Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Colby slid the last set of plans into their tube and pressed the cap on until it clicked.
The trailer settled around him in its usual noises. Thin metal skin ticking as it cooled. The low hum of the little fan he had insisted on bringing out here. The faint drip in the corner where a cooler sweated onto plastic sheeting.
None of that was what made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
He froze, head tilted.
There it was again. A faint clank from outside. Metal on metal. Too sharp to be a branch. Too close to the half-built cabin to be nothing.
He set the tube down on the folding table and stepped to the narrow window.
The trailer lights threw his reflection back at him in the glass. Beyond that, he saw it.
A low, shifting glow near the framed retreat cabin. Not bright enough to be a work light. Not steady enough to be anything he had left behind.
His chest went tight.
“Sabrina?” he called.
“Yeah?” Her voice floated from the little bathroom at the back. The water shut off a second later.
He kept his eyes on that flicker outside. “Stay in there a minute, okay?”
The door opened almost immediately. “Why?”
She stepped out, wiping her hands on a towel and wearing one of his T-shirts hanging to mid-thigh over leggings. Her tennis shoes made soft sounds as she neared. His heart kicked for a different reason.
“Hold on,” he said. He reached up and snapped off the overhead light.
The inside of the trailer dropped into dimness. The glow outside jumped into sharper focus.
Someone moved between the trees and the skeletal cabin. A shadow crossed the raw frame, then bent. The light flared as it caught metal in his hand. A can. A glint. The way the man handled it left no doubt in Colby’s mind what it was.
Gasoline.
The arsonist had come back.
“Colby?” Sabrina’s voice came closer. “What is it?”
He stepped away from the window and turned toward her. “Stay away from the door,” he said quietly. “Someone’s out at the cabin.”
She went still. “Out there? Now?”
“Yeah.”
“Is it Diaz?” she asked. “Patrol?”
“No,” he said. “He's pouring something. I think it's gas.”
Her face drained of color. “Oh my God.”
He grabbed his phone from the end of the table and started punching in Diaz’s number. “I just dialed Diaz. Get her out here. If this goes sideways, you call nine-one-one.”
“You're not going out there alone.” She took a step toward him.
“Sabrina.” He caught her shoulders, firm but gentle. “He is not lighting up your future while I watch from a window.”
“That's what he wants,” she said. Her voice shook. “He wants you out there. He wants to drag you into this, too.”
“What he wants is not on the list of things I care about right now,” Colby said. “What I want is you safe inside this trailer, with a locked door between you and him.”
Her fingers tightened on his wrists. “Colby.”
“I'll be careful,” he said. “You talk to Diaz. Tell her he's here. Stay low and away from the door. You do not come outside. Promise me.”
Her eyes flashed. Fear. Fury. The instinct to bolt and the instinct to fight, both crowding in.
“Promise me,” he repeated, softer.
She swallowed. “Fine. But if you don't come back in one piece, I am haunting you.”
He almost smiled. “Deal.”
He kissed her forehead, quick and hard, then stepped into his boots by the trailer door. No jacket. Adrenaline had already taken care of the cold.
She snapped the latch behind him as he eased the door open.
Night wrapped around him. Dark field. Dark trees. The only light came from the low glow near the cabin frame and the faint spill from the moon at his back.
He hugged the trailer’s shadow until his eyes adjusted. The framed cabin loomed ahead like a sketch against the darker trees. At its base, a figure hunched near one of the pier blocks, working in quick, practiced movements.
The man tipped the can. Liquid sloshed across raw boards and dirt.
Colby’s jaw clenched.
He stepped off the packed path and into the grass, trading the crunch of gravel for a softer sound. His ribs twinged as he moved, but he didn't slow down.
The man straightened. The can hung from one hand. Light caught the small object in the other.
A lighter.
“Hey!” Colby shouted.
The man jerked, shoulders hunching. The lighter flared once, then snapped shut as he spun.
For a fraction of a second, they stared at each other across the open space.
The brim of a cap shadowed the man’s features. Colby saw the outline of his jaw, the set of his shoulders, the way his stance screamed fight before it ever landed on flight.
“You picked the wrong land,” Colby said.
The man didn't answer. He dropped the gas can and took two long strides toward the frame, lighter hand rising again.
Colby didn't think. He ran.
The distance vanished in a dozen hard steps. He hit the man at the edge of the framed wall, shoulder slamming into his chest. The lighter flew one way. The gas can tipped the other, fuel splashing across the dirt and the base of the studs.
They both went down.
