“What are you doing, Tyler? Gross!”

He wiped the toothpaste from his mouth and licked his finger, winking at me. “I kind of miss you.”

I stood next to the sink, the water running, watching Tyler turn the corner, a bounce in his step. I shook my head, wondering what the hell had gotten into him. Since I’d been at headquarters, he had been professional. No late-night sneaking around, no ass grabs or even a stolen kiss—until now.

I looked in the mirror at my sunken cheeks and the happiness in my eyes. A giddy feeling swirled in my stomach, different from the tingling I usually felt when Tyler was around. The summer was flying by. He was talking about sharing an apartment, but reality was different in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees and seeing the same twenty people every day. I wasn’t sure if Tyler would feel the same when fire season was over.

I changed into a pair of flannel pajama pants, sweatshirt, and fuzzy socks, and then stepped out into the TV room. Nineteen hotshots were standing behind the sofa, listening to Tyler talk to a stranger in a dark suit and tie. The man was sitting on one of the recliners with a notepad and pen.

I approached the crowd, listening in.

“So, you haven’t spoken to your brother about the fire?” the man said.

“I mean, yeah,” Tyler answered. “I’m an alumnus of Eastern. He’s a student. We belong to the same fraternity, and we lost brothers in that fire.”

“But you’re sure he wasn’t there,” the man said. “I would like to remind you that I’m a federal agent, and it’s imperative that you’re honest.”

“He already gave you an answer, Agent Trexler,” Taylor said, his voice firm.

I swallowed. Tyler had gotten the phone call about the fire back in March. I wondered why they were just now questioning him.

The agent looked up at Taylor. “Did he speak to you about it?”

“No,” Taylor said. “I heard about it from Tyler.”

Trexler pointed his pen at the twin on the sofa. “And you’re Tyler.”

“Correct,” Tyler said.

Trexler looked down at his notepad. “It’s interesting that you’re a…”

“Interagency hotshot,” Fish said. “And a damn good one.”

Trexler suppressed a grin. “Your father is under the impression that you’re an insurance agent. Were you? An insurance agent?”

“No,” Tyler said.

“Why does your father think that you are?”

Taylor shifted his weight from one foot to the other, tightening his grip on his arms. I could see his biceps tensing.

“Our mother died when we were kids,” Tyler said. “It would upset our dad if he knew what we did.”