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Hill fidgets. Gotcha. “You run into much arson up here?”
He’s standing in the middle of a fire camp—we’re a goddamned fire buffet up here. There are plenty of ways a wildland fire gets started, and arson ranks right up there at the top of the list. Idiots with matches, campers who think a no-burn rule doesn’t apply to them, lost hikers who decide building a big-ass signal fire will get them out of the woods faster, firefighters who want the overtime or the experience… it’s a crowded list.
“We’ve got plenty of fire up here,” I allow.
Hill shakes his head. “Not a Big Bear kind of blaze. My fire is three hundred miles northeast of here.”
The downright possessive tone in Hill’s voice sets off all kinds of alarms. An officer of the law shouldn’t be nosing around here without some kind of professional reason, but this doesn’t sound like a routine investigation at all.
“Have you seen this woman?” Hill trots the line out like he’s starring front and center in a bad television show. Just in case I’m terminally stupid, he taps the photo I’ve set down on top of the desk.
I’d sort of guessed based on her reaction to the sheriff’s car yesterday that she was on the run. Turns out I’d also harbored a stupid hope that she’d let me in on the reasons why before law enforcement showed up for her. It’s easier to hide the bodies before they’re on public display, you feel me?
“You looking for her?” I counter, already running options in my head. Outing Sarah Jo to this man isn’t happening. There’s something off here, and I learned years ago to listen to that little voice in my head. My subconscious processes way before the facts reach the rest of my head—there’s probably a big, fancy study backing me up, but this is experience talking, too. So, if my gut insists there’s something wrong, my head’s gonna listen.
“Sure am.” Hill’s thumb strokes over the glossy and I get the bad feeling that he’s imagining that he’s touching my girl. “Sarah Jo here is wanted for arson. She burned down the house of a little old lady she took care of.”
“The lady get hurt?” Christ, I hope not. Whatever happened, Sarah Jo doesn’t need to carry that burden, too.
Hill shakes his head. “Just a whole lot of property damage. You know where Sarah Jo is?”
“Can’t help,” I say blandly. More like, won’t, but no point in tipping my hand to Hill just yet.
“No?” Hill sounds skeptical. Guess he’s not as stupid as he sounds. “Because I’m fairly certain she’s up here.”
“Let’s call in the boys, then,” I suggest. “See if they’ve got anything to say.”
Deputy Douche thinks this is a fantastic idea, even if I did come up with it myself, so that’s what we do.
The reaction of the other hotshots when they pile into the cabin says plenty, too. My boys don’t like the newcomer. Thad Hill is a slick, friendly guy, but he’s also a little too friendly. One by one, each hotshot admires Sarah Jo’s picture, a few of them a little too much (Colt actually asks for her number as if Deputy Douche is running a dating service), but all of them insist that they’ve never, ever seen her. They fucking lie like champs and I love them. Deputy Douche gets visibly frustrated as he gets one no after another, which is entertaining for the first ten minutes but ten gets old. Twenty Questions is so not my favorite game—that would be Truth or Dare, dirty style. Muttering a quick excuse, I leave Hill to wrap up his interrogation and head out for the cooks.
The good thing about those gals is that they’re easy to find. Unlike my team, which can be almost anywhere along a fifty-mile fireline, cooks tend to be found near stoves, sinks, and large collections of knife blades. Blowing through the door of the cafeteria, I step into the path of the first cook I spot. She wisely comes to a halt rather than slamming into me because I seriously outweigh her.
I’ve got just one question. “What does Sarah Jo drive?”
The cook eyes me suspiciously for a long moment. Yeah. She’s aware of Deputy Douche’s surprise visit, and now she’s calculating whose side I’m on. This isn’t a playground, and we aren’t playing boys against girls. I give her a nice, sexy, calm smile. A smile that promises we both want what’s best for Sarah Jo. Safe and happy, right? And if I plan to ensure happiness with my mouth, fingers, and dick, that’s nobody’s business but mine and Sarah Jo’s. Before any orgasms can happen, however, I have to catch up with her first.
