I followed.
He grinned over his shoulder. “We use a little thing called the scientific method.”
That full bottom lip of his bent upward.Damn, he has a nice smile.
“I received some of the initial pictures taken the day of the fire. Based on that, my theory is that the fire started here in the kitchen.”
I examined the blackened walls and nearly collapsed roof. Everything looked like a burnt mess. “How can you discern that?”
He pointed at the area around the stove. “See the pattern of the charring here,” he pointed next to the walls around the stove, “and here?”
“I do.”
“They form a V-like shape that points to the source of the fire.”
I studied the markings and, sure enough, the darker areas of the charring formed almost a perfect V that narrowed down to the stove.
Don took out a camera similar to one I used when on a stakeout, took pictures, and talked more about what he looked for.
My confidence grew in his abilities as I listened to his assessment of the scene. I’d already known he was a great firefighter. As I watched him analyze the bar and collect evidence, the intent on his face captured my attention. There was something very appealing about how he took his time, carefully searching out any and every clue.
“Why don’t you work in the investigative offices?” I blurted, my curiosity getting the better of me.
He looked at me over his shoulder, and those hazel pupils of his had a hold on me I wasn’t sure I appreciated. “I’m a firefighter,” he said
With a shrug, I turned away. “Right, but so are the investigators in the department.”
“I still want to be where the action is. Pulling people out of the fire.” He snapped another picture.
“But you managed to become an investigator like your father.” I clamped my mouth shut. Since when the hell had I gotten in the habit of talking so much?
This time when he looked back at me, there was a smile on his face. “You remembered.”
“It’s part of my job to remember details of conversations,” I said casually, and avoiding looking at him directly. He’d told me once that his father was a detective.
“Yeah, my dad was on the force for over two decades.”
“But you chose firefighting over policing.”
His lips pinched at the same time he dropped his gaze away from mine. Something about the sudden change in his demeanor revealed that there was a backstory there. “Yeah,” was all he said.
To keep from prodding for more, I turned and started for the back staircase of the bar. Only, I wasn’t paying attention and ended up colliding with an overturned table that had a few chairs stacked on it.
“Shit.”
I held up my arms to protect myself from the impact of the falling chairs, but strong arms pulled me out of the way in the nick of time. He twirled me around, and my frontside came up against something hard.
That masculine, woodsy scent I’d memorized the night of Corey’s accident enveloped me. My body responded as if acting off muscle memory, relaxing into the hold.
“I got you,” Don’s deep baritone soothed in my ear. It was calm and reassuring, even as the loud banging of the falling chairs behind me sounded.
When the falling chairs stopped, silence gripped the room.
I leaned back and looked up into Don’s face. He peered down at me with his arms still firmly around my waist. For a moment in time, I had no idea where I was or why I was there. The only thing that existed was the two of us. The way Don’s eyes changed from hazel to a light brown, I assumed he felt the same.
But just like the night at the hospital, my rational mind kicked in, and I pulled away. He seemed reluctant to let me go at first, but eventually did.
“Be careful in here,” he warned.
