Page 7 of Burn for You

I brushed him off with a lazy wave.

“You’re doing great, candidate,” I replied. “I wouldn’t want to intrude on your learning experience.”

I could practically hear Davies roll his eyes behind me. The furious rasp of his sponge on the truck suggested he wasn’t thrilled with my answer.

I toyed with Marlee’s business card, running my thumb along the edge of the paper. It still smelled faintly of her perfume—expensive, chic, with a hint of strong, warm spice for kick. Clove, maybe. In a looping black script, it read:Heartland Homes Real Estate. Marlee Jenkins, Director.Underneath wasthe receptionist’s name and number, which I didn’t pay much attention to.

Marlee had been so determined and fierce in the police station, talking to Sheriff Beck about the arsonist. I admired a woman with that kind of passion. A woman who sank her teeth into what she wanted and didn’t let go.

I smiled to myself, flipping Marlee’s business card back and forth through my fingers. The way she gazed back at me with those blue eyes, intense, unwavering, bold, and…interested. She could deny it all she wanted, hiding behind her veil of alleged professionalism if that made her feel better. I liked a challenge. Chipping away at those mile high walls of ice she’d built around her heart didn’t faze me.

And then there was that moment when she slapped her business card against my chest. Didn’t take a genius to figure out she was feeling me up.

I chuckled at the memory. Miss Marlee Jenkins was not as subtle as she thought she was.

The buzz of the alarm overhead put an end to my daydreaming. I shoved to my feet.

“House fire at 235 Fleet Street,” the dispatcher announced.

Davies tossed his cleaning equipment aside, looking relieved to finally see some action after a slow, boring morning. Lieutenant Hardy emerged from the station with the remaining crew filing after him, hauling on their gear and piling into the truck.

When we pulled up on Fleet Street, the house fire was still burning low and slow. Smoke poured from the windows but the flames weren’t out of control yet. My gaze stumbled over the sign on the lawn:Heartland Homes, for Sale by Marlee Jenkins.

Shit. Two homes in less than a week. The chances of that being a coincidence were slim.

I should have been thrilled at the excuse to see Marlee again, but as I fitted my mask over my face and jumped out of the truck, I couldn’t shake the knot of uneasiness in my stomach. I didn’t like the idea of an arsonist setting their sites on Marlee, or the agency where she worked.

“Anderson, Mueller,” Lieutenant Hardy bellowed. “Get the hose hooked up and start soaking this fire. Conway and Teagan, search the premises. Davies, you’re with me. It’s a busy neighborhood around here, boys. Let’s stop this fire from—”

“You can’t be serious!”

My body tensed and I whipped around at the sound of that familiar voice. Marlee came striding through the cluster of rubberneckers that blocked the road. She lookedpissed.

Lieutenant Hardy intercepted her path, putting out a placating hand.

“Excuse me, ma’am. You need to step back and give us room to work.”

“This is my house,” she protested.

“You live here?”

Marlee huffed with frustration and shook her head.

“No. I’m—my office is selling the house. We just finalized the deal this morning.”

“I’ve got it covered, Lieutenant,” I said, cupping Marlee’s elbow.

I didn’t miss the quick assessing glance that Lieutenant Hardy flicked in my direction before he returned his attention to the fire. He would be grilling me for answers about this later, but I’d cross that bridge when I came to it.

Right now, every instinct in my body told me to get Marlee away, to put distance between her and this damned fire.

“What are you doing here?” I asked as I pulled her aside.

Marlee gestured at the burning house.

“Sheriff Beck called.”

I removed my mask and crossed my arms, fixing her with a stern look.

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