“Clay.” She pressed into the door, looking flustered. “I don’t know what that was, but it was no big deal. You didn’t expect me to be in your bedroom. I startled you.”

“You startled something, all right.”

She bit her lip, hiding a smile. “I’m just saying it didn’t mean anything.”

“C’mon, Shelby. I wasn’t the only one affected in there.” His gaze dropped to her breasts and he could see the faint impression of tight nipples beneath her sweater. He forced his gaze to her face. “I saw you,” he rasped.

Shelby squirmed. “What are you talking about? It was no big deal.”

“So that’s why your body responded to mine, why your—”

“All right!” She blushed furiously. “Okay, so I…noticed you noticing. Just because I responded doesn’t mean I should have. Or that I will again.”

“Maybe you’re right, but I don’t think so.” He stretched his arm along the top of the seat, hit with a purely macho urge to prove she would respond to him again. “I don’t know why something’s started between us, but it has.”

Dear Reader,

The idea of best friends falling in love has always fascinated me. Perhaps it’s the excitement of two people who think they know each other so well, only to be surprised and amazed by romantic feelings they never expected. I wanted to do a story of a man and woman who have only ever felt strictly friendship for each other, who fell in love with other people first. And then one day, bam! Hormones and emotions go wild. Where did that come from?

Firefighter Shelby Fox and Detective Clay Jessup have been there for each other through thick and thin, through death and divorce. Their bond is unbreakable and reassuringly familiar. So what are they supposed to do when their friendship suddenly feels anything but platonic? When they are both hit with the temptation to give in to their closest friend…who now doesn’t seem close enough?

Happy reading!

Debra Cowan

Wild Fire
Debra Cowan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

DEBRA COWAN

Like many writers, Debra made up stories in her head as a child. Her B.A. in English was obtained with the intention of following family tradition and becoming a schoolteacher, but after she wrote her first novel, there was no looking back. After years of working another job in addition to writing, she now devotes herself full-time to penning both historical and contemporary romances. An avid history buff, Debra enjoys traveling. She has visited places as diverse as Europe and Honduras, where she and her husband served as part of a medical mission team. Born in the foothills of the Kiamichi Mountains, Debra still lives in her native Oklahoma with her husband and their two beagles, Maggie and Domino.

Debra invites her readers to contact her at P.O. Box 30123, Coffee Creek Station, Edmond, OK 73003-0003 or via e-mail at her Web site at: www.debracowan.net.

In memory of my grandfather, R. E. Warren. The kindest man I’ve ever known and also a master storyteller who passed that love on to me.

Acknowledgments

Many thanks to David Wiist, retired Chief of Fire Prevention, Edmond, OK, and to Jack Goldhorn, PIO, Norfolk Fire Rescue, Norfolk, VA. You’ve both been unfailingly gracious and patient. I lucked out when I met you guys and I have the greatest respect for you both. To Linda Goodnight, nurse, writer and friend. To Patti Hager, for her help with all things Spanish, and to my nephew, Mason Banta, for answering my questions on bows and arrows.

Contents

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 1

Typical male, thought Presley firefighter Shelby Fox. Wouldn’t cooperate even with a willing female.

The May night was unseasonably warm for Oklahoma. She stood completely still outside Station House Three, pressed against the brick wall as she watched the stray tomcat slink warily through the shadows and approach the food she had left out for him.

The other firefighters fed the animal but didn’t care if he was social. For the last month, Shelby had been trying to coax the gray furball into sight. Three-quarters of the way through her twenty-four-hour shift, she should probably be trying to catch some sleep before the next call, like everyone else inside, but—

Someone screamed, the sound startling in the midnight quiet. She snapped to attention, her gaze going across the usually busy two-lane street to the nearest residence in the subdivision.

The sound had come from M. B. Perry’s house. Unsure if there was an emergency, Shelby decided to check it out herself. She dashed across the street, wondering if what she had heard had been a sound from one of those horror movies the petite schoolteacher loved so much. But it wouldn’t have been that loud, would it?

All was quiet except for the chirp of insects as Shelby reached the neatly tended lawn. Her gaze skimmed the short, trimmed hedge along the front porch. No sign of an intruder. No sign of anything unusual. Shelby had seen M.B. park her car in the garage a couple of hours ago and she didn’t think the woman had left. There were no cars in the driveway, so it appeared M.B. didn’t have visitors.

Welcoming light shone from the porch, behind the large, curtained front window and from M.B.’s bedroom upstairs. It wasn’t unusual for the woman to stay up so late on a Sunday night, but something was wrong. Shelby knew it by the sharp tingle in her fingertips, the same buzzed nerves she got every time she faced a fire.

The house was quiet, too quiet. She hurried up the few steps to the front door. Just as she knocked, she heard another scream, this one abruptly cut off. She tried the door, found it unlocked and opened it. “M.B.! Are you all right?”

Soon after moving into the older neighborhood, Mary Beth Perry had quickly endeared herself to the firefighters of Station House Three by bringing over all manner of fattening goodies twice a week. Shelby wasn’t the only firefighter who loved M.B.’s pecan brownies or had given fire station tours to dozens of M.B.’s high school students.

“M.B.?” Eerie silence greeted her. Alarmed now, Shelby’s stomach took a dive. She stepped inside, hit with an arid sticky odor as her gaze tracked up the stairway to her left, across the tall ceiling. Hair spray?

Hair spray? Could that be what she smelled?

A wrought iron banister and railing led up to the landing that looked over the formal living area where Shelby stood, giving the house an airy inviting openness.

Quickly she scanned the formal living area in front of her. A squatty brass lamp spilled soft light into the room, over the Queen Anne sofa with its curved lines and glossy wooden back that M.B. had refinished. Warm beige-and-green rugs pooled on the dark hardwood floor.

As Shelby started to cross the living room to check the kitchen, she heard a hollow popping noise upstairs and smelled smoke. Moving toward the staircase, she glanced up and saw a thin gray wisp coming from what she thought was M.B.’s bedroom.

Grabbing the black iron banister, she took the stairs two at a time. The smell of hair spray—it was definitely hair spray—grew stronger. “M.B., are you up here? Answer me!”

It was unlike the teacher not to respond. Shelby headed for the bedroom, the first one to the left of the stairs. Light and smoke rippled from the open doorway, weaving around the stair rail spindles to sweep across the living room floor.

On the second floor landing, the sharp chemical odor of hair spray made Shelby’s eyes water, as did thickening smoke. Rancid, bitter smoke that wafted out of M.B.’s bedroom. Shelby noted the new odor in the split second before she stepped into the doorway, blinking against the sting of smoke.

No! At first her mind couldn’t process the horrible sight. Then it clicked into place—M.B. lay on the bed in flames! A man stood over her. A man Shelby knew! She froze in shock, then automatically recoiled from the gruesome scene. She was remotely aware of what was happening and how quickly.

Even as she recognized the man standing over M.B.’s body, caught the sour stench of burning hair and flesh, she backed up reflexively to run. The man charged across the room, putting his head down and ramming it into her stomach. His momentum, combined with her own, lifted her off the floor.

She grunted, her breath whooshing out as he plowed her backward, hard hands closing over her lower thighs and lifting her.

Off balance, she threw an elbow. The blow caught him on the side of the head, but it didn’t slow him down. She pushed at him, trying to gouge his eyes. Something hard slammed into the small of her back. The railing. Her feet left the floor and she plummeted backward. Air rushed past. She screamed. Her hip hit the sharp edge of the couch. Her head cracked against the hardwood floor. Pain exploded, then nothing.

Clay Jessup hit the door of Presley Medical Center at a dead run. Jack’s call that Shelby had been hurt and was being taken to the hospital had jerked him clean awake. Clay had pulled on jeans and a T-shirt, jammed his gun into the notch at the small of his back, put on tennis shoes and driven about eighty miles an hour to get to the center.

He didn’t have all the details yet, but Jack Spencer, his friend and fellow cop who had caught this case, told him Shelby had been found unconscious in a house across the street from her fire station. The firefighters on Shelby’s shift had also found a dead woman—a dead burned woman-—in an upstairs bedroom.

Even at this late hour, the emergency room was half-full. Clay’s nostrils twitched at the mix of ammonia, antiseptic and sweat. Nurses barked orders. Doctors conferred down the hall. The admitting nurse, sitting behind a sleek curved counter, calmly directed people to take a seat or to the patient they sought.

Clay flashed his badge, even though it wasn’t necessary. He just wanted to get to Shelby. Fast. A short, trim nurse snagged his elbow to point him down the hall to the last trauma cubicle where his friend was being assessed. Three men in bunker pants, grimy boots and white, soot-streaked fire department T-shirts stood in a circle outside the curtain.

Clay recognized Jay Monroe, but not the others. His breath jammed in his lungs. He didn’t want to think about the last time he and Shelby had been in a hospital together, but the memory was all over him.

Shelby wasn’t hurt like her brother, his best friend, had been, Clay told himself. She wasn’t going to die—

He cut off the thought, reaching her room and nodding to the waiting firefighters. The curtain to her room, one of three used to evaluate emergency room admissions, was slightly open and Clay took a deep breath, schooled his features into what he hoped was a calm mask.

He stepped inside and saw she was alone. His heartbeat jackhammered in his chest.

“Clay?” Her voice was weak, her eyes unfocused and dark blue with pain under the grainy fluorescent lights. The bed had been raised to a half-sitting position, and Shelby reached out to him with her right hand.

