of the box.

  “Did anything survive the fire?” she asked the chief, as she stood back up on shaky legs.

  “Actually, yes. We did found something else in the room. Something I don't like the look of at all.”

  He reached into his pocket and took out a Zip-loc bag.

  “It's a letter with your name on it. It was in a firebox. We're going to check for prints, but I doubt we'll find anything.”

  Maya's entire body went still. Someone was sending her a message. From the corner of her eye, she watched Logan carefully, looking for a reaction, but he seemed as surprised as she was.

  Had he done this? Or was the perpetrator someone else, someone she wouldn't suspect until it was too late?

  Her instincts had always been a driving force in her investigations. But this case was different.

  She'd never been intimate with her suspect before.

  As she took the bag from Patrick, she kept her breathing even and steady. Freaking out wouldn't help a thing. Even if being left a personal note in a motel room on fire was definitely not a good sign.

  First Logan, now this.

  She pulled out a sterile pair of rubber gloves from her bag and made sure her hands were completely steady before she slipped them on.

  “You don't think this was an accident, do you?” she asked the chief.

  “I wish I did. But whoever lit this fire knew exactly what they were doing. Just a little smoke at first, nothing anyone would notice until it was big enough to start blowing the roof off one piece at a time.”

  Her heart thudded heavily beneath her breastbone as she digested his words. Hotshots possessed encyclopedic knowledge of fire behavior.

  A couple of firefighters called out from the section of roof that remained, “Fire's nearly under control,” and Maya looked back at the building, fighting off the sick sense that she'd fallen into a rabbit hole, one that was dropping her straight onto the day her brother had died. This motel fire was far too similar to the apartment fire that had taken Tony's life.

  “Open the letter, Maya.”

  Logan's soft words startled her. Drowning in what-ifs and should-have-beens, she'd nearly forgotten about the letter.

  Arsonists rarely got to see the fear in their victims' eyes. Did he want her to open it in front of him so that he could relish her reaction? Because if Logan was her arsonist, this moment would make his crime so much more satisfying.

  The thin envelope burned a hole in her palm. She slid one gloved finger beneath the glued flap and unfolded the single page. The note was neatly typed.

  Maya, it's been six months since I've seen you and you are still so pretty. I've often dreamed of seeing your long hair on fire and watching your soft skin melt down to the bone. It won't be long now before my dreams come true.

  Her fingers went cold and stiff and she almost lost her grasp on the note. Quickly reading over her shoulder, Logan put his hands on her shoulders.

  “You okay?”

  His strength, his touch, was almost too welcome for her to shake off, but she made herself move away from him, away from his heat.

  “I'm fine,” she lied as she gave the note back to Patrick. The police would want to keep it as evidence. “I need to go question witnesses.”

  Turning her back on Logan, she walked over to a group of women and children who were watching the action from a safe distance. The only way to keep it together was to focus her whole attention on the current situation.

  “Hi,” she said, forcing a smile. “I'm an arson investigator and I was wondering if I could ask you all a couple of questions.”

  A young mother's eyes lit up. “Wow. You sure got here fast! It really is just like those CSI shows on TV.”

  Maya was glad someone thought this was fun. Because she sure didn't.

  “Did any of you happen to see someone suspicious near Room 205?”

  The three women nodded their heads in the affirmative, a brunette speaking up first. “I don't know if I'd call him suspicious-looking. More like drop-dead gorgeous. He was standing outside the room for a while, like he was waiting for someone to come back.”

  A chill ran through Maya. “Could you be more specific? What did he look like?”

  The brunette's friend giggled. “Tall. Really muscular. Brown hair. Like one of these firefighters. He had a baseball cap pulled down pretty low, though. I don't think any of us got a good look at his face.”

  Great. They'd just described Logan. And about half of the firefighters in Lake Tahoe, both wildland and urban.

  She needed to point Logan out to these women to see if they could positively I.D. him, even without having stared into his eyes. But when she turned around to locate him, he wasn't standing with Patrick anymore and she didn't see him anywhere.

  She fought a growing sense of frustration as she made her way through the rest of the onlookers. But no one else was much help, pretty much echoing the other women's statements verbatim. After finishing questioning witnesses and talking to the police, she found it impossible to ignore the grim reality of her situation: Someone was trying to scare her—or worse.

