Chapter 17
Jake
Jake's heart stopped. Then it slammed back into rhythm, double-time.
He was moving before the dispatcher finished speaking, his body acting on instinct, muscle memory kicking in as he pulled on his gear.
"Cooper." Chief Miller's voice cut through the organized chaos. "If you're compromised, you stay on the truck—"
"I'm good." Jake's voice came out steadier than his pulse. "I'm professional."
The ride felt endless. Three minutes. Maybe four. But it was long enough for every worst-case scenario to rip through his mind—Hannah trapped in the kitchen, Hannah choking on smoke, Hannah not getting out in time—
The truck rounded the corner onto Main Street.
Smoke drifted from Sugar & Spice's back door—not the thick black of a raging blaze, but enough to make Jake's hands clench.
Then he saw her.
Hannah stood on the sidewalk, flour-dusted and trembling but unhurt.
Relief hit so hard it almost knocked him sideways.
"Small grease fire," she was telling Miller. "I got most of it with the extinguisher, but—"
"We'll check it out." Miller's voice was professional but kind. "Cooper, Peterson—sweep the kitchen. Roberts, check the electrical."
Jake moved past Hannah without looking at her. He couldn't look at her. Not yet.
The kitchen was still hazy with smoke, but the damage was minimal. Hannah had done everything right—used the extinguisher, activated the fire suppression system, gotten out. The remnants of the small blaze were contained to one section of counter.
But something felt wrong.
Jake knelt by the burnt countertop, running his gloved fingers over the scorched surface.
The burn pattern was off.
Fires had a language, a pattern, a signature.
This one didn't make sense.
Something caught his eye through the window.
Michael Harrison stood across the street. Watching. Just like he always seemed to be watching lately.
But this time, his expression had shifted.
There was something new in his eyes. Something sharp. Something like… satisfaction.
"Cooper." Peterson's voice pulled Jake's focus back inside. "Found something."
Jake crossed to where his partner crouched near the base of the counter. A shattered glass bottle lay on the floor, the acrid scent of accelerant clinging to the shards.
Peterson exhaled sharply. "That's not from the bakery."
Jake's stomach went cold.
Could it have fallen during the fire? Could be innocent. But the glass pattern was wrong. The placement was wrong.
Everything was wrong.
Jake turned back to the window. Michael was still there. Still watching.
And when their eyes met, Michael didn't look away.
He smiled.
A slow, deliberate curve of his lips.
"Cooper." Peterson's voice was lower now. "This needs to go in the report."
Jake nodded once, jaw tight. "Bag it. Log everything."
Peterson lifted an eyebrow, like he was expecting resistance.
Jake didn't give any.
Not this time.
Jake stepped back into the daylight, barely registering the gathered onlookers. His gaze locked on Hannah.
She stood near Miller, arms wrapped around herself like she was holding herself together by force.
She looked so small. So vulnerable.
Then she caught Jake watching her.
Her spine straightened.
"All clear." Peterson reported to Miller. "Minimal damage. But…" He hesitated. "We're filing a report. Something doesn't add up."
Hannah's relief was immediate, then quickly replaced by something else.
Suspicion.
She glanced between Jake and Peterson. She took in the uniform, the badge clipped to his belt. "Is this your new job?"
Jake met her eyes and nodded once.
"What kind of report?" she asked.
Jake exhaled, forcing his voice level. "There was accelerant, Hannah."
Jake exhaled, forcing his voice level.
"There was accelerant, Hannah."
Her breath hitched. "What?"
"We can't be sure yet." He lied. "Could've been from an old spill, but… it needs to be logged."
Hannah paled.
Miller nodded. "We'll follow up. Could be nothing, but we'll do a full investigation."
Jake looked past her—to Michael.
Still watching. Still waiting. Still hungry for something that hadn't burned.