Touched by Fire
Elizabeth Sinclair

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Dedication:

To Leslie King for the strength, love and support

she’s given her mom, my dear friend, at a time

when she needed it most.

Contents

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Epilogue

Acknowledgments:

A big Thank You to the guys in the Electronics Department at the St. Augustine, Florida, Home Depot, who left their supper uneaten to give this electronically challenged writer a lesson in how a remote control could work a tape recorder. Thanks, gentlemen.

Chapter 1

His hands moved expertly over her hot flesh, bringing it to life, bringing her to life in a way that made her squirm beneath him. What was he waiting for? Why didn’t he give her what she wanted, what she ached for?

“Please,” she pleaded, her nails digging into his shoulders.

“Not yet,” he growled against her swollen breast. “First, tell me you love me, that you trust me.”

He circled the aching tip of her breast with his tongue, sending wave after wave of intense longing through her. The teasing was excruciating. Her body throbbed with need.

She couldn’t stand any more of this torture. She had to say it. She had to—or die from the gnawing need inside her. She opened her mouth to speak the words that would release her from this sensual prison, but they wouldn’t come. Every time she tried to tell him she trusted him, loved him, she felt as though a large hole had opened beneath her, a hole that would swallow her up the moment the words passed her lips, a hole from which she would never escape and the fall would be more painful than she could stand.

“Say them, Sam. Say the words.”

“I can’t,” she sobbed. “I just…can’t.”

“Then there will be no release for you.” He rolled off her, leaving her emotionally hungry and physically cold.

“No!” she cried. “No!” She reached for him, but she found only air.

Her eyes flew open.

She bolted upright and looked at the empty bed beside her. Slowly the haze of sleep receded, and she realized it had all been a dream. The fabric of her nightgown stuck to her sweat-slicked body. Her hair hung in tangles around her tear-dampened face. The night air sent chills over her, despite the fact that her body was so hot, she could almost smell the smoke coming from it.

Pushing her hair from her eyes, she buried her hot face in her hands. “Samantha Ellis, you’re committing emotional suicide, and it has to stop. Now!”

Sam didn’t make a habit of talking to herself, but mental admonitions didn’t seem to be working anymore. If she didn’t get a handle on this crazy obsession with Chief of Detectives A. J. Branson, she’d be serving up her heart to him on a silver platter, and he’d slice it to ribbons.

Sam had already been through that pain with Sloan Whitley, the onetime love of her life, when he neglected to tell her he was married; she was not about to do it again. When she’d added Sloan to the lineup of betrayals by her family, her quota had been filled to overflowing. After the Sloan fiasco, she’d locked her heart away and sworn there would be no more relationships, and certainly not with A.J., a man with a trail of heartbreaks and a history of running from commitment. But if she didn’t get control of this attraction she was nursing for the handsome blond detective, she might well find herself back in her old room at the Heartbreak Hotel.

Disgusted with her frustrating lack of ability to control her feelings, Sam rolled over in bed and glanced at the bedside clock’s illuminated dial. 5:33 a.m. The alarm would sound in another hour, and she didn’t see herself falling back to sleep. Might as well call it a night. Free of the disturbing, erotic dreams of the Orange Grove, Florida detective, dreams that had become all too common of late and all too disturbing, she sat up, hit the off button and rubbed her eyes.

Determined not to give A.J. any more of her time, she threw back the damp sheets, slid from the bed, grabbed her robe and then headed to the kitchen to put on a pot of wake-up coffee. As she passed through the hall and into the living room, she rubbed at her throbbing temples. Lack of sleep had brought on a headache that was quickly increasing in strength to the point that it felt as if someone was twisting an ax in her skull.

She’d taken two steps into the living room when she detected an odor she and every other firefighter knew well. Smoke. A remnant of her all-too-vivid dream? But she was wide-awake now. She sniffed the air again.

Burning fabric.

Instantly alert, headache forgotten, her firefighter training kicked in. She ran through the house searching for the source. It didn’t take long to find it. Just a few feet from the front door, thick gray curls of smoke poured from under an armchair and had begun to accumulate in a misty layer along the ceiling.

“What the…”

Despite her bordering-on-petite size, she upended the heavy chair and found a plain white, smoldering, business-size envelope beneath it. Automatically, she scooped it up by a corner. Racing to the front door and nearly falling on the highly polished cypress floor, she unlocked the door and yanked it open, then ran to the edge of the porch and threw the envelope onto the dew-wet grass.

With the emergency in the past, the surge of adrenaline that had driven her dissipated—just as it always did after every fire she’d ever attended—leaving her drained and emotionally exhausted.

Then realization of what had just happened and its possible outcome hit her between the eyes.

I could have died. And my home could have burned to the ground.

For anyone else the specter of possible death would have been trauma enough, but for Sam, who had spent her entire childhood hopping from motel room to motel room, the destruction of her home almost outweighed her own mortality. To lose her house would be like losing herself and everything she’d worked for since she’d separated herself from the nomadic life her mother had forced on her and her sister for years. This house wasn’t just a brick-and-mortar structure. It was home, the very foundation of her independence, her symbol of security and stability. Aftershock set in.

Her hands began to shake, and her knees threatened to fold like an accordion beneath her. She collapsed against the porch railing. Her heart pounded in her ears. Sweat beaded her forehead and coated the palms of her trembling hands. Her empty stomach churned with sour fear.

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she stared at the smoking envelope. A part-time arson investigator, she didn’t have to wonder what had caused the envelope to smolder. She’d learned about them in her basic training at the firefighters’ academy, and she’d seen them in the line of duty. As a result, she knew all too well what had caused the spontaneous combustion—hand lotion and potassium permanganate, or some variety thereof.

It was a simple, cheap, insidious device that initially just produced a lot of smoke, but if left to reach its full potential, could cause untold damage. She busied her mind by repeating by rote the steps of its creation.

Hand lotion went into the bottom of the envelope, then it was folded. The potassium was added and the envelope folded again. When the fire-starter got to the scene, he had only to unfold the envelope, shake it to mix the two ingredients together, place it somewhere where it wouldn’t be quickly discovered and walk casually away. The ingredients would first begin to smoke, then eventually erupt into open flame. Ideally, no one would know it was there until it was too late. The fire would start long after the arsonist had left the scene undetected, and any evidence would almost certainly be consumed by the fire. Rudimentary, but deadly.

The torch—or arsonist—had taken a calculated risk that Sam wouldn’t find it in time to put it out. He had probably counted on her sleeping through the preliminary stages and waking when the fire had already taken hold—hopefully, when it was out of control.

But how did he get it in the house? Everything had been locked up tight. Sam lived alone, and she was smart enough not to take chances with security. This house represented the first real home she’d ever known, and she had guarded against it being invaded in any way. That it had been gave rise to a mixture of fear, indignation and anger.

She glanced toward the open door and at once knew how this had happened. The torch hadn’t gotten inside. He’d shoved it through the mail slot in the door. But because of her highly polished floors, when it hit the slick wood, it had probably slid forward, stopping only because it had come in contact with the dust ruffle of the overstuffed chair, accidentally making it more deadly and efficient than the arsonist intended.

Now that she had figured out how it got there, two even more disturbing questions drummed at her mind:

Who had planted the device?

Why would anyone want to burn down her house and possibly her with it?

Though she racked her brain, no one came to mind. Sam was a very private person with only a few friends. To her knowledge, she had no enemies. But since she and Rachel Sutherland had formed FIST, the Fire Investigation Special Team, she had nailed a few property owners who had torched their buildings for the insurance money. Could it be one of them? That was the only thing that came close to making any sense. But if so, which one was ticked off enough at her to want her dead?

While she’d been trying to sort through who could have done this, the wetness from the dew-laden grass had seeped into the paper and the envelope had stopped smoldering. Now that it no longer presented a threat, she picked it up by one corner and carried it back inside, slipped it into a brown craft envelope and sealed it, then marked it with her name, the time and date, and the words incendiary device, then put it beside her purse.

