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  “Are you all right? I called for help when I saw the flames.” She stuffed a cell phone into her pocket. “Let’s get him a little farther away from that.” The woman motioned to the inferno that had become of the car.

  Together, Gini and this Good Samaritan maneuvered Cameron toward the woman’s parked car. He cried out with each movement, and tears streamed down his face. Gini tried not to look at the bloody trail his body had left in the gravel.

  “What happened?” the woman asked.

  “I…I don’t know,” Gini said, although the feeling in her stomach told her she did know. Knew exactly what had happened. Exactly what she had done.

  ****

  Gini snapped awake on the arbor swing, and Saber let out a hiss as he was jostled off her lap. She rubbed the palms of her hands over her face, brushed away the tears that had come in her slumber, in her remembering.

  Cameron had healed, but it had been a painful journey. Multiple surgeries to repair the damage to his legs had him missing most of his senior year of high school. He’d had to repeat it. He and Gini didn’t talk much after the accident. Or incident, as Gini called it.

  She’d gone around for a while denying she had caused the fire that exploded the engine. She went over the scene thousands of times, replayed every angle, analyzed every detail she could remember. The anger was what stuck out in her mind. The words Cameron had said. What he had planned to take from her. But anger couldn’t start fires. Could it?

  Her father had combed through the remains of the car himself, several times, and with forensic consultation. No obvious cause for the engine to blow. No recognizable malfunction with the vehicle. No foul play. Nothing.

  Nothing but Gini’s anger.

  When she’d mentioned her theory to her father, he refused to believe her.

  “Nonsense, Gini. Total nonsense,” he’d said. “I’ve been fighting fires for a long time, and there is no way you could have started it like that. Stop blaming yourself.”

  She hadn’t mentioned what Cameron was trying to do at the time. Hadn’t mentioned how deeply he’d hurt her with his words and his actions. If she didn’t talk about it, perhaps she could pretend it didn’t happen.

  Her daddy’s not believing her had stung. Her own flesh and blood telling her she was talking nonsense. Before she could stop herself, she’d stirred up some fresh anger. The mailbox at the end of their driveway had gone up like a firecracker as she and her father sat on the front steps of their house.

  Her daddy believed her then and had been helping her keep this ability—this curse—under control. Her family had managed it rather well. She’d filled her days with happy thoughts and felt normal most of the time.

  Until Patrick Barre.

  Chapter Six

  Patrick and Midas sat on the bench outside Mason’s office. He was early, but that was the way he’d planned it. He hoped to get the formalities over with so he could put in most of the day at the fire station. Though his paperwork was always in order, every detail checked and rechecked, Patrick didn’t have an affinity for forms. He’d rather be at the station or building something.

  He’d spent most of last night examining the photos Mason had emailed him. Though he had some mixed thoughts about Gini, he couldn’t deny she had a gift when it came to photography. Patrick had been studying incident photographs for years. Most of them merely showed the facts. Gini’s were pieces of art. As if she’d thought about angles and lighting, foreground and background, while she snapped her camera. The photos captured things he hadn’t noticed when going through the actual house, and he liked to think he was an observant guy.

  Cookie crumbs on a patch of unmelted linoleum. Burn rings rainbowing across plywood. Blackened fringe on a Navajo-print blanket scrap. Shards of mirror, like glass snow sparkling on tile.

  And the blue candle, its waxy, lopsided edges hiding beneath sagging white wicker.

  “Morning.” Mason strode over with a coffee in his hands. “Sorry if I kept you waiting, but I’m no good without one of these.” He raised the cup and pointed to it with his other hand. “Want some?”

  “No, thanks.” Patrick never touched the stuff. Never understood the fuss over coffee. He liked his water pure and unspoiled.

  “Come on in.” Mason opened the door to his office and let Patrick enter first. Patrick would have liked to call the room messy, but that wasn’t the right word. Not at all. Words like “hurricane,” “devastation,” and “catastrophe” came to mind instead. He felt as if he needed a hard hat to sit safely in the crowded disaster that was Mason’s office.

