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  youngest as he flew at her.

  “Look, Mom. It’s a real, actual fireman’s hat.” The helmet Ry had given Keenan to wear slipped down over the boy’s face. Inside, it smelled mysteriously, fascinatingly, of smoke. “And Ry says we can go sit in the fire engine now.” After wriggling down and dancing in place, he shouted at his brother and sister. “Let’s go!”

  Accompanied by two firefighters, the children dashed off to check out the engine. With a signal to Cilla to wait, Boyd disappeared up the steps with Ry.

  “Well.” Cilla sniffed and shrugged. “The womenfolk have been dismissed. They’ll go upstairs to grunt significantly over official business.”

  “I wish Boyd wouldn’t worry so much. There’s really nothing he can do.”

  “Older siblings are programmed to worry.” Cilla slung an arm around Natalie’s shoulder. “But, if it helps, he’s feeling a lot less worried since he’s met Ry.”

  “That’s something, I suppose.” Relaxed again, she walked with Cilla toward the back of the engine. “So, how’s Althea doing?” Around the front, the children were barraging the firefighters with questions. “The last time I talked to her, she claimed she was as big as two houses and miserably bored with desk duty.”

  “She’s the sexiest expectant mother I’ve ever seen. Since Colt and Boyd ganged up on her, she’s at home on full maternity leave. I dropped over to see her one day a couple of weeks ago and caught her knitting.”

  “Knitting?” Natalie let out a full-throated laugh. “Althea?”

  “Funny what marriage and family can do to you.”

  “Yeah.” Natalie’s smile faded a bit. “I suppose that’s true.”

  * * *

  Upstairs, Boyd was frowning over Ry’s reports. “Why upstairs, in the office?” he asked. “Why didn’t he start the fire in the showroom? It seems to me there would have been more damage more quickly.”

  “The showroom window could have put him off. I figure the storeroom would have made more sense if he was just looking to burn the place down. It’s private, full of stock and boxes.” Ry set aside his coffee. He really had to start cutting down. “I figure he was following instructions. Clarence is real good at following instructions.”

  “Whose?”

  “That’s the ticket.” Ry kicked back in his chair and propped his feet on his desk. “I’ve got two incendiary fires that are obviously related. The target in both cases is a single business, and both, I believe, were started by a single perpetrator.”

  “So he’s on somebody’s payroll.” Boyd set the reports aside. “A competitor?”

  “We’re checking it out.”

  “But it’s unlikely a competitor would be able to give your pal Clarence access to either building. You didn’t find any sign of forced entry.”

  “That’s right.” Ry lit a cigarette. A man couldn’t cut down on two vices at once. “Which leads us to Natalie’s organization.”

  Boyd got up to pace. “I can’t claim to know her staff, certainly not in this new project of hers. I don’t deal with the business end of Fletcher unless I’m backed into a corner.” He regretted that now, only because he would have been more help if he’d been familiar with her procedures and personnel. “But I can get a lot of information from my parents, particularly on her top people.”

  “It couldn’t hurt. The fact that there was only cosmetic damage at the last fire leads to the conclusion that there’ll be another. If Clarence follows his pattern, he’ll hit her again within the next ten days.” He tossed papers aside. “We’ll be waiting for him.”

  Boyd looked back and measured the man. Tough, smart. But, as he knew from personal experience, the job could get sticky when a man found himself involved with a target.

  “And while you’re waiting for him, you’ll keep Natalie out of it.”

  “That’s the idea.”

  “And while you’re doing that, you’re going to be able to separate the woman you’re involved with from the case you’re trying to close.”

  Ry lifted a brow. That was going to be a challenge, and the difficulty of meeting that challenge had crossed his mind more than once. The trouble was, he wasn’t willing to give up either the woman or the case.

  “I know what needs to be done, Captain.”

  With a nod, Boyd placed his palms on the desk and leaned forward. “I’m trusting you with her, Piasecki, on every level. If she gets hurt—on any level—I’m coming after you.”

  “Fair enough.”

  * * *

  An hour later, Natalie stood on the curb outside the station, waving good-bye. “You were a big hit, Inspector.”

  “Hey, a shiny red fire truck, a long brass pole—how could I miss?”

