Her father’s voice echoed in her memory, “Sometimes the job requires risks worth taking.”
He’d been talking about running into burning buildings, but maybe the principle applied to other kinds of dangerous territory. Erin straightened her shoulders, checked her coffee supply, and waited for Detective Lena Soto to arrive.
Twenty minutes later, Lena knocked—three precise raps that sounded like her personality. Erin opened the door to find her in full detective mode: pressed slacks, blazer, and case files tucked under her arm like armor.
“Thanks for agreeing to meet,” Lena said, stepping inside with careful politeness. “I brought all the files for the case.”
“Coffee’s ready.” Erin gestured toward the kitchen, hyperaware of how domestic this felt having Lena in her space.
They settled with steaming mugs and case files spread between them, both working very hard to pretend this was a routine, professional collaboration. Lena’s notes were meticulous as always, but Erin caught her glancing up more than necessary.
“Todd Varo had a solid alibi,” Lena said, pen clicking against her notepad. “And Nicole confirmed anyone with enough clearance could access Webb’s reports.”
“So we’re back to square one.” Erin leaned closer to read Lena’s timeline, catching the faintest scent of her perfume. “Unless…”
“Unless what?”
“We’ve been focused on who had access to Webb’s information.” Erin’s finger traced the map of fire locations. “But what if we’re asking the wrong question?”
Lena’s eyes followed Erin’s movement, their hands almost touching over the papers. “What question should we be asking?”
“Notwhocould target these buildings,” Erin said, suddenly seeing a pattern. “But who would want to targetthesespecific spaces. Look. The warehouse near the docks was an unofficial queer young adult meetup spot, the community center hosted a gay seniors’ group, and the library had teen support programs.”
Lena straightened, something shifting in her expression. “You think this is about targeting the community?”
“Exactly.” Erin felt the thrill of a breakthrough, the same rush she got from solving fire puzzles. “Someone with a grudge against Phoenix Ridge’s queer community specifically.”
They were leaning across the small table now, energized by the connection Erin made. Lena’s fingers brushed hers as she reached for the pen, and neither pulled away.
“That narrows the suspect pool considerably,” Lena said softly.
“And it gives us a motive beyond just random arson.” Erin’s voice was barely above an excited whisper.
The case files lay forgotten as they stared at each other, professional distance evaporating in the morning light streaming through the windows.
“Erin,” Lena began, her voice rougher than usual.
“I know,” Erin whispered. “Last night?—”
Lena’s radio crackled to life, sharp and urgent. “All units, structure fire reported at Phoenix Ridge Community Arts Center, 412 Grove Street. Fire department responding.”
They froze, the spell broken by the reality of an emergency.
“That’s four blocks from here,” Erin said, already standing.
“I have to go.” Lena gathered files, but her eyes stayed on Erin’s face.
“Me too.” Erin grabbed her gear bag from beside the door. “I’ll see you there.”
Lena paused at the threshold, looking back. “This conversation?—”
“Later,” Erin said, knowing they both needed to focus. “We’ll finish this later.”
Lena nodded and disappeared down the hallway. Erin locked her apartment and headed for her truck, her pulse racing with adrenaline that wasn’t only from the fire call.
The Phoenix Ridge Community Arts Center was a converted warehouse painted in cheerful blues and yellows, with hand-lettered signs advertising youth theater workshops and community art classes. By the time Erin had arrived, smoke was already pouring from the building’s north side, but the fire department had responded fast.
She pulled up behind Engine 3, grabbing her gear and surveying the scene with professional eyes. The fire was contained to one section—the backstage area, she guessed from the smoke pattern. People clustered on the sidewalk across the street: teenagers in paint-splattered clothes, elderly volunteers clutching clipboards, and a few parents who’d been picking up kids from after-school programs.
