by Debra Cowan
“Collier, it’s Raye Ballinger.”
That hadn’t taken long. His gaze shot to Kiley’s. “Hang on a sec, Raye.”
Russell exchanged a look with him, indicating she also considered it a red flag that Raye was calling so quickly after they’d seen Sherry Vail. Kiley straightened and leaned in slightly as he returned the phone to its mount and put it on speaker. “I thought I might be hearing from you.”
“My client said you paid her a visit.” The woman’s voice was silky and relaxed. “What was the purpose?”
“Didn’t she tell you?”
“She was upset. Why don’t you tell me?” Her voice dropped invitingly.
“It was routine.” Collier grinned. He doubted the attorney would be so sociable if she knew Kiley Russell was with him. “Sherry filed a complaint against Lazano and we were just following up.”
“Maybe we should meet for a drink and talk about this.”
“I think I’ve got what I need for now.”
“We could meet, anyway.” Her voice stroked over him in a way that didn’t turn him on. “You still owe me a rain check for the dance last night.”
He could feel Kiley’s gaze taking him apart like a bad toy. “I’m up to my kneecaps on this case, Raye.”
“One of these times, I’m going to convince you, Collier. It would be so good.” She laughed softly as if they were alone in a dark corner. “You know I go after what I want. That doesn’t threaten you, does it?”
Kiley rolled her eyes.
“Nope.” He wasn’t threatened; he just wasn’t interested.
“Now remember,” she said flirtatiously. “No more talking to Sherry without going through me first.”
“Got it. Good night.” He jabbed the disconnect button, shaking his head. “Not too subtle, is she?”
“Did I just witness history here, McClain? I didn’t know you ever turned anyone down.”
He slid her a look. “Well, now you know something about me.”
“Oh, I know about you all right. How long has she been chasing you?”
“She’s not really chasing. She just likes to play.”
Kiley arched an eyebrow. “Don’t they all?”
“You don’t,” he said pointedly, wanting to shake that cool, judgmental look off her face.
She laughed, the smoky sound drawing his body tight. “Does that bug you? That I’m not one of those women who fall at your feet?”
“Hardly,” he muttered. An unfamiliar heat charged through his chest. “You’ve known me what? All of two months, if that, right? Why do you think you know so much about me?”
“This ain’t my first rodeo, McClain,” she drawled. “I know your type. I lived with your type.”
“Doesn’t mean you know me.”
“It’s a wonder you’re not worn-out, getting in a clinch with every woman you meet.”
“Haven’t with you.” He shifted in his seat and leaned toward her, just enough to put a wariness in her eyes. “Are you asking?”
She gave him a flat look. “Yeah, right.”
“I don’t know who did a number on you, Blaze, but it wasn’t me. I’m tired of you painting me with that brush.”
“Hey, it’s your brush.”
He should just ignore her and say he’d see her tomorrow.
She tilted her head, scrutinizing him thoughtfully. “You can probably go from hello to a liplock in under a minute.”
“Wanna time me?”
She laughed again, the sound setting off an explosion of anger. And lust.
“Since you’ve got me pegged, I figure you saw this coming.”
“Saw what—”
He clamped a hand on her nape and hauled her to him, slamming his lips against hers.
She gasped, stiffening. His chest caved like he’d taken a fastball to the sternum. His anger lasted two seconds. Until she melted against him, made a soft noise in the back of her throat.
The hot surge of blood in his veins had him wrapping his other arm around her waist and dragging her as close as he could with the stupid console between them. Her arms went around his neck. She sank into him, opening her mouth to his. Beneath her coat, he felt the faint press of her breasts against his chest. Her tongue stroked his, and he felt himself going under. He wanted her in his lap.
Somehow he managed to gentle the kiss, taking it deeper, drinking her in. She smelled like cinnamon, tasted like nine kinds of sin. Right now, he’d give his badge to strip her naked and bury himself in her. She kissed him back with every bit as much enthusiasm as he had pounding below his belt. He only stopped because he couldn’t pull in one more breath. Pulse racing out of control, he lifted his head. His hands were on her face, holding her to him. His body was iron hard all over.
She trembled as she slowly drew her arms from around his neck; his hold tightened reflexively.
Her eyes were smoky with desire, but she pulled away, pressed into the door looking shell-shocked. He sure felt that way.
She was breathing hard, her lips wet from his, her hair loose around her face where he’d had his hands. “I can’t…believe you did that.”
The accusation in her tone ripped off a different kind of heat, infuriated him. “Guess you were right about me after all.”
The tip of her tongue touched the center of her top lip.
His body actually hurt from need.
“I’m going now.” She tore her gaze from his and fumbled for the door handle. “This never happened.”
“You got that right.” No way was he apologizing, even though danger signs were slamming him from every direction.
She got out and walked the few feet to her car. It took her two tries to get her door unlocked and get inside. If she was shaking like he was, he understood.
He watched her drive away, staying put as much to make sure her car started without problem as he did because he needed a minute—or more—to restart his brain. He swallowed a curse, his head falling back on the seat.
