WILD HEAT Page 4

  “I'm not going anywhere. If there's a wildfire burning in my backyard, I've got to stay right here in case you need my help. I've never run from a fire and just because I've got a few gray hairs on my head, I'm not going to start now.”

  “Hell, Joseph. If you want to help me, you'll get on a goddamned plane. I can't be worrying about you. I've got to get you somewhere safe.”

  “What are you so worried about?”

  I'm worried that you're going hiking and lighting campfires and then coming back home and forgetting all about them was on the tip of Logan's tongue. But he couldn't say it.

  Damn it, he wished he could just throw the man over his shoulder and carry him to safety. But he couldn't treat him like an invalid. It wouldn't be right, not when it might destroy what was left of Joseph's strength.

  Logan reluctantly accepted that he was going to have to work on Joseph a little at a time. Get him used to the idea of heading out somewhere safe.

  Which also meant he'd have to work overtime to make sure Joseph didn't accidentally light any new fires in the coming days.

  The situation sucked. Big-time.

  “Think about my offer. A couple of weeks on the beach. Pretty girls in bikinis. Fruity drinks.”

  “Sounds like the ninth circle of hell,” Joseph said, a stubborn old man down to his toenails.

  Logan couldn't beat back a grin. It sure did. He crushed the empty aluminum can in his hand. “I gotta get back.”

  Joseph's short gray hair was sticking straight up and his face was riddled with uneven patches of stubble. “Come by for dinner on your next down day. And stay out of any more blowups.”

  “Will do.”

  Logan grabbed the keys to Joseph's spare truck. It was time to head back to the station. The Tahoe Pines Hotshots had a mother of a fire to put out.

  Maya followed the ambulances down the mountain, her knuckles white on the steering wheel. The smell of smoke that clung to her jeans and hair kept the terrible scene she'd just witnessed fresh in her mind. She hadn't thought she was capable of wanting to avenge her brother's death any more than she already did, but after watching a firefighter emerge with severe burns—even though he still had his life intact—she couldn't stop wondering Had Tony suffered like that?

  Unclenching her white-knuckled fingers from the steering wheel, she pulled into the parking lot of her motel. Cal Fire had sent her to Lake Tahoe to investigate the Desolation Wilderness fire. It was time to get a grip and focus all of her attention on the current case.

  Only, now that she knew her lead suspect and the bartender from six months ago were one and the same, how could she possibly separate the two circumstances?

  Logan Cain would forever be inexorably tied to Tony's death, simply because she'd made the mistake of trying to assuage her pain with his kisses. And if it turned out that Logan really was guilty of arson, she didn't know how she'd ever be able to live with herself for fooling around with an arsonist.

  She checked into her room and showered off the smoke and dirt, then pulled her power suit out of her suitcase. She needed to look fierce and feel even fiercer. She was on the hunt for an arsonist, not to win a beauty contest, but there was an undeniable power in looking the part.

  The first time she'd met Logan, she hadn't given a second thought to what she'd looked like. This time would be different. She would be prepared for him, using lipstick and blush and mascara like modern-day armor to protect herself from his effortless good looks.

  She was thinner now than she'd been six months ago, her appetite having never quite returned full force. Sometimes when she looked in the mirror she was surprised to see her cheekbones standing out in full relief, the slightly hollow spots above her jaw. Would Logan notice that there was less of her now?

  She stopped her rambling thoughts cold. What were the odds that Logan would even recognize her? He probably saw more ass than a pair of jeans. The fifteen minutes they'd shared—while she'd writhed helplessly against his long fingers, God help her—were likely nothing more than a mini-blip on his sexual radar screen. Whereas he'd been so hot—so good—she'd been unable to forget about him, particularly at night in her dreams.

  After verifying via telephone that the hospital had discharged him, she entered the hotshot station, her heels clicking as rapid a beat on the cement floor as her heart did in her chest.

