Spark

CHAPTER 19

Gabriel stiffened when Layne’s arms went around his neck. With the way his life was going, he wouldn’t have been surprised to find her goal was to choke him.

But then she was just holding him, her slender arms full of strength, their height difference putting her head against his shoulder.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been held like this.

Yes, he could. That mother, after the fire. But hers had been a motion of gratitude and desperation. It hadn’t been about him.

He should be pushing Layne away. He could slice right through her offer of comfort and make her as miserable as he’d been last night. He’d made himself vulnerable once; he wouldn’t make that mistake again.

But the warmth of her body made it all the way through his sweatshirt, and the scent of her hair was in his nose, one of those fruity shampoos like raspberries or apricots. Beneath that, something natural and fresh and outdoorsy, like cut grass or—no, hay. Had to be hay, from the farm.

It felt nice.

Push her away.

He should. He would. The last thing he needed in his life was something else to screw up.

But right now, this second, when the thought of being at home or at school made him feel like a caged, rabid animal, standing in the middle of the woods being held wasn’t all that bad.

“Thanks,” he said, dropping his head to speak against her hair. Her cheek was right there, if she’d just lift her head. Her cheek, the slope of her jaw, the curve of her ear. He wondered what her skin would feel like, what her lips would taste like. He let his hands find her waist.

She stiffened.

Gabriel froze. Maybe he was reading this wrong. She hadn’t called last night. Maybe a hug-without-pretense just meant she felt pity for him.

Christ, even his thoughts wanted to screw with him.

There was a tree right here. He wanted to bang his head against it.

No, he wanted to push the hair back from her face and kiss her, to cut this cord of tension between them.

But maybe that cord was the only thing holding him together.

He slid his thumbs along the jacket, just below her ribs, barely a motion, half an inch, if that. But he heard her quick intake of breath, felt the minute shift of her body as she drew back.

Damn.

He couldn’t take another rejection. Especially from Layne. She wasn’t like other girls. She saw him. Every single weakness.

And that was the reason for the hug. She wasn’t interested. She felt sorry for him.

He let go of her waist. He kept his voice flat, uninterested, like her hanging off him was a random inconvenience. “Come on. I don’t have all morning to play escort.”

She yanked her hands free, stepping back to stare up at him.

Jesus, he sounded like such a dick.

“Don’t do that,” she said.

“Do what?” He pulled the iPod from his pocket and unwound the cord. He could see buildings through the trees from here, and he nodded down the trail. “You’ve got to be close, right?”

“Yeah, but—”

But he didn’t hear the rest of what she said. He plugged the headphones into his ears, turned his back, and ran.

Gabriel hoped Michael would be gone by the time he got home, but his brother’s red pickup truck was still sitting in the driveway when Gabriel stepped out of the woods behind the house.

He had half a mind to fall back into the trees.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Layne.

Gabriel hadn’t even recognized her at first. Her hair had been down, a spill of chestnut brown that fell almost all the way to her waist, with a few damp tendrils curling around her face. No glasses. Skintight gray pants that left nothing to the imagination, with knee-high leather boots. Hell, if she wore that getup to school, she’d have half the male population trailing her in the halls. Even her maroon jacket had an athletic cut, fitting snugly along the curve of her waist. The black ribbed turtleneck had pretty much been the only familiar thing about her.

So what? She pities you.

He walked around to unlock the front door quietly, hoping Michael would be in the shower, or even better, still sleeping. At the very least, in the kitchen, hidden from view.

Nope. Michael was sitting on the staircase, a cup of coffee on the step beside him.

Gabriel couldn’t make himself shut the door. The sunshine was a welcome weight against his back.

“Don’t run,” said Michael. His voice was even.

Gabriel scowled—but he didn’t take his hand off the door. “I’m not running from you.”

“You look like you’re ready to bolt.”

“Yeah, well, you look like a—”

“All right, stop.” Michael held up a hand. “I didn’t wait here to pick a fight with you.”

“So what do you want?”

“That girl Hannah—the firefighter?”

“What about her?”

“Her father is the county fire marshal.”

He must have looked blank, because Michael added, “That means her ‘unofficial’ visit might have been pretty damn official.”

