“Give me something,” Athena snapped into her com.
“Chopper’s on the way,” Paulson replied. “Extra manpower too.”
The pavement trembled up Flash’s aching legs as they ran. The fire had been her turf, but now?Where is he? Will we find him? Will he have a gun?The memory of being chased by a murderer, shooting at her, flickered across her mind.This time, we’re doing the chasing.
“We stopped a jogger, but he wasn’t our guy,” Ice said. “We’re going to check out Emancipation Park.”
“Roger that. Howard?”
“Scoured some vacant lots, behind the old mission, and are heading over to the Project Row Houses now.” He sounded winded.
“What if he’s inside a house?” Flash ventured and was met by a scalding stare. Images of a crazed killer with a gun crossed her mind again. He could be inside, gun aimed from a window, ready to finish what he started.
“If we turn up empty, we’ll have dozens of officers knocking on doors for the rest of the day,” Athena answered, solid as a rock.
A glance at the thickening clouds suggested otherwise. The cool breeze rushing down the street refreshed and warned Ivanna was close. They pressed forward, alert, aware of every movement. A woman was walking her dog like normal. A group of kids shot hoops in a driveway, blissfully unaware. An old dude watering his lawn … what? Didn’t he get the memo about Hurricane Ivanna? No sign of a shady-looking character fleeing justice.
“I’ll check the corner store,” Athena said, starting to pant now. “You take the laundromat.”
With a crisp nod, Flash veered into the stuffy laundry facility, slowed to a walk, and glanced around. Washers churned. Dryers spun, shooting hot air into a place straight out of the fifties—before air conditioning. She wiped away the sweat blurring her eyes and blinked. Nothing suspicious here.
Athena rushed up to her when she reentered the street. “We got a tip. Suspicious man, mid-twenties, talking to himself, seen crossing Winbern. He must have doubled back.”
“It’s only a couple of blocks.” Changing directions, Flash sprinted alongside Athena. In heavy turnout clothes and bullet-proof tactical gear, neither was dressed for the sweltering humidity. Flash almost couldn’t wait for the storm to arrive. She promised herself she’d take time to appreciate this athletic side of Athena, pumping her legs in boots and dripping with sweat, when the chase was over and the arsonist in custody.
Helicopter blades whirred overhead. A squad car sped down the street. Flash and Athena took a sharp right.
“About a block ahead of you,” Paulson relayed. “Suspect ducked into an alley.”
Churches, a few businesses, and rows of houses. Then the alley gaped ahead, just across the street.
“It may or may notbe him,” Athena cautioned as they slowed their pace, both breathing heavily by then. “And he could be armed. I’m going first.” She turned on her body cam and drew her sidearm. With her pistol barrel pointing the way, she stepped into the alley—Flash, her ever-ready shadow.
The rancid stench of an overflowing dumpster stung her nose. Overgrown trees, shrubs, homeless tents, and boxes cluttered the space. Broken glass crunched under their boots. And there he was, dousing the area around himself with BBQ lighter fluid, the distinctive odor unmistakable.
“Stop! FBI!” Athena ordered, her aim trained on an average-looking man whom Flash didn’t recognize.
Not the De León fellow.
“Don’t come any closer!” he yelled, lifting a metal lighter in his other hand. Then he squirted the accelerant on himself.
“Don’t do it, Simon.” Command, laced with compassion, rang in Athena’s appeal. Her stance was rock steady, her aim sure, and Flash knew how much her girlfriend—her partner—didn’t want to pull the trigger.
“Why not? You caught me. You win and I lose. Loser’s got to pay up.”
“Not like this,” Athena answered. “Simon, I don’t believe you meant to kill anyone in the fires you set. They were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Fear rolled off Simon in waves as he flung the lighter fluid bottle. It bounced and rolled to a destitute man lying under his makeshift shade.
“What the fuck, man?” the bony fellow with a scraggly beard yelled. “What the fuckin’ fuck? I don’t wanna die!” Leaving his tattered sleeping bag behind, he jumped up and stumbled off. A few others still lay sleeping under a tarp or in oversized boxes. Drug paraphernalia littered the narrow alley. The rusted shell of a Volkswagen Bug. Dry branches and leaves—a feast waiting for fire to devour like Thanksgiving dinner.
Agents Ice and Hernandez appeared beside them, gasping for air, guns trained on Simon.
“Mr. Neel, don’t do anything foolish,” Travis advised.
“Me, foolish? I’m the victim here,” he ranted. A nervous laugh escaped his twisted lips. “You can’t help. Nobody can—except maybe my friend fire.”
“I’ve read your history, Simon,” Athena said. “I know your stepdad abused you, that you had a rough beginning. And the accident that burned down your home. They should never have left a little boy home to go through such a trauma alone. Then the fire academy? They should’ve given you another chance. If someone had mentored you, taken you under their wing, everything would have been different.”
