“Yeah. Doing some research.” Which was getting him nowhere. Nothing matched. None of the current owners, none of the past owners, none of the three properties were related to each other in any way. After all these weeks, he was at an impasse, and was afraid Tommy was, too.

“You’re trying to link them together.”

He wasn’t supposed to be doing any such thing. He certainly shouldn’t be discussing it.

“What about the way the fires were started?” she asked.

They’d all been started in a wire-mesh trash can, with a second point of origin as bait for the investigator to find and be misdirected, but he was afraid he was the only one who knew that. “Similar,” he admitted.

“Suspects?”

He stared at her. She wasn’t lecturing him on how stupid it was to risk his job digging into this. She wasn’t telling him all the reasons why these fires hadn’t been arson. She was sitting here, believing him, believing in him. “Most arson is committed by the owners. But the owners of these properties aren’t connected in any way that I can see.”

“New structures? Or old?”

“Newer.”

“What about contractors, then?”

“All different.”

“Okay, then. Back to location.” Standing up, Brooke paced the length of the kitchen and back again. Leaning in over his shoulder, she typed on the keys of the laptop. “If we compare their footprints…”

He couldn’t stop staring at her, bowled over by her analytical mind, her quick thinking. “I already did.”

“And?”

And her scent was extremely distracting. As was the way her breast gently pressed into his arm. “They were all different square footage,” he told her. “Different building types. Different everything.”

“Show me.”

He brought up the map he’d created. Her arm was resting on his shoulder. Her skin looked so damned silky, and he knew from experience that she tasted amazing.

Everywhere.

“There’s got to be a connection.” She was studying the screen, her brow furrowed, her mouth grim. “Somewhere.”

She believed in him. The knowledge was staggering. “Brooke.”

“Somebody is connected in some way. An employee, a relative, someone…” She was thinking, chewing on her lower lip, eyes still glued to the screen, and he couldn’t take his off her.

“Maybe—”

“Brooke.”

Her gaze cut to his questioningly.

And he lost his breath. Instead of talking, he tugged on her hand, so that she was forced to lean in closer until she lost her balance.

He caught her.

And then he kissed her.

With a soft murmur, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back. Oh yeah, this was what he’d needed for days—hell, maybe his entire life—and he kissed her until they had to break apart to breathe.

They were still staring at each other when the kitchen door opened and Aidan walked in. “Hey.”

Brooke leaped back to her chair like a Mexican jumping bean.