  Twenty pairs of eyes—men only, she noted—turned on her. They weren't stupid. They smelled an investigation.

  She put her briefcase down on top of a table. “I'm Maya Jackson and I'm working with the Forest Service on the Desolation Wilderness fire.”

  Logan had a mass of maps spread out in front of him. She focused her attention solely on her suspect.

  “Mr. Cain, could you spare a moment to speak with me?”

  He didn't say anything, just laid down his pen and stood up. She waited for him to betray some sort of recognition, but his movements were easy, surprisingly sure—especially considering how close he'd come to death that morning. Clearly, a vertical slope on fire had nothing on Logan Cain.

  His expression was utterly impersonal. She should have been happy that he didn't seem to recognize her as the crazy woman who'd jumped him in the bar. But she wasn't. Because the woman inside her wanted to be remembered.

  How sad it was to be so easily forgotten.

  And how pathetic she was for caring.

  Again, she snapped herself out of it. She supposed there was a time and place for mulling over men. But not here. Not while a fire was raging.

  She cleared her throat, glancing at the crowd of fire-fighters watching her every move. Each one was better looking than the next. Golden skin. Closely cropped hair. Incredible physiques.

  And yet Logan was so striking she was left breathless.

  What was wrong with her? He was a possible arsonist and here she was in heat for the guy.

  Clearing away her stray thoughts, she asked, “Is there somewhere we could speak in private?”

  “Gary,” he said to the gray-haired man she'd seen up on the mountain, “keep mapping routes, would you? I'll be right back.”

  She followed Logan into a sparse, windowless office, thinking that she'd never seen a man wear jeans and a T-shirt better, before she could push the inappropriate thought away.

  Long-buried sensations rushed back at her. The feel of his lips on her breasts, the slip and slide of his fingers on her sensitive skin. He'd had the same afternoon shadow six months ago. Her cheeks had been red with burns for days from his kisses.

  She took a deep breath. She'd tried not to think about that day. The hot stand-up make-out session with a stranger in a bar had been a grief-induced aberration, nothing more.

  Logan offered her a chair and she noted his gentlemanly behavior. Even if he is just a playboy firefighter, she thought, at least I didn't almost have sex with a complete jerk. It was the most positive spin she could put on the situation for the time being.

  He took a seat behind an old metal desk, his gaze level. Steady. Not hard, but not open and friendly either. And full of something that looked an awful lot like lust.

  Maya wanted to squirm in her seat.

  No. She was in charge here.

  “I'm sorry about what happened to your friend today,” she said.

  “The Forest Service folks are already talking about it?”

  She shook her head. “I was there. On the mountain. I saw the blowup. I watched you run, watched you leave in an ambulance.”

  “How did you find me?”

  “I followed the smoke column.”

  His gaze intensified. “That's not what I'm talking about.”

  She stared at him, mesmerized by his incredible eyes, so dark brown they were nearly black. She knew what he was asking, but she didn't want to go there.

  “I've been assigned to this fire. I've read your file, knew which station you reported to. That's how I found you.”

  “I'd always wondered who you were,” he said in a soft voice, clearly u
nwilling to let their past stay where it belonged, “and where you went.”

  There wasn't enough air in the room. Why had she thought she could do this? Why had she convinced herself he wouldn't remember her?

  Of course he did. Who could forget a woman who came all over you in a bar, then sobbed her heart out, and didn't even tell you her name before running?

  “Now you know,” she said in a tight voice.

  “Maya. Maya Jackson.” He paused, dropped his gaze to her chest for a split second, then back up to her face. “You never told me your name.”

  “I shouldn't have been in that bar,” she said in a rush. “It was a mistake. A huge mistake. I've regretted my actions ever since.”

  The most handsome man she'd ever been with let her lie fall to the cement floor.

  A corner of his mouth quirked up. “It wasn't all bad.”

