Flash Point (Phoenix Ridge Police Department #5)

Chapter 1

The crime scene photos stared back at her like accusations.

Lena Soto had spread them across her desk hours ago, when the afternoon light was still sharp and unforgiving.

Now, it slanted through the venetian blinds in golden bars, cutting across the images of charred walls and twisted metal, the skeletal remains of what had been a community center.

The playground equipment had melted into abstract shapes—bright primary colors now blackened and warped, swings and slides meant for kids who just needed a safe place to play.

Now all that remained of it were ashes and memories.

Lena’s coffee had long since gone cold. The bitter smell mixed with salt air drifting through the open window, Phoenix Ridge’s constant reminder that the ocean was never far.

She barely noticed either. Her eyes scavenged the photos like a hawk tracking movement in tall grass, searching for the connection she knew had to be there.

Two fires in three weeks. The warehouse fire near the docks first, initially dismissed by investigators as accidental, but Lena had noticed the burn patterns—too deliberate to be accidental—and then the fire at the community center in the Heights district, where the evidence was impossible to ignore.

Same accelerant placement, same late-night timing when the buildings sat empty.

Someone was sending a message. Lena just needed to read it correctly.

She shifted through the photos again, the rough paper catching between her fingers. Building layouts, burn patterns, the forensics team’s notes about entry points and ignition sources…somewhere in this wreckage was the thread that would lead her to—

“You’re going to burn a hole through those photos if you stare any harder.”

Lena didn’t look up. She knew Captain Julia Scott’s voice well enough to hear the concern underneath the dry observation. “There’s something here I’m missing.”

“Or maybe you’re looking too hard.” Julia moved into Lena’s peripheral vision, leaning against the mahogany desk with that casual authority she’d perfected over years of command. “The fire marshal will be at Lavender’s this afternoon. Routine inspection.”

Lena’s hands stilled. “And?”

“And Chief asked me to keep an eye on Lavender’s security.” Julia let that sit for a moment. “Two fires already… Might want to show up and see if anything catches your eye.”

“Fire safety inspections are just preventative theater.” Lena finally looked up, meeting Julia’s dark brown eyes that were flecked with amber in this low light. “I need to find this person, not check exit signs.”

“Sometimes prevention catches what investigation misses.” Julia’s expression held the same patience she’d shown Lena a hundred times over the years they’d worked together.

Captain and detective, friend and colleague, they had the kind of bond that meant Julia could push without Lena pushing back.

“Besides, the fire marshal might have a perspective you don’t. ”

Lena’s jaw tightened. She didn’t need a new perspective. What she needed was evidence, hard facts, and something concrete to follow. But Julia wasn’t wrong about Lavender’s being a potential target.

Around them, the precinct hummed with late afternoon energy.

Other detectives’ conversations faded into the background as Lena processed Julia’s suggestion, her strategic mind already working different angles.

The fire marshal would be inspecting the building and looking at vulnerabilities.

If Lena were there, she could see what someone planning to burn it down might see.

Not that she’d ever admit Julia was right about the value of prevention.

“Fine.” Lena gathered the photos into a neat stack, slipping them back into the case file. “I’ll check it out, but I’m not wasting my time on code violations when there’s an arsonist out there.”

Julia’s smile upturned into a slight curve. “Of course not.”

Lena grabbed her jacket from the back of her chair, ignoring the gentle sarcasm. The case file went into the canvas bag she’d been carrying around everywhere lately. The weight of it helped her think, or maybe she just needed the reminder of what was at stake.

She paused at the door, glancing back at the cold coffee and scattered notes on her desk. Everything else was in her bag now—the photos, the file, the weight of the investigation following her wherever she went. She flipped the lightswitch before closing the door.

“Lena.” Julia’s voice stopped her mid-step. “The fire marshal’s name is Erin Vance. Try not to bite her head off.”

“I’m always professional.”

Julia’s laugh followed her out into the main hallway.

The drive to Lavender’s took fifteen minutes through downtown Phoenix Ridge, the late afternoon traffic sluggish but steady.

Lena had the windows rolled down despite the cooling air, letting the salt breeze cut through her thoughts like something sharp and clarifying.