For a moment, she considered giving it to A.J., but that would mean seeing him, and she knew all too well what happened each time she saw him. She turned into an emotional heap who could think of little beyond how much she wanted to give in to her desires. Maybe Rachel’s detective husband, Luke Sutherland, could pass it on to his boss.

But first things first. She went to the garage, removed a piece of wood from an old packing crate she’d hung on to, found some nails and a hammer and nailed the wood over the mail slot. That would do until she could have the door replaced with a slotless one. Back in the living room, she threw open the phone book and searched the yellow pages for the name of a carpenter. While she did so, she continued to try to make sense of all this, always returning to the same question.

Who wanted to kill her?

Deep in thought, A. J. Branson stared down at the official-looking letter in his hand. He hadn’t expected such a quick reply to his application. At least he’d been given a few months’ time to make a decision. Frowning, he rubbed absently at his forehead. Outside his office door the noise of the squad room drifted to him as Orange Grove’s finest arrived for night duty. Automatically, his free hand reached for a cigar that would have, until he’d given them up months ago, resided in a humidor on his cluttered desk.

“Don’t tell me. The president has asked you to come up with a solution for world peace.”

Starting guiltily, A.J. withdrew his hand, then looked up to find Luke Sutherland, one of his detectives and his best friend, standing in the doorway, a brown craft envelope in his hand.

A.J. chuckled, but the sound held no humor. “Nothing that earth-shattering, I’m afraid.”

“Oh? Sure looked serious to me. What else would make you reach for a cigar that hasn’t been there since last year?” Luke grinned and dropped into the chair facing A.J., then steepled his fingers beneath his chin and studied his boss. “Want to talk about it?”

Did he? A.J. wasn’t sure he was ready to share this with anyone. But this was his friend. He’d been the best man at Luke’s wedding. Together they’d lived through Luke’s child being kidnapped and thought dead, his breakup with Rachel, a series of fires that had threatened Rachel’s life and the final capture of the arsonist/kidnapper and rescue of little Maggie and her mother. The reunited Sutherlands had even named their son after him and made him Jay’s godfather. If he could share this with anyone, Luke would be that person.

“It’s a job offer from the New York State Bureau of Criminal Investigation.”

“The BCI?” Luke sat up straight, alarm written all over his features. “You’re leaving Orange Grove? What the hell for?”

“It means a promotion and a big pay raise.”

Luke shook his head. “You could apply to the Florida Department of Law Enforcement. If NY wants you, Florida should, too. Dammit, A.J. This is going to sound selfish as hell, but why would you go to NY?”

First and foremost, the simple answer was that this job had been something he’d wanted for a long time, something he’d set as a goal for himself long ago. When a friend had alerted him to the possibility of an opening months ago, he’d jumped at it with nothing more than his career in mind. Now, however, he had another reason.

The other reason was not something A.J. was ready to share with anyone, even Luke. How could he tell him that this job offer gave him the perfect excuse to get away from Samantha Ellis? Or that he was running away from his heart because he was becoming more and more attracted to Sam with each passing day, and it scared him senseless? He was, after all, a cop, the chief of detectives, for heaven’s sake. How could one woman make him want to run fifteen hundred miles away for emotional cover?

It didn’t take much effort to find the answer: one failed marriage, followed by a failed engagement. When it came to women, he was batting zero in the relationship department and had learned not to trust his choices. Sam could just be another emotional disaster waiting to happen, and he could not take that risk. A heart could take just so much abuse, and commitment seemed to be his own personal battering ram.

“Damn! You’re going, aren’t you?” Luke asked, a thread of shock imbuing his voice.

A.J. shrugged. “I haven’t made any decisions.” But, truth be told, he was seriously considering it, and he’d been given some time to make up his mind. “I have to think it through.”

“What’s to think about?” Luke asked, standing and beginning to pace A.J.’s small office. “Good grief, A.J., all your friends are here. You have a good job. What the hell more could you want?”

A family. Kids. Love. Everything you have. Some kind of guarantee that Sam won’t be just another mistake to add to my list of personal screwups.

But he didn’t voice his thoughts. He didn’t need Luke lecturing him about his track record with women. He could run his personal life without any help from Luke.

And you’ve done such a splendid job so far.

A.J.’s nerves were drawn as tight as a bowstring. He’d had enough of Luke nudging him and reminding him of what he’d be leaving or what he’d never have. “Don’t you have work to do?” he asked, putting on his boss face and effectively closing the discussion.

Luke threw him an impatient look, then tossed the brown envelope he’d been holding facedown on A.J.’s desk. “You should see this.” Then he left the office, closing the door with more gusto than was needed.

A.J. shoved the envelope aside and leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and sighed. When had his life gotten so complicated? He laughed aloud. The day he’d met Samantha Ellis outside the arson task force room. That’s when.

He could still see the blue highlights in her silky, raven-black hair shining in the sunlight and her sea-blue eyes twinkling up at him. He could still feel the tightening in his gut that always signaled the beginning of an attraction to a woman. He could still feel the wash of warmth that went over him when she’d smiled. If he’d been smart, he would have backed away then, distanced himself, but he hadn’t and now he was paying the price.

Most disconcerting of all was that when he was around her all his good intentions, all his firm resolutions to keep his distance, melted away like snow under a noonday sun. In his heart, he knew he was getting down to the wire. If he didn’t put distance between them soon, they’d both suffer the consequences. The offer he’d so coveted from the BCI just provided the escape route.

Heaving a sigh, he sat up, turned over the envelope Luke had given him, then—after reading Sam’s name scrawled across the front—tore it open. Carefully, he slid the scorched contents onto his desk. For a time he stared at it, unable to distinguish what it was, then it came to him. Sam gave this to Rachel? Why? He glanced at the front of the envelope again and read Sam’s address on it and the words incendiary device. His heart felt as if someone had reached into his chest and squeezed it as hard as they could. Then his anger began to bubble to the surface. What the hell was this all about?

He strode to his door, threw it open and bellowed for Luke to come back to his office.

Late the next day, when they’d returned from a small, drought-induced brush fire, the third one that day, Sam checked the pressure in her SCBA. She hadn’t had to use her self-contained breathing apparatus this time but, out of habit, she checked the pressure before stowing it away. Satisfied that everything was acceptable, she placed it back on the fire truck’s side rack, then turned her attention to her new partner, Kevin Hilary, a young rookie fresh out of the academy. He’d only been with the company for a few weeks, and Chief Santelli had asked her to keep an eye on him and teach him all she could. It was the first time in her life that someone had looked to her for knowledge, and not a means to an end, so she took the job very seriously.

She smiled at what appeared to be brown oil stains dotting Kevin’s hands and pants. Having met Kevin’s mother on several occasions, Sam knew for sure that when the domineering woman saw the stained pants, she’d probably chew him a new derriere. Poor kid. Sam wasn’t sure who had it worse: her with a mother that had only cared about the money she brought in winning children’s beauty pageants, or Kevin with a mother that oversaw every aspect of his life and dictated how he should lead it.

She laughed to herself. If his disheveled hair meant anything, Kevin was into getting his job done with dedication. One thing his mother hadn’t seemed to have dampened was Kevin’s eagerness to excel at his job.

A frown pleated her brow. There had been a time when that same eagerness had resided inside her, too, but lately, though she still loved her job, she’d detected a distinct waning of that zest she’d always felt for being a firefighter.

Taking a deep, cleansing breath, she leaned over Kevin. “How you doing, probie?”

Kevin looked up, his face screwed up in a serious expression. “I’m finished with the SCBA check. The other equipment is done, too.”

“Okay. Put it back in the rack. We need to get to the kitchen. It’s our turn to make supper and those vultures will be screaming like banshees if they don’t get fed.”