  She couldn't let this conversation get any more out of control. “I'm not here to talk about that afternoon.”

  He looked perfectly at ease, but she knew better. A man like this, who risked his life more days than not, was on constant alert for hazards.

  And she had danger written all over her.

  “That's right,” he said, “you're Forest Service. Here to give me some more bad news about funding, huh?”

  His delivery was smooth, almost unconcerned, as if he knew that she was simply a pretty messenger.

  She hated being treated like a little girl on a fool's errand. On the other hand, he'd just made her difficult job easier. Now it wouldn't be so hard to give him the bad news. Not as long as he kept acting like an asshole.

  “I'm here to conduct an origin-and-cause investigation.”

  The half grin fell from his face. In an instant he transformed into the protector, prepared to do anything to save one of his men from unfair persecution.

  “What does arson have to do with my guys?”

  “Nothing,” she said. “Just you.”

  He frowned and she knew she'd caught him utterly unaware. “How so?”

  “You're our best—and only—suspect at this time.”

  Logan's physical response was imperceptible. She'd expected disbelief. Rage. But not this. Not a cold, black gaze.

  “You think I'd light a fire that could kill my crew?”

  His tone was hard, sharp, but she held her ground. “According to the ranger's reports, you were spotted putting out fires in Desolation Wilderness twice in the past week by two different sets of hikers. You should also know that your name was called in yesterday. It was an anonymous tip, but the Forest Service couldn't ignore it simply because you are one of them.”

  She decided not to mention that his very vocal opposition to the new retirement packages for wildland firefighters, however noble, didn't help his case one bit. Until she'd gathered more evidence, she'd keep that information in her back pocket.

  Surprise registered on his face a split second before he said, “You haven't answered my question. Do you think I could have lit a fire that could kill my crew? You were up on the mountain. Did you see Connor? Did you happen to notice his hands?”

  He held his out in front of her, but all she could see was the skin bubbling and oozing on the other hotshot's fingers.

  “He may never fight a fire again,” Logan said in a low, hard voice. “I would never take that away from one of my men. Never.”

  His anguish over his friend's burns was genuine—and sent strong flickers of doubt regarding his guilt through her—but none of that changed what she had to do. She laid out the facts.

  “With no lightning strikes during that same time frame, all signs point to a man-made fire.” She paused before slamming in the final nail. “All signs point to you.”

  Something flashed in Logan's eyes and her chest squeezed. She wanted to find the arsonist as quickly as possible, but she didn't want it to be a hotshot.

  She didn't want the arsonist to be him.

  “You're actually suspending me because some hikers saw me putting out a campfire? Because someone thought it would be funny to call the tip line and give them my name?”

  She answered his questions with a question. “Did you put out the campfires?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you light the campfires?”

  He looked at her hard before answering. “No. They were already burning.”

  She wanted to believe him, but was that because her gut told her he was telling the truth? Or was it simply her hormones talking again?

  “Okay then,” she said. “If you didn't light them, who did?”

  “If I knew that,” he said in a hard voice, “I would have already tracked the arsonist down and turned him in. And then you wouldn't be here right now, would you?”

  “The hikers wouldn't have reported you to the ranger if the situation looked normal. And as a rule, anonymous tip lines are very useful tools. But you've been in this business a long time,” she added, openly challenging him, “so you already know that, don't you?”

  He advanced on her. Within seconds, he had her pinned against the wall. The heat of his body scorched her even though there was a good ten inches between them. Silently, he dared her to remember all the ways he'd kissed her, touched her.

  “You think these hands are capable of such destruction?”

  She shivered as vivid memories came rushing back of him touching her so intimately. He had incredible hands. Big. Strong. Warm. And capable of giving exquisite pleasure.

  “I saw how selfless you were today.”

  She hesitated for a split second, until she realized that her wavering wasn't going to get them any closer to finding the arsonist.

  “You could have died saving your crew. But that doesn't negate the evidence. Right now, all signs point to you.”

