Fatal Burn (West Coast 2)

He smiled. “Just give me enough time.”

They both knew it would never happen and as he handed her the dog and left the kitchen she felt a little tug on her heart.

There was something about Nate’s quiet authority, his seeming calm that belied a storm within him. Maybe that was the reason she hadn’t tumbled into bed with him. Or maybe it was because she knew he loved her. He’d never said the words, but she sensed them there, lying just beneath the surface.

“Or maybe you’re just a head case,” she muttered as she watched him through the window and wondered why this man had never reached her the way that Travis Settler had.

Her relationship with Settler, if that was what you could call it, had already intrigued her and she found him exhilarating. If she looked at it logically, he wasn’t any better looking than Nate Santana, and she knew very little about him.

But his determination to find his child, his passion to protect her, his all-balls-out approach to life appealed to her at a very sensual level. There was just something visceral and male that got to her.

Probably because of all the heightened drama surrounding him. Surely because he was her daughter’s father and probably because she forever fell for the wrong kind of guy.

“Like I said,” she whispered to the pup, “a head case.”

He’d been foolish.

Too anxious.

Letting his emotions rule his actions.

Everything had been meticulously planned. He’d waited so long for just the right moment to strike, and now this!

He couldn’t risk another mistake, he thought, as he slunk through the lengthening shadows in the thin stands of black oak and madrona. Wearing camouflage he slid noiselessly toward the spur of a lane leading to an abandoned gravel pit where he’d parked his truck. He was sweating, his heart pumping, but the thrill of adrenaline raced through his blood.

So close.

He was so damned close!

He jogged easily through the gathering dusk, effortlessly hurdling a fallen tree that blocked his path. He was in excellent physical condition and would prove up to the task at hand. Hadn’t he already proved as much with pathetic Mary Beth?

Anticipation gunned through his bloodstream as he thought of the stroke of luck that Shannon had purchased this particular parcel of land. He couldn’t have found a more perfect stage to set his plan into motion if he’d picked the spot himself. At a juncture in the path, he veered to the left and ran another quarter mile to the abandoned gravel pit.

His truck was waiting.

And the prize—no, the bait—was hidden safely away, a wimp of a kid who always acted so scared she could barely face him…except for the rare occasions when she showed some spirit, some spunk. He wondered about that. Was she really as frightened as she seemed? Sometimes nearly catatonic? Or was she smarter than he thought?

He’d have to be careful.

No more mistakes, he told himself, slowing his stride and taking in deep lungfuls of air, not another misstep. He was too close.

He’d waited too long as it was.

He thought of his next two victims. Imagined the fires—growing, spiraling upward, hiding the stars with smoke and hot, hungry flames, filling the air with the smells of burning wood and charred flesh.

He closed his eyes, envisioning the sparks shooting toward the heavens.

Oh, yes! Anticipation buzzed through his blood, heating it, filling the void in the deepest part of him.

This time he wouldn’t wait so long.

One fire would spark the other…like the Olympians carrying the torch from one town to the next.

One on the heels of the other.

Yes!

It was time to notch things up.