Chapter 5
The alarm cut through the station, jerking me from the incident report I'd been filling out.
My body moved before my mind caught up, as muscle memory took over.
I pushed back from my desk. Paperwork would have to wait again.
The report on Riverside Drive wasn't due until tomorrow, so the chief would understand why it wasn't finished if we rolled out on a Saturday evening.
I hit the bay floor, already calling out instructions. My voice carried over the commotion of the crew scrambling into gear.
"Storage units. I bet you ten bucks it's some idiot's meth lab," Connor muttered.
"Save it for the drive," I responded, sliding into the captain's seat.
Storage units meant packed spaces, unknown contents, and potential for hazardous materials. The complex was on the edge of town, which meant the water supply might be an issue, depending on whether the hydrants were operational.
Saturday evening traffic pulled aside as we barreled past. It was evening, with the sun hanging low in the sky, which meant poorer visibility for us.
"Dispatch updating report. A security guard reports multiple units with signs of forced entry before smoke is spotted. GPD en route," the dispatcher relayed.
My jaw tightened. Forced entry at multiple units before the fire wasn't random.
"What's our ETA?" I questioned Dane, who was checking the map.
"Three minutes, Lieutenant," he answered.
"Connor, when we arrive, I want a 360-degree assessment before we commit to interior attack. Evan, you and Dane secure the water supply and prepare for defensive operations if needed. Jaxon, establish a perimeter and keep civilians back."
"Yes, sir," they replied.
We rounded the corner, and the storage complex came into view.
It was a large facility of long, single-story buildings, divided into individual units, with roll-up doors arranged in rows, with narrow lanes between them.
Smoke billowed from a section toward the back as black clouds rose into the sky.
I hopped out of the truck before it fully stopped, scanning the scene. Smoke poured from two of the three units with open doors. The security guard, a middle-aged man, waved us down near the entrance.
"What do we have?" I asked as I approached him, already unspooling the hose line.
"Units 127, 128, and 129. Someone busted the locks. I was doing my rounds when I smelled smoke," he panted.
"Anyone inside?"
"No, sir. This place is supposed to be empty at this hour."
I nodded. "Stay back. We have it from here."
My crew moved with precision as everyone moved to their positions.
The heat hit us as we approached the first unit, but it wasn't as intense as expected, given the amount of smoke.
Inside, cardboard boxes and furniture burned, flames lapping at the metal walls.
It held standard storage unit contents, nothing that would've caught fire on its own.
We moved, jerking the hose along as water surged through it. The flames hissed under the powerful spray. Something about the way the fire behaved was off. It wasn't spreading naturally, almost like…
"Lieutenant, are you seeing this?" Connor questioned on the radio.
"Yeah," I answered, focusing on the distinctive burn pattern along the base of the wall. A straight line, too perfect to be accidental, and the smell indicated something chemical.
I stepped closer to the wall, spraying the flames while examining the pattern. This wasn't a random fire. For a second, my vision blurred, and I was back in that warehouse five years ago. The same distinctive smell filled my nostrils seconds before the floor gave way…
"Blaze, you good?" Connor's voice yanked me back to the present.
I shook off the memory. "Yeah. Let's get this knocked down and check the adjacent units."
We worked in silence after that, extinguishing the flames in all three units.
The evidence became more obvious as the smoke cleared.
I pulled out my phone, photographing the evidence while the others ventilated the space.
The chemical residue along the baseboards and the melted plastic that had once been a container of some kind showed that the deliberate pour patterns led from unit to unit.
"Someone wanted these specific units to burn," Connor noted, standing next to me. He'd been on the job almost as long as I had, so he knew what we were looking at.
"Yeah, the question is, why these units? What was in them that someone wanted gone?" I questioned as I continued taking photos.
"I asked for security footage, but the guard said the system has been down for maintenance since yesterday." Dane shook his head.
"How convenient," Connor replied.
I looked over the scene one more time, cataloging details for the report I would write. "Let's finish up here. GPD will want our preliminary assessment, and I need to call the Fire Marshal," I said, pulling off my helmet and wiping sweat from my forehead.
