“Logan?”

“The initial suspect,” she clarified. “He's one hundred percent innocent.”

She waited for everything she'd said to sink in. Lord knew, it was a lot to handle over the phone.

“Are you sure you're not in any more danger?”

No, she wasn't sure, but if she told Albert the truth, he'd drive up to Tahoe and force her to get in his car and leave all the madness.

“I hope not” was as honest as she could be, adding “I'll e-mail you a copy of my report as soon as I can.”

“No need. I'll be there in four hours. Where are you staying?”

She gave him the name and location of the motel, then hung up the phone. The teenage girl was staring at her with an open mouth. “You were making up that stuff about being attacked with a chainsaw, right?”

“I wish I were.”

The girl looked at her with new respect. “Cool.”

Heading for the downtown strip, Maya bypassed a smoke-filled diner in favor of a deli. Sitting outside on the sidewalk in her ratty clothes, she forced a turkey sandwich down, then walked into a boutique and picked out the least flashy clothes on the rack.

She threw her ruined clothes in a trash bin on the sidewalk and felt a hundred times better as she hailed a taxi to take her to the city library to look up Jenny's address, then called Chief Stevens and asked him to meet her there with a set of universal keys. He was waiting on the curb for her when she arrived.

“You've done good, kid. Real good. And you're looking much better. Did you get some sleep and something to eat?”

She nodded but didn't say anything else. She didn't want to relive it all over again. “I need to go through her things for my report to make sure the case against her is solid.” She couldn't bring herself to say the woman's name aloud. Not after what she'd done. “Thanks for helping me out.”

Patrick patted her shoulder. “It's my pleasure.”

Thirty seconds later he had the door unlocked and open. Nothing seemed particularly odd when she first entered the apartment. A few dirty plates in the sink, a stack of People magazines on the coffee table, tennis shoes kicked off under a dining table.

She found it hard to reconcile the normalcy of the apartment with the madwoman who'd ruined so many lives. Patrick moved past her down the hall and she followed him into Jenny's bedroom.

The bed was neatly made, and it looked as if it hadn't been slept in for some time. Not bothering with the dresser drawers quite yet, she walked back out into the hall and tried to turn the doorknob of the second bedroom, but it was locked.

“Patrick, could you open this for me?”

Using a small tool, seconds later he swung open the door. Her eyes went wide with horror as she gazed into the room.

“My God,” Patrick said in a low tone, “she was obsessed.”

Every square inch of wall and ceiling was covered with photos of firefighters.

“She must have every firefighter calendar ever made,” Maya said as she stood at the threshold of the room, disgusted by the creepy shrine.

“I can do this for you,” Patrick offered. “You've had a hell of weekend already.”

“Don't worry, I've done this a hundred times,” she said aloud as a reminder to herself that she knew what she was doing. That she could handle this.

She headed for the chest in the corner, her heart racing as she opened it. She gasped and Patrick moved to her side.

They were staring at dozens of firefighter badges.

“What the hell is this?” Patrick asked. “Every guy she bagged?”

Maya started searching through the pile. And then she found the one she was looking for.

Tony's badge fell from her fingers and she stumbled backwards, out of the room, out of the apartment, unable to stop moving until she made it out to the sidewalk.

She missed him so much and wished he were still alive so she could tell him everything that had happened in the past six months.

Patrick found her there, perched on the edge of a bus stop bench, her head in her hands. He held out Tony's badge as she looked up. “He would want you to have this.”

She took it from him and as she curled her fingers around the coarse fabric that bore her brother's name, she felt a bolt of love shoot through her.

And that was when she knew: Tony would have hated watching her waste her life mourning him.

He'd have loved to watch her jump off a roof, loved to see her run like a wolf through the forest.

He would have told her to risk everything, to live every day like it was her last.

He would have wanted Logan to be his friend. His brother.

And most of all, he would have wanted her to risk everything for love.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

TWO DAYS and nights passed in a blur of felling trees until his arms throbbed and his hands continued to vibrate whether they were holding a chainsaw or not. Fatigue was a constant, as was the continuous threat of dehydration. As Logan's team worked the eastern hills, along the trailheads that led to what was once Joseph's cabin, he kept an eye out for a body. It was only a matter of time before they found Jenny.

And then Sam called him over and Logan turned off his chainsaw and dropped it into the dirt. He hurried to a small cave where Sam was kneeling in the dirt, searching for a pulse between the blisters under a woman's chin.

They'd found her.

“Holy shit,” Sam said. “She's alive.”

Despite everything she'd done, Logan was impressed with her resilience. Maybe she'd learned something from all those firefighters she'd screwed, after all.

“I've got to get her to a hospital.”

Sam frowned, shook his head. “After everything she's done …”

But Logan had already scooped her up in his arms. Her limbs were a mass of blistering, scarred flesh and he wasn't sure how much longer she'd be able to hold on—or if he even wanted her to.

“Maybe she got what she deserved,” Sam said in a low voice.

“No one deserves this,” Logan said in a flat voice.

Not even the devil herself.

He headed back to the anchor point, Jenny's weight barely slowing him down. She groaned several times, her eyes fluttering but not opening before she went unconscious again. Thirty minutes later, he got in the ambulance with her, but he was thinking about Maya.

She'd stopped him from strangling Jenny just in time, and now that the intense rage had passed, he was glad for her insistence. Over the years he'd watched people die from smoke inhalation, from burns, but never at his own hands.