Heatwave (3 page)

Before returning to the station, he’d gone back to the school to further inspect the damage. While he’d suspected an accelerant had been used, he’d been unprepared to find cooking oil coating the trash bin, which meant he had to consider Velma Norris as a suspect, at least temporarily. He didn’t want to think the sweet old woman could be his firebug, but neither could he discount the evidence. The blaze hadn’t been an accident.
No one had simply disposed of old cooking oil. Someone had literally taken the time to coat the interior of the Dumpster. In his book, that spelled
arson
. Firebugs weren’t limited to a specific gender, age group or even social or economic status. In Drew’s experience, there were usually four motivating factors for an arsonist. Vandalism was a typical one, and these fires were usually started by teens. Trash bins, like the one today, were often the most common starting point, and if it hadn’t been for the two previous fires and the evidence he’d found at the cooking school, he might have discounted this latest incident to vandalism.

The motive to profit from an insurance claim, especially during hard economic times, as a way to escape a failing business or a big mortgage was likely, and something he had no choice but to consider. The place was definitely run-down, and from his two prior visits, he hadn’t seen all that many students hanging around.

Revenge was often an arsonist’s main objective, and usually an enraged, jilted lover or disgruntled employee was responsible for the burn. Actually, Drew considered revenge fire starters the most dangerous because of their emotional instability. They were also the easiest to catch, primarily because they were more concerned with the act of revenge than with hiding their crime. He’d considered this option briefly, but since there’d been no witnesses, he had his doubts this was the motive. Nor did he believe he was dealing with a garden-variety pyromaniac or even a firebug wanting to cover up another crime. Which brought
him back to the answer he dreaded the most…fire for profit.

He tugged his shirt out of his trousers before he sat on the varnished wood bench to remove his work shoes. Reaching forward, he lifted the latch on his locker and opened the door. A basket tumbled out, followed by the plaintive cry of “Mama” from a child’s doll. It sounded more like a braying lamb than a baby as it rolled over the concrete floor to his feet.

He leapt up and nearly toppled over the bench as a series of bubble-gum cigars in blue and pink fell from the top of the locker, raining over his head and shoulders. “What the…”

Snickers and the shuffling of feet echoed in the locker room. “All right, who’s the comedian?” Drew called as he stooped to pick up the doll.

“Mama,” the doll whined, followed by louder chuckles.

He turned to put the doll back in the basket, but set it on the bench instead, since the white wicker carrier that had held the little baby doll with blond ringlets was stuffed full of disposable diapers.

“Mama,” the doll cried again.

Drew let out a sigh as his eye caught the shelf in his locker. Upon closer inspection, he realized the guys had replaced his shampoo with a no-more-tears formula of baby shampoo. Instead of his black comb was an infant’s brush and comb in pink, with tiny blue flowers no less. His bar of soap had disappeared, too, but his co-workers had included a bottle of baby soap,
along with economy-size bottles of pink baby lotion and talcum powder.

“You can come out now,” he said. He suspected Cale was responsible for the joke since he’d been with him when Emily’s doctor had mistakenly assumed Drew was “the responsible party.” A big joke at that, since marriage and family were absolutely not part of his lifelong agenda. He might have one of the lower-risk jobs in the fire department, but he still faced a good amount of danger investigating fires each time he entered a burned-out structure. Since he had no intention of hanging up his gear, he’d decided a long time ago there was no way he’d put a child or a wife through one ounce of the pain he’d suffered at the loss of his parents.

“Drew, buddy,” Tom “Scorch” McDonough said as he rounded the corner. A wide grin split the paramedic’s freckled face. “You should have told us.”

Cale slapped Drew on the back. “He’s been keeping this one quiet.”

Drew shrugged off his brother’s hand. “Hey, I hardly know her.”

“Wow.” Fitz, another third-generation firefighter, laughed. “That’s fast work. Even for you.”

Cale crossed his arms and leaned against the row of lockers, careful to avoid the bubble-gum cigars littering the floor. “Yeah, but you’re interested. I saw the look, Drew.”

He frowned. “What look?” Since when had he become so transparent that Cale could tell what he was thinking?

“The one you get when your interest is piqued by someone of the opposite sex,” Brady, Cale’s paramedic partner, added.

Scorch nodded knowingly. “That starving-dog look.”

“More like a lovesick-puppy look,” Ben Perry said.

Drew shot them all a scathing glance, then tugged his T-shirt over his head and tossed it in the bottom of the locker. “I’m doing an old woman a favor. End of story.”

A slight smile curved Ben’s mouth, something that didn’t happen often enough. “Sounds like the beginning of one to me.”

