2. Chapter 2 Firehouse Rules
Cole
Isecure the gas shutoff valve with hands that know the motion like breathing. Behind me, Suzanne hovers near the doorway, arms crossed, mouth pressed in a stubborn line.
"You can wait outside," I tell her.
"It's my shop."
"And it's my scene."
I straighten, scanning the back hallway. The gas smell is already dissipating, but the hair on the back of my neck stays up.
"You don't need to be in here while I work."
She doesn't move. Just lifts her chin like she's daring me to make her.
Christ.
I pull out my phone and text dispatch for a gas tech, then crouch near the coupling. The metal fitting gleams dully in the dim light. I lean closer, squinting at the threads.
"Is it bad?" Her voice floats over my shoulder.
"Won't know until the tech gets here."
"But you have an opinion."
I do. I just don't want to say it out loud yet.
I glance back at her. She's chewing her bottom lip, and the afternoon sun slanting through the open door catches the gold in her hair. Curves everywhere. Sunshine smiles even when she's scared.
She's off-limits.
The thought lands hard, and I shove it down. Focus on the job.
"Go make yourself useful," I say. "Check the front windows. Make sure they're open."
Her eyes narrow. "You're very bossy."
"It's literally my job."
She huffs but turns toward the front of the shop. I watch her go longer than I should, then force my attention back to the coupling.
My phone buzzes. Willa.
Willa: Heard sirens. Is everything okay?
I type fast. Yeah. Gas leak at Butter & Bean. Under control.
Three dots appear immediately.
Willa: Is Suzanne okay?
Me: Fine. Stubborn as hell.
Willa: Be nice to her, Cole. She's been through enough.
I stare at the screen. Been through enough. That's the second time today someone's hinted Suzanne Lane came to Whiskey Bend carrying more than luggage.
Willa: I mean it. She's my friend. Don't scare her off.
The word "friend" sits heavily. Willa doesn't throw that around lightly. If Suzanne matters to my sister, that makes her untouchable.
I pocket my phone without responding.
The tech arrives twenty minutes later, a wiry guy named Marshall who's been doing gas work in Whiskey Bend since before I joined the department. He kneels where I was crouched, pulls out a flashlight, and inspects the coupling in silence.
Suzanne reappears, wiping her hands on a dish towel. "Well?"
Marshall doesn't answer right away. He runs his fingers over the metal threads, tilts his head, then sits back on his heels.
"This wasn't wear and tear," he says.
My jaw tightens. "You sure?"
"Yeah." He points to faint scratches along the edge of the fitting. "See these marks? Fresh. Someone loosened this today. Maybe yesterday at the earliest."
Suzanne goes pale. "That's not possible."
"It's possible," Marshall says. "Whether it's likely is a different question."
I stand, crossing my arms. "Who's been in your shop the last forty-eight hours?"
"Just me." Her voice is too tight. "I've been here alone since I got the keys last week."
"Delivery drivers? Contractors? Anyone doing work?"
She shakes her head. "No one."
Marshall packs up his tools and promises to file a report with the county. I walk him out, then return to find Suzanne standing in the middle of the back hallway, staring at the gas line like it might explain itself.
"Suzanne."
She blinks and looks at me.
"You need to tell me what's going on."
"Nothing's going on."
"Don't lie to me."
Her mouth tightens. "I'm not lying. I don't know who would do this."
"But you know someone could."
Silence.
I step closer. Close enough to see the way her breath stutters.
"Someone loosened that fitting on purpose. That means someone wanted you scared. Or hurt. Or both."
"I don't…"
"Who are you running from?"
Her eyes flash. "I'm not running from anyone."
"Bullshit."
She flinches, and I almost regret the word. Almost.
"I came here to take over my grandmother's shop," she says, voice shaking. "That's it. No drama. No conspiracy."
I hold her gaze. She doesn't look away, but I can see the cracks forming. Whatever she's carrying, it's heavy.
"Fine," I say. "But I'm upgrading your locks. And you're not staying here alone until we figure this out."
"You can't just…"
"I can, and I will."
She opens her mouth to argue, then snaps it shut. Her shoulders sag, just a fraction, and I realize she's exhausted.
"Thank you," she says quietly.
I nod. "Lock up. I'll follow you home."