Their twenty-four-hour shift had ended an hour earlier, so Sam sent Kevin home. Before she left, she’d double-checked his equipment to make sure he hadn’t overlooked anything. Finding everything in order, Sam gathered her purse and turned to leave the firehouse. Her heart skidded into her throat. The one man on this planet she didn’t want to see was walking toward her.

A. J. Branson’s blond hair shone golden in the sunlight pouring through the open apparatus bay doors. The muscles in his thighs and arms rippled beneath his white shirt and navy slacks. His burgundy tie had been pulled to half-mast. Two open buttons on his white shirt revealed his tanned throat and the very top of his bare chest.

Sam caught her breath and tried to arrange her features in an expression that didn’t give away her sudden urge to jump his bones on the oil-stained floor.

Not until he was almost in front of her did she notice what he was carrying—the brown craft envelope containing the incendiary device she’d found under the chair and had dropped off at Rachel’s. Dammit! She knew, because A.J. headed up the arson task force, that Luke would eventually give it to A.J. and that he would come to her for details. She hadn’t expected him to be this mad.

A.J.’s tight expression sent a chill of dread racing over her. He was really upset that she hadn’t come directly to him. Company protocol dictated that the envelope should have gone to him and not a detective. As a firefighter and member of FIST, she knew that. She’d just been trying to get around what evidently was about to happen anyway: a face-to-face confrontation with the one man in Orange Grove who could raise her blood pressure several notches.

A.J. stopped directly in front of her, his broad shoulders blocking out almost everything else in the room. The smell of his aftershave mixed with the smell of diesel fuel and oil, but her well-trained, discerning nose singled out his particular scent and sent a frantic message directly to her nerve endings. Her talent for being able to detect certain accelerants simply by smell had always been a distinct benefit to her as a firefighter and now at FIST, but right now it was a definite drawback.

Her control over her rebellious senses spun off into the ether like the head of a dandelion in a brisk wind.

A.J. held out the envelope and glared at her. When he finally spoke, the sharp edges of his tone were tightly controlled and teetering on the fringe of suppressed anger. “Care to explain what this means and why it came to my attention by way of Luke Sutherland?”

Chapter 2

Sam stalled for time. She looked past A.J.’s glowering frown to the streak of Florida sunlight bathing the floor in front of the open apparatus bay doors. Though the sun had started its descent, heat waves still rose from the pavement outside, attesting to the temperature having hit the mid-nineties that day. Because the heat still lingered, the early evening activity on the street consisted of just a young boy riding his bicycle, a woman pushing a baby stroller and an older man headed in the direction of the bench situated in the shade of a large oak tree right across the street from the firehouse.

“Well?” A.J. said, yanking Sam from the distractions. He brandished the envelope. “When did you plan on letting me know that someone tried to burn your house down?”

She shrugged, now feeling very foolish about bypassing A.J. Was she that apprehensive about being in a room with the man for a few minutes? Did she have that little control over herself? This was getting totally out of hand. She couldn’t arrange her life around A. J. Branson.

“I figured Luke would tell you.” She ventured an innocent smile, hoping her explanation would be adequate, and that it would cool his anger and clear the tension draining her nerves. But his frown only deepened.

A.J. stiffened and, rather than abating under her smile, his anger seemed to intensify.

“I don’t give a flying fig who got the information first. What I care about is what could have happened to you.”

Sam blinked. Her heart lurched. Had she heard that right? Did A.J. really care about what happened to her? Don’t read anything into that, she told herself. He’d care about anyone. That it was you means nothing special. She opened her mouth to make a retort, but before she could, Chief Joe Santelli joined them.

“Should I get out the gloves? You two look like you’re ready to go a couple of rounds right here.”

Damn! She didn’t want her boss to know about this. He’d just make a big deal about nothing. And it was nothing, she told herself for the umpteenth time that day. If she let it become something, then she’d have to admit that she was scared spineless, and she wouldn’t do that. She would not give whomever planted the incendiary device that much power.

“A.J.’s just blowing this whole thing way out of proportion.” Before A.J. could retort, she picked up her purse, slung it over her shoulder and then elbowed her way past the two men. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with a hot bubble bath.”

“Out of proportion?” A.J. roared behind her.

Sam closed her ears to him and kept moving. As she walked away from them, she pushed the button on her car remote earlier than usual. It would start her car and get the AC busy cooling off the interior so she wouldn’t have to climb into the stifling heat of the closed SUV.

Instantly, an ear-splitting explosion shook the firehouse.

The whole scene took on a surreal quality. Firefighters carrying fire extinguishers rushed past her. The old man on the park bench bolted to his feet, his mouth forming an O like those plastic Christmas carolers Sam put on her coffee table every year. Directly in front of her, on the edge of the parking lot, a huge fireball burned, the flames leaping wildly toward the darkening sky. In the center of the fire was her SUV. She watched in stunned silence as the firefighters sprayed it with foam from the extinguishers.

Then it hit her. When the car exploded, she could have been in it. You should have been in it, an insidious voice whispered.

She should have died, just like she should have died when she found the incendiary device. A cold sweat broke out on her forehead. Her hands began to tremble uncontrollably. Her stomach heaved, and her knees began to cave.

Strong arms enveloped her and guided her back into the firehouse to Joe Santelli’s office. When she looked up, she saw A.J.’s concerned face looking down at her.

His legs no more adequate to support him than Sam’s seemed to be, A.J. pulled a chair up and sat facing her, their knees inches apart. “You okay?” His voice shook as badly as his insides. What if Sam had been in her car?

“I’m…not…sure,” she said, her voice shaky, her face a ghostly white. “It’s not every day…you get to see…your car…blown up, is it?” She tried to smile, but the corners of her mouth trembled and ruined the effect.

A.J. took her shaking hand firmly in his. He wanted so much to take her in his arms and make sure she was safe, but in his gut he knew that would be a temporary safety. No one had to tell him that this jerk would try again and again—and wouldn’t stop until he was caught or Sam was dead.

Just thinking about such a thing made A.J. wince with pain, as if someone had reached into his chest and pulled out his heart. He tightened his grip on her hand until she cried out and pulled it out of his grasp. He looked at her.

From the return of color to her face and the tight set of her mouth, it seemed that the pain had roused Sam from the shock. The old in-your-face Sam had emerged ready to do battle. She opened her mouth but before she could speak Chief Santelli entered the office shaking his head.

His pale face and awed expression told A.J. that the violent destruction of Sam’s car had shaken him, too. “They got the fire out. Now, does someone want to help me make some sense of what just happened out there? In short, what the hell’s going on?”

“Maybe this will help,” A.J. said, and turned out the contents of the brown envelope onto Santelli’s desktop. “Sam found this in her house yesterday morning.” Sam glared at him, but he ignored her.

A.J. stared down at the items spread out before him: a partially burned, white business envelope; a few small purple crystals of potassium permanganate that hadn’t gotten a chance to dissolve, thanks to Sam’s quick thinking; and a few drops of opaque hand lotion that hadn’t been totally consumed. A mixture that, if left to do its intended job, would have set Sam’s house on fire while she slept. Just the thought made A.J.’s stomach sour.

Santelli looked at the debris on the desk, swore softly, glanced at the firemen milling around the apparatus bay and then frowned at Sam. “I’ll be right back. We need to talk.” He got up and left the office.

“Thanks a lot,” Sam snapped. She rose and began pacing the office.

“Sam, I—”

“Don’t,” she said, holding up her hand. “I have to think.”

A.J. concentrated on returning the pieces of the incendiary device to the envelope, but, though he tried his best not to watch, he couldn’t ignore the seductive sway of her hips as she walked. His traitorous mind flew to imagining her in a dress, black and slinky. One cut down to the equator in the front and backless. One that would expose her tanned skin to his view. One that would sway against her long legs and mold to her hips and thighs. One that—

“Ellis?”

A.J. started. Blinking, he looked up to find Santelli had come back.

