3. Seth
Chapter 3
Seth
On such a pleasantly warm morning in mid-May, the apparatus bay was open to let in the breeze and the sunshine. While Davies swept the floor and scrubbed down Truck 7, I sat on a chair with my feet propped up on an empty box.
“Wouldn’t kill you to grab a sponge and lend a hand,” Davies called.
I brushed him off with a lazy wave.
“You’re doing great, candidate,” I replied. “I wouldn’t want to intrude on your learning experience.”
I could practically hear Davies roll his eyes behind me. The furious rasp of his sponge on the truck suggested he wasn’t thrilled with my answer.
I toyed with Marlee’s business card, running my thumb along the edge of the paper. It still smelled faintly of her perfume—expensive, chic, with a hint of strong, warm spice for kick. Clove, maybe. In a looping black script, it read: Heartland Homes Real Estate. Marlee Jenkins, Director. Underneath was the receptionist’s name and number, which I didn’t pay much attention to.
Marlee had been so determined and fierce in the police station, talking to Sheriff Beck about the arsonist. I admired a woman with that kind of passion. A woman who sank her teeth into what she wanted and didn’t let go.
I smiled to myself, flipping Marlee’s business card back and forth through my fingers. The way she gazed back at me with those blue eyes, intense, unwavering, bold, and… interested . She could deny it all she wanted, hiding behind her veil of alleged professionalism if that made her feel better. I liked a challenge. Chipping away at those mile high walls of ice she’d built around her heart didn’t faze me.
And then there was that moment when she slapped her business card against my chest. Didn’t take a genius to figure out she was feeling me up.
I chuckled at the memory. Miss Marlee Jenkins was not as subtle as she thought she was.
The buzz of the alarm overhead put an end to my daydreaming. I shoved to my feet.
“House fire at 235 Fleet Street,” the dispatcher announced.
Davies tossed his cleaning equipment aside, looking relieved to finally see some action after a slow, boring morning. Lieutenant Hardy emerged from the station with the remaining crew filing after him, hauling on their gear and piling into the truck.
When we pulled up on Fleet Street, the house fire was still burning low and slow. Smoke poured from the windows but the flames weren’t out of control yet. My gaze stumbled over the sign on the lawn: Heartland Homes, for Sale by Marlee Jenkins.
Shit. Two homes in less than a week. The chances of that being a coincidence were slim.
I should have been thrilled at the excuse to see Marlee again, but as I fitted my mask over my face and jumped out of the truck, I couldn’t shake the knot of uneasiness in my stomach. I didn’t like the idea of an arsonist setting their sites on Marlee, or the agency where she worked.
“Anderson, Mueller,” Lieutenant Hardy bellowed. “Get the hose hooked up and start soaking this fire. Conway and Teagan, search the premises. Davies, you’re with me. It’s a busy neighborhood around here, boys. Let’s stop this fire from—”
“You can’t be serious!”
My body tensed and I whipped around at the sound of that familiar voice. Marlee came striding through the cluster of rubberneckers that blocked the road. She looked pissed.
Lieutenant Hardy intercepted her path, putting out a placating hand.
“Excuse me, ma’am. You need to step back and give us room to work.”
“This is my house,” she protested.
“You live here?”
Marlee huffed with frustration and shook her head.
“No. I’m—my office is selling the house. We just finalized the deal this morning.”
“I’ve got it covered, Lieutenant,” I said, cupping Marlee’s elbow.
I didn’t miss the quick assessing glance that Lieutenant Hardy flicked in my direction before he returned his attention to the fire. He would be grilling me for answers about this later, but I’d cross that bridge when I came to it.
Right now, every instinct in my body told me to get Marlee away, to put distance between her and this damned fire.
“What are you doing here?” I asked as I pulled her aside.
Marlee gestured at the burning house.
“Sheriff Beck called.”
I removed my mask and crossed my arms, fixing her with a stern look.
“We only just arrived. There was no way Beck called you that fast. He would have waited until everything was settled before notifying you.”
Marlee bit her lower lip and glanced away.
“I…may have purchased a police scanner.”
I groaned and scrubbed a hand through my hair.
“Jesus, Marlee.”
“I wanted information—” she protested.
“Then let us do our jobs,” I cut in. “Interfering with firefighters and police will only slow us down. We will tell you what we can when we have something for you. Otherwise, chasing after fires could get you hurt.”
Marlee blinked at me, wide-eyed. For a split second, she had nothing to say. Then that sharp tongue of hers came into play again.
“I won’t do anything stupid.”
“Then go back to your office where it’s safe,” I replied.
“But—”
“ Marlee ,” I bit out, harsher than I’d intended.
