Chapter 45
LEVI
The sun rises as Blake and I make breakfast together. It’s the perfect scene. Even when she burns the toast. I will happily eat charred bread if it means I get to be with her.
Blake considers the buddy system to be…patronizing.
She complains about it every morning.
And I ignore her every morning.
“When can we eighty-six the buddy system?” Blakes asks around a mouthful of scrambled eggs.
“You know why we’re doing this.”
I smile and take a bite of my scorched toast. My gag reflex is immediate, but I don’t want Blake to feel bad, so I use my coffee to help me swallow it down.
And now I have to eat the whole slice, so she doesn’t feel bad.
Maybe I’ll make the toast tomorrow.
Blake sighs theatrically, unaware of my toast conundrum. “I know. I’m just getting cabin fever.”
Walker treads down the staircase, dressed for another day as Evergreen Falls’s finest.
Blake mumbles into her coffee, “He doesn’t have to have a buddy.”
Walker’s radio crackles, and Jolene’s voice comes through. “Walk.” Walker sighs, lifting his face toward the ceiling.
“Walk, pick up the damn radio,” Jolene demands.
Reluctantly, he reaches for the radio and responds. “Yeah, I’m here, Jo.”
“There’s a garage fire at Jill Becker’s house. Fire Department is already on scene and requesting law enforcement.”
Walker’s hand massages his temples. “I’m on my way.”
The warmth that had settled over the room vanishes.
My appetite disappears.
Walker is already reaching for his jacket. Blake has her phone out and dials Santiago to tell him what’s going on.
Walker opted to drive his own truck, seeing as how he’ll probably have to stay longer than us. Blake, Santiago, and I jumped into Santiago’s GMC. Knowing we’d argue over who gets to sit next to Blake, Santiago lifted the center console and converted it into a jumper seat for Blake.
Twenty minutes later, we’re winding through the back roads north of town.
Smoke looks different to me now. When I see it, my chest tightens before my brain can catch up.
My stomach knots before we even reach the driveway, but I shove it aside.
It’s not Blake. It’s not Santiago. They’re not in the fire.
When we arrive, the worst of the flames have already been knocked down.
Thick gray smoke curls from the open garage, drifting lazily across the driveway.
Firefighters move with practiced efficiency, dragging blackened hoses through puddles that reflect flashing red lights.
Steam rises where freezing air collides with scorched concrete, wrapping the property in a ghostly haze.
The sharp scent of the smoke hangs heavy in the air. It settles in the back of my throat.
Some smells never really leave you.
We meet Walker by the curb, waiting for his direction.
A flash of déjà vu hits me square in the chest. My eyes blink rapidly as I glance around the scene, searching for the familiar sight.
Scratching the back of my head, I question, “Does this scene feel familiar to anyone else?”
Walker scans our surroundings. “What?”
“Evan Lockhart,” I answer.
Understanding dawns on Walker and Santiago’s faces.
Blake’s face scrunches. “Who is Evan Lockhart?”
Walker shifts on his feet, uneasy. “He…”
“He had a garage fire like this as well,” Santiago explains to Blake.
Fire Chief Tad Jenson strolls over to where we stand. “Thanks for coming, Sheriff.”
Walker shakes Tad’s hand. “Anytime.” He turns to Santiago and directs, “You and Blake walk the perimeter and set up the crime scene tape. There’s a roll in my truck.”
“On it,” Santiago replies.
Blake lifts her hands, palms up, while shrugging her shoulders. “I’m in no way qualified for any of this, but sure. I’ll help.”
“You’re a volunteer,” Walker reminds her.
“For forensic art. Not forensic science,” Blake sasses, and strides after Santiago.
Walker tips his head to Tad, lowering his voice and motioning me to step forward and join the conversation.
“Is there anything about this fire that sticks out to you?’
“Yeah. Lockhart.”
“Is it just because the fire is in the garage?” Walker interrogates.
Tad shakes his head. “No. Same burn pattern, same accelerant, and same point of origin.”
Walker straightens his spine. “Thanks, Tad. I’ll start working things from my end.”
Tad gives Walker an appreciative nod and returns to his team.
Walker and I pace away, taking ourselves out of earshot.
“But Derek Holt...” He starts, staring at the concrete as if it holds all the answers.
“Was never setting garages on fire,” I finish for him.
“That means Evergreen Falls has,” Walker corrects himself, “had two arsonists.”
“What are the odds of that?” I question out loud with a frown.
“Less than one percent,” Walker responds. “And they’re usually juveniles, so we’re either looking for a teenager or an anomaly.”
“If this is a repeat of Evan Lockhart’s house, then we should sweep the house,” I suggest.
Walker and I are mulling over new theories when we hear, “Blake!”
The way Santiago shouts her name causes the blood to drain from my face.
Walker and I break into a sprint for Blake. There’s no hesitation, no pause. I don’t know what’s happening, but I don’t need to.
I will always show up for the woman I love.
Santiago kneels next to Blake in the grass on the side of the house, examining her hand. Dark red liquid drips onto the freshly fallen white powder.
We dropped to our knees beside them, ignoring the freezing snow soaking the knees of my pants.
“What happened?” Walker questions frantically.
“I'm fine, I promise,” Blake claims.
“Santiago, go get the first aid kit from my truck. Levi, give me your jacket.” Walker directs.
Without question, Santiago and I spring into action. He runs off toward Walker's truck, and I rip off my coat. Walker uses it to apply pressure to her wounds.
Blake lets out a hiss of pain.
Santiago returns, crashing down to his knees and opening the container. He hands Walker the supplies he needs.
Lifting a little bit of fabric from her skin, Walker examines the state of her hands. “Shit,” he curses.
I peek at her hand, and my stomach contracts into a tight ball. A large gash crosses her left palm, and a few smaller ones along her fingers.
“That’s it.” Walker shakes his head, frustrated. “You’re done. No more crime scenes for you.”
“Done?” Blake’s brows rise. “It’s just a cut.”
“He’s right,” Santiago agrees.
“What?” Blake gapes at him.
“Butterfly,” I rest my hand on her shoulder. “This isn’t a punishment.”
“But—” she starts.
I keep my voice low and calm. “We’re going to worry, and then we won’t be able to do our jobs.”
“I work for the police department just like you guys.” Her eyes dart to the side. She knows her argument is weak.
Santiago’s expression turns inscrutable. “You’re a volunteer.”
Blake’s brows furrow. “Volunteers are people too.”
“Then you’re fired,” Walker clips as he wraps her cut with gauze.
“You can’t fire me,” Blake argues. “Jo said only she can do that.”
“Jo’s delusional,” Walker quips.
Blake’s face softens. “You guys can’t keep me in bubble wrap forever.”
“Mírame,” Watch me.
Blake’s eyes meet mine. I silently plead with her to understand.
I would do anything, sacrifice anything, if it meant she never had to know pain again. Just the thought of her being hurt, even by accident, racks me with torment.
She lets out a sigh, and her gaze drops to her hand. “I don’t like it, but after what happened in the woods…” Her lips turn downward. “I’m willing to try.”
The three of us let out audible breaths. It’s like someone just took a portion of the stress off our plates and threw it out the window.
“I’ll take you back to Falling Sky,” Santiago offers.
We escort Blake back to the truck, but on the way, a small brown object in the snow stands out. I let them continue, and I crouch down to get a closer look.
It’s a cigarette butt.
A clove cigarette butt.
My heartbeat kicks hard against my ribs as I stare at the evidence that we could have easily missed.
It wasn’t just the woods.
Whoever followed Blake before is still following her.