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The room erupted in laughter. I shook my head, playing along. “Slow down. We’re just having dinner.”
“That’s not what I heard.” Quick on his feet and with his words, Flash gestured with a bottle of ginger ale. “What’s the scoop, Hoyt? You and Caroline an item now?”
It was evidence of how long I’d been off-island that I’d so vastly underestimated how fast word of last night’s encounter would spread.
“If they weren’t before, I’d say they are now,” Smokey added. “Word on the street is you got all kinds of possessive about your girl in front of Troy Lincoln last night.”
The questions were nosy, but harmless—the kind of ball-busting that forged family ties and made long hours at the firehouse bearable. “We were keeping things on the down-low, but a public display seemed necessary. I know I’ve been gone a while, but I certainly didn’t see any evidence that Troy has improved with age.”
As I poured myself a cup of coffee, conversation shifted, the others sharing what they’d heard about Troy. All evidence that he was just as much of an asshole now as he had been at eighteen. I was hoping the subject had been effectively steered elsewhere, but Blaze, the youngest crew member, who I’d already figured out was the one looking to incite fires in any conversation, made the mistake of bringing it up again.
“You know, with her family history…”
Temper stirred. I hadn’t thought anyone would be bold enough to bring up that garbage directly to me. It wouldn’t do to lose my shit here, though, so I held up a hand and strove for some diplomacy. “Don’t go there. Caroline’s her own person. And as for her brother, I don’t believe he had anything to do with Gwen Busby’s disappearance.”
There was a moment of silence, a sign of respect for my stance. I appreciated that they seemed to know when to back off. This was the kind of thing that could absolutely damage the camaraderie of the team, and we couldn’t afford that. Out on the job, we depended on each other to stay safe and alive.
I took a sip of my coffee, my mind wandering to Caroline. She was strong, resilient, and had been through more than her fair share of trouble, thanks to the island’s rumor mill. I admired her for it. And despite the gossip, I was looking forward to spending some real one-on-one time with her, to see where things could go if she’d only give us a chance.
The alarm shattered the afternoon calm, catapulting us all into action. The banter, the teasing, the heavy cloud of gossip, all evaporated as we leapt into coordinated action. In the midst of the controlled chaos, a small part of me couldn’t help but feel grateful for the interruption. It was a reminder of why I’d come back to Hatterwick—to make a difference, to be part of this brotherhood.
The fire was on the Atlantic side of the island, along the row of houses that had fallen to investors who were more interested in making vacation rentals than homes. As we approached, an ominous cloud of smoke billowed into the sky, a stark contrast to the peaceful backdrop of beach and ocean. A visibly shaken couple stood well back from the blaze as the engine rolled to a stop. The next booking or owners? Either way, they were likely the ones who’d called it in.
With Jamal out, it was on me to take command. It was a role I’d trained for, even if this was my first time out in this capacity with this department. The responsibility of command meant overseeing the safety of not just the structure and its occupants, but my crew as well.
“Is anyone inside?” I shouted.
The man wrapped an arm around his companion. “We don’t know. We spotted the smoke when we got here.”
I scanned quickly for other vehicles but saw only the car the couple must have arrived in. “Let’s get a line on that fire in back. Flash, head in through the front and check for anyone inside.”
My team sprang into action, efficiency and urgency in every step. Tank and Smokey started unrolling the hoses, while Flash and I quickly donned our breathing apparatus.
“Everybody look alive. It doesn’t look too bad yet, but we all know this can turn on a dime.”
Flash kicked in the front door and hustled inside, and the rest of us moved around to the back. The fire hadn’t made it to the wooden deck yet. Hose in hand, I pounded up the steps and made for the back door, breaking my way inside. The heat in the smoke-filled kitchen hit like a physical force, a wall of searing air that threatened to push me back. I gripped the hose, directing the water at the base of the flames, the most effective point of attack. The fire was stubborn, devouring the wooden cabinets and kitchen fixtures.
“Get another line in here. Keep the water on it!”
The crackling of the flames and the hiss of steam as water met fire filled the air, a chaotic symphony as familiar as my own name. I kept a wary eye on the ceiling, mindful of potential structural damage. It was a constant calculation as we fought to contain, then extinguish the blaze.
By the time the fire was finally doused, the structure was mostly intact, but the kitchen was devastated. As outcomes went, it was a hell of a lot better than it could’ve been.
“Hey L-T, come look at this.”
Following Smokey’s gesture, I examined the mess of what used to be the stove. What had once been a plastic bin of—something—had melted to the top. Evidence of assorted containers was inside. The burn pattern suggested this was the point of origin.
“Accident or incendiary?” Smokey murmured.
In my years as a firefighter, I’d seen all kinds of idiot moves. Setting a cleaning caddy on a stove that was still hot was well within the realm of possibility. But something about this was raising my internal alarms. “Too soon to say.”
“L-T, the owner is here.”
I followed Tank outside, where a middled-aged guy stood at the edge of the perimeter we’d established, one arm folded over his chest, the other braced behind his head as he stared at the house in horror.
“I’m Lieutenant McNamara. You’re the owner?”
“Yes. Jim Foster. How bad is it?”
