Chapter 23
Jamie
I cried in the truck on the way home.
Sam had pulled into a parking lot halfway back and let me cry without saying anything, one hand on my knee, and then he'd driven the rest of the way with my hand in his.
I'd held myself together long enough to pick Rosie up from preschool and get her fed and bathed and into bed.
Then I'd come out to the living room and cried again into the couch cushion so she wouldn't hear me.
Now it was morning and Jenna's words were still sitting in my chest.
He said if his little girl had been in there, he'd have wanted someone to go back for her.
I'd dropped Rosie at preschool an hour ago. The apartment was quiet. My coffee had gone cold on the counter twice before I'd remembered to drink it, and a legal pad I'd been using for notes was open on the kitchen table where I'd left it last night after Rosie went down.
I heard Jack's story in a way I hadn't before. An eyewitness. A mother on the grass who had watched him go back in. A direct quote from the man himself, days before he died, explaining himself to the woman who owed him her daughter's life.
I had what I needed.
I just didn't know what to do with it.
Bryce Montgomery sat at the top of the page from a week ago.
I'd drawn a line through his name, and under it I'd written the shape of what he'd told me in his office.
Insubordination. Fiscal responsibility. Dangerous precedent.
The version of Jack he'd tried to hand me across that mahogany desk, wearing a face of measured concern, explaining why my brother had earned the denial he got.
Jenna's testimony wouldn't move him. I knew that already. He would read her statement and reframe it the same way he'd reframed everything else. A grieving mother giving an emotional account. Understandable but not legally binding. He would smile when he said it.
Going through his office again was a waste.
But I had her words now. I had the dispatcher's record of the 911 call.
I had Jack's own quote from a hospital visit Jenna had witnessed.
I had the fact that Jack had saved a woman before he went back in for her child—which meant the insubordination framing cut both ways.
If going back in for Quinn was insubordination, then carrying Jenna out was not.
Jack had completed his assigned duty before he'd defied the order.
That distinction had to matter somewhere.
A civil suit. Against the city. To compel reclassification.
I wrote the words down and looked at them.
I wasn't a lawyer. I didn't know the first thing about filing a civil claim against a municipality. I didn't know what it would cost or how long it would take or whether Rosie could be named as a party to the benefits she was owed. I didn't know if a judge would even hear it.
But I knew journalists who had done harder things with thinner files. I could find a lawyer. I could at least start there.
I underlined the plan. Closed the legal pad.
I was rinsing my mug in the sink when someone knocked on the door.
I dried my hands. Crossed the living room. Looked through the peephole.
Three men in the hallway. One of them I recognized as Detective Morrison, the officer who was handling the arson investigation after the fire. The other two were strangers. Dark suits. Badges on their belts.
I opened the door.
"Miss Donovan." Morrison nodded. "I'm sorry to stop by unannounced. Do you have a few minutes?"
"Of course."
He stepped aside. "These are Agent Brooks and Agent Whitfield from SLED."
SLED. The State Law Enforcement Division. They were the agency that showed up when something had outgrown the police department. When it was bigger than a city case. When somebody had to answer to the state.
I stepped back and let them in.
"Can I get you anything? Coffee, water?"
"We won't take up much of your time." Agent Brooks was the older of the two—graying at the temples, a soft Havensworth accent I hadn't expected. "May we sit?"
I waved them toward the kitchen table, cleared the legal pad, and sat across from them.
Morrison spoke first.
"We wanted to give you an update on the investigation into the fire at your house. We've been working leads since then."
"And?"
"Nothing concrete yet." Morrison's voice was careful. "But we've opened a broader investigation. SLED is assisting. Which is why Agent Brooks and Agent Whitfield are here."
I looked at Brooks.
"We're looking at a few angles," Brooks said. "One of them is your professional background. You've done investigative work that's moved legislation. Some of that work stepped on toes in New York. It's not out of the question that someone with a grudge from up there could have followed you down."
I nodded. That made sense. I'd thought about it myself.
"But we're also looking at the reform proposal you've been working on in Havensworth."
My stomach tightened and my breath caught.
