by Bella Andre
All at once, Dennis deflated like an emptying balloon. "Jesus, is that what this is about?"
She frowned. "Where were you? What were you doing?"
He slumped down on the edge of the curb, his head in his hands. When he looked up at her his eyes were bleak.
"I was driving all over the state talking to doctors."
"Are you sick, Dennis?"
"No. My dad is."
Dennis's answer completely blindsided her. She knew how devastating it was to lose a family member.
Dennis hadn't been lighting fires. He'd been trying to help his father.
"I met Joseph yesterday."
He looked up at her in surprise. "You did?"
"He seems like a wonderful man. I'm sorry about his illness."
"All I want is to find some pill or doctor who can operate on his brain to keep him from getting worse."
She had to ask. "Have you talked to Logan about this?"
He almost looked embarrassed. "I know this sounds stupid, but I wanted to be the hero this time. Just once. When it really counted. Instead, everything's fucked up and you think I lit the fire. I didn't do it. I swear to you."
She couldn't help but believe him, not when he was so upset, so genuinely concerned about his father's well-being, but she still needed to confirm his story before crossing him off her list. "I'd appreciate it if you'd give me the names and phone numbers of some of the doctors you've visited, so I can verify your whereabouts."
He didn't argue with her this time, and ten minutes later she'd confirmed his story.
She'd crashed into another dead end.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
MAYA DROVE away from Dennis's house and headed toward the fire. Maybe if she watched it burn long enough, she'd figure out what the hell to do next. Something was niggling at her, had been digging into her gut for the past few hours, a voice that told her she already knew more than she thought she did. If only she could figure out what it was.
Pulling off the lakeside freeway at a state park, she wound past a Smoky the Bear sign that said "Extreme Fire Danger" and continued up the packed-dirt road until she got to the peak. Taking off her helmet, she shook her tangled hair out before looking down at the smoke and flames.
Had Joseph lit the first fire that started this enormous firestorm? she wondered. Possibly.
But even as she took in the newly charred hillsides where tall pines had stood only days before, the truly important question remained: Who was responsible for everything that had happened since the Desolation Wilderness fire began?
The only thing she knew for sure was that the attacks were personal. Someone wanted to hurt her and Logan, maybe even kill them.
The obvious plan was also the most dangerous. The best way to smoke out the arsonist would be to become an open target, to put herself out in clear sight, someplace the arsonist would feel safe coming after her.
I have to do it, Logan, she thought silently. It's the only way. I'm sorry.
She could still feel his touch on her skin, his lips in the hollow of her neck. And she could see his beautiful face in her mind's eye, could imagine him fighting her tooth and nail over her plan to catch the serial arsonist. But she couldn't let the arsonist hurt anyone else. Not if there was a way she could stop the attacks. Even if it meant putting her own life on the line.
And yet, even though it had been a rough twenty-four hours and danger was following her through Lake Tahoe, she couldn't help but relive those sweet moments in Logan's arms over and over again. Being with him, in his bed, wrapped up in his strength, had been some of the most powerful, most wonderful moments of her life. Just as she'd known it would be from their first kiss.
High in the hills, with black smoke swirling all around her, it was impossible to keeping hiding from the truth: She'd allowed herself to get in too deep. Way too deep. Especially since Logan was as stubborn, as bullheaded as she was. She strongly suspected that he wasn't going to let her just walk out of his life.
He was going to fight for her every step of the way.
And even though she'd been honest with him and told him why she couldn't let him get any closer, the truth was that they were just words. What she felt way down deep inside was exactly the opposite.
Every cell, every nerve, every part of her wanted to be with Logan ... and he was a man who could die at any moment, who could be dying right now, for all she knew.
Staring into the raging fire, she couldn't stop seeing Logan running as flames chased at his back. Yesterday it had been horrible to watch him run from death, but he'd been a stranger. If she had to watch the same scene again now, it would destroy her.
She'd never be able to protect herself with a false sense of security like so many firefighters' wives and girl friends did. One day there'd be a fire he couldn't run from and he'd leave a wife and kids behind.
Maya didn't want that wife, that mother, to be her.
The cell phone buzzed in her pocket and she was glad for the interruption, for any opportunity to stop thinking about her pointless feelings for Logan.
"Maya, it's Patrick Stevens."
"Have you learned anything new?" Her stomach churned as she waited for the fire chief's reply. He knew there had been a man knocking on her door, waiting outside her room before it was set on fire.
He cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable with what he was about to reveal. "Before I reveal the man's identity, I want you to know that I'm absolutely certain he had a good reason for wanting to speak with you. And that he did not light the fire that burned your room."
Alarm hit her squarely in the chest. Please, she prayed, don't say Logan's name. Don't tell me someone saw him on the premises that afternoon. She couldn't be wrong about him. She couldn't be. Not when she'd willingly--desperately-- taken him inside her body.
Not when she'd practically admitted to herself that she was in love with him.
Her heart raced as she made her lips form the words "Who was it?"
"A hotshot."
No.
"His name is Sam MacKenzie. He's one of the best."
It took a long moment for relief to register. Chief Stevens hadn't said Logan's name. Thank God.
