Several red-and-yellow fire trucks blocked the motel from view and she guessed it was at least a three-alarm blaze. Maybe four. Everything closed in on her and she wished, just for a second, she could turn her back on fire. It had devastated her life, and still she walked toward it again and again.

One of the firefighters turned and saw them. “Hey, Logan, didn't expect to see you here. Not with the wild-fire burning in Desolation.”

“My crew's got the fire covered tonight, Bob. What's going on here?”

Maya held her breath as she waited for his answer. She needed to know if the fire was an accident.

Or if she was the target.

“We got a call twenty minutes ago that there was smoke coming out from under one of the doors.”

Maya took a step closer. “Which room?”

Bob frowned at Maya's interruption. He jerked his thumb in her direction. “She with you?”

Logan nodded. “Cal Fire.”

Bob's eyes widened. “Shit. If something's going down, we want to know about it.”

Maya barely held back a frustrated scream. “Which room?”

The urban firefighter looked at Logan. “Should I be telling her this?”

Logan nodded. “We both need to know.”

“Room 205.”

She felt the blood drain from her face and her lips go numb.

Logan's hand gripped her elbow to keep her steady. “Is 205 your room?”

She was shaking. Shit, she needed to get a grip. Needed to take a step away from Logan. And then another.

Spinning away from him, she ran between engines, stopping in front of the only firefighter not geared up, the one with the radio and the clipboard. He had to be the station chief.

“I'm Maya Jackson. From 205. It's my room that's on fire. I need to know what happened.”

A loud crash came from the building and she whipped her head around just in time to witness the roof falling in on the first-floor ceiling. The firefighters calmly went about their business and Maya wished she could be more laid back about the fire's ongoing demolition. But she'd spent the bulk of her working life behind a computer, holding on to a telephone, sitting in airless rooms questioning suspects and witnesses.

She struggled to pull her gaze away from the flames. The out-and-out annihilation.

The fire chief studied her face for a long moment. “Are you related to Tony Jackson?”

Oh God, how could she have forgotten for even one second that this had been Tony's domain? He'd been Lake Tahoe Fire Department, Station 3, and his station's tanker truck was parked ten feet away. Tony should have been in the parking lot with these guys or up on the roof, checking for hot spots.

She nodded to give herself time to recover from the sudden blow. “I am.”

The chief shook his head. “I'm sorry about what happened to your brother.” He held out his hand. “Patrick Stevens. I'm the new chief. I apologize for not returning your last few e-mails and phone calls. I've been swamped these past couple of weeks getting up to speed. Since you're in town, would you like to arrange a time to sit down and discuss the situation?”

She blinked hard, tried to get everything untangled in her head. And heart. “Yes. Thanks. I'm in Lake Tahoe to investigate the Desolation Wilderness fire currently burning,” she said, each word sounding robotic and stiff to her own ears as she tried to get herself back on track, “but as soon as I wrap this up, I'll come by your office.”

He nodded. “I'm happy to help any way I can. Tony was a good one. Real good. He's been missed.” He paused, clearly uncertain about whether he should continue.

Hope flared in her chest. “What is it? Have you learned something?”

He shook his head. “No. In fact, I was going to say that all signs point to the fire that took Tony's life being an accident. You know that, don't you?”

It was just what she was afraid of. They were getting ready to close Tony's case for good.

“Signs aren't good enough,” Maya said. “I want facts.” Even though facts wouldn't bring Tony back. Nothing would.

Just then, Logan shifted beside them and she realized he'd been standing there the entire time, listening quietly.

So much for keeping secrets from him. She hadn't wanted him to know about Tony. Too much personal information in the wrong hands was never a good thing. Who knew what he'd try to pull now that he had even more ammo to use against her?

But instead of asking about her brother, Logan pointed to the box at Patrick's feet. “Is this all you were able to recover from Room 205?”

“I'm afraid so,” Patrick replied. “The rest of your luggage is gone, Ms. Jackson.”

Maya squatted down to get a better look. She didn't care about losing her clothes, her makeup, or even her computer, which lay in a melted black heap in the bottom of the box.

“Did anything survive the fire?” she asked the chief, as she stood back up on shaky legs.

“Actually, yes. We did found something else in the room. Something I don't like the look of at all.”

He reached into his pocket and took out a Zip-loc bag.

“It's a letter with your name on it. It was in a firebox. We're going to check for prints, but I doubt we'll find anything.”

Maya's entire body went still. Someone was sending her a message. From the corner of her eye, she watched Logan carefully, looking for a reaction, but he seemed as surprised as she was.

Had he done this? Or was the perpetrator someone else, someone she wouldn't suspect until it was too late?

Her instincts had always been a driving force in her investigations. But this case was different.

She'd never been intimate with her suspect before.

As she took the bag from Patrick, she kept her breathing even and steady. Freaking out wouldn't help a thing. Even if being left a personal note in a motel room on fire was definitely not a good sign.

First Logan, now this.

She pulled out a sterile pair of rubber gloves from her bag and made sure her hands were completely steady before she slipped them on.

“You don't think this was an accident, do you?” she asked the chief.

“I wish I did. But whoever lit this fire knew exactly what they were doing. Just a little smoke at first, nothing anyone would notice until it was big enough to start blowing the roof off one piece at a time.”