Page 118 of Burning For You

This wasn’t just a story anymore.

It was a fight, and she’d just stepped into it with her fists in the air.

Kyle was quiet for a long moment. Too quiet.

She stared at the window across her living room, watched a car in the parking lot leave, her foot bouncing even though she told herself to stay still. This was the part she hated, the waiting, the not knowing how much someone else could handle once the truth was laid out.

Finally, Kyle spoke. “Jesus.” That single word landed heavier than a dozen questions. “He contacted you directly,” Kyle said, more a statement than question. As if he was weighing his words. “And you think he set that fire last night because of you.”

“I know he did.” Her voice was steady, surprising even herself. “He wanted me to see it. To feel it. He wanted to prove he could reach into my world and light a match. All his emails, they were pointing and building to this. It’s like he’s taunting me to show me what he can do. From my boyfriend fighting these fires to the home my brothers were building.”

“And now your family is being targeted,” Kyle added.

“It looks that way to me.”

Kyle exhaled hard. “You understand what you’re asking here. I mean, don’t get me wrong, this is golden. This is the ticket every editor dreams of, and there is a part of me that is a little annoyed I’m finding out now. We could have been riding this much harder.”

“I know.” She turned from the window then, back to her computer where the story was just staring back at her. The risk it was taking by doing this. “And I’m not asking you to protect me. I’m asking you to help me control the narrative before he does. The guy wants attention, I’m going to give it to him now. Before, the police thought it’d be best to keep it quiet.”

And she’d agreed because she listened to Tate and Ash.

Silence again from Kyle, then a little nervous laugh, then more silence. “If we publish this, if we even hint that the arsonist is communicating with you, it paints a target on your back. Not just from this person, but the public. For holding back this information, for lots of things.”

“There’s already one there,” she said looking up at the ceiling. “This way, at least I get to aim back. I get to have some control rather than wait for him.”

“Do you think he’ll escalate?”

“He already has,” she said. “He went from abandoned car fires, to setting fires in cars next to houses, catching the houses on fire. Then abandoned buildings. He’s feeding off what is happening around him. The electric car was an accident, but almost caught a house on fire. Then his next car, it caught a house on fire. From the house catching fire, then starting the fire in an abandoned building. Then last week, the teen tossing the bottle of gasoline into the house, that’s what happened last night. Like he had to copy that MO.”

“They know that for sure?” Kyle asked, his hesitation more than normal.

“Yes. It was confirmed last night by the inspector. This guy is copying what is going on for his next big thrill.”

“And you think calling him out stops him?”

“No,” she said honestly. “I think it forces him to show his hand.”

This next article she wanted published, it was going to ask if he couldn’t figure it out on his own. If he needed help for his next target.

Or better yet, she was going to broach with Ash maybe the fire department planting a trap. Starting a controlled fire with a different MO and seeing if the arsonist changed it up again. Tried to copy that.

The guy had an ego. He might not like that he was being controlled like a puppet.

And all these thoughts were in her head. It was exactly what she was pounding out on the keyboard last night.

All the things she’d do in her book.

She wanted to do this freelance stuff to give her inspiration. To give her ideas.

It was leading her to find answers if she was the one writing the script.

And that was exactly what she wanted to do, but she didn’t want to put anyone in harm’s way in the process.

So that meant trying to end what was happening in real life so she could get to work on the fiction.

“You’re not wrong. But this turns you from observer into participant.”

“I became a participant the moment he decided my family was fair game.”