"I think you already know… We’re dealing with arson."
CHAPTER 4
LANA
The EMTs clear me.My blood pressure is okay. My oxygen is back to normal. My pupils are, apparently, responsive. They talk around me for a long while like I’m not here. They say things likesmoke inhalation,follow up with your primaryandplenty of fluids tonight.
Then they ask me if I have a ride home and my focus narrows. I open my mouth on autopilot to say yes… But nothing comes out because the truth is I don't have a ride and the home part is also questionable.
I have ahomein the sense most people mean it. But having a person in this town who knows my phone number well enough to come pick me up from a parking lot that smells like wet ash isn’t the same thing.
"Ma’am, any local family I can call to come get you?”
The ground starts to shift and my breathing gets shallow all over again. “No, I don’t. My parents died in a fire… Not this fire, but a fire a long time ago. It’s been just me for a very long while.” My words are a mumbled overshare that I’d never normally let slip, but I’m out of sorts.
“Oh, well, that’s okay. We can call you an Uber when you’re ready," the EMT says gently. “You can get home and take care of yourself.”
I nod.Take care of myself.That sounds about right. “Thank you.”
“Why don’t you sit for a minute, have some water?”
I nod and the EMT gets up to attend to a girl in a yellow hoodie. It’s my cue to leave, but I don't move. Instead, I turn my attention back to Jordan, the man who saved me. I pick him out of the crowd immediately and watch him work from across the parking lot. I wasn’t hallucinating, he’s every bit the handsome hero I thought he was. Tall with broad shoulders and deep-set dimples that could stop traffic.
There was something in Jordan’s tone that wrapped around me just like his coat I’m still wearing. It’s got his last name, Crush, etched onto the pocket. It's so big it almost feels like a blanket and I want to melt into it. It smells like smoke and pine, but I have not let go of either sleeve since he put it on my shoulders.
What does it say about me that I’ve just escaped a burning building and the thing I can’t get over is the jawline of the man who rescued me?
I shake my head and try to bring myself back to reality.
On the other side of the parking lot, a young guy is working the perimeter of the tape. There’s something vaguely familiar about him, but I can’t place it. Not that recognition means much in a town this small, a few trips to the local market and everyone starts looking familiar.
The man is slim with a hoodie under his jacket. There’s a camera against his hip and a notebook tucked into the back pocket of his jeans the way people do when they talk with their hands. He's already gotten a wide shot of the building, a tightone of the engines, and now he's angling for the kids being checked out by EMS.
When his eyes lock on mine, it clicks. I recognize him from social media. The algorithm knew the moment I arrived in Whispering Pines and it has been pushing his content on me ever since. He’s a local reporter. His name is Noah Kim… I think. From the very first video, I liked him immediately. I also can't, under any circumstances, let him talk to me.
So when he nods his head in my direction, I turn away. The second my name goes into a news story,a teacherwhore-entered the buildingandcarried a sophomore to safety, it will be online. Online means searchable, and searchable meansfindable.
I have spent two years making sure I'm not findable.
It’s been two long years of a chair shoved under the doorknob at night. A blocked phone number. A bank account in a town three hours from this one. All of it will be for nothing the second Noah Kim points his lens at me. I take a sip of water and when I look back I find Noah has trained his focus on someone else.
I still feel unsteady when my eyes find Jordan again without my consent. He’s standing six feet away with his helmet off and sleeves shoved up his forearms. He’s still talking to a man in a windbreaker withFIRE INVESTIGATORstenciled across the back. His jaw is set. I focus on them and catch bits of the conversation.
Textbook. Accelerant. Possible arson.My blood runs cold as the word repeats in my mind.Arson.Someone did this on purpose.It couldn’t be him, could it? Could he have found me? Would he take it to this extreme?My throat runs dry and I think I might be sick.It probably has nothing to do with me… But what if it does? How can I sleep at night without telling someone?
The conversation wraps and my heart rate is out of control. I look back at Jordan and I know he’s going to leave soon. I feel it in every part of my body. I rail against it. He's going to clip his radio back on and walk to a different rig and become a man I was carried by, once, who won't remember my name in six months. And I will go home in an Uber never having said another word to him.
Unless…
My body makes the decision before my brain has a chance to catch up. I push off the tailgate and the whole world tilts, then rights itself under my feet. An EMT says something behind me but I ignore him and walk the six feet to where Jordan is standing.
He sees me coming before I get there. He turns, the conversation cutting off mid-word, and I watch his whole body re-orient around me the way a compass needle finds north.
"Hey." His hand comes up under my elbow. "Hey, hey. Sit down, you shouldn't be —"
"Jordan, can I talk to you, please?" It comes out smaller than I mean it to.
The sunlight glistens across his tanned skin and he turns to the investigator. "Give me ten."
