by Bella Andre
She hated the thought of walking out of Joseph's cabin without answers. But Logan was right. Joseph's health wasn't stable. She'd have to put this interview on the back burner until a time when he was, hopefully, in a more coherent state of mind.
"We're going to head out now, Joe," Logan said, patting Joseph on the shoulder.
"This is your last chance, boy. You fuck up again and you're going to lose this pretty girl." Joseph's shoulders sagged into his broad frame. "Hell, you throw a match in the wrong place and you're going to lose everything."
Logan's hand pressed into the small of Maya's back, pushing her across the room. And she let him. Perhaps another investigator would have been tougher. Meaner. But Maya believed in playing fair, and right now wasn't the time to grill Joseph, even though his mental mean-derings might be full of revelations about her suspect's past and potential motivations for lighting a fast-moving wildfire.
The truth was there. She'd find it one way or another, and she'd do it without hurting anyone.
Logan pulled the door shut behind them and as she quickly moved away from his heat, she noticed that his truck was completely blocking hers on the narrow dirt driveway. Her hands fisted at her sides. Slowly uncurling her fingers one by one, she turned.
"Please move your truck."
He swung her briefcase from the tip of one finger. "You're probably going to want this too, aren't you?"
She held out one hand, making sure it didn't shake from frustration. "Yes, thank you."
He gave it to her, then strolled over to her car. "City vehicles always come with low-grade tires, don't they?"
She followed his gaze. Crap. Her front right tire was flat.
"Dry pine needles. They're hell on rubber."
His words were light, conversational. And yet, she bristled at the victory she sensed behind them. Not to mention the fact that standing in the middle of a forest with her lead suspect and a brand-new flat tire was pretty damn suspicious. But the last thing she was going to do was let him think she was scared. Especially since she didn't think he'd do anything to harm her while Joseph was just a wall away.
"I've got a spare," she said as she clicked open the trunk with her remote.
He was mistaken if he thought she was a girly girl who couldn't take care of herself. Her father had made sure she knew how to change a tire--and shoot a gun.
Logan crossed his arms over his chest, looking for all the world like he was trying not to laugh. "Good luck getting out of this driveway with a spare. One time my buddy tried it when we were kids and we had to call a fire truck to pull him out of a mud hole. Car was stolen too, so he spent the night in jail." He headed over to his truck. "How about I give you lift? Take you wherever you need to go."
Maya couldn't believe her bad luck. Was it really coming down to this? Was she going to have to accept a ride from her primary arson suspect? She should head back inside Joseph's cabin and call AAA to come fix her flat. But that would take time. Time she didn't have anymore. Not now that the fire was out of control and had already taken down a hotshot. And if this wildfire followed typical arson patterns, there'd be new fires. Soon.
The longer it took her to nail the arsonist, the more lives and homes and land would be threatened by the wildfire. Plus, there was always Logan's lingering threat to call her boss. The story would be better coming from her mouth first, give her a chance to put a more innocent spin on things.
"Fine," she finally said, slamming the trunk shut and grabbing the rest of her investigative tools out of the backseat. "You can drop me at my motel."
She remembered seeing a rental car agency next door to the motel, which meant she'd be out on the road and back in business immediately.
She stepped up into his passenger seat. The interior smelled like leather and fresh dirt and pine needles. And Logan. He slid in behind the wheel and her senses were overwhelmed with his smoky scent, his nearness, the way his thigh muscles pressed against the denim fabric of his jeans, the dark hair across his wrist.
She forcefully pushed aside her arousal. God, it shouldn't be so hard to remain impartial around her suspect. He started the engine and as they moved through the trees she slowly recovered her equilibrium. Instead of fighting her reaction to him, she needed to save her energy and simply accept--and ignore--the attraction so that she could get back to business. In fact, the next ten minutes of captivity in his truck were the perfect chance for another Q&A session.
"Joseph mentioned you had some problems as a teenager, that your mother asked him to take you in."
She waited for Logan to react in some way, but all he did was drive. Fine, he wanted to play hardball, she'd play hardball.
"You were obviously a problem child. What kind of problems did you have?"
"You really think I'm going to tell you?"
He took his eyes off the road for a split second and she could have sworn he was laughing at her.
"No, not really. But it doesn't matter. I'll go back to Joseph's cabin first thing tomorrow morning. I'll ask him then." Logan wasn't making it easy for her. She was happy to make it just as hard for him. "Watching his health fail must be difficult for you."