Drew shucked out of his trouser and briefs, then picked up a clean towel to wrap around his waist. “Shows how much you
don’t
know. Now if you comedians will excuse me, I need to shower and get back to the hospital.” He turned his back on the practical jokers, shrugged and grabbed the bottle of baby shampoo from the shelf. Shampoo was shampoo, after all.

“See what I mean?” Cale said.

“He can’t stand to be away from her,” Brady added.

Scorch laughed. “Looks like his Casanova days are numbered.”

Drew stopped in front of the last locker at the end of the row and turned to face them. He could give and take with the best of them, and had even been the engineer behind more than a practical joke or two. But they’d just gone too far in his mind. No way in hell were his bachelor days in danger of disappearing. He enjoyed women, a lot, and preferred the freedom of
sampling all they had to offer too much to be tied down to only one woman.

“You guys should talk,” he told them. “Cale’s engaged, Brady’s wife is pregnant and not talking to him again, and Scorch is tied up in knots over Tilly. Now whose days are numbered?” He couldn’t blame a woman for putting Ben through the wringer. As far as Drew knew, the last time his older brother had gone on a date was at least three, maybe even four, months ago.

Cale grinned. “Not Scorch. Tilly’s ticked off at him. Again.”

“What’d you do this time?” Ben asked Scorch. “Forget the one-month anniversary of your first date or something?”

Scorch shoved a hand through his permanent case of bed-head carrot-red hair. “Worse,” he admitted. “Her birthday.”

“Aw jeez. You’re screwed,” Fitz offered sympathetically. “I missed Krista’s birthday once and let me tell you, it’s gonna take some major sucking up. Think jewelry, pal.”

Scorch let out a sigh and rubbed the back of his head. “She hated the flowers I brought her today. She threw them at me. Plastic vase and all.”

Drew grinned triumphantly. “See what I mean? Until you idiots can get your love lives straightened out, don’t even think about lecturing me on mine.”

Not that he had a love life that included Emily Dugan. Then again, she
had
made it crystal clear she was single. When it came to women, Drew was always open to exploring the possibilities…of anything short-term, of course.

N
IGHT MIGHT HAVE FALLEN
over Southern California, but the disappearance of the blazing sun didn’t mean the sizzling temperatures had bothered to follow suit by more than a degree or two. By the time Emily had walked from Drew’s black SUV to the brick steps of her grandmother’s house, her calf-length cotton floral dress was already starting to cling uncomfortably to her back.

“You really don’t have to do this,” she told Drew, for what had to be the fifth time since he’d returned to the hospital for her. Once she’d bidden her grandmother good-night, Drew had given her a choice: his place or hers. The devil had even tried to blackmail her, threatening to tattle to Grandy about the baby if she refused. His underhanded, and quite effective, tactic had worked like a charm, too. How on earth he’d known she hadn’t uttered a single word about the day’s events to Grandy was beyond her, but not wanting to upset her grandmother had Emily complying without much of a fight. Since she’d already informed the hospital staff they could reach her here if Grandy’s condition should change during the night, she’d reluctantly agreed to let him stay. Not that she expected anything to go wrong. Grandy might be in her twilight years,
but the old gal was still as strong, and twice as stubborn, as an ox.

Drew’s hand settled on her sweaty back as she carefully made her way in the dark to the porch. The tingles chasing up and down her spine like the crazed lights of a pinball machine had nothing whatsoever to do with sexual attraction. No, those little pinpricks of excitement were merely caused by the surprise of an unexpected touch.

Could have happened to anyone. Uh-huh. That was her story. And dammit, she was sticking to it.

“Do you have the key?” Drew asked, tugging open the wood-framed screened door.

Thank heavens she’d only have to suffer his presence until morning, she thought. If the sound of that low, sexy rumble in his voice just asking for a stupid key had the power to put her feminine senses on alert, she hated to think what her reaction would be when he asked her where he’d be sleeping for the night.

She withdrew Grandy’s key ring from her purse and handed it to Drew. Within seconds, he held the door for her and she walked past him into the cozy and, she noted thankfully, air-conditioned living room. Warm light from the automatic-timed lamp bathed the area with the same welcoming sense of coming home she always experienced whenever she returned for a visit, which hadn’t been nearly often enough in the last couple of years. She’d been busy building her career.

And for what? she wondered with an unexpected stab of bitterness. Just to receive a pink slip and a somewhat decent severance package that would tide
her over for a couple of months before she’d be forced to dig into her savings? A fat lot of good all those long hours had done her.

While Drew brought in her bags, which they’d left stowed on the porch during her unexpected visit to the emergency room, Emily tried to forget her employment status for the time being. Instead, she breathed in the familiar scents of lemon wax, the faint aroma of cinnamon from the big jar candle resting on the mantel of the small brick fireplace, and something that smelled suspiciously like fresh-baked cookies. Oatmeal-raisin cookies.