“Park it.” He pointed to the chair beside A.J. Sam resumed her seat wordlessly.

Santelli leaned back in the squeaky desk chair. “Okay, Sam, do you want to tell me what this is all about?”

Sam briefly recounted the events of the previous morning, leading up to and ending with her finding the incendiary device. As she spoke, A.J. quietly fumed at the idea of someone invading Sam’s house and endangering her life. But he managed to hold his tongue.

When she’d finished, Santelli leaned his forearms on his desk. “Any idea who would do any of this?”

Sam shook her head. “None. I’ve racked my brain, and I can’t come up with anyone except maybe an irate property owner who got miffed because I proved his fire was intentionally set. But even then, I don’t recall any of them being especially ticked off at me for ruining their claim.” She took a deep breath and waited while Santelli digested all she’d said.

A.J. studied the relatively new chief of Engine Company 108. Joe Santelli, a middle-aged man who had risen quickly through the ranks and been promoted to chief of the company a few months previous, had a reputation as a no-nonsense type of guy. A.J. suppressed a smile. Knowing that Sam was as headstrong as they came, he could imagine how this cramped her gung-ho style, not to mention made Santelli’s life…interesting, to say the least.

It was common knowledge that Santelli had an almost obsessive need to keep his firefighters safe. A.J. was more than certain that Santelli would take radical steps to see to Sam’s safety. He was equally as sure that Sam would rebel against anything that kept her from doing her job, despite the risk.

“I don’t like this, Ellis,” Santelli finally said, then turned to A.J. “You’re going to check the envelope for prints, right?”

A.J. nodded.

“The police are checking over the car for anything they can find, which probably won’t be much. Since your car was toward the back of the lot, it’s pretty safe to say that no one saw the bomb being installed.” Santelli sighed heavily, then turned back to Sam. “Until we get some results from the crime lab, Ellis, I’m taking you off the truck and putting you on the duty desk.”

A.J. cringed and glanced at Sam for her reaction.

Sam’s entire body went into resistance mode. “What?” She shot out of the chair, her voice raised and demanding. Santelli threw her a quelling look, and she slumped back in her seat and adopted a more respectful, but no less urgent, tone. “Why?”

“Any whack-job who had enough guts to shove this thing in your mail slot with the intent of burning you up—and then blow up your car in the fire department parking lot—is not going to like it that his schemes failed,” Santelli explained patiently.

“But—”

“Santelli’s right, Sam. This jerk is going to keep trying,” A.J. offered.

Sam sent him a scathing glare as if to say Santelli didn’t need any help from him, the chief was wrecking her life quite well on his own. A.J., on the other hand, was using his own unique wrecking ball, and it had nothing to do with envelopes and fire—at least not the kind of fire set with matches.

“Do you think I don’t know that he’ll try again?” she snapped. “Taking me off the truck isn’t going to change that. Besides, if I’m on the truck, I’d have all the guys around for protection.”

“And you really believe that will stop this nutcase?” Santelli countered, his expression telling them he didn’t believe it, and he doubted that Sam really did, either.

Sam seemed to wilt like a flower lacking water. Though relieved that she’d be removed from danger, A.J. felt for her. Any fool could see that firefighting was her life. To take that from her was like depriving her of air.

“Okay, I’ll concede that he may try again, but I still don’t see why you have to take me off the truck.” Sam’s deflated voice tore at A.J.’s heart.

Despite his agreement with Santelli’s decision and how much it eased his own anxiety, A.J. knew these were going to be the longest few days of Sam’s life. He made a mental note to hurry things up in the lab as much as he could to get Sam back on her beloved fire truck.

“Aside from the fact that you’ll be a sitting duck riding on top of that truck and exposed to any nut job at the fire scenes,” Santelli went on, “fires are dangerous enough. I need my attention on all my firefighters, not on who’s trying to do one of them in. And they need their attention on the fire, not on playing bodyguard for you. I want you here, where I can be sure of what’s going on.” When she opened her mouth to resume her protest, he raised a hand. “End of discussion, Ellis.”

Saying nothing, Sam glared at the chief, revolt written all over her features.

Santelli remained silent for a moment, then smiled. “There is another way, Ellis.”

She brightened. “What?”

“I can suspend you from duty and send you home until the police solve this.”

“But that could take—”

“Months,” A.J. interjected. When he saw her expression crumple, he tried to soften the blow. “Of course, you never know. It could be solved as soon as the fingerprints come back. I’ll make sure they get top priority, Sam.” Seeing the defeated sag of her shoulders, A.J. felt Sam had suffered enough trauma for one day. He stood. “If you’re through, Santelli, I’ll take Sam home.”

“Yes, I’m through.”

Sam stood and fixed A.J. with cold blue eyes. “No thanks. You’ve already done quite enough. I’ll get one of the guys to drive me.”

“I said I’ll take you home,” A.J. said, his tone brooking no argument. If he had his way, he’d never let her out of his sight, but he knew she’d never agree to that in a million years. “Until this is solved, I don’t want you going anywhere alone, and I want you to lock your doors when you’re at home.”

She glared at A.J., then Santelli. The chief gave a nod of agreement. “Fine. I’ll wait in the dining room.” Then she stalked out.

A.J. walked to the door. Through the window he watched Sam storm across the apparatus bay toward the stairs that lead to the upper floor, where the dining room and kitchen were located, hating himself for his part in this. Dust motes danced in the long fingers of afternoon sunlight that fell on Sam’s retreating figure. Odd how, even from this distance, the highlights that flickered in her black hair like tiny blue flames had the power to send waves of heat over his entire body.

As he watched her, she glanced back over her shoulder at him, then turned away quickly.

A.J.’s heart thundered in his chest. Even mad as hell, Sam could stir his blood like no other woman ever had.

He gave a snort of impatience with himself, then moved away from the window. He had to get a handle on this. The last thing he needed in his life was a woman, any woman, but especially not Samantha Ellis. Sam was the kind of woman who would settle down and make a home—a nester. She was exactly the type he seemed destined to get mixed up with, screw up their lives and his, then run from. Sam didn’t deserve that.

What he needed to concentrate on was saving her life, not ruining it by hauling her into bed.

“She’s going to give some poor, unsuspecting guy a run for his money.”

At the sound of Santelli’s voice, A.J. did a quick take of the fire chief’s face. Santelli was also watching Sam move across the bay to the stairs. Was he interested in Sam? An electric charge of jealousy shot through him.

Santelli read his look, then smiled knowingly. “Don’t worry. I’m not interested. I make it a policy not to get involved with women in my command. I’ve worked too hard to get where I am to throw it all away on a surge of testosterone.” He leaned his forearms on the desk and stared at A.J. for a long moment before speaking again. “I know you haven’t asked for this, but my advice is to steer a wide path around Sam. She’s made it abundantly clear that a relationship with anyone is something she doesn’t want any part of.”

At first he thought the chief was teasing him, but Santelli looked as serious as a heart attack.

Had he been that transparent? A.J. avoided Santelli’s gaze by reading the duty schedule posted on a corkboard beside the door. Unconsciously, he searched for Sam’s name. When he found it, he read her schedule for the coming month. Then he felt Santelli’s gaze still on him, and he quickly turned away.

He sat in the chair across from the chief, then laughed. The brittle sound made his next words ring hollow. “Don’t worry, Joe. A relationship with Sam is the furthest thing from my mind. My only interest is to find out what’s going on—and who’s trying to kill her.”

The next morning, unwilling to call A.J. as he’d instructed her to, Sam rented a car and drove herself to work. She had just settled at the hated desk in the corner of the apparatus bay when the phone rang. “Engine company one-oh-eight,” she recited by rote with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, which on her personal can’t-wait-to-do-it scale rated somewhere around minus one hundred.

“Sam?” Rachel Sutherland’s concerned voice came over the wire. “A.J. and Luke told me what happened yesterday. Are you okay? Luke says Santelli put you on the duty desk.”

