Burning Love: (Silhouette Intimate Moments #1236) by Debra Cowan

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Burning Love

Harlequin Enterprises Ltd.

Chapter One

The dispatcher's voice crackled across Terra August's car radio. As the sole fire investigator for
Presley, Oklahoma, she was already on her way to the two-alarm fire in the established
Hunter's Ridge subdivision, jarred out of a deep sleep minutes ago by her pager.

In the past ten years, the Oklahoma City suburb's population had grown to nearly fifty thousand.
The police department had hired enough officers before the growth spurt, but not the fire
department. These last few weeks had doubled Terra's wish for another investigator in her
office, but until next year's budget was approved, she was it.

Her mentor lived on Sorrel Lane, but she didn't know the house number. Their frequent
meetings had never taken place at his home or hers, and usually involved a meal somewhere.
Please, don't let it be Harris's house.

After flashing her badge for the uniformed officer stationed at the neighborhood's entrance, she
maneuvered her Explorer down a neatly kept residential street. The older brick homes were
bathed in a mix of moonlight and shadow. Red and blue lights strobed from a police cruiser at
either end of the block. Fire trucks, engines, police cars and two vans bearing the names and
logosof the nearby Oklahoma City television stations crowded both sides of the street. The
frantic swirl of lights spiked her blood pressure. Less than five hours ago, she and Harris
Vaughn had enjoyed a Sunday night dinner and put their heads together about a case that had
her stumped.

Fighting to calm a sudden flicker of panic, Terra eased her SUV past three police cruisers,
around Station One's rescue truck and squeezed to the curb just behind an ambulance. The
paramedic raised a hand in greeting and shut the door. Terra glimpsed the empty gurney inside.
No survivors.

Her heartbeat stuttered, but she uncurled her death grip from the steering wheel and stepped
out. The blaze was out, but gray smoke streaked across the midnight-black sky. Water from the
firefighters' hoses ran down the streets, gurgled into grates and glistened on trees, yards, nearby
cars. Smoke still hung heavy in the air. Police and fire radios crackled into the night. Yellow
crime scene tape squared off the house and yard. Officers stood guard at each of the four
corners and probably in the back yard where Terra couldn't see.

At one time, the single story, traditional redbrick home had been inviting. Now it looked cold
and bleak. Dead. Still mostly intact, the brick was streaked with soot, burned black on the west
side of the house. The one front window on the west side was blown out; the trio of windows
on the east side looked untouched except for the dripping ash and water as the firefighters from
Stations One and Four, her old station house, stood amidst snaking hoses and a now soggy
lawn. In a neighbor's yard, a firefighter stood videotaping the scene. Terra would get the tape
from him later.

The blaze appeared to have burned only one area of the home before firefighters managed to
douse it.

Urgency had her slamming her door and looking around for the police officer who held the log
book to check people in and out of the scene.

The familiar sharp odor of burning wood and engine fumes wrapped around her like the wet
midnight. This fire was different. It had taken more than a home, more than memories. It had
taken a life. And she had to know whose.

Ash swirled through the air, clung to her cheeks. The Oklahoma County Medical Examiner's
wagon eased past her and found a spot farther up the crowded street.

She opened the back door of her Explorer and grabbed her boots. Stumbling out of a dead
sleep when her pager buzzed, she had automatically pulled on jeans and a heavy flannel shirt
with sleeves she could roll up. She'd sleeked her shoulder-length hair into a ponytail. Hoping
like crazy that the victim's identity would be someone other than the mentor whose company
she'd enjoyed earlier in the evening, Terra toed off her tennis shoes and tugged on her rubber,
steel-soled boots.

The ambulance pulled out and ambled down the block. Trying to steady her racing pulse, she
grabbed her hard hat and slid it on.

Her thick, well-worn gloves were in her pockets. She slung her camera around her neck,
picked up her shovel and a tackle box containing her hand tools. Stepping around the back of
her truck, she racked her brain for any memory of Harris's house number. She came up empty,
which only sharpened the dread pricking at her.

Her gaze swept the knots of people moving around the scene. Several uniformed officers
wound through the crowd of reporters, cameramen and neighbors. At the sidewalk which led to
the front door, Terra spotted a cop holding a clipboard. She started toward him, dodging the
hood of a police car, stepping over a hydrant hose.

This neighborhood had probably never seen anything more traumatic than a bicycle wreck.
Farther up the street, uniformed officers were directing passersby to keep moving and news
vans to park at the end of the block.

As they'd finished dinner, Harris had mentioned taking in a movie after running some errands.
Terra had grabbed a swim at her gym before heading home to turn in early. She hadn't been
asleep two hours before her pager went off.

Four years as a fire investigator and nine years on the job had taught her to level out her
emotions so she could objectively do her job, but tonight she failed. Tonight she was terrified of
whose body the firefighters had found.

Her nerves snapped tight as she continued to walk toward the slightly built policeman with the
clipboard, standing at the curb in front of the victim's mailbox. Water dripped from the mature
maple trees in the front yard, their yellow and red leaves glimmering red and blue in the flashing
lights from one of the police cruisers. Firefighters walked past dragging hoses back to their
engines. Perhaps the officer in her sights would know the victim's identity.

"Hello, Luscious."

Ugh. Terra knew the smooth, practiced voice, but kept walking. Dane Reynolds was an
investigative reporter for one of Oklahoma City's television stations and seemed to always beat
her to the scene. "No time, Reynolds."

"Just one minute, Angel Face." The local newsman with spray-stiff hair hurried toward her. "Just
one?"

Terra kept moving, drawing up sharply when the reporter suddenly appeared. Flashing too- perfect teeth, Dane Reynolds planted his impressively trim self in front of her. He probably spent
hours at the gym, and more time on his hair than she did on hers.

She stepped around him. She wasn't about to let Reynolds see the cold sweat that clung to her
nape. Or get a glimpse of nerves that were raw with uncertainty. Dane Reynolds would jump on
that like a rat on a Cheetoh. "I'm working here, Dane."

"I know." He fell into easy step beside her as if he'd been invited. "Just wanted to ask if you'd
talk to me about this case when you're finished here?"

"Station Four caught this one. Captain Maguire is around somewhere."

"But I want to talk to you." He lightly skimmed his fingers over her shoulder as if brushing away
something.

"You know you want to."

What she wanted was to pop him with her shovel. "I already told you -"

"And what about that interview we talked about? Surely you've changed your mind by now.
The guy's set three fires and you're no closer to -"

"How's that camera working out, Investigator?" A pleasant male voice interrupted firmly.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Burning Love by Debra Cowan
Copyright © 2003 by Harlequin Enterprises Ltd.
Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

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