The ancient tole-painted wooden box nestled near the fireplace still housed various cars and trucks hand-crafted by her grandfather for her male cousins and half brother, along with a pair of well-loved baby dolls once shared by her, her half sister and a handful of female Norris cousins. The requisite coloring books and a fat round Christmas tin filled to the brim with crayons of every shade imaginable, now shared by the next generation, rested on top of the pile of toys. A generation, she suddenly realized, that would include her own child in a matter of months.

She needed time to come to terms with what had happened, which was why she hadn’t yet shared the news with her grandmother. Besides, if the state of disrepair around the property was any indication, Grandy had plenty enough to concern herself with and didn’t need to add worry over her unwed, pregnant granddaughter. Once Grandy was released from the hospital, and Emily assured herself that the time was
right—when she had a firm plan in mind on exactly what she was going to do next—she’d tell her grandmother about the baby, about her loss of employment and all about Cheatin’ Charlie. So far, only she and Drew, along with Drew’s brother Cale, knew of her status as mother-to-be. In Emily’s opinion, that was already two too many people.

The screen door snapped shut, drawing her attention. “Where do you want these?” Drew asked her.

Her vocal chords refused to function at the sight of all that corded male arm muscle straining with the weight of her suitcases gripped in his large hands. She stared, fascinated.

“Emily? You’re not going to faint on me again are you?”

She shook her head, and pointed toward the hallway off the living room.

“Which room?” he called from the corridor.

“Second on the left,” she managed to answer. Apparently her capacity for speech worked just fine when she wasn’t staring at him like a loon.

Her tummy grumbled, reminding her she hadn’t had a thing to eat since her flight.

She headed into the kitchen in search of sustenance. In the fridge, as she suspected, Grandy had stocked up on Emily’s favorites. She considered a bowl of cottage cheese with fresh sliced strawberries and some dry toast, but didn’t think her self-appointed guardian would consider her choices much by way of a real meal. She dug a little deeper, found some American cheese slices and set them on the counter.

“Have you eaten?” she asked Drew when he sauntered into the kitchen. She didn’t possess one iota of her grandmother’s culinary gene, but she’d been known to manage just fine with a grilled cheese sandwich and a can of soup. Occasionally. If she was really, really careful.

“Actually, no.” He pulled a cell phone from the pocket of his trousers. “I thought we could order in. Maybe some Thai or Italian.”

She appreciated the thought, but wrinkled her nose just the same. Besides, she didn’t trust her stomach with food quite that solid or spicy. “Something a little less exotic, please. How does grilled cheese and a can of soup sound?”

The sexy tilt of his mouth, combined with the charming glint in his eyes, had her pulse revving all over again. How was it possible for one man to possess so much blatant sexual magnetism? It was a test, she decided. She’d sworn off men and she was being tested by some unseen entity with a wicked sense of humor. Well, she’d never flunked a test in her life, and she wasn’t about to start now. Her life had become a disaster within a twenty-four-hour period. She shouldn’t even be lusting after some guy, no matter how hot and bothered just looking at him made her.

“Boring,” he said. That way-too-charming smile never wavered.

He started pressing buttons on his phone then reached for the pad of paper and pen her grandmother kept handy on the counter.

Emily stepped as close as humanly possible to the
open refrigerator, hoping the cool blast of air would quell those hot, hot images spurring to life. A wasteful wish if one ever existed.

“Would a BLT be exciting enough for you?” Maybe she could even manage to convince him to fry up the bacon since she usually charred the stuff beyond recognition. The beauty of living in New York was that just about anything could be delivered practically every hour of the day, even a BLT. A service she took advantage of plenty on a regular basis.

While Drew continued to jot down phone numbers, she wondered if Cheatin’ Charlie’s new lady lawyer cooked for him.

Drew flipped his cell phone shut and slipped it back inside his pocket, then shrugged those incredible line-backer-wide shoulders. “Why not? Want some help?”

This man had to have angel wings hidden somewhere on his body. Too bad she wasn’t interested—much. Obviously her pregnancy-induced hormones were running rampant because she had a feeling exploring that heavenly body to find them could be a whole lot of fun. “You do the bacon, I’ll do the rest.”

While Drew started the bacon, she avoided anything to do with actual meal preparation and set the table. Her tummy grumbled again thanks to the mouthwatering scents floating on the air. Thankfully Drew’s good manners kept him from commenting. Her own good manners fled the scene when she caught sight of the notepad on the counter.

She counted. Thirteen telephone numbers? And the names of
thirteen
different women.

Thirteen?

She glanced over her shoulder at Drew.
Thirteen?

“Excuse me?”

“Uh…” She hadn’t realized she’d even spoken out loud. “You always this popular, or are you running a sale?”