Brooks caught it. His face stayed neutral.
"To be clear, Miss Donovan. We're not saying anyone from the fire department is connected to the arson.
We don't have evidence pointing in that direction.
But you've been publicly challenging a specific institution.
Someone set your house on fire while you and your niece were sleeping in it.
If we don't look at the institution you're challenging, we're not doing our job. "
"I understand."
"We'd like to ask you some questions. About the proposal. About the people you've been working with. About anyone who might have expressed hostility toward what you're doing."
"Of course."
I walked them through it. The work I'd done with Megan and Danny. The dispatchers who'd signed on. The firefighters who'd signed on. The reception from Captain Sutton.
Brooks asked careful questions. Whitfield took notes. Morrison mostly listened.
"And Mr. Reeves?" Brooks asked. "How is he connected to the proposal?"
"He's been supporting me. Helping me collect signatures. Making introductions."
"He's a firefighter at Station 33."
"Yes."
"Same station your brother was assigned to."
"Yes."
Brooks watched my face for a moment. Then nodded.
"Thank you, Miss Donovan. This has been helpful."
They stood. Morrison lingered at the door.
"If anything comes to mind—anyone who's said something that struck you as out of the ordinary, anyone who's pushed back on your work in a way that felt personal—please call me directly."
"I will."
I closed the door behind them and stood in the hallway for a long moment.
SLED was investigating the fire department. And I was the reason they were looking, and whatever they turned up was going to land somewhere.
On someone.
Maybe on Tyler, who had put his name on the proposal even though his father was Captain Sutton. Maybe on Cap himself, for what he had and hadn't said over the years. Maybe on men Sam had served beside for years and loved like brothers.
And Sam was going to have to decide what to do with that.
He was a firefighter. He believed in the brotherhood.
He had told me himself that the men at Station 33 were the closest thing to family he'd had for most of his adult life.
If SLED started pulling on threads, if Morrison came to him and asked him questions about the men he worked with, Sam was going to have to choose.
Between the department. And me.
I didn't want him to have to choose.
I didn't know which way he'd break, and I didn't want to find out. I didn't want to be the thing that made him sit across a table from a detective and decide whether to protect the brotherhood or tell the truth. Either answer would cost him something he couldn't get back.
I wrapped my hands around myself.
I wasn't going to tell him.
Not yet. Maybe not at all. SLED might clear the department in a week. Morrison might never need to talk to Sam. This might be a conversation I was carrying for nothing.
And if it wasn't—if they kept pulling—I'd figure out what to do when I had to.
Sam had been out the whole day helping Sean with an errand. He came in after I'd put Rosie down. I pulled him into the bedroom and closed the door.
I kissed him before he could say anything.
He laughed against my mouth. "Hi."
His hands found my waist and I pressed closer, kissing him harder than I usually did, pulling at the hem of his shirt. He went with it for a second, then pulled back just enough to look at me.
"You okay?"
"Are you complaining?"
His mouth quirked. "No."
"Good."
I kissed him again and he took it from there.
His hands slid up my back under my shirt, and he walked me backward toward the bed with the slow deliberate pace I knew by heart.
My shirt came off. His followed. He kissed the curve of my jaw, the hollow of my throat, the place where my pulse was pounding hard enough for him to feel it, and he made a low sound against my skin that meant he'd noticed.
He lifted me onto the bed.
His weight settled over me and I reached for him again, pulling him closer, wanting him nearer than he already was. He laughed, quiet against my ear.
"In a hurry tonight?"
"Yes."
"Okay."
He kissed me before I could say anything else.
His mouth moved down my throat, across my collarbone, to the warm hollow between my breasts where my heart was hammering.
His hand found the waistband of my jeans.
His fingers slipped underneath, slow and deliberate, and I made a sound I couldn't have held back even if I'd tried.
"Sam."
"I know."
He undressed me the rest of the way, and then himself, and when he came back to me skin against skin I pulled him close and didn't let go.
He took his time kissing my shoulder, my ribs, the soft place at the inside of my thigh. By the time his mouth came back to mine I was shaking.
