“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?”