"Wasn't Sam MacKenzie one of the other hotshots who was out on the mountain during the blowup with Logan yesterday afternoon? Wasn't his brother badly burned?" Patrick confirmed this, and she said, "I was there at the anchor point. I saw Logan and Sam save him. They almost died."
"Sam's a good guy and everyone respects him," Patrick said, before clearing his throat again.
Uh-oh. "There's more, isn't there?"
"I'm afraid there is. A couple of witnesses said he slipped something under your door. It must have burned up before we got there. I've called the station several times today, but he's been out on the fire and I haven't been able to discuss the situation with him yet."
She thanked Chief Stevens for his help and was about to hang up, but he kept her on the line a moment longer. "I want you to know that I've been asking around about your brother."
She nearly lost her balance on the motorcycle. "Thank you. But you and I haven't even sat down and talked yet."
"Logan called me an hour ago. He asked me to look into the case for you, to call in some favors. From everything I've read it looks like an accident, not arson, but I lost a brother too. I know how hard it is. I won't let the case drop until we're absolutely certain that there are no further leads."
"I don't know how to thank you, Patrick."
Or how to thank Logan for spearheading the renewed effort on her behalf. He was such an amazing man. Even when his head was on the chopping block, even when he was about to walk into an out-of-control fire, he was thinking about her. Helping her.
"After reading the note that the arsonist left you yesterday," Patrick continued, "I can't help but wonder if the motel fire had something to do with Tony."
She'd been wondering the very same thing, but she'd been trying to keep her focus on the current case.
Yet it was an incredible feeling to know that other people were out there supporting her quest.
"I'll let you know if anything turns up," he said, then disconnected.
Two beeps sounded in her ear. A call had gone to voice mail while she was talking to Patrick. It was David, and she braced herself for bad news as she dialed his number. She turned away from the fire to look out at the lake, and the setting sun nearly blinded her as she waited for him to pick up.
"It's Maya." She got right to the point. "Have you tested the new samples?"
"Where did you get these?"
"Logan's garage." The lump in her throat grew bigger. "They match the evidence from the explosion, don't they?"
David was silent for a long moment. "They do, but there's no way Logan did this. This is a small town. Anyone could have a match in their garage. Just to check the theory, I grabbed samples from my garage; they were a match too."
Her hands shook on the receiver. "You shouldn't have done that," she said in a low voice, even though she was glad that he had. With David's help she hoped to show that the evidence against Logan wasn't remotely strong enough to even charge him with the crime, let alone convict him.
"Logan is not only my friend, he's one of the best men I know. I'll do whatever it takes to keep him safe. Hell, I'll test samples from every garage on this side of the lake if I have to."
A bright orange, red, and yellow ball of fire slowly disappeared into bright blue water as she thanked David and hung up. It had to be one of the most spectacular sunsets she'd ever witnessed. But the beauty was entirely wasted on her.
Logan's radio crackled with voices as he suited up and jumped into one of the station trucks to head out to the anchor point. He quickly learned that the suburban subdivision next to that morning's explosion was engulfed in flames. Shit. It hadn't taken long for the fire to jump out of the mountains and onto rooftops. Just hours ago, he and Maya had been up on one of those rooftops.
A knife lodged in the pit of his stomach.
Maya.
Ever since joining the Tahoe Pines Hotshot Crew fifteen years earlier, his decisions had been clear-cut. He put out fires. He supported his men. No woman had ever come between him and what he knew to be the right course of action.
Until now.
Until Maya.
Everything in him wanted to keep her safe. He'd never forgive himself if something happened to her.
But the same was true for his crew. He already felt responsible for what had happened to Connor and Robbie. He couldn't let another one of his men end up in the burn ward.
No matter what he did, no matter which choice he made, he was screwed.
But years of dealing with that split second between life and death had taught him to make the hard decisions, and to make them fast, before indecision compounded the problem. And the fact was, no matter how compelled he was to protect Maya, she was tough. And smart. She understood the danger she was in, that conducting this investigation put her life at risk. Whereas, his men were trying to stay one step ahead of a complex and deadly fire. Logan couldn't let them continue that battle without his support.
Late-afternoon tourist traffic crawled on the lone highway that ringed the lake. Large sunburned families were crowded into cars after a happy day at the beach, intent on their fun even though the sky was hazy and the air quality was terrible. Logan wove through lanes as safely as he could manage, to speed up his trip into the housing development. He was running behind a ticking clock, one he was afraid he might never catch up with.
He parked in front of a manicured front lawn and moved quickly past the fire trucks, toward his squad boss.
Gary's expression was grim. "Tell me you've found the asswipe who did all this."
"Not yet," Logan said, "but as of fifteen minutes ago I've been taken off suspension."
"Thank God for that," Gary said.
Logan scanned the scene. The few men the hotshots could spare to work on saving the houses had been joined by the urban teams. From where he was standing, the fire looked to be raging completely out of control.
Gary confirmed his assessment, saying "Zero percent containment. We're fucked."
Gary's cell phone rang and Logan watched his squad boss's face go ash gray as he listened to the caller.
