Sparking His Interest

“And you don’t like giving away your power to an outsider?” She paused. “A woman?”

“I’ve worked with women before.”

She smirked. “When absolutely forced to.”

Of course, she assumed the worst about him. And why not? Everybody else did.

He’d admit that at times the strength of his convictions had forced him to rash action or harsh opinions, but he wished he could tap into the part of himself that always made him feel as if he was standing on the other side of the fence from everyone else—especially from his family. He supposed his sometimes defensive position stemmed from losing his father so young in life, from always wanting to live up to his ideal and somehow never seeming to measure up. “Look, I—”

How did he explain solving cases was the only thing that made him feel significant anymore? How to explain what it was like to live in his overachieving family? A brother who was the revered fire chief, a brother-in-law who commanded respect without saying a word, a sister who was a successful businesswoman, another brother who was a firefighter and…well, who commanded respect from every female in town.

Simple. He didn’t.

She saved him from a graceless reply. “Ben has the right to bring in outside experts if he chooses.”

“And you get one more notch on your belt loop?”

If he expected her to flush over his crude analogy, he was dead wrong.

She smiled wide. “You bet your ass.”

He found himself returning her smile. And found himself captivated by the humor in her eyes, the curve of her hips, accentuated by her snug jeans. She was really quite…something.

He stepped closer, his heart rate quickening. Her lips parted as she stared up at him, a puff of cloudy-from-the-cold air escaping her mouth. As the scent of gardenias washed over him—an oddly ultrafemi-nine fragrance coming from such a kick-ass kind of woman—he flexed his fingers, his hands wanting to touch her more than his brain knew was wise. He and Cara seemed suspended like that for several seconds, surrounded by darkness, standing in a puddle of light, smelling the gas and smoke.

It was the smell of petrol that finally brought him to his senses. He stepped back, shoving his hands in his pockets. “So, another arson?”

She blinked, then cleared her throat, as if she’d been caught in the same odd spell as he. “There’s enough gasoline to open an Exxon, so it would seem so. I won’t know anything for sure until I’m able to get inside the building.”

“The sprinkler system was dismantled in the previous fire. The water control valve turned off.”

“But not the phone lines to the security system. So when the smoke detectors went off, the system summoned the fire department. Kinda inefficient for an arsonist.”

“I guess he didn’t realize he had to cut the phone lines, too.”

“He knew to cut the chain attached to the water control valve but not the phone or the smoke detectors?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

That point had bothered him after the last fire, as well. “The building’s out here in the woods. If the flames burned out of control, it might set off a forest fire.”

“So we have an environmentally conscious arsonist?”

“Or someone whose grudge is simply with the owner.”

“Robert Addison. What’s he like?”

He’d just seen the man practically cheek-to-cheek with the mayor. Hadn’t she? “You haven’t met him?”

“No.”

You haven’t missed much. He’s a phony jerk, Wes thought, though he controlled the impulse to say so.

“You’re obviously not a fan of his.”

Surprised, he glanced at her.

“For a cop, your eyes are easy to read.”

He was staring into the expressive eyes in this pairing. “And I always thought poker was my game.”

She continued to stare at him. Something like interest, raw and sexual, passed through her eyes. “Maybe I’m just more observant than most.”

As desire clenched his stomach, his sense of duty to his job and his own needs warred. Though he broke rules more often than he played by them, he wouldn’t give in to this attraction. Cara Hughes didn’t seem the type to fall for compliments and a nice dinner out. She seemed standoffish and alone. Serious and easy to anger.

Like him.

He was dangerously fascinated by her. This woman with a sharp wit, who carried a pistol and investigated the grim crime of arson.

And did she really feel a connection with him, or was he just impressing his own desires onto her? He was probably making an idiot out of himself, smiling at her, staring at her, his hands itching with the need to touch her. It also occurred to him that he was sharing his theories with someone who could form her own ideas and probably didn’t need his two cents.

“Well, I’ll let you get to work. I guess I can go back to bed.” Wes turned away, an odd sense of loss churning in his belly. He liked her, he realized, and wouldn’t have minded working with her. Provided he could set aside the urge to jump her body, of course.

“I could use your help, actually.” She said the words quietly, after he’d already walked away a few steps. When he turned back, she continued, “Ben said he’d like for me to have a liaison with the local police.”

“Oh, he’ll be thrilled you’ve chosen me.”

She angled her head. “He suggested you.”

Ben? he wanted to repeat incredulously. For total opposites he supposed they got along okay. They’d even come through a weird instance last spring when Ben had married a woman Wes had dated briefly. Unfortunately, they continued to butt heads over everything else. Some part of him recognized they were just different people. They had different outlooks and temperaments. Ben valued conservatism and professionalism, and Wes tended to be more progressive and less likely to follow the rules. He really wanted just to sit down over a cold Budweiser and tell his brother all the insecurities and live-up-to-the-Kimball-heroism anxieties he had, but he hadn’t.

Probably because the conflict had run for many years, back to when Ben had been forced to take over as the leader of their family, when their father had died fighting a fire and their mother had fallen apart and retreated emotionally from all of them.

Wes’s resentment over being bossed by his brother no doubt stemmed from their differing personalities as well as the closeness in their ages. Their younger brother, Steve, who was also a firefighter, never seemed to have conflicts with anyone. Everybody loved him. Everybody wanted to be around him. Why couldn’t he follow Steve’s example?

Cara stepped toward him, reminding him he had other issues on his plate. “Robert Addison.”

Wes bobbed his head back. “He’s standing over there. Ask him yourself.”

Her gaze shifted. “He’s here?”

“Talking to the mayor. It’s Addison’s building. Somebody called him, I guess.”

“I guess,” she said, then shook her head. “I’ll get to him. Right now, I want to know what you think.”

Figuring he would regret his honesty, he plunged forward anyway. “He wears expensive clothes, drives a flashy car, owns a huge plantation house on a big hill. I’ll bet his underwear has designer logos on them. He’s sophisticated and smooth.” He paused, his gaze shifting to her face. “The ladies seem to like him.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yippee. Just how wealthy are we talking about here?”

Addison wouldn’t be the first to target his own property for gain, he supposed. “Several million.”