  “Dump those files off that chair there.” Mason stepped over three boxes of files on the floor next to his desk to get to his own seat. “I know what you’re thinking.”

  “That your office needs caution tape?” Patrick gathered up the files and held them as he decided where to place them. Even Midas, who wasn’t particularly choosy about his hunkering down spots, didn’t know where to go.

  “Funny. No, you’re thinking that there’s no way I can possibly solve any cases in this mess.”

  “Yeah, okay. That was my second thought.” Patrick settled for resting the files on the top of a low bookcase under the only window in the office.

  “Don’t worry. This all makes sense to me and I’m the one who has to work here.” Mason sat and placed his coffee atop his littered desk.

  “As long as it works for you.” Patrick shrugged and gripped the file folder he’d brought as if he were protecting it. He didn’t want his papers to catch whatever had infected this office. He finally sat, and Midas nosed a box aside until a clear spot of floor appeared.

  “So did talking with the neighbors turn up anything?” Mason asked.

  “No, but I dropped off evidence bags at your lab. One of them includes the remains of a—”

  “Blue candle.”

  Gini walked into Mason’s office. She scooped up the papers on the chair beside Patrick’s and made herself comfortable without the blink of an eye. She was used to Mason’s mess.

  How used to his mess was she? How well did she know Mason? Patrick didn’t like the flash of unexplained jealousy that zipped through him.

  Gini faced Mason and offered him a sunny smile, but didn’t toss one Patrick’s way. She didn’t look his way at all.

  Okay. We can play it that way.

  “Hiya, Gini,” Mason said. “What blue candle? I don’t remember seeing it in the photos you sent.”

  Patrick cleared his throat to answer, but Gini already had a photo from her ridiculously big purse in her hands. She got up and leaned over the desk as she put the photo in front of Mason. Patrick’s pulse stopped for a moment as the hem of Gini’s army green shorts edged up a little higher. The back of her thigh summoned his fingers, but he clenched them into a fist and forced himself to look away.

  “It’s right here.” She tapped the photo.

  Mason picked up the picture and studied it more closely. “Point of origin, Patrick?” The detective looked at Patrick over the top edge of the photo. Gini still didn’t look at him as she sat back in her chair.

  The bad guy act worked. She genuinely hates me. Going to pretend I don’t even exist. Why did that make his stomach ache? It was what he’d wanted. No Gini, no calendar photo to worry about.

  Shaking his head, Patrick focused on the business at hand. “Definitely. That candle is the point of origin. Coupled with the gasoline trail Midas found, it ignited that blaze. No doubt. It had a scent too. Cinnamon.”

  “Cinnamon?” Mason and Gini repeated together.

  “Yes.”

  “Cinnamon is an aphrodisiac,” Gini said.

  Patrick wondered just how much Gini knew about aphrodisiacs and had to shake his head clear of the thought.

  “We’ll wait for the lab results, but I agree this candle is our starting point.” Mason took the rest of the hard copy photos Gini handed him and fished around in his desk drawer. “There are empty folders in here somewhere.” He shuffled around i
n the drawer, scattered the rubbish on his desktop, and mumbled to himself.

  Unable to take it a moment longer, Patrick offered his file folder. “Here, Mason. Use this one. It’s already got case-related information in it.” Patrick reluctantly handed over the folder.

  “Thanks.” Mason slid the photos inside. “Look at this. It’s all labeled and everything.”

  Gini chuckled, and Patrick’s gaze shot to her. Was she laughing at him?

  She swallowed, and the dimple in her right cheek faded as she put her serious face back on. Her hand clasped the straps of her purse, twisted, wrung. She struggled to not look his way. Patrick knew it.

  “I’ve got to go.” Gini stood. “You’re all set, right, Mason?”

  “Yeah, Shutterbug. Your work here is complete. As usual, you have proven most useful.”

  “Oh, go on, Mason. The things you say.” Another easy smile for Mason. “Don’t know why the gals aren’t lined up to hear your poetic words.”

  Mason grinned. “Me neither.”

  “Could be this office scares them away.” Patrick rarely joked around, but he wanted to see if Gini would laugh again.

