Michael had shown him her picture in the paper the next morning, bandaged and sedated in some generic hospital. Michael’s brown eyes had been rock hard as he demanded answers Gabriel couldn’t give.

“I can’t believe they’re no closer to catching this guy,” said Hunter. “We’re losing time, waiting for the fires to turn up on the police scanner.”

“Mike’s been going out with the fire marshal’s daughter.” Gabriel still thought it was a dick move. “She says they have no conclusive leads.”

“Except you.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well. We both know I’m not the one starting fires.”

“Who’s starting fires?” Calla Dean dropped onto the bench beside Hunter. Actually, she straddled it. The blue streaks in her hair were gone, replaced with fluorescent pink ones. She’d braided a small section and tied off the end with a yellow feather.

“We’re talking about the ones on the news,” Hunter said smoothly.

Calla picked up a piece of Hunter’s broccoli and popped it into her mouth. Hunter watched this with a bemused expression on his face, but didn’t stop her.

“The arson stuff?” she said. “Someone’s got a fire fetish, huh?”

Gabriel reached out and turned her wrist over, exposing the flame tattoos. “Go figure.”

She snorted. “I got those to piss off my aunt. Did you know the first fire was right next door to my house?” Without waiting for an answer, she took another piece of broccoli and made a face. “What, you couldn’t add some butter?”

“I didn’t realize I’d be sharing.”

“Mind if I eat with you?” She took a third piece.

“Looks like you’re already doing that,” said Gabriel.

“I don’t mind,” said Hunter. He pushed the tray her way.

“Ugh. No way. I need salt. I’ll be back.”

Then she unfolded from the bench to weave through the tables toward the lunch line.

Hunter pulled his tray back and sliced another piece of chicken.

Gabriel watched him for a moment. “What the hell was that? You two have a thing now?”

“No.” Hunter paused. “Maybe. I can’t get a read.”

“A girl doesn’t steal your food if she’s not into you.”

“She’s unusual.”

“Dude, no offense, but you’re unusual.”

Hunter smiled briefly—but then sobered. “We talked for a long time Friday night. Her father is serving in Afghanistan, so she lives with her aunt and uncle. I think she’s lonely.”

Gabriel looked for Calla in the lunch line. Punk hair notwithstanding, she had a good six inches on most of the girls around her, and she helped the effect by wearing a shirt that revealed a long stretch of tan midriff. “Calla Dean is the captain of the girls’ volleyball team. She could probably snap her fingers and have guys bringing her lunch on their knees. She is not lonely.”