Page 17 of Arsonist’s Match (Blaze and Badge #1)

F lash was still thinking about the night at Athena’s place when she returned to work the next day.

It was cozy, and sleeping beside Athena felt right.

Thankfully, there’d been no more talk about “moving up” or taking the lieutenant’s exam.

It was totally unnecessary, as she had told her parents.

“I’m making a difference doing what I do,” she’d informed them more than once.

But when Athena mentioned it, a seed of doubt germinated in the back of her mind.

Was being blue-collar not good enough for Athena?

Was she embarrassed by Flash’s lack of status?

Did she feel an officer would make a more suitable match for her?

After leaving the little condo, Flash took Snuffles to her loft for her breakfast and out for a brisk walk.

Then she hit the gym to pump iron, use the elliptical for cardio, and pummel a heavy bag—since she couldn’t pummel Edwards.

As much as Flash shied away from the prospect of promotion, she had to admit that, if she called the shots, the Fire Investigations Office would already be at what remained of the Synergy Warehouse Collective, doing their due diligence to catch an arsonist.

When she talked to Athena at lunchtime, she’d informed Flash that her office had caught a hot case, a child abduction, and wasn’t sure when she’d wrap up.

The news punched a hole in Flash’s heart.

She ached to rush in and help. It tore at the fiber of her being when Athena gave her a stern, “No.” She explained that a family member or friend of the family most often perpetrated child abductions, frequently involving custody disputes or miscommunication.

“We almost always recover the child safely,” Athena had told her.

“Almost ?” Flash knew trafficking was a serious problem, especially near the border and in a big city.

As much as it grated against her natural reflexes, Flash reminded herself that Athena was right.

This was work for trained agents with practically unlimited resources.

Athena was smart and capable, and by no means required her aid to do her job.

She couldn’t help it—if someone was in danger, her instinct was to charge in.

Last night, Athena called to say goodnight.

“We recovered the toddler and returned him safely to his mother,” she reported, regarding the urgent amber alert.

“The little boy’s father left him in his car seat in the back of his sedan for a minute, windows open, he assured us, while he ran inside to pay for his gas and grab a soda.

When he came out, his car, with the toddler inside, had been stolen.

We used traffic cameras and other resources to track the thief down, and, when we found him, he was panicking about what to do with the child, who he didn’t know was in the car until arriving at the meetup spot with his partner.

There were a few tense moments when he held the kid in front of him, threatening harm if we didn’t let him go, but we talked him down—or he noticed the imposing figures of Agents Ice and Hernandez training handguns on him from opposite directions. Anyway, all’s well that ends well.”

A wave of relief had washed through Flash as she relaxed on her bed, phone to her ear, wishing Athena was with her in person. “Hey, when are you going to spend a night over here?” she asked. “My loft isn’t any tinier than your condo, and I want you to see my things.”

“I want to see your things,” Athena’s dulcet tones sang over the phone. “Maybe this weekend?”

“I’m on the schedule for Saturday, but Sunday would be nice,” Flash cooed in response, a ball of joy spinning in her core. “That’ll give me time to clean.” They both laughed.

Next, Athena’s voice turned contemplative.

“The first time I slept with a woman was when I was in training at Quantico. I was so nervous and scared, and I felt like a virgin, experiencing everything for the first time, although I’d been married before that and plenty broken in.

It was exciting and terrifying. My upbringing screamed at me that it was wrong, taboo, but I was so infatuated with this wo man that I had to find out.

After that night, I harbored no questions and no doubts.

She was stationed across the country from me, and we lost touch, but I’ll always be grateful to her for helping me discover myself. Your turn.”

Flash felt a flutter in her chest, a feeling of gratitude for the anonymous FBI candidate who’d helped free Athena from the confines of social tradition.

If she hadn’t, who knew? Athena might have married another man or lived her life deep in the closet, never releasing that beautiful part of herself.

Flash looked forward to this nightly ritual, sharing a small nugget of themselves, learning all the ingredients that had gone into creating the women they were now. She smiled.

“My first time, period, was my freshman year of college. She was a junior, two years older, and knew what she was doing; I did not,” she added with a humorous wrinkle across her lips.