  Laughing, she turned to link her arms around his neck. “Thanks.” She kissed him lightly.

  “For?”

  “For being so nice to my family.”

  “It wasn’t a hardship. I like kids.”

  “It shows. And”—she kissed him again—“that’s for putting Boyd’s mind at ease.”

  “I don’t know if I’d go quite that far. He’s still thinking about punching me out if I make the wrong move with his baby sister.”

  “Well, then …” Her eyes danced up at his. “You’d better be careful, because my big brother is plenty tough.”

  “You don’t have to draw me a picture.” He swung her toward the doors. “Come on back up with me. I need to get a couple of things.”

  “All right.” They’d barely started up the stairs when the bells sounded. “Oh.” The sound of clattering feet echoed below them. “I’m sorry the kids missed this.” Then she stopped, wincing. “That’s terrible, acting like a fire’s a form of entertainment.”

  “It’s a natural reaction. Bells, whistles, men in funny uniforms. It’s a hell of a show.”

  They crossed over to his office. She waited while he sorted through papers. “Do you ever get cats out of trees?”

  “Yep. And kids’ heads out of the pickets on railings. I got someone’s pet iguana out of a sewer pipe once.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “Hey, we don’t joke about rescue.”

  He looked up and grinned. She looked so tidy, he thought, in her navy blazer and slacks, with the cashmere sweater, red as one of his engines, softly draped at the neck. Her hair was loose, honey gold. When she tucked it behind her ear in that fluid, unconscious movement, he could see the wink of rich blue stones. Sapphires, he assumed. Only the genuine article would suit Natalie Fletcher.

  “What is it?” A little self-conscious under his stare, she shifted. “Did Keenan leave something edible smeared on my face?”

  “No. You look good, Legs. Want to go somewhere?”

  “Go somewhere?” The idea put her off balance. Apart from the challenge of that first meal, they hadn’t actually gone anywhere.

  “Like a movie. Or …” He supposed he could handle it. “A museum or something.”

  “I … Yes, that’d be nice.” It shouldn’t be so awkward, she thought, to plan a simple date with someone you’d been sleeping with.

  “Which?”

  “Either.”

  “Okay.” He stuffed some papers in a battered briefcase. “The guys should have a newspaper downstairs. We’ll check it out.”

  “Fine.” When they started out, Natalie glanced first toward the stairs and then back toward the poles. She took a deep breath and gave up. “Ry?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can I slide down the pole?”

  He stopped dead and stared down at her. “You want to slide down the pole?”

  Amused at herself, Natalie shrugged her shoulders. “Ry, I’ve got to slide down the pole. It’s driving me crazy.”

  “No kidding?” His grin broke out as he put a hand on her shoulder and turned her around. “Okay, Aunt Nat. I’ll go down first, in case you lose your nerve.”

  “I’m not going to lose my nerve,” she said huffily. “I’ll have you know I’ve been rock-climbing d
ozens of times.”

  “There’s that height thing again. You get a good grip,” he continued, demonstrating. “Swing yourself forward. You can wrap your legs around it as you go down.”

  He flowed down, smooth and fast. Frowning, she leaned over, peering at him through the opening.

  “You didn’t wrap your legs around it.”

  “I don’t have to,” he said dryly. “I’m a professional. Come on, and don’t worry—I’ll catch you.”

  “I don’t need you to catch me.” Insulted, she tossed back her hair. She reached out, took a good grip on the brass pole, then swung agilely into space.

  It took a matter of seconds. Her heart had barely had time to settle before her feet hit the floor. Laughing, she looked longingly up again. “See? I didn’t need—” Her boast ended on a squeal of surprise as he scooped her up into his arms. “What?”

  “You’re a natural.” He was grinning as he lowered his mouth to hers. And a constant surprise to him, he thought.

  She angled her head, settling her arms comfortably around his neck. “I could do it again.”

  “If you’d do it in red suspenders, a pair of those really little shorts and let me take a picture, the guys would be very grateful.”

  She lifted a brow. “I think I’ll just make a cash donation to the department.”

  “It’s not the same.”

  “Inspector?” The dispatcher poked his head out of a doorway. His smile spread slowly at the sight of the woman bundled in Ry’s arms. “Suspicious fire over at 12 East Newberry. They want you.”