When he finally moved against me I gasped into his mouth. His forehead came to mine. His hand found mine. Lacing our fingers together against the pillow, holding me there. I held on, and everything else in my head went quiet.
The rhythm he set was slow. It always was at first. I wanted faster, wanted closer, wanted him to match the urgency I'd walked into the room with.
He read it in the way my hips rose to meet his and gave me what I was asking for, and the slow broke open into something steadier and harder, and I said his name in a voice I didn't quite recognize.
"I've got you," he said quietly against my ear.
I didn't know I was crying until he kissed the corner of my eye.
We came apart together with his mouth on mine, my hand still in his, my whole body shaking under him and his arm tight around my back.
He didn't move right away. He stayed where he was, his forehead against mine, both of us breathing too hard to speak. His thumb traced slow circles along the back of my hand.
I kept my eyes closed.
For the first time all day, there was nothing in my head at all. No SLED. No Morrison. No kitchen table. No decision I'd made that morning. Just Sam's breath against my face and the weight of him and the quiet after.
I let myself have it.
He kissed me once, soft, and rolled onto his side of the bed. We were both still trying to catch our breath. The ceiling fan turned in slow, lazy circles above us and the room was warm and quiet, and for a long minute neither of us said anything.
Then Sam laughed. Low, a little ragged.
"What did I do right today?"
I turned my head to look at him.
He was on his back, one arm behind his head, a grin starting at the corner of his mouth. His hair was a mess. His eyes were on the ceiling. He looked like a man who had just been handed something he hadn't known he wanted.
"Nothing," I said.
"Nothing?"
"Just missed you."
He turned his head, and looked at me.
Something softer moved across his face.
"Yeah?"
He reached over and pulled me back against his side, and I let him, tucking my head against his shoulder. His arm settled around me. My hand found its place on his chest over his heart.
The quiet stretched. His breathing slowed. Mine followed. And as my body came back to itself, so did my head.
"Sam."
"Mm."
"I told my boss I'm staying."
His hand paused on my back.
"Yeah?"
"I called her today. I wanted to do it before I could talk myself out of it."
He was quiet for a moment. I could feel his breathing against the top of my head.
"How did she take it?"
"Sad. She said the door's open whenever I want to come back. She supports what I'm doing here."
"She sounds like a good boss."
"She is."
His arm tightened around me, just a little. I let myself feel it.
"I still need to go up for a couple of weeks," I said. "To clear my desk, pack up my apartment."
"When?"
"I’m thinking sometime next month?"
I looked up at him and rubbed my thumb on his cheek. "Can you come with me?"
He covered my hand with his and turned his face into my palm and kissed it.
"I want to."
I felt the hesitation before he said anything else. "What's wrong?"
"The probies start right around then. Cap asked me a couple of days ago to take point on them."
"Sam." I pushed myself up onto my elbow to look at him properly. "That's amazing."
He looked up at me. A little sheepish. Like he still wasn't sure what to do with it.
I studied his face for a long moment.
I thought about how far he'd come, from the boy who used to slip in through our back door when his father got loud, to the firefighter who'd carried me and Rosie out while the house was coming apart around us. His captain was trusting him to shape the firefighters who came after him.
"I'm proud of you," I said.
I leaned down and kissed him.
He kissed me back, slow and careful, and when I pulled away he kept his forehead against mine for a moment.
"I love you."
"I love you too."
I lay back down against his chest. His arm settled around me. For a long moment we just breathed.
Then I said it before I could think too hard about it.
"When we get back."
"Mm?"
I lifted my head off his chest and turned to face him. Brushed my fingers along his jaw. Felt the stubble on his chin.
"Why don't you just move in with us?"
He went still.
His eyes searched my face for a moment, like he was making sure I meant it. Then his whole face softened.
"I'd love that."
I kissed him slowly. He pulled me closer.
Somewhere in the dark, underneath the warmth of him and the weight of his arm around me, SLED was still sitting in my chest. Morrison's card was still in my purse. The decision I'd made that morning was one I was still making, choice by choice, silence by silence.
But I let it stay there. I let all of it stay there.