Page 86 of Fire Fight

“You’re younger than me,” Trey reminded him.

“And yet I’m the only one with a badge.”

“Not technically true,” Crew piped in.

Rubbing my temples, I blurted, “Can we not?”

Though I’d spoken softly, I may as well have shouted for the way the three of them stopped dead like they’d been frozen in time.

They all opened their mouths to start speaking at once, but the blare of an emergency vehicle horn cut through the air, and a fire truck rounded the bend into the driveway.

Completely unnecessary, in my opinion, as the fire appeared to be out.

“Did you put that out?” I asked Crew.

He nodded. “I keep some equipment handy in the garage, but I’m going to have to replace my extinguisher now.”

“Thank you.”

“No thanks necessary, little phoenix.”

The fire truck pointed itself at the husk of my car, lights illuminating the area so they could work to ensure the fire was completely out. One firefighter pointed a hose at it, dousing the entire thing from end to end a few times, and we all stood in silence as it hissed and cooled.

When the smoke cleared, and my eyes caught on the scorched garage doors, my blood ran cold. Unbidden, my feet propelled me forward until I stood only a few feet away.

“Aspen!” someone hollered from behind me. “What the fuck are you doing?”

The gravel of the drive crunched beneath fast approaching footsteps, and I knew by the way my nerve endings charged like they’d been plugged into an electrical socket that Crew had joined me.

We stood in silence as we read the words painted across his garage door in a deep red.

YOU CAN RUN…

“Fucking hell,” the sheriff muttered when he joined me and Crew.

“Is that…blood?” I whispered.

Lane pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves and approached the words, swiping a finger through the Y and bringing it to his nose.

“Spray paint.”

“Was that there when you got home?” I asked.

Crew shook his head, jaw clenched tightly. “No. What time did you have your nightmare?”

“Eleven twenty-four.” Lane raised a brow. “I looked at my phone when I woke up.”

“I got home at midnight,” Crew said, the whirled on Lane. “This is your fault, you know.”

Lane snorted. “How do you figure?”

Crew stalked toward Lane, pushing right up into his personal space, wagging a finger in his face as he began shouting.

“It’s your job to find this fucker! Now my goddamn house is a crime scene, and Aspen is still in danger!”

Noticing his boss was caught in the middle of an altercation—though perhaps not understanding it was more a feud between brothers than anything else—a deputy stepped between them and shoved Crew back.

“Mind your manners, smoke eater,” the deputy said.