Playing with Fire by Tamara Morgan Read Free Book Online Page A

block of death row inmates.
    “Well, Squealy Nealy,” she said, resorting to a favorite high school nickname of her own. “It looks like you haven’t grown a single inch.”
    Neil shot her a look of pure hatred, but Ian crossed his arms and got between them, preventing any further backlash. Neil hung his head, still dripping blood all over the linoleum floor. “I’m sorry, Fiona,” he mumbled.
    “What’s that?” she asked, cupping a hand to her ear. Okay, so it was beneath her to torment the little weasel, but he deserved it. And she wanted to prolong this moment for as long as possible. “Did you say something?”
    “I said I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have called you that.”
    Now, or ever? she wanted to ask. But she couldn’t do it. After all, Ian had been just as responsible—if not more so—for perpetrating that awful nickname. The message had been loud and clear, even then. Not only had he rejected her, but he’d run out and told Neil about her obviously unwelcome overtures. And worse, he’d done nothing to stop the rumors from spreading. If he was at all sorry for what had happened in the past, he had yet to breathe a word about it.
    How bad was it that, almost twelve years later, she still wanted that word? That breath?
    Awful. It was awful.
    Fiona Nelson. Fingerbang. As desperate for male attention as always. Nothing had changed.
    She could feel the heat rising, that familiar crackle of self-destruction spiraling out of control. She closed her eyes and cursed inwardly. Not here. Not now.
    Without any other recourse, she turned and fled, taking the front steps two at a time, desperate for air untainted by memories—that house, those boys. Hunched over, her hands on her knees, she pulled in huge breaths while searching for a good place to fire. It was lawn mowers and picnic tables as far as the eye could see. Nowhere to shoot safely—and she needed to shoot. Now.
    Left with no other choice, she placed her hands palm-to-palm, allowing her energy to flow toward her hands. She’d gotten just far enough for the first spark to ignite when a hand grasped her shoulder and whirled her around.
    “Fiona, please listen—”
    The spark flared, but she managed to keep it from building into a ball of fire before Ian saw anything. But she saw. She saw a look of anguish cross his face, drawing his brow tight and tense. His hand was probably burning.
    She wrenched herself from out of his grip and forced herself to focus.
    “I don’t know what I can say,” he said. “I tried to warn you.”
    She laughed, short and bitter. “What? That stepping into your house would be a painful trip down Memory Lane? No need to apologize for that , Ian. At least you cared enough to do something about it this time.”
    Ian looked as though she’d punched him. That, or released her ball of heat right into his stomach. “I always cared, Fiona.” He reached toward her, moving almost in slow motion. “It was never that.”
    She pulled away before he could make contact, an action so unthinking and ingrained that she forgot sometimes how it made other people react. Ian’s eyes shuttered, and the hard look smacked back into place. “Please come back in. I said I’d help you and I will.”
    “Is Neil going to help, too?” she asked, blinking back tears. She’d be damned if she was going to waste them here.
    He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m afraid so. Neil is my partner in all this. I can’t do it alone. We have the evidence of what you’re capable of, Fiona. We need to know about what happened with the security guard at the bank.”
    Her stomach tightened into that same familiar knot. Slowly, she asked, “How do you know I’m not going to do the same to you?”
    “I don’t. But I think if you were going to hurt me, you’d have done it already. And Neil. I guess if you could stand there listening to him insult you and not burn every last bit of skin off his face, you must be trustworthy.”
    She