BlowingitOff Read Online Free Page A

brain, after thirteen
years as a firefighter and arson investigator, catalogued without conscious
thought. With the next breath, however, he tuned out everything in his mind—his
concern for Phoebe, his desire for a past once had, his longing for a future
few dared hope for—and focused solely on the smell and taste of the air in the
studio.
    Burnt wood and glass, melted plastics, sodden charcoal,
smoke-painted metal, all smells he expected to detect in the fire of a
glassblower’s studio. And something else. Something…wrong.
    He’d been in the Newcastle studio Phoebe had shared with
another artist many times before she’d moved, knew quite well her working
practices. She was an “archaic” artist, which meant she worked with the
traditional glassblowing materials and techniques the ancient Romans used—three
furnaces used to melt and heat the glass, naturally derived pigments to color
it, metal blow pipes and marble and steel benches.
    He drew another breath, through his nose and mouth, tasting
the air as well as smelling it…
    And his gut dropped. “Ethyl Alcohol.”
    Will’s jaw bunched. “An accelerant. Easily mistaken for the
smell of alcoholic beverages. But we both know Phoebe’s stance on alcohol so
it’s not the smell of wine or spirits she may have kept in the studio.”
    Damon ground his teeth at Will’s words. He remembered all
too well Phoebe’s revelation a year ago about her abusive drunkard of a father
who had no qualms beating his wife and only child. Phoebe, as a result, almost
never drank.
    He ran his stare over the blackened chaos around him, his
hands balling into fists. “So the fire was deliberately set.”
    Will nodded, his expression unreadable, his body tense.
    Damon’s chest squeezed. Hard. “You’re not thinking Phoebe
did it?” He couldn’t believe that. He wouldn’t. Despite what the Morpeth fire
captain had put in his report, Damon wouldn’t believe Phoebe had torched her
own studio.
    Will dragged his fingers through his hair. “No. For three
reasons. One, she loves her art more than she loves life, we both know that.
Two, Sami’s father. After years of her best friend’s dad being the closest
thing to a real father Pheebs had, she would know a structural fire like this
meant an investigation.” He stopped.
    Damon studied him, not liking the pause at all. “And three?”
    Will let out a ragged sigh. “She would know we would
be the ones sent to investigate. And as much desire as I saw in her eyes, I
also saw hurt. A lot of it. Hurt and mistrust. She wasn’t happy to see us,
didn’t want to see us, and it had nothing to do with the fire.”
    Damon drove his nails into his palms. “You’re right. Jesus,
she even told Captain Kilgour she didn’t want us up here. Fuck it.”
    Will didn’t need to nod, his eyes said it all. Phoebe hadn’t
set her studio alight, which could only mean someone else had intentionally and
maliciously started the fire and destroyed her studio.
    Why? Who would do that? And to what end? A knot formed in
Damon’s gut, a bloody tight and convoluted knot he recognized well. Fear. It
had been a long time since he’d experienced the emotion, and the last time had
involved Phoebe Masters as well. That time, however, had nothing to do
with a possible threat against her life and everything to do with an entirely
different emotion overwhelming him.
    You can’t think about that now, Damo. For the moment,
you’ve got to be nothing else but an arson investigator. Not a man too
dumb-shit stupid to admit when he was falling in love.
    He huffed out a breath, casting the burnt-out shell of
Phoebe’s studio another slow inspection. “We won’t tell her. Not until we know
who started it and why.”
    One of Will’s eyebrows cocked. “You think that’s wise?”
    Damon snorted. “No. But that’s the call I’m making. As
Senior Investigator.”
    “As Senior Investigator?” Will narrowed his eyes. “Not as
the guy who came up here with the goal