After saying good night to Sookie, Chase continued down Main Street into the deepening night. He wasn't used to going home alone, and he wasn't sure he liked it . . . but it was hard to feel too disappointed with the glow of the evening he’d just spent nestled like an ember in his belly.

Other things were glowing that night, too. There was the wildfire raging in the distance, and there was a lone light burning in the living room window of the house he shared with the squad. Chase walked up the drive and mounted the front porch, his steps more measured now. He wished he could silence them altogether, then shook the thought from his mind. He wasn't some kid out past his curfew.

He unlocked the front door and shoved it open.

Hank sat in the living room chair. Chase glanced at the microwave clock in the kitchen, then pushed the numbers out of his head. Again: no curfew. He wasn't guilty of anything.

Yet.

"Hey, Chief. You're up late."

"Where the hell have you been?" Hank didn't bother matching Chase’s casual tone. If Chase had any doubts what this confrontation was about, they were snuffed in that moment.

The chief's tone made him hot, but he was determined to play things cool. "Just out having a drink." He dropped his keys in the foyer bowl.

"No, you weren't." Hank's challenge sounded confident. He sat back in the armchair and crossed his burly arms. "There's only one place to drink in this town, and I was there all night. You weren't there . . . and neither was my sister." Chase tried to stay as still as possible as Hank studied him. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

He could lie. He had intended to lie when Hank caught on to this thing with his sister, but now that he was in the moment, Chase felt the tug of loyalty . . . and of guilt. He couldn't lie to his chief. "I do know," he admitted. "I was out having a drink with Sookie. We decided on something a little more private than the Well." With good reason, he thought. By the way Hank gripped the arms of his chair now, Chase could tell his chief had been contemplating wringing his neck all evening.

"What does that mean? Private?" Hank's voice was a deadly whisper. Unlike lesser whispers, its power wasn't reduced just because he spoke more softly.

The whisper—and the question—put Chase on the defensive. The last place he wanted to be. "Nothing happened, Chief. Nothing's going to happen. We just figured we'd celebrate our first flight together."

"In private?"

Chase's temper flared. "If you don't believe me, then why don't you go and ask your sister?" When he was met with only stony silence, he soldiered on into unknown territory. "Fuck if I know what the history is between the two of you, but it's got nothing to do with me. I don't want any part of it. But if you're really so concerned that it keeps you up at night, maybe you should start by talking to her instead of me. Sounds like you’ve got a lot to make up for."

The whole speech was a mistake, but his closing line was the ill-advised cherry on top of an unasked-for-advice sundae. Hank was out of his chair and halfway to the foyer before Chase could blink, much less contemplate a hasty retreat. He was glad he didn't have the time to think about backing down. Hank was there, suddenly, a looming tower of muscle about to topple and wreak havoc. Chase stood strong.

The two of them stared each other down. Chase's fists itched, and his palms were sweating. Was he seriously going to have it out with Hank, here and now, when nothing had happened tonight? He didn't think he could take his chief, not really . . . but maybe it was the alcohol pumping through his veins that made him determined to go down swinging.

Or maybe it was something else in his bloodstream. An image of Sookie flashed in his mind, all dark hair and lips and brushfire-bright eyes. God damn, she was beautiful. If there was one face in the world worth getting his own smashed for, it was hers.

He waited for Hank's swing. It never came. At a glance, his chief's fists were curled at his sides, same as Chase's, and shaking with what must have been raw fury, but it was contained. Hank fought fires for a living, but he also controlled them better than most.

Chase relaxed his posture first. He wanted to say something, anything, to mitigate the damage done, but he couldn't find the words. Funny, how words came to you when you shouldn't use them—and abandoned you when you needed them most.

"Get to bed. You're on the grid again tomorrow." Hank brushed by him, knocking shoulders, and Chase gave ground. He stepped back, watching as his chief climbed the stairs and vanished up into the second story.

He tried to force himself to think more on the words traded, and what it might mean for him in the coming days . . . but try as he might, news of tomorrow's assignment overshadowed everything. He would be on the grid. Again.

That meant he'd see Sookie again. It seemed no matter where he turned in this town, he couldn't escape running into a Logan.

And in this case, he didn't want to.

"Creeping!" Chase shouted.

Sookie turned to him from the cockpit of the Hawk and twitched her shades down her nose. "Are you?" she asked with mock interest.

He rose, grabbing her by the helmet and forcefully turning her head back around. "Not me, Queenie. The fire. Look."

