Chapter 11 #2
Lena moved deeper into the warehouse, keeping her weapon trained in his direction. "I understand you were at the Rainbow Alliance Center three hours before it burned down and are now moving around some containers. Why don't you help me understand the rest?"
"I…I can't." Cross stepped backward, and she could see him more clearly now: he was wearing a black cap and what looked like heavy-duty khaki construction clothes that were stained with something dark.
Behind him, a dozen metal containers sat in neat rows, their lids removed.
The chemical smell was stronger here, sharp enough to make her eyes water. "You need to leave. Now."
"Not going to happen." Lena kept moving forward, maintaining the distance between them but closing the angle so he couldn't retreat further into the building's depths. "We can do this the easy or hard way, Martin. But we're going to do it."
"You don't know what he'll do if I talk." Martin's hands were shaking now, and she noticed for the first time that he was holding something—a crowbar, probably what he'd been using to open the containers. "He said if anyone got close—"
"Who said that?" Lena stopped moving, sensing the fear in his voice wasn't entirely about being arrested. "Who are you working for?"
"I can't—" Cross's voice broke. "I never wanted anyone to get hurt. It was just information. I needed the money."
"What information? Who's paying you?"
Cross shook his head violently. "I have to destroy this. All of it. Before he finds out you're here or you’ll be involved too."
Lena took her eyes off Martin for no more than three seconds and looked at the containers more carefully. Even from this distance, she could see labels with chemical names and biohazard symbols, everything someone would need to start sophisticated fires.
"Martin, put down the crowbar. We can talk about this."
Instead, he raised it higher. "I can't go to prison. I have kids, a family."
"You have kids, and you're helping someone burn down buildings?" Lena's voice hardened. "Buildings where people could die?"
"I never knew!" The words exploded out of him. "I thought it was just— He said he was writing articles about building safety. You know, like investigative journalism. I was just giving him background information from my friend who still works with the city."
"What friend?"
"Danny Morrison. He's still with building safety. We'd meet for drinks, and I'd ask him about current projects and recent inspections. Casual conversation, normal work stuff. I'd pass it along and get paid for it."
Lena's mind raced. Morrison—she recognized the name from the department roster. "And Danny had no idea you were selling his information?"
"Of course not!" Martin's grip on the crowbar shifted, and Lena tensed. "He thought we were just catching up. Two old coworkers talking shop."
"Who was buying the information, Martin?"
"I don't know." His voice cracked again. "They were all dead drops. Anonymous texts telling me what kind of information to get and where to leave it. Cash payments left at different locations around the city."
"You never met this buyer?"
"Never." He looked at the containers surrounding him, then back at Lena. "But after each fire, he'd pay more. And after you questioned me last week, he sent a message saying if the police got close again, I needed to clean house."
Lena felt her pulse spike. "Clean house how?"
"Destroy everything. The chemicals, the equipment, anything that could connect back to him." He gestured at the containers with the crowbar. "I've been storing all this here for months. Every component he asked me to pick up, every accelerant, it’s always been here."
"You've been the supply line."
"I thought I was just moving chemicals for some kind of research project.
I never put it together until the fires started.
" Martin's voice turned desperate. "By then, he was paying me too much to stop because I needed the money. Unemployment wasn’t enough, and it’s impossible to find good work right now.
And when I tried to quit after you questioned me, he said he… he knew where my kids went to school."
The threat hung in the air between them. Lena kept her weapon steady, but she felt a cold certainty settling in her stomach. This wasn't just a simple string of arson cases. It was organized, funded, and backed by someone with reach and resources.
"Martin, we can protect you and your family. But you need to put down the crowbar and come with me. Now."
"He'll know I talked." Martin backed up another step, and Lena realized he was positioning himself near something—a container larger than the others that was set apart from the rest. "He'll know you were here."
"We'll make sure—"
He suddenly swung the crowbar down toward the large container. Lena lunged forward, but she was too far away. The metal struck something inside with a hollow clang, and immediately the air filled with the smell of gasoline and something else she didn’t recognize.