He clicked his phone shut. "That was the hospital."
Logan braced himself. "Connor?"
Gary shook his head. "No. He's fine. In pain, but he'll heal. It's Robbie."
All day he'd thought about Robbie, pictured him unconscious in the hospital bed, every inch of his skin covered in bandages.
"He's not doing well. His blood pressure is low. His heart rate is all over the place. They're not sure he's going to make it."
"Jesus," Logan said in a low voice. "He's all alone."
"I'll keep holding down the fort. You go help Robbie fight like hell for his life. And whatever you do, Logan, bring him back alive."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THE MOON hung low over the hotshot station when Maya walked in and saw that it was nearly empty, except for a lone, dark-haired man sitting at the dining table, his head bent down over maps and charts. With a fire like this, hotshot crews worked as long and hard as was humanly possible, only taking short breaks to refuel and snatch an hour or two of sleep to recharge.
She hated bothering firefighters in the middle of a blaze when they were exhausted and desperately needed downtime. But the longer it took her to find the arsonist, the more potential danger the firefighters faced. And so she'd forge ahead with her investigation and continue asking hard questions.
"Excuse me, I'm looking for Sam MacKenzie."
The man looked up at her and she was momentarily startled by his looks. His eyes were a penetrating blue, his hair jet black, his jaw was actually chiseled, and his forearms were sinew and muscle.
"Ma'am."
She swallowed uncomfortably, hating what had to be said.
"You're Mr. MacKenzie?"
He nodded, pushed back his chair, and stood up. Tall with broad shoulders, he gave off the impression of great strength. "Ms. Jackson, you are just the woman I wanted to talk to."
"Chief Stevens informed me that several witnesses saw a man bearing your description standing outside my hotel room yesterday afternoon."
"That's right."
Hotshots never backed down from a challenge. Well, neither did she. She looked him directly in the eye. "I need to know why."
He crossed his arms over his chest. "I came to talk some sense into you."
The tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood up. "Excuse me?"
"You've got the wrong suspect."
She couldn't stand to add another hotshot to her list. But Sam seemed intent on writing his own name down for her. "Are you telling me you know who the right one is?"
"No, ma'am, I don't."
For a minute there, she'd been afraid he was going to say You're looking at him.
She breathed a small sigh of relief before saying "Witnesses said you slipped a note under my door."
"I wanted you to know I'd been there. That we needed to talk about Logan. We depend on him. Hell, he nearly died yesterday trying to save my brother in a blowup."
Softly, she said, "I was there. I saw what he did. What you did."
But Sam wasn't impressed by her admiration. "You sent him into the site of the explosion with that damn sniffer, didn't you?"
"He offered."
"And you were more than happy to let him risk his life for you, weren't you? After all, if he'd died, he would have just been another casualty on your spreadsheet."
Maya's hands fisted at her sides. "How dare you accuse me of something like that? I didn't want him going anywhere near that fire." She stopped herself from admitting that her heart had nearly stopped a dozen times while she stood on the roof and watched Logan collect the data.
Sam was unrelenting. "All I know is that he could have died getting your damn data. Two dead hotshots in two days, is that what
you want?"
Her heart stopped beating. "Two?" She must have heard him wrong. "Robbie's in the hospital. He's alive."
For the first time, Sam's expression softened. "The call just came in from the hospital. Robbie's gone."
Logan raced to Tahoe General in record time, but he was too late. Standing in the hallway, staring at Robbie's empty bed, images flashed by, one after the other, of Robbie's antics, his practical jokes on the other hotshots, how much he'd sucked at cleaning the burned chili out of the bottom of the aluminum pot. He'd been no more than a kid, but they all knew he'd grow into a hell of a firefighter one day.
Now he was gone.
Logan's legs were stiff as he followed the nurse to Connor's room. She opened the door and put her hand on his arm as he walked past her.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her eyes soft and sympathetic. "I'll leave you alone with your friend."
Logan watched Connor's chest steadily rise and fall as he moved toward the bed. Even though Connor was heavily drugged for pain, every few breaths he grimaced. Logan stared at his friend's face, remembering too well the agony etched across it as they'd outrun the fire.
He owed it to his men--especially to Robbie and his family--to find the arsonist soon, before anyone else got caught in his flaming trap.
Quietly, he left Connor's room. Out in the hallway, he called his squad boss. "He's dead, Gary."
Because wildland firefighting was one of the most dangerous professions in the world, clinical psychologists spent a couple of days with the crew every year forcing them to talk things through. Hotshots understood that even when they did everything right, death was sometimes an inevitable outcome.
But everything was different this time. Robbie hadn't been killed out on the mountain, wielding a Pulaski. He'd been caught in a madman's web.
Gary's sound of anguish mirrored what was in Logan's heart. "He was just a kid."
"I'll be back at the station in fifteen," Logan said. For Robbie's sake, if nothing else, he needed to take down the fire while Maya continued to track the arsonist.
The killer.
But Gary wasn't on board with that plan. "The winds are too squirrelly for any of us to be out there. Everyone on crew is already on their way back in. I'm not authorizing anyone to fight fire again until morning. Not even you."