  “Tell them I’m on my way.” He set Natalie back on her feet. “Sorry.”

  “It’s all right. I know how it is.” Her disappointment was completely out of proportion, she lectured herself. “I’ve got some work I should be catching up on, anyway. I’ll grab a cab.”

  “I’ll take you home,” Ry told her. “On my way.” He steered her toward the bench where she’d left her coat. “Are you just going to be hanging around at the apartment?”

  “Yes. There are some spreadsheets I should have looked at yesterday.”

  “So I’ll call you.”

  As Ry helped her on with her coat, she glanced over her shoulder. “All right.”

  He turned her completely around and indulged himself with one long, hard kiss. “Tell you what, I’ll just come by when I’m done.”

  Natalie worked on getting her breath back. “Better,” she managed. “That’s even better.”

  * * *

  By the middle of the week, Natalie had discovered that for the first time in memory she was behind on her own personal schedule. Not only had she blown the previous weekend, but she hadn’t put in a decent night’s work all week.

  How could she, when she and Ry were spending every free moment together? Every evening they settled into her apartment, ordered dinner—which more often than not had to be reheated after they’d feasted on each other.

  She didn’t think of work from the time he arrived on her doorstep until she rushed into her office the next morning.

  She didn’t think of anything but him.

  Besotted was what she was, Natalie admitted as she stared out her office window. Fascinated by the man, and by what happened every time they got within arm’s reach of each other.

  It was crazy, of course. She knew it. But it was so wonderful at the moment, it didn’t seem to matter.

  And she could justify it, since she hadn’t yet missed any meetings or business deadlines. Now that Ry had given her the go-ahead, she’d authorized the cleanup and redecorating at the flagship store. The stock there was nearly all in place, and the window-dressing was complete.

  It was only a matter of days before the grand opening, nationwide, and there’d been no more incidents. That was how she liked to think of the fires now. As incidents.

  She should, of course, be making plans to visit all the branches within the next ten days. But the thought of traveling just then seemed so annoying, so depressing. So lonely.

  She could delegate Melvin or Donald to make the tour. It wouldn’t even be outside of proper business procedure to do so. But it wasn’t her style to delegate what should be done by her.

  Maybe, if things got settled somehow, Ry could get a few days off, go with her. It would be wonderful to have company—his company—on a quick business trip. She could put it off until after the grand opening, instead of before, and then—

  Turning away from the window, she answered the buzzer on her desk. “Yes, Maureen.”

  “Ms. Marks to see you, Ms. Fletcher.”

  “Thanks. Send her in.” With an effort, Natalie shifted her personal thoughts to the back of her mind and welcomed her accounting executive. “Deirdre, have a seat.”

  “I’m sorry I’m so behind.” Deirdre blew her choppy bangs out of her eyes before she dropped a thick stack of files on Natalie’s desk. “Every time we turn around, the system’s down.”

  Natalie frowned as she picked up the first file. “Have you called in the engineer?”

  “He’s practically living in my lap.” Deirdre plopped into a chair and set one practical flat-heeled shoe on her knee. “He fixes it, we forge ahead, and it goes down again. Believe me, running figures has become a challenge.”

  “We’ve still got some time before the end of the quarter. I’ll call the computer people myself this afternoon. If their equipment’s unstable, they’ll have to replace it. Immediately.”

  “Good luck,” Deirdre said dryly. “The good news is, I was able to run a chart on the early catalog sales. I think you’ll be pleased with the results.”

  “Mmm, hmm …” Natalie was already flipping through the files. “Fortunately, the fires didn’t destroy records. You’d have a real accounting nightmare on your hands if it had gotten to the files at the flagship.”

  “You’re telling me.” Deirdre rubbed her fingers over her eyes. “The way the system’s been hiccuping, I’d sweat bullets without those hard copies.”

  “Well, relax. I’ve got copies of the copies, as well as the backup disks, tucked away. I was hoping to run a full audit by the middle of March.” She saw the wince before Deirdre could mask it. “But,” she added, leaning back, “if we keep running into these glitches, we’ll have to put it off until after the tax-season rush.”

