Chapter 13 Liam
I moved deeper into the dark space with Fire Marshal Winters behind me.
The thing was too perfectly arranged, as if someone had set up their own textbook example of faulty wiring.
I'd done this job too long to be fooled by amateur theatrics.
Someone damn sure wanted us to think this was an accident.
I nodded but said nothing as I scanned the room. The fire had been contained to this section of the building.
"Do you see what I'm saying?" Winters asked, crouching near the charred panel box.
I kneeled beside him. "Someone wanted us to think a spark jumped, but they overdid it. Real electrical fires don't arrange themselves this neatly," I continued.
I circled the room once more, puzzle pieces clicking into place with every step.
"The electrical failure is staged. See how the char marks radiate from two distinct points?
Real electrical fires have a single point of origin.
This was set to look like an accident, but it's the same signature as the other scenes," I stated, pointing to the inconsistencies in the burn pattern.
"Yep, trying to throw us off," Winters agreed.
"Or trying to create plausible deniability. Who owns the building again?" The thought had formed since I first saw the scene, but I was reluctant to voice it without more evidence.
Winters looked up, his expression grim. "Councilman Whitaker. Personal investment, not city property."
The final piece finally clicked into place. I needed air.
I stepped outside, breathing in deeply despite the lingering smoke.
The fresh air felt good against my face after the stifling heat of the burned-out room.
I scanned the crowd, noting the mix of concerned citizens, thrill-seekers, and small-town gossipers who would ensure this info was the talk of every diner and shop tomorrow.
I then spotted Councilman Whittaker stepping out of a shiny black SUV at the edge of the police barricade.
His suit was immaculate, but it was his eyes that gave him away, cold and calculating as they assessed the scene.
He approached the nearest officer, gesturing empathetically as a distressed property owner.
His gaze drifted to the news cameras, ensuring they captured his arrival, his concern, and his importance to the scene.
"Lieutenant Crawford, this is terrible. Do we know what happened?" Whitaker asked, spotting me by the entrance.
I approached him, keeping my face professionally neutral despite the suspicion burning in my gut. "The investigation is ongoing, sir. The fire marshal is documenting the scene now."
"Electrical failure?" He asked a question that was too specific.
"We can't confirm the cause at this time, but we are exploring all possibilities."
An annoyance flashed in his eyes before his mask slid back into place.
"I'm grateful your department responded so quickly. It could've been much worse." He projected his voice enough to be picked up by the nearest reporter, who edged closer to our conversation.
"Yes, sir. We need a statement from you about the recent work done on the electrical systems for the investigation."
The stiffening of his shoulders was almost imperceptible. "Of course. Whatever you need. I'll have the contractor information and permits at my office." As he turned to give a statement to the now approaching reporter, I stepped away.
I headed back to my station and called my team into the briefing room, where they sat in silence, waiting for me to speak.
"What I'm about to share stays in this room.
Fire Marshal Winters is processing the scene, and the official investigation is ongoing.
The same accelerant signature found at the other locations was found tonight, but tonight's fire at the rec hall had a new element: a staged electrical failure designed to look like an accident. "
Jaxon leaned forward, brows raised. "Why change the MO now? They've been pretty consistent."
"Because this time, the target was different. The rec hall is privately owned by Councilman Harold Whitaker, a personal investment property he's tried to renovate for years."
Dane let out a whistle. "Insurance fraud?"
I shrugged. "Possibly. The building's been empty for over three years. Construction costs have probably doubled since the original estimates. A convenient electrical fire could be a sizable insurance payout and an opportunity to start with updated permits."
"I say the staged electrical failure gives him a possible deniability," Jaxon added, catching on quickly.
"Exactly."
"You think the councilman is behind this?" Evans asked.
I looked at him, appreciating the directness of his question as a rookie.
"Great question. We have evidence connecting multiple fire scenes with the same signatures. A property owner who stands to benefit financially from his building burning down, and the same councilman who's been vocally opposed to the community center project from day one."
I didn't spell it out further. I didn't need to. The implication was heavy in the air.
"I've scheduled a full department meeting for tomorrow at 0800.
Until then, I need each of you to document everything you've observed at these fire scenes, every detail, no matter how small you think it is.
If you remember something from the storage fire that didn't make it into your report, write it down now. "
I looked at each of them, making sure the message landed. "This is more than a fire bug. This is about protecting our town and protecting the people. We're done for tonight. Get some rest. Tomorrow is going to be a long day," I advised before leaving the station.
The drive home was a blur of streetlights and my scattered thoughts. My mind circled back to Whitaker's face at the fire, and to how he searched for the cameras rather than the damage.
After the short drive, I pulled into my driveway. The sight of my home, with someone waiting inside, was something I hadn't realized I was missing until it happened.
I got out and headed to the door. I quietly unlocked it, expecting to find Gisselle sleeping or working late on a design.
Inside, I stepped into a transformation.
The living room furniture had been pushed back, making space for a blanket spread across the floor.
Arranged pillows looked comfortable, surrounded by an assortment of snacks, a bottle of wine, and two glasses.
The rarely used TV was on the menu screen for some movie I didn't recognize.
