Sparking His Interest. Wendy Etherington

should have known she wouldn’t let that slide. “I just don’t like him.”

      “He doesn’t sound like a likeable guy.”

      You let your feelings get messed up with your professional judgment. The sheriff, his brother, even the mayor had said those words so often to him, he’d lost count. Did people really do that—separate the personal from the professional? Did other cops really look at rapists and think, He’s broken the law, violated a woman’s body, her personal safety and not think, He’s a scumbag who ought to be locked up for life?

      I don’t think so.

      To hell with it. “He’s not a likeable guy,” Wes said, meeting her gaze.

      “And there are plenty of other people who feel that way.”

      “I don’t doubt it.”

      “Hmm.” She smiled suddenly, and he found the expression all the more welcoming considering their surroundings. All the more alluring because of the sober expression he’d first encountered. “At least we won’t have a lack of suspects.”

      He returned her smile. “Probably not.”

      She drew a breath, and again her eyes reflected more than just an interest in the case. He hadn’t imagined the glimpse of desire this time. The big question was: what were they going to do about it?

      “It’s going to be interesting working with you, Lieutenant.”

      He took a step closer to her. “You, too.”

      His heart thudded as his gaze roved her face. He was crazy, feeling like this. So quickly. So intensely. He’d never worked with anyone he was attracted to. Could he ignore the sparks of attraction? Be professional? Reserved? He very nearly winced.

      He’d have to. This case was the most intriguing to come along in a long time. And if he managed to slide in a dig or two, a moment of trouble for Robert Addison…all the better.

      Her gaze slid to a point over his shoulder. Her eyes narrowed. She laid her hands on her hips and squinted. “Is there a reason Elvis would have an interest in this fire?”

      Wes didn’t bother to turn around. Yep, life was about to get really interesting. “Oh, yeah. He’s the mayor.”

      “WES, I’M SURE you’ll be fully prepared to explain this latest assault on our formerly secure community by 9:00 a.m. in my office,” the man, presumably the mayor, announced as he swaggered toward them. “Mr. Addison is very disturbed by this latest attack.”

      Cara stared at him. She’d seen a lot of wild—and gruesome—things in her career, but a portly mayor in a white polyester beaded jumpsuit, slick, black-dyed hair, with long sideburns and big gold sunglasses at an arson scene at two-thirty in the morning was a new one.

      “Of course, Mayor Collins.” Wes gestured to her. “Have you met Cara Hughes? She’s the state’s foremost arson investigator. She’ll be taking over the case.”

      Cara shot Wes a look of retribution. Turn me over to the nutty mayor, will you? I’ll remember that.

      The mayor settled his hands on his hips, which pushed back the white cape attached to the jumpsuit, and highlighted the large, rhinestone-studded belt buckle imprinted with the letters TCB, which stood for Taking Care of Business, if her Elvis lore was on track. Even through the sunglasses, Cara could sense his measuring gaze. She waited in silence imagining what he was thinking while he looked his fill. Who are you? What would drive a woman to do this? Why aren’t you home raising babies or teaching school like a decent, small-town Southern woman? Many a foster parent and supervisor had questioned her idiosyncrasies over the years. She was long immune, and it was always interesting to see where each person categorized her.

      Elvis the Mayor chose to ignore her.

      “Baxter is a safe town,” he said to Wes. “I don’t need this in the papers in the morning.”

      “It’s still safe,” Wes said, his deep blue eyes full of a violent restraint that was no doubt lost on the mayor.

      Cara, however, found his emotional state fascinating.

      She could all but reach out and touch the suppressed need for respect, success and, ultimately, acceptance on his face. Since she understood those emotions probably better than anyone, they were easy to spot in other people. Wes wouldn’t likely be thrilled that she suspected his secret, but then she never intended to get close enough to tell him. And maybe she’d just read too much into the moment.

      “I see we’ve all met,” Ben said as he approached them in a full turn-out of fireproof coat, pants, hat and gloves. He barely glanced at his brother, though he’d bragged earlier about what an excellent liaison he’d make for her. Then again, he didn’t pay much attention to the mayor. Of course, that could be because he couldn’t keep a straight face and talk to the mayor at the same time.

      “Yes, sir,” she said, “but I’m anxious to get inside the building.”

      “Go ahead. Start on the right side of the building, the entrance to the office. It’s untouched over there. I’ve still got men checking the building’s stability in the warehouse section. They’ll give you clearance when they can.”

      Cara nodded, pulling the architectural drawings of the building from inside her jacket pocket.

      “What are your first impressions?” Ben asked.

      “No mistaking the gas. Like last time, I expect.” She glanced briefly at the mayor. She didn’t make snap judgments about fire scenes or—usually—people, but she wasn’t sure how in the loop Elvis was. “I’ll know more in a day or so.”

      Ben nodded and smiled slightly, his teeth glowing white behind his soot-stained face. “Fine.” He paused, turning to Elvis. “Mayor Collins, I know you’re anxious to let these two get to work.”

      He nodded at Cara and Wes. “Of course. Mr. Addison and I both expect solid leads right away.”

      “I understand Mr. Addison is here at the scene?” Cara asked.

      “He was, but he left. He’s a busy man, you know.”

      What pressing business he could possibly have at this hour of the morning, Cara couldn’t imagine. He had to have realized the investigators would want to talk to him, leaving her to wonder why he’d avoided them.

      The mayor turned away with Ben, muttering about the wisdom of outsiders and rebels in the middle of the most important investigation of the year.

      “You must be the outsider,” Wes said.

      “Ah, then you’re the rebel,” Cara returned in mock surprise. “I’d wondered.”

      Wes extended his hand toward the building. “Shall we?”

      She regarded him closely, the loose gray sweatshirt and jean jacket covering his chest, the worn jeans caressing his legs, the wildness in his eyes, the dark shadow of a closely cropped goatee surrounding his sensual mouth, the windblown hair. He added up to trouble with a capital T. She rarely noticed the men she worked with. Why him? Why now?

      She shook aside the desire fluttering in her belly. Her single-minded focus on her job would obviously serve her well during this investigation. “Lead on.”

      They walked maybe fifty feet to the still-smoldering building, Cara consulting her diagram along the way.

      “The manager’s office is through here,” she said as they approached the door, which was fully intact and propped open by a rock. “Not much of an office. The building’s mostly warehouse space.”

      Wes held open the door. “After you, Captain.”

      Over her shoulder, Cara glanced at him, noticing the amused but exasperated look on his face. “Damn titles,” she muttered. “Makes me feel like saluting.”

      He smiled widely,