But even as she said the words, she felt herself soften. She knew how it felt to lose someone.
Logan's face shuttered closed. "You always feel this sorry for your suspects? Interesting strategy."
She clamped her lips together. Fine. She got it. He didn't want to talk about whatever Joseph was dealing with. And he was right. They weren't friends. They weren't even acquaintances. Still, from everything she'd read in Logan's file and her brief meeting with Joseph, she could see that Joseph was far more than a mentor. He was a father.
A sharp pain dug in beneath her breastbone: Logan's love for Joseph was one more potential mark against him. Had watching Joseph slip away day by day sent Logan over the edge? Had it sent him back into old patterns that had long been buried by Joseph's love? Was Logan Cain a playboy with a penchant for arson?
Or was he a true hero who'd gotten caught up in an arsonist's trap as the perfect foil?
She looked at his profile, his strong nose and chin, his full, masculine lips. Was she having a hard time imagining him committing arson because he really was a good man? Or was it simply that she'd tasted the heat of his kisses?
Logan slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting a deer running across their path. "I'm sorry," he said, surprising her with his apology. "I shouldn't have said that. All I'm asking is that you leave Joseph out of this."
Conflicting emotions tore through her. Logan had shown her kindness in her darkest hour six months ago, but all she could give him in return was a bullet list of reasons why he was guilty of arson. She knew why he was pleading her to stop questioning Joseph, but it would be unprofessional and unethical for her to ignore an important source.
"I'm afraid I can't do that."
"You can if I give you what you're looking for."
Heat bloomed beneath Maya's skin. They were just words, not an invitation. She steadied her breathing before she replied.
"It depends on what you give me."
"Underage drinking."
She was momentarily insulted. He didn't really think that lame information was going to be enough, did he?
"What else?"
"What makes you think there's more?"
"Your parents wouldn't have sent you away because you broke into their stash a couple of times."
"Probably not," he agreed, his voice far too easy, far too calm for her to believe he was confessing much of anything to her. "I liked drugs and guns too."
She shifted in her seat, wanting to make sure he understood who he was dealing with. "If you'd lived in the city, I'd care. I might even think you'd been into gangs. But Boulder? Come on. You wore hemp and smoked pot and went hunting on the weekends."
His lips curved up in that devastating smile again, but this time he spoke with an edge. "Okay, then, why don't you tell me the reason my mother sent me into what s
eemed like the middle of butt-fuck when I was seventeen and only wanted to get in trouble and get laid?" He caught her eyes before she could respond. "Fortunately, girls like a guy who knows his way around the woods."
He allowed his eyes to move down her body and land on her breasts. "And I definitely knew my way around in the dark, only using my hands to feel where I was going. Even when I was just a horny kid." He turned back to the road. "But I don't need to tell you that, do I? It's the one thing about me that you already know for sure."
Maya shifted in her seat to stare straight out the window. She hated that he knew her weaknesses, knew right where to jab for the greatest impact.
He came at her again. "Since you're all out of questions, how about I ask you a couple?"
His deep, rich voice grated on her nerves. She'd never wanted to punch and kiss someone at the same time.
"How about you don't?" She crossed her arms over her chest and pressed her lips together. She was not going to let him get to her.
"What were you doing in that bar back in November?"
"I don't go to bars." Which was entirely true, minus one stupid, grief-induced blip.
"Maybe you don't anymore, but you sure as hell did six months ago."
"You're the one who's going to be spilling secrets right now, Mr. Cain. Not me." She wanted to shoot herself the minute the words came out of her mouth.
"Any time you want to share your secrets with me, Maya, I'm more than willing to listen."
She knew exactly how he'd "listen" to her, given the chance. But she had no intention of taking the bait. He'd never learn her secrets in a million years, never lull her into saying something stupid with his seductive kisses, his knowing hands.
Just then, Logan's radio crackled and he reached past her knee to turn up the volume. "Reporting a motel fire at 696 Lake Tahoe Boulevard, Highway 50. Station 3 and Station 4 have been dispatched to the scene."
Maya stiffened. "That's my motel. The one that's on fire."
His hands tightened on the wheel. "Who else have you pissed off today?"
Her heart pounded as the damning words left her mouth. "Only you."
Logan flattened his foot on the gas pedal. She was pushing too hard. Getting too close. Joseph was right. She was smarter than any girlfriend he'd ever had, even though she definitely wasn't standard girlfriend material. No, she was the kind of woman a guy wanted to chain to his bed until he'd had his fill, all the while knowing that day would never come.
