26. Hunter #2
My fists clench at my sides. Standing here doing nothing might be worse than running into the flames.
“They’ll be good, man.” Chris touches my shoulder.
I watch the reflective strips on their gear flicker through the smoke as they move toward the fire. My heart pounds in my chest watching my best friend do what he does best.
Nearly two hours later, the fire is finally subdued. The building still smolders, smoke drifting from the roofline. It’s too dangerous to canvas the interior, but Luke ensures me the fire investigator will be here tomorrow.
The crews wrap up and eventually head out, exhaustion clear in each step.
I meet Luke near his truck. He squeezes my shoulder once, conveying a message no words ever could.
Chris and I return to the station and draft our on-scene report as quickly as possible. With some luck, I’ll get to spend time with Sutton before she leaves to meet clients before the holiday party later.
Disappointment slithers up my spine when I pull down the driveway and don’t see her car. Sighing, I head inside, take a quick shower, and crash.
Late-afternoon sun beams through the window when I jolt awake. I grab my phone, realizing I slept longer than I meant to. I sit up in bed, and a note on the bedside table catches my eye.
Hey baby,
I’m so glad you’re okay after what happened last night.
I told Greer I’d help her with last-minute party stuff after my meeting.
You looked exhausted, so I figured you needed rest. Greer picked me up.
That way we’ll only have one car to worry about when we come home.
I’ll see you at the Cheermeister party. Call me if you need anything.
Love you. XO
I stumble into the bathroom, a goofy smile plastered on my face. My hair’s a mess, but it’s the red lipstick mark on my cheek that makes my heart thump. The adrenaline dump after a call like last night is no joke, but it’s nothing compared to the energy coursing through me now.
Sutton even laid out the ugly sweater I’m supposed to wear to the holiday party.
I pull it on quickly, but as I’m driving away from the house, I can’t get the image of the warehouse out of my mind.
Those idiots had to have left behind piles of evidence.
Donnelly, the fire investigator, is good, but he’ll only be concerned about the fire’s origin, not preserving evidence that might lead us to the assholes running this operation.
There are still a few hours before the holiday party starts, so I put in a call to Donnelly, asking if I can tag along so that I can look for evidence. I breathe a sigh of relief when he says yes.
The sun is descending when I pull back into the lot beside the old lumber mill. The air smells of smoke, the charred interior brittle and hollowed out. A thin wisp of heat curls up from the cooling embers along the bay wall, a warning that it’s still dangerous to be walking around here.
Donnelly’s already there, pacing with clipboard in hand. He spots my truck and waves. “Still dreaming you’d chosen fire instead?” His tone drips with that practiced irritation firefighters and cops reserve for each other.
“No, sir,” I say, stepping out. “I chose right the first time. Unlike you.”
He chuffs, handing me a borrowed helmet and a pair of heavy gloves. “I wasn’t planning on having company, so this is about all the extra gear I have.”
“Thanks for letting me shadow you,” I say. “These guys don’t just blow up a warehouse and disappear. They leave a trail.”
“That’s probably true.” He gives me a long, assessing look. “But I don’t have time to babysit detectives.”
“Understood.” I ignore the jab and follow him toward the damaged bay doors.
The floor is littered with blackened wood, twisted metal, and broken shelving. A faint chemical smell clings to the air. Somewhere deeper in the mill, metal groans, a last protest of a structure that’s been burned and left to settle.
“Nice sweater, by the way,” Donnelly adds, smirking.
“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter.
“Watch your step.”
He hovers near the center of the building, scanning the perimeter and occasionally glancing toward the rafters while I crouch to examine scattered debris. Heat radiates from the wreckage, rolling off the twisted metal like an open oven. Hot drums send heat waves in the air above them.
“Looks like they weren’t fully operational yet,” I say.
“Most of the flammable chemicals burned off,” Donnelly replies as he nudges a scorched barrel. “But some of these are still cause for concern.”
Above us, the upper platform creaks, a dry, splintering sound. Ash drifts from the rafters. My eyes track upward just as a narrow beam tilts loose from the edge of the deck.
A second later, it drops.
I see it at the same time Donnelly does, only he’s standing directly under it.
“Watch out!” I shout. I shove him out of the way just as it crashes down.
The beam snags the length of my body instead.
Splintered wood scrapes down my arm as I slam into the ground. Pain flashes sharp and electric followed by a burning heat through my forearm and wrist.
My chest slams into the curved side of a blackened metal drum. Residual heat bleeds through my shirt like a branding iron, searing my flesh.
I glance down. The unnatural angle of my hand tells me exactly what I’ve done.
My world narrows.
“You idiot,” Donnelly roars, dragging debris off me. “I fucking told you I don’t babysit detectives!”
His voice fades as he drags me backward toward the open bay and what little daylight remains.
The sky spins overhead.
My arm throbs.
Everything blurs together.
She’s going to kill me.
The world goes dark.