“He’s at the station,” Jonah said. “Then he’s bringing my car by.”
Mason stopped shuffling through the photos. “You’re letting Patrick drive the Mustang?” His left eye squinted shut.
“Mason,” Jonah said. “You’re my best friend, you know that, right?”
“Thought I did,” Mason said.
“Okay, so I’ll be honest with you.” Jonah rubbed his temple as if it caused him physical pain to say whatever he was about to say. “I don’t think you can handle the ’Stang. You hit curbs and squirrels as if they’re targets in a video game, as if you’re aiming for them, bro. Every drive is like a chase after the bad guys.”
The corners of Mason’s mouth turned up into a grin. “You’re afraid the ’Stang can’t handle me. That pretty boy car wouldn’t stand a chance in pursuit.”
“I’ll let that one go, Mason, only because I can’t kick your ass right now.” Jonah looked over to his arm and shoulder. “But the next comment like that, and you are going down, my friend.”
“You can try, Jonah.” Mason tapped Jonah on his good shoulder and nodded to Gini and Haddy. “Good luck tolerating him, Haddy.” He waved the envelope of photos. “Gini, thanks for these. I’ll talk to you later.” As he turned to leave, he scanned the kitchen. “Did someone clean in here?”
“Haddy did. C’mon, I’ll walk you out.” Gini grabbed her purse and leaned down to Jonah. “Get some rest and stay out of trouble, huh?” She kissed his cheek.
“What fun would that be?” Jonah raised an eyebrow and laughed when Gini rolled her eyes.
“See you tomorrow, Haddy. We have ourselves a lot of work to do with that calendar.” Gini clapped her hands together.
“You have to love it when your boss considers combing through pictures of hot firefighters ‘work.’ Such a pleasant job I have.” Haddy put one hand to her chest and fanned herself with the other.
“Don’t comb too closely,” Jonah said.
“I wouldn’t worry, Jonah,” Gini said. “I’ll put Haddy in charge of combing through your shots.”
“Goody.” Haddy stood behind Jonah now, her hands resting on the chair back. She had that woman-of-the-house look about her.
“Guess we’ll have to double up on someone’s photo or do a group shot for the last month.” Gini sighed.
“No luck getting Patrick’s picture?” Jonah asked.
Gini shook her head. “I decided not to push it.”
“Boy, he’s gotten to you, hasn’t he?” Haddy asked.
“What do you mean?” Gini moved her purse to her other shoulder and wrung the straps in her hands.
“It’s not like you to admit defeat,” Jonah said.
“It’s not defeat,” Gini said. “It’s a change of plans. No big deal.”
“Then why are you strangling your purse right now?” Mason asked as he ran for the door to avoid the smack Gini was fixing to give him.
After Mason was gone, Gini let out a breath and dropped her hands to her sides.
“I’m going now too. Good-bye.”
Jonah and Haddy gave her a wave.
“No big deal,” she told herself again once she was outside and getting into her SUV. So what if she was wondering what Patrick was doing right now. So what if she was picturing him driving Jonah’s pretty boy Mustang through the dusty streets of Burnam.
So what if all she could think about was having him naked beside her.
No big deal.
Chapter Fifteen
Patrick finished washing the fire trucks with two other fighters then took his Meadow Creek and Cloudson Drive file folders to the station’s classroom. Chief Warner had made the arson cases Patrick’s top priority after making sure he didn’t escape the “new guy” jobs like truck washing, of course. Patrick didn’t mind those tasks, though. Like cleaning, he found manual labor meditative, purifying. Lord knew he needed some purifying. The thoughts cycling through his head about Gini were certainly less than pure. He’d figured once he’d gotten to work, the memory of kissing her would fade into the background. Sitting in the quiet of the classroom now, he knew that was not going to happen.
One taste of her and he was hooked. At least every third thought that flitted into his brain was of Gini.
“Pathetic,” he said.
“Yes, a man talking to himself is extremely pathetic,” a voice said behind him.
Patrick turned to find Mason in the doorway. “Oh, hey. I was looking over these photos.”
