Chapter 24
The tape presses hard into my hip as I try to force my way past the officer blocking the line.
"You can arrest me if you think that's going to stop me," I say. "Go ahead and try."
"It's okay," Callum says from somewhere across the gravel lot, closer now, and I look up fast enough that the rest of the scene drops away for a second. He's upright. Soot streaks across his face and one sleeve is burned through, but he's standing there looking directly at me, breathing.
The officer glances back over his shoulder toward Pham just as she steps up beside the line.
"Let her through," she says.
The tape lifts. I duck under it and go straight for Callum, fast enough that I almost crash into him, and the words are already coming out of my mouth before I decide which ones they are.
"What were you thinking?!" I demand, breath sharp, hands already in his shirt like I need to anchor him to something that isn't fire and smoke and the last thirty minutes of my life. "You left without waking me, you went alone, you didn't call until—"
He moves forward, solid and immediate, pulling me into him. I have a whole second half of that sentence and three follow-up points and I'm not finished, but his hands come up and settle at the sides of his face.
His mouth is on mine before I get to the end of the sentence, and the argument I built all the way here falls apart in my hands.
The heat coming off him hits me all at once, and now he's here, solid and breathing.
I pull back enough to look at him. "You scared me." The words come out steadier than I feel. My fingers are curled in his collar like I need something to hold on to that isn't smoke or sirens or the image of that roof coming down. "You don't get to do that and then act like it's nothing."
He doesn't argue, and the fear lands properly. Not as a spike but as a slow, heavy drop that settles under my ribs.
I tighten my grip on his shirt and keep it there. Letting go feels like a bad idea.
When he pulls back, his forehead settles against mine and he keeps one hand at my jaw, thumb brushing once like he's checking that I'm still here.
I draw a steady breath and keep my grip on his shirt.
"I'm okay," he says, quiet, like he is offering it to me instead of insisting on it.
"You better be," I say. "I just watched a building collapse, Callum. Do you have any idea how humiliating it would've been if I had to identify your body while still mad at you?"
I lift my chin enough to meet his eyes. "I'm so mad at you."
"I know," he says, trying not to soften or redirect it. He just stands there and takes it.
Boots crunch on gravel behind me and I look back to see Jonah closing the distance in three quick strides. He reaches for Callum without asking, one hand catching his shoulder and the other pulling him in.
Callum goes with it without hesitation. The hug is tight and wordless.
I turn my head slightly, giving them the space to have it while I focus on what's left of the warehouse, smoke rolling off the collapsed debris in thick waves while pockets of fire still burn hot enough to make the air shimmer.
When they separate, Jonah keeps a hand on Callum's shoulder for a second longer, a brief squeeze that says the rest. Then Jonah steps back and looks at both of us like he's taking inventory and deciding we pass. "You gave us a good scare, brother."
"Sorry," he says. "In my defense, I had a worse night than everybody else here."
Jonah nods once, satisfied enough, and glances from Callum to me like he's making sure we're both actually here. He shifts his weight and gives us some space, taking a half step behind me toward the line where the officers are resetting the perimeter.
I place my hand back onto Callum's chest, not ready to let go yet and not pretending I am. All that matters to me right now is that he's here and alive. And that I'm here with him.
Pham finds us with the expression of someone in logistics mode.
"The success of this operation tonight goes to Callum here."
"I'm just happy that everyone's okay." I don't take my hand off him, but face Pham. All of a sudden I'm remembering my visitor last night. "Did Callum tell you that Shane stopped by my store last night? He said he didn't set the fire."
"Callum told us. It looks like Maureen Pike used Shane's access credentials to get into your store," she says. "She's been our missing piece this whole time."
She shakes her head. "Then tonight, Stein tried to burn two witnesses inside this warehouse." She says this with the flat economy of someone who has heard worse and still gets up in the morning.
"I saw Stein, his men, and Maureen get taken away in police cars." I watch Pham closely as I try to read what she's not saying out loud. A small thread of hope tightens in my chest despite myself. "So what does that mean for us? Is this actually over?"
