Burning Love. Debra Cowan

Also the ones from the other three fires. An arsonist almost always returns to the scene.”

      “Wants to see what he’s done?”

      “Yes.”

      Again he caught a faint whiff of smoke, overlaid by the clean sweetness of her skin. His pulse drummed low and hard. Clenching a fist, he tried to stem the awareness shifting through him. “I’d like to watch those tapes with you later.”

      “Sure.”

      Her agreement came readily enough, but he sensed the same reticence he’d had all during his visit. Maybe it was due to the wariness that had clouded her eyes since he’d first met her. And maybe he was imagining things. Hell, his mind had certainly worked overtime doing just that since he’d met her.

      That had to stop. Now. The only reason his awareness of her was a big deal was because she was the first woman he’d given more than passing attention to in three years. And more important, because Terra August represented everything he didn’t want.

      Forget those are-you-man-enough eyes and killer lips. The woman chased fire for a living. No thanks. No way. No how.

      Chapter 3

      No man had ever made Terra’s head spin. It was spinning now. Jack Spencer looked at her as if he wanted to get inside her head, inside her.

      His penetrating, midnight-blue gaze gave her the same spine zap she got at a fire. Except she understood fire. She did not understand this at all. When she’d taken off her turnout coat and caught his gaze on her breasts, a sizzling awareness of him, of her own body, had hit her fast and hard. The force and heat of it exploded like a fire that had fed for hours.

      At the crime scene, she’d been too numb to register anything except shock and grief, but she did so now. During the ride to Cecily’s, sitting only a foot away from the hollow-eyed cop, Terra had to admit Jack affected her. Even Keith had never gotten to her like this.

      She breathed in the scent of clean male, a tang of aftershave. His heat settled over her like a second skin. She gripped the armrest, fighting to push away the thoughts. She should be thinking about Cecily and the questions she needed to ask, but this guy crowded out everything else.

      Her gaze followed the slant of streetlight across a chiseled jaw and cheekbone. Huge hands palmed the steering wheel and Terra felt a flutter in the pit of her stomach.

      She and Keith had enjoyed good sex and wonderful intimacy, but getting there had been a process. Two years of distance and resentment about her job had whittled away the closeness of their marriage. Since the divorce, she hadn’t come close to wanting that again. Wanting, period. She’d learned she couldn’t trust what she thought she knew, who she thought she knew. Which meant she absolutely couldn’t trust this quick flare of attraction.

      She’d never been this curious about a man. Or this aware. She wanted to know whether the shoulders beneath Jack’s khaki jacket were as broad as they appeared to be, whether the thighs covered by neat navy slacks were as powerful as his stride hinted as they walked from the car to Cecily’s door.

      His not answering the personal questions she’d lobbed earlier only made her want to figure him out the same way she figured out the burn path of a fire.

      Whether or not he was married was none of her business and it bothered her to admit it, but she hadn’t stopped wondering about that either. The desire to know more was like an itch she couldn’t reach.

      Whatever a woman had with him wouldn’t be casual and probably not brief. Harris and Granddad had always urged her to listen to her instincts. Right now those instincts screamed at her to nip this fascination with Jack in the bud, and focus on finding the arsonist and whoever had murdered Harris.

      Jack Spencer was the man who could help her do that. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, let things get personal between them. Do your job. Keith had always said she did that to the exclusion of everything else. She wondered if Jack Spencer would feel the same.

      Telling herself to knock it off, Terra slid her gaze to the tall man standing beside her on Cecily Vaughn’s sweeping porch.

      Jack jabbed the doorbell button, shoving his other hand through his thick, seal-brown hair. While darkness edged the sides of the house, light glowing from fixtures flanking the door highlighted the whisker stubble that shadowed his jaw, giving him a rumpled, dangerously sexy look. A woman would have a hard time resisting him when the lights went out. She knew she would have a hard time.

      She had an investigation to run and information about Jack Spencer was not pertinent to that. She needed to think about the coming interview with Harris’s ex. “I need to warn you, Cecily probably won’t be too happy to see me.”

      Jack slanted her a look just as the door opened.

      Cecily Vaughn, wrapped in a candy-pink peignoir, stared dully at Terra and Jack for a moment. Her unfocused brown gaze told Terra the woman was still under the influence of the sedative Jack said she’d taken earlier.

      Pulling together the thin edges of her robe, Cecily’s gaze registered recognition. “I guess I should’ve expected you.”

      “I’m sorry we have to meet again under these circumstances, Cecily.” Terra’s throat tightened as a fresh wave of pain rolled through her. Shoot, she couldn’t lose it now.

      Jack stepped into the pool of light, flashing his badge. “My condolences, Ms. Vaughn. I’m Detective Spencer and we need to ask you a few questions.”

      She studied his badge for a moment, then cut her gaze to Terra. “Is she with you? Is that allowed?”

      “Yes, ma’am. Investigator August is working this case with me, so her being here is perfectly legal. And expected,” he added.

      “Remember that Harris used to work with the police from time to time?” Terra asked quietly.

      The other woman’s stare flattened, but she stepped back to allow them grudging access. Her filmy pink robe trailing, she led them into a small, formal sitting area with matching moire Queen Anne love seats and a high-sheen cherrywood coffee table. She stopped behind one of the love seats, her long manicured nails curving onto the muted tan-and-black striped fabric. “How did the fire start?”

      “We’re not sure yet,” Jack answered.

      Dark shadows ringed Cecily’s eyes. Her usually flawless makeup couldn’t hide her wan skin or the tight lines around her mouth. She looked at Terra. “Maybe that’s where you need to be.”

      Terra told herself the woman was upset. Who wouldn’t be? For the moment, she let Jack take the lead. Cecily was on the edge. Easing into asking questions of her own seemed the best idea to Terra.

      Jack flipped open his small notebook. “Harris Vaughn was your ex-husband?”

      “Yes.”

      “How long were you divorced?”

      “Six months.”

      “Any children?”

      Terra noted that Jack kept his voice low and soothing. Evidently he had plenty of practice with distraught people. She wondered how long he’d been a detective.

      “No children.” Tears welled in Cecily’s heavily made-up eyes and she grabbed a tissue from a box on the glass-topped end table next to the love seat.

      Jack gave her a minute before continuing in the same soft tone. “When was the last time you saw him?”

      “A week ago Sunday. Our divorce was final and I wanted to talk to him.”

      “About getting back together?”

      “Yes.”

      “Did you see him here?”

      “At his house.” She dabbed her eyes again with the tissue.

      Terra planned to confirm that with Harris’s neighbors. Edging a step away