Rachel’s concern didn’t surprise Sam, but it certainly raised her hackles at being reminded of her punishment, as if she needed reminding.

“I’m fine.” With any luck that would be the end of this part of this conversation.

She’d suffered enough embarrassment over this. The guys hadn’t stopped teasing her since the news got out. One of them even brought in a pillow for her to sit on.

More than a bit embarrassed at her situation, since her assignment would normally have been meted out to someone who had committed a serious infraction, Sam was miffed that A.J. had seen fit to spread the news of her embarrassment far and wide. Well, maybe that was an exaggeration, but Rachel would be one more person to point out to her that her life was in danger—a reminder she could do without and if she heard it one more time would send her running screaming from the room.

She knew that this was not a punishment, and that the chief and A.J. were only thinking of her safety. She should be thankful for that. But if it wasn’t happening to her, it would be much easier. She could accept the logic of their actions. Still, being taken off active duty smarted and that A.J. had been instrumental in it really hurt. Then again, he had no idea how much firefighting meant to her.

Nor did he know how terrified she really was, and she would make sure he never found out. The very last thing she needed was A.J. hovering over her, protecting her, overseeing her every move. And he would. She knew that as surely as she knew her name.

“Are you sure?” Rachel said, cutting into her thoughts.

Good grief, had she said any of that out loud? “Sure about what?” With her mind centered on her troubles, Sam had lost the entire thread of her conversation with Rachel.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Rachel’s voice had grown more tense.

Relieved that she hadn’t voiced her thoughts, Sam rested her forehead in her hand. “Absolutely. I’m fine.” Period.

Silence fell between them.

“So is that the only reason you called?” Sam asked, hoping to divert the conversation.

“No, but I promised Luke I wouldn’t bring it up unless you’re sure you’re okay.”

A sigh of impatience issued from her. “I’ve been through worse and lived to tell the tale, Rachel.”

That wasn’t entirely true. There had been only two other times in her life that Sam had felt this helpless, this defeated: when she was ten years old and her father had walked out of her life, and when she was nineteen and had to stand by and watch while her drunken mother was incinerated in a motel fire. Both times, she’d wondered if she would live through it. She had, but deep down, she still bore the scars. On top of that was her sister Karen’s belief that Sam had stolen her childhood. Karen had cut off all communication with her, and she hadn’t seen or talked to her only relative in too many years.

But she didn’t want to think about any of that now. She had enough on her mind.

“Now that we’ve established that I’m not an emotional pile of mush, what was it you promised Luke you wouldn’t bring up to me?” She tried to lace her voice with humor.

Rachel hesitated for a few seconds. “Well, okay, if you’re sure. Actually, there are two things I wanted to talk to you about. The first is do you have a date for the children’s burn unit charity ball next Saturday?”

Lately, with everything that had been going on, Sam hadn’t given much thought to the ball. She wanted to go, but the only person she would want to go with was also the one person she was trying her best to avoid. Maybe she should just go alone. After all, nowadays that would hardly be looked down on. She laughed to herself. Like A.J. or Santelli would let that happen. If she wanted to go at all—and she did—then she’d find a date so she wouldn’t have to listen to them.

“No, not yet, but I’m working on it,” she finally told her friend, hoping it would put an end to the subject.

“Well, you better get a move on. It’s coming up fast.” Rachel paused. “Word is that a certain chief of detectives isn’t spoken for yet.” Before Sam could say anything, Rachel blurted, “FIST has a job. The man who owns the building that houses the Main Street bookstore that burned last week contacted me. They want us to investigate the fire for arson.”

Sam came alert. She swung her swivel chair so her back was facing the main part of the bay. Suddenly, the depression she’d been carrying around since yesterday lifted. She was going to be unchained from the duty desk, and Santelli or A.J. could do nothing to prevent it. Yes!

Ever since the fire commissioners had sanctioned the Fire Investigation Special Team as an official branch of the department and she and Rachel had set up an office to do private investigations, it had been understood that their work took precedence and relieved Sam of her duties in the firehouse. The distraction of a job for FIST was just what the doctor ordered to lift her out of the doldrums. She loved doing the investigations with Rachel and had even given thought to leaving the fire company and working full-time for FIST.

“I thought the OGPD decided it wasn’t arson.” Sam held her breath waiting for Rachel’s answer. If this was not arson, her butt would be planted in this desk chair for days to come.

“They did, but the owners think Bayside Insurance is—” Rachel’s explanation was cut off by baby Jay crying in the background. “Maggie, please give Jay his pacifier for Mommy.” The crying stopped. “Thanks, sweetie. Sorry about that, Sam. As I was saying, the owners think Bayside is trying to find a loophole to get out of paying a claim. The owner is willing to pay us to prove it’s not arson.”

An unsettling thought occurred to Sam. “Is FIST working this alone or are the police still involved?”

“We’ll be doing it alone.” A long, pregnant pause followed. “A.J. will be going with you, Sam. After what happened yesterday, it’s the only way he and Luke would agree to letting you handle it.”

Her stomach clenched. Even her best friend was supervising her life. Though she loved Rachel for it, she couldn’t help resenting one more restriction being placed on her. She sighed.

If she were totally honest with herself, it wasn’t the restrictions on her movements that bothered her. She understood the need for them and was even grateful. What set her nerves on edge was whom she’d be forced to be with. Would she ever get past this unreasonable attraction to A.J. if he popped up in her life every five minutes?

Maybe Rachel would go with her, or even Luke. Anyone but A.J. “Rach—”

The loud cry of a baby erupted once more. “Gotta run. Jay needs feeding. Just go over to the store with A.J. and nose around. I’ll get the insurance company’s report to him, and he’ll get the building owner’s permission tomorrow morning so you can get on the premises by afternoon. I’ll meet with you here at our house tomorrow night to go over what you find. Seven okay?”

“Uh, yes, I guess so. But, Rach—”

“Good. See you then.” The phone went dead.

Slowly, Sam swung her chair around and hung up the receiver. The good news was that thanks to the fire commissioners and a possible torch who had something against books, she’d be off the desk. The bad news was she’d be spending more time with the one man she didn’t seem able to get out of her life or her head.

But what about her heart?

Chapter 3

When Sam stepped from her rental car in front of the burned-out remains of the Written Word Bookstore the next afternoon, A.J. was already waiting. He’d just finished removing the wooden planks covering the doorway and was brushing off his hands. She couldn’t drag her gaze from the muscles in his upper arms, which moved against the material of his light blue dress shirt and made her yearn to feel his arms around her. Her heartbeat sped up. Sam hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until her chest began to ache.

Quickly, she sucked in air, gathered her equipment and boots from her trunk, slammed it shut and then exchanged her sneakers for the boots. After tossing her shoes into the car, she locked it and joined A.J. outside the front door of the bookstore.

During her years on the beauty pageant circuit as a child and later as a young adult, she’d met a lot of men. Never, in all that time, had she ever met one who could turn her into a big ball of sensuality as A.J. did, simply by standing there. She wasn’t able to put her finger on it, but something about him reached out and touched her emotions in places that hadn’t been touched in a very long time.

After her father had left, she’d locked up her heart to emotion. She thought she understood why he’d walked out on his family, but without knowing for sure, she couldn’t find it in her heart to forgive him. Living with Sam’s mother, who could only love Ben Franklin as he smiled back at her from a one-hundred-dollar bill, could not have been easy on her dad. Even today, every once in a while Sam would catch herself looking for his face in a crowd. Hoping he’d come back. Then she’d remember it had been eighteen years since she’d seen him. Would she recognize him after all this time? Was he even alive? Did she really care?

Only once after her father left had she allowed anyone in and that had been a huge mistake. Sloan Whitley had lied to her about having a wife and left her with nothing. But even Sloan hadn’t had the hold on her emotions that A.J. seemed to have, and without even trying. God help her if he ever tried.

