Burning Up

by Anne Marsh

  Watching her.

  Next time, he’d take something from her house.

  Pulling out the matchbook, he struck a match and dropped it onto the book. This time, the flames wouldn’t jump the pretty little cage he’d built for them, but she would get his message.

  He was back.

  Chapter Four

  Airplane hangars were more home than home to Jack. Hell, the Donovan brothers spent enough time in the air to have qualified for frequent-flyer status on a dozen airlines, so hanging at the hangar waiting for the next fire call was second nature.

  Right now, the hangar on the outskirts of Strong was full of Jack’s team and equipment. When Jack had pulled up outside, he’d spotted the chopper they used for recon and the DC-3 they used for drops. Ninety-five-foot wingspan, and he’d rebuilt her by hand, picking parts with as much care as he’d picked his lovers. His baby could fly.

  His brothers looked up as he killed the engine and parked his truck and got out. His brothers were sprawled on the piles of gear and old chutes stored in one corner of the hangar. Fireman’s furniture, but it did just fine. Inside, it was pleasantly cool even with the sun baking down on the roof. The lazy swish of the overhead fans stirred up the air some. When he inhaled, he got grease and rubber with a side of fire retardant. Familiar smells. Familiar territory. For the past five years, the three of them had run a private fire management company, contracting out—government, private. They often headed up separate teams, traveling where they were needed, hiring out to whoever had the money to pay for their services. Which didn’t come cheap. They were the best, because they did more than hold their lines. They beat back those fires, jumping into holes too small for other jump teams.

  Rio had dragged in a cooler filled with beer, and now they were kicking back, popping a cold one after going through the day’s recon reports. Chopper hadn’t spotted any local hot spots today, so they were still in the clear. But when fire season picked up—and it always did—they’d be ready.

  Dropping down next to Evan, Jack grabbed a can, popping the top. Rio looked like a golden-skinned playboy lounging on the dusty canvas, but, God knew, he was the cuckoo in the nest. On the surface, he was all play and easygoing camaraderie, but underneath he had a mind like a damned computer. Saw the world differently, their Rio did.

  Still, the differences didn’t matter. They were all together again, the way they belonged. They’d grown up together in this small town, and more than one eyebrow had been raised at the Donovan brothers’ unrelenting pursuit of mayhem and girls. They’d done everything together, sharing stories and cold beers and women in the back of Jack’s beat-up pickup. Some things never changed. The beer was still cold, and he still had the damned truck.

  “You went up to Lily Cortez’s place today.” Evan didn’t talk much, but he was a big-ass, dark bastard. Like Jack, he had no idea who his father had been. He was a scary-looking, too-large male others crossed the street to avoid, even here in their own small town where folks should have known better. Particularly since, on the inside, Evan was a damned marshmallow—not that Evan would have admitted it. He’d seen too much shit before Nonna had gotten her hands on him, and now he didn’t let anyone close.

  Still, Evan was turning his head, looking Jack over, so he didn’t have too many choices. Because, unfortunately, he was starting to suspect that his feelings were written across his face.

  Jack shrugged, deliberately casual. “Yeah. Someone had to. I didn’t hear any volunteers when we read through the outreach list this morning.”

  Evan cursed. “Was Lily home?”

  Jack considered his options, but he’d never held anything back from his brothers. Not since the day they’d arrived on Nonna’s doorstep, three mismatched boys from a foster care system that didn’t give a damn what became of them.

  “She was.”

  Rio hooted. “I bet she showed your ass to the door.”

  “Maybe,” he drawled, lifting his can to acknowledge the derisive snickers.

  “Thought you had a history there, Jack.” The good-natured ribbing was familiar, second nature to them. “Or she’s remembering it differently from you.”

  “She just knows what comes with the job,” Evan pointed out in his deep rumble. “We can’t any of us stick around.”

  True enough that you never knew when the next call was coming. Women didn’t like that uncertainty, and girlfriends and wives liked it even less, knowing their men were jumping ass-first out of a plane, fifteen hundred feet over a raging wildland fire. So most of the women left first, before the heartbreak and the uncertainty could do a number on them. They knew that happily-ever-after didn’t wait at the end of that rainbow.