"Jesus, Martin, what the fuck did you just do?"
"I'm sorry." He raised the crowbar again, and this time Lena saw what he was aiming for—a road flare, the kind construction crews used for emergencies.
She dove toward him as he brought the crowbar down.
The metal struck the road flare with a sharp crack, and sparks showered across the concrete floor. Lena tackled Martin around the waist, driving both of them away from the gasoline-and-accelerant-soaked containers as orange flames bloomed behind them.
They hit the ground hard, Martin’s elbow driving into her ribs. The crowbar clattered away across the concrete, spinning into the shadows between the industrial shelving. Lena rolled, trying to pin him, but Martin was stronger than his panicked demeanor suggested and fueled by desperation.
“You don’t understand!” He twisted beneath her, throwing a wild punch that caught her shoulder. “He’ll kill my family!”
Lena blocked his next swing and drove her knee toward his stomach, but he shifted and her leg struck the bone of his hip instead. The fire behind them was spreading, following the trail of spilled gasoline toward the other containers. The chemical smell intensified, making her eyes stream.
“We need to get the hell out of here!” She grabbed Martin’s wrist, trying to control his movements, but he wrenched free and scrambled toward the fallen crowbar.
The warehouse filled with smoke faster than she’d expected.
Through the haze, she could see Martin on his hands and knees, feeling around for the weapon.
Lena pulled out her radio, calling for fire department response, but the transmission cut to static.
Either the building’s metal structure was interfering with the signal or the smoke was already thick enough to disrupt electronics.
Martin found the crowbar. He came up swinging, and Lena barely ducked in time. The metal whistled past her ear, close enough that she felt the air displacement. She drew her service weapon, but Martin was already moving, using the thick plumes of smoke as cover.
“Martin, stop! We can protect you!”
“You can’t protect anyone!” His voice came from somewhere to her left, but the smoke made it impossible to pinpoint his location. “You couldn’t even protect your girlfriend!”
The words felt like a gut punch. Lena spun toward the sound, her handgun raised, but she saw only gray smoke and dancing shadows from the fire behind her. The flames were climbing the walls now, following more accelerant residue she hadn't noticed before.
A metallic scrape warned her just in time. She dropped and rolled as the crowbar swept through the space where her head had been. Martin materialized out of the smoke like a ghost, his face streaked with soot and twisted with terror.
"She almost died because of people like you!" He swung again, wild and desperate. "People who think they can control everything!"
Lena caught his wrist this time, using his momentum to throw him off balance. They grappled in the billowing smoke, both coughing and struggling for advantage. Martin was heavier, but Lena had fifteen years of training and the clarity that came from knowing she was fighting for her life.
She managed to wrench the crowbar away, but Cross immediately lunged for her weapon.
They crashed into a metal shelving unit, ancient bolts giving way under their combined weight.
Debris rained down around them, the rusted brackets, forgotten tools, and chunks of concrete from the deteriorating walls crashing to the floor.
Something heavy struck Lena's temple.
Pain exploded behind her eyes, bright and sharp. Her vision tilted and the warehouse started spinning around her like a broken carnival ride. She felt herself falling, the concrete floor rushing up to meet her.
Through the haze of a concussion and smoke, she heard Martin moving away, his footsteps echoing off the walls, growing more and more distant. A door slammed somewhere in the building's depths, but she couldn’t discern which direction the sound came from.
Lena tried to push herself up, but her arms wouldn't cooperate. Her head felt like it was splitting open, and when she touched her temple, her fingers came away warm and wet. Blood, mixing with the soot that coated everything.
The fire was spreading faster now, feeding on whatever accelerants Martin had been storing. Heat pressed against her face, and she could hear the groaning of metal as the building's structure began to weaken. She needed to move. She needed to get out before the whole place came down.
Lena forced herself to hands and knees, then to standing, using the damaged shelving for support. The warehouse door seemed impossibly far away, wavering through smoke and the aftereffects of her head injury. Each step sent streaks of white-hot lightning through her skull, but she kept moving.