The case gnawed at her: two fires, escalating damage, and sophisticated methods.

Someone who knew when these buildings would be empty.

Someone she was determined to catch.

She pulled into the parking area beside Lavender’s just as the sun started its descent toward the ocean.

The Victorian building’s purple door was visible even from here, a splash of defiant color against weathered brick and sea-worn wood.

Through the side windows, she could see warm light from vintage lamps, the movement of people inside settling in for a night of coffee and conversation.

A fire truck sat parked out front, official and imposing.

Lena cut the engine and sat for a moment, her hands still on the wheel. This was just reconnaissance to check the building’s vulnerabilities, see if it fits the pattern she’d been tracking, and maybe exchange a few words with the fire marshal if absolutely necessary.

A professional courtesy, nothing more. In and out. Quick and efficient.

She definitely wasn’t here because Julia suggested it. And she certainly wasn’t curious about any perspective a fire marshal might offer that she hadn’t already considered on her own.

Lena grabbed her badge, slung her bag over her shoulder, and headed for Lavender’s purple door, the case file contents heavy against her hip.

She had work to do.

Lena stepped through the door into warm lamplight and the low hum of conversation as the inspection was underway, the scent of lavender threading through coffee and something baking in the kitchen.

The Tuesday evening crowd filled the eclectic space: after-work regulars claiming their favorite armchairs, students hunched over laptops at community tables, a couple sharing wine in one of the Victorian window alcoves where stained glass cast colored patterns across their hands.

It was normal, safe, and packed with people who trusted it to stay that way.

Lavender Larwood stood behind the counter, tall and silver-haired, watching the proceedings with an expression that could only be described as amused.

Married life with Police Chief Diana Marten had mellowed her even further, or maybe she’d just seen enough in her fifty-five years to find bureaucracy more entertaining than threatening.

She caught Lena’s eye and raised an eyebrow in greeting.

But Lena’s attention had already shifted to the woman methodically moving through the cafe’s open space.

Red hair caught the amber light from vintage lamps and was pulled back in a practical style that still managed to look striking.

She was younger than Lena had expected—young twenties, maybe early thirties at most—with a clipboard in hand and an intensity of focus that would’ve been impressive if it weren’t so clearly directed at checking boxes.

The fire marshal’s jacket marked her official, but it was the way she moved that spoke of someone who took her job seriously. Too seriously, perhaps.

Lena watched from the doorway as the woman—Erin Vance, Julia had said—checked fire extinguishers with the kind of attention most people reserved for defusing bombs. She made notes, measured distances, and ran her fingers along exit signage like she could read safety in Braille.

Bureaucratic box-checking and preventative theater, just as Lena had told Julia.

Except…

Lena’s professional instincts prickled as she observed longer.

Erin wasn’t merely looking; she was analyzing.

Her gaze tracked airflow from the propped-open door to the kitchen exhaust. She studied the vintage electrical fixtures, not with concern for code compliance but with the kind of assessment that mapped vulnerabilities.

When she examined the storage area near the espresso machine, her attention lingered on fuel sources and accelerant risks.

She was thinking like someone who understood the way fire behaved, like someone who could see what Lena needed to see.

Dammit.

Lena moved deeper into the cafe, weaving between occupied tables, and the espresso machine hissed somewhere to her left.

“Detective Soto.” Lavender’s voice carried the lazy drawl of someone who’d learned not to hurry through life. “I didn’t expect Phoenix Ridge’s finest this evening.”

“Routine check-in.” Lena’s tone was professional and clipped, but her eyes never left the fire marshal. “Security concerns.”

“Mmm.” Lavender’s sound held layers of knowing. “Diana mentioned you might stop by. Coffee?”

“No, thank you.”

“Tea? Something stronger? Maybe some moral support while you watch someone else do their job?”

Lena shot her a look. Lavender’s smile was entirely too entertained.

The fire marshal had moved to the electrical panel, her back to them and her attention completely absorbed in whatever she was documenting. The scratch of pen on paper was audible even over the cafe’s din.

Lena approached, her badge already in hand. “Fire Marshal Vance?”