The dismissal was subtle but unmistakable. He was telling her he wasn't running because he didn't need to run. He had them beaten, and everyone in the room knew it.
As the uniformed officer escorted Martin out, Lena remained in the interrogation room, staring at the surveillance photos. Their best lead was walking out the door, and there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it. The case was slipping away,and with it, any hope of keeping Erin safe when the next fire started.
Because there would be a next fire. Cross's confidence told her that much. The question was whether she could find another way to stop it before Erin walked into the flames.
That night, Lena was sprawled across her kitchen table with case files, crime scene photos, and three cups of cold coffee covering every inch of the surface. Every piece of evidence they'd gathered, every connection they'd made, every dead end they'd hit—all of it was laid out in a desperate search for something they'd missed. Martin's smug face kept flashing through her mind, that confident smirk that said he knew exactly how little they could prove.
By the next morning, her frustration had crystallized into fierce determination. There had to be another angle, another way to get ahead of this case. Martin was clearly involved somehow, and if he was working for someone else—someone with the knowledge and resources to orchestrate these increasingly sophisticated attacks—she just had to find them.
She'd arrived at the station early, ready to dive back into database searches and cross-reference reports. Maybe they'd missed a connection in Martin's employment history. Maybe there was someone else with building department access they hadn't considered.
Then her radio crackled to life at 3:17 p.m.
"All units, structure fire at 8261 Riverside Drive. Rainbow Alliance Center fully involved. Multiple occupants, evacuation in progress."
Lena's blood turned to ice. The Rainbow Alliance Center. Phoenix Ridge's largest LGBTQ+ advocacy organization that offered community services, youth programs, and support groups. And on a Friday afternoon, it would be full of people.
She was moving before the dispatcher finished the call, grabbing her badge and keys while her mind raced through the implications of a scene with potential victims.
And one thought formed clearer than the rest: Erin would already be en route.
The drive through downtown Phoenix Ridge felt endless despite taking only eight minutes. Smoke was visible from six blocks away, a thick black column that alluded to accelerated burning and chemical enhancement. Not the gray-white smoke of a normal fire, but something darker, more toxic.
The scene that greeted Lena made her stomach drop. The Rainbow Alliance Center—a converted warehouse painted in vibrant community murals—was being consumed from the inside out. Flames were visible through every window on the first floor, and smoke poured from the second story where the administrative offices were located.
Fire trucks surrounded the building like steel guardians, but something was different about their positioning. They were farther back than usual, and the firefighters wore full hazmat gear instead of standard turnout coats.
Lena spotted Erin immediately, unmistakable even in full protective equipment, coordinating with the incident commander near Engine 3. She was gesturing toward the building, pointing to specific areas of the structure, her body language tense.
It was a chemical fire. That's why the trucks were positioned defensively and why everyone was in hazmat suits. The arsonist had escalated beyond using simple accelerants into industrial compounds that created toxic smoke and unpredictable burning patterns.
"Detective Soto." Captain Julia appeared at her elbow, having arrived moments before. "This is bad. Really bad."
"Are there any casualties?" Lena asked, though she dreaded the answer.
"Fourteen people were evacuated safely, but we're still missing two staff members who were conducting intake interviews on the second floor when the fire started. The stairs collapsed before they could get out."
Lena's eyes snapped back to Erin, who was now suiting up in additional protective gear, heavier equipment than she'd ever seen the fire marshal wear, with an independent air supply and chemical detection equipment.
"What's she doing?"
"Someone needs to assess the chemical composition before they can determine safe approach vectors. Fire Marshal Vance is the only one qualified to do field analysis of unknown accelerants."
Terror shot through Lena's chest as her pulse spiked, and her hands suddenly felt cold and clammy. "What's the risk?"
"The chemical mixture is producing toxic gases, and wind could shift the plume at any time. One wrong gust, and she'd be exposed to lethal concentrations. Plus, those support beams are compromised from the fire. If the building collapses while she's taking readings..."
Lena watched Erin check her equipment methodically, testing the air supply, calibrating detection instruments, and moving with the focused precision of someone preparing for a dangerous job. The same precision that had first caught Lena's attention weeks ago, now applied to walking into a toxic chemical fire.
"There has to be another way," Lena said, though she knew there wasn't.
"This is what she does, Detective. It’s what she's trained for."
But training felt inadequate when Lena watched Erin approach the burning building, staying upwind but still close enough that the heat shimmers were visible around her protective suit. Too close. Much too close for someone Lena cared about.
The realization settled over Lena with uncomfortable clarity: she couldn't separate her professional respect for Erin's expertise from her personal terror at watching the woman she was falling for walk toward danger.
Erin knelt about ten feet from the building's entrance, positioning her detection equipment and taking air quality readings. Even from a distance, Lena could see the concentration in her posture, the careful methodology that made her so good at her job.
