She didn’t need a man in her life, though. She needed to focus on her career—on breaking the story that would guarantee her airtime. Even though her body ached for his, she didn’t need Dawson Hess.
He released her and stepped back so that her arms dropped from his shoulders. Then he stepped around her, leaving her standing—legs shaking—next to that booth. Just before he walked away, he leaned down and murmured, “You’re welcome.”
* * *
“SO DID YOU get rid of her?” Wyatt asked when Dawson walked into the firehouse.
He was lucky his legs could carry him; they weren’t quite steady yet—not after that kiss. The passion that had burned between them was so hot he’d nearly gotten scorched.
He glared at Wyatt. The guy wasn’t alone. Cody leaned against the truck next to him. It was a bright yellow fire engine—more likely to catch the attention of other drivers than red. That was why they wore yellow, too—to be more visible in the smoke and flames.
“What?” Wyatt asked. “We didn’t intentionally ditch you with the reporter.”
Cody gave him a pitying glance. “We thought you could move faster than that. You must be getting old.”
At thirty-one, he was older than Cody. Probably just three or four years, but in Hotshot experience it was nearly a lifetime. For some, it was—a few years as a Hotshot was all it had taken to end their lives.
He feigned resentment and murmured, “I thought we never left a man behind...”
“That’s the Marines,” Wyatt said.
“It’s why we went back and saved your sorry ass,” Cody teased Wyatt. “You know old Hess here. He was physically unable to not rescue you and those kids.”
Dawson glared at him. They all teased him about having a white knight complex. Sure, he’d saved a reporter or two in the past when they’d gotten too close to the fire. He’d even recently saved a girl from a bar fight. But it wasn’t a complex; it was just part of his job.
Cody ignored his glare and grinned. “The reporter must have figured out that you and I were the real heroes.”
Wyatt nudged Cody’s shoulder with his. “It wasn’t you she was staring at.”
“At least for once it wasn’t you,” Cody said with a chuckle.
“It shouldn’t have been me, either,” Dawson said. And he glanced around the garage area of the firehouse, looking for the kid who’d told her where to find them. Where to find him...
Dawson was the one she’d been looking for, and he doubted it was for a thank-you kiss. She wanted to interview him, wanted to do a story on him. But he doubted the story would be just about his helping to rescue the campers from the fire. It would dredge up his past, too. And dredging up his past might risk his present and his future. He could wind up losing his job with the Hotshots.
So there was no way in hell a kiss could coerce him to grant an interview. Even a kiss like that... He groaned at the thought of how silky her lips had felt beneath his, how sweet her mouth had tasted. He shouldn’t have kissed her at all, because now he wanted to do it again.
“Hey, she didn’t get to you, did she?” Wyatt asked.
Someone snorted, drawing Dawson’s attention to the rear of the truck. Braden Zimmer leaned against it. “If anyone can handle the press, it’s Hess.”
Dawson grimaced. His boss clearly didn’t know him very well. “I don’t want anything to do with the press.”
“That’s why I wasn’t worried about leaving you behind with her.”
Had the superintendent not seen her? Of course, the guy was still hung up on his ex-wife. Maybe he hadn’t noticed how stunning Avery Kincaid was.
“Yeah, thanks,” Dawson grumbled.
“I knew she wouldn’t be able to get you to talk,” the superintendent said.
She hadn’t gotten him to talk, but she’d gotten him to kiss her. Why the hell had he done that?
It wasn’t as if he’d believed her sad little sigh and claim of having been rejected already. What idiot would reject a kiss from a woman like her? Not him.
But maybe he’d been a bigger idiot to kiss her—to risk her getting under his skin...
Cody laughed. “Hell, we can barely get him to talk.”
Wyatt nodded in agreement. “It’s like pulling teeth.”
Dawson held back a chuckle and glared at them both. “Who can get a word in edgewise with you two smart-asses?”
Cody laughed harder.
“You are better at getting other people to talk than talking yourself,” Zimmer said.
“See? It’s your fault we talk so much,” Cody said.
Dawson snorted.
“Did you get the reporter to talk?”
He’d gotten her to stop talking—when he’d covered her mouth with his, when he’d driven his tongue between her lips and deepened that kiss.
“Was I supposed to?” he asked his boss.
Zimmer nodded. “I wonder what she’s doing back in Northern Lakes. Other reporters have given up. Why hasn’t she?”
“She’s a hometown girl,” Dawson said. “And two of the Boy Scouts were her nephews.”
Zimmer grinned. “You did get her to talk.”
He shrugged. “She talks all the time—like all reporters. They love to hear themselves talk—just like Wyatt and Cody here.”
Wyatt flipped him off.
“Get her to talk some more,” Zimmer suggested. “Find out if she suspects there’s more to the Northern Lakes fire.”
She did. Him. But he wasn’t about to admit that to these guys. He’d never hear the end of it. And it wasn’t as if he was going to allow her to do a special feature on him anyway.
Dawson narrowed his eyes and studied his boss’s face. “I thought the idea was to not draw attention to that fire—to the arsonist.”
“We don’t want to,” Zimmer said. “And we haven’t. Maybe that’s compelled the arsonist to act.”
“We haven’t proved yet that he set the other fires,” Wyatt said.
But maybe the other fires that had flared up in Northern Lakes hadn’t been hot spots. Maybe failing to burn down the town the first time made the arsonist want to keep trying.
“He might act in other ways,” Zimmer said. “He could have contacted a reporter to claim credit for the fire.”
Dawson’s stomach muscles tightened. “You think the arsonist could have reached out to Avery Kincaid?”
“She’d be the most likely choice,” Zimmer said. “Like you said, she’s a hometown girl who made it big. Her nephews were even in the fire. She has a personal connection to it.”
And that was probably her only reason for pursuing a story that other reporters had let die. She was still upset about what had nearly happened to her nephews. Unless she had been contacted...
He recognized that tightness in his gut as fear. But it wasn’t fear for himself. It was fear for her. If the arsonist had contacted her, she could be in danger. While the guy probably wanted attention, there was no way he’d want to get caught. If she dug too deep and discovered more than she should...
“And if he has,” Zimmer continued, “maybe he’s given her a clue to his real identity.”
“But