Firefly Mountain by Christine DePetrillo Page B

he didn’t know everything about her. He didn’t know the secret. She would never tell him.
    “Okay, I’m caught, Mr. All-Knowing Detective.” Gini held her hands up in mock surrender. “I met Patrick yesterday and we…clashed. I figured ignoring him was the best plan of action.”
    “Mature.” Mason swerved out of Gini’s reach as she tried to shove him.
    “I didn’t say it was a good plan. I’ve abandoned it anyway.”
    “Oh?” Mason’s eyebrows rose as a teasing smirk slid across his lips.
    “If you weren’t armed right now, I’d kick your ass, Rivers,” Gini said.
    “Lucky for me.” He tapped her on the nose. “Stay out of trouble, Claremont.” He laughed and went back into his office.
    Stay out of trouble?
    Easier said than done.

Chapter Seven
    Working out always cleared Patrick’s mind. Lift a weight, inhale. Lower a weight, exhale. Cleansing. Balancing. After his encounter with Gini, he’d felt all jumbled up, as if he were a bottle of soda someone had shaken, dropped down a flight of stairs, and thrown in a clothes dryer. Things were quiet at the station, so he’d headed to the training room determined to regroup.
    He’d completed his last rep on the weights and started on some abs work when Jonah came in.
    “For a working dog, Midas sleeps on the job a great deal,” he said. “He’s curled up on one of the bunks in the dorm.”
    Patrick sat up on his mat. “I like to think he sleeps so much so he’ll be sharp when he’s on a case. Besides we ran four miles this morning. He’s allowed to be tired.”
    “You ran and you’re in here. You training for the Olympics or something?” Jonah grabbed the chin-up bar and pulled himself up, lowered, pulled himself up again.
    “No.” Patrick started some crunches. “Just trying to get centered.”
    Jonah stopped his chin-ups and let his feet drop to the ground. “Centered?”
    “Yeah, you know, get all those crazy thoughts whipping through your mind to shut the hell up. Centered.” Patrick studied Jonah’s face. Worry lines appeared at the corners of Jonah’s mouth.
    “What kind of crazy thoughts?” Jonah stood over Patrick on the mat.
    Crazy thoughts about your sister. “New town, new job, new house crazy thoughts,” Patrick said instead. “A possible arson case. Take your pick.”
    Jonah let out a breath and tapped his sneakers together. “Right. Everyday stuff. I got ya. Where’s the new house?”
    “Actually, it’s an old house,” Patrick said. “Up on Hope Hill Road.”
    “That place practically swallowed by the woods?”
    “That’d be the one.”
    “No offense, man, but if I remember correctly, that house is a shithole.”
    Patrick laughed. So easy to do around Jonah. “You do remember correctly, but I know how to use a hammer, right?”
    “You’d better know how to use way more than a hammer, dude.” Jonah walked back to the chin-up bar. “You got a master plan for the place?”
    “Of course.”
    “Let me know if you need a hand. I work for beer.”
    “Good to know. I might take you up on that. There’s a ton to do up there.”
    “Why don’t we get started on the beer tonight, and you can show me the plan?”
    A social invite? So soon. So casually delivered. Patrick’s gut tensed. He wasn’t good at this being buddies thing. He didn’t have a degree in male bonding. Hadn’t even taken the first class. It couldn’t be too late to learn though, could it?
    “Sure. It’d be good to get another set of eyes on the plan. Make sure I didn’t miss something.”
    “Great.” Jonah smiled like a little boy. “Down the street from the station is a bar called Wolf’s. You’ll see why when you meet the owner. Anyway, meet me there at eight-ish and we’ll talk studs and nails.”
    Patrick went back to his crunches. Jonah flew through his chin-ups and hopped on the treadmill. No more conversation between them necessary, though Patrick started planning out what he’d say over beer that night.
    How far