Chapter 5
Wyatt
“Burn pattern,” Brody grunts, pointing at a line in the charred brush.
It’s easy to see the deep penetrating strip through the burned vegetation. It sinks lower into the ground with a darkness the rest of the foliage doesn’t have.
Nate, hand running through his dark hair, frowns at the scene before us. “Maybe.”
Brody’s head snaps in the other man’s direction, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead from the fire we just put out. Or the midday California sun that beats down on us, making it feel like the fire’s still raging. “Nate.”
“I don’t want to jump to conclusions,” he answers.
“You can see the sheen from an accelerant at the edge,” Brody counters, finger striking through the air towards the end of the burned line. If he points harder, maybe Nate will believe him.
Brody isn’t wrong. When we first put the fire out, he pointed it out to Luke. Considering I was ordered—by Brody—not to leave his side at calls today, I saw what he’s talking about up close.
Nate nods. “I know. I heard you the first time.”
Something tells me Brody isn’t the type to repeat himself.
It could be the way his jaw clenches and flexes.
Or how he exhales deliberately. He’s done a lot of that since Nate first assigned him to show me around the fire station, and since then I’ve learned he’s a man of few words, and grumpy to boot.
“It’s arson,” Brody declares.
“You’re not a fire investigator, Brody.”
“You know I’m not wrong.”
“It could have been a couple kids.”
Nate’s arms fold over a muscular chest. He’s a decent sized guy, definitely works out, but Brody is bigger. He’s got the muscle and height to back it up. I’d put my money on Brody winning a physical fight between them.
My gaze volleys between the two. The tension is thick, and I can’t help but think I’m the cause of it.
It’s clear that Brody isn’t my biggest fan, though I’m not sure what I did to deserve it other than being the new guy.
I guess some guys just don’t like to be a babysitter. Not that I asked for one. Or need it.
If Nate had to assign someone to do it, why the hell did he pick Brody?
Neither one of the men speaks. Brody glares at Nate, but the latter stands firm, looking unbothered. Like the lieutenant he is.
I may get my head bitten off, but I dare to interject. “We had a similar fire before I left Station Six. Maybe a week before. In some brush, just outside a treed area. Not sure about burn patterns but might be worth checking into.”
Brody doesn’t deem looking at me worth it, but his nostrils flare a touch wider. “See?”
“Could be totally unrelated.”
Level-headed, even keeled. Looking at it from all angles. Not quite half a day in, and I can see why Nate has made it to lieutenant. Judging by the way his teeth grind, he wants to say more, but he refrains, and again I’m left with the sense it’s because of me.
“Yo, cowboy!” Liam calls, causing all three of us to turn in the direction of the truck. He nods at the hose lying on the ground. “Come help me with this.”
Brody doesn’t give me a chance to look in his direction before he grumbles, “Go.”
I don’t need to be told twice. I’m grateful to get away from whatever is brewing between those two. When I reach Liam, he nods towards them.
“What’s their problem?” he questions.
Another uncomfortable position. It’s not my business to say, but there’s also an element of wanting to fit in. Then again, I don’t want to make an enemy out of Brody, and the guy already doesn’t like me.
I shrug, non-committedly. “Didn’t have enough Wheaties for breakfast?”
It’s not an answer, but it’s enough to let Liam know there might have been a problem.
He smirks at me, giving a nod of approval. “Alright, Dalton. Let’s get this hose dealt with. Use the cross lays, but it’ll need to be cleaned when we get back.”
Which will undoubtedly fall to me, though I don’t mind. I know I’ve got things to prove to these guys. And I will. I have to. I refuse to let my father be right about me.
Later, when we’ve got everything cleaned up, and we’re back in the truck, I pull out my phone, bringing Tyson’s message thread up.
Me: Question.
Tyson: Answer.
Me: You know that brush fire we had a shift or two before I left six?
Tyson: Hah. The one where you tripped over the hose? How could I forget?
Me: …shit. I forgot.
Tyson: Not a chance you lived it down, motherfucker. Til you die.
Me: Whatever. We had a brush fire like it today. Any chance you know if ours was arson?
Tyson: Haven’t heard anything.
Me: Do me a solid?
Tyson: I can ask around.
Me: Thanks man.
Tyson: How’s nine?
Me: Interesting.
Tyson: Say more. Quinn still there? That woman is fire.
I leave him on read because a second later, we’re backing into the station bay.
Luke is already here with the brush truck, a heavy-duty pickup converted to hold a small water tank and compartments for brush fire tools.
He acts as a spotter, helping Liam back us in.
But it’s the whoop of excitement Liam lets out that has me shoving my phone into my pocket.
“Fuck yeah,” he says, hitting his hand on the steering wheel with jubilation. Like he knows something the rest of us don’t.
“You happy you didn’t hit the door?” Nate quips from the front passenger seat.
I look in the direction of the lieutenant. Gone is the authoritative man. In his place is one full of calm and ease, and a little mischief.
“One time, asshole. I did that one fucking time, and it was years ago. Get over it.”
Sounds like me and tripping over the hose. A story I won’t be sharing with these guys any time soon. Not if I can help it.
Nate chuckles. “Then what?”
“Oh, you’ll see. You’ll all fucking see.”