  Even though her stomach was empty, she had to fight back a wave of nausea. Desperate for something to hold on to, she pulled her leather bag against her stomach. She couldn't stand in this parking lot and be the cool, unruffled fire investigator for one more second. She needed to sit down someplace where she couldn't
smell smoke or see firefighters who reminded her of her brother.

  Moving quickly through the parking lot, she followed a pathway that led to the lake. The sun had set and she stumbled over rocks. And then, finally, the buildings fell away and sand crunched beneath her shoes. Water lapped against the shore and she dropped to the beach, her things falling around her feet, welcoming the cool sand beneath her. Hanging her head between her legs she took several deep breaths, in through her nose, out through her mouth.

  Today had been one of the worst in her life, coming in right behind the days her father and brother had died.

  She lifted her head and looked up at the full moon shining on the lake, watching the water move beneath it. She wished there was someone she could call for comfort. Someone she could say “I'm scared” to. But there wasn't. Not anymore.

  Her girlfriends had called and called until enough of their voice mails went unanswered that they finally got the message and left her alone. She couldn't call her mother, not when Martha was already too damaged and couldn't possibly handle the thought of another child being threatened by fire. Not when it had already taken away her husband and son.

  Fire was her mother's worst enemy. Maya could see why.

  She fished her cell phone out of her bag and scrolled down her address book to retrieve her boss's home number. She definitely couldn't tell Albert how shaken up she was, but at the same time she had to tell him about what had gone down at her motel—and about Logan and what had gone down between them in the bar.

  She dialed his house, never having bothered him on a Friday night before. She knew how precious her boss's family time was after a long, hard week managing a dozen investigators.

  He picked up on the first ring, obviously recognizing her cell number. “Maya? Is everything all right?”

  Regret rose up and choked her. Albert was one of the only people who knew all about her brother, how much she missed him, how long and hard she'd searched for concrete answers. She hated to let Albert down after he'd been so supportive of her career. But if she didn't set the record straight about her past history with Logan, she had no doubt that her suspect would beat her to it.

  Caught blindsided, Albert wouldn't be able to deflect the blow, and Cal Fire might lose hold of the case altogether. Worst of all, the arsonist might run free.

  She wouldn't allow her shame, her embarrassment over a reckless choice she'd made six months ago to give a potential arsonist the opening he needed to escape capture. Hopefully he hadn't beaten her to it in the past hour while she'd been questioning witnesses.

  “Do you have a few minutes? There have been a couple of developments in the Lake Tahoe Desolation Wilderness case I think you should know.”

  Albert said something to his wife and kids, whom she could hear laughing in the background, then obviously moved to a quieter space.

  “Of course I do. Shoot.”

  She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She didn't know where to start. With the blowup? Or the motel fire? No, she should open with the worst. Get it out of the way.

  “There's no easy way to say this, but when I informed the suspect that he was under investigation this afternoon, I realized that I'd met him before.”

  She could practically see Albert shaking his head across the wireless line.

  “Did you know you had personal ties to the suspect when you took the case?” His tone was gentle, but his question was direct.

  “No. Of course not,” she said, trying not to go on the defensive. It would only make her look lamer. “His picture on file was fuzzy. With his helmet on, I didn't realize I knew him until I saw him today at the anchor point.”

  “I hate to ask you this, Maya”—Albert cleared his throat uncomfortably—“but what exactly is your relationship to the suspect?”

  “We met six months ago when I came to Lake Tahoe to pack up Tony's things.”

  She paused, hating the admission she was about to make. For the millionth time, she wished she hadn't let her grief propel her into such stupidity.

  “I met Logan in a bar.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  Her boss was one of the most eloquent people she knew. She'd never heard him reduced to two syllables. She wanted to quickly spit the rest of the explanation out, before he got the wrong idea. Or the right one.

  “We barely spoke.” Because our mouths were too busy doing other things. “And I never found out his name, never saw him again until today.”

  Hearing the words come out of her mouth, she realized that even if her boss was likely no stranger to one-night stands before he got married, it didn't excuse the fact that she'd participated in one. With her suspect.

  “But I assure you that our previous relationship is in no way affecting my investigation.”

  “I believe you, Maya, but it doesn't look good. Not for you. Not for me. Not for Cal Fire.”

  His condemning—and honest—words shot through her. Her head throbbed as he continued telling her what she didn't want to hear.

