Blake shook his head in disgust, then tossed another log into the fire before swiping a forearm over his sweaty brow. He didn’t look so good, and Zach frowned. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Why don’t you take a break, let me relieve you for a few?”

“I’ve got it.”

Blake had been quiet and down all year since Lynn had died. Of all of them, Zach thought maybe he at least knew a little of what he was feeling. “Blake—”

“I said I’m good.”

Great. They were both good.

And they were both liars.

FOR ZACH, the next few days whirled by, a blurry, crazy merge of calls. He didn’t sleep well, and finally gave up even trying, ending up at the firehouse kitchen table with his laptop, going through all his gathered arson information to distract himself from daydreaming about the feel of Brooke’s curves, the taste of her skin…

And then the object of his fantasies walked into the room.

She was early for her shift, looking a little sleepy and a whole lot sexy as she headed directly toward the coffeepot on the counter.

They hadn’t had a chance to speak alone since she’d worn that pretty dress with her hair down, her body soft and giving and sweet.

So goddamn sweet.

Her mouth was still soft and sweet now, but she was back in the uniform, complete with her hair all carefully pulled back.

Buttoned-up.

It didn’t matter. He remembered what she looked like with her hair down, not to mention without her clothes, and he wanted to undo her all over again.

He wanted that. He, the one who’d not wanted a relationship.

Jesus. He really needed more sleep.

Brooke doctored herself some coffee, then looked at him. “What are you doing?”

Since the answer to that was, “something I shouldn’t be,” he shut the laptop.

“You and Blake. I caught him looking at porn, too.”

“Excuse me, but I was not looking at porn.”

Over her mug, she raised a brow. “What was it Viagra Man said? Guys will be guys?”

“For God’s sake.” He opened the laptop back up. “Come here and look for yourself.”

“Oh no, thank you.” She was laughing now, and lifted her free hand. “What you do in your own spare time—”

Reaching out, he grabbed her hand and tugged her over, letting go just before she fell right into his lap, where he really wanted her.

She sat in the chair next to him and looked at him for a long beat; he looked back.

“Hi,” she whispered.

He smiled. “Hi.”

Turning her head, she stared at the screen, at the list of property deeds and the records of ownership he’d been studying, and her smile faded.

“The fires,” she said quietly. “The arsons.”