Leigh

SMOKE SWAM like a stinking fish. I floundered along, wishing I wasn’t wearing my duty boots. After circling me like a shark focused on dinner, he moved in.

“Lay back and relax, babe.”

The next thing I knew, he had an arm over my shoulder and across my chest in a classic lifeguard hold and was swimming away from the shattered boathouse. I did as he suggested—relaxed.

After a minute or so, I jumped right into the conversation I didn’t want to have. “So…who was the dead guy?”

“No clue.”

“Was he dead when you found him?”

“D’uh.”

“Don’t get snippy.”

“Don’t interrogate me. You’ve alrady accused me of murder and arson.” He continued to stroke steadily and I realized we were getting further and further away from the scene—and my car!

“Wait! You’re going the wrong way. We have to go back. I need to report in. I—”

“No, babe.” His words were quiet but forceful.

“What do you mean no?”

“I mean you need to stay out of this. These guys are playing for keeps, babe and they won’t hesitate to take out a civilian.”

“I’m not a civilian, Smoke.” I put as much emphasis and derision as I could into that word. “I’m an arson investigator. In case you haven’t noticed.”

That hot fudge laugh of his rolled over me. “I’ve noticed.”

“This is my job. I need to get back there, talk to the cops and FD so they call the bomb squad. Or the ATF.”

“You don’t want the feds involved.” His voice was still quiet but that almost sounded like a threat.

“I want whoever is behind these fires. They have to be stopped before some other innocent person gets hurt.”

“Trust me, babe. He wasn’t innocent.”

“I thought you didn’t know who he is.”

“I don’t know his name. I do know what he is.”

“Same thing.” I huffed it out, grouchy at his semantics.

“Nope. Not even close.”

After that, no matter what I tried, he ignored me. I knew one surefire way to get his attention but he wisely kept that part of his anatomy out reach. After what seemed like an hour, but was probably only fifteen minutes, he stopped swimming. Moments later, my feet could reach the lake bottom and then I was glad I was wearing my boots, despite them being full of water.

We lurched up on the narrow beach and I looked around for human habitation. There was none. To the north—or what I presumed was north, I could still see flames dancing, along with flashing emergency lights, at the marina.

Smoke found a concrete bench and nudged me down on it. He stripped my Ropers, poured water out then peeled off my socks and twisted them between his hands to wring out more water. He left them to me to pull back on while he dealt with his own boots.

Ugh. There is nothing slimier—or harder—than pulling on wet socks. I pushed my feet into my boots and stood. At least I didn’t squish when I walked. If we had to hoof it all the way back to the marina, I’d have a bumper crop of blisters.

I watched him and wondered. Did I believe him? Some instinct I couldn’t name insisted he was telling the truth—that he was innocent. Too bad I had no evidence. I wanted to think the worst of him. He was a freaking outlaw biker. If my suspicions were correct, he was a major arsonist dozens of agencies were still looking for. But he was Smoke. My Smoke. The man who made me omelets—after breaking into my house. The man who covered me with his body when someone shot at us. He was right. The bad guys were playing for keeps. But what color hat did he wear?

“This way.” Smoke’s quiet command cut into the circular argument clogging up my mind.

“Where are we going?”

And…he didn’t say a word—just started walking. We were back to the silent treatment again. I followed him, leaving a trail of water dripping from my coveralls. We walked up on his Harley, parked in the shadows of a nearby building.

“Get on.”

“I want my car.”

“I’ll arrange for it.”

He pulled a phone out of a compartment on his motorcycle and walked away. I reached into my chest pocket to grab my own phone. Two people could play this game…except my phone was in no condition to make a call. I tried to remember what the Internet said to do with a wet phone. Rice. Yeah, I didn’t think there was enough rice in the world to dry my phone. Still…I’d make Smoke stop on the way home so I could get some.

 

 

Smoke

I PARKED in back of a convenience store and waited. About ten minutes later, two brothers rode up on one bike. They were Wolves and I trusted them, where I didn’t trust many of the others in the local chapter. I handed over a copy of keyless start fob for Leigh’s SUV. She watched the hand-off but had no clue that I’d cloned her fob. No reason to break into the Toyota and hot wire it when I could take care of it the easy—if slightly illegal way. When she got up in the morning, her Highlander would be parked in it’s normal spot.