My crew nodded. They knew as well as I did that someone deliberately setting a fire meant more was to come. Arsonists rarely stopped at one. The thought sent a chill down my spine.
As we packed our equipment, I caught Evan watching me. The kid was observant, picking up on the tension between the senior crew members.
I clapped him on the shoulder. "We'll brief back at the station. You'll learn to recognize some things."
He nodded. "Yes, Lieutenant."
I glanced back at the damaged storage units before climbing into the truck. As much as I wanted to be wrong, every instinct screamed that this was only the beginning.
Back at the station, we spread our gear out on the back patio to dry. I rolled my shoulders, trying to work out the tension settling between my blades. Arson calls always left me wound tight.
"Perfect Saturday evening, right? Nothing says weekend fun like the odor of burning furniture," Dane commented.
Evan scoffed as he scrubbed a black smudge on his helmet. "Like you had better plans. Watching the game alone in your underwear isn't exactly living your best life."
"For your information, I had a date with the new nurse from County General," Dane shot back.
"We don't need the details. Let's focus on the debrief."
A smile twitched at the corner of my mouth at their banter. The crew gathered around the patio table, giving me their attention. Evan pulled out his notebook to take notes.
"Alright, let's break it down. What we saw today wasn't accidental. The burn patterns, the chemical residue, and the fact that multiple units were hit is classic textbook arson."
"The smell was distinctive. It reminded me of the warehouse fire in Centerville last year," Connor added.
I nodded. "Good catch. I thought the same thing. Accelerant was probably gasoline mixed with something else to slow the burn rate, which gives the perpetrator more time to clear the scene before it really gets going."
"Why those specific units, though? The security guard said they belonged to different people with no obvious connection," Evan noted.
"That's the million-dollar question. GPD is contacting the owners now. We'll know more once we figure out what's being stored in those units," I replied.
"Some firebugs like to watch shit burn," Dane pointed out.
Fire Marshal Winters' voice came through my earpiece. "Crawford, I got your preliminary on the storage complex. It looks like we have a problem."
I pointed to my earpiece before speaking, alerting them that I had a call. "I'm with my crew on a debrief. What are we looking at?" I asked.
"This is the third fire with the same signature. Three fires, same MO, all within a thirty-mile radius. Pattern?" Winters questioned.
I ran my hand down my face. "We're still working that angle. Different owners," I replied.
I glanced at my crew, who watched with concern. They couldn't hear Winters' side of the conversation, but my expression must have broadcast it loud and clear.
"Watch your back, Crawford," Winters responded before ending the call.
I steepled my hands, taking a moment to organize my thoughts before looking at my crew.
"We have a serial arsonist. Two other incidents in neighboring counties have the same signature.
"Shit, any casualties?" Connor questioned.
"Not yet, but escalation is common with serial arsonists.
They get bolder and take bigger risks for a bigger payoff," I replied.
"This will change our response protocols.
We approach every call with heightened awareness, making no assumptions and cutting no corners.
I want full gear, full protocols, even on routine calls," I noted.
They nodded, understanding the gravity of what I asked.
"Alright, finish cleaning this equipment, and get some food. I'm going to cut out of here," I informed them.
I exited the building and hopped into my truck.
During my ride home, my shoulders remained locked, and my jaw ached from grinding my teeth.
They were classic signs of stress that my sister, Kiara, would've called out in a heartbeat if she could see me.
"You're carrying the weight of the world, Li," she'd say.
At the light, I rolled my neck, trying to work out more of the tension. On a typical day, the drive would help me clear my head. Today wasn't normal, though. My mind kept circling back to those storage units.
As I rounded the bend, I spotted a woman walking, and I did a double-take.
It was Gisselle. She turned at the sound of my truck approaching. I hesitated, my foot hovering over the brake. The smart move would have been to wave and keep driving. I wasn't in any state for social interaction. Still, I slowed down and pulled over to the shoulder a few feet ahead of her.
Gisselle approached. She wore running leggings and a lightweight jacket over a T-shirt, casual yet somehow put together in a way that screamed big-city polish. Her flowery scent was pleasant, and she didn't strike me as someone who'd been walking or exercising.