  “My life for you.” Solemnly, Deirdre thumped a fist on her breast. “Now to the nitty-gritty. Your outlay is still within the projected parameters. Barely. With the insurance payments, we’ll offset some of that.”

  Natalie nodded, and made herself focus on budgets and percentages.

  * * *

  A few hours later, in a seedy downtown motel, Clarence Jacoby sat on his sagging bed, lighting matches. His hands were pudgy, smooth as a girl’s. Each time he would strike the match and watch the magic flare, waiting, waiting until the heat just kissed the tips of his fingers, before blowing it out.

  The ashtray beside him was overflowing with the matches that had already flared and burned. Clarence could entertain himself for hours with nothing more.

  He thought nearly every night about burning down the hotel. It would be exciting to start the blaze right in his own room, watch it grow and spread. But he wouldn’t be alone, and that stopped him.

  Clarence didn’t care overmuch about people, or the risk to their lives. He simply preferred to be alone with his fires.

  He’d learned not to stay overlong after he’d ignited them. The rippling scars over his neck and chest were daily reminders of how quickly, how fiercely, the dragon could turn, even on one who loved it.

  So he contented himself with merely conceiving the fire, basking for a regrettably short time in its heat, before fleeing.

  Six months before, in Detroit, he’d torched an abandoned warehouse that the owner had no longer needed or wanted. It was the kind of favor, a profitable one on all sides, that Clarence enjoyed. He had stayed to watch that fire burn. Oh, he’d been out of the building and deep in the shadows. But they’d nearly
caught him. Those cops and arson people scanned the crowds at the scene just for a face like his.

  A worshipful face. A happy face.

  With a giggle, Clarence struck another match. But he’d gotten away. And he’d learned another lesson. It wasn’t smart to stay and watch. He didn’t need to stay and watch. There were so many fires, so many fierce and beautiful blazes living in his mind and heart, he didn’t need to stay.

  He had only to close his eyes and see them. Feel them. Smell them.

  He was humming to himself when the phone rang. His round, childlike face beamed happily when he heard the sound. Only one person had his number here. And that person would have only one reason to call.

  It was time, he knew, to free the dragon again.

  * * *

  At his desk, Ry pored over lab reports. It was nearly seven, and already dark outside. He’d given up on cutting down on coffee, and drank it hot and black from a chipped mug.

  He needed to quit for the day. He recognized the slow process of shutting down in his mind and body. Somehow or other, in the past couple of weeks, he’d gotten into a routine he was now beginning to depend on.

  No, not somehow or other, Ry reminded himself, scrubbing his hands over his face. Someone.

  He was getting much too used to knocking off for the day and heading for her apartment. He even had a key to her front door in his pocket now. Something that had been given and taken without ceremony. As if neither of them wanted to acknowledge what that simple piece of metal stood for.

  They’d have a meal, he thought. They’d talk, maybe watch one of the old movies on television—something they’d discovered by accident they both loved.

  Most of what they’d discovered about each other, he mused, had been by accident. Or by observation.

  He knew she liked long bubble baths in the evening, with the water too hot and a glass of chilled wine sitting on the rim of the tub. She stepped out of those ankle-breakers she wore the minute she walked in the door. And she put everything away in its place.

  She slept in silk and hogged the blankets. Her alarm went off at seven on the dot every morning, and if he wasn’t quick enough to delay her, she was out of the bed seconds later.

  She had a weakness for strawberry ice cream and big-band music.

  She was loyal and smart and strong.

  And he was in love with her.

  Sitting back, Ry rested his eyes. A problem, he thought. His problem. They’d had an unspoken agreement going in, and he knew it. No ties, no tangles.

  He didn’t want them.

  God knew he couldn’t afford them with her.

  They were opposites on every level but one. The physical needs that had brought them together, no matter how intense, couldn’t override everything else. Not in the long term.

  So there couldn’t be a long term.

  He would do what was smart, what was right, and see her through the arson investigation. And that would be that. Would have to be that.

  And to save them both an unpleasant scene, he’d start backing away a little. Starting now.

  He rose and grabbed his jacket. He wouldn’t go to her place tonight. He looked guiltily at the phone, thinking of calling her, making some excuse.

  With an oath, he turned out the lights. He wasn’t her damn husband, he reminded himself.

  He never would be.