“I don’t even know why you’re doing this.”

“Because, damn it, Rowan, if it wasn’t Brakeman, then we can do our patrols, our rechecks and spot checks, but... If you wanted to get in the ready room, the loadmaster’s room, any damn place on base tonight and mess something up, could you?”

She didn’t speak for a moment. “Yeah. I could. Why would I? Why would any of us?”

“That’s another deal entirely. Before that, there’s the possibility, if it’s one of us, it is somebody who jumped, who knew they were high on the list. Who wanted to be there, be part of it. We’re in a stressful line of work. People snap, or go too far. The firefighter who starts fires, then risks himself and his crew to put it out. It happens.”

“I know it happens.”

He hit another key, took her to another page.

“I divided the crews, the way we were that day.”

“You’re missing some names.”

“I think we can eliminate ourselves.”

“Dobie’s not here.”

“He had the duct tape.”

“Yeah, that was real handy.”

“He always carries... Okay, you’re right.” It burned his belly and his conscience, but he added Dobie’s name. “I should add us because you wished for the damn tape, and I remembered he’d have it.”

“What’s our motive?”

“Maybe I want to scare you off the job so you’ll stay home and cook me a hot dinner every night.”

“As if. But I mean the question. What’s any motive?”

“Okay, let’s roll with that. Yangtree.” He toggled back again. “He’s talking about giving it up. His knees are shot. Thirty years, like you said. He’s given this more than half his life, and now he knows he can’t keep it up. The younger and stronger are moving in. That’s a pisser.”

“He’s not like that.” She snapped it out—knee-jerk—then subsided when Gull only looked at her. “All right. This is bogus, but all right.”

“Cards? He’s had a bad-luck season. Injuries, illness. It wears. The woman he wanted to marry dumped him. Last summer, when he was spotter, Jim Brayner died.”

“That wasn’t—”

“His fault. I agree. It wasn’t yours, either, Rowan, but you have nightmares.”

“Okay. Okay. I get it. We could walk down your lists and find a plausible motive for everyone. That doesn’t make it true. And if it’s such a good theory, the cops would’ve thought of it.”

“What makes you think they haven’t?”

That stopped her. “That’s a really ugly thought. The idea they’re looking at us, investigating us, scraping away to hunt for weaknesses, secrets. That they’re doing what we’re doing here, only more.”

“It is ugly, but I’d rather take a hard look than ignore what might be right here with us.”

“I want it to be Brakeman.”

“Me too.”

“But if it’s not,” she said before he could, “we have to think of the safety of the unit. It’s not L.B.”

He started to argue, then backed off. “What’s your reasoning?”

“He worked hard for his position, and he takes a lot of pride in it. He loves the unit and he also loves its rep. Anything that damages or threatens that reflects on him. He could’ve closed ranks and kept this internal, but he opened it up. He’s the one shining the light on it when he knows he may pay consequences.”

Good points, Gull decided. Every one a good point. “I’ll agree with that.”

“And it’s not Dobie. He’s too damn good-natured under it all. And he loves what he’s doing. He loves it all. Mostly he loves you. He’d never do anything that put you at risk.”

“Thanks.”

“I didn’t say that for you.”

“I know.” But it soothed both his belly and his conscience. “Thanks anyway.”

She looked out the window where lightning flashed, and thunder echoed over the gloom-shrouded peaks. “The wind’s pushing the rain south. We just can’t catch a break.”

“We don’t have to do this now. We can let it alone, hit the gym.”

“I’m not a weak sister. Let’s work it through. I’ll tell you why it’s not Janis.”

“All right.” He took her hand, disconcerting her by bringing it briefly to his lips. “I’m listening.”

28

Gull figured he had an hour, tops. With Rowan hip-deep on her reports for the Alaska fire, she’d be occupied for at least that long. He came down from his duties in the loft, checking the time as he struck out on the service road at a light jog.

Nobody would question a man doing his PT, and there’d be no reason to suspect he’d arranged a meeting away from any casual observers.

Especially Rowan.

In any case, he liked being out, taking a short extra run, getting inside his own head.

The storm the night before hadn’t squeezed out more than a piss pot of rain, but it had managed to drop the temperature. They’d rolled a load that morning to jump a fire east, so he didn’t want to go far in case the siren went off.

He didn’t have to.

Half a mile out, Lucas stood in running sweats and a T-shirt talking on his cell.

“Sure, that’d be great.” He gave Gull a slight nod. “Perfect. I’ll see you then.” After closing the phone, he tucked it in the pocket of his sweats. “Gull.”

“Thanks for meeting me.”

“No problem. I still run here some days, so I got a mile or so in. I have to figure this has to do with Rowan since you didn’t want to talk to me on base.”

“With her, with everybody. Nobody knows the players better than you, Lucas. The staff and crew, the Brakemans, the cops. Maybe not the rookies as much as the long-timers, but I’m betting you’ve got some insight there, as they jump with your daughter.”

Lucas cocked an eyebrow at that, but Gull just shrugged.

“You’d size them up, ask some questions, get some answers.”

“I know you’re fast on your feet, had a good rep with the hotshots, and L.B. considers you a solid asset to the crew. You don’t mind a fight, like fast cars, have a head for business and good taste in women.”