The ethanol drums. It had to be. Dodging a crashing beam, Flash vaulted through the exit, spinning around to count her comrades—one, two … Flores met her gaze through his facemask. “Where’s Woods? I swear, he was right behind me.”
Abandoning the loaded hose and her friends, Flash raced back into the stifling heat and dancing flames to find Shaquille. Blocking out her lieutenant’s irate barks, she yelled, “Woods! Where are you?”
Holes in the roof proved beneficial as smoke now trailed up and out rather than clogging up the cavernous space. Now, more water than smoldering debris sprinkled from the ceiling, with enough fire still burning to provide light.
“Over here!”
Though his voice was barely audible, Flash spotted Woods’ waving hand. Rushing to his side, she pressed her radio button. “Woods is down, ten steps inand to the right, pinned by a steel beam. Requesting assistance before the whole thing comes down.”
Flash liked to think she could do everything on this job better than anyone else. She joked about it, bragged about it, and never shied away from a challenge. However, when it truly mattered, she could admit to her physical limitations. One look at the heavy metal bar informed Flash that she couldn’t move it by herself. Not even Waylon could budge that thing. Maybe, if she had something to use as a lever, but there wasn’t time. The ethanol was quickly surging throughout the entire structure and would reach them in minutes.
Captain O’Riley appeared at her side. With a nod to each other, they grabbed opposite ends of the beam and hoisted it off Woods. The strain on Flash’s muscles informed her that her assessment had been correct. Jake grabbed Shaquille under one arm, and Flash gripped the other as they hastily shuffled him outside.
Midnight blazed like noon under floodlights and emergency strobes. Water from the cannons atop Sixteen’s engine spewed over the roof in torrents, and first responders bustled back and forth. As Flash unfastened her facemask, Nita and Al Luis rushed up with a gurney and a neck collar to take over supervising Woods.
“Y’all take your hose around back to support the others on the west side,” O’Riley instructed. Flash, Waylon, and Bobbie didn’t hesitate. As they jogged past Lieutenant Edwards, dragging their hoses, he snarled at them, catching Flash’s arm.
“That was a reckless move, Cash,” he scolded, as if she were a rookie with no clue what she was doing. Flash would have been offended if she had cared. She didn’t. “Didn’t you hear me order you to stop? Captain O’Riley said to clear the building. The friggin’ tanks exploded and you could’ve been killed.” His scowl must have penetrated down to his bones.
“Sorry, sir,” she replied, slipping out of his grasp to keep up with her crew. Over her shoulder, she added. “I didn’t hear you, and I don’t leave a firefighter behind.” She could feel his glare on her until they rounded the warehouse.
It took two solid hours to put out the fire. Flash and half a dozen others entered the dilapidated structure to ensure every ember had been squelched. A dark, glistening pool of water covered the floor, reflecting the dim light and mixing with heaps of saturated ash, the charred remains of wood, and the sharp edges of broken glass; the tang of smoke and burnt wood hung in the air. One storage room had been spared, sustaining only minor smoke and water damage, and it seemed some goods might be salvaged. The warehouse itself was a total loss.
Flash, her flashlight spreading a concentrated beam, aimed for the office where she speculated the fire might have started, her boots crunching over glass from the windowed walls. Standing in the doorway, she studied the room. She paused. That smell—sharp, synthetic, familiar. Lighter fluid. BBQ-grade. Her dad had always used real charcoal instead of propane when barbecuing in the backyard when they were growing up. Her sister Marie would whine about it taking so long while she and her brother Presley threw the football back and forth. Mama would have the boombox blasting out show tunes while she lounged in a flowered sundress wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat and shades.
Next, she spotted an odd V burn pattern on the solid wall across from the remaining metal frame of an industrial desk. Stepping closer, it struck her as odd that the curtains had been pulled down and the frame of what must have once been a cushioned office chair lay in a corner away from the desk, by a burnt metal garbage can, under the V pattern. Crouching, Flash nudged a square of soggy curtain fabric with her gloved hand. The pile of ash reeked even stronger of lighter fluid. Taking a peek into the charred trash can, Flash’s eyes caught a delicately thin, foot-long metal wire. Curious, she lifted it out, scrutinizing the item with furrowed brows. She sniffed it but couldn’t quite place the scent. Mostly, it smelled burnt.
“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing, Cash?”
Flash jumped at the angry accusation from Edwards. He had snuck up on her while she was investigating the scene. Twisting as she stood, Flash showed him the stiff wire. “This was no accident, sir. We need the Fire Marshal, ASAP.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, the man’s expression hardened. “So now you’re an arson investigator too, huh?” Contempt penetrated his glare as he curled his lip at her.
“No, sir,” she answered innocently. “That’s why I want you to call them in. Look, I’ve been doing this job for a long time, and I know fires. I’m telling you, this one was set intentionally.” Her voice had taken on a pleading tone. Maybe he didn’t like her—or women firefighters in general—but surely he wouldn’t shirk his sworn duty.
“That’s right, Cash. You’re a firefighter, so you do your job, and I’ll do mine. Now, go help pack up the truck. If I think this is arson, I’ll put it in my report. Dismissed.”
With a hopeless expression, Flash let out a sigh, replaced the metal wire in the burnt-out trash bin, and obeyed his order. She knew she was right—what she’d smelled, what she’d seen. But if Edwards missed it … or didn’t care? Flash shook her head, stowed her gear, and climbed onto the truck.
Chapter 9
Athena sat at her desk, immersed in virtual paperwork. While some forms still required old-school pen and ink, most of her job now happened at a keyboard. She recalled, when starting her career, everything had to be filled out on paper, with copies made and filed in unending rows of metal cabinets. Then there were the in-between years, when the bureaucrats insisted on exhausting redundancies of paper and electronic versions of every single word. While Athena understood the importance of record keeping, at least now it was faster and easier.
A text message alert gave her an excuse to pause the boring side of her job for a moment.Flash.Athena smiled, glancing across at the wall where her new inspirational redwood plaque hung, while a warm feeling swirled in her chest.
Good morning, beautiful.??I’ve got this ache that needs tending. When do I get to see you?
They hadn’t had a sleepover since date night, and Athena hadn’t seen Flash since she’d left the next morning. OK, so it had only been two days, but it seemed like forever. When had Athena grown so needy? After all, she’d functioned successfully for years without a significant other in her life. How was it that a day without seeing Flash seemed like torture? She even missed the dog.
What about Snuffles?
I love my little snuggle bear, but she doesn’t satisfy me like you do.
Athena laughed, giddy as a schoolgirl over her first crush.I mean, do you want to bring her?
Where?
How about my apartment? It’s closer, and I could cook dinner.