“Hey, blue eyes.” He managed to keep his voice steady as he moved around the bed and squeezed her hand. Shelby wasn’t big on hugging or touching, but he could tell how rattled she was when she didn’t immediately release him. She was trembling.

His strong, athletic friend, who had competed in two triathlons, looked frail in her grimy white T-shirt and dark blue pants. Her black shoes smeared dirt over the snowy sheets beneath her. She was pale, the white bandage at her hairline and left temple glaring against her brown hair. Her soft features were pinched with pain.

His chest tightened. “This isn’t your way of getting out of that dinner for the mayor, is it?” he teased.

Instead of shooting back with some cute retort, she said, “I…don’t know.” Tears filled her eyes, rocking him. “Clay, I can’t remember anything.”

“You mean about how you got hurt?” he asked.

Her fingers tightened on his. “Yes.” She started to shake her head, then winced, releasing his hand to press hers to her temple.

“There’s something wrong with my wrist—” She lifted her right one. “And my head. Why can’t I remember?”

“What did the doctor say?”

“I…don’t know.” She frowned, panic edging into her voice. “She told me, but I couldn’t follow.”

Her words were slightly slurred. He wanted to calm her, wanted to calm himself. “I’ll find out. It’ll be all right.”

“The doctor said she would be right back.” Her eyes fluttered shut for a second. “How did you know?”

“Jack called me.” Clay wondered what Shelby had been doing alone at the scene of a fire.

“Jack knows?” Opening her eyes seemed to be a struggle. “Why?”

So she didn’t remember about the dead woman upstairs. Or maybe she hadn’t even known.

“Clay?”

“They found you on the lower floor of a house across from the station. You’d…fallen over the stair railing.”

She shook her head, confusion in her eyes. “Who found me?”

“The guys on your shift.”

“There was a fire? Why would I be there by myself?”

“Yeah, there was a fire. I don’t know much else.”

“But…why would Jack be called to a fire scene?”

Clay hesitated. Procedure between Presley’s police and fire departments stated that when PFD found a dead body in a fire, they worked to contain the blaze, then stopped and called Homicide. Shelby knew this, but that hit to the head had obviously jarred some things loose. “There was a woman in an upstairs bedroom,” he said as gently as he could. “She was dead.”

She touched a hand to her temple, her brow furrowing. “But I was at M.B.’s. I do remember going inside her house—” She gasped. “M.B.? Clay, is it M.B.? Is she dead?”

He hesitated. “I’m sorry.”

“No!” she choked out. “How? What happened?”

He really didn’t want to lay this on her right now. “I don’t have all the details yet.”

Other questions pressed harder at him. What had happened to Shelby? How had M. B. Perry died? As a result of that fire? All things Clay would have to find out.

A tear slipped down Shelby’s lightly tanned cheek. “M.B. is dead? I can’t believe it.”

Clay could hardly breathe past the relief that Shelby hadn’t met the same fate. He could have lost his best friend tonight. After what he’d been through with Megan and then losing Shelby’s brother Jason, standing in a hospital room with an injured Shelby had Clay almost panic-stricken. That had to explain this urge he felt to touch her again, hold her for just a minute. He rubbed a hand across his sweat-dampened nape. “There are some guys waiting outside to see you.”

“The doctor asked them not to come in yet.”

“Should I have waited?”

“No. I need you in here.”

“I called your mom. She’s on her way.”

An attractive blonde with a stethoscope hanging out of the pocket of a white lab coat breezed into the room. “Sorry I took so long, Shelby. I wanted to set up a CAT scan and wait for the X rays. Got ’em.”

She lifted a large manila file jacket. The woman’s hair was a mass of wild blond curls pulled into a ponytail. Despite the dark circles under her eyes, she was pretty and she gave Clay a faint smile.

Shelby raised a visibly shaking hand to the side of her head. “Clay, this is Doctor…I’m sorry.” Frustration tightened her voice. “What was your name?”

“Meredith Boren.”

“Dr. Boren,” Shelby repeated. “You’ve told me that before, haven’t you?”

“It’s all right. The confusion will pass and so will the difficulty you’re having concentrating,” the woman soothed, glancing at Clay. “Are you family?”

“Yes,” Shelby said before he could answer. He knew her mother would agree.

“You’ll probably ask the same questions for a bit,” the doctor said. “That’s due to the concussion. I expect that fogginess to dissipate in the next twenty-four hours or so.”

“Concussion?” A new worry snaked through Clay. He’d gotten one years ago in a high school football game. But his had been mild; he’d suffered with only a headache, some nausea. His mind had never been this fuzzy, and he’d never forgotten anything. His voice was sharp with concern. “How long was she out?”

“We’re not sure.” The doctor’s sober gaze told him she was concerned, too. “The EMTs who brought her in said she was unconscious when they found her. She woke up a couple of times en route, but I’d estimate she was out at least five minutes.”

“That’s a long time.” Clay’s stomach knotted as he scanned Shelby’s heart-shaped face. She had an injured wrist, a cut and some bruises on her golden-ivory skin, but what was going on internally?

“I’ve looked at your X rays,” Dr. Boren said to Shelby. “Your wrist is sprained. We’ll need to wrap it and stitch up that gash at your hairline. That’s not what worries me, though.”

Clay stiffened. “What does?”

The woman’s warm gaze took in both of them. “Shelby, you have a grade three concussion. That’s pretty severe. The hit you took to the head had some momentum behind it.”

That put a hard knot in Clay’s chest. “Meaning she was pushed?”

“Or fell from some height.”

“I wish I could remember what happened,” Shelby said impatiently. “How long will this last?”

“I can’t say. With a grade three concussion, it’s possible the post-traumatic amnesia will last longer than twenty-four hours. I want to keep you overnight to monitor you and to see if your memory improves at all. At this juncture, I don’t think your skull is fractured, but I want to watch for a change in symptoms in case there’s a small hematoma I haven’t detected.”

Blood clot. Clay knew that much. His mind reeled with all the information, the sight of his strong, irrepressible buddy lying feebly in a hospital bed.

“Besides the confusion,” the doctor continued, “you’ll have headaches, dizziness, possibly some disturbance in your vision. I want to run a CAT scan and check for visible contusions on the brain.”

“What’s that, Doc?” Clay dragged a hand down his face.

“Bruising on the brain. Sorry.” The woman smiled.

“I can’t remember anything except walking into M.B.’s house.” Shelby frowned.

“Do you remember what time that was?” Clay asked. “Or why you went over in the first place? Did you see anyone else?”

“You have on your cop face,” she muttered.

The vise around his chest finally eased its grip, and he grinned.

“I know it’s hard, Shelby,” Dr. Boren said. “But do not make yourself try to remember. What you need to do is rest, and I can give you some medication to help with that. We’ll see how you do tomorrow. Try not to get ahead of yourself, all right?”

“Hello?”

Hearing the warm, familiar voice outside the door, Clay glanced up.

The doctor turned as Paula Fox moved into the room in a swirl of loose flowing skirts.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Paula,” Clay murmured.

The woman, who had been like a surrogate mother to him since his own had left, moved up the other side of her daughter’s bed, her gaze searching Shelby’s face.

“I came as soon as Clay called.” Paula’s brown kinky hair was pulled back with a headband, her pretty features wan with worry.

He knew all three of them were thinking about the last time they’d been in a hospital together. The night Jason had died. The older woman looked terrified and Clay certainly understood why.

“I’m okay, Mom.” Shelby squeezed her mom’s hand. “This is Dr. Boren.”

The blonde smiled. “Mrs. Fox, I was just explaining to Shelby and Clay that I want to keep her overnight.”

“It’s standard procedure,” Shelby explained.

When Clay nodded in agreement, some of the rigidness left Paula’s shoulders.

Dr. Boren scribbled something on a chart. “I’ll send in a nurse to wrap your wrist and stitch you up, then we’ll get you into a room. I want you to get some rest, even though we’ll bug you every two hours to check your vital signs.”

“All right.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Clay said.

The doctor left, closing the door on her way out. Paula frowned at the bandage on her daughter’s temple. “Shelby Marie, what happened?”

“All I remember is I went across the street to check on a friend. There wasn’t a fire when I got there. At least I don’t think so. Somehow I fell.”

Clay decided not to mention the possibility that she could also have been pushed.

Paula frowned. “You don’t remember anything else?”

“No.”

“Do you have a concussion? Is that why the doctor wants to admit you?”

“It’s nothing to be overly concerned about. You know how hard my head is.”

“What about your memory? What does she say about that?”

Shelby glanced at Clay and he saw the strain of worry in her eyes. “Dr. Boren thinks the memory loss may last only twenty-four hours.”

Clay hoped that by tomorrow Shelby would be able to recall those lost minutes.

“I’ll stay with you tonight.” Paula smoothed a wing of Shelby’s short brown hair away from her face.

“You don’t have to.”

“You need someone.”

“She’s right, Shelby,” Clay put in.

Shelby nodded. “Okay.”

Clay didn’t want to leave her. Telling himself she’d be fine with Paula did nothing to unlock the muscles that had gone rigid when he had heard about Shelby. He needed to do something. “I’m going to call Jack. Be right back.”

He slipped out and leaned a shoulder against the wall. The three firefighters who’d been there had moved down the hall. Upon seeing Clay, they walked toward him.