Sookie leaned her head out, and so did Chase, while Raj held the chopper steady. He knew he wasn't wrong, but it wasn't the kind of news he liked to deliver. The wildfire raged below them, pouring black smoke in thick, choking plumes as it devoured acres of forest whole. They had made enough passes by now to get a clear visual: The flames had definitely started to creep south.

"Prep the foam," Sookie said.

"Already on it."

Chase headed for the tanks, then clipped himself into the safety harness and got into position with the remote ready. Sookie brought them down lower over the blaze. Chase pulled his face mask up over his mouth. "How's our position looking from up there?" he shouted through the fabric.

"Almost there!" Sookie called back. "I'll cue you for the release!"

Chase waited, breath caught, eyes stinging, remote in hand. He split his attention between the woman in the cockpit and the fire below. He was ready when her hand shot up and cleaved the air. "Now!"

Chase hit the switch. The retardant foam spilled behind them like a red cloud. It streaked the sky and fell to the scorching earth below as Sookie flew on. He leaned out the door to watch its progress. The foam blanketed the landscape, dousing the fire beneath it and clinging to the branches of dead trees.

"Reminds me of a party I went to once!" he called up to the cockpit.

"A foam party?" Sookie said. He was only slightly disappointed that her worldly knowledge appeared a match for his own.

"House party with other members of the department. Your brother was there, too!"

"Ugh. Please spare me any more visuals!" Sookie called.

Chase erupted in laughter, then grabbed for the lip of the door as the Hawk hung a sharp left. He still wasn't used to flying, but damn if he wasn't growing to like it. The sexy little pilot who took him up on assignments might have something to do with it.

An hour later and they were back on the ground again, but Chase's mood soared. Not only had he finally found a chance to actively participate in quashing the blaze, but an afternoon spent flirting with Sookie (which most often meant trading jabs) had left him wanting more.

He caught her arm as they disembarked. Seemed to him that Sookie had a business-first attitude the moment she touched down, and he didn't want to lose his chance to speak to her without the interference of a prop blade . . . or her older brother.

"Hey. Ice Queen."

"Yes?" One of her eyebrows cocked behind her aviators, but that was all Chase saw of her eyes. He slipped them off her nose without thinking, and grinned at her look of dismay. She was definitely less icy without them . . . hell, he could read actual emotion on her face. He passed the shades back to her.

"Sorry about last night," he said. "It got way too D&M. I didn't mean to let that happen."

"You weren't the only one calling the shots," Sookie reminded. She poked him in the chest. "I didn't even know you were capable of deep and meaningful. It was . . . illuminating."

Chase wasn't sure he liked that. He wasn't sure what she meant by it, anyway. He captured the intrusive finger in his fist, and Sookie didn't pull it free. "I like to be the one calling the shots," he murmured.

"I can tell." Her tone wasn't disproving. Her finger was still his.

"How about you let me organize something for us this time?" he suggested. "Something fun. Definitely not serious," he added. He wasn't sure what Sookie Logan wanted. Hell, he wasn't sure what he wanted, except to not scare her away.

"This time?" she repeated. "Do we intend to make this a habit?"

He wondered if he only imagined her looking as if she held her breath. He tugged the finger, drawing her in closer, until he could feel her heat radiating against his chest. "One thing you should know about me, Sookie Logan, is that I'm a man of habits," he whispered. "And none of them are good."

"Good habits are boring," she said. "I'd hate to be a good habit."

Her lips tantalized him. Even without sampling them for himself, Chase knew how they would taste: as habit-forming as nicotine, as blistering as that first burn of whiskey after a long day of sweat and toil and danger on the job, and as sweet as a sip of water stolen in the middle of a blaze.

The Ice Queen's lips would be hot as hell.

"Time to fill out my report." Her eyes were on his eyes, which were on her lips. She pushed away from his chest and strolled away across the tarmac. Chase watched the sensuous roll of her hips, the slight wiggle of her ass, and knew she walked like a woman on a very different runway on purpose. She was teasing him. She knew he couldn't resist watching. After a few strides, she glanced back and winked at him.

Once she had gone, Chase groaned and leaned back against the Hawk, helmet in hand. He couldn't help replaying the conversation with Hank last night, over and over and over again, until his head spun like a heliblade. He had promised Hank nothing would happen—at least, he had come as close as he ever did to promising.

Something told him that ass, those lips, were going to make him break his promise.