The Arsonist by Mary Burton

“Here.”
    “Thanks,” Larry said. “I’m always out of matches. No matter how many I buy.” He opened the pack and lit one and held it to the tip of the cigarette. Puffing, he handed back the matches.
    “Keep it,” Nathan said. “I’ve got plenty.”
    Larry pocketed the matches as Darcy turned toward the bar. She gave Trevor the drink order and filled a bowl of pretzels. She loaded the drinks and pretzels on the tray and headed back to Larry and Nathan’s table. “So how go the condos?” she said easily.
    “Great,” Nathan said as he sipped his coffee. “We are ahead of schedule.”
    She’d no sooner set the drinks down than the front door opened and Gannon walked in. For a minute, Darcy’s mind went blank.
    Sexual desire sizzled through her as she watched him stride into the room. He walked with the grace of a lion, each move deliberate and full of power. For reasons she couldn’t name, her throat felt dry as she moved toward him.
    When did she develop a thing for dangerous men?
    Gannon’s lips curled into a smile when he saw her. “Working hard?”
    “Hardly working,” she said in a voice that had thickened.
    His gaze didn’t leave her. “Looks like you’ve got a crowd tonight.”
    She scanned the room for an empty seat. There was none. “I can seat you at the bar in a couple of minutes.”
    “Don’t worry about it. I’ll crash their party.” Gannon glanced over at the table where Nathan and Larry sat. He walked over to the table. “There room for me?”
    Larry ground his cigarette out in the ashtray. “You never come in here.”
    “Tonight, I am,” Gannon said as he shook hands with Nathan. “Mixing up the routine.”
    “Glad you did,” Nathan said.
    Larry scooted over to make room for him. “We could use some new blood tonight.”
    “What can I get you to drink?” Darcy asked.
    “Ice water with lemon.”
    She would have liked to linger but table number six wanted another draft beer and number four wanted ketchup.
    She hurried over to the bar where Trevor was mixing a Tom Collins. “Draft. And ice water with lemon.”
    “Coming right up,” Trevor said.
    She refilled the peanut bowl for Gannon’s table, collected the draft and water, and grabbed a fresh bottle of ketchup. She crossed the room, making her stops at tables four and six.
    When she set the water down in front of Gannon, she could see immediately that the tone of the conversation had shifted to serious.
    “That fire was no accident,” Gannon said. “And the two fires are linked.”
    Darcy’s jaw nearly dropped open. She slowed her pace, hoping to catch a few more snippets of information before she reached the table.
    “Well, who would set fires like that?” Larry asked. He’d pulled out another cigarette, but then as if remembering that Gannon didn’t smoke, put it away.
    “I don’t know,” Gannon said.
    Darcy’s gaze was drawn to Gannon’s hands. Hands she’d imagined on her body could have set fires that had killed people. The sobering thought sent a chill down her spine.
    Managing a smile, she said, “You fellows ready to order dinner?”

    Gannon liked Darcy’s perfume. It was like her. Spicy, unpredictable and sensual. He’d noticed it before she’d reached the table. He’d also noticed that she’d hesitated. She’d been listening to their conversation about the fire.
    Why would she care so much about the fires?
    He watched her moving around the room from table to table. She wore well-worn hiking boots, jeans and a T-shirt. But the legs. Long, lean and very feminine. Shifting his gaze higher, he lingered on her gently rounded hips and then traveled up the red T-shirt that covered nice round firm breasts.
    She moved like a pro. Smiling at the customers, careful to use their names if she knew them, calling them honey when she didn’t. But he could tell she didn’t belong here. She might have grown up working in the tavern, but he guessed she’d not done this kind of work in a long