She snapped her mouth shut and squared her shoulders with indignation.
“There’s a very good chance this arsonist is targeting your agency, or you,” I said in a more even tone this time. “Please, stay in your office until we have more concrete proof that you’re not in danger right now.”
Marlee’s stubbornness faltered as the seriousness of the situation began to sink in.
“Well, what if there was something I could do to help?”
“Like what?”
She spread her hands, glancing around for something to latch onto.
“I could…talk to people. Maybe they saw someone.”
I huffed.
“You’re not a local small town girl, sweetheart, and it shows. People are loyal to the bone in Romeo. They’ll clam up as soon as they see you coming. Everything about you screams city slicker.” I paused then arched an eyebrow with a wry look. “Besides, I’ve seen your people skills in action first hand. If you make friends with other people the way you make friends with me, no one will breathe a word to you. Selling houses is a different ball game than buttering up your neighbors in the hopes they’ll spill the beans and that’s not a skill you have.”
Marlee opened her mouth to protest but I chuckled and backed away, tugging my mask on again.
“Like I said,” I added. “Go back to the office. We’ll fill you in later.”
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were worried about me,” Marlee called. “I can take care of myself!”
“I’m sure you can,” I muttered under my breath.
Three hours later, the fire had been successfully put out. The interior of the house was blackened, with scorch marks climbing the walls. Lieutenant Hardy, Mueller, and I probed the walls, the ceiling, and the floors, searching for hot spots.
“Doesn’t look like anyone was living here,” Lieutenant Hardy said, casting a significant look in my direction.
Two vacant house fires in the span of one week, sold by the same real estate office, was a coincidence that didn’t sit well in my gut. Even if Marlee wasn’t targeted, her pride could easily get her to stumble into trouble before she realized where she was going.
I shook my head as I tested my weight on the stairs that led to the second floor. If my crew could hear me now, entertaining these thoughts about a woman I just met, their relentless teasing would never end.
The second floor was empty—no signs of anyone starting a fire intentionally up here.
Maybe it was an accident after all. Electrical wiring in the walls could easily catch fire and bloom into a blaze before anyone noticed something was wrong.
“Teagan,” Lieutenant Hardy called.
I headed downstairs and followed the sound of his voice to the kitchen. He held up a scorched wire coil, coated in blackened and melted plastic. It looked like a heating unit used by farmers and ranchers to keep their livestock water troughs from freezing during the winter. There was no reason for it to be in a house though, and certainly not in warm late May.
“Faulty outlet?” I asked.
Lieutenant Hardy shook his head.
“Smells like gasoline.”
I leaned in and sniffed. Beneath the bitter scent of smoke and ash was a hint of gasoline. A lump formed in my throat. I forced myself to swallow around it.
“So, our firebug strikes again.”
“Twice in one week,” Lieutenant Hardy replied. “And he or she seems to know what they’re doing. I’d bet we have records of their previous attempts somewhere.”
“There you go again, Lieutenant,” I countered. “Placing bets when you’re not a gambling man.”
“This job is enough of a gamble. I don’t need to take any more chances than I already do on a regular basis. Besides, you and that woman seemed cozy. Is she your new conquest to warm your bed and bring you cookies after you break up?”
I snort a dry laugh.
“Doubt it. She’s not really the cookie-baking type.”
Lieutenant Hardy eyed me for a moment and cocked his head. Then he chuckled.
“She turned you down.”
“I didn’t say that,” I countered.
“You didn’t have to. Get the police over here to document every inch of this place. It’s now officially a crime scene.” Lieutenant Hardy patted my shoulder as he passed. “I never thought I’d live to see the day that a woman rejected the undefeated skirt chaser, Seth Teagan.”
I sighed.
“Go ahead. Rub it in.”
“Oh, I will. I intend to squeeze every drop of joy out of this moment that I possibly can. It won’t happen again.”
“Damn straight it won’t,” I mumbled under my breath.
“It’s about time you had a taste of humble pie, Teagan. Admit it. You shot for the moon with that woman, and you missed.”
“Technically, I haven’t asked her out yet,” I said.
“Feeling shy all of a sudden?” Lieutenant Hardy teased with a smirk. Then he laughed and walked away, leaving me to stew in my own thoughts.
As much as I hated to admit it, he was right. Marlee Jenkins was smart as a whip, fierce, sexy, a little stuck-up, and an ice-cold diva. For the first time in my life, I’d met my match. I’d never encountered a woman this resistant to my charms before. I could see the attraction in her eyes, but if I wanted to access it, I had to work for it and she wouldn’t make it easy.
The thought of that didn’t deter me though. If Marlee wanted to play hard to get, I was more than willing to oblige her in the thrill of the chase.