Mason sat in the seat next to Patrick and plopped his own set of photos down on the table. “Gini just gave me these. So our arsonist fancies candles. That’s about all we know, huh?”
Patrick nodded. “We have no clue where he or she will target next.”
“I hate when the bad guys are a step ahead,” Mason said. “Pisses me off.”
“Me, too.” Patrick fanned several photos out on the table. “Did you get the evidence I dropped off?”
Mason pulled the evidence bag out of his pocket and put it on the table. “My men missed the candles at both scenes. How is that possible?”
“They both look like globs of debris. Easy to miss. The first one I found by accident. This one I’d been looking for.” Patrick gestured toward the green candle remains. “This one has a scent too.” He opened the bag, and Mason held it under his nose.
“I got a whiff of it earlier but can’t identify it.”
“Gini thinks it’s chamomile.”
“I’ll take her word for it,” Mason said. “She would know.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Gini grows all sorts of herbs and flowers to use in her potions.” Mason zipped the evidence bag closed.
“Potions?” Was Gini involved in witchcraft? Patrick thought back to the bush in front of the fire department the first time he met Gini. Had she done a spell or something to set it on fire? He pushed the notion out of his head. He didn’t believe in magic. People didn’t set things on fire by just thinking of it. Thank God.
“Yeah, you know, teas, potpourris, oils, shampoos, whatever,” Mason said. “I call them potions because I saw her mixing one up once. She was in her herb garden behind the east field on her farm. She had this enormous cast iron pot that looked like a cauldron over a portable burner. Puffy, white steam surrounded her, and all she needed was a black pointed hat and a wart on her nose. I swear I heard her cackle while she stirred the bubbling concoction.” Mason laughed. “Saw her make maple syrup once too. Looked like a witch then as well.”
Patrick tried to picture Gini dressed as an ugly witch, but his mind kept conjuring one hell of a sexy witch. He shook his head and focused on the photos in front of him.
“So we’re looking for someone with an affinity for candles, access to gasoline, knowledge of herbs, and a desire to see things burn.” Patrick jotted all of these notes on a piece of paper in the Meadow Cliff folder.
“That could be a lot of people,” Mason said.
“Most likely a woman, though.” Patrick wrote that down too when Mason nodded his agreement.
“Is there a mental hospital nearby?” Patrick asked. “Most arsonists, especially ones that get cute with a theme like the candles, have psychological problems. You could check to see if someone has been released locally. I don’t know.” Patrick shrugged. “It’s an avenue to explore while we wait.”
“Wait for another fire.” Mason looked at Patrick.
“Unfortunately, yes. So far, this arsonist doesn’t seem to be targeting people. She is looking for a good burn. I’d be willing to bet she’s watching as we respond to the blaze.” Patrick wrote this down too and closed the folder.
“Next major fire call you guys get,” Mason said, “call me. I’ll get some men down to the scene right away to scout. That’ll be their only job. Maybe we can find some persons of interest.”
“It’s the best we can do for now.”
Mason grabbed his own envelope of photos and stood. “On another topic, does Raina like horses? I was
thinking of taking her to Gini’s for some horseback riding Wednesday night. Think she’d like that?”
“I know she would. Gini wouldn’t mind?” Again, though Gini had said she and Mason never dated, Patrick wondered how deep their relationship actually went.
“Nah.” Mason waved a hand. “I was with Gini when she bought Nyx, and I bought Moon for her because I lost a bet.”
“A bet?” Patrick didn’t like that he was relieved by what Mason was saying. He shouldn’t care why this guy bought a horse for Gini. Shouldn’t concern him in the least. But damn, it did.
“When we were in high school, the three of us used to go camping in the woods around Gini and Jonah’s grandmother’s place.”
“Where Gini lives now?” Patrick asked.
Mason nodded. “It wasn’t such a big farm then. More like untamed forest. Well, one night while making our s’mores around a campfire, we decided to predict what we’d be when we grew up. Jonah and Gini knew right away they’d be firefighter and photographer, respectively. I, on the other hand, had no idea what I wanted to be.
