“Could be something real,” Beck cuts in. “Treat it like it is.”
“Always do, Cap,” Fletch says, quieter this time.
The rest of the ride settles into that focused hum with no filler conversation. We pull up to the school, the alarm still blaring sharply. Water’s already spilling from under a side door, running in a steady stream across the concrete and pooling along the curb.
“Well.” Fletch kills the engine. “That’s promising.”
Beck’s already out of the cab. “Let’s move.”
I drop down from the back, boots hitting wet pavement as I pull my gloves tight, already moving. The alarm cuts straight through everything, but the rest of the noise filters in underneath. Water spray and voices.
We move toward the entrance, Beck taking point as he pushes the door open. The heat hits first, followed by the thick, damp air of steam and something faintly burnt.
Then the voices again.
“I said it needed five more minutes!”
“It was already done!”
“The timer didn’t go off—”
“That oven runs hot, Sally, I told you—”
“My shortbread is ruined!”
I round the corner into the school kitchen and take it in properly.
Sprinklers are still going overhead, drenching everything in a relentless downpour. Water’s pooling across the tiled floor, soaking into trays and racks, and what used to be rows of what appear to be baked goods.
And in the middle of it all stand five ladies, completely soaked and talking over each other.
The scene settles in front of me as the others round the corner, and Fletch leans slightly to the side behind me, taking a look.
“Huh.”
One of the women spots us, and her eyes light up.
“Oh, thank God,” she says, pushing damp hair back from her face. “Can you turn that awful shrieking off?”
Another one pushes forward immediately, gesturing wildly at the ceiling. “It was the oven, but it wasn’t just the oven—”
“It was the sugar—”
“It was the temperature—”
“My shortbread is still ruined, and I need you to understand how serious that is!”
One of them looks Colt up and down, completely drenched and unfazed. “Well, at least something good came out of this.”
Colt blinks. “Ma’am?”
“You’re very handsome,” she informs him.
“Uhh, thank you,” he says automatically. “My wife thinks so, too.”
Fletch leans in slightly behind me. “We can put that in the report if you want.”
“Ma’am,” Beck cuts in calmly as he steps forward to speak to the one called Sally. “Is anyone hurt?”
