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Jax’s own instincts kicked in, every muscle in his body tensing. Echo didn’t growl at nothing. He set down his coffee and moved to the window, staying to one side as he peered out at the alley behind the bakery.

A figure in dark clothing was standing by the dumpster, partially hidden in the shadows. Too far away to make out details, but something about the way they stood—motionless, watching—made the hair on the back of Jax’s neck prickle.

“What is it?” Nessie asked, tension tightening her expression.

“Probably nothing.” He kept his voice casual for Oliver’s sake, but his hand moved instinctively to his pocket where he usually kept his knife. Shit. He didn’t have it. It must have fallen on the floor in Nessie’s room. “Just someone taking out trash.”

But even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t true. The figure hadn’t moved, hadn’t done anything that suggested they were there for any normal reason. They were just... watching.

Echo’s growl deepened, and she padded over to stand beside him at the window. Her hackles were raised, every line of her body screaming danger.

“Echo doesn’t like them,” Oliver observed, looking up from his painting. “She’s really good at knowing when people are bad.”

The casual way the kid said it made something cold settle in Jax’s stomach. How many times had Oliver had to rely on reading people’s intentions? How young had he been when he’d learned that skill?

The figure moved then, stepping back into the deeper shadows between buildings. For a split second, Jax thought he caught a glimpse of pale skin, maybe the flash of light hair, but then they were gone.

“Jax?” She’d moved closer, close enough that he could smell her shampoo and feel the tension radiating from her body.

“It’s fine,” he said, but he didn’t move away from the window. “Whoever it was, they’re gone now.”

Echo remained alert for another moment, then gradually relaxed, though she stayed close to the window. Smart girl. Always watching.

The coffee had gone cold in his hands, but Jax forced himself to take a sip anyway.

It was probably just someone cutting through the alley. Maybe one of the local kids looking for a place to smoke weed where their parents wouldn’t catch them. Nothing sinister.

But his gut told him otherwise.

And in his experience, his gut was usually right.

He set the coffee down and went to the bedroom to retrieve his shirt. “I’m going to walk Echo.”

Oliver jumped to his feet. “Can I go?”

Jax met Nessie’s gaze and gave a little shake of his head.

Thankfully, she understood and ushered her son toward the bathroom. “Let’s go get dressed. That way, we can get to the ranch faster.” She glanced worriedly back at him just before disappearing down the hall.

“It’s okay,” he told her. “Just taking a walk. Be back soon.”

Jax’s throat burned as he sucked in a lungful of smoke-thick air. The flames were spreading fast—too fast—already climbing the walls toward the ceiling. The acrid smell of burning wood and something chemical, maybe accelerant, made his eyes water.

Someone had set this fire. The figure in the alley. Had to be.

He spun toward the front of the bakery, looking for another way out, but smoke was already filling the dining area. The front door seemed miles away through the haze, and he could hear the hungry crackle of flames behind him growing louder.

His training kicked in. Assess. Prioritize. Act.

Get to Nessie and Oliver. Get them out. Everything else was secondary.

He took the stairs three at a time, his lungs screaming in protest. The apartment door was open, and he could hear Echo barking frantically from inside.

“Nessie!” He burst through the doorway to find her in the living room, Oliver clutched against her chest, both of them staring at him with wide, terrified eyes. Echo paced between them and the door, her hackles raised.

“Fire,” he gasped, then coughed hard enough to taste copper. “We need to get out. Now.”

Nessie’s face went white. “The stairs?”

“Blocked. Smoke’s too thick.” He moved to the window, cranking it open and leaning out to assess their options. They were two stories up, and there was nothing below but concrete and the dumpster. Too high to jump, especially with Oliver.

Think. There had to be another way.

The fire escape. Every building this old had to have one, and he remembered seeing the rusted iron relic clinging to the side of the building when he and Nessie walked by the other day.

“Oliver’s room,” he said, grabbing Oliver from Nessie’s arms. The kid was trembling but stayed quiet, trusting him completely. “There should be access to a fire escape.”

They rushed down the short hallway and burst into the room. And, there, outside the window, was the black metal framework of an external fire escape.

“Thank God,” Nessie breathed.

Jax set Oliver down and wrestled with the window. It was old, painted shut, and wouldn’t budge. The fire downstairs roared, and the air in the apartment grew hazy with smoke.

“Jax.” Nessie’s voice was tight with fear.

“I got it.” He braced his shoulder against the window frame and shoved. Something gave with a screech of protest, and cool morning air rushed in.

“You first,” he told Nessie, helping her climb through. She dropped onto the fire escape platform, the metal clanging under her weight.

“Oliver, come on, buddy.” He lifted the boy, who wrapped his arms around his neck in a death grip.