Gisselle looked up from her spot on the blanket. A smile spread across her face. She was wearing one of my fire department T-shirts, the fabric too large on her frame, with a pair of leggings.
"There's my guy," she declared, her voice amused.
"You're beautiful," I replied honestly as I melted at the sight of her.
Gisselle playfully rolled her eyes, but the smile remained. "You're such a charmer. You look beat. Come sit before you fall over."
I kicked off my boots. "Let me grab a shower first. What's all this?"
"Movie night. I figured, after today, we both deserve something normal."
"You have no idea how much I needed this. Guess who's building? It's Councilman Whitaker's."
"Shut up! Was he there?"
"Front and center for the cameras, acting very concerned about his property," I confirmed.
"I bet. That's what he gets. So what happens now?"
"We're building our case, documenting everything, and following the evidence."
I didn't want to think about it any longer tonight.
"In the meantime, go shower. You smell like smoke. The food will be ready when you get back."
I stood there for a moment, staring. This was new for me — someone waiting up with dinner, caring about the state I was in when I returned from work. Yeah, my sister, Kiara, checked on me, but this was different, more intimate.
A smile tugged at my mouth as I headed toward the stairs. "Yes, ma'am."
Upstairs, I undressed and entered the shower.
The hot water hit my shoulders with a blessed intensity, washing away the smoke and some of the tension I carried.
I braced my hands against the shower wall and let my head drop, watching the day's problems spiral down the drain.
Yet, somewhere in the back of my mind, the clock was ticking.
I forced my thoughts away from the investigation.
Instead, I focused on the woman downstairs cooking and how she made a space for herself in my house without displacing me.
The way she challenged me made me laugh.
The way she trembled against me after the council meeting earlier allowed me to see her vulnerability, which I suspected she rarely showed to anyone.
I still couldn't believe Gisselle was here. Somehow, we found each other, and I allowed myself to care this much this quickly when I had kept everyone else at arm's length for so long.
Water ran into my eyes, and I blinked it away, reaching for the soap. I washed up, got out of the shower, dried off, put on clean clothes, and went downstairs to the woman who waited up for me. The rest could wait until tomorrow.
Downstairs, neo-soul played on the sound system. The table was set for two, with pasta steaming in a large bowl, a simple salad, and garlic bread.
"You didn't have to do all of this," I said.
Gisselle glanced up, smiling. "I know, but I know you forgot to eat, and it helped me not to overthink shit."
I chuckled. "It smells amazing."
"Nothing fancy, pasta puttanesca. Sit before it gets cold." She gestured toward the table.
I obeyed as she poured two glasses of red wine and joined me. My first bite confirmed what my nose had already told me. Gisselle could cook. The pasta was al dente, the way I liked it, and the sauce seasoned to perfection.
"Damn, where'd you learn to cook like this?" I asked after my first bite.
"My mom. She believes every Black, educated woman should know how to make at least five dishes that will make her man question his life choices." She twirled pasta around her fork.
I laughed. "This would definitely qualify, but you got four more to go."
"My pleasure. This is nice."
"What?" I asked, grabbing a piece of garlic bread.
"Not talking about work, just two people enjoying time together."
"I agree," I replied, sipping my wine.
After dinner, we headed to the living room, and Gisselle settled on the blanket, tucking her legs underneath her. She patted a spot on the blanket. "The opening credits are starting."
I lowered myself onto the blanket next to her. On the TV screen, the menu displayed a classic action movie I hadn't seen in years.
"Die Hard?" I asked, amused by her choice.
"It's a perfect distraction movie — explosions with Bruce in his dirty tank top." We laughed.
I leaned back against the couch. "Can't argue with you on that one."
Gisselle started the movie and settled against me.
Without thinking, I lifted my arm to wrap around her shoulders, and she immediately curled closer to me as the movie played.
I found my attention drifting to the woman beside me.
It was cute how she mouthed certain lines along with the actors.
About halfway through the movie, she looked at me.
"You're not watching," she softly accused.
"I am."
"Liar. What just happened?"
I looked at the screen, trying to catch up. "Explosions?"
Gisselle laughed. "You're terrible at this. The point of the distraction is to actually get distracted."
"I am distracted, but not by the movie," I admitted, meeting her eyes.
Something shifted in her expression as her hand came up to my chest, right over my heart. I pulled her closer.
"Thank you for tonight's dinner, the movie, and all of this."
"We needed it."
"You make me want things I've given up on — a life outside of the firehouse, someone to come home to," I admitted.
Gisselle was still for a moment. "Good, because I'm not going anywhere, even after we catch this guy."
Her declaration knocked the air from my lungs more than any smoke from a fire had.
I leaned down as she met me halfway. This kiss differed from our others.
It was deeper, a promise rather than a question.
My hand cradled the back of her head, tangling in her soft curls. When we finished, she smiled at me.
"The movie's still playing," she murmured.
"I don't care," I replied, pulling her closer again. She laughed against my mouth.
"Me neither."
As Bruce saved the day in the background, Gisselle straddled my lap.
"If all you wanted was a dirty wife-beater, you should've caught me before my shower," I joked.