Jay Monroe, wiry and ruddy-skinned, shook his hand, introducing the other two men. “The doc already told us we can’t see her tonight. How’s she doing? How bad is she hurt?”

“She’s hanging in there.” He recounted her injuries.

“Could’ve been worse,” one of the others murmured.

Which was why Clay couldn’t get his heart to stop hammering.

Jay nodded. “I left a message for Captain Oliver so he’d know what was going on. Tell her to keep her chin up and we’ll check back.”

Clay nodded, walking with them to the exit doors before calling Jack. He wanted to know if his buddy of ten years had a problem with Clay requesting to be assigned to the fire death case. Jack didn’t, even offering to speak to Lieutenant Hager when Clay did. He also told the other man about Shelby’s amnesia. Jack agreed Clay would have a better chance of getting answers from her by waiting until tomorrow to question her.

Clay hung up his cell and jammed it back in his jeans pocket. He went back inside, still rattled over what might have happened to Shelby tonight.

Just as he reached her room, he saw Vince Tyner stalking toward him. At the sight of the paramedic whom Shelby had dumped a month ago, Clay planted himself in front of her cubicle. Shelby had told him Vince still called her, even though she ignored him. The muscle-bound guy had dated Shelby only for a couple of months.

“I heard from dispatch that she’s hurt.” The other man halted, concern darkening his brown eyes. “How bad is it?”

Clay told him, thinking that Tyner looked genuinely alarmed.

“I want to see her.”

“That’s not a good idea.”

“Why not? I want her to know I’m here if she needs anything.”

She doesn’t need it from you. “The doctor doesn’t want anyone else in there tonight. She still has to get her arm wrapped and her head stitched up.”

“It can’t hurt for me to go in for a few minutes.” The man made to move past Clay.

Clay blocked his way. “No, Tyner.”

“She might say different.”

“She won’t.”

Anger flared in Tyner’s face and he visibly struggled to control it. “It can’t hurt anything for me to just stick my head in there.”

“Think about Shelby, why don’t you?”

A dull flush crawled up Tyner’s neck and his hands curled into fists. He took a step toward Clay. “Is there something going on with you two?”

If Shelby weren’t lying hurt in the next room, Clay would’ve laughed. “No.”

“Then who are you to tell me I can’t see her? You have no claim on her.”

“Neither do you.”

“I have as much right to see her as you do.”

“Not gonna happen.”

Something cold and sharp flashed in Tyner’s eyes, a volatility that had Clay’s cop sense on alert.

He had always believed this guy’s Prince Charming act was just that. “I know you’ve been calling her and she hasn’t returned your calls. What does that tell you?”

Tyner’s gaze went to Shelby’s curtained doorway, then sliced back to Clay. He didn’t budge. Silence stretched out, pulsing with tension. The other man looked ready to erupt.

“Fine. Have it your way,” he snapped. “It won’t be for long.”

Clay watched the guy stomp down the corridor toward the exit. Did Tyner really think there was something sexual going on between Clay and Shelby? Sex? That was the one thing they had never shared. She and Jason had helped him through Megan’s long fight with cancer and death. He and Shelby had been there for each other after Jason’s death. And everything since.

He would tell her about Tyner’s visit, but not tonight.

No way was Clay leaving now. He didn’t trust the paramedic to stay away, and he wasn’t letting anyone upset Shelby. That hard light of slyness in the other man’s eyes was enough for Clay to make a mental note to keep an eye on him.

The door opened behind him and he turned as Shelby’s mom stepped out.

“How is she?” he asked.

“She’s resting.” Paula slid an arm around his waist and hugged him tight. “I’m glad you’re here.”

He squeezed her in response. From the age of twelve, when his mom had left the family, Clay had spent as much time at Shelby and Jason’s house as he had his own. His dad, working two jobs and raising three kids, had needed help. Curtis and Paula Fox had given it.

She stepped away. “I’m going home to get a few things. Do you mind staying until I get back?”

“I’m staying anyway.”

“Good.” The look in Paula’s eyes said she believed he was staying out of a sense of responsibility. The responsibility he’d felt for her and Shelby after Jason’s death, but also because of Jason’s death. Maybe that was the reason. For the last four years, Clay had provided as much support as he could.

He walked Paula to her car then returned to Shelby’s room. Her face was turned toward the opposite wall, her chest rising and falling evenly. Clay was glad she was finally getting some sleep. But as he moved around the bed and up to her shoulder, he saw she was awake. She smiled wanly at him, her blue eyes drowsy. “You leaving?”

“No way.” She had sat with him for hours after his dad’s stroke years ago, pulled him out of a bottle and literally saved his life after Jason had died.

“Even if the doctor makes you?” she asked faintly.

“She can try.” He lightly squeezed Shelby’s shoulder, her warmth reassuring him that she was all right. He intended to see she stayed that way. “I’m bigger than she is.”

Her eyes fluttered shut. “Good.”

There was a nine-year difference in their ages, but she was the one person he could always depend on, and he was the same for her.

She was every bit as good a friend to him as Jason had been, and Clay would never take their friendship for granted. Or do anything to jeopardize it. He wouldn’t let anyone else, either.

Chapter 2

“Except for the headache and the big black hole in my memory, I feel fine,” Shelby told Clay the next evening in her hospital room.

Tall and lanky, he filled the small space done up in sterile white and soft pastels. Her mother stood at the foot of the bed.

Shelby had spent the day alternately sleeping and attempting to follow doctor’s orders about not forcing her memory. Her friend’s death was overwhelming enough, but not being able to remember what had happened at M.B.’s house intensified the ache in Shelby’s bruised shoulder and back. Panic needled her and she felt as if she might crumble at any moment.

Frustration, combined with her efforts to let her mind work in its own time, tweaked the pain in her skull. She had thought she might remember something today, but she hadn’t. Except for the last time she and Clay had been in a hospital together, and she couldn’t handle thinking about her brother right now.

Clay moved up the right side of her bed, holding a large brown paper bag. His deep green eyes twinkled. “If you’re doing so well, maybe you don’t need this.”

Shelby peeked inside to find a six-pack of Diet Coke and several bags of microwaveable popcorn. “Oh, you’re a lifesaver!”

He grinned. “I figured if you didn’t get your daily fix, the doctor would have to restrain you.”

“Thanks.” She smiled, knowing his presence was responsible for easing the tension in her shoulders. She set the bag beside her. She had been trembling off and on all day, her nerves raw as her mind tortured her with what might have happened to M.B.

Shelby couldn’t catch any of the elusive shadows hovering on the edge of her mind. All she had were fragments, none of which made sense or seemed connected.

Clay had left about mid-morning, saying he was going to grab a shower, change clothes and meet with his lieutenant. He had called throughout the day to check on her, not able to get back to the hospital until after six o’clock.

His sandy brown hair, streaked gold by the sun, was disheveled where he had run his fingers through it. His eyes were bloodshot and he looked tired. He stood over her, his hands in the pockets of his khaki slacks. The short sleeves of his red-and-tan plaid shirt revealed strong forearms dusted with hair the same dark brown as his eyebrows. “What did the doctor say today?”

“Dr. Boren said my CAT scan showed no blood clots or fractures, which is good, but she now suspects my memory loss might be due to something besides the concussion.”

“Like what?”

“Like maybe I saw something horrible at M.B.’s and I just don’t want to remember.”

He frowned. “How’s your head?”

“It still hurts, but not as badly as yesterday.” She choked back the frustration screaming through her. “The doctor said I could go home in the morning if nothing changes.”

“But you have to rest,” her mother reminded her.

Clay nodded, studying her intently. She knew that look. If she didn’t rest as ordered, he would tie her to the bed. “I got your car home so you don’t need to worry about that,” he said.

Her mom moved up the other side of the bed, her blue eyes warm as she took out a bag of the popcorn Clay had brought. “Would you like some of this?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll find a microwave. And some ice for your Coke.”

“Thanks.” As Paula left the room, Shelby glanced at Clay. “Sit down. You look beat.”

He eased down into the hard, vinyl-covered chair next to the bed, scooting over to give himself a little room from the table at her shoulder that held a phone and a brown plastic pitcher.

“Did Lieutenant Hager agree to assign you to the case?”

“Yeah.”

“Was Jack all right with that?”

He nodded, scrubbing a hand over his face. The fluorescent light running in a track overhead shone harshly on the tiny lines fanning out from his eyes.

“So what did you find out about M.B. today?”

“I’ve been talking to Collier. He’s working the case for the Fire Investigator’s Office.”

Collier McClain was the newest of Presley’s two fire investigators. He had been a former station mate of Shelby’s when she worked out of Station House Two a couple of years ago. Only a fire cop since January, McClain’s first solo case had been a doozy. A prominent female defense attorney had turned out to be a serial sniper who had been killing Presley firefighters.

“Right now, he’s trying to determine if the fire at M.B.’s was arson or an accident.”

Shelby knew the two men would work together until one of them proved M.B.’s death was an accident, suicide or murder. It must have been an accident. M.B. was a delightful person. Who could possibly want to kill the school teacher?

Clay leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “Earlier today, Collier and I went to the high school where M.B. taught and talked to the other teachers, a few kids. She was well liked, very involved.”

“Yes. She was the science club sponsor. I guess you found that out?”

“Yes.” His gaze searched her face. “I need to ask you some questions. You up for it?”

She nodded. “I want to help.”

“Do you recall seeing her that night?”