"I live upstairs."
Of course she does.
"Then I'll wait until you're inside."
She doesn't fight me. Just grabs her keys and heads for the front door. I follow, checking the locks twice before stepping outside.
General Tso is perched on a planter across the street, watching us like a feathered security camera. The rooster cocks his head, then lets out a low, rattling crow.
Suzanne huffs a laugh. "He likes you."
"He attacked my helmet."
"That's how he shows affection."
I shake my head, but the corner of my mouth twitches.
Suzanne climbs the narrow staircase to her apartment, and I wait until I hear the deadbolt slide home. Then I head back to the station.
Smokey meets me at the door, tail wagging, nose already working overtime. He shoves his head under my hand and whines.
"Yeah, yeah. I know." I scratch behind his ears, and he leans into me hard enough to nearly knock me sideways. "She's trouble."
He whines again, like he agrees but doesn't care.
Inside, the station is quiet. Most of the crew is out on a welfare check across town. I grab water from the fridge and drop onto the couch in the common room.
My phone buzzes. Group text.
Beau: Deliberate? What's the liability exposure on that block?
Jett: Is she hurt?
Nash: Who?
I type slowly. I don't know yet. Looking into it.
Silence for a beat. Then all three respond at once.
Beau: I've got money tied up in that block. Main Street revitalization isn't going to work if shop owners get run off.
Jett: Maybe try caring about the actual human first, Beau.
Nash: Who had access to the back of that building?
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Of course, Nash is already asking the right questions.
Me: Don't know yet. Looking into it.
I close the group chat and toss my phone onto the cushion beside me. Smokey climbs up, curling against my leg, and I stare at the ceiling.
Suzanne's face flashes in my mind. The way she stood on that ladder was fearless. The way her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. The way she lied straight to my face about running from no one.
My phone buzzes again. Jett, private message this time.
Jett: You like her.
I don't respond.
Jett: If you hurt her, you're not welcome in my bar. Or my life.
I set the phone down and close my eyes. Willa's warning. Jett's threat. Beau's investment. Nash's questions. The whole damn town is watching, and I haven't even done anything yet.
Smokey shifts, resting his chin on my thigh, and I run my hand through his fur.
"Just a job," I mutter.
He snorts.
The next morning, Marshall calls.
"Got the report filed," he says. "The county inspector wants to take a look, but I'm telling you now, Cole, those tool marks are fresh. Somebody knew what they were doing."
"How hard is it to loosen a gas coupling?"
"Not hard if you know where to look. But you'd need access. And time."
I thank him and hang up. Then I text Suzanne.
Me: Need to talk. Meet me at the shop in an hour.
She responds immediately.
Suzanne: I'm already here.
Of course she is.
I grab my gear and head out. Smokey tries to follow, but I point him back inside. "Stay."
He sits, ears drooping.
"I'll bring you a treat."
His tail thumps once.
I drive across town, mind spinning. Whoever tampered with that line wanted Suzanne rattled. Maybe worse. If they did it once, they'll do it again.
When I pull up to Butter & Bean, Suzanne is outside, sweeping the sidewalk. She's wearing jeans that hug every curve and a faded T-shirt with a coffee cup on it. I kill the engine and get out.
She looks up, broom pausing mid-stroke. "Morning."
"We need to upgrade your security."
"Good morning to you, too."
I ignore the sarcasm. "Locks, cameras, alarms. All of it."
She leans the broom against the wall. "I can't afford all that."
"Beau will cover it."
Her eyebrows shoot up. "Why would he do that?"
"Because he's invested in this street. And because I asked him to."
She crosses her arms. "I don't need charity."
"It's not charity. It's common sense."
We stare at each other. The morning sun catches her hair again, and I shove my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching out.
"Fine," she says finally. "But I'm paying him back."
"Sure."
She narrows her eyes. "You're agreeing too easily."
"Take the win, Suzanne."
Her mouth twitches, almost a smile, and I feel something loosen in my chest.
Then my phone buzzes. Marshall again.
Marshall picks up on the first ring.
"Those tool marks," I say. "How fresh?"
"Less than twenty-four hours. Why?"
I look up at her, standing in the sunlight, stubborn and beautiful and lying about why she's here.
"Because whoever did this," I say slowly, "might still be watching."