Wendy Etherington - Sparking His Interest

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, and she felt a sudden kinship with him, as if he, too, thought all the posturing of most people in public service was ridiculous. “Hmm. Ms. Hughes, then?” He paused. “Or maybe…Cara.”

Hearing her name fall so easily and seductively from his lips gave her a jolt she hadn’t expected. Her name had never sounded exotic. Intimate. Warmth spread through her body before she could stop it.

Still, she narrowed her eyes as she said, “Too bad we have to stick with the titles to maintain professional integrity.” She returned her attention to the diagram, determined not to let him know he’d rattled her.

“And the saluting?”

She glanced back up. He was still smiling—just barely, but seductively, invitingly.

She couldn’t imagine Wes Kimball saluting for anyone, so the question seemed irrelevant. And just why was the lieutenant flirting with her?

Usually she expended little effort holding people at a distance. Yet somehow, he’d managed to step into her personal space with a couple of words and without moving physically closer.

“No sal—” She stopped as she crossed the office’s threshold. Water squished through the carpet beneath her boots. Small puddles covered the beige steel desk sitting just inside the door. The ink on the desk calendar had smeared to nearly unrecognizable scrawls. Water still dripped from the sprinkler heads mounted to the ceiling.

“He’s not a very thorough arsonist, is he?” Wes said dryly from behind her.

Picturing the damage to the outside of the building, the half-dozen firefighters still battling the aftereffects of the blaze, the stress and suspicion that was likely to overwhelm the mayor, the town and the investigators, Cara sighed. “Looks like he’s two for two to me.”

CARA’S GAZE slid around the room, taking in the water damage and the complete absence of smoke and fire damage. Her mind clicked through the possibilities of a destroyed warehouse, but an intact emergency alert system and working sprinklers—at least in this part of the building.

“There’s more than one control valve,” she said slowly, glancing down at the architectural plans in her hands for confirmation.

Wes wandered around the soaked room, shaking his head. “So he dismantled the sprinklers in the warehouse, turning off the water valve in there, but left the phone lines intact and this valve on?”

“Makes sense to me. Maybe he didn’t know about this one.”

“Maybe,” he said, though he didn’t sound convinced.

Maybe was fine with Cara for now. Questions without answers were fine. She’d interpret once she had more facts.