“Afternoon.” A.J.’s deep voice roused her from her painful memories. He tried to take the heavy evidence case from her hand, but she resisted his help and retained a tight grip on the handle. Without argument, he stepped back. “You’re right on time.”

She’d have to take his word on that. Several times that morning she’d caught herself counting the minutes until she’d meet him. Only by taking off her watch and shoving it in her pocket had she been able to get a grip on herself.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” she said stiffly and stepped inside the burned carcass of what was once a quaint little bookstore. “Watch where you’re walking so you don’t inadvertently step on evidence,” she called over her shoulder to A.J.

He knew the drill. Why did she find it necessary to remind him of the basic rules of fire investigation? Power, she told herself. She’d had so little of it over her life lately, it felt good to get back even that much, and that it was with him…

Though it had been a week since the bookstore’s fire, the smell of wet, charred wood was still strong enough to make her catch her breath. Sam led the way through the debris of what remained of the building. Wood crunched beneath their feet. Puddles of water that hadn’t yet completely evaporated sloshed black mud on the cuffs of their pants. Books, their pages burned and blackened, lay everywhere. A brown, mixed-breed dog rooted through the charred timbers, probably in hopes of finding some food. When his search turned up nothing, he cast them a wary glance, bounded over a sagging ceiling beam, then shot off down the street to renew his quest for nourishment.

They slipped on plastic gloves and went deeper into the front room of the building. Sam stared up at the only remaining interior wall.

“Hell of a mess,” A.J. said, stopping beside her, his foot knocking against the aluminum evidence case she’d set on the floor at her feet.

While Sam did a quick check of the room, A.J. watched, his gaze shaking up her usual methodical efficiency. When she’d finished with her preliminary walk-through, he dug in his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “Rachel sent this insurance report over for us to use as a guide as to what their inspectors found.” For a moment, he scanned the report, then looked around. He pointed toward a window with the glass missing. “The inspector said he thought maybe a thief or an arsonist came through that broken window. We didn’t agree.”

Sam walked over to just below it, shoved some of the debris on the floor aside with her shovel and then sighed. “This is a no-brainer. Either the inspector did this blindfolded, or he’s just plain stupid. There’s no glass on the floor around the window. A first-year fire academy probie would know that if someone broke in, there would be glass all over the floor. My guess is the heat blew the window out.” She straightened and looked at A.J. “Did they find glass outside?”

A.J. glanced at the police report. “Yes, and according to the investigating officer, enough to make up the missing window.”

Sam shook her head. “I’m surprised the insurance company didn’t catch that. Then again, maybe it served their purpose to overlook the obvious. Wouldn’t be the first time. You get an owner who doesn’t know and they can pull anything on them to keep from having to write a big settlement check.”

She glanced at A.J. He grimaced and nodded knowingly. Then he smiled. Her stomach did a crazy flip.

If all the so-called proof was as flimsy as this, they’d be out of here before her hormones had a chance to embarrass her, and she’d be heading back to the desk, which, although she hated it, was a far safer prospect than spending the afternoon with A.J. But as long as he kept his distance, she was fairly certain she could handle her hormone eruption. “What else does the insurance report say?”

He scanned it again. “There’s a note here about frayed wires in an electrical outlet behind the counter.”

Sam slid behind the partially burned divider. She inspected the wiring inside an electrical outlet box dangling from the wall. The coating on the wire wasn’t melted. Since fire didn’t damage unexposed wiring, she had to assume the electrical box was removed after the fire.

As she checked the wire, she felt A.J. squat beside her. Instantly, her nerve endings came to life. She dropped the wire. A.J. was pressing lightly against her. A tingle raced down her side. She wanted to move away, but with all the debris that had been torn from the walls by the firefighters, she couldn’t move without pushing him backward.

She took a deep breath, then curled her nose against the musty odor of burned materials that had been wet, then grown moldy in the Florida heat. She turned her head slightly. Instead of the musty smell, she encountered the smell of a man: woodsy, rugged and way too virile for her peace of mind. Waves of desire washed over her, nearly swamping her with their intensity. She struggled to keep her head above the emotional flood waters.

“So, is the wiring the culprit?” A.J. hadn’t looked at her. Instead he remained squatting beside her with his pen poised above his notebook to make notations. “It doesn’t look bad.”

Thankful that he had unwittingly released a bit of his emotional hold on her, Sam reached for the wire to show him the lack of evidence of fire damage, but instead of grabbing wiring, she grabbed warm, masculine fingers. A.J.’s.

Electricity, so strong she wondered if the outlet were live, shot up her arm. She closed her eyes against the yearning that was building inside her. It swelled and threatened to erupt. She couldn’t let anything happen. She couldn’t. She had to be strong. Fight it. She had to—

Then she felt his thumb drawing small, slow circles on the back of her hand. The electricity returned, shooting to all points of her body, bringing them to life in a way she had never experienced, even with Sloan. She tried to pull away, but he tightened his hold.

In a last-ditch effort to stop what seemed inevitable, Sam made a feeble attempt to force him to halt. “A.J…. I…we…you… Don’t—”

“Why, Sam? We both want it.” His breath feathered her face, warm and sweet. His mouth… Lord, help her, his mouth. It was so close, so very close. So tempting, so—

She closed her eyes.

Then it happened. A.J. was kissing her, and she was kissing him back with all the pent-up desire she’d buried inside her. She knew she should be fighting, but all common sense had been swamped by the heat coursing through her. And suddenly, she didn’t want it to stop. She wanted more, much more.

Then he was gone, and she found herself cold and empty. She could hear him on the other side of the counter. He was pacing, and she could imagine him raking his fingers through his hair. From the sound of his hurried footsteps, the kiss had shaken him as much as it had her.

Slowly but surely, she gathered her wits about her and, even more slowly, the deluge of conflicting hot flashes and chills brought on by the devastating kiss faded. Her heart rhythm slowed.

When she had herself under control again and felt as if she could face him, she crawled from behind the counter, then straightened. “I guess we can leave. We’ve done all we can do here.”

As soon as the words passed her lips, she realized the suggestiveness they inadvertently transmitted. Her gaze shot to A.J.

He smiled. “Not quite.”

Instantly, her pulse rate accelerated.

A.J. steered the car into his designated slot in the parking lot of the OGPD, where he finally allowed himself to think about what had just happened with Sam at the bookstore. He licked his lips and could still taste her on them. His fist doubled up and pain shot through his arm. Only then did he realize he’d slammed his hand against the steering wheel. With a long sigh, he laid his head back against the headrest.

What the hell were you thinking?

And there lay the crux of the entire situation. He hadn’t been thinking, not with his head anyway. If he had, he wouldn’t have kissed her. Problem was, when he got that close to Sam, his brain shut down, and his body took over his thinking process. That offer of a job with the BCI was looking better all the time.

Worst of it was, he still had to face Sam later that night at Luke and Rachel’s. He picked up his cell phone, intent on calling Rachel and telling her he couldn’t make it. Before he’d punched in the last number, he snapped the phone closed and squeezed it in his fist.

He was many things, but he wasn’t a coward. He’d go, and he’d face Sam. Hopefully, he wouldn’t do anything else that could be added to his stupid-things-I-did-today list.

Even in the dark, Sam never had a problem finding Rachel’s house. She’d recently taken up gardening as a hobby, and her flowers were the most profuse and prettiest on the entire street. As Sam pulled into the driveway of the Sutherlands’ house, she noted a vehicle parked in the shadow of the house beside Luke’s pickup. She got out of her car and, as she rounded the bumper of the pickup, she recognized the other vehicle as the same make and model that A.J. drove.

Involuntarily, her heart rate sped up. She paused in the driveway. Had Rachel said he’d be there and had Sam pushed it from her mind so she wouldn’t have to deal with it? Did she want to see him after the kiss at the bookstore? What would she say? Calling herself every kind of a coward, she decided to act as if nothing had happened. After all, what good would come of bringing it up and embarrassing both of them in front of Luke and Rachel?

