Playing with Fire. Rachel Lee

      

       “I made you uncomfortable.”

      Charity’s heart lurched. “Why do you think that?”

      “Because I asked you out,” Wayne said. “You’re sitting there trying to make casual conversation with someone you have nothing in common with except work.”

      He’d nailed it. A little while ago she’d felt giddy about meeting him. Now she was uncomfortable and floundering.

      “It’s okay,” he said. “I know you’re leaving. This is what you want to make it, nothing more. I like you. You’re very attractive. But maybe mixing business and pleasure was a stupid idea.”

      “No. I was glad you asked me out. Truly. I like you, too. It’s just that …” Charity hesitated.

      “We have an advantage here,” Wayne continued.

      “We do?”

      “Sure. When you go back to Atlanta, you never have to see me again. That ought to be freeing, not inhibiting.”

      “Sort of like Las Vegas?”

      “Yup. Or not. But I guess what I’m saying is, relax. Be yourself. I won’t hold it against you.”

      He made sense, she realized. There were advantages.

      “Ah, you’re smiling again,” he observed. “Good. This was supposed to be fun, not trial by fire.”

      ***

      Be sure to check out the next books in Conard County: The Next Generation series!

      Playing with Fire

      Rachel Lee

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      RACHEL LEE was hooked on writing by the age of twelve and practiced her craft as she moved from place to place all over the United States. This New York Times bestselling author now resides in Florida and has the joy of writing full-time.

      MILLS & BOON

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      To the brave men and women of fire departments everywhere. You tread where angels fear to go.

      Contents

       Cover

       Introduction

       Title Page

       About the Author

       Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

       Chapter 3

       Chapter 4

       Chapter 5

       Chapter 6

       Chapter 7

       Chapter 8

       Chapter 9

       Chapter 10

       Chapter 11

       Chapter 12

       Epilogue

       Extract

       Copyright

       Chapter 1

      Charity Atkins drove into the outskirts of Conard City and suddenly felt sickeningly out of her depth. It was a grandiose name for a small town, she realized, and although she was a good arson investigator, she’d only worked in industrial areas and other businesses in large cities, not on ranches out in the boondocks.

      It didn’t help to remind herself that location didn’t matter, that figuring out whether the arson was attempted fraud remained the same no matter where it occurred. For the first time, though, she knew why Todd had claimed he couldn’t handle this job and had recommended Charity take his place. All the stuff he’d said about how she was such a great investigator? She’d thought it was exaggerated at the time, but now she knew why. Separating Todd from his metropolitan comforts might have been too much to ask. She snorted.

      Two minutes later she realized she couldn’t have been more inappropriately dressed. The casual clothes of people she passed were mostly well-worn versions of Western style. Wearing a gray business suit and high heels was going to make her stick out like a sore thumb. Of course, given the size of this place she’d probably stick out anyway.

      She felt like an alien, but that was something she was fairly used to. Always being on the road kind of created that feeling.

      She reminded herself that arson was arson no matter where it occurred. Still, when she’d been told to come to Conard City, she’d envisioned a much larger place. Flying in on a four-seater Cessna hadn’t concerned her, and she hadn’t really thought about it when she climbed into a rental car that wasn’t new enough to have a GPS mapping console.

      Only now, driving down Front Street toward what she hoped would be the fire station, did she get a clear picture. The houses were all older Victorian and Craftsman styles commingling contentedly. The leafy trees looked as old as the houses, and for a main street this one struck her as awfully narrow, narrow enough that parking was allowed on only one side. She’d been in some older neighborhoods in Atlanta