The impact knocked the air from his lungs. He rolled with it, using momentum to land on top. The man twisted, elbow driving up. It caught Colby in the ribs. Pain flared bright along his side.
“No, you don't,” Colby ground out.
He grabbed for the wrist that came at him. The hand was empty now, but he pinned it anyway, driving it into the dirt above the man’s head.
The man bucked under him, trying to throw him off. He was strong. Boots dug into the ground for leverage. A knee drove up, hunting soft targets.
Colby shifted, took the hit on his thigh instead. His leg lit up, but he held his position.
From behind him, Sabrina’s voice ripped through the night.
“Colby!”
Raw fear threaded his name. It hit him harder than the elbow had.
“I'm okay!” he shouted back, not taking his eyes off the man under him.
The man twisted again, hand clawing for Colby’s throat.
Colby jerked his head back, but fingers caught his collar, yanking. Fabric bit into his neck. His breath hitched.
He drove his knee into the man’s side. “Stay down.”
The man grunted. He didn't stop. His free hand strained against Colby’s grip. Dirt scraped under them as they slid.
“Let go,” Colby said through his teeth. “You don't want to make this worse.”
The man let out a short, ugly laugh. “It already is.”
His voice came out raw, lower than Colby expected, with a rough edge that smelled faintly of gas when he sucked in air. It didn't matter who he was or where he came from.
What mattered was the lighter, somewhere in the dirt. The glisten of wet boards at the base of the frame.
What mattered was Sabrina, somewhere behind him, watching.
“Colby, Diaz is on her way!” she shouted. Her voice came from near the trailer, closer than he liked. “She said to tell you to hold on and not do anything stupid.”
“Stay back!” he barked.
“I am,” she called. “But you aren't allowed to die on my land, do you hear me?”
Despite everything, a strangled laugh shot out of him. “Not on my to-do list.”
The man used the shift in his weight to jerk his knee up again. This one caught Colby off guard, slamming into his hip. Pain ripped across his side. His grip slipped for half a second.
The man ripped one hand free and swung.
The punch connected with Colby’s cheekbone. White heat flashed at the edges of his vision.
He rocked back, his weight shifting.
The man twisted, trying to roll them. Colby slammed his forearm across the man’s chest and drove him down again.
“Stay,” he said, breathless. “Down.”
He put everything he had into it this time. The ground didn't give.
The man kept fighting. He hooked a boot around one of Colby’s ankles and yanked. His chest heaved. His breath rasped.
“Let… go,” the man spat.
“Not happening,” Colby said.
Distant sirens rose, thin at first, then building. The sound threaded through the trees and up the access road.
The man heard it too. His eyes flashed, wild now.
His head jerked to the side, searching the ground. “Where is it?”
“Looking for your lighter?” Colby asked. “Too bad.”
The man snarled and reached for Colby’s throat again.
Colby shifted, let the reach come, then trapped that wrist too, pinning both arms above the man’s head. He leaned in, using his weight like a clamp.
“You're done,” he said quietly.
The man strained, muscles tight, but the fight had changed. The edge of control bled out, leaving something harsher.
Gravel crunched on the access road. Headlights swept across the field, catching the gas can, the dark stain on the dirt, the two figures locked at the base of the frame.
“Copper Moon PD!” Diaz’s voice cut through the wail of the siren as it died. “Freeze. Hands where I can see them.”
Colby didn't move. “They're as up as they are getting,” he called back, breath rough. “But they're attached to him right now.”
He felt more than saw Diaz approach, the solid rhythm of boots on uneven ground, the sharp focus in the way she moved.
“Don't move,” she said again, closer now.
“Not planning to,” Colby said.
He eased back just enough that she could see the man’s hands where he held them pinned. Her weapon stayed trained as she angled for a clear view.
“Sir,” she said to the man, voice flat. “You keep those hands right there. You twitch toward your pockets, and you'll regret it.”
The man glared up at her, chest heaving.
She flicked a quick look at Colby. “You hurt?”
“I've had better evenings,” he said. “Nothing feels broken.”
“Good enough,” she said.
She holstered her weapon and pulled cuffs from her belt. “On my count, you let me have his right wrist. We're doing this without more blood if we can help it.”
“Yes, Sergeant,” Colby said.
They moved together without wasted motion.
“Three,” Diaz said.
On three, he shifted his weight, giving her room while still pinning most of the man’s strength. She snapped the cuff on one wrist, then the other, dragging his hands behind his back with an efficiency that said she had done this plenty of times.
The fight bled out of him in a hissed curse.