"Take twenty.” The investigator’s face is stony and unreadable.
Jordan guides me with a still hand under my elbow and his touch sends comfort whipping through me. We move away from the rigs and across the lot.
“I’m right over here.” He points to a black truck parked at an angle behind the engine.
“You came in your own truck?”
He opens the passenger door and helps me up into the seat like I'm something breakable. “I wasn’t on duty today, but when something like this happens, you show up.” He closes the doorand walks around to the driver’s side. He peels off layers of gear before he climbs in.
The cab is warm. It smells like coffee. The windshield frames the burning shell of the only building in this town I've let myself feel safe in and I can hardly look at it. Jordan puts a gas-station coffee in my hands.
"It’s still warm, barely. But you should drink a little if you can."
I wrap both hands around the cup. I can't drink it. But I also can't let go, my stomach ties itself in knots. "Thanks. I uh, I have to tell you something," I say. "I don’t think it’s anything, but I heard that there is a possibility of arson and I just need one person in this town to know. Just in case there is something to it. Just in case…"
In case he finds me again.But I can't say that part out loud.
"Take your time," Jordan says and the genuine kindness in his stare threatens to break me. “You’ve had an eventful morning.”
“That’s one way to put it. I was sort of hoping Gatsby’s adventures would be the highlight, but this tops it.”
“Boats against the current.”
“A Gatsby quote?” My eyebrows shoot up in surprise.
“I read.” He shrugs with a chuckle. “You were amazing in there today.”
I look at the coffee and let out a deep breath. “I did what anyone would do. But, I…” And then, I start talking.
Maybe it’s because of the fire. Maybe it’s because the only way out is through. Or maybe I tell him everything because some irrational, hormonal part of me wants to trust the hot firefighter that swooped me up like I weigh nothing.
But either way I tell him. I start with my ex. I give him the full name. He should know, because there is always a chance the man will show up. I tell him about the two years of control andmind games. A restraining order he violated twice, both times in ways that weren't quite enough for an arrest to stick.
I tell him about the night I left and the first time he found me in a town six hundred miles away. I tell him how the second time it was eight hundred. Both times I moved within forty-eight hours. Both times it didn’t matter.
I pause. Jordan isn’t pulling away from me and he doesn’t look scared. He leans toward me and the muscles in his throat tighten. “Is that how you got here?”
“Yes, well sort of. I sat on the floor of an apartment I'd been in for three months with a packed go-bag, a laptop, and a Google map of school district openings. I closed my eyes and picked a town I'd never set foot in. Something in me picked Whispering Pines because it was the kind of name that sounded like nothing bad had ever happened in it. I have no history here. No friends. No social media trail that ends here but that doesn’t mean anything.”
“You think this jackass is connected to the fire?” His eyebrows pull together.
“I don’t know, but he hasn’t been above arson in the past and it all seems too coincidental.” My chest tightens and I have to force my breath to steady. I’ve lived with this weight for so long that telling someone feels like the best kind of release. “Sorry, this is a lot. I just wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t at least mention it. I didn’t mean to get into the weeds with all the details. I know you need to leave.”
“I want the details.” Jordan puts a hand on my forearm and sparks of electricity shoot through me. “All of them.”
So I tell him. I tell him about standing three feet back from windows and the chair I shove under the doorknob at night. I tell him about the kitchen boxes I haven't unpacked because some part of me doesn't believe I get to stay.
I watch his jaw the whole time. I wait for him to react, but he stays steady. Jordan doesn't look away from me, and he doesn't reach for the door handle. I talk as parents flood the parking lot and leave with their students in tow. I talk while first responders organize the chaos.
When I finally run out of words and go silent with my hands shaking around a cup of coffee I haven't drunk, Jordan shakes his head. Then he turns in his seat to face me fully. He takes the cup out and sets it in the console then takes my hands in his.
He looks at me and speaks with a voice so solid it brings tears to my eyes. "Three things, Lana. One, you're not alone anymore. Two, I’m not going anywhere. Three, to get to you he's going to have to come through me. And he won't."
CHAPTER 5
JORDAN
“Lana.It’s me, Jordan. Open the door.” I call her name as I knock so I don’t startle her. It’s not like I told her I’d show up at her place the morning after the fire with two coffees and my tool bag.
