Wendy Etherington - Sparking His Interest

He crushed Cara’s body against his, the sensation both relief and torture.

She tore her mouth from his. “We have to stop. I don’t do this with colleagues.”

“Okay,” he said, letting go of her and stepping back. Blood still roared in his head, but he forced his desire to chill.

Cara stared at him with a shocked, wide-eyed expression that reflected his own feelings. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me. Can we just forget it ever happened?” she continued. “We have to work together, and I need to concentrate on the case. Besides, I’m sure you have plenty of women lining up to…”

Wes leaned one shoulder against her front door. He smiled and brushed a strand of hair off her face. “But I was just about to let you cut to the front of the line.”

“The front of the line? Aren’t I lucky?”

His grin only widened. “Let me inside, and we could both get lucky.”

Dear Reader,

Over the past few years I’ve developed a weakness for the Kimball family. They’re a close, boisterous bunch, who support and challenge each other through all the bumps and heights in their lives. As I dived into Wes’s life, I wondered how they would all react to a new kind of test—not just a romantic tangle, but a danger to the very life of their town.

An arsonist is loose in Baxter, and Wes, who longs for acceptance but still walks his own path, is called on to solve the mystery.

I enjoyed exploring Wes’s strengths and vulnerabilities and watching him be awed, frustrated and, finally, embraced by love. By the time I finished the book, he and Cara felt like old friends. I hope they do the same for you.

Visit my Web site at www.wendyetherington.com and tell me what you think. Or you can still reach me via regular mail at P. O. Box 3016, Irmo, SC 29063.

Happy reading!

Wendy Etherington

HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

944—PRIVATE LIES

958—ARE YOU LONESOME TONIGHT?

HARLEQUIN DUETS

76—MY PLACE OR YOURS?

93—CAN’T HELP FALLING IN LOVE

HUNKA HUNKA BURNIN’ LOVE

Sparking His Interest

Wendy Etherington

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To Kelly Moses, who embraced me in my new home and who has great strength and a well of courage.

Thanks to firefighter/paramedic Russ Adams for all his assistance with plot details and insight.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

POLICE LIEUTENANT Wes Kimball slid his truck to a stop behind two patrol cars—the entire force in Baxter, Georgia. The fire department’s ladder truck, pump truck and an ambulance completed the collection of city vehicles.

Less than a hundred yards away the warehouse still billowed smoke. By the light of the three-quarter moon, he could see emergency crews lined along the sidewalk—shadows in the night, fighting a battle the heat and flames had already claimed. Still, two teams of firefighters held hoses of streaming water, aiming the quenching drink toward the building’s crumbling shell.

Wishing he had a hot cup of coffee, Wes climbed from the truck, then strode purposefully toward the scene. The distinctive smell of gasoline washed over him.

He paused, inhaling deep. Great.

The second fire in as many weeks involving gasoline and a building owned by a prominent Baxter businessman. The second time he’d been called out in the middle of the night to investigate. Last time it was a real estate management office; this time an office supply warehouse. Since he was the only cop in town who worked the arson cases with the fire department, and he’d been dealing with the first fire for the past several days, Wes figured he’d hear from the mayor by dawn. That gave him only three hours to come up with a lead. On four hours sleep.

He hunched his shoulders against the brisk October wind and approached the semicircle of cops standing to the side of the ladder truck. Great beginning for a Tuesday.

“Early enough for you?” Eric Norcutt, a high school buddy and fellow cop, asked.

“Too damn,” Wes returned.

Two other members of the Baxter PD snapped to attention.

Wes nodded. “Mornin’.”

They returned his nod, saying nothing. Since he was known almost as widely for his formidable temper as his high rate of solved cases, he could hardly object. One of those things he vowed to work on—usually after he’d had a run-in with his boss or his older brother, who was the fire chief.

“What’s the word on the warehouse?” Wes asked.

“Dead loss,” Norcutt said. “Just like the other place.”

A shout rose in the air, then a loud crash. A large beam fell from an upper floor and crumbled to the ground. Still, the firefighters stood their ground, aiming water toward the smoldering building, the picture of proud dedication. No doubt disciples of his brother Ben, who was the spitting image of their heroic father, both of whom Wes had long since ceased trying to live up to. He’d always felt like something of an outsider in his family, probably always would.

Scanning the area again, he stiffened, recognizing two figures standing off to the side. The mayor—whose portly figure was unmistakable—and Robert Addison, the owner of the building, looked to be in deep and intense conversation.

“BFD got here forty minutes ago,” Norcutt continued. “They found the warehouse already fully engulfed in flames. Thanks to the drought we had all summer, they’re concerned about sparks spreading across the field. They’ve soaked everything pretty good, but it only takes one.”

“And their suspicions?” Wes didn’t have to say more than that. Every citizen—law enforcement, fire department or not—knew the first fire had just been declared an arson by the county fire marshal. With the last crime in Baxter involving a farmer’s cow being tormented by firecrackers and a couple of intoxicated, idiotic teens, the fire had been the talk of the town.

“She’s here.” Norcutt nodded toward the warehouse. “What’s that tell you?”

Wes rolled his shoulders against a twinge of resentment. Well, it seemed his involvement in this case was coming to an end this morning. Didn’t matter. He had other cases to deal with. That cow thing for one.

She was Fire Captain Cara Hughes. Presumably, the state’s top arson investigator, though he’d personally never worked with her. Ben had consulted her by phone after the last fire and had obviously called her to officially lead the investigation. Wes knew little about her. She was tough—there was even a wild rumor she slept with a six-inch switchblade beneath her pillow—serious and by-the-book.

And she had a rough road ahead. The all-male fire and police force in Baxter would no doubt come up with a few asinine, I-have-two-X-chromosomes-hear-me-roar comments about Hughes’s consultation. Personally, Wes didn’t care if the arson investigator was an alien with green antennae on his/her/its head.