His hair would give him away --flame red. Not to mention, his temper was always described as fiery.

Or would that seem too obvious to be possible?

He was going to be found out quickly and hauled in for arson.

No way. Now he was just being paranoid. He'd been careful and thought of everything. Every camera in the area had been disabled, thanks to his advanced degree in Computer Technologies. No lights were on in anyone's house in the neighborhood, and he'd worn black clothes and a ski mask.

Plus, because he was that level of brilliant, he'd torched the houses of people he didn't know. No tie-in! All they'd done wrong was to live on either side of Danielle. That minx! She'd teased him and led him on and then rejected him after he'd finally gotten the courage to ask her out.

Sure, she'd agreed to go to dinner with him at the most expensive restaurant in town. But then, when he'd asked her if she wanted to go to his house afterward, she'd begged off. She claimed to have a severe case of heartburn --"probably from the fireball"--that flaming shot of cinnamon vodka they'd had after dinner.

Yeah, she'd be getting even more heartburn now! And a real different kind of fireball! Let her feel the panic of being between two burning houses, the tease.

He slipped between shadows as he jogged the ten blocks back to his house. Soundlessly, he stole through the back gate. As he reached above the door frame for the key, he saw movement from a blackened corner of his patio.

"Finally!" Danielle said, drawing near. "I've been waiting over an hour for you! I extinguished the fire in my stomach with a little creme de menthe liqueur. I felt so much better, I decided to come over here for a slow burn."