  “She was frightened.” He ran a hand over his hair, thinking things through. “She was spooked by something, and it wasn’t wildfires.”

  “She glad to see you?” Evan drawled.

  “Maybe.” Taking another draw of his beer, Jack mentally replayed their meeting. “She still showed my ass to the door.”

  Rio leaned forward. “I’d heard she’d moved back here. Gave up an advertising job in San Francisco, packed up her car, and headed home.”

  Rio “heard things” the way the rest of them breathed. He was a living river of information, and what he didn’t know or couldn’t find out wasn’t worth knowing.

  “Yeah, Ben filled me in. Would have been nice if you’d told me first.”

  Rio grunted, dragging the laptop toward him. His fingers were already flying over the keys. “You didn’t tell me you wanted to know, Jack. I’m not a mind reader.”

  No, just the best damned source of intel Jack knew. He wondered sometimes if Rio really had gone to M.I.T. while he and Evan did their tours of duty, but there were some things you didn’t ask, because Rio would have told them if he could.

  Evan nodded slowly. “There was gossip when she moved back. Town thinks there was a man, something gone south with her job.” He shrugged. “She ran home, Jack.”

  “Left behind a good job.” It wasn’t a question. He knew his Lilybell. She didn’t do things by half measures, and she always got what she went after. If she’d wanted advertising, she’d have been the best damn account exec in the city.

  Evan shrugged. “Probably had herself a whole life out there. Boyfriend, maybe. I remember she used to be real pretty.”

  She still was. Something more than pretty. Looking at her, holding her in his arms, he’d known he’d regret walking away from Lily Cortez. San Francisco was a dog-eat-dog world, but Lily had never been the kind of girl who ran home with her tail tucked between her legs. Whatever had sent her running, he figured it was bad.

  While Rio worked his magic, Jack settled in to make a few phone calls. Set the ball rolling. Maybe he should have waited for her to confide in him, but his gut screamed she didn’t have that kind of time. Even if the problem was no big deal, it was eating her alive from the inside out. Tapping his fingers on the cell, he snapped it shut. He really didn’t want to think about why it mattered to him, but damned if she wasn’t still under his skin.

  When he finished, Rio was still bent over the keyboard, fingers flying across the keys. “Got something here,” he said tersely. Rio had his back, like always. You could count on Rio.

  “Shitload of fire reports. Lily spent a whole lot of time phoning in fires that just seemed to pop up around her.” Grabbing his beer, Rio finished it and crumpled the can, lobbing it toward the basket on the other side of the hangar. “Unless Lily was damned careless with matches, she was a fucking magnet for fire. Things burned around her.”

  “She was never careless.” Jack figured they were on to something here. A weight lifted in his chest.

  “No.” Rio was silent for a moment, connecting the dots. “Got a fire log, too. Series of small fires where she lived. Trash can. Debris. Carport. Kitchen fire. That kind of stuff. Small potatoes.”

  “Damage?”

  “Minimal. To her things, at least.”

  Rio wasn’t te
lling him something. “But there’s a pattern to the calls,” Rio continued. “And in the last report, she floated the idea to the investigator that she was a target. Those are too many fires to be a coincidence, Jack.”

  “And?”

  “And she wondered out loud to the investigator if she could have a stalker.”

  “Did she suggest any names when she decided to kick this theory around?” He wanted to howl, wanted to hurt something.

  Rio scrolled through the pages. “Not that I can see. Doesn’t help any that the fire investigator wasn’t in a particularly credulous mood when she made that suggestion. Investigator noted that Lily was likely either a firebug or paranoid.”

  Someone had stalked her. Terrorized her. “I want information, Rio.”

  “Working on it.”

  “What kind of man stalks a woman and sets fires?”

  “What makes you so sure the stalker is male?” Evan grunted.

  Rio looked up. “Eyewitness reports seeing a male in the vicinity of the last two fires. They didn’t get a good look at him but were sure it was a guy.”