“Yeah, when she got home, which was about ten or ten-fifteen. She parked in the garage and waved to me before she shut the door.”

“Do you remember what you were doing before you went over to her house?”

The headache Shelby couldn’t shake throbbed at the base of her skull. “I was outside feeding the cat. A stray that started coming around the station house about a month ago. We call him Smoke. I heard a scream…”

She gnawed on the pad of her thumb, surprised at how clearly she could recall that, but when she probed for more, her mind became a mass of fractured light. “That’s why I went over to her house. At first I thought it might have been the television—M.B. loved horror movies—but it was too loud.”

“And you didn’t see anyone at her house after she went inside?”

“No. I did try to notice if anything was unusual when I got to her front yard, but I didn’t see anything or anyone.”

A knock at the door had Shelby turning her head, wincing at the sharp jab of pain up the back of her skull. Her captain, Rick Oliver, and another shift mate, Dylan Shepherd, walked in. Dylan carried a bouquet of colorful balloons with bags of microwave popcorn tied to the end of each ribbon.

“We come bearing gifts, little invalid.” Dylan’s eyes sparkled. “This is from everyone at Station House Three.”

Shelby laughed, exchanging a look with Clay. “I should have enough popcorn to tide me over for a while.”

She introduced Clay to the black-haired, black-eyed firefighter who was a couple of years younger than she was. Clay shook hands with both men, having previously met Shelby’s congenial captain at a city function.

Captain Oliver’s sharp gray gaze scoured her face. “How are you, Fox?”

“I’m all right, Cap.”

“You sure? Monroe said you couldn’t remember anything.”

“Not yet, anyway.” She smiled at the fighting-trim man with close-cut gray hair. “Other than that, I’m okay.”

“How long before you can come back to work?” he asked.

“Since my job is considered high-risk, I have to go at least seven days without concussion symptoms. The doctor has to examine me again then and if she likes what she sees, I can return.”

“We can keep you on light duty around the station house until your wrist heals.”

“All right.” At one time Shelby would’ve protested, but having come so close to never returning, she was content to be off full duty for now.

Dylan’s free hand closed over the rail at the foot of the bed, his dark eyes hot with interest. “That gives you a week to think of where you want to go on our date.”

He had been asking her out for two months. Broad-shouldered and lean-hipped, the former school teacher was gorgeous. And a genuinely nice guy. “Now, Shep, if I went out with you, I’d have to go out with all the guys at the station house.”

“Hey, I’m the one who carried you out.” He flashed her a quick grin. “Don’t you think you owe me?”

“I like you too much to date you,” she said wryly. After being blindsided five years ago by her bigamist husband, Shelby’s motto was leave and leave first. Her other hard-and-fast rule was don’t get involved with anyone at work.

Her relationship with Clay was the longest one she’d had with a man and that was because they were only buddies.

Dylan let it go, but she saw the determined glint in his eye. It was a shame she wasn’t interested.

“You really had me worried, Fox,” her captain said. “I better tell Aubrey she can’t have any more asthma attacks during my shift. You obviously need me around to supervise.”

Shelby grinned at his teasing, but her thoughts went to Rick’s daughter, who had severe asthma. The two-year-old had ended up in the emergency room several times. “How is she?”

“She’s okay.” Rick’s face softened. “As hardheaded as you.”

Dylan placed the balloon-and-popcorn bouquet on the window sill. “The nurse told us we could only stay five minutes so we’ll get out of here.”

“Thanks for coming.”

“We’ll be checking on you,” Rick said.

After the two men left, Clay grinned at her. “How long has Shepherd been chasing you?”

“A couple of months. He only likes me because I say no.”

His gaze softened as it skimmed over her face. “Maybe he thinks you’re pretty.”

She shrugged. “Maybe.”

“He’s definitely interested, but you’re not, huh?”

“You know I don’t date guys from my station house. After a few dates, I’m finished. If they aren’t, things get messy.”

“Like with Vince?”

“Yeah.”

Clay folded his arms. “He came by last night. I told him about your injuries, but I wouldn’t let him see you.”

“Thanks. Was he a jerk about it?”

“Not too much.” Clay eased down on the edge of the window sill, crossing his long legs at the ankle. “Tell me whatever you remember about last night.”

She rubbed two fingers in a circle against her throbbing temple. “Well, like I said, I heard a scream. When I got to M.B.’s front porch, I knocked. I heard another scream, but it was cut off. So I opened the door and called out. When she didn’t answer, I went inside.”

She paused, forcing her mind to play through what she had just told Clay, but when she tried to remember beyond stepping inside the house, she came up with snatches of darkness and light, garbled unidentifiable sounds. In other words, nothing.

The dull ache at the base of her skull sharpened into a stunning pain that radiated up the back of her head, stabbing behind her eyes. She clasped her head in her hands, massaging her temple. “That’s all I remember.”

Clay straightened, moving toward her. “You okay?”

“Yes, it’s just this headache. It comes and goes.”

“Do you need something for the pain?”

“I took a couple of ibuprofen about an hour ago. Maybe I’ll take some more.”

His eyes dark with concern, he rang for the nurse.

“Oh!” she said. “M.B. told me she was seeing someone.”

“Yeah?” Clay’s gaze held hers expectantly.

“She never told me who. I think he was married.”

“Did you ever see a man at her house?”

“About a week ago, I saw a red Corvette at her house, an older model, but I didn’t see who was driving it. I saw a man about a month ago in a different car, but only once.”

“Remember what either of them looked like?”

“I never saw who was driving the ’Vette. The other man was Hispanic, but I couldn’t describe him. That’s not much help, is it?”

“It’s a lead and we have too darn few so far.” He smiled.

The nurse delivered more pain medication and left. Shelby searched her mind, trying to recall anything else. All she had were shadows, elusive bits and pieces of…something. She couldn’t even determine if they were thoughts or pictures. “I want to know what happened.”

She sensed Clay tense subtly, the strain not visible in his face. Only in the barely perceptible shift along his lean muscles. Shelby knew he was keeping something from her. “What are you not telling me?”

Mouth grim, his steady gaze met hers. “Ken Mason, the medical examiner, had to go in for an emergency heart bypass a couple of days ago so it’s going to be a while before we find out M.B.’s exact cause of death.”

“Doesn’t he have an assistant?”

“Yes, but she isn’t certified to sign off on CODs. We’ve been able to piece some things together from what Collier learned at the scene.”

“Enough to rule out an accident?”

Clay nodded. “He checked for cigarettes and frayed wiring. Everything he’s found so far indicates the fire was arson. Most likely to hide another crime.”

Shelby’s fingertips tingled from that mix of adrenaline and apprehension she always got heading into a blaze. She didn’t want to ask the question that had dread fisting in her gut. “You mean—”

“Murder,” Clay said quietly, his large hands wrapping around the bed rail.

The shock of the words had her going still; then her entire body quivered. “Do you think I saw something? Someone?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you think Dr. Boren’s right? That I can’t remember because I did see something horrible? But if I saw who murdered M.B., wouldn’t they have made sure I was dead, too?”

“They tried,” he said tightly. “Your station is right across the street from her. A fire had started, so I don’t imagine the killer felt he had time to make sure you were dead before your crew arrived.”

Sickened at the thought, she laid back on the pillow.

Clay squeezed her shoulder, his eyes hard. “I’m not taking any chances. Until we know you’re not in danger, I’m sticking to you like white on rice.”

Clay was as good as his word. He stayed again Monday night with her and her mom at the hospital, and the next morning helped Paula load Shelby into the car to take her home. She finally got settled to her mother’s satisfaction and convinced Paula she’d be fine. Shelby wanted to be in the comfort of her own home, not that huge empty house her mom had bought with the ample insurance settlement from Dad’s death.

Stepping inside her kitchen eased some of the tension in her shoulders. The white of the cabinets, countertops and island top was broken by splashes of red on the wallpaper, in the curtain across the single, floor-to-ceiling window. Deep black-cherry candles and a floral arrangement spread color across the dining table. The familiarity soothed her.

Paula fixed lunch for all three of them, some bean sprout-tofu thing that wouldn’t satisfy a bird. Shelby was hungry, but more than that, she was jumpy. Her entire body ached. She was frustrated at the missing minutes in her memory and edgy over what had happened during those minutes.

Paula rose to get more tea. “Vince has called me several times to see how you’re doing. He wants you to call him back.”

Shelby shook her head.

“Are you sure?” Her mom refilled her glass. “He seems genuinely concerned.”

“It’s one thing to check on me. It’s another to keep coming around. Clay said he was at the hospital last night, too.”

Shelby glanced over, noting how his jaw had tightened. He had on his blank cop face. The phone rang and Paula answered. Shelby tensed, hoping it wasn’t Vince.

Her mom brought the phone over. “It’s your captain.”

Relieved, Shelby spoke to her boss, assuring him that she didn’t need anything and promising to let him know her progress as she recovered.

Clay cleaned up the dishes while Paula made a list of things to buy at the grocery store. Shelby wandered into the living room, sank down on her oversize saddle-brown couch.

Her mom left for the store and Clay put in a call to his lieutenant. Shelby couldn’t sit still. Pain jabbed at her temple. Her nerves were raw, urging her off the couch and to the large plate glass window that looked into her backyard.

M.B. had been murdered. Clay’s words kept circling in Shelby’s head. Did she know anything about it? Were the answers buried somewhere in the writhing shadows of her mind? Had she lost her way in the smoke and fallen? Or had she been thrown over that railing?

