Chasing Fire

with for the season?”
    “No.” She let out an unsteady breath. “No, that’s not all, but—”
    “Stop at no.” He cupped a hand at the back of her neck. “Do us both a favor and stop at no. That’s enough for now.”
    She moved into him, wrapping her arms tight around his waist when their lips met. She felt her equilibrium shift, as if she’d nearly overbalanced on a high ledge. With it came a flutter, under her heart, at the base of her throat. She gripped harder, wanting to find the heat, the buzz, an affirmation that they were both alive and whole.
    Nothing more than that, she told herself. It didn’t have to be more than that.
    “Getting a room’s not always enough,” Trigger said from the doorway. “Sometimes you gotta close the door.”
    “Go ahead,” Gull invited him, then slid back into the kiss.
    “Sorry, they want you in the lounge.”
    “Who are ‘they’?” Rowan demanded, and gave Gull’s bottom lip a nip.
    “The lieutenant guy and the tree cop. If you’re not interested in finding out who the hell shot at you tonight, I can tell them, gee, you’re out on a date.”
    Gull lifted his head. “Be right there.” He looked at Rowan, ran his hands over her shoulders, down her arms. “My place,” he said. “The decision that was so rudely interrupted earlier. My place tonight because it’s closer to the lounge.”
    “Not a bad reason.” She picked up the beers, handed him his. “Let’s get this done so we can close the door.”
    DiCicco sat with Quinniock and L.B. in the lounge. Generally at that time of the evening, people sprawled on sofas and chairs watching TV, or gathered around one of the tables playing cards. Somebody might’ve buzzed up some microwave pizza or popcorn. And there would always be somebody willing to talk fire.
    But now the TV screen remained blank and silent, the sofas empty.
    L.B. got up from the table, walked quickly over to wrap an arm around Gull and Rowan in turn. “You’re okay. That matters most. Next is finding the bastard.”
    “Did they find anything?” Rowan asked.
    “If we could get your statements first.” DiCicco gestured to the table. “It should help us get a clearer picture.”
    “The picture’s clear,” Rowan countered. “Somebody shot at us. He missed.”
    “And when you file a fire report, does it just say: ‘Fire started. We put it out’?”
    “If we could just take it from the beginning.” Quinniock held up his hands for peace. “The witness, Dobie Karstain, says he stepped outside the barracks around nine thirty. A few minutes later, he noticed the two of you walking together between the training field and the hangar area, approximately thirty yards from the trees. Does that sound accurate?”
    “That’s about right.” Gull took the lead as it seemed obvious to him DiCicco put Rowan’s back up. “We went for a walk, took a couple of beers, watched the sunset. You’d narrow down where we were if you find the bottles. We dropped them when the shooting started.”
    He took them through it, step by step.
    “Dobie said it sounded like rifle fire,” he continued, “and it was coming from the trees. He grew up hunting in rural Kentucky, so I’m inclined to believe he’s right. We couldn’t see anyone. The first shot fired right around sunset. The whole thing probably only lasted about ten minutes. It seemed longer.”
    “Have either of you had trouble with anyone, been threatened?” When Rowan merely arched her eyebrows, DiCicco inclined her head. “Other than Leo Brakeman.”
    “We’re a little too busy around here to get into arguments with the locals or tourists.”
    “Actually, there was an incident with you, Mr. Curry, Ms. Tripp and Mr. Karstain in the spring.”
    “That would be when Rowan objected to one of those three yahoos’ behavior toward her, and them sopping their pride by ganging up on Dobie when he came out of the bar.”
    “And you kicking their asses,” Rowan concluded. “Good times.”
    “The same holds true on them as it did when we had the vandalism,” Gull continued. “It’s pretty hard to see them coming back here. And harder still to see any one of them staking us out from the woods and taking shots at us when we went for a walk. We’re in and out all the damn time anyway. Together, separately. It’s stretching it even more to figure those bozos from Illinois came all the way back, then got lucky when Ro and I walked out to give them some target practice.”
    “How