“What about Echo?” Oliver whispered against his ear.

Christ. The dog. She must be absolutely terrified. He turned to look for her, but she was right there at his side, staring up at him with absolute trust. He pointed at the window. “Echo, through.”

Without hesitation, she hopped onto the windowsill and leaped through the opening, landing on the platform beside Nessie.

His brave girl.

Both of his brave girls.

He handed Oliver to Nessie, then climbed through the window himself. The fire escape shuddered under their combined weight but held. He had to fight to lower the ladder, but it finally crashed down toward the sidewalk with a resounding clang.

“Piggyback ride,” he said to Oliver, and turned his back to the kid. He waited until small arms and legs wrapped tightly around him, then turned back to Nessie, giving her a quick kiss. “Go. We’re right behind you.”

The metal steps were slick with morning dew, treacherous, but they moved as fast as they dared.

Sirens blasted through the quiet stillness of the morning air, but not just fire trucks. Police sirens, too. Multiple vehicles, coming fast.

And then Jax saw them—three sheriff’s department cruisers screaming down Main Street, light bars flashing. They skidded to a stop in front of the bakery, and Jax watched Sheriff Goodwin climb out of the lead vehicle, his face grim with satisfaction.

The bastard was here too fast. Way too fast for a fire call.

Had he been expecting this?

“Jax.” Nessie had seen them, too. “What’s happening?”

He knew exactly what was happening. Someone had set the fire to flush them out, and Goodwin was here to arrest him for it. The perfect frame job—ex-con with a history of violence, caught fleeing the scene of an arson that could have killed a woman and child.

They reached the bottom of the fire escape, and Jax’s mind raced through their options.

The alley opened onto Main Street, where half the sheriff’s department was waiting.

He could hear Goodwin barking orders, other deputies responding.

The fire trucks had also arrived, their diesel engines rumbling as they set up to fight the blaze.

“Those are Quints,” Oliver whispered, wide-eyed.

Jax looked at the kid, not comprehending at first. Ah. Right. His fire truck obsession. “They do five things, right?”

“Yeah, so they’ll put the fire out and save our house,” Oliver said, but his voice lacked confidence as he looked back toward the bakery.

“Where are we going?” Nessie asked.

Good question. He didn’t have a vehicle, and Nessie’s car was parked on Main Street, visible to anyone with eyes. They needed transportation, and he couldn’t wait for Ghost or Boone to get here.

The hardware store.

Cody Simms had been part of the search party last night and had seemed genuinely concerned about Oliver. And Jax remembered seeing an old pickup truck parked behind the store, probably Cody’s work vehicle.

“Stay here,” he told Nessie. “I’ll be right back.”

“No.” She caught his arm, fingers digging into his biceps. “Don’t leave us.”

Her fear nearly undid him.

“Together then,” he said. “But we need a vehicle.”

They crept through the back parking area, keeping to the shadows between buildings. The hardware store’s rear entrance was unlocked.

Small town trust.

Jax shook his head in awe and stepped inside.

The store was dim and quiet, steeped in the pungent scent of motor oil, rubber, and sawdust—the unmistakable perfume of small-town hardware.

He told Nessie and Oliver to wait by the door, then moved unhurriedly through the aisles, pretending as if he had every reason to be there.

With any luck, if someone peeked through the front window, they’d think he was Cody. They had a similar build and coloring.

He found what he was looking for on a pegboard behind the counter: a set of keys dangling from a Ford logo keychain.

“Jax,” Nessie whispered from the back door, “you can’t steal?—”

“I’ll bring it back,” he said, pocketing the keys. “I promise.”

He crept closer to the front windows and checked out the chaos on Main Street. Fire trucks, police cars, and a growing crowd of onlookers. If they didn’t leave now, they weren’t getting out of here without the sheriff’s knowledge.

He strode to the back door and nodded to Nessie. “Let’s go.”

Once outside again, she made a small, wounded sound at the sight of thick, black cloud billowing into the sky. Her livelihood, her home, everything she’d built in Solace was going up in smoke.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, meaning it.

“It’s just stuff,” she said, but her voice shook. “Just stuff.”

Oliver pressed closer to his mother, and Echo leaned against both of them, offering what comfort she could.

The Ford turned out to be an ancient F-150 with more rust than paint, but it started on the first try. Jax had them loaded and moving before anyone on Main Street noticed the truck pulling out of the hardware store’s back lot.

“Where are we going?” Nessie asked.

“Valor Ridge,” he said without hesitation. “It’s the only safe place I know.”

And if Sheriff Goodwin wanted to arrest him there, he’d have to go through Walker Nash and every man on the ranch to do it.

Let him fucking try.