Panic swelled inside her and she fought it, afraid if she gave in that she would fall apart. But it was hard to dismiss the fact that her friend was dead. And that at least ten minutes of her life were missing. Gone. As if they had never existed, hadn’t been even a hiccup in time.

She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, cradling her injured wrist. What if she never remembered? Besides feeling that she would be letting M.B. down, Shelby didn’t know how she would accept such a blank space in her life. In the scheme of things, maybe five or ten minutes wasn’t much, but a murder had been committed in front of her. Maybe she hadn’t seen anything, but if she had, she wanted to know what.

Shelby had tried not to think about the danger Clay felt she might be in, but for the first time since being rescued, a frozen, slow-moving fear climbed over her, suffocating her. What if she had died, too?

Clay stood in the wide archway that led from Shelby’s kitchen into her living room, frowning as he saw her looking out into the backyard. He said her name, but got no response.

Surrounded by the warm light of the midday sun, she stood motionless in front of the large picture window. She wore a baggy red T-shirt, with Presley Fire Department written in thick white letters across the back, and khaki shorts that drew attention to her sleekly muscled legs. She was barefoot.

She didn’t move. Didn’t appear to know he was there at all.

He walked around the edge of her sofa and stopped behind her. “Shelby?”

Still she didn’t move, didn’t speak.

Clay stepped up so he could see her face. And was startled at the tears streaming down her cheeks. She stared outside, unblinking, her breathing shallow.

His heart lurched. He had only seen her cry like this at the hospital when the doctors had given them the devastating news that Jason was gone.

Clay pushed away a zing of guilt as something close to panic unfurled inside his chest. He teasingly bumped her shoulder with his. “This means you wanted popcorn instead of that grass stuff your mom made, right?”

Her face crumpled and she looked away.

“Hey.” He slid an arm around her shoulders.

His touch seemed to break the lock on her emotions. She turned into his chest, choking out a sob, her good arm going around his waist and holding tight. Her palm rested on the small of his back.

Careful of the bruises on her back and shoulder, he curled his left arm loosely around her waist. His right hand went to the back of her neck, slipping under the short ends of her hair. He brushed his thumb soothingly back and forth across her nape.

They stood like that for a long moment, her sobs quiet but deep enough to rattle her body. Nearly thirty-six hours after the incident that had caused her injuries, Clay figured everything was hitting her at once. Grief over her friend. Frustration and uncertainty over the loss of her memory. The realization that she could’ve been killed.

That one certainly scared the hell out of him. He snugged her face into his neck and rested his cheek against her hair. He stroked her nape, murmuring to her over and over until finally she stood quietly against him, drawing in ragged breaths.

Her vise-like grip on him eased, but she stayed where she was, her breath fluttering against his skin. He rubbed her back. He realized then that she wasn’t wearing a bra and the feel of her breasts flattened against his chest had his body going tight. Jolted by his reaction, Clay’s mind froze for an instant.

He inhaled the light floral scent of her shampoo. “It scared me when I heard you were hurt.”

She looked up at him with glistening blue eyes, her dark lashes wet and spiked. A wobbly smile lifted the corner of her lips. “You? A big bad cop scared?”

“Yeah.” He suddenly wanted to hug her close again, calm the brutal fear that reared up inside him just as it had at the hospital. “You’re my best pal. It would be hard to replace you.”

Tears welled in her eyes and she smoothed his navy tie, rubbed at the spot on his light blue shirt that she had wet with her tears. “You could go on one of those reality shows. Surely they have one about finding friends.”

“Think I’d be able to find somebody who would drag me out of a bar and keep me captive until I swore on my badge that I was sober and never going back?”

“That was special, wasn’t it?” she said wryly, wiping the tears from her face.

“You saved my life,” he said quietly. He’d told her before. With everything they’d shared through the years, they had both agreed not to keep count anymore, but he knew he wouldn’t be standing here if it weren’t for Shelby.

“You’ve done the same for me. I wouldn’t want another best friend. It would be hard to find someone who knows everything about me and would still put up with me.”

He grinned. “I don’t know everything. I don’t know where that tattoo is.”

She smiled, which was what he wanted. The small fox tattoo on his left shoulder matched the one she’d gotten at the same time. It had been Shelby’s idea to get a physical symbol of Jason, and she had wanted Clay to take her to the tattoo parlor on the first anniversary of her brother’s death. To this day, she’d refused to tell him where she’d gotten tattooed.

“I have to say, Jessup, you’re good with hysterical females.” She dabbed at her eyes again. “Must come from having two sisters.”

“You were hardly hysterical.” Unsettled at how the feel of her lean curves had affected him, Clay released her as she stepped away. “Wanna talk about it?”

“I guess I had a meltdown.” She held her injured arm against her stomach, folding the other one underneath it.

“You’re entitled. You’ve been dealing with a lot.”

“I can’t stop thinking that I might know what happened to M.B. And that it could’ve been me instead of her.”

“I know,” he said fiercely, clenching his fists tight. He had been responsible for Jason’s walking into danger, but he wouldn’t make that mistake with Shelby.

Her gaze, knowing and sad, searched his. “The hospital made me think about him.”

“Me, too.” Most of the time he lived with the memory just fine, but sometimes pain raked through him and nearly ripped a fresh wound. Like when he’d seen Shelby in that hospital bed.

“Why couldn’t I have lost those memories?”

The agony in her voice clutched at his chest. Their gazes met and he knew the memories in her eyes were the ones that hit him now. Jason hadn’t wanted to go climbing that day, but Clay had pushed until his friend gave in. They had scaled the ragged mountain face just fine, but coming down, Jason’s harness had broken and he had lost both his handholds and footholds.

Clay, secure in his harness, had scrabbled and grabbed, but Jason had fallen. Sometimes even now, four years later, Clay would dream about it, hearing over and over the sickening thud of his friend hitting the ground. Reliving the horror, the guilt.

Pain flashed across Shelby’s features, then was gone. “If only I could remember something. Anything. There are only…shadows in my mind. No definition.”

“Shelby.” Clay didn’t like the guilt that flashed across her face. “Don’t torture yourself. You know it doesn’t help. And the doctor said not to force anything.”

“I know.” She shoved an unsteady hand through her short brown hair.

“You hungry for some real food?”

“Yes.” She fell into step with him as they walked around the edge of her sofa. She squeezed his arm and gave him a small smile, telling him she was all right.

A pair of ceramic dalmatians flanked either side of the wide entry that led from the living area into the kitchen. She fixed drinks while he made turkey sandwiches. He glanced at her as she slid into the seat next to him, putting diet colas on the table at both their places.

“I went back to M.B.’s school today to follow up on what you told me about her being involved with someone. No one I spoke to knew anything about the affair, but I left my card for a woman named Gail Cosgrove, M.B.’s closest friend there. She’s the school secretary. Right now she’s in Arizona moving her elderly mother back here. I couldn’t reach her by phone, so I left a message at the school for her to call me when she returns.”

“Hopefully M.B.’s friend will know something.” Shelby stole a pickle from his plate. “It’s only been about two weeks since she told me about him. Maybe she broke things off.”

“Do you think it was the Hispanic man you saw once?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did she tell you what her new guy looked like? Age?” Clay pushed the jar of pickles toward her. “What kind of car he drove?”

“No. I assumed she wouldn’t tell me his name or anything because he was married, but maybe that wasn’t why.”

“Maybe she kept it a secret because he’s someone prominent,” he suggested.

“Maybe it was another teacher or someone else at school.”

“Like the principal? A custodian?”

“Or the school cop?” Three years ago, the city had instituted a program that assigned an officer full-time to the two high schools. The presence of law enforcement had cut down drastically on everything from fights to drugs.

He nodded. “One or both of them could’ve feared losing their jobs. I’ll go back this afternoon and see if I get anywhere with that.”

The door that led to the garage opened and Paula walked in carrying two grocery sacks. “There’s a police car parked out front.”

“I called for one.” Clay rose and took the bags from her, setting them on the counter.

“Even though Mom’s here?” Shelby asked.

“Even though.” He wasn’t taking any chances with her safety. Or her mom’s, either. He made a mental note to keep a close eye on Vince Tyner.

Paula glanced over as she began unloading items. “You’re still planning to stay, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Until Shelby remembers whether or not she saw anything. Until we know what happened to her and the victim.”

“Thank you, Clay.” Tears shone in Paula’s eyes. “I feel better knowing you’re here.”

“You should go back to the store whenever you need to, Mom.” Her mother’s bead and jewelry store, To Bead Or Not To Bead, did a thriving business, enticing customers from Presley as well as Oklahoma City and other nearby towns. “I’ll be fine.”

“Tracy can handle things there for a couple of days.”

Clay wrapped up the rest of his sandwich to take with him, then said goodbye to her mom. Shelby walked with him to the front door.

“Thanks for a while ago,” she said, not quite meeting his eyes.

That was a first, too. As long as he’d known her, even as a teenager, Shelby looked directly at someone, whatever the situation. Was she avoiding his gaze because she’d felt his body’s insane, mystifying reaction to her? “I’ve got a ways to go before I make up for the solid week you stayed with me after Jason died.”

“Yeah, that was a hardship.”