That kiss had lit him up like a match to lighter fluid; his body was as fully engaged as any blaze he’d ever fought. He’d been trying to prove she was wrong about him. Yeah, grabbing her and kissing her like a sex-starved maniac had been real convincing.
Even as he willed his heart rate to slow down, he wanted more of her lush mouth, her rich sweet flavor. One taste of her was not going to be enough, but it had to be. He was not getting involved with her. It would help if his brain sent that message to his body. Pretty damn quick.
Chapter 6
Sweet Saint Florian! Kiley needed the patron saint of firefighters to protect her. Two days after her meltdown in Collier’s arms, she was still reeling. His kiss had hit her faster, harder than 180-proof liquor.
Just before six o’clock on Friday evening, she pulled up under the old metal sign that hung over the glass front door of the fire investigator’s office. She and Collier had some catching up to do on the case. Anticipation buzzed her nerves, just like it had been doing since he’d kissed her. She had managed to keep it in the back of her mind and stay on track by telling herself the reason it—he—had affected her so much was because the kiss had been such a surprise.
He’d said she should’ve seen it coming. Hmph. Evidently she didn’t have the mother of all radars. Still, when his mouth had covered hers, she should’ve been the one to pull away. She hadn’t done that, either. It had felt good, too good. She’d been kissed before by guys who knew what they were doing, but Collier was way out of their league.
Her bones had turned to water, just like her brain. It had been incredible and her body hadn’t stopped reminding her ever since. Since she hadn’t pushed him away, she would have to be the one to reestablish the boundaries between them.
And she definitely had to tell him to quit with the nickname. His calling her Blaze made her…hot. The way he said it put a flutter in her belly. She hadn’t stopped thinking about that, either. Which meant it was a darn good thing she’d been away from him for the last two days.
They had both been dealing with other aspects of their jobs that couldn’t be ignored. The time apart had enabled Kiley to put that kiss out of her mind. Mostly. Today.
She’d spent yesterday at the D.A.’s office going over evidence for an upcoming trial. And she’d spent today in another jurisdiction, interviewing a material witness in a homicide. She’d been looking for Erby Fuller for six months, and he had been picked up nearby on a traffic violation. When the Yukon police saw he had a warrant, they called her, and Kiley had spent most of the day in the small town due west of Oklahoma City.
From the two phone calls she’d exchanged with Collier, she knew he’d been tied up yesterday at the training center finishing a class, then today performing some building inspections that couldn’t be put off.
She’d told him that kiss never happened. She intended to act as if it hadn’t, and she expected McClain to do the same.
She opened the glass front door and walked into the age-washed red brick building that housed his office. Ten or eleven years ago, the fire investigator’s division had moved here. Wiring and plumbing had been brought up to code, but there had been no change to the exterior of the place that had been the precursor to Presley’s four present station houses.
A hint of smoke underlined by a sharp chemical odor drifted through the air. Having met Terra here a few times over the past couple of months, Kiley knew the layout of the utilitarian space.
To her left was the secretary’s desk belonging to Darla Howell, who had left for the day. The concrete floor led to a metal door at the end of a short hallway. Terra’s office was on the left, situated behind where Darla sat and separated by glass walls.
The office was crammed with a squat oak desk. Stacks of files and a computer sat on one edge. Two wooden arm chairs faced one side of the desk and a stuffed leather chair sat on the other. Scratched gray filing cabinets lined the adjacent wall. Photographs of fires and ancient fire engines covered the wall above the files.
The major part of the sturdy building, which had been home to Presley’s original fire station, was behind that metal door where Terra tested her theories and some samples. Though the hire of a new fire cop had been approved, the budget didn’t include building a full lab. What couldn’t be tested here was taken to the lab in Oklahoma City.
Kiley had learned a lot from Terra over the past weeks but not enough that she could work this case by herself. Not that she could’ve ditched McClain and gone against city policy, anyway.
“Hello!”
“Back here.” Collier poked his head out of a doorway across the hall from Terra’s office.
As he disappeared back inside, Kiley walked in that direction. Along the wall outside his office stood a dry erase board on wheels. She recognized the precisely arranged photos as being from last week’s warehouse fire where Dan Lazano had been killed.
She stopped in the doorway, noting that the files on his desk were stacked as deeply as the ones on hers. She’d known this small office was his, but she’d never been in it before. Her gaze slid over a computer on the far corner of his desk, a pair of firefighter boots against the wall behind. The helmet she’d seen the night of Lazano’s murder rested atop a four-shelf bookcase crammed with sample cans and a couple of cameras. His shovel was to her immediate left, and the tackle box containing his hand tools sat in front of it.
“Didn’t this used to be a storage closet?”
“Yes.” He grinned easily with no hint of the tension that had hummed between them the last time they’d seen each other.
He dominated the room. Not just his sheer physical size, but him. The small space seemed even more crowded. Kiley noted no awkwardness in his manner, no hint of the blazing emotion that had been in his green eyes when she’d left him the other night.
Last night he’d called to tell her that he still hadn’t been able to reach Alan Embry’s parents. Kiley had heard nothing from them in response to her phone messages, either. She was hoping one of the things McClain told her tonight was that he’d finally talked to Embry’s lawyer father and homemaker mother.