“So Gini tells me I’m going to be a cop. I completely disagree with her. I mean, we were like fifteen years old. Who knew how things would turn out? No one in my family was a cop. I didn’t know any cops. I had zero interest in law enforcement.” Mason smirked. “So on the day I graduated from the police academy, she raced down to me from the bleachers where she’d watched the ceremony and shouted my name. When I caught up to her, she gave me this huge congratulatory hug and then whispered in my ear, ‘You owe me a horse, Officer Rivers.’
“That weekend, she took me to an auction and picked out Moon. Technically, that horse’s name is Moon Rivers.” Mason shrugged. “Anyway, Gini lets me ride Moon whenever I want.” Mason followed Patrick out of the classroom. “What about you?”
“Do I ride?”
“No. You and Gini. You like her, don’t you?”
Patrick stopped walking, panic weighing heavily in his chest. “Sure,” he said, his voice strangled. “Gini’s nice.”
“Remember, I’m a cop. I can smell a lie.”
“Look,” Patrick started, “I didn’t move to Vermont to find a woman and settle down. Not my life plan. I put out fires. I build stuff. That’s all I need.”
****
The barn display had been lovely. Just lovely. The smell of old, seasoned wood burning was much better than the newer wood on modern houses. Something to consider for future events. Scent was so much a part of the overall experience. Fire could be enjoyed by so many of the senses. That’s what made it such a joy, such a pleasure to create. Not only was its red-orange glow a thing of pure beauty, but the fragrance of destruction filling the air, the heat of the burn prickling skin, and the roar of flames consuming everything in range gave her a sensory thrill beyond anything she’d known in her life.
Fire was her art, her craft, her calling. Her friend. The only one she had. The only one who truly understood her needs, her impulses, her secrets. She trusted fire. It never let her down. Never cast her aside. Never abandoned her when she was at her most fragile. It whispered words of comfort and wisdom as it rolled wherever she led it, eating its fuel with an insatiable hunger. It burned for her, to please her, to protect her, to thank her for releasing it.
And she had to release it. She’d tried not to, but that had made her sick, made her taste death. She couldn’t live without the anticipation of the next blaze, the planning, the waiting, the executing. Without fire, she would shrivel and die.
The next fire had been organized. A destination picked. A time decided. A candle made. She was already feeling the thrill of seeing this one blossom. Her body grew moist, small shudders of delight echoing in her depths as the fire climbed in her mind’s eye. Watching the real thing would send her body over the edge to blissful satisfaction. She would be complete when the flames soared and devoured.
Such a shame the fires could not burn eternally, could not reach from the molten floors of Hell and rip into the pristine white walls of Heaven. With the fan of angel wings, her fires could grab God himself by the neck and show him what it really meant to be divine.
****
Patrick hugged a sharp corner on his way to Jonah’s. The Mustang kissed the road, her tires grabbing asphalt and not letting go. Even on the dirt roads, the vehicle flew through the dust as if nothing could ruin its dance with the street.
The leather bucket seats molded to Patrick’s backside, and he’d had to hold back a moan as he sat behind the wheel. The top was down so Patrick left it that way. Late afternoon air, Vermont cooled and pine-scented, rushed into the car and did wonders to clear Patrick’s mind. He could finally breathe.
Things were definitely rolling along a little too quickly for him in Burnam. His job had been kicked up a notch with the arson cases. He was further along in his house plans thanks to Jonah and company. He had been out socially and considered Jonah and Mason friends. He’d cooked dinner for a sexy, intelligent woman.
He’d kissed a sexy, intelligent woman.
Patrick shook his head as he turned onto Jonah’s street. He’d have to slow things down. Get back to a schedule that was familiar to him. He didn’t mind the amped up work-related things, but he wanted to take his time with everything else. Remodeling his house was something to savor and think about, not rush through just to get it done.
And the social stuff? He didn’t exactly have a roadmap for that area, but keeping gatherings to a minimum seemed like a comfortable plan. The less he allowed his circle to expand, the better he could protect himself.