Gabriel waited, unsure what response would be safe. Really, saying anything could be a mistake. Michael had almost seen through him last night. He kept hearing his brother’s accusation on the porch. I want to know if you’re starting these fires?

Michael picked up the coffee mug and stood, gesturing toward the kitchen. “Come here. I want to show you something.”

Gabriel kept his hand on the doorknob, as if letting go would leave him trapped, a prisoner to half-accurate accusations. “Look, I’ve got school—”

“This will only take a second.”

Gabriel sighed, but followed.

Michael’s laptop was open on the kitchen table, and he slid his fingers across the trackpad to wake the screen. At first, Gabriel had no idea what he was supposed to be looking at. He recognized the local newspaper’s Web site; he’d been reading about the Ravens’ defensive line all week. The main story was something about a neighborhood dispute in Federal Hill. Big whoop.

Then he saw the headline just below it, in slightly smaller print.

ALLEGED ARSON SUSPECT IMPERSONATES FIREMAN

AT LAKE SHORE BLAZE

Shit.

Gabriel clicked on the link.

“That was last night,” said Michael.

“Thanks. I can read.” Gabriel’s eyes were locked on the article.

A fire broke out in the Lake Shore community last night, injuring three firefighters, one critically. Preliminary investigations have determined that this fire may have been started by the same arsonist who allegedly initiated fires at Magothy Beach Road and Kinder Farm Lane.

Blah, blah. Gabriel skimmed farther.

Firefighters on the scene report an unidentified man wearing protective gear that matched that of local volunteer fire companies. No description of the suspect is available. Fire Marshal Jack Faulkner would not comment on the investigation, but an anonymous caller who claims to have been on duty at the scene stated, “This guy’s got a hero complex, starting fires just to play fireman. We lost a guy this week. We’re going to catch him before he kills someone else.”

A hero complex. Were they fucking kidding?

Not only did his brothers think he was setting fires to kill people, but the firefighters did, too.

Michael was still standing there watching him. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

Gabriel slapped the laptop shut and turned for the hallway.

“Hey,” said Michael. “Let’s talk about this.”

“What do you want me to say?” Gabriel called over his shoulder. His throat felt tight, and if he stopped, if Michael kept up this let’s-work-through-it-together crap any longer, he was going to seriously lose it. “Congratulations, Detective, you solved the case.”

“Goddamn it, Gabriel, this puts all of us at risk. Do you understand me?”

“So turn me in.”

“Keep acting like this, and I’ll be forced to.”

That made Gabriel stop short on the steps, but he didn’t turn. He could barely breathe through his anger. Michael wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

Gabriel didn’t even know who he’d turn him in to. The cops, the Guides?

Did it really matter which? He wasn’t starting the fires. If he and Hunter stopped, nothing would change.

Except more people might die.

“Please,” said Michael. “I don’t want to think you’re doing this, but—”

“But what? You can’t help it? I’m such a frigging screwup that it has to be—”

“Cut the crap. It’s obvious you’re involved somehow. Would you just tell me what’s going on?”

Gabriel started walking again. “Why bother? You sound like you’ve made up your mind already.”

“I can’t help you if you won’t—”

Gabriel slammed his bedroom door. Then leaned against it, hands in fists at his sides.

He could just shower at school. He didn’t even have to wait for his brothers; he could cut through the woods and be there in half an hour. Plenty of time. He grabbed a duffel bag from his closet and shoved some clothes inside.

Then he paused, his hand on a T-shirt. Maybe he should pack some extra clothes, in case there was a fire tonight.

Then he remembered the line from the article: We’re going to catch him before he kills someone else.

Michael could kiss his ass. But real firefighters—they’d be looking for him now. They knew he had the jacket, the helmet.

He needed to stop. He’d talk to Hunter. Seriously, they should stop.

But last night’s fire had been raging. Whoever started that fire wanted people to die. That fireman had come through the floor. He wouldn’t have survived.

Neither would that little girl.

Christ, his head hurt. Gabriel kept shoving clothes in the bag. Either way, maybe he could just crash at Hunter’s. Hell, he’d sleep in the woods.

Whatever, he didn’t have to come back here.

Where he wasn’t wanted.