Sentence by sentence, question by question, she was pinning him up against a wall. It wasn't fair to use their attraction against her, but he couldn't resist watching her get flustered every time he so much as danced around the subject of sex.
Six months had passed since he'd tasted her. Touched her. But now that she was sitting so close that he could reach out and pull her onto his lap, he realized he hadn't forgotten one damn thing about her. The way her tongue had slid against his. The way she'd pressed her breasts into his palms and rubbed into his calluses. The slick, wet heat between her legs.
Of all the ways he thought they'd meet again one day, he couldn't have imagined this. Anger rode him. But he couldn't let anger get the best of him, not if he wanted to see his way clear of the accusation. Which meant he needed to get a grip. Fast. Especially since they were several blocks away from her motel and he could already see flames and smell smoke through the truck's doors and windows.
Adrenaline shot through him and his thigh muscles clenched in an instinctual response to the fire. He wasn't an urban guy, this fire wasn't his domain, but he'd worked dozens of structural fires in the past whenever the stations were short-staffed due to illness or vacation or babies being born.
He looked over at Maya and saw that she'd pressed her body up against the passenger door, as far away from him as she could get. He didn't need her to tell him what she was thinking. He could read her mind. Fuck. She thought he'd lit this fire to scare her.
And if she found out the real reason he'd been shipped out to Tahoe as a kid, she'd think she was right.
CHAPTER SIX
MAYA'S EMOTIONS were all over the place. She'd gone from frustrated to aroused to sympathetic to angry in a matter of minutes. Right now, however, she was fighting back fear. Chances were that this fire at her motel was nothing more than a shitty coincidence. Probably just a random accident, some drunk boaters lighting up doobies and dropping them on the carpet when they passed out from too much sun and drink.
Still, she had to ask herself if Logan could be involved in some way. After all, she'd gotten a good ten minutes alone with Joseph after leaving the hotshot station, which would have been more than enough time for Logan to leave the station, set a fire in her motel, then head after her.
But no matter how she looked at it, she couldn't forget that Logan was a hotshot. One of the elite. She wanted desperately to believe he was innocent.
What if he wasn't?
"I'll get out here, thanks," she said, pulling at the door handle to no avail, held captive by the automatic lock. Even though they were stuck at a red light a block from her motel, she wanted out of his car. Now. She had more than enough adrenaline to sprint the rest of the way.
"Hold on, we'll be there in thirty seconds" was his reply.
As they pulled into the lot she pressed every button on the door until the lock finally clicked open. Grabbing her bag and tools, she jumped out while the truck's tires were still spinning. Seconds later, Logan was out of his truck, following closely behind her.
Several red-and-yellow fire trucks blocked the motel from view and she guessed it was at least a three-alarm blaze. Maybe four. Everything closed in on her and she wished, just for a second, she could turn her back on fire. It had devastated her life, and still she walked toward it again and again.
One of the firefighters turned and saw them. "Hey, Logan, didn't expect to see you here. Not with the wild-fire burning in Desolation."
"My crew's got the fire covered tonight, Bob. What's going on here?"
Maya held her breath as she waited for his answer. She needed to know if the fire was an accident.
Or if she was the target.
"We got a call twenty minutes ago that there was smoke coming out from under one of the doors."
Maya took a step closer. "Which room?"
Bob frowned at Maya's interruption. He jerked his thumb in her direction. "She with you?"
Logan nodded. "Cal Fire."
Bob's eyes widened. "Shit. If something's going down, we want to know about it."
Maya barely held back a frustrated scream. "Which room?"
The urban firefighter looked at Logan. "Should I be telling her this?"
Logan nodded. "We both need to know."
"Room 205."
She felt the blood drain from her face and her lips go numb.
Logan's hand gripped her elbow to keep her steady. "Is 205 your room?"
She was shaking. Shit, she needed to get a grip. Needed to take a step away from Logan. And then another.
Spinning away from him, she ran between engines, stopping in front of the only firefighter not geared up, the one with the radio and the clipboard. He had to be the station chief.
"I'm Maya Jackson. From 205. It's my room that's on fire. I need to know what happened."
A loud crash came from the building and she whipped her head around just in time to witness the roof falling in on the first-floor ceiling. The firefighters calmly went about their business and Maya wished she could be more laid back about the fire's ongoing demolition. But she'd spent the bulk of her working life behind a computer, holding on to a telephone, sitting in airless rooms questioning suspects and witnesses.
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 Depa
rtment, 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.