  She squared her shoulders and took a step forward, into his hard, well-trained body, refusing to be intimidated even as she hated her body's instinctive sensual response to his nearness.

  “And until your name is cleared, I have to put you on suspension. Starting now.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  DISBELIEF FOUGHT with fury in Logan's gut. Tahoe Pines had been his hotshot crew for fifteen years, and after watching Connor head off in an ambulance, these guys desperately needed his leadership.

  Most of his men had been fighting fire long enough to understand the risks. Injury—and death—went hand in hand with wildland firefighting. Every hotshot knew how to wall his emotions off long enough to put the fire out; forever, sometimes, if he'd lost a close friend or a buddy he'd joined up with. But sometimes it was harder to watch a live man burn than it was to mourn a dead one.

  Any one of them could have been caught on the mountain this morning with nowhere left to run, surrounded by fire.

  A fire this woman thought he'd started.

  The same fire that he thought Joseph might have started. And if Joseph had, even if it had happened when he'd disappeared into one of his brain-fogs and had no idea what he was doing, once there were injuries—or, God forbid, deaths—he'd be in a whole hell of a lot of trouble. Joseph wasn't strong enough to withstand weeks or months of questioning, fines, or even imprisonment.

  Logan's resolve hardened. He needed to protect Joseph no matter what. Even if it meant taking the heat himself.

  His fists were clenched on the wall behind Maya's head as he forced himself to step away. While Superintendent McCurdy was sitting in his comfortable, air-conditioned office in the Forest Service headquarters, a beautiful woman was facing Logan down, and she was a messenger of doom who looked a hundred times hotter than he'd remembered.

  Which was saying a lot, considering how good she'd looked six months ago.

  Hell yes, he remembered that afternoon in Eddie's bar well. Too well. In his line of work, girlfriends came and girlfriends went, but none of the women he'd been with had stuck around in his brain like she had.

  Now here she was, back in his life again from out of the blue.

  No doubt about it, out of the blue was h
er M.O. But this time she wasn't grasping at his shirt, wasn't diving onto him, wasn't jamming her tongue down his throat.

  This time around she was accusing him of arson. And she wanted to bench him while a wildfire raged.

  But there was no way he could let that happen. He needed to be out there keeping an eye on his crew. Which meant getting back out on the mountain in full gear, wielding his chainsaw and Pulaski in the thick brush within the hour.

  “Look, I know it's your job to track down arsonists. The Forest Service sent you here to investigate. I get that. But you and I both know I didn't light this fire. And I've got to get back out there and put it out. So why don't you run along to look for the real arsonist and let me get back to my job?”

  “I'm afraid that's not possible, Mr. Cain.”

  Maya's expression remained neutral. She wasn't angry. Or nervous. Instead, she seemed cold. Frigid, even.

  She had all the same curves in all the same places, but she sure as hell wasn't the wild woman he'd met in his friend's bar. If anything, she was standing there, her full breasts and sweet ass outlined to perfection in her goddamned suit, looking down on him for being in the wrong place at the wrong time and winding up an arson suspect in a fire that had nearly killed one of his men.

  She pulled a file out of her briefcase. Quickly flip-ping through the pages, she handed him a single piece of paper.

  His days of flipping off authority and getting away with it had come and gone a long time ago, so he took the page and read it. It didn't take long to scan the words that were as good as a death sentence: Should he disregard suspension orders to stay off the mountain, he would be banned from working with the Forest Service in any capacity, even in a city office, forever—signed his buddy Superintendent McCurdy, Tahoe Basin Forest Service.

  He was about to crumple up the paper and toss it into a wastebasket in the corner when he realized why Maya's name seemed so familiar. Not because she'd introduced herself to him in the bar before wrapping her legs around his waist, but because she'd coauthored the FBI report on firefighter arsonists.

  His crew had played darts with it until the pages shredded.