Free Slow Burn: A Colorado High Country Novel by Pamela Clare Page B

inside out and just keep it between us, okay?”
    And Vic’s heart melted again.
    Hank pulled it over his head, the shirt far too big for him. “Thanks, Hawke. I’ll get this back to you one day.”
    “I’m going to turn you over to Deputy Marcs now.” Eric motioned to someone.
    “Hey, Hank.” A woman in uniform stepped into view. “Remember me? I’m Deputy Marcs. I’m glad you’re okay. I’m here to arrest you and take you in. I promise no one is going to hurt you tonight. We don’t run that kind of jail.”
    By the time Hank was cuffed, searched, and headed down the street in the back of a squad car, the fire seemed to be under control, smoke rising from the gutted remains of the house.
    Eric walked to the truck, grabbed his air pack out of the back, and then came to stand next to her open window. “I’ll give you one guess: Whose job is it to investigate fires in Scarlet?”
    “Yours.”
    He chuckled. “Brains and beauty. You’re the total package.”
    If another man had said those words, it probably would have made Vic feel uncomfortable, but coming from Eric, it made her laugh. She watched while he donned his air pack and disappeared through the charred front door.
    Five minutes went by. Another five.
    Boom!
    Flames flared out of one window, then vanished.
    Vic’s heart leaped into her throat, her pulse taking off at a sprint.
    Eric.
    When the firefighters around her didn’t react, she figured everything must be okay. Eric was their chief. If he were lying there wounded or burned, they would be running inside to help him, not calmly going about their work.
    When he emerged a few minutes later, she let out a sigh of relief.
    And to think he did things like this every day.

    * * *
    “ B utane hash oil extraction ,” Eric climbed into his truck, his bunker gear stashed in the bed of his vehicle so that it wouldn’t stink up the cab. Between smoke from the fire and the stench of burning weed, it reeked. “That was the cause of the fire.”
    “I’ve never heard of that.”
    He slipped the keys into the ignition, started the engine. “It’s illegal to do at home—and dangerous as hell. I counted ninety-four butane canisters. They were sitting right next to a big, old pile of weed. It’s a wonder Hank wasn’t incinerated.”
    A woman on a bicycle cut in front of the truck’s headlights, headed straight for Hank’s place, what looked like a fat wad of twenties gripped in her right hand. When she saw a sheriff’s deputy squad car, she turned her bicycle around, cash disappearing into her fist.
    “Jesus! Did you see that?” Eric couldn’t help but laugh.
    Vic nodded. “Was she on her way there to buy drugs from him?”
    “That’s what it looked like.” Eric nosed his truck into the street and headed back toward the station house. “Sometimes life in Scarlet feels like a bad Hollywood flick. Christ! You can’t make this shit up.”
    “But isn’t it legal to buy marijuana here?”
    “It is—if you buy it from a licensed seller. Hank doesn’t even have a driver’s license.” He glanced over at Victoria, found her watching him, a mysterious smile on those lips of hers. “What now? Did I say something funny?”
    “You took good care of him.”
    Eric shrugged off the compliment. “There wasn’t much I could do. Sometimes you’ve got to sleep in the bed you make.”
    “Isn’t that the truth?” Something in the tone of her voice made him remember the conversation he’d overheard this afternoon.
    Could he help it if he wanted to know the whole story?
    He changed the subject. “Hey, do you mind if we stop at the station first so I can drop off my gear?”
    “Whatever you need to do.”
    “Are you still drinking?”
    She held up an almost empty bottle of water. “No headache.”
    “Good.”
    Back at the firehouse, he returned his gear to his locker and dropped the cylinder from his SCBA off in the compressor room. The initial response crew pulled in as he was leaving, men and