“Fuck understandable.”
Maya didn't move a muscle, barely blinked. When people grew agitated, they talked. And said things they would have otherwise kept hidden.
“That boy couldn't hurt a goddamned fly. Not even his shithead father, who deserves an ass kicking if anyone ever did. I don't care what Logan used to do when he was a kid, he'd never light a fire that could wipe out one of his crew. Never.”
He wobbled on his feet and Maya jumped up to steady him even as she wondered, What bad things had Logan done as a kid?
Joseph gave her a weak smile. “I haven't gotten my heart racing like that in a while.”
She helped him back into his chair. “I know I'm asking some hard questions, that they're difficult to deal with. But getting answers is the only way I can possibly clear Logan's name.”
“Or convict me.”
Logan's deep voice hummed up her spine, and her scalp tingled like she was a fourteen-year-old girl and the hot high school quarterback had finally noticed her.
She spun around. “I'm conducting a private interview. Please wait outside.”
One side of Logan's mouth quirked up. “Like hell if I'm going to wait out on the deck while you grill him.”
“Your girlfriend sure is pretty.”
Maya turned back to Joseph, utterly confused by his random statement. Why on earth would he say such a ridiculous thing when he knew exactly why she was here?
“I'm not his girlfriend,” Maya clarified.
Logan grabbed her elbow and hauled her into the kitchen. “Time to go.”
She wrenched her arm from his warm grasp. She hated men who thought they could push her around simply because they were bigger. Even more, she hated the way her ni**les immediately peaked beneath her bra at Logan's rough touch. “I'm not leaving until I'm finished with my questions.”
Joseph shook his head and smiled. “She's tougher than your usual girls, Logan. And smart too, you can see it in her eyes. I wouldn't piss her off if I were you. I don't want to see you let go of a good thing. Gonna have to think about weddings and babies one day.”
Joseph's eyes had become slightly unfocused and Maya shifted her gaze to Logan. She saw worry. Fear. And then she realized what was going on: Joseph was suffering from dementia. Or, worse, undiagnosed Alzheimer's.
Logan grabbed her briefcase, his voice low so only she could hear it. “There are plenty of other people you can grill about me. Guys on my crew. Old girlfriends. People whose lives I've saved. Not a tired old man who needs to rest.”
She hated the thought of walking out of Joseph's cabin without answers. But Logan was right. Joseph's health wasn't stable. She'd have to put this interview on the back burner until a time when he was, hopefully, in a more coherent state of mind.
“We're going to head out now, Joe,” Logan said, patting Joseph on the shoulder.
“This is your last chance, boy. You f**k up again and you're going to lose this pretty girl.” Joseph's shoulders sagged into his broad frame. “Hell, you throw a match in the wrong place and you're going to lose everything.”
Logan's hand pressed into the small of Maya's back, pushing her across the room. And she let him. Perhaps another investigator would have been tougher. Meaner. But Maya believed in playing fair, and right now wasn't the time to grill Joseph, even though his mental mean-derings might be full of revelations about her suspect's past and potential motivations for lighting a fast-moving wildfire.
The truth was there. She'd find it one way or another, and she'd do it without hurting anyone.
Logan pulled the door shut behind them and as she quickly moved away from his heat, she noticed that his truck was completely blocking hers on the narrow dirt driveway. Her hands fisted at her sides. Slowly uncurling her fingers one by one, she turned.
“Please move your truck.”
He swung her briefcase from the tip of one finger. “You're probably going to want this too, aren't you?”
She held out one hand, making sure it didn't shake from frustration. “Yes, thank you.”
He gave it to her, then strolled over to her car. “City vehicles always come with low-grade tires, don't they?”
She followed his gaze. Crap. Her front right tire was flat.
“Dry pine needles. They're hell on rubber.”