Page 63 of Fighting Fire

Her gaze lowered, settled on the mouth that seemed almost sculpted. She’d never wanted anything more in her life than to feel the press of that mouth against hers.

Swamped by emotion, she forced a steadiness into her voice. “I intend to be careful.”

“So do I.”

Her gaze rose to meet his. “Are we still talking about the investigation?”

“No. It goes way beyond that, and we both know it.”

Wary, she shook her head. “I don’t—”

“Something profound is happening between us. Something more than friendship, more than lovers.”

She opened her mouth, closed it. It was hard to talk with nerves clogging her throat. Hard to take the next step when she knew she hadn’t been totally forthcoming with him.

“I didn’t tell you about the mysterious firefighter because I didn’t have anything to back it up.”

“And.”

“And I thought you would try to talk me out of going any further with the investigation.”

“You must think I can be very persuasive.”

“You are.” She looked away and bit her lip.

“What?”

“I haven’t told anyone this, but do you know that rich developer William Morrison?”

“Sure.”

“He’s buying up the arson properties and turning them into ritzy condos. It makes me wonder.”

“About what?”

“Those properties were run-down, but in areas where there’s been a rise in property taxes.”

“Lucrative real estate.”

“Yes. My thoughts exactly. What if he hired someone to torch those places because the owners wouldn’t sell or were asking too much?”

“Burned out rubble isn’t very valuable.”

“Do you think that I should bring this up with Bryant or go talk to the owners myself?”

“Lana, Bryant will shy away from stepping on any rich guy’s toes.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Pete Meadows popped his head out of the kitchen. “Bacon and eggs. Let’s go, people.”

They sat down at the table and Pete dished up a huge pan of eggs and another one with bacon. Lana reached out and put some on her plate. As she adjusted her chair, her purse hit the floor and the pictures of the mysterious firefighter slipped out, landing near Pete’s feet.

“What’s this?” He bent down to pick it up and Lana saw his eyes sharpen and narrow. “That’s John Fisher. Is this an old photo?”

Lana shook her head. “I got this from arson. They took pictures of every site after the fire.”

“That can’t be.”