"Charges will be filed across Ventura, Los Angeles, and Santa Barbara counties. Kellerman is being formally reclassified as arson for hire through Maureen Pike's statements."
It didn't undo anything that fire had taken, but at least no one will have to keep wondering.
She pauses. "She's cooperating."
"And Shane?" I ask.
"Complicit," she says. "He's also been cooperative, and that will matter at sentencing, but not at charging." She lifts a hand slightly, like she's setting the distinction in place. "He doesn't walk, but he'll likely be able to make a deal with the prosecutor to influence how the charges land."
I think about the man who showed up on his first day and learned how I like my coffee without asking, who handled Devon Hook conversations with easy fluency because he actually loves books. I still believe that.
In this case he made a choice, then kept making it, each time calling it the only option left, which is what people tell themselves when better ones are gone.
I understand it, but I don't excuse it.
I nod at Pham's assessment.
"And what about the Ruiz and Mbeki families?" I wonder. "Does someone notify them?"
Pham looks at me steadily. "We'll reach out to them today."
The argument comes back when we're back at Callum's house.
It's 4:00 in the morning and Jonah has taken my car back to my place because I told him it would be the only way he'd get some horizontal sleep.
I'm sitting on Callum's couch with my knees pulled up.
He comes out of the kitchen in a clean T-shirt with his hair still damp from the shower, carrying a glass of water he sets in front of me before sitting on the coffee table across from instead of next to me, which shows he's read the room.
"You went alone, in the middle of the night, to meet the man who tried to burn my store down, without telling me." I look at him. "How could you do that to me?"
"I made that call because it wasn't just mine to make." He pauses. "You know why I couldn't tell you."
I pick up the glass of water because if I don't do something with my hands, I'm going to start yelling again.
"There he is," I mutter, taking a drink. "The man who hears 'I almost lost you' and immediately responds with operational restrictions."
He lets the silence sit.
"I'm not going anywhere," I say eventually. "But I need you to stop deciding what I'm allowed to know."
"When this case is over, those obligations won't stop me from making those calls with you."
He holds my gaze.
"I'm done making them alone."
I set the glass down and watch him for a second. He stays where he is, hands loose, eyes on me, and for once I don't feel him getting ahead of me or angling the moment toward a conclusion he already decided on. He just stays with me, steady and unguarded.
I push up off the couch and settle into his lap facing him, my knees braced on either side of his hips, my hands sliding up to his face.
"You look like hell," I say quietly, my thumb brushing just beside the cut over his eyebrow.
"Good," he says. "I was worried the smoke damage might've improved me."
I laugh once under my breath despite myself, and the bruise along his jaw catches my attention when he turns his head slightly. It's already darkening. I trace the edge of it with my fingers, careful without thinking about it, and he doesn't pull away. He just stays there and lets me look at him.
I lean in and kiss him, slower this time, my hand still at his face, my other one settling at the back of his neck. He follows me without taking over, his hands coming to my waist like he's checking where I am instead of pulling me closer.
"I'm not going anywhere," I say against his mouth, more to anchor it than to say something new.
"Good," he says, his hands tightening once at my waist. "You're very difficult to survive without."
I kiss him again, taking my time with it, feeling the difference in it, the absence of everything that was crowding us before. My fingers curl lightly at his collar and I stay right where I am, choosing it without having to explain it out loud.
This is different. Slower. Something I'm doing on purpose.
His hands come up to my waist, but he doesn't need to pull me in, I'm already here. He's following me.
He's not anticipating where this is supposed to go or trying to stay ahead of it. He's just here with me.
We move together to the bedroom with the same unhurried quality.
I take my time, finding the hem of his shirt and pulling it off.
We've been together, but not like this. Not in the storeroom with remediation plans on the desk, not on a hotel rooftop with the night still charged and half-explained, not at my place with an investigation still running under the surface of everything.
No part of him is anywhere else.
Afterward I stay exactly where I am, my cheek against his chest, listening to his breathing settle while his hand moves in an easy line along my spine like the rest of the world can wait a while. The room holds, quiet and unhurried.