Wild Fire

“Yeah, that was a hardship.”

“You’re trouble in your own way.” He grinned, opening the door. Still off balance at the unexpected pull of want he’d felt, he searched her face. “I can have the department assign a female cop to stay with you at night, if you’d prefer.” He didn’t even consider a male officer. “I’ve already requested one for during the day when your mom has to get back to the bead store.”

“No.”

“Shelby,” he said firmly. “Until we know what happened in that house, I’m not leaving you alone without protection.”

“I meant no to somebody else. I want you.”

At her words, heat inched under his skin. What was going on with him? “You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, you’ve got me. Call me if you need something or want me to bring you anything.”

“All right.”

“Lock up after me.”

She gave him a lazy two-finger salute. “Yes, Mr. Po-lice Man.”

“Smart aleck.” He stepped outside and waited until he heard the turn of the dead bolt, the click of the knob lock. Walking to his truck, his head felt fuzzy, as if he’d been out in the sun too long. He rubbed a hand across his chest, the spot Shelby had dampened with her tears.

He should be thinking about the case, about putting in a call to Collier McClain to tell him they needed to make a repeat visit to the high school, but instead his mind was stubbornly, startlingly fixed on Shelby not wearing a bra. The incredible softness of her skin, the feel of her breasts against him. Something hot and reckless and totally unexpected had charged through him. His body had gone hard; it still was.

He rolled his shoulders, uncomfortable with what could only be called desire. For Shelby, for whom he’d only ever had platonic feelings. He had to be wrong. There was something else going on, probably a combination of his reaction to her close call, fatigue, his self-imposed celibacy.

After Megan’s death, he hadn’t been interested in dating at all. About the time he’d become interested, they’d lost Jason. Since then, he hadn’t had the time or enough interest for a relationship.

Lusting after Shelby? His best friend? No way.

Chapter 3

Something strange had happened with Clay. Something physical. He had wanted her.

That couldn’t be right, Shelby decided. Things had never been that way between them. They weren’t now, either. The stupid concussion was to blame. Just because she didn’t need to have things repeated so often didn’t mean her brain was back to operating the way it should.

That…incident had happened on Tuesday. Today was Friday and she hadn’t stopped thinking about it, even though nothing like that happened again. Everything between them had been perfectly normal, just as it was right now.

She slid a look at him as they walked into the largest chapel at Presley Memorial Gardens. Clay had insisted on bringing her to M.B.’s memorial service. The funeral would be a family-only affair after M.B.’s body was released by the medical examiner. In the days since M.B.’s murder, he and Collier McClain had been conducting interviews at her school, with the firefighters on the scene and with neighbors.

Shelby’s mother had left this morning on a buying trip to New York City and wouldn’t return until Monday. If things went well and Dr. Boren agreed, Shelby would be back at work by then. She hadn’t recalled anything about M.B.’s murder yet, but surely she would. How long could amnesia really last?

She and Clay took a seat next to Collier just before the service began. Well over a hundred people listened in the flower-packed room as M.B.’s oldest brother, Glen, walked to the podium to give a eulogy. Almost half the crowd consisted of the students M.B. had taught and their parents. The others were teachers, administrators, friends and almost every firefighter from Station House Three. Shelby’s captain sat with several of her station mates in the row of dark blue dress coats across the aisle to her right.

The scents of roses and lilies mixed, the amount of flowers nearly overwhelming. She wanted to follow the funny story Glen Perry told about his sister, but the headache returned, the pain stabbing brutally from her temple to the back of her skull. She shut her eyes for a second and it seemed to ease. Looking again at M.B.’s brother, Shelby tried to pay attention.

The agonizing throb behind her eyes persisted, shooting flashes of light and shadow through her brain, but nothing else. No memories, no nothing.

As the somber, sturdily built man spoke, she closed her eyes. Shelby remembered M.B.’s contagious laugh, her ready smile, her sunglasses in every color. The void Shelby had felt since the murder grew deeper inside her, colder.

Her hands shook and she became aware that her entire body trembled. Maybe it was delayed reaction? Maybe just the realization that a service like this could also have been held for her? She might have the information to help find M.B.’s killer, but it was lost somewhere in her mind.

Glen Perry’s voice cracked and Shelby’s heart ached for him, ached for M.B.’s parents who were burying a child. She thought about her own mother having to bury Jason and couldn’t imagine how Paula would cope if something were to happen to her, too. That put a painful lump in her throat.

Stop! she told herself. Clay leaned forward with his wrists resting on his knees and she focused on the sight of his strong, gentle hands.

Finally the service was over. She fought a rising sense of suffocation as she waited with Clay and Collier to walk out. Once they stepped into the warm May sunshine, Shelby let out a sigh of relief. After telling Clay where she was going, she moved over to join the people in line to pay their respects to the Perry family. Returning to her friends, she tried to keep from bursting into tears. If she knew who’d killed M.B., why couldn’t she remember?

Feeling helpless and frustrated, she turned her attention to the tall man beside Clay. “Collier, how much longer before yours and Kiley’s wedding?”

“One week, one day and—” He glanced at his watch. “Seven hours. Y’all are coming, aren’t you?”

Clay and Shelby both nodded.

She was amazed at how perfect he and Detective Russell were for each other. “I never thought I’d see you walk down the aisle.”

“My momma didn’t raise no dummy. I’m not letting that woman get away.”

Shelby grinned, trying to keep her thoughts from sliding back into fear.

Clay nudged her shoulder, saying in a low voice, “See that guy over there in the white shirt and jeans? He’s a custodian from M.B.’s school named Antonio Sandoval. Everyone Collier and I spoke to said he spent a lot of time with M.B.”

“Why?” She turned, following Clay’s gaze to a lean, darkly handsome man with raven hair, a deep tan and striking bone structure. Double-take gorgeous.

“She was teaching him to read and write English.”

“He speaks the language well,” Collier added. “But he says he’s never learned to read or write it.”

“What reason could he have for wanting to kill M.B.?”

“We have to find out if he did have one.” Collier studied the Hispanic man. “Some of the other janitorial staff think there was more going on than reading lessons.”

“They think he was M.B.’s lover?”

Clay nodded. “Could Sandoval have been the guy you saw at her house that time?”

She frowned. “I don’t know.”

“He denies things went that far with M.B.”

Shelby’s throat knotted. She watched the other attendees move slowly among M.B.’s family members, heard a sob coming from someone. She looked away, filled with anger over her friend’s death, the chilling realization that she could easily have met the same fate, frustration over her memory loss.

Why couldn’t she remember? She wanted to help M.B., wanted whoever had killed the teacher to be brought to justice. All Shelby had was a yawning black hole in her mind, a fluid blurry memory that floated out of reach any time she tried to latch onto it. And a rage that flared occasionally. Dr. Boren had said the head injury would cause intense, often unfamiliar emotions.

The younger of M.B.’s two brothers leaned down to their mother and Shelby heard choked sobs coming from them both. Tears burned her eyes and she turned away.

Clay squeezed her shoulder. “You okay?”