Maggie stood back and watched the two of them. She admitted electronic gadgets baffled her, but these two knew exactly what they were doing. And now she saw that the attraction went both ways—a graze of a hand, eyes trying to avoid but stealing quick glances.
Without warning she thought about Ben. She certainly understood that uncontrollable physical reaction. Her body wanted what her mind told her she couldn’t have. Telling herself that she couldn’t have Ben only made her want him more. Would she ever get it right? Would she ever fall for a man who was emotionally available at the same time that she was emotionally available?
Patrick turned on the TV. Ramirez pressed some buttons on the camera and suddenly the blaze from the other night filled the big screen.
“This is right after the second blast.”
Ramirez had swept the shaky camera across the grounds in front of her. She must have just been getting up off the ground. Maggie recognized Tully on his hands and knees, Racine beside him. And to his left she realized she was looking at herself. She hardly recognized the woman lying facedown, flat on the ground, pulling herself up onto her elbows. Back behind them was the perfect shot of the second building engulfed in flames. Ramirez couldn’t have positioned herself better without planning it.
“Watch carefully. He’ll be up on the far left of the screen.”
The image jerked around again. Ground then sky, like an airplane nose-diving before pulling up.
“I was a bit unsteady on my feet,” Ramirez apologized. “It gets better.”
The camera moved off Maggie, following Racine, who was on her feet and rushing to help a group of people beyond the crime scene tape. Several were still sprawled on the ground.
The camera paused on them, then continued tracking. In the background Maggie could hear a low voice—Jeffery Cole narrating the scene, frame by frame. Ramirez had turned down the sound.
The camera’s view swung back a little farther, taking in the crowd gathering on the sidewalk across the street. It panned the length of them, and halfway through Ramirez punched a button and froze the image. She put the camera down and walked to the left side of the television.
“Right here.” She pointed at a man standing in the middle of the crowd, hands in his pockets, face expressionless. On the screen the image was big enough and focused enough to recognize, and although Maggie thought he looked familiar she couldn’t place him.
Ramirez, however, wasn’t interested in Maggie’s reaction. Instead she was looking at Patrick.
“Who is he?” she finally asked.
“Wes Harper,” Patrick told her. “My partner.”
And suddenly Maggie became interested. She walked across the living room to stand in front of the television, taking in as much of Wes Harper as she could.
“It’s probably no big deal,” Patrick said. “He told me he likes to go watch other fires.”
“Watch them?” Sam said. “Isn’t that a little weird?”
“Tell me about him,” Maggie asked Patrick without taking her eyes from the big screen.
“I really don’t know him that well.”
“But you spend a lot of time together. Is he married?”
“No.”
There was something about the delivery of his “no” that made Maggie glance at her brother. He was staring at the screen, too, but to avoid her eyes.
“What is it?”
“He asked about you. It felt a little weird.”
“About my being an FBI agent?”
“No. About whether or not you were married. He’s a player. He likes women.”
She could see he was uncomfortable talking about this with her. “What exactly does that mean?”
It was Ramirez who answered. “It means every woman he meets he thinks about screwing her.”
“Did he hit on you?” Patrick wanted to know.
“I can take care of myself.”
Maggie studied the man. Ramirez had left the film frozen on an excellent view of Wes Harper. While others around him displayed that wide-eyed look of shock and awe—one with a furrowed brow, another held a hand over her mouth, still another bent over with hands on his knees—Harper stood straight, hands in his pockets and a placid, almost content look on his face.
He looked to be in his thirties, square jaw, medium height, thick-chested, and muscular. He wore trousers, not jeans, and a nice jacket. Maggie stepped closer to examine the logo on the pocket.
“Is that a Members Only jacket?”
“Yeah, he loves that jacket.” Patrick came up beside her. “I don’t know how many times he’s told me that the company’s tagline was stolen by a condom manufacturer. Laughs every time he tells me. Thinks it’s pretty cool.”
“What’s the tagline?”
Patrick hesitated, uncomfortable again. “ ‘When you put it on something happens.’ ”
“Does he have a degree in fire science?”
“He started a program but said it was lame. Quit after a year.”
“The other night he was telling Jeffery and me what fire does to a body,” Ramirez said, and Maggie could see the woman was uncomfortable even with the memory of this. “He seemed to take great pleasure in describing it. It was almost like he had seen it himself and …”
“And what?” Maggie asked.