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Quade and King, you’re with me.”
    Across the locker room, Morelli froze, his arm partway
inside his jacket. His very dark gaze met Pearce’s, and in that moment,
Pearce’s decision to keep Mitch at arm’s length while on the job seemed to be
the wrong one. Betrayal, hurt and a spark of anger lit Mitch’s rugged face.
    He knows what I’m doing.
    But there was no chance to remedy it. He simply couldn’t
have Mitch working closely with him anymore for fear something in his
expression or mannerisms would give him away.
    Mitch gave a tight shake of his head that left Pearce with a
hollow feeling. They always teamed up, and now that they were closer, they had
to part ways. Didn’t Mitch know Pearce was trying to keep their jobs?
    Twisting away, Pearce reached his locker in two steps and
slammed the door back. In seconds, he was kitted up, his muscles stretching
under the weight of the equipment. He wrapped his body around the fireman’s
pole and slid down, hitting the concrete floor with a thud.
    He stepped away just as Mitch landed beside him. Their gazes
locked and Mitch put out a hand. He gripped Pearce’s shoulder. “See you there,
Chief.”
    Pearce swallowed hard. A small flash of pain burned in his
chest. Yeah, he was the chief, but the way Mitch said it was almost hurtful. He
had to set this to rights, but later. After they responded to the raging fire
in the old warehouse on the south side of town, where too many wooden
structures crowded around the burning building. A few stray sparks and the entire
block would go up, leaving a hundred people’s lives threatened and more
homeless.
    “Hit it, boys!” he bellowed.
    Mitch pushed past him and, without a backward glance,
disappeared into Engine One. Heart heavier, Pearce launched himself into the
other engine. They peeled out of the station and tore down the city street,
horns blaring, the radio deafening. Another fire crew was already on the scene
but they were outmanned and needed backup quick.
    “Oil barrels are reported on the premises. Explosions
expected.”
    Great. Mitch would be in the thick of it. As the
spill specialist, he’d be in demand on this job.
    Pearce focused his glare on the road ahead of them. The
driver guided the fifteen-ton vehicle around the turns with more ease than he
could take a Honda Civic, scattering cars and pedestrians with a blow from the
big horn. Get your head on, man. You can’t afford a single misstep.
    Responsible for the lives of so many, Pearce couldn’t take
the time to dwell on Mitch. The man was pissed off and hurt, but Pearce would
have to deal with it later. If they made it through the afternoon.
    Flames shot upward and smoke boiled into the sky. Pearce
assessed the blaze in a flash, zeroing in on the heart of it. Before the truck
had jerked to a stop, he was issuing orders. “I want you four on the left wing.
That’s where it started, I know it in my gut.”
    He ran to the other engine and commanded the team to scope
out the part that wasn’t yet burning, because that was where the oil barrels
were kept.
    Mitch strode past, a tank strapped to his back and filled
with a special chemical that would neutralize an oil or gas fire. He pulled his
hat low as he passed Pearce.
    Pearce’s chest constricted. He couldn’t let him go into that
dangerous building without saying something.
    “Morelli!”
    Mitch swung his head around, shoulders stiff. From beneath
the brim of his hat, his eyes glittered black.
    “Be careful.” It was far from what Pearce wanted to say, but
all he could manage while in the field. If Mitch wasn’t too furious and gave
him a chance to be heard following this, Pearce would try like hell to say all
the things he wanted to—that for a long time, he’d been losing himself to
Mitch. That the intimacies they’d shared were only an extension of the events
taking place in his heart.
    He smacked Mitch on the shoulder. “Luck!”
    Mitch shot off toward the building. Some of the windows