Hot Pursuit. Lisa Childs

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СКАЧАТЬ in a deep breath before admitting, “I received a note...”

      Dawson tensed. “From the arsonist?”

      Braden nodded. “Left on my desk in the firehouse...”

      Cody cursed.

      “You need to be careful,” Wyatt said, his blue eyes darkening with concern.

      “That’s why I called the US Forest Service,” Braden told his assistants. He probably should have called Wyatt and Dawson when he got the note, but Wyatt was planning a wedding, and Dawson had taken a quick trip to New York to see his girlfriend. Braden pointed across the room. “And why she’s here. Her name’s Sam McRooney.”

      “Any relation to Mack?” Cody asked.

      “Daughter,” Braden confirmed.

      “Mack never mentioned having a daughter.”

      “Nobody mentions their daughters to you,” Wyatt razzed him, then turned back to Braden. “I don’t get why she’s talking to Gingrich, though. You know way more about the arson investigation than he does.”

      “She called him in to protect me,” Braden said. He glanced across the room again. He would have preferred her protecting him; then she’d have to stick close—real close. But then she would be in danger, too. It was better she—and everyone else—stay away from him now that he’d become the arsonist’s next target.

      Owen snorted. “Who’s going to protect you from him? That guy has always hated you.”

      Thinking of Gingrich’s accusation, Braden’s temper flared again. “Marty’s the one who needed protecting from me,” he admitted. “I was about to hit him when I clipped Sam with my elbow.”

      Owen nodded. “Of course... Too bad she got in the way.” He was a little younger than Braden and Gingrich, but he’d grown up in Northern Lakes, too. He knew the trooper too well.

      Trent sighed. “Good thing she stopped you, or we’d be bailing you out of jail right now.”

      “At least he would’ve been safe in there,” Dawson remarked. “Sam McRooney was right to call in protection for you. She just called the wrong person.”

      “I don’t need a state trooper,” Braden said. The last thing he wanted was anyone following him around; it was bad enough when Stanley brought Annie to the firehouse and she shadowed his every move.

      “No, you don’t,” Owen agreed. “Not when you’ve got us. We’ll each take a shift.”

      Braden shook his head. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

      “No,” Ethan Sommerly agreed. The Hotshot was the biggest loner on the team. He spent most of his time as a ranger in the middle of a national forest in the Upper Peninsula. Of course he would understand. But then he added, “You need a bodyguard.”

      Wyatt nodded in agreement. “If you don’t want one of us, I can see if Matt can get time off from the assisted-living center to protect you.”

      Matt was Wyatt’s soon to be brother-in-law. The kid had wanted to be a Hotshot. But when he, like hundreds of other applicants, hadn’t gotten the open position as a US Forest Service firefighter, he’d decided to go back to school to become a registered nurse.

      “I don’t need a bodyguard, either,” Braden said. He’d argued enough for the day, so he stood up. “What I need is a good night’s sleep before the meeting tomorrow.” He worried that might be hard, though he wasn’t sure what would keep him awake longer—that note, or his guilt over accidentally hitting Sam.

      Or would it be other thoughts of Sam that kept him up? She was damn beautiful.

      “Braden, you can’t just take off,” Cody protested as he started away from the booth. “You never know when or how he might strike at you.”

      “I’ll be vigilant,” he promised his guys. “He won’t sneak up on me.”

      From the skepticism on their faces, it was clear he hadn’t convinced them. So he added an order, “Nobody follow me. I’m perfectly safe.”

      He wasn’t. And they knew it. But being around him would put them in danger, too. They’d already been through enough of that. He’d nearly lost Wyatt, Dawson and Cody in fires.

      And Owen...

      He glanced at the jagged scar on the man’s cheek. He’d nearly lost the Marine on his last deployment. They all risked their lives enough doing their jobs. He wouldn’t ask them to put themselves further at risk because of him. He glanced over at Sam McRooney. And he certainly wouldn’t put her in danger, either.

      “I can take care of myself,” he assured them, and headed out of the bar before they could argue.

      He appreciated and understood their concern, though. As he stepped outside, he felt an odd sensation—like he was being watched. None of them had followed him from the bar, so it had to be someone who was already outside—maybe even waiting for him? He peered around in the dark but couldn’t see anyone lurking in the shadows beyond the small circles the street lamps cast on the sidewalk.

      That didn’t matter; he didn’t need to see the person to know he was there.

      Braden could’ve gone back inside, but he didn’t. That wasn’t how he wanted to live his life—in fear. He felt the shadow following as he walked the two blocks to the small home he’d rented because of its close vicinity to the firehouse. He’d had a bigger house before the divorce—one farther from town with a big yard and a lot of bedrooms. He’d intended to raise his family there.

      But maybe it was good that had never happened. Because then they’d be in danger, too. Fortunately his parents had moved away from Northern Lakes a couple of years ago, to be closer to his sister and her kids. They’d promised when he gave them grandkids, they’d come home. But they were safer in Arizona—even with wildfires burning nearby. At least nature had caused those—a lightning strike—not a maniac with a match.

      Whoever was following seemed to tail Braden all the way home. The skin between his shoulder blades tingled at the feeling of being watched. It hadn’t made him walk any faster, though. He wasn’t afraid. He was pissed. So pissed he stomped across his porch with such force his front door creaked open before he even reached for the knob. He must’ve left it unlocked. But he knew he’d shut it tightly; he always did.

      Someone had been inside his house; undoubtedly the same person who’d been in his office earlier. He wished momentarily for the gun he kept behind the seat of his US Forest Service pickup. The shotgun was for protection from bears, though. Not people.

      But while Braden suspected someone had been inside his house, he doubted he was still there. He was behind Braden—watching him—probably for his reaction to whatever he’d been doing inside Braden’s house. Whatever he’d left behind for Braden to discover...

      He stepped closer and opened the door the rest of the way. The house was dark inside; he couldn’t see anything.

      But he could smell it. Gasoline.

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