When Blake didn’t answer, she looked at him—he was limping away with shocking speed. Running after him, Brooke caught up just as he got as close as he could to the flames without igniting. “Blake, what are you doing?”

At the sound of her voice, he jerked. “Brooke?” He blinked, as if surprised to see her, as if he didn’t remember seeing her only two seconds ago.

“Okay, you know what? You’re not okay.” She put her hand on his arm. “Let’s go sit down.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m working. On you. Why are you out of the hospital?”

“I don’t know.” He closed his eyes. “I’m sorry. I just…I’m sorry. For everything.”

“Come on. Let’s get you back.” Away from the fire and the pain she suspected he was suffering. “We’re in the way here.”

He looked around and blanched. “God, I’m sorry.”

“For what, Blake?”

“I can’t…” He shoved his fingers through his hair and turned away from her, but not before she saw a suspicious sheen to his eyes. “I’m so damned sorry. I should have handled this better. I should have stopped it sooner.”

“Blake? Stopped what sooner?”

Staring at the flames, he appeared transfixed. “I don’t want to lose another partner. Or a friend.”

“What do you mean? Blake, done what sooner?”

“Lots of things, actually.” He walked off, but again she stopped him.

“I don’t think being alone is what you need, Blake.”

“Please.” He jerked free, his face tortured. “Just leave me alone. There’s nothing you can do to stop it from happening.”

“What do you mean?” But she was afraid she knew, or at least was starting to know. “Blake—”

“It’s not what you think.”

But she was suddenly sure it was exactly what she thought. The arsonist was someone from within their own ranks. Possibly, terrifyingly, the someone standing right here in front of her. “Okay, let’s go over to the ambulance, and—”

“Isobel needs you.”

Brooke turned back to the rig and saw Isobel waving at her frantically.

“We have a call!” she was yelling.

Brooke turned back to Blake. “I have to go but I want you to come with me—”

But she was talking to herself. “Blake?”

He’d vanished.

17

BROOKE RAN BACK to the rig. Hopping into the driver’s seat, she pulled out her cell phone.

“No talking on the phone while you’re driving,” Isobel said.

“I’m not driving yet.” She punched in Zach’s cell phone number.

“We have a call. Eighth and Beach.”

“I know, but this is an emergency, too.” She got Zach’s voice mail. Damn it. “Zach,” she said, very aware of Isobel listening to every word. “I need to talk to you. ASAP.” She shut the phone and tried to order her racing thoughts. “We need to get someone else to take this call. Blake—”