  “I'm going to have to send Yeager in. First thing Monday morning. Why don't you go ahead and return to the city. I'll assign you to another case next week.”

  No! Remaining in Lake Tahoe was her only chance to figure out what had really happened with Tony and move on with her life. She took a steadying breath. “I understand your concerns, but I swear to you that I can handle this case in a wholly impartial manner.”

  “You know I'm on your side, Maya. You're one of the best investigators we've got. I'm afraid this is a worst-case situation. My hands are tied. I've got to pull you.”

  But she wasn't ready to give up. “Until Yeager arrives, I'd like your okay to proceed.” A couple of days could make all the difference, and if she solved the case quickly she could get back to work on Tony's investigation. “Let me work on it through the weekend.”

  She held her breath as Albert considered her request. “I suppose it looks better for us to have someone on the case.”

  “Great,” she said, then made herself spit out the rest of the story. “You should also know that fifteen minutes ago when I returned to my hotel room, it was on fire.”

  “Jesus, Maya. You've had a hell of a Friday, haven't you?”

  He didn't know the half of it. “There was a note with my name on it in a firebox.”

  She fought to keep her voice steady. Now that he'd agreed to let her stay through the weekend, she didn't want Albert to pull her off the case to protect her.

  “What did the note say?”

  Maya shut her eyes, easily remembering every creepy word. “The arsonist said something about lighting my hair on fire and …”

  The rest of the words strangled in her throat. She couldn't say them.

  “Was it a death threat?” he asked.

  She swallowed hard. “I don't know. More of a scare tactic, I think.”

  “Get out of town, Maya. Now.”

  But she couldn't give up, couldn't go home now. Not when this case had become intensely personal. Someone wanted to scare her, maybe even kill her, but she refused to run. She'd been running for too long.

  It was time to face her demons.

  “I know this sounds crazy, but I can't. After what happened to my brother here, I've got to stay.”

  Albert sighed, and she hated the terrible position she'd just put him in. If she'd had another choice, she would have taken it. But she didn't.

  “For the next two days,” he finally said, “until Yeager comes to relieve you, assume the worst. About everyone. And until we have enough evidence to nail the sick, sorry bastard, every single person you meet is a potential arsonist. No matter how charming or helpful. If he's coming after you, you're close. Too close. Be careful. I don't want anything to happen to you, Maya.”

  Albert wasn't saying anything she didn't already know. Still, that didn't make it any easier to hear. His description fit Logan perfectly. Everyone thought he was the best of the best. Someone who would “never do something so horrible.”


  But the truth was that sometimes the guy everyone liked, the one always willing to lend a hand and help out a neighbor, couldn't keep from lighting fires that would burn down houses and kill innocent people.

  She said good-bye before her boss could change his mind about letting her stay for the weekend and dropped her phone into her bag. The cool breeze coming off the lake helped clear her head and she took a moment to assess the crazy situation.

  Either Logan had lit her room on fire to scare her or he was right and she'd pissed off someone else. But whom?

  Whoever had written the note in the firebox knew she'd been in town six months ago. As far as she knew, the only person she'd come into contact with that day was Logan.

  Her boss was right. She was too close. She never thought she'd be drawn to a man capable of such destruction.

  But she was.

  A wide smile gleamed in the dark. It had been the perfect little fire, timed just right. When she'd read the note it had been so satisfying to see fear on her face.

  She was going to get what was coming to her soon.

  Very soon.

  But not too soon, not before a couple more fires were lit, not before she had to really work for it.

  It was going to be so much fun to watch her go around and around in circles. And all the while, the arsonist would be right there under her nose.

  Today had been a very good day.

  Tomorrow would be even better.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  WHAT THE hell is going on here, Logan?”

  Logan knew there was no point in holding back with Patrick. No matter what he did or didn't say to his friend, news of his suspension was going to travel fast. Their community of firefighters was small and tight. No one probed where they weren't welcome, but it was impossible to keep public information a secret.

  “McCurdy put me on suspension. This afternoon. He thinks I lit the Desolation fire.”

  “Jesus,” Patrick said on a heavy exhale, looking as perplexed as Logan had ever seen him. “How are any of us supposed to do this job if we're going to be under suspicion all the time? What's next, no BBQs in our backyards because we'll get arrested for risky behavior?”