  Whoever he was, he’d set his last fire. Jack was going to hunt him down and make damned sure of that. “Lily didn’t have any idea who was after her?”

  Rio shook his head, turning the laptop around so Jack could read the report for himself. “If she did, she didn’t share. She could have been protecting someone, but I think he scared her, Jack. Bad. Those fires were personal, and she knew it.”

  “Attention.” His voice was rough with anger and a primitive possessiveness he hadn’t known he was capable of. “He was demanding her attention. Burned her things and forced his way into her life.”

  “A disgruntled lover?” Rio suggested.

  That didn’t feel right. “Not that kind of personal. Maybe he wanted to be her lover, or he was in love with the idea of her. He had to have watched her.”

  “Down, boy.” Rio shot Jack a look. “Nothing you can do.”

  The unspoken yet hung in the air between them. They all knew Jack would take care of this.

  He stared at his brothers, making up his mind. He’d watch Lily. Keep her safe. Fire season gave him the perfect excuse. She was alone up there, and that farm was one damned fuel pile, just waiting for the right spark to go up.

  Standing up, he said it, just to be clear. “We look out for her.”

  No one disagreed with him. Hell, their Nonna hadn’t raised them to ignore a problem. She’d taught them to defend.

  “She’s not going to like that, Jack,” Evan pointed out. Stacking his arms behind his head, he watched Jack.

  “What she wants doesn’t matter. This is about keeping her safe.”

  He tossed his crumpled beer can into the trash. On his way to the door, he made a pit stop at the locked gun cabinet to make a withdrawal. Hell, he wasn’t planning on shooting anyone, but no way was he leaving Lily unprotected. If it came down to it, he’d do whatever it took. Fortunately, he was licensed to carry concealed in California.

  “You got a hot date?” Evan’s eyes tracked him across the hangar.

  “I’m not leaving her alone.” Unprotected.

  “So you’re planning to stand watch on her front porch?” Rio drawled. “She’s not going to put up with that, Jack. What you described—that wasn’t an open invitation to return at any time. What makes you think she’s going to want ex-military packing on that porch of hers?”

  “I’m staying with her,” he said, ignoring his brother’s smirk. Hell, he’d planned on giving her a wide berth. Leaving her alone because things were too incendiary when they were together. Rio’s information changed everything, however.

  Lily’s stalker wouldn’t give up, not easily. Jack’s gut was screaming a warning, and he’d learned not to ignore those signals. That stalker had gone to a hell of a lot of trouble to terrorize a woman. And Jack had seen that flash of fear in Lily’s eyes. Sooner or later, she was expecting company. She believed her stalker would find her.

  What Jack had to do was clear. When her stalker returned, Jack Donovan planned to be waiting for him.

  Chapter Five

  Lily Cortez should have known Jack wouldn’t give up that easily. He was too damned stubborn. The truth was, she needed a rescuer, even if she wouldn’t admit it.

  “You didn’t tell me what was going on, Lilybell.” He knew his eyes were all over her as he climbed out of the truck. She shouldn’t have been watching, but damned if she wasn’t staring at his legs as he swung out of the truck’s cab. He smoothed a hand down the well-worn denim, and her eyes followed. Maybe there was hope for him after all. “You left San Francisco because you had a stalker.”

  She licked those lush lips of hers, almost visibly reminding herself that this was her place and he was the intruder. “We’re nothing to each other, Jack,” she pointed out. “Not family. You’re not part of my life. It was—and is—none of your damned business.”

  She was so wrong. Shaking his head, he stalked over the gravel toward her. “Now, that’s where you’re wrong, Lilybell. We’ve always been something to each other. And someone needs to keep an eye out for you.”

  Growing up, Strong hadn’t been an unhappy place for Jack, but he’d fought the town’s pull tooth and nail. Fought for the chance to run and be free. Small-town living wasn’t always easy—everyone knew who you were. Where you came from. Where your roots were. You couldn’t walk away from your mistakes—just faced them in the mirror morning after morning. He’d never liked being closed in. That last summer, before he’d enlisted, he’d wake up, sure he was suffocating. He wouldn’t have come back now, but there were things in this world worth paying the price for. His Nonna was one.