If she’d known he’d be here, she would have dressed differently, but it was too late to change that now. At the front door, she tugged on the cuffs of her white linen shorts and adjusted the pink camisole top to cover most of her midriff. Satisfied she looked presentable, she pushed the doorbell half-hidden beneath a spray of dried flowers hanging on the door frame. Seconds after she heard the chime echoing inside, the door flew open.

“Aunt Sam!” Maggie cried and threw herself at her.

Over the child’s head, Sam could see Rachel watching them closely from midway down the hall. Though Maggie was doing better, Rachel still hadn’t gotten over her being kidnapped and kept a vigilant eye on her child.

Missing from Rachel and Luke’s daughter’s arms was the patchwork teddy bear that had been her lifeline during the time she’d been the captive of arsonist and kidnapper Charlene Daniels. When she’d given up possession of the bear to her baby brother Jay, it had heralded a big milestone in Maggie’s psychological recovery from her ordeal.

Over a year had passed since Maggie had been returned to her mother and father. With the help of a very good child psychologist, she was rapidly turning into a happy little girl again. Rarely did any of them glimpse a shadow of the silent child who’d been taken from her parents’ apartment, kept for two years as the arsonist’s child, then found in Daniels’s bedroom closet.

Sam leaned over, engulfed the little girl in a tight hug, then planted a loud kiss on her cheek. “Hey, angel. Where’s your dad?” she asked, tucking one of Maggie’s blond braids over her shoulder.

“He’s in the living room.” Maggie latched on to Sam’s hand, giving her just enough time to close the front door before pulling her into the entry hall. Before Sam could take a breath, Maggie had hauled her into the living room. “Uncle Jay’s here, too,” she announced as they crossed the threshold.

Sam stopped dead. Uncle Jay was Maggie’s name for A.J. She’d been hoping he was in the garage with Luke tinkering with the car or something so she’d have a little prep time before she had to face him. However, by the time the words had passed through Maggie’s lips, Sam found herself staring straight into A. J. Branson’s mesmerizing blue eyes.

Good God!

It had been hard enough ignoring the man in a business suit. Seeing him in body-hugging jeans that outlined all his male attributes, and a muscle-defining T-shirt, she’d be lucky if she didn’t melt into a puddle right in the middle of Rachel’s brand-new beige carpeting. To draw breath, she had to give it conscious thought. His lips, the ones that had expertly claimed hers that very afternoon with a possessiveness that, in retrospect, scared her, were curved in a smile. Heat suffused her body, making her grateful for her brief attire.

Sam dragged her gaze from A.J. to Rachel, who was standing in the circle of Luke’s protective arm grinning like a delighted child who had just pulled off something on her parents. Great. Give the woman one little glimmer of an idea and she takes it upon herself to build it into a matchmaking mountain.

Sam threw Rachel a look that said she’d deal with her later, then turned back to A.J. Their eyes met and once more, all the sensations she’d experienced that afternoon in the bookstore came rushing back. She fought for control.

“Evening,” she said, her voice forced and formal. A.J.’s thick brows furrowed over his captivating Nordic blue eyes. “Nice to see you, too.” His deep voice rolled over Sam like ocean waves washing over a sandy beach. The man’s charm just oozed out of his pores. A.J., she decided, should be declared harmful to any woman’s mental health, especially hers.

“What are you doing here?” Sam blurted at A.J.

He stared at her for a long time, then lowered his voice to a faint whisper. “Sam, about this afternoon, I—”

“Don’t worry about it. It was nothing,” she bit out before he could say more. “Nothing.”

A.J.’s mouth snapped shut. His brows furrowed into that frown that she knew meant he was not happy. The two of them remained in the middle of the floor glaring at each other. She stood her ground, but she had a sneaky suspicion that he didn’t believe her, that he knew that kiss had rocked her world and that it had taken her a good part of the afternoon to get her feet back under her.

Rachel stepped out of her husband’s sheltering embrace. “Okay, kiddies.” Rachel inserted herself between them. “Now that we’ve all exchanged cordial hellos…” Taking Sam’s arm, she led her to the couch. “Let’s sit down and chat, shall we? Luke, Sam needs a drink.”

Luke smiled. “What’s it gonna be?” He winked at Sam, and his conspiratorial grin matched Rachel’s in exuberance.

Terrific! An ambush. Sam glared at him. “How about hemlock for two?” She looked pointedly from Luke to his wife.

Luke laughed and headed for the bar along one wall. He lifted a bottle of clear liquid for her to see. “Gin and tonic?”

Sam nodded. Then, leaning close to Rachel’s ear, she warned between clenched teeth, “First chance I get, I am going to seriously maim both of you.”

Rachel tossed Sam a playful smirk, as if she’d just complimented her on her shade of lipstick, then steered her around the glass-topped coffee table to a tropical turquoise sofa. “Please, not in front of the child,” she whispered, then she gripped Sam’s arm tighter to get her attention. “It won’t kill you to be nice. You might even be able to finally admit that you like him.” She smiled sweetly and left Sam sitting awkwardly on the edge of the sofa, then took a seat in a wicker chair with turquoise and mauve cushions that faced Sam. A.J. stood to one side. “Why don’t you sit by Sam, A.J.?”

Sam ground her teeth. Rachel had no idea what she was doing. Like him? How she wished it was as simple as that. She looked longingly at the door. But she knew she would have to either sit here quietly or make a scene. Reluctantly Sam scooted over to make plenty of room for A.J.

Trying not to show the reluctance he felt, A.J. slid onto the sofa. When Rachel had stopped by his office to make sure he’d be at the meeting, he’d confirmed that he would and had looked at it as an opportunity to apologize to Sam for what had happened in the bookstore. Now that he was here and Sam was here, A.J. would have felt more comfortable sitting on a burning stick of dynamite.

It took every ounce of willpower he had to keep his gaze off that little top, which clung to her like a second skin as it flashed sections of her bare midriff at him, and Sam’s endlessly long, tanned legs, the longest legs he’d ever seen on such a petite woman. Sweat broke out on his forehead despite the air-conditioning in the house.

He quickly averted his gaze to the toe of one of his scruffy sneakers. This was going to be a very long night.

Luke brought Sam her drink and gave A.J. a fresh bottle of beer. Fighting the urge to down the entire contents, he sipped at it instead. As Luke walked past on his way to sit on the arm of Rachel’s chair, the breeze from his passing wafted a hint of Sam’s soft, flowery perfume to A.J. His groin tightened. He pulled the throw pillow from behind him and laid it casually on his lap.

“Now, Mommy? Can I ask now?” Maggie begged Rachel.

Lovingly, Rachel brushed a strand of blond hair off Maggie’s cheek. “Yes, baby. You may ask now.”

“Aunt Sam?” Maggie said, sidling up to Sam. “Will you come to my birthday party Sunday after next Sunday?”

Sam frowned as if doing a quick calculation of Maggie’s time frame. “Wouldn’t miss it for anything. Let’s see now,” she said, appearing to be deep in thought, “what kind of present do I get for someone who’s gonna be twenty-nine?”

Maggie’s face grew concerned. “Aunt Sam, I’m only gonna be seven.”

Sam laughed and hugged her. “My mistake. You look so much older.”

When she let go, Maggie stepped back, her blue eyes dancing with excitement. “Mommy and Daddy are taking me to swim with the dolphins, and then we’re gonna have a birthday picnic. We’re gonna have cake and deviled eggs and hot dogs and balloons and—” The child took a fast breath. “Uncle Jay’s coming, too.”

A.J. watched as Sam’s smile melted as fast as ice cream on a hot day, then was quickly replaced by one obviously forced for the child’s benefit. “Of course, I’ll have to check to make sure that I don’t have to work.”

