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Hunter was quiet for a moment. “Does she know?” he asked quietly. “About you?”
“No.” Gabriel watched Hunter push at the chicken on his tray and wondered if he was really that transparent. “Did you ever tell anyone?”
“Just Becca, but she already knew.” A shrug. “Someone said Layne was caught in a fire when she was young, that she’s got scars ”
“She does.” Gabriel glared at him. “So what?”
“You don’t think there’s something . . . interesting about a girl with burn scars getting involved with a guy who can control ”
“Control.” What a joke. Gabriel snorted and shoveled more food into his mouth. “I’m not sure we can call it control yet.”
“We’re getting better.” Hunter paused. “Do you feel it?”
“Not good enough.” They’d almost gotten caught Saturday night. Four homes in a row, fully engulfed. Gabriel was in and out of fire so many times that he’d started to lose track of which house he was in, of how many people were left to save.
By the time he got to the last woman, they’d been there for hours. He’d been exhausted, disoriented from inhaling so much smoke. She’d been unconscious, and he’d nearly dropped her in the middle of her flaming living room.
Michael had shown him her picture in the paper the next morning, bandaged and sedated in some generic hospital. Michael’s brown eyes had been rock hard as he demanded answers Gabriel couldn’t give.
“I can’t believe they’re no closer to catching this guy,” said Hunter. “We’re losing time, waiting for the fires to turn up on the police scanner.”
“Mike’s been going out with the fire marshal’s daughter.”
Gabriel still thought it was a dick move. “She says they have no conclusive leads.”
“Except you.”
Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well. We both know I’m not the one starting fires.”
“Who’s starting fires?” Calla Dean dropped onto the bench beside Hunter. Actually, she straddled it. The blue streaks in her hair were gone, replaced with fluorescent pink ones. She’d braided a small section and tied off the end with a yellow feather.
“We’re talking about the ones on the news,” Hunter said smoothly.
Calla picked up a piece of Hunter’s broccoli and popped it into her mouth. Hunter watched this with a bemused expression on his face, but didn’t stop her.
“The arson stuff?” she said. “Someone’s got a fire fetish, huh?”
Gabriel reached out and turned her wrist over, exposing the flame tattoos. “Go figure.”
She snorted. “I got those to piss off my aunt. Did you know the first fire was right next door to my house?” Without waiting for an answer, she took another piece of broccoli and made a face. “What, you couldn’t add some butter?”
“I didn’t realize I’d be sharing.”
“Mind if I eat with you?” She took a third piece.
“Looks like you’re already doing that,” said Gabriel.
“I don’t mind,” said Hunter. He pushed the tray her way.
“Ugh. No way. I need salt. I’ll be back.”
Then she unfolded from the bench to weave through the tables toward the lunch line.
Hunter pulled his tray back and sliced another piece of chicken.
Gabriel watched him for a moment. “What the hell was that?
You two have a thing now?”