“You’re trouble in your own way.” He grinned, opening the door. Still off balance at the unexpected pull of want he’d felt, he searched her face. “I can have the department assign a female cop to stay with you at night, if you’d prefer.” He didn’t even consider a male officer. “I’ve already requested one for during the day when your mom has to get back to the bead store.”

“No.”

“Shelby,” he said firmly. “Until we know what happened in that house, I’m not leaving you alone without protection.”

“I meant no to somebody else. I want you.”

At her words, heat inched under his skin. What was going on with him? “You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, you’ve got me. Call me if you need something or want me to bring you anything.”

“All right.”

“Lock up after me.”

She gave him a lazy two-finger salute. “Yes, Mr. Po-lice Man.”

“Smart aleck.” He stepped outside and waited until he heard the turn of the dead bolt, the click of the knob lock. Walking to his truck, his head felt fuzzy, as if he’d been out in the sun too long. He rubbed a hand across his chest, the spot Shelby had dampened with her tears.

He should be thinking about the case, about putting in a call to Collier McClain to tell him they needed to make a repeat visit to the high school, but instead his mind was stubbornly, startlingly fixed on Shelby not wearing a bra. The incredible softness of her skin, the feel of her breasts against him. Something hot and reckless and totally unexpected had charged through him. His body had gone hard; it still was.

He rolled his shoulders, uncomfortable with what could only be called desire. For Shelby, for whom he’d only ever had platonic feelings. He had to be wrong. There was something else going on, probably a combination of his reaction to her close call, fatigue, his self-imposed celibacy.

After Megan’s death, he hadn’t been interested in dating at all. About the time he’d become interested, they’d lost Jason. Since then, he hadn’t had the time or enough interest for a relationship.

Lusting after Shelby? His best friend? No way.

Chapter 3

Something strange had happened with Clay. Something physical. He had wanted her.

That couldn’t be right, Shelby decided. Things had never been that way between them. They weren’t now, either. The stupid concussion was to blame. Just because she didn’t need to have things repeated so often didn’t mean her brain was back to operating the way it should.

That…incident had happened on Tuesday. Today was Friday and she hadn’t stopped thinking about it, even though nothing like that happened again. Everything between them had been perfectly normal, just as it was right now.

She slid a look at him as they walked into the largest chapel at Presley Memorial Gardens. Clay had insisted on bringing her to M.B.’s memorial service. The funeral would be a family-only affair after M.B.’s body was released by the medical examiner. In the days since M.B.’s murder, he and Collier McClain had been conducting interviews at her school, with the firefighters on the scene and with neighbors.

Shelby’s mother had left this morning on a buying trip to New York City and wouldn’t return until Monday. If things went well and Dr. Boren agreed, Shelby would be back at work by then. She hadn’t recalled anything about M.B.’s murder yet, but surely she would. How long could amnesia really last?

She and Clay took a seat next to Collier just before the service began. Well over a hundred people listened in the flower-packed room as M.B.’s oldest brother, Glen, walked to the podium to give a eulogy. Almost half the crowd consisted of the students M.B. had taught and their parents. The others were teachers, administrators, friends and almost every firefighter from Station House Three. Shelby’s captain sat with several of her station mates in the row of dark blue dress coats across the aisle to her right.

The scents of roses and lilies mixed, the amount of flowers nearly overwhelming. She wanted to follow the funny story Glen Perry told about his sister, but the headache returned, the pain stabbing brutally from her temple to the back of her skull. She shut her eyes for a second and it seemed to ease. Looking again at M.B.’s brother, Shelby tried to pay attention.

The agonizing throb behind her eyes persisted, shooting flashes of light and shadow through her brain, but nothing else. No memories, no nothing.

As the somber, sturdily built man spoke, she closed her eyes. Shelby remembered M.B.’s contagious laugh, her ready smile, her sunglasses in every color. The void Shelby had felt since the murder grew deeper inside her, colder.

Her hands shook and she became aware that her entire body trembled. Maybe it was delayed reaction? Maybe just the realization that a service like this could also have been held for her? She might have the information to help find M.B.’s killer, but it was lost somewhere in her mind.

Glen Perry’s voice cracked and Shelby’s heart ached for him, ached for M.B.’s parents who were burying a child. She thought about her own mother having to bury Jason and couldn’t imagine how Paula would cope if something were to happen to her, too. That put a painful lump in her throat.

Stop! she told herself. Clay leaned forward with his wrists resting on his knees and she focused on the sight of his strong, gentle hands.

Finally the service was over. She fought a rising sense of suffocation as she waited with Clay and Collier to walk out. Once they stepped into the warm May sunshine, Shelby let out a sigh of relief. After telling Clay where she was going, she moved over to join the people in line to pay their respects to the Perry family. Returning to her friends, she tried to keep from bursting into tears. If she knew who’d killed M.B., why couldn’t she remember?

Feeling helpless and frustrated, she turned her attention to the tall man beside Clay. “Collier, how much longer before yours and Kiley’s wedding?”

“One week, one day and—” He glanced at his watch. “Seven hours. Y’all are coming, aren’t you?”

Clay and Shelby both nodded.

She was amazed at how perfect he and Detective Russell were for each other. “I never thought I’d see you walk down the aisle.”

“My momma didn’t raise no dummy. I’m not letting that woman get away.”

Shelby grinned, trying to keep her thoughts from sliding back into fear.

Clay nudged her shoulder, saying in a low voice, “See that guy over there in the white shirt and jeans? He’s a custodian from M.B.’s school named Antonio Sandoval. Everyone Collier and I spoke to said he spent a lot of time with M.B.”

“Why?” She turned, following Clay’s gaze to a lean, darkly handsome man with raven hair, a deep tan and striking bone structure. Double-take gorgeous.

“She was teaching him to read and write English.”

“He speaks the language well,” Collier added. “But he says he’s never learned to read or write it.”

“What reason could he have for wanting to kill M.B.?”

“We have to find out if he did have one.” Collier studied the Hispanic man. “Some of the other janitorial staff think there was more going on than reading lessons.”

“They think he was M.B.’s lover?”

Clay nodded. “Could Sandoval have been the guy you saw at her house that time?”

She frowned. “I don’t know.”

“He denies things went that far with M.B.”

Shelby’s throat knotted. She watched the other attendees move slowly among M.B.’s family members, heard a sob coming from someone. She looked away, filled with anger over her friend’s death, the chilling realization that she could easily have met the same fate, frustration over her memory loss.

Why couldn’t she remember? She wanted to help M.B., wanted whoever had killed the teacher to be brought to justice. All Shelby had was a yawning black hole in her mind, a fluid blurry memory that floated out of reach any time she tried to latch onto it. And a rage that flared occasionally. Dr. Boren had said the head injury would cause intense, often unfamiliar emotions.

The younger of M.B.’s two brothers leaned down to their mother and Shelby heard choked sobs coming from them both. Tears burned her eyes and she turned away.

Clay squeezed her shoulder. “You okay?”

“I’m ready to go,” she said unsteadily.

“You got it.”

They said goodbye to Collier and walked quietly to Clay’s black pickup truck. As they pulled onto the main road, she felt his concerned gaze on her. Fighting to keep from crying, she didn’t speak for several long minutes. “I keep thinking that service could’ve been for me.”

Clay’s free hand, resting on his thigh, curled into a fist. He didn’t prod her to continue; he just waited.

“I feel…terrified and I don’t even know why.” Her voice thickened. “Why can’t I remember? Why can’t I help her?”

“It’ll come, Shelby.”

“What if it doesn’t? What if a killer gets away with murder because of me?”

“First of all, it won’t be because of you. And secondly, I’m going to find this killer.” He looked at her somberly for a long moment. “But if you never remember anything, we’ll figure out a way to handle it.”

She felt so strange, confused and wobbly, as if she’d lost her footing. Reaching over, she slipped her hand into Clay’s. He linked their fingers and a sense of relief moved through her.

“I couldn’t do this without you,” she said quietly. “I’m so glad you’re my best buddy.”

“Back at ya.” He squeezed her hand.

She marveled at how the least word from him could reassure her. Looking into those familiar green eyes, she saw steadiness, concern, the always-present acceptance. Nothing heated or sexual or unexpected. Nothing like what she thought she’d seen the day she had come home from the hospital. She’d only imagined the hunger there, the reaction of his body to hers.

There was relief at the realization, but it was joined by an emotion she couldn’t identify. What mattered was that she had misread the situation with Clay that day. Completely misread it.

When Shelby returned to work on Monday, things were still normal between her and Clay. The odd physical awareness that had sprung up between them wasn’t what had her feeling backed into a corner. It was Vince Tyner, who stood in front of her at the firehouse.

She’d been carrying in groceries and found her ex-boy-friend in the kitchen. Her spine stiffened. Had he simply walked in? Where was everyone else?

“I wanted to come by and see you.” His smile seemed forced. “I’ve called several times, but I guess your buddy, Clay, didn’t tell you.”

“He told me. I appreciate you checking on me, Vince. As you can see, I’m fine.”

He moved around the long, scratched dining table, the muscles in his massive arms straining at the fabric of his paramedic’s uniform shirt. His gaze slid over her as his voice lowered suggestively to say, “You look good.”

“I’m well enough to come back to work,” she said brightly, although her guard was now raised. “Which is what I should be doing.”

“I want to talk to you, Shelby.” He eased closer, brown eyes glittering sharply. “I need to.”

“About what?” She stayed where she was, making sure to keep the open doorway at her back.

“About us.”

“This is where I work. You shouldn’t be here.”

