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Desiree looked away, jaw set. “You think you’re so much better at this than me?”

He laughed, soft, then shook his head. “Not even a little. But I do know this town. If you want to win, you learn to play the game with the right rules.”

She considered that, then gave him the smallest of nods. “Point taken.”

Brandon grinned. He couldn’t help it. “Tell you what—I’ll handle the politicians for you so you can focus on the investigation.”

She almost smiled, then reached for the passenger door. “Let’s get back to the scene.”

Brandon waited until she had climbed in, then circled to the driver’s side. He couldn’t decide if he liked her more when she was challenging him or when she wasn’t saying anything at all.

CHAPTER 4

The alarm dropped just before two, disrupting the hush in the Sweet Bloom Fire Station. Desiree jerked upright in her chair, sending a cold stream of coffee over the top of her cup. The dispatcher’s voice snapped out over the house speakers, steady and clipped, “Structure fire, Miller’s Feed Store, Clover Street. Flames are visible. Possible arson—witness reports suspect on scene. All units respond.”

She didn’t even have time to process the word arson—second time in a week—before the station’s crew erupted from the day room. Kimble, already half in his turnouts, vaulting the couch; Ruiz snatching the keys and tossing them to a proby; the other two, barely awake, banging into each other as they rushed to gear up.

Brandon barreled out of his office, almost took out the gear rack with his shoulder, as he slid into his own coat. As he zipped up, Desiree joined the team, a blur of black shirt, slacks, and boots, carrying her field bag.

“You coming?” he barked.

Desiree nodded. “Don’t leave without me.” She ducked into the turnout closet and emerged with a yellow safety vest and a loaner helmet, shoving her bob back as she buckled the chin strap. She suspected she looked out of place in the department colors, but she didn’t care. She jogged to the engine, field kit bouncing, and climbed into the seat opposite Brandon without hesitation.

The bay doors cranked open, the engine roared to life, and they were gone, siren screaming and tires squealing onto the circle.

Brandon barked into the radio, “Engine 1 en route to Miller’s Feed Store.”

Desiree already had her phone out, typing notes and questions with her thumbs. An open accelerant case at the warehouse, and now a possible copycat burn two streets away.

Not far from Main Street, the sky already glowed orange. A crowd of silhouettes clustered on the sidewalk across from the hardware store. By the time they stopped, the air was already alive with the sound of shattering glass and the deep roar of fire.

Brandon was out the door before the engine stopped rolling. “Kimble, two-and-a-half to the east side, now. Ruiz, take the back with the probies, check for occupants. Desiree⁠—”

But she was gone before he could finish, already hustling the perimeter, camera in hand, vest reflecting like a strobe in the chaos.

Brandon grumbled behind her, but she didn’t pay attention. People were yelling—a woman in a red jacket, a man waving his phone, a kid on a bike zigzagging back and forth for a better look. Still, she remained focused, looking for the possible point of origin.

She heard Brandon speak on the radio, “Dispatch, Engine 1 on scene. Confirm: All employees out?”

The answer came back, “Owner reports everyone accounted for, but neighbor says someone was seen running from the rear door minutes before ignition. Witness remained near site to give account.”

Desiree was crouched near the south wall, planting little yellow flags and snapping photos of the scorched brickwork. The fire hadn’t reached her position yet, but the heat shimmered off the siding in waves. She had maybe a minute before it would be an oven, but she knew it was important that she document as much as she could before the fire destroyed it.

Brandon planted himself in her path. “Garcia, you need to stay clear until we’ve got this knocked down.”

She barely slowed, brushing past him without a second thought. “You wash that threshold, we lose the origin point.”

Brandon stepped in, blocking her with the bulk of his gear. “I’m not losing an investigator to heroics.”

“I’ll be done in thirty seconds,” she assured him.

“Kimble, hold water beside this spot for thirty seconds. Investigator’s in the hot zone,” Brandon shouted.

Kimble did as he was told, watering down the surrounding area as Desiree made the most of her limited time. She scurried to her knees, camera poised low, popping photos of a viscous drip pooled under the doorframe. She flicked a plastic swab from her kit, scraped a sample into a baggie, flagged the spot, then pivoted to the window above it.

“Fifteen seconds,” Brandon warned.

Desiree ignored him, eyes laser-locked on the frame, where the paint had blistered in an odd, fractal pattern. She shot more pictures and took another sample, then darted back from the wall, keeping her body low. He moved in, ready to haul her out, but she was up and sprinting for the truck before he could even touch her.