  Looked like Lily might be another woman he’d be willing to pay the price for.

  “You’re not that someone.”

  “How come you didn’t move back in with your uncle?”

  The sudden change of subject clearly threw her, because she just blinked at him for a long minute. “He has a life of his own, Jack. And I’m a grown woman.”

  Regret flashed in her eyes for a brief moment, and then she lifted her chin.

  “But you still came home,” he drawled. “To Strong. I figure that makes you my business.”

  “You’re the chief of police now?” she guessed sweetly. “Or the town mayor? In addition to single-handedly managing all our fire prevention efforts? Nice try, Jack, but you can march your arrogance straight down my drive and leave.”

  He shook his head slowly, watching her. “I’m in charge of fire operations here, baby. I have signed orders giving me absolute authority in case of a life-or-death emergency.”

  She made a show of looking left, then right, before glaring at him. “I don’t see any fire, Jack.”

  He strode toward her, his boots eating up the distance between them as if it was nothing. The pretty pink flush crawling up her cheeks drew him like a fish on a line. She had him hooked and didn’t even realize it. There was just one question: Was he going to fight it or let her reel him in? “I’m seeing a life-or-death emergency, though, Lily. All these fires happening right around you has made it pretty damned clear that someone means business.”

  She opened her mouth. Closed it. She was pissed, and that pleased him. There was the life he’d searched for before. Her anger pushed the fear right out of her eyes. Of course, she was pissed as hell at him, but it was all for a good cause.

  He was definitely hooked, he decided.

  He’d insist she keep him. After all, this was about what she wanted, too. She’d tell him the truth, one way or another. Fortunately, his Lilybell was all grown up now—deliciously so—and prying her secrets free one kiss at a time was fair game. Apparently he’d left his good intentions behind when he’d returned to Strong.

  “If you’re staying put here, I’m moving in,” he stated.

  “Jack—” she warned. “I’m not in the mood for your games.”

  “I’m serious.” He wasn’t playing games, not
about this. Sure, he was looking forward to playing with her—in bed. Out of bed, however, was another story. His priority was keeping her safe. No matter what it took. “You won’t even know I’m here.” He was already reaching into the back of his pickup, grabbing a large duffel bag.

  Arrogant bastard really did think he could move in with her just on his say-so.

  Part of her wished she could let him.

  The rest of her—the part of her that wasn’t drowning in a sea of hormones—knew that letting Jack Donovan through her door would be a big mistake.

  She’d always been cautious. Practical. Jack Donovan had been a delicious treat—and completely off-limits. That way why she’d forced herself to keep him at arm’s length. Back in high school and now, too.

  Her farm, on the other hand, had been a leap of faith she hadn’t known she had in her. Driving up that driveway the first time, she’d known she was finally coming home. The girl who’d been dumped on her uncle’s doorstep by her own mother had finally found a place where she belonged. Lavender Creek was one hundred percent hers in a way that her San Francisco condo had never been. She loved everything about the farm. The intensity of the colors and the rich, thick scent of the lavender filling her fields. The two-hundred-year-old Spanish oak trees spreading a little shade. Even the copper still she wrestled with inside the barn, because coaxing the oil from her plants wasn’t easy even if it was simple.

  And now he wanted to move right on in and take over.

  “No.” She drew herself up. She wasn’t going to be a doormat. She’d run once and had sworn she’d never do so again. His tanned forearms swung the duffel out of the truck bed and onto the ground. Effortlessly. Like he’d always done everything. She shouldn’t have found that confidence so sexy.

  “You need me here.” Not waiting for an answer, he started across the driveway, moving silently, like the predator she knew he was. That sensual, lazy exterior was just a front. She’d seen the hard-eyed warrior staring out at her earlier. Letting him move in would just be setting herself up for heartbreak. He was a smoke jumper, a firefighter who went when and where the wildfires were. And she? She’d already lost more than enough to fire, thank you very much.