“Oh, please, Aunt Sam. Please. It won’t be any fun without you.”

A.J. silently agreed.

“Well, we’ll see.” Sam chucked her under the chin.

A pang of disappointment arrowed through A.J. She was trying to back out because he’d be there. Then he recalled something.

Nice try, Sam, but you’re not gonna wiggle off the hook that easy.

“You don’t have to work that Sunday,” he said.

Pink flooded her cheeks. “Oh? How do you know?”

He grinned. “I saw the duty schedule in Santelli’s office.”

She glared at him for a moment, then turned to Maggie with a smile. “Well, then, I guess you can count me in.”

“Yippee,” Maggie yelled. “Aunt Sam’s coming, too, Daddy.”

“Yes, we heard, and I’m sure everyone in the neighborhood did as well.” Luke looked at his daughter as if she were the most important thing on earth. “Okay, Magpie, time for bed,” Luke said.

Maggie frowned. “Aw, Daddy. Can’t I stay up just a little more time?”

“Bed,” her mother repeated more firmly. “We said you could stay up long enough to invite Aunt Sam. You’ve done that, so now, it’s time to say good night.” Rachel waited patiently while Maggie reluctantly hugged and kissed A.J. and Sam, prolonging each endearment as long as possible.

A sinking sensation invaded A.J.’s stomach as he watched both Luke and Rachel disappear down the hall with their daughter, leaving him and Sam alone. He suddenly felt as if the rug had been pulled out from under him. Why did this woman have the power to make him feel like a kid fresh out of the tenth grade on his first date?

Sam sighed.

“Bored?” he asked for lack of anything else to say.

She looked at him and shook her head. “No, just thinking. I was kind of hoping they’d have a regular birthday party for Maggie. You know, the kind with lots of kids, balloons, ice cream, noisemakers, a clown and all the regular kid stuff.”

“Sounds as if you’ve been to a few of these shindigs yourself.”

Her blue eyes lost their sparkle, and she turned away. “No. I’ve never been to a birthday party.”

A.J. frowned. Surely she had been to a birthday party sometime in her life. “Not even your own?”

Sam shook her head, then rose and went to the bar. “Especially not my own.” Busying herself by adding ice to her glass, she avoided his gaze. “The Tiny Tots beauty pageant in Phoenix was on my birthday every year, so there was never time. Besides, my mother thought birthday parties were a waste of money.”

He cringed at the sadness that tinged her voice. “So, you were a child beauty queen, huh?” Why hadn’t he known that? But then there was so much about Sam he didn’t know. So much he wanted to know. Like everything that had happened to her from the time she left the birth canal to when she’d walked into Rachel’s living room tonight.

As she walked back to the sofa, she tucked a stray hair back into the knot at the base of her neck. His fingers itched to release the confining hairdo and watch the night-black strands fall over her shoulders while he—

“That was my other life,” she said. “One that I gave up when I stowed the trophies and certificates in my spare-room closet.” She took a long gulp of her drink, then glanced anxiously down the hall where Luke and Rachel had disappeared. “Can we talk about something else?”

“Sure.” The conversation about her childhood may have ended, but A.J. could see by the frown lines between her eyes that she had not stopped thinking about it.

A pain cut across his heart for the woman whose childhood consisted of nothing more than a few trophies and certificates stuck away in a closet. But mostly it ached for the little girl who had never blown out candles on her own cake, never taken part in a game of Pin the Tail on the Donkey, never dove into stacks of presents while her excited friends looked on. How many other things had she missed out on because her mother had evidently never considered the importance of having a childhood?

Sam squirmed under A.J.’s watchful gaze from across Rachel’s dining-room table. She added her empty cake plate to the stack Rachel was collecting. After depositing them in the sink, Rachel refilled Sam’s coffee cup. Adding cream and sugar, Sam stirred the light brown liquid and tried to block out thoughts of that kiss she and A.J. had shared that kept popping into her head every time she looked at him. If she allowed herself, she could still feel how warm and sweet that kiss had been. How her heart had cried out for him to take her in his arms and never let go. How—

She blinked away the daydream and checked her watch. “It’s getting late. Can we get down to the reason for this little gathering?” she asked, hoping to distract A.J. and get this evening over with.

Rachel laid a manila folder in front of them. “Sam’s right. We need to talk FIST business,” she announced. “What did you two find at the bookstore?”

In the year since Rachel and Sam had founded FIST, they had investigated several arson sprees, a serial arsonist and at least a dozen insurance fires. Though they’d started slow, word was rapidly spreading around the state that if a fire chief or an insurance company had a fire that required special investigation, they called FIST.

“This was an easy one,” Sam said, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.

“What do you know about Bayside Insurance?” A.J. asked.

“Rachel?” Luke looked at his wife.

Rachel opened the folder and scanned it. “They’re an old company that was absorbed into the Florida Life and Property Company. When they merged, most of the Bayside employees were pensioned off and the company installed their own people in the jobs. According to this, their business has been less than stellar this year. I think the bookstore was a tax write-off and they needed the deduction, so…” She frowned at Sam and A.J. “Why?”

“Because A.J. and I think the insurance company is trying to get out of paying. There’s no evidence of arson there. I went over the outlet wiring that they claimed might have started it, and there’s no evidence of it. The window they said was broken into was blown out by the heat, not in by any intruder.” She glanced at A.J. then looked away. “I checked around the store for the point of origin and found a water leak in the back wall, right above the circuit breakers. The wall above it was black. Textbook V Burn mark. Bottom line is, these guys don’t want to cough up the settlement check.”

Rachel had been taking notes while Sam talked. “Well, that’s going to make our clients very happy. You took pictures, right?” Sam nodded. Rachel collected Sam and A.J.’s written reports and added them to her folder. “That’s about it then. I’ll call the bookstore owner tomorrow.”

Quickly, before Rachel could find an excuse for her to stay, Sam rose to make her exit. She’d had about all of A.J.’s sexual aura she could take for one night. “Well, I’m gonna hit the road. Thanks for everything,” she said, making her way to the door.

“Good night,” Rachel and Luke called as she hurried out of the air-conditioned house and into the humid Florida night.

Without turning, she waved at them over her shoulder.

“I’ll walk you to your car,” a deep voice said from just behind her.

She spun and came face-to-face with A.J. “Ah, thanks, but I’ll be fine.”

“That wasn’t a question, Sam.” Her name rolled off his tongue like a caress after a night of hot sex. She shivered and fought to keep her equilibrium.

Leaving her no room for argument, he took her arm gently in his grasp and steered her down the driveway to her car. The nearly moonless night closed in on them, creating an intimate atmosphere that Sam—with A.J.’s warm fingers still wrapped around her upper arm—found way too confining. She tried to pull free, but his grip tightened just enough to prevent her escape.

Halfway down the front walk, he pulled her to a standstill. “Unlock the car.”

She looked at him, then remembered that unlocking her SUV had been the trigger for the bomb. Without a word, she hit the remote. The lights on the car flashed, and they could hear the distinctive click of the door locks releasing.

“Okay, let’s go.” A.J. pushed her forward.

When they reached her car, he held her away while he looked into the backseat. Only when he was sure it was safe did he release her.

She turned and, before she could express her thanks, she found herself pinned up against the cold fender, staring straight into the eyes of the first man who had brought her blood to a rolling boil since Sloan Whitley. No, she corrected, Sloan had never made her feel as if her body had all the rigidity of cooked spaghetti and as if her head were filled with helium.

As A.J.’s face moved closer to hers, she stared at his mouth, full and tempting.

He’s going to kiss me. I have to stop him. I have to…

Any warnings her brain sent her vanished, burned to ashes with the invading heat, leaving behind only a deep longing to feel his lips pressed against hers again.

“I was going to apologize for kissing you today,” he growled, his voice low and sultry, “but I decided that would be hypocritical.” He lowered his mouth toward hers.

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