“I’m not leaving until you talk to me. You won’t return my calls. Jessup won’t let me anywhere near you. This is the only way I figure I can talk to you about us.”

“I’m not interested in an us.”

“Is this what you told all those other guys, too?” he demanded hotly. “I know you feel differently about me than you do all of them.”

No, I don’t. She didn’t want to be so blunt, but maybe she should. “I don’t want to get serious with anyone, Vince.”

“Are you seeing someone else?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but no.”

“Then why did you just up and tell me you didn’t want to go out with me anymore?”

“Because I don’t,” she said firmly. “I didn’t like what happened that night, Vince.”

“I know I got carried away, but I apologized.”

“And I accepted. Doesn’t mean I want to reconsider.” They had been to a movie and when he’d brought her home, he had wanted to come in. She had said no. He had stopped just short of forcing himself on her. That had been enough for her. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but I’m not interested. Why can’t you accept it’s over?”

“You can’t dump me like you did all those other guys. I’m better than that.”

Her temper stirred. “You need to leave. The firehouse is no place for this conversation.”

“I’ll pick you up after your shift ends tomorrow and we can have coffee. Talk.”

“No, Vince.”

Something cold and sharp flared in his eyes; a dull flush colored his handsome face. “I’ll let you think it over.”

“I don’t need to think it over. Please don’t come back here. And don’t call me anymore.”

“Don’t jerk me around,” he snarled.

“I’m not. I don’t like it when you act this way.” In fact, she was growing alarmed. She started out the door, intending to go get the last bag of groceries.

A hard, hot hand clamped on her shoulder and spun her roughly. “Don’t walk away from me!”

Startled at the forcefulness of his grip, she tried to shake him off. His fingers bit into her flesh. “Get your hands off me, Vince.”

“That’s not what you said the other night,” he sneered.

“Let go right now,” she said through clenched teeth.

He yanked her toward him. She raised her uninjured arm and drilled an elbow into his chest. “Back off.”

“You listen to me, you little—”

“Get away from her, Tyner.”

Captain Oliver appeared and grabbed the other man’s arm.

Vince shook free, releasing Shelby. “This isn’t over,” he hissed.

“Yes, it is,” she said more steadily than she felt. “Don’t come back here.”

Savage fury twisted his features and he took a step toward her. Oliver pushed between them. Dylan Shepherd appeared, and so did Jay Monroe.

Vince’s gaze locked on each of them and lingered, challenging. Shelby knew he was sizing up his chances in a fight. She didn’t think he could take Shep’s powerful build or Monroe’s wiry strength.

The glare Vince gave her was so full of venom that her skin prickled. She’d never seen him this upset.

He pivoted and stalked out. Her captain turned, eyeing her intently. “You okay?”

“Yes.” Her muscles, gone rigid as Vince talked, finally relaxed. The headache returned. “Thanks for stepping in, y’all. I guess he just didn’t want to take no for an answer.”

“We’ll keep an eye out for him.” Shep’s dark eyes reflected concern.

Captain Oliver’s gaze narrowed as he watched Tyner pull away from the curb in his ambulance. “I don’t like him coming around my firehouse.”

“I’m sorry, Cap. I had no idea he’d come here.” Shelby tried to calm the boiling mix of fear and anger inside her. “I’ve told him more than once that things are over.”

“It’s not your fault, Fox.”

The phone in his office rang and the captain jogged past Shelby to answer it. Shep and Monroe moved up beside her.

“You sure you’re okay?” Jay’s ruddy face was as serious as she’d ever seen it.

“Yeah, thanks. I don’t know why the guy won’t leave me alone.”

“He might be a jerk,” Dylan said, “but he knows a good woman when he sees one.”

She cut him a look. “Don’t start with me, Shepherd.”

He grinned, opening his mouth to say something only to be interrupted by the shriek of the fire alarm. He and Monroe bolted for their gear; Captain Oliver rushed out of his office, stepped into his own bunker pants and steel-soled boots, and climbed into the driver’s seat.

Shelby wished she were going. She stayed out of the way and in two minutes flat, the truck roared out of the garage. She waited until they disappeared and then went into the kitchen, shaken up more than she liked by Vince’s visit. She finished putting away the groceries, giving in to a little self-pity that she couldn’t go on the call with the others.

Glancing at the clock, she saw it was nearly three. Her usual time for a snack. She took a bag of popcorn from the cabinet and stuck it into the microwave.

As it cooked, she fixed a bowl of cat food for the firehouse cat and carried it outside. Just as she started back in, an explosion ripped through the air. Training had her ducking as metal clanged against metal, thudded into the wall. Debris shot through the kitchen’s open doorway and across the bay’s cement floor. Smoke rolled out. She jumped to her feet, awkwardly grabbed the nearest fire extinguisher with her uninjured hand and then raced into the kitchen, killing the small blaze in short order.

She stared in disbelief at the powder-covered mess. The microwave’s door was across the room, its glass shattered. What if she’d been standing in here, watching the corn pop as she usually did? She might’ve been killed.

Fear formed a knot in her belly. Making sure all the embers were dead, she left things as they were and called Clay.

He arrived in less than ten minutes, his jaw stiffening when he saw the microwave. Despite having left for work early this morning when she had, his navy slacks and green-and-blue striped polo shirt looked fresh.

He took her chin in his hand and looked her over from head to toe. “Are you okay?

“I’m not hurt. I was just coming back into the firehouse when it happened.”

“Blue eyes, you’re gonna give me a heart attack.”

“Tell me about it,” she muttered. She wrapped her arms around herself. “This is too strange, Clay.”

He brushed her hair away from her forehead and eyed her healing cut, then propped his hands on his hips. “Show me where you were and what you did.”

Shelby walked him over to the cabinet where she kept her popcorn. “After Vince was here, the guys got a call—”

“Tyner was here?” he asked sharply.

She nodded.

“When? How long? What did he want?”

“It was less than half an hour ago. He was here maybe five minutes. He wanted to talk about getting back together. At first, I told him here wasn’t the place to talk, but he wouldn’t leave so I told him—again—that I wasn’t interested in seeing him anymore.”

“How did he take it?”

“Not any better than last time. He kept after me until Cap and Monroe and Shepherd came out, and told him to back off.”

“Did Tyner threaten you? Try to push you around like he did the night you broke up with him?”

“No, he just grabbed me.”

A savage light flared in Clay’s eyes. “I really want to hurt that guy.”

A police cruiser pulled up. Two uniformed officers stepped out of the black-and-white, met at the end of the sloping firehouse drive by the crime scene technician who was removing his work kit from a white van.

“Are you bruised?” Clay asked.

“No. He scared me more than he hurt me.”

Clay’s eyes turned cold and hard. Shelby knew that look. He waved the crime scene tech into the kitchen then turned back to her. “Where did you first see Tyner?”

“In here. I came in with a bag of groceries and he was waiting.”

“Was he alone?”

“Yes.”

His gaze shifted to the destroyed microwave. “How long after he left did the microwave blow up?”

“Maybe five minutes.”

“Did you know he was coming?”

“No.”

“He was in here alone for a bit before you knew he was here. Maybe no one else knew he was here, either.”

Her eyes widened. “Do you think he did this? But why?” She felt sick. “Just because I broke up with him?”

“People do take revenge for those kinds of things, Shelby. But it might not have been that at all.”

“What else?”

He searched her face, then said quietly, “It could be related to M.B.’s murder.”

“Clay!” Her surprise left in a rush as realization sank in. “You mean, Vince might’ve killed M.B., then come after me?”

“I have to look at all the angles.”

“But he hardly knew her.”

“Are you sure?”

She froze. “No.”

“I want to find out what connections he had to Ms. Perry.”

“She met Vince a couple of times here when she brought over goodies. He took his ambulance to her school and showed the kids around.” Could there have been more between the paramedic and the teacher? Something that might make Vince want to hurt M.B.? Shelby suddenly couldn’t breathe.

“Did you notice if any of the firefighters were in here alone at any other time?”

“You’re scaring me.”

“Did you?”

“Alone?” She thought hard. “Maybe Shepherd.”

Clay nodded. “I’ll check him out, too.”

“We already know he was friends with M.B. We all were.”

“How did he act around her?”

“Flirty, like he does with every woman.”

“We’ve been assuming M.B.’s lover was married, but maybe not.”

“That’s true,” she said slowly, her stomach still in knots. “You really think Shep could’ve had something going with M.B.?”

“We’ll have to find out.”

“You’re making me paranoid, as if Vince weren’t enough,” she muttered.

“Sorry.” His gaze searched her face. “You sure you’re okay?”

She nodded. “Thanks for getting here so fast.”

“I need to talk to your captain, as well as Monroe and Shepherd.”

“Just to see if they saw or heard anything, right?”

There was something in his face.

“You don’t suspect either of them?”

“I suspect everyone until I have a reason not to. I want you to wait for me, then you’re moving to my house.”

“Do you think that’s necessary?”

“I think Tyner would’ve hurt you if your captain hadn’t stepped in. And I’m real suspicious about the timing of Tyner being in the kitchen just before the microwave blew.”

“What do you think caused the explosion?”

“We’ll have to wait for the lab guys to give us a solid answer. Was popcorn the only thing in there?”

“Yes, but that by itself couldn’t cause an explosion.”

“Even if the bag overheated and caught fire?”

