Playing with Fire by Tamara Morgan Page A

fire as it left her body. Done before he had a chance to break through the wonder of it. Of her .
    “Well?” Fiona asked. She had crossed her arms over her stomach, and something like expectancy flitted over her face.
    Well, what? He’d just seen proof positive of the work that had been his sole companion, with the exception of Neil, for longer than he cared to admit. He’d just witnessed a woman do what he himself had failed at, no matter what lengths he went to. He was amazed. He was excited.
    He wanted to kiss her.
    “That was pretty—”
    “Freaky?” Her voice was strained.
    “Yeah,” he agreed. “Freaky. But in the best possible way. How did this happen? Why did you take the conversion serum? How have you gone for so long without anyone knowing? The Conversion Office can’t possibly know about this.”
    She looked away. “It’s a long story.”
    “One you’re going to tell me, right?” he asked.
    She licked her lips, all uncertainty and innocence. Before he realized what he was doing, Ian reached over to offer his support, urgent in his need to be near her. She accepted his arm only briefly but then pulled away as though she’d been scalded.
    “What?” Ian asked, whirling and gripping her wrists to keep her from retreating. “What is it? Does it still burn?”
    “No.” She stopped struggling and gazed at his hands, which were still holding her, with wonder. “Don’t you feel that?”
    “Feel what?” Besides the smooth skin rasping against his when he released her? “Are you going to shoot again?”
    “No. No of course not. I have pretty good control over it.” Fiona studied the fields for a moment, her gaze sweeping over the area where they’d stood. “How close would you say you were to me while I shot? Five feet? Ten?”
    Ian’s brows shot up. “I don’t know. Six or seven, probably. Why? Does that have an impact on your abilities?”
    She ignored his question, and her hand came up to his forehead like he was an infant, even though she was definitely not his mother.
    “How do you feel? Hot? You don’t feel hot.”
    Oh, he was hot all right, but it had nothing to do with the burst of fire that had come out of her hand and everything to do with her proximity. Stepping into her circle was intoxicating. The fresh scent of linen mixed with her sweat and wrapped around him with all the promises of what linens and sweat implied.
    “I’m fine,” Ian muttered, stepping back, forcing himself to remember to breathe. “Are we ready to head back to the lab now?”
    Disappointment flashed across Fiona’s face, but she nodded and moved toward his truck.
    “I’ll tell you all about Patrick Veller on the way.”
    “Patrick Veller?” Ian grabbed Fiona’s shoulder and turned her to face him.
    She bit her lip and met his eyes. “He’s the man who did this to me—and the man I think might be trying to kill me.”
    Ian’s stomach clenched. The bastard had a name.
    “And all those other fires,” she added. “He’s trying to blame me for them.”
    “Who would do something like that?” Ian asked. Fiona might be a walking flamethrower, but it seemed to him like she wasn’t dangerous. She had pretty good control over all this.
    “You already know him.” Fiona pulled herself into the truck. “He goes by General Eagle.”

Chapter Seven
    “Dude, she’s lying.”
    “Neil, she’s in the next room. Lower your voice.”
    “Lying. Ly. Ing.” Neil shook his head, though his voice did get softer. He sported a shiny red nose, blood still encrusted along the bottom. Not broken, but definitely close. Ian had a hard time mustering up any guilt.
    “I get it, I really do,” Neil continued. “That chick is hotter than hell, pun intended. But you can’t take her word over all our evidence. I know we haven’t run the residue from the school yet, but her signature is all over that tree. And, dude—really? General Eagle is the big bad culprit? How could we even begin proving that?”
    Ian’s