“I never had any interest in having sex with a boy or a man, so I didn’t see the point; still haven’t.

Of course, she wasn’t interested in a relationship, just having fun, and a lanky, awkward freshman she could twirl around her little finger must have been fun, because she led me on for three months before dropping me and moving to her next target.

I was furious, heartbroken, and felt all kinds of betrayed at the time, but now I can look back and thank her for introducing me to what’s now my world.

” The fond memory faded as a darker one tore at her soul.

Now Firehouse Eight loomed across the way—her world, a station without Smokey and Johnson in it, run by an unfamiliar lieutenant whom she couldn’t entirely trust. She locked the chain around her motorcycle, adjusted the strap on her backpack, and took three calming breaths.

It was getting easier to go back inside, and she wasn’t about to let anyone there see her anxiety.

With a jaunty step and a smile, Flash strode through the open bay doors.

“Good, you’re early.” Lieutenant Edwards’ words were anything but friendly. “Stow your gear and get started reorganizing these engine compartments. Last shift left them a mess.”

“Yes, sir,” she answered, determined to find a way to work with this supervisor.

A little while later, Waylon snuck up on her while she organized shovels, axes, and Halligans on pegs inside a compartment door. “Redecorating?” he asked, amused.

After a slight jump, Flash twisted an annoyed expression over her shoulder at her friend. “Lieutenant Edwards doesn’t like the way Lieutenant Kelley organizes the truck. Hey.” She turned to face him with a serious question on her face and lowered her voice. “Did you see the warehouse fire report?”

“I might have caught a glimpse of it sitting on Captain’s desk.”

“And?” Flash sensed the prick of pins and needles all over her skin as she waited for his response.

Waylon grimaced, rubbed the back of his neck, and shook his head before lowering his chin. “It didn’t include anything about possible arson. Look, Flash, just leave it alone. It’s not our job.”

She scowled at him. “Now you sound like Edwards.”

“I just don’t want to see him come down on you even more.” Waylon stroked a hand down her upper arm, landing at her elbow. “You’re my best friend that’s not a guy—hell, maybe my best friend period. I’m just looking out for you.”

“Then who’s looking out for the truth? Who’s looking out for the security guard who could have been killed, for the next occupant of a building this firebug ignites? Who’s going to do the right thing?”

“What is the right thing, Flash? To break the chain of command and go over the lieutenant’s head?”

“Maybe I can find a subtle approach,” Flash contemplated, “one that won’t sound like I’m a tattling school child. I’ll think about it.”

Alarms blared through the apparatus bay, ringing in Flash’s ears. “Engine Eight, Squad Eight, Ambulance Eight, house fire on Crawford Street. Suspected residents inside; repeat, residents inside.”

In an instant, Flash and Waylon were joined by other crewmembers, pulling on their gear and mounting their speeding, red-steel steed to race to the rescue. Thoughts of arson flew away as Flash prepared herself to meet the immediate challenge.

They’d had two more calls before things quieted down at Firehouse Eight.

Flash showered while Shaquille made a late lunch for them in the kitchen.

It wasn’t entirely out of her way to stop by Captain O’Riley’s office between the showers and the dining hall.

Flash tamped down a shiver of dread as she thought about the room that had been strewn with blood and destruction.

She shook her head. Squaring her shoulders, Flash took a bracing breath and strolled casually by Jake’s open office door.

As if there for a social visit, she waved and smiled.

“How’s it going, Captain Jake?”

He glanced up from the papers on his desk and removed his reading glasses. “Not bad, Cash. How are you doing? Did you ever get by to talk with the chaplain?”

“Not yet, what with going to California and all,” she explained rationally. “I’ll try to make it when I’m off shift. Hey, some warehouse fire the other night, huh?”

“It got a bit sketchy when the ethanol ignited.” He squinted, pointing a finger. “And you went back for Woods—after I gave the order to evacuate.”

“Well?” Flash offered him her most innocent expression, squinching up her shoulders and tilting her head.