“Even then. There has to be a lot of heat and pressure behind an explosion like that. If the bag caught fire, it would burn, but probably not even crack the glass. There had to be some power to make the glass shatter and for the door to blow off,” Shelby explained.

“Power caused by what? An accelerant?”

“Yes. Or maybe a malfunction of some kind.”

“You mean electrical?” Clay looked pensive.

“It’s possible.”

“What about accelerants? What could be used?”

“A piece of metal, maybe?” The growing realization that the incident could’ve been deliberate made her shudder.

“Something big? Small?” he asked.

“Could’ve been as small as a paper clip or a coin.”

“Or flammable liquid inside the bag?”

“Yes, any of those.” Had someone really tried to kill her? Or was the microwave faulty and she had just happened to be using it when it malfunctioned?

“I’ll have the lab guys look at it. From your time together, Tyner knows you eat popcorn every afternoon. He could’ve planted something in the microwave before you tossed in your bag. So could Shepherd.”

“I can’t believe Shep would do something like this.” It was frightening to realize she wasn’t sure about Vince.

“I’m checking them both out anyway. I want you to take a leave of absence until we figure out what’s going on.”

“But I just came back to work today.”

“I know, but if this was an attempt on your life… Until the lab guys tell me this explosion wasn’t deliberate, I don’t want you here. I want you to be somewhere I can control the security.”

His words chilled her. She knew he wouldn’t suggest a move and a leave from work if he didn’t believe it was necessary.

“I want to talk to the crime scene tech. Then I’ll drive you home to get your things.”

She nodded. “I’ll talk to Captain Oliver when he returns.”

“I won’t let anything happen to you, Shelby.”

She met his serious green eyes. She knew he was thinking about Jason, about the accident that he still blamed himself for. Why couldn’t he accept that what had happened to her brother hadn’t been his fault? “I know,” she said quietly.

She didn’t like taking a leave from work. She felt as if she were running away, giving in to a scare tactic; it chafed, but she trusted Clay. If he said he feared for her, then he had a reason. There was probably no place safer for her than his house.

Just before eleven-thirty the next morning, Clay walked into his kitchen from the garage, returning from a domestic dispute call he’d received at 5 a.m. He and Detective Kiley Russell had finally convinced a man holding his estranged wife and two-year-old daughter hostage to let them go. There had been no bloodshed, a major victory in itself.

Erin, the older of his two younger cop sisters, stood at the sink rinsing dishes. She turned when she heard him, her straight, dark hair sliding over one shoulder. Concern shadowed her green eyes, a shade lighter than his. “How’d it go?”

As he moved around the oak dining table, he told her about the outcome and then excused himself to go shower.

“Want me to fix you a sandwich or something? Shelby and I have already eaten.”

“A sandwich would be great. Thanks.”

She nodded, walking over to the refrigerator and opening the door.

“How were things here?” He stopped in the wide, arched doorway leading into the hall.

His sister straightened, bracing a hand on the top of the fridge door. “Fine. She talked a little bit about the explosion yesterday. Tyner didn’t call, but her mom and Dylan Shepherd did.”

The information about Shepherd annoyed Clay for some reason, despite his having learned that Shep hadn’t been in the kitchen before the explosion as Shelby had thought. Shepherd wasn’t a suspect at all right now. Neither were any of the other firefighters who’d been in the firehouse. They all had solid alibis, since they were off on a call. Clay dragged a hand across his tired eyes. “Did she say anything about Vince?”

“No. She only mentioned him when she talked about the microwave. Do you think she’s afraid of him?”

“A little. After what she told me about their last date, I don’t want him coming anywhere near her.”

“Since you’ve got me and Brooke for backup during the day, he won’t. Not on our watch anyway.”

“Thanks.” Clay did feel better knowing both his sisters would be with Shelby. “Where is she?”

“Putting on her clothes.”

He started down the long hallway, passing the guest room on his left. The door leading into the light, airy space done in red, blue and yellow plaid was closed.

He figured Shelby was in there getting dressed, just as his sister had said. Before he could stop himself, he recalled holding her. Felt the press of her breasts against him, the soft skin of her neck beneath his hand.

He shook his head. Whatever had happened with Shelby last week hadn’t occurred again. And wouldn’t, Clay told himself. That unexpected, unfamiliar awareness he’d had of her body must’ve been some weird fluke. Things were back to normal between them and he was glad. The uneasiness nagging him now was due to the microwave explosion yesterday and learning about Tyner’s presence there just before it happened.

Clay felt much better knowing Shelby was at his house. They had spoken to Paula last night after she’d returned from her buying trip, and the older woman agreed that Shelby should stay with him. As did Clay’s dad, a cop who’d retired and started a private security company in Presley.

Clay walked into his room and pushed the door shut. As he moved toward the heavy king-size bed and matching chest of drawers, he pulled his gray Presley PD T-shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor. He toed off his tennis shoes, turning with his hand on the top button of his jeans just as the door to his bathroom opened.

Shelby stepped out, her eyes rounding in surprise. “Oh.”

Sweet son of a—

His breath backed up in a painful knot.

Her short hair was dry except for a few strands that curled onto her nape. Steam from the bathroom glossed her neck, the curve of her shoulder. She wore only a bra and panties, and she looked damn good. The sight of all that bare golden skin had Clay’s entire body going rigid.

“Erin’s using the other bathroom or I wouldn’t have—”

“It’s fine.” His throat was so tight it hurt to talk. A subtle feminine scent drifted to him. Something light and frothy and Shelby. It made his mouth water. He told himself to move, to look away, but he couldn’t. His pulse hammered hard.

Her underwear wasn’t sheer. It wasn’t even a sexy color. Just serviceable white. But the plunging lacy bra and high-cut panties were enough to make his chest ache.

Who the hell knew she wore underwear like that? His gaze moved over the swell of her breasts, the sleek line of her belly to her lean legs, then drifted back to her breasts. His gut clenched when her nipples tightened against the silk.

She gave a nervous laugh. “Why are you looking at me that way? I mean, you’ve seen me in a bikini that shows more than this.”

Jerking his attention to her face, he struggled to keep his voice even. “What way?”

“Like…I don’t know,” she said slowly, her left foot rubbing the top of her right.

Tension swelled between them. Her smile faded, replaced by confusion.

Trying to ease the moment, Clay went with the first thing that came to mind. “Where is that darn tattoo?”

Uncertainty flashed across her gamine features, then she arched a brow. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Hell, yes. He’d like to find it with his hands, his mouth. It took everything he had to pretend that raw, primal need wasn’t clawing through him. “You know I’m going to find it one of these days.”

He saw her take a deep breath and struggled to keep his gaze on her face. Not that it mattered. The sight of her half-naked would be carved into his brain for the rest of his life.

Of course he’d noticed her before. She was right—he’d seen her plenty of times in a bathing suit. She was a good-looking woman with a great body. But he’d never felt like this when he’d noticed. Never been so aware of the powder-fine texture of her skin, the tempting fullness of her breasts, her taut waist. She wasn’t as tall as either of his sisters, but her legs were leanly muscled and strong. The image of those legs wrapped around him exploded on his brain. Startled at his thoughts, he slammed on the mental brakes.

It was too late. The confusion he’d seen earlier in her blue eyes was now panic. She moved toward him, keeping a healthy distance. “I didn’t know you were coming home.”

“Finished my call and thought I’d come back to clean up.” The heated rush of his blood took him off guard.

She stood nearly even with him now, close enough to touch. And he wanted to.

Slanting one arm across her middle, she curled her palm around the side of her neck in a self-conscious motion. “I’m going to go get dressed,” she said huskily.

It was only then that Clay realized her gaze had dropped to his bare chest. Her lips parted slightly and she stared with a feminine appreciation he couldn’t remember ever seeing. At least, not when she looked at him. His heart thudded hard.

She looked up suddenly, and her gaze crashed into his. Something flickered in her eyes. Was it just his imagination, or had the air in the room turned electric? A strange sensation traveled up his arms.

Whatever was going on had him off balance and from the look on her face, he wasn’t alone. He thought about tossing her a robe, but he didn’t have one. She looked dazed. And nervous. She moved toward the door.

He started for the bathroom, trying to sound normal, as if lust weren’t boiling him from the inside out. “I’ll be out in a minute,” he said gruffly. “Meet me in the living room.”

She nodded, turning quickly to leave. As he stepped into the bathroom, he heard her shut the door in the bedroom. Bracing an arm against the door frame over his head, he cursed. He was turned on as hell right now, but he’d seen her face. She hadn’t been afraid; she’d been wary, guarded. With him. He didn’t blame her. There had been nothing friend-like in the way he’d looked at her.

After telling himself for days that the previous instance had been a fluke, that his body’s response to hers hadn’t meant anything, Clay was forced to admit he’d been dead wrong.

Until now, no woman had affected him since Megan’s death. Not physically, not emotionally. Why did Shelby have to be the one? She’d seen his reaction and hadn’t bought his lame explanation about why he was practically drooling over her. For a split second, he’d seen an answering heat in her eyes. Before the nerves set in.

He knew how she was about romantic relationships. Still, he couldn’t deny that he wanted her. Wanted her with more ache than he could ever remember feeling, even for his late wife.

He didn’t know what these feelings were or what they meant. He had told himself that he could ignore what had happened before, that he could make the lust, this increasing physical awareness of Shelby, go away. The cold hard truth was he couldn’t. What the hell was he going to do?

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