Scribbling notes in a file, Collier bent over an old oak desk. Seeing the strong angled lines of his face, the mouth that had obliterated every protest in her body had Kiley taking a deep breath to settle her restless nerves. Amid the stacked files on the cluttered desk were maps and newspaper clippings as well as hand-drawn diagrams.
He again wore the white shirt and navy pants of his uniform, but the top two buttons on his shirt were open, and the sleeves were rolled back to reveal corded forearms dusted with dark hair. Her gaze slid to his hands, and she recalled his gentle touch on her face Wednesday night. A knot formed in her throat. She mentally rolled her eyes at herself and pushed away all thoughts of that kiss.
He shoved a piece of paper across the desk toward her. “Look what I got from Michigan City, Indiana.”
The Indiana State Penitentiary was one of the places to where they’d expanded their search for anyone recently released who’d served time on arson charges. “A picture of the fake fireman?”
“Yep.”
“Great!” Kiley picked up the grainy, faxed mug shot of the man Collier had seen on the video from the last fire murder scene and stared at a guy with a boyishly young face whose features were sharp, his face narrow. Maybe they had finally gotten a break. “I was hoping we’d get lucky today. What’s the story on this guy?”
“Meet Monty Franklin, thirty-three years old.” Collier picked up another sheet of paper from the stack on his desk and glanced at it. “Served ten years of a twelve-year sentence for second-degree arson. Just paroled for good behavior. He has an aunt who lives outside of Presley. She vouched for him at his hearing and said he could stay with her. Since he had a place to live and a potential job, he was released. But his parole officer hasn’t seen or heard from him since his first check-in three weeks ago.”
“If he’s only been out three weeks, he can’t be our guy.” She returned the photo, noticing a framed picture on the wall behind him. Collier and three men in full turnout gear stood in front of Station House Two. She recognized the man to his right as his brother, Walker.
Collier followed her gaze, pointing to the two older men. “My daddy and granddaddy. You’ve met Walker.”
“I knew you were third generation.” She could see where he got his looks. “I didn’t realize Walker was a firefighter, too. Is your sister?”
He shook his head.
“Back to Franklin, what about motive?”
“So far the only connection I’ve found to Presley is the guy’s aunt, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t another. He can’t be our sniper on the other three cases, and maybe he’s not our arsonist, either, but we can put him at the Lazano scene.”
“If he’s done time for arson, he would know that the fire would likely be videotaped. He got a turnout coat so he could be part of the crowd.”
“Yeah, and maybe while he was blending in, he saw who started that fire, who shot the rifle.”
Kiley nodded. “You haven’t had any luck finding him?”
“Not yet, but I’ve been to see his aunt and his parole officer. The aunt seems like a nice lady. I think Monty’s got her snowed. Both she and the P.O. agreed to call me if our boy shows up.”
Presley was small enough that all police, including the detectives, worked solo. Kiley had never worked with a partner, but she liked working with McClain. She admired how he was more concerned with solving the case than flexing his macho muscles, but just because she enjoyed working with him didn’t mean she should enjoy doing anything else with him. Like kissing.
“I don’t want to depend only on the aunt or the parole officer making contact when they see Franklin.”
“I don’t, either.” He grinned. “That’s why I called the chiefs at each of our four station houses. We’re set up to ride along on as many fire calls as we need to. Monty loves fire—he won’t be able to stay away. We may not catch him at the first one, but he�
�ll show up eventually.”
“Good idea.”
“I’m known to have one every once in a while.”
“I’m starting to see that.”
He looked surprised at the compliment; she was a little surprised herself.
He dragged a hand across the back of his neck. “We’ve gone as far as we can with the samples that started the fires. These are the hardest kind to pin on a torch. Just using a match in the right place in a closed-off area can result in a good fire, which makes it hard to assign blame.”
“A good fire, McClain?” She shook her head, smiling slightly. “Only you hose draggers think fire is good.”
He grinned. “We know these fires weren’t accidental, but we have very few clues as to whodunit. I think we both agree that the reason is to get firefighters to the scene and kill them.”
“Yes.” She wanted to think he was shallow and fast and cared only about one thing, but she was learning differently. He was a good investigator and seemed to have a natural knack for putting people at ease.
And despite the way they’d left things the other night, he acted professional, friendly. Completely unaffected by their kiss. If she were honest, his seeming disinterest needled. Especially when that liplock had darn near burned her common sense to ashes. She should be glad he wasn’t acting bothered by it, but what concerned her more was how many women he’d practiced on before her.
She forced her mind back to the case. “If we could figure out the arsonist’s motivation, we might be able to stop another murder. Right now we don’t even know if he’s getting revenge on firefighters who responded to the same call or not. We’ll have to work with what we do know, maybe go over the videotapes, witness statements, everything again to see if we’re missing anything.”
“Speaking of which, I still haven’t received a call back from Alan Embry’s folks. I guess I’m going to have to go up there.”
“We, McClain,” Kiley said briskly. “We’ll go. It’s my case, too.” Whatever this was between them was not going to affect her job. And she certainly didn’t want her lieutenant to think she was dodging any of her responsibilities. “Unless something comes up, we can both go.”