Profile Durango. Carla Cassidy

than that she didn’t feel too badly. “How did I get here?”

      “Bobby O’Shea couldn’t sleep last night. He decided to go into the lab and get some extra work done. He found you on the floor in front of the supply closet and dragged you out, then called the fire department.”

      Patrick’s blue eyes were darker than usual as he looked at her. “If he hadn’t shown up when he did, you and I wouldn’t be having this conversation right now. I’d be talking to you in the morgue.”

      Callie fought a shiver that threatened to walk up her spine. “It was my fault. The minute I saw the smoke I should have gotten out of the building, but instead I foolishly decided to investigate and see where it was coming from.”

      “Tell me exactly what happened.” Patrick pulled a notepad and pen from his pocket.

      It took her only minutes to explain to him the events that had led to her being overcome by the smoke. She explained finding the fire in the supply closet and opening the door to check it out.

      When she was finished he leaned back in his chair and stuck the pad and pen back into his pocket. “The fire was intentionally set, Callie. Who knew that you’d be working late last night?”

      “Anyone who knows me at all,” she replied dryly. “It’s not unusual for me to be in the lab late. I’m there most nights until the wee hours of the morning. Surely you don’t think this is about me?”

      Patrick raised a dark eyebrow. “Wasn’t it just a week ago that somebody tried to run you down with a car?”

      Callie pulled the sheet tighter around her and averted her gaze from Patrick’s. “I still think that was just some dummy on a cell phone not watching where he was going.”

      “That’s two close calls, Callie. And that makes me nervous.” He unfolded his long length from the chair and stood. “Needless to say we’re investigating the fire, but to be honest I don’t feel optimistic about learning who might have set it. I’ll keep you posted, okay?”

      “Okay. The smoke alarms didn’t go off,” she added.

      “We’ll check it all out. You just need to get some rest.”

      She nodded and then forced a smile. “Are you crazy with wedding preparations yet?” In two weeks Patrick was marrying Sabrina Hunter, a Ute police detective.

      “Bree and I have agreed not to get crazy,” he replied. “It’s just going to be a small wedding without frills or fuss.”

      “I’m looking forward to it,” Callie replied. “Oh, and Patrick, last night I was studying the photos from the Mary Windsong death. I’m not convinced we have a marauding bear in the area. I think you might be looking for a murderer.”

      Patrick sighed. “I was afraid you were going to tell me that. We’ll talk more later. I’ll be in touch,” he said and then with a nod of his head he left her room.

      Restless energy filled her. She wanted out of here, needed to get back to the lab and assess the damage. Other than the headache and the irritating cough, she felt fine. She found the call button and punched it to get the attention of a nurse or a doctor.

      Almost immediately a man wearing a white coat and a nametag reading Dr. Westin entered the room. “Ah, I see my patient is awake.”

      “And ready to get out of here,” she replied.

      “Oh, let’s not rush things. I’d like to at least keep you through the afternoon for observation and we’ll talk about letting you go home this evening if no other symptoms arise through the course of the day. I’ll send the nurse in to get vitals and in the meantime it’s important that you just rest.”

      Callie wanted to protest, but she bit her tongue, knowing he was probably right. The doctor left and a nurse came in to take her vitals, then she was once again left alone.

      Two close calls in one week. Patrick’s words came back to haunt her. Was it merely a case of bad luck or was it something more ominous?

      Del Gardo. The name leaped into her head and brought with it a ball of tension that ached in her chest. He was the number one suspect in Julie’s murder, but more than that, he was the man that wanted Callie dead as well.

      “Hey, boss, how are you doing?” Ava Wright walked into the room, the sunshine from the window shimmering in her wavy red hair.

      Callie smiled at the fragile-looking woman who worked as a forensic scientist on Callie’s team. Petite Ava might look fragile with her porcelain complexion and big blue eyes, but Callie knew she was tough as nails. She carried with her a bouquet of multi-colored flowers in a glass vase.

      “I’m fine,” Callie replied. “And ready to get out of here. Those flowers are beautiful.”

      “I thought they would give you something pretty to look at while you’re here.” Ava sat in the chair Patrick had recently vacated, a dainty frown creasing her forehead. “Are you sure you’re okay? Bobby told us that you were completely unconscious when he carried you out of the building. He was scared to death for you. We all were when we got to work this morning and found out what had happened.”

      “Please tell everyone I’m fine and should be back to work first thing in the morning,” Callie replied.

      Abruptly Ava jumped out of the chair. “Be right back,” she said, a pale cast to her face. She dashed into the bathroom and Callie could have sworn she heard the sound of retching.

      Ava reappeared a moment later, her hand splayed across her stomach. “Sorry, I tried a new breakfast drink this morning and apparently it didn’t agree with me.”

      “I hope you haven’t caught the flu bug that’s been going around.”

      “I don’t think so. But, I think I’m going to scoot out of here and see if I can find something to soothe my tummy.”

      “Go on, get out of here and take care of yourself,” Callie said. “And thanks for the flowers.”

      “See you in the morning,” Ava said and with a wave of her hand, she left the room.

      The morning passed with a number of visitors stopping in from the lab to check on her. After she’d picked at her lunch and the tray had been taken away, she lowered the head of her bed. She was tired. While the steady stream of visitors had been welcome, she now found herself exhausted.

      She closed her eyes and tried not to think about the fact that it was possible the fire had been intentionally set, that the goal of the arsonist had been to kill her.

      “Hello, Callie.”

      She froze at the sound of the deep male voice and prayed that she was already asleep and suffering a nightmare. But she knew she wasn’t and she opened her eyes and stared at the tall, lean man.

      His light brown hair was much longer than when she’d last seen him, but his deep brown eyes still held the brooding darkness that had always been such an integral part of him.

      He was the man she cursed on a regular basis and the last person on earth she wanted to see at the moment.

      “What in the hell are you doing here?” she asked.

      

      THE FIRST THING that entered Tom Ryan’s mind as he gazed at Callie was that at some point over the last three years she’d cut off all her long, luxurious pale hair.

      Still, the short and sleek blond cap suited her, emphasizing the elegant bone structure of her face and those amazing blue eyes of hers, eyes that at the moment held all the warmth of an iceberg in glacial waters.

      “If you came to make sure that I’m okay, then your question has been answered and you can leave now.” She squeezed her eyes closed.

      If she was upset at the very sight of him she was really going to go ballistic when she found out why he was here. “It’s a little more complicated than that, Callie.”