  He was richly rewarded. She let out a full giggle this time and almost looked at him. She caught herself though and averted her gaze to the window instead.

  “Later, Mason.” Gini slipped out of the office.

  She hadn’t said Patrick’s name once, but she’d known he was there. Gini Claremont was a bigger mystery now and damn if Patrick didn’t love solving a mystery.

  ****

  Gini leaned against the wall outside Mason’s office. The walls had threatened to close in on her in there. That had never happened before. She had always been more than comfy in Mason’s office. He was a sweetheart. True, he was a sloppy sweetheart, as Patrick had noted, but she could always be herself with him. He was her brother’s best friend. One of her best friends. Easy to be around.

  Patrick Barre was another story, but her plan had worked. She’d considered him invisible and kept her feelings neutral. Okay, maybe it was a little funny he was so out of place in Mason’s disorder. That the chaos had eaten at him. How could he be so rude one minute and humorous the next? And why did he smell so good? Like sawdust and blueberry muffins. She hadn’t expected it to be so hard to ignore him. Hell, she’d spent most of her life ignoring feelings of attraction to men. Wouldn’t be fair to reel one in and risk hurting him. She wouldn’t let what had happened to Cameron happen to anyone else.

  But it had taken every muscle straining in her neck to not look at Patrick. All her focus to not speak directly to him. She was drained, but at least she wasn’t angry.

  A wet nose pressed into her kneecap, and Gini looked down. “Hey there, pup.” She scooted down to pet Midas.

  “So you see him. Can talk to him.”

  Her eyes fluttered to Patrick’s face as he stood in the doorway of Mason’s office.

  Damn, he tricked me.

  “He hasn’t been an ignorant thug.” Gini focused back on Midas. The dog buried his face in her lap as she scratched between his ears.

  “Look, we got started on the wrong foot. I’m not an ignorant thug. Just a camera shy one.”

  Gini lifted her gaze, and the smile on Patrick’s face had her breath hitching in her throat. The smile made the golden flecks in his hazel eyes glint, and his lips looked as if they were capable of real danger. Anger wasn’t the only emotion she had to worry about around Patrick.

  “I suppose I can be a tad pushy when I don’t get my way,” Gini said. “I want the calendar to be perfect, for it to raise a ton of money for the animal shelter.”

  “It can do so without my picture,” Patrick said.

  “Sure, but—”

  “Don’t.” Patrick shook his head. “You won’t change my mind, Gini. Why don’t we call a truce and go from there?”

  Gini strangled her purse strap as the sound of her name out of Patrick’s mouth sent tingly ripples throughout her body. Why did he have to be so tall?

  “A truce?” She chewed her bottom lip. A truce had to be easier than ignoring him, which wasn’t going so well at present. “Okay, deal.”

  Patrick held out a hand and Gini took it. They shook and maybe held on a bit longer than necessary before Patrick broke the connection. “I won’t be an ignorant thug, and you won’t pester me about pictures.”

  “Right,” Gini said.

  “Good.” Patrick slipped his hands into his pockets and stepped around Gini. “See you around.” He patted his thigh, and Midas trotted after him out of the police station.

  Gini leaned against the wall again and brushed her hair out of the way. Had she made a deal she couldn’t keep? It wasn’t like her to back down when she wanted something. And now she’d proven she could be around Patrick without setting things on fire. He could be civilized. She could be cordial. It could work.

  Why did she feel as if it wasn’t that simple?

  “You’re still here?” Mason tapped her on the shoulder, causing her to jump.

  “Just petting Patrick and talking to Midas.” She coughed on her mistake. “I mean…petting Midas and talking to Patrick.” She busied herself looking for her car keys in her bag.

  “He’s something, huh?” Mason asked.

  “Yeah, that dog is amazing.” Gini pulled out her keys and studied her sandals.

  “You know I didn’t mean the dog, Gini.” Mason tipped her chin up with his index finger. “You want to tell me why you were trying so hard to make Patrick nonexistent in there?” He gestured over his shoulder to his office.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mason.”

  “Shutterbug, it’s me. Don’t forget I know you almost as well as your family does.”