He turned his head slightly to the side, a bewildered expression on his handsome face. “What are you talking about?”

She rolled her eyes. What had her first impression of him been? Oh yeah. A charmer. The kind of man incredibly dangerous to women who made a habit of picking the wrong guy. The kind she’d never be so foolish to ever fall for again. Especially when he was the kind who collected messages from thirteen different women.

She picked up the pad of paper and started reading. “Leanne, Karenna, Dora, Elise, Sophia and, oh—please—Tiffany?” She laughed and continued reading. “Wendy, Frenchie? Gee, I wonder what she’s known for. Debbie, Amanda, Tilly, Nina, and…”

She peered closer, but the last name was nearly illegible. “H.B? What is that? Code for hot babe?”

A true scoundrel’s grin curved his mouth, and heaven help her, she almost found him irresistible.

“No,” he said, his voice coated with humor. “It’s shorthand for Hannah’s Bakery.”

She dropped the tablet back on the counter, pretending disgust. “I don’t think I want to know what baked goods and a baker’s dozen of women have in common.”

“Since you asked—”

“I didn’t.”

The teasing glint in his eyes said otherwise. “Debbie is my aunt,” he explained. “Amanda is my brother’s fiancée and Tilly is my best friend.”

She pulled plates and soup mugs from the cabinet. “Strange name for a guy.”

“Probably because she’s a woman.”

Now why wasn’t she surprised to learn a sweet-talking, drop-dead gorgeous specimen of male perfection had a woman for a best friend?

“Debbie called to see if I could pick up the cake for Amanda’s bridal shower at the bakery by noon on Sunday,” he said.

“You really don’t have to explain.”

“Tilly,” he said, ignoring her, “wanted to let me know she’d taken care of Cale and Amanda’s wedding present, and my future sister-in-law wanted to know if I’d been able to find the gift
she
wants to give my oldest brother to celebrate his promotion to lieutenant.”

Emily handed him the dishes then crossed her arms and looked at him skeptically. “Let me guess. You want me to believe you’re really related to the other women on that list, right?”

He shrugged and his grin turned sheepish.

What did she care anyway? She’d sworn off men.

Well, she had!

Fifteen minutes later they were seated at the round oak table in the corner of the kitchen. Drew had unearthed sliced turkey in the fridge, and rather than BLTs, they shared the best turkey Newburg on toasted
English muffins she’d ever tasted, expertly prepared by Drew. Which sure beat anything she could’ve created in the kitchen. Almost anything was preferable to her cooking, a term she used loosely.

Emily looked across the table at Drew. The man really was way too sexy for her own good, but she couldn’t think about that now. Or ever, and she firmly reminded her wayward hormones of that telling list of women. There were questions that had been simmering in the back of her mind all afternoon that required answers. With everything that had gone on, there hadn’t really been an opportunity to talk to him privately and when she’d had the chance, she’d allowed herself to be sidetracked by that harem of his.

“Why would a garbage-can fire necessitate an arson inspection?” she asked him suddenly.

He took a bite of his meal and chewed instead of giving her an answer, making her wonder if he’d even heard her.

“I noticed some charred crates, too,” she continued. “And soot stains near the exit. The fire today wasn’t the first, was it?”

Drew let out a sigh and set his fork on the delicate china plate. He’d expected her questions sooner or later. He’d just wished it’d been later, when he had some solid answers. “You’re not a reporter, are you?”

“No. I’m…” She paused and let out a short huff of breath. “I
was
an advertising executive.”

“Was?” he prompted, attempting to steer the conversation into a more personal direction. Emily intrigued
him, but then most women did on one level or another, so he wasn’t overly concerned.

“Corporate downsizing.” She dismissed the subject with a wave of her hand. “The fires?”

So much for a redirection of topic, he thought, although he planned a revisit shortly. He wanted to know more about this absent father of her baby, which should be reason enough to ignore the faint stirring of need in his gut whenever he looked into Emily’s big brown eyes. Only he couldn’t seem to help himself.

“Today was the third incident,” he told her.

Her eyes widened in disbelief. “The third?” She shook her head as if trying to absorb the information. “Grandy never said a word to me about the fires.”

Maybe because she was guilty as hell. “Maybe she didn’t want to worry her family,” he said instead.

Emily set her plate aside and rested her arms over the oak table. Her frown made a reappearance. He’d known plenty of women in his lifetime, and not a single one of them looked half as tempting as Emily Dugan when they frowned.

“What else has happened?” she demanded. “How long has this been going on?”

“Maybe you should talk to your grandmother about it.” He wasn’t concerned with putting his investigation at risk by sharing information with her, but he did feel she should be talking to Velma rather than to him. Under normal circumstances, they wouldn’t even be having this conversation.