“I need rice,” she said as I walked back.

“For?”

She held up her cell phone. I managed to keep a straight face when I said, “Not enough rice in China, babe. I’ll buy you a new one.”

“I don’t want a new one,” she gritted out. “This one has all my info.”

“You have it backed up on your laptop. I’ll buy you a new one, you can download it. Done deal.”

She snarled at me but her argument was invalid and she knew it.

“Who were those guys and what did you give them?”

“Brothers and directions to find your vehicle.” She gave me a squinty-eyed look and I laughed. “Just trust me, babe.”

And speaking of trust, I backed away and gave her a squinty-eyed look of my own. She knew I was an arsonist. Said as much back there in the boathouse. That wasn’t common knowledge. I’d never been arrested—too good a covering my tracks. She had to be guessing that I was the Ghost but I needed to find out.

“Why do you think I’m the Ghost?”

Her mouth opened and closed a few times and I got distracted thinking about how good her lips would feel wrapped around my dick.

“Ummm.” She was stalling. I crossed my arms over my chest. “Lucky guess?”

“Babe.” Lucky guess my ass.

She leaned in and looked up at me, batting her eyelashes and puckering her lips.

“Are you trying to distract me, Leigh?”

Her hand cupped me as she flashed me a sultry smile. “No.”

I pulled away from her. “Answer my question.”

“What’s the point?”

I glanced down, stared. Seconds later, she slugged me.

“Eyes up, dude.”

I swear I wasn’t looking there. I tend to stare at my boots when I’m thinking and I was thinking pretty damn hard at the moment. She thought I was all about her tits. Well, I was, but I’m a guy. We’re always all about tits. At the moment, though, hers weren’t the top thing on my mind. Still, two could play sex games.

“When I drive that point home, babe, you’ll be all over me like—”

“Shut up, Smoke.”

I didn’t reply. She lasted about 45 seconds. “So what is the point, if not…” She waved a hand in the area of my belt buckle.

“The question is exactly the point. I want to know where you got your info.” Her lips thinned as she turned stubborn. Then something else occurred. I studied her, curious now. “Why you?”

“Why me what?”

“Back at the boathouse, you said that wasn’t my trigger, wasn’t the Ghost’s. Why would you recognize the Ghost’s trigger? And why would you automatically link me to him?” I was pretty damn sure I wasn’t on anyone’s radar. The Ghost? That was an altogether different situation.

She dug her boot toe in the dirt and wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Cold case I was researching. The arsonist used a trigger like the one I found at the warehouse fire.” She pursed her lips, glanced up and looked me right in the eye. “The one where you showed up after I almost hit that dog…” Her voice trailed off and she looked speculative.

“I didn’t set that fire, Leigh.” Her scowl deepened. “I was there, yeah, but after it started.” I studied her and her gaze skittered away. “So you put two and two together about the triggers.” I sighed inwardly. She was not going to let this go. “I’m not the Ghost, babe. And I don’t have a signature MO.” I did—from my days in the sandbox but that was then. “I also don’t do arson for hire.” Or for fun. I wasn’t a firebug—not in the psychological sense. Arson was club business.

“You have a fan club.”

I stared at her. Talk about a non-sequitur shift of topic.

“Seriously. On the ’net. There are fan sites and your name kept coming up. Well, not your name but The Ghost’s.” She made air quote marks with her fingers and emphasized the name like both words were capitalized. “They say no one ever died at your hands. That you were an avenger for justice.”

I sobered. “I’ve killed, babe. Plenty of times.”

“But that was war, right? When you were a marine?”

“This is war too.”

“Swear to me, Smoke. Swear you aren’t part of this case.”

“I didn’t start the fires, but I’m involved. Those assholes dragged me in.”

She rubbed her hands down the wet material hugging her thighs. Then her chin came up as if she’d made a decision. “Okay then. Let’s go catch the bad guys.”

Yeah, they were dead men walking.