  Except he didn’t know everything about her. He didn’t know the secret. She would never tell him.

  “Okay, I’m caught, Mr. All-Knowing Detective.” Gini held her hands up in mock surrender. “I met Patrick yesterday and we…clashed. I figured ignoring him was the best plan of action.”

  “Mature.” Mason swerved out of Gini’s reach as she tried to shove him.

  “I didn’t say it was a good plan. I’ve abandoned it anyway.”

  “Oh?” Mason’s eyebrows rose as a teasing smirk slid across his lips.

  “If you weren’t armed right now, I’d kick your ass, Rivers,” Gini said.

  “Lucky for me.” He tapped her on the nose. “Stay out of trouble, Claremont.” He laughed and went back into his office.

  Stay out of trouble?

  Easier said than done.

  Chapter Seven

  Working out always cleared Patrick’s mind. Lift a weight, inhale. Lower a weight, exhale. Cleansing. Balancing. After his encounter with Gini, he’d felt all jumbled up, as if he were a bottle of soda someone had shaken, dropped down a flight of stairs, and thrown in a clothes dryer. Things were quiet at the station, so he’d headed to the training room determined to regroup.

  He’d completed his last rep on the weights and started on some abs work when Jonah came in.

  “For a working dog, Midas sleeps on the job a great deal,” he said. “He’s curled up on one of the bunks in the dorm.”

  Patrick sat up on his mat. “I like to think he sleeps so much so he’ll be sharp when he’s on a case. Besides we ran four miles this morning. He’s allowed to be tired.”

  “You ran and you’re in here. You training for the Olympics or something?” Jonah grabbed the chin-up bar and pulled himself up, lowered, pulled himself up again.

  “No.” Patrick started some crunches. “Just trying to get centered.”

  Jonah stopped his chin-ups and let his feet drop to the ground. “Centered?”

  “Yeah, you know, get all those crazy thoughts whipping through your mind to shut the hell up. Centered.” Patrick studied Jonah’s face. Worry lines appeared at the corners of Jonah’s mouth.

  “What kind of crazy thoughts?” Jonah stood over Patrick on the mat.

  Cra
zy thoughts about your sister. “New town, new job, new house crazy thoughts,” Patrick said instead. “A possible arson case. Take your pick.”

  Jonah let out a breath and tapped his sneakers together. “Right. Everyday stuff. I got ya. Where’s the new house?”

  “Actually, it’s an old house,” Patrick said. “Up on Hope Hill Road.”

  “That place practically swallowed by the woods?”

  “That’d be the one.”

  “No offense, man, but if I remember correctly, that house is a shithole.”

  Patrick laughed. So easy to do around Jonah. “You do remember correctly, but I know how to use a hammer, right?”

  “You’d better know how to use way more than a hammer, dude.” Jonah walked back to the chin-up bar. “You got a master plan for the place?”

  “Of course.”

  “Let me know if you need a hand. I work for beer.”

  “Good to know. I might take you up on that. There’s a ton to do up there.”

  “Why don’t we get started on the beer tonight, and you can show me the plan?”

  A social invite? So soon. So casually delivered. Patrick’s gut tensed. He wasn’t good at this being buddies thing. He didn’t have a degree in male bonding. Hadn’t even taken the first class. It couldn’t be too late to learn though, could it?

  “Sure. It’d be good to get another set of eyes on the plan. Make sure I didn’t miss something.”

  “Great.” Jonah smiled like a little boy. “Down the street from the station is a bar called Wolf’s. You’ll see why when you meet the owner. Anyway, meet me there at eight-ish and we’ll talk studs and nails.”

  Patrick went back to his crunches. Jonah flew through his chin-ups and hopped on the treadmill. No more conversation between them necessary, though Patrick started planning out what he’d say over beer that night.

  How far would he let Jonah in? How far could he afford to?

  ****

  “Only eleven fighters signed release forms.” Haddy sat across from Gini at the studio’s rectangular work table. They had ordered eggplant sandwiches from Maury’s and ate lunch as they scheduled firefighter photo shoots.