Jake tried to keep his expression grave, but pride snuck in. “It worked out this time. I have to admit, that was gutsy, but Cash, seriously, you must follow my commands.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied. “Speaking of the fire, have you talked to Arson Investigations yet?”

He shot back a puzzled expression. “Why?”

Flash pulled out her stunned look and blinked.

“Didn’t the report mention the V patterns and accelerant we found in the office?

And that strange little piece of wire, curtain remnants piled up in and around a trashcan, the cushioned office desk chair dragged over to the point of origin instead of where it belonged?

I was sure Lieutenant Edwards said he was including all that in his report. ”

A shadow of suspicion drew across O’Riley’s face, and he steepled his fingers in front of him.

“Close the door and sit down.” He flicked his gaze to the chair across from the desk.

Flash obeyed. Nerves coiled in her stomach.

Would she be in trouble? Would Edwards? She lifted her chin with an air of confidence to ward off fear.

“I was too busy coordinating with the other crews and making sure the perimeter was secure, that the fire didn’t spread, to go inside. Tell me in detail what you saw.” The captain stared intently at Flash, but not in accusation.

She repeated her account of the odor, everything she’d observed from the office, beginning with when she and Waylon first entered the building.

Occasionally, Jake nodded or asked a question, but mostly he listened.

Leaning back in his chair, he lifted a piece of paper from his desktop and waved it at her.

“This doesn’t include any of that. It’s a satisfactory report, accurate in its timeline, critical of your decision to run back into an exploding building.

It states I followed you to save your ass, but we both know what happened.

From the inside, it was evident we had another thirty seconds.

I don’t like cutting things that close, Cash, but I like leaving a firefighter behind even less.

And don’t tell a soul I said this—you made the right call.

” Staring at her like a parent schooling his daughter, he laid the page down.

“You’re certain you shared your concerns clearly and accurately with Lieutenant Edwards? ”

“Yes, sir.”

“And what was his response?” Captain O’Riley leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk and his chin atop his clasped hands, his gaze fixed on hers.

Flash swallowed. “He said I wasn’t a fire investigator, that I should stick to my job, and he’d handle everything else.

Captain, I don’t mean to go over his head or to step out of line, but I couldn’t, in good conscience, sit on what I witnessed and say nothing.

Maybe I was wrong or misread the signs. I know I’m not an arson specialist, but you know a woman’s olfactory sense is stronger than a man’s, and I spent my entire childhood smelling that BBQ lighter fluid.

Add that to the other things, and, well, I thought it was important. ”

Letting o ut a sigh, Jake stood, and Flash copied his action. As he rounded the desk, he admonished, “Don’t talk to anyone about this, and especially don’t tell Lieutenant Edwards.”

She could tell by the pensive lines carved into his face that the situation disturbed him. What was he thinking behind that wise, older facade? “Yes, sir, I won’t.”

“I’m going to add your testimony as an addendum to the report, pass it up the line, and shoot a copy over to Arson Investigations.

I know they’re working on a case from earlier this summer at the Nutty Smooth Peanut Butter Cannery.

If I recall, they identified a melted plastic blob recovered from the scene as a BBQ lighter fluid bottle.

This might be completely unrelated, but I suspect they’ll want to look into it, just in case. Now remember—mums the word.”

“You’ve got it, Captain. My lips are sealed,” she vowed, making a zipping motion across her mouth. As Flash exited the office, relief poured over her like a healing stream, and she adopted a genuine spring in her step as she strolled to lunch.

“It’s about time!” Nita called, waving her to a saved spot at her table.

Flash’s nose informed her that Shaquille had made his famous spaghetti with garlic toast and salad.

“You in trouble or something?” Bobbie raised his brows at her, cutting a wide berth as he carried his plate to the table. “I saw you coming out of the captain’s office.”

“No more trouble than usual,” she chirped with a grin.

“I’ll survive—but only if I get a hearty helping of that spaghetti and meat sauce.

” Her coworkers laughed and carried on with their conversations, making no further mention of her trip to the captain’s office.

This was good. Very good. The matter would be looked into, and Edwards wouldn’t be all over her about it.

However, one thing puzzled Flash—why did Jake want to keep it a secret?