As far as Gini went, Patrick hadn’t expected to encounter someone like her in Vermont, or anywhere else for that matter. He’d made the decision a long time ago to walk through this life alone. Any other option opened the door to scaring a woman away again and getting himself hurt.
The Mustang galloped up a steady incline with unexpected muscle for a car of its size. He pulled into Jonah’s driveway and parked between Haddy’s car and a small pickup truck. Wishing he didn’t need to go in to return the keys or have someone give him a ride back to the station, Patrick sat in the Mustang for a few extra minutes. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so out of sorts.
Actually, he could, but he didn’t want to. Now wasn’t the time to be thinking about his last visit with Julianne before leaving Rhode Island.
He pushed thoughts of his sister to the back of his mind and opened the car door. As Patrick made his way to the front of Jonah’s house, laughter floated out the open screen door. Happy and carefree, the sound plucked at something inside Patrick and dammit, why was the next thought to enter his mind about Gini?
“Get control, man.” He made a fist and rapped his knuckles on the door.
Haddy appeared on the other side of the screen door. “Hiya, Patrick.” The smile on her face caused one to sprout on Patrick’s. He didn’t have to think about making the muscles of his face allow a smile. It just happened. What was with these people? So happy all the time and able to spread the warm, fuzzy feelings around. Patrick wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.
“Hey, Haddy.” Patrick stepped into the house as Haddy held open the screen door. “I brought Jonah’s car back.” He dropped the keys into her hand.
“Thanks. He was getting itchy knowing it was at the station without him.”
“I can see why,” Patrick said. “Driving it is an experience.”
“You sound like Jonah. To me, it’s just a car. Gets you from A to B. I don’t see what the big deal is.”
“Guess it’s a Y-chromosome thing.”
“Has to be, because I don’t get it.” Haddy shook her head. “C’mon. Jonah’s in the living room with his parents. I’ll get you a drink.”
She ushered him toward the living room before he had a chance to decline the drink. A visit was mandatory it seemed.
“Why hello, Patrick,” Jonah’s mother said as soon as she saw him round the corner into the living room.
“Call me Liz, please. C’mon in and have a seat.” She patted the cushion beside her on the sofa.
The look on Jonah’s face—a look that said, “Please, rescue me”—propelled Patrick into a walk. As he lowered to sit next to Liz, Walter studied him from a rocking chair across the room. Jonah fidgeted in a puffy recliner perpendicular to the couch.
“How are you doing?” Patrick asked.
“He’s having a little trouble getting comfortable,” Liz answered.
Jonah flopped his good hand toward his mother and rolled his eyes. Patrick had to fight to keep from laughing. Luckily, Haddy came in with a drink, which Patrick used to occupy his mouth.
“I told him it’s going to take some time. He’s got to be patient.” Liz reached over to the recliner to pat her son’s knee, and Jonah smiled at her. She may have been driving him crazy, but Jonah was lucky to have his mother around to drive him crazy. Patrick would totally switch places with Jonah even if it meant a busted collarbone at the moment.
“Meanwhile, the department is down a firefighter,” Walter said. “You capable of doing the work of two men, Patrick?”
“Pop—” Jonah warned.
“I’m just wondering. They’re going to feel your absence, son. You’re a good fighter.” Walter folded his arms across his chest and steadied his gaze on Patrick.
“I work hard, sir.” Patrick wasn’t sure why he felt the need to defend himself to Walter. Something in the older man’s eyes made him want to be considered worthy. Worthy of what? Acceptance? Praise?
Gini?
Patrick took another sip of lemonade and turned his attention to Jonah, who was shifting in the chair. Haddy got up from the sofa and grabbed one of the pillows beside her. Gently, she eased Jonah forward and positioned the pillow so it rested behind the hollow of his neck. She fluffed the pillow, and Jonah caught her arm as she walked away. Haddy stopped, and Jonah pulled her hand up to his lips. He brushed a kiss to the back of her hand then released her.
“Thanks, Haddy.”
Haddy grinned and sat back on the couch.
Firefly Mountain Page 14