“I followed the smoke column.”

His gaze intensified. “That's not what I'm talking about.”

She stared at him, mesmerized by his incredible eyes, so dark brown they were nearly black. She knew what he was asking, but she didn't want to go there.

“I've been assigned to this fire. I've read your file, knew which station you reported to. That's how I found you.”

“I'd always wondered who you were,” he said in a soft voice, clearly unwilling to let their past stay where it belonged, “and where you went.”

There wasn't enough air in the room. Why had she thought she could do this? Why had she convinced herself he wouldn't remember her?

Of course he did. Who could forget a woman who came all over you in a bar, then sobbed her heart out, and didn't even tell you her name before running?

“Now you know,” she said in a tight voice.

“Maya. Maya Jackson.” He paused, dropped his gaze to her chest for a split second, then back up to her face. “You never told me your name.”

“I shouldn't have been in that bar,” she said in a rush. “It was a mistake. A huge mistake. I've regretted my actions ever since.”

The most handsome man she'd ever been with let her lie fall to the cement floor.

A corner of his mouth quirked up. “It wasn't all bad.”

She couldn't let this conversation get any more out of control. “I'm not here to talk about that afternoon.”

He looked perfectly at ease, but she knew better. A man like this, who risked his life more days than not, was on constant alert for hazards.

And she had danger written all over her.

“That's right,” he said, “you're Forest Service. Here to give me some more bad news about funding, huh?”

His delivery was smooth, almost unconcerned, as if he knew that she was simply a pretty messenger.

She hated being treated like a little girl on a fool's errand. On the other hand, he'd just made her difficult job easier. Now it wouldn't be so hard to give him the bad news. Not as long as he kept acting like an ass**le.

“I'm here to conduct an origin-and-cause investigation.”

The half grin fell from his face. In an instant he transformed into the protector, prepared to do anything to save one of his men from unfair persecution.

“What does arson have to do with my guys?”

“Nothing,” she said. “Just you.”

He frowned and she knew she'd caught him utterly unaware. “How so?”

“You're our best—and only—suspect at this time.”

Logan's physical response was imperceptible. She'd expected disbelief. Rage. But not this. Not a cold, black gaze.

“You think I'd light a fire that could kill my crew?”

His tone was hard, sharp, but she held her ground. “According to the ranger's reports, you were spotted putting out fires in Desolation Wilderness twice in the past week by two different sets of hikers. You should also know that your name was called in yesterday. It was an anonymous tip, but the Forest Service couldn't ignore it simply because you are one of them.”

She decided not to mention that his very vocal opposition to the new retirement packages for wildland firefighters, however noble, didn't help his case one bit. Until she'd gathered more evidence, she'd keep that information in her back pocket.

Surprise registered on his face a split second before he said, “You haven't answered my question. Do you think I could have lit a fire that could kill my crew? You were up on the mountain. Did you see Connor? Did you happen to notice his hands?”

He held his out in front of her, but all she could see was the skin bubbling and oozing on the other hotshot's fingers.

“He may never fight a fire again,” Logan said in a low, hard voice. “I would never take that away from one of my men. Never.”

His anguish over his friend's burns was genuine—and sent strong flickers of doubt regarding his guilt through her—but none of that changed what she had to do. She laid out the facts.

“With no lightning strikes during that same time frame, all signs point to a man-made fire.” She paused before slamming in the final nail. “All signs point to you.”

Something flashed in Logan's eyes and her chest squeezed. She wanted to find the arsonist as quickly as possible, but she didn't want it to be a hotshot.

She didn't want the arsonist to be him.

“You're actually suspending me because some hikers saw me putting out a campfire? Because someone thought it would be funny to call the tip line and give them my name?”

She answered his questions with a question. “Did you put out the campfires?”

“Yes.”

“Did you light the campfires?”

He looked at her hard before answering. “No. They were already burning.”

She wanted to believe him, but was that because her gut told her he was telling the truth? Or was it simply her hormones talking again?

“Okay then,” she said. “If you didn't light them, who did?”

“If I knew that,” he said in a hard voice, “I would have already tracked the arsonist down and turned him in. And then you wouldn't be here right now, would you?”

“The hikers wouldn't have reported you to the ranger if the situation looked normal. And as a rule, anonymous tip lines are very useful tools. But you've been in this business a long time,” she added, openly challenging him, “so you already know that, don't you?”

He advanced on her. Within seconds, he had her pinned against the wall. The heat of his body scorched her even though there was a good ten inches between them. Silently, he dared her to remember all the ways he'd kissed her, touched her.

“You think these hands are capable of such destruction?”

She shivered as vivid memories came rushing back of him touching her so intimately. He had incredible hands. Big. Strong. Warm. And capable of giving exquisite pleasure.

“I saw how selfless you were today.”

She hesitated for a split second, until she realized that her wavering wasn't going to get them any closer to finding the arsonist.

“You could have died saving your crew. But that doesn't negate the evidence. Right now, all signs point to you.”

She squared her shoulders and took a step forward, into his hard, well-trained body, refusing to be intimidated even as she hated her body's instinctive sensual response to his nearness.