"Lieutenant Crawford," she greeted, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
"Ms. Daniels… Gisselle," I corrected myself.
"You finishing up a shift?" she asked, nodding at my uniform.
"Yeah. I'm heading home."
"You are loyal to the job. I see you're always in uniform," she commented.
"I do take it off occasionally." I chuckled.
Gisselle laughed along softly. "I'm just saying."
"How are you settling in? To Goodwin Grove, I mean?"
"It's been an adjustment, quieter than what I'm used to. I presented my design for the community center renovation, and some of the council members weren't thrilled about an outsider suggesting changes to their historic building."
I nodded. "Small towns. Change comes slowly here."
"I'm learning. Though the fire department is very welcoming and hospitable," she commented.
Something in her tone made me wonder what kind of hospitality my team had shown, especially Jaxon, with his notorious flirting. "They're good men. The best crew in the district."
"They spoke highly of you, too. Said you run the tightest ship in the department," she informed me.
I shrugged at her praise.
"From what I understand, your tightness sets the standard for everyone else. What made you choose firefighting? If you don't mind me asking."
The question caught me off guard. Most people asked about the worst fire I'd seen or if I ever rescued a cat from a tree. Her question made me dig deeper.
"Family tradition. My uncle was a firefighter in Columbus. He used to let me try on his helmet when I was a kid and show me around the station. I mostly wanted work that mattered," I added.
She nodded. "That makes sense. Something to help people. It's why I became an architect."
The sunset gave her a glow that made it hard for me to look away. She stood out, not because she was trying to, but because she radiated a confidence and purpose that felt out of place in the sleepy Goodwin Grove.
"How does the fire hall operate? I mean, like I know the basics. You respond to emergencies, obviously, but what's the day-to-day like?"
"Twenty-four on, forty-eight off. Full crew at the station during shifts, we eat, sleep, and train there. Why do you ask?"
Gisselle shrugged, a smile playing at her lips.
"Professional curiosity. I design communities.
Understanding how essential services operate helps me create better spaces.
Plus, the fire hall seems like the heart of Goodwin Grove, in a way.
Everyone I've met is connected to someone in the department. "
Something was refreshing about her perspective, the way she genuinely saw and appreciated the role the department played in the community, not just the dramatic rescues or the headline-making fires, but our everyday presence in the community.
"The department's been around since 1952. Some families are third-generation firefighters here. It's more than a job for most of us."
"I love that. I should let you get home. You look like you've had a long day," Gisselle stated, seemingly reading my fatigue.
"Yeah. We responded to a storage complex fire today," I admitted.
Her expression shifted. "I heard the sirens earlier. Is everyone okay?"
"No injuries," I assured her.
Gisselle nodded. "I'm glad you're safe."
"Thank you." As Gisselle prepared to continue her walk, I was reluctant to end our conversation. It had been… easy to talk to her. "Be careful walking back. People tend to take this curve too fast sometimes."
"I'm about done with my walk anyway. I needed to burn off some energy."
"I could give you a ride."
"Sure." Gisselle walked around and got inside my truck.
I pulled away from the curb as Gisselle gave me her address, which was nearby.
"We're having our annual firefighter charity event, a chili cookoff, next Saturday. It's our department's biggest fundraiser. This year, it will provide new equipment for the children's ward at Goodwin Grove General. I would love to see you there."
"Are you asking me on a date?" Gisselle playfully asked.
"I guess I am." I raised my eyebrows, taken aback.
"I'll be there then, and I'll bring my appetite." She smiled.
"I'll be judging, but I'm looking forward to seeing you there. Can I have your phone number so I can send you the details later this week?"
Gisselle handed me her phone. I typed in my phone number and then handed it back to her.
"Thanks for dropping me off. Please be safe getting home, and get some rest," she ordered.
I smiled at her concern. "I will."
I climbed out of the truck to open her door.
"Bye," she said.
"Later."
I got back inside my truck and pulled away from the curb. Sometimes, a human connection, a simple conversation, was what was needed to break the cycle of obsessive thinking. As I continued home, I was more pleased than I cared to admit.