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“You don’t think you’ll get very far,” Lucy translated. Logically, it made sense, given the fact that whoever was committing these vandalism-by-fires had been at it for weeks, and what was(n’t) left of her SUV. She’d done forensics training as one of her continuing education courses last year. She knew that the vast majority of people who set fire to things did so because it destroyed physical evidence, even most fingerprints, so thoroughly.
Hollister shook his head. “I think we have to wait and see what shakes out, but that’s going to be more of a marathon than a sprint. We need to take it one step at a time, okay?”
Process. Process was good. Process meant steps, and steps meant protocol. Rules. Rules, Lucy could do.
Funny, the thought didn’t quite bring the comfort she so desperately needed.
Which must have shown on her face, because Isabella stepped in, squeezing her arm. “Hey. You’ve had a hell of a long day. Why don’t you head home so you can get some rest? Hollister and I have this, and we can give you an update tomorrow, after Capelli has had some time to work on your phone. Okay?”
“Yeah. Okay,” Lucy said. Honestly, she didn’t know how much longer she’d last before her adrenaline letdown took over completely, and she wasn’t too keen for that to happen with an audience. Her car wasn’t going to be any less torched if she went home.
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t…
Lucy’s gaze landed on the burned-out shell of her SUV, and yeah. Yeeeeeeah. Not fucking happening.
“We’ll have a patrol officer make sure you get home safely,” Isabella said, but Sam shook his head, adamant.
“I can take you.”
She nodded, relief uncurling in her belly at the offer. “Thank you.”
She and Sam said a pair of quick goodbyes to Isabella and Hollister, who told her to get as much rest as she needed before coming to the Thirty-Third tomorrow for an update and to work on the warehouse fire. Lucy was tempted to laugh at the idea of sleeping—no way was her physiology going to let that happen. But she needed to find a way to stuff down all of these feelings before she’d be able to even think about the warehouse fire, let alone help catch the person who’d set it. She needed to feel anchored, like she had in that stop-time moment when Sam had wrapped his hands around her upper arms in the academy parking lot. In that tiny sliver of time, even though everything was burning down around them—literally—Lucy had felt safe. Cared for. Able to breathe.
All because of Sam.
They made it to his Jeep, which he’d moved to the opposite side of the parking lot after the fire had been put out. Sam opened the passenger door for her and she climbed in, taking a deep breath even though it took effort. But as soon as he pulled away from the academy, leaving the lights and sirens and popping flashes from the crime scene photographer’s camera behind them, Lucy’s throat grew a little less tight. There, in the cocoon of darkness with the heater going full blast and Sam right there next to her, steady and strong, her emotions didn’t feel quite so paralyzing. He didn’t tiptoe around her or—worse yet—ask some question she wouldn’t be able to answer without wanting to scream, like “are you okay?” In fact, he didn’t say anything at all, simply letting her inhale and exhale one breath at a time, melting further into the passenger seat with every cross-street and stoplight until he pulled into the guest parking lot beside her apartment building.
“I’ll walk you up,” Sam said, his voice the slightest bit scratchy from breathing in the smoke from the fire. He’d only been to her place once, and even then he’d only swung by to meet her out front for a run. But the thought of him walking her all the way to her apartment added to the comfort she so desperately needed, so she nodded.
“I’d like that. Thanks.”
Lucy went through the familiar motions she always did when entering her building, taking her keys out of her bag before heading toward the building and walking a straight path to the front entrance. Sam walked right beside her, holding the door open after she’d typed the security code onto the numeric keypad to deactivate the lock. She saw him take in the small lobby, the small vestibule housing rows of metal mailboxes off to one side, the hallway leading to the stairwell, maintenance closets, and the laundry room on the other. She’d bet her paycheck he didn’t even realize he was doing it, scanning the place for situational awareness with the same sort of involuntary response that other people made to breathe. Lucy recognized it because she had an identical ingrained radar, one that only other first responders were likely to understand. Until now, the thought would’ve rattled her, reminding her that Sam was, in fact, a firefighter. She had no business feeling so much comfort from the way he’d held on to her in that parking lot, and she damn sure shouldn’t want to get even closer to him.
But she did. And, oh, she was tired of fighting it.
Lucy made her way up to her apartment, down the hallway, and to her front door. The steps to get there were ordered, precise. Ones she’d executed thousands of times before. But as soon as she made it over the threshold and into the small entryway to click on the light, she was out of actions to take, and her emotions began to bubble in her chest.
“Lucy,” Sam said, stepping toward her, a glint of something she couldn’t quite place flashing through his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
The words, coupled with the remorse on his face, surprised Lucy so much that it knocked her out of her thoughts. “What? Why on earth would you be sorry?”
“I dropped your phone,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I didn’t mean to. Everything was happening so fast, and I—”
“Sam, stop.” Her hand was on his arm before she could stop the motion, but it felt too good there, too right, to pull back. “You were trying to keep me from making a bad decision.”
“Well, yeah,” he admitted with a shrug. “Not that I didn’t get you wanting to jump in. Part of me wanted to, too. But I just…acted on instinct, I guess. I knew what would happen if that gas tank exploded, and I didn’t want you to get hurt.”
Realization made her chin lift and her heart press faster in her chest. Sam’s instinct had always been to jump in. To act, even if it put his safety at risk. It had gotten him into more scrapes than Lucy could even count. But his instinct tonighthadn’tbeen to dive into reckless action.
It had been to play it safe to keep the both of them from harm.
His expression grew fierce. “We’re going to catch the son of a bitch who did this. I’m going to make sure of it.”
“I know,” she said, not because she trusted the detectives in the Intelligence Unit to do their jobs—although she did—but because of the look on Sam’s face right now. His absolute confidence that he’d do exactly what he meant to sent a bolt of something so powerful through Lucy that she nearly lost her breath.
He believed in himself. In her. And when he looked at her, so utterly certain that this would be okay despite the odds, she believed in him, too.
She trusted him.
