Page 174 of Protecting What's Mine

“Seriously? I use chipotle seasoning and jalapeños,” Al complained.

“Pfft. Please, amateur. This is chorizo sausage,” Lucille insisted, pointing at the bowl on the right.

“Both taste like Chef Boyardee to me,” Linc said.

Their jaws dropped in abject horror.

“Oh my God. I’m just kidding, guys.” Linc laughed, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

The alarm rang out.

“Let’s get to work,” he said as they hurried out of the room and down the stairs.

He was shrugging into his gear when his cell rang.

“Shit.” He had a text from Mackenzie. “Yeah, Linc.”

“Chief, this is Cheryl at dispatch. Mike’s got an open line on an emergency call. It’s coming from Dr. O’Neil’s address.”

His fingers froze on his coat. “Mackenzie.”

“It’s her house. Voices are garbled. She’s not alone. Sounds like whoever set the fire is still in there? Neighbors are calling in now. Structure fire.”

“Fuck. Brody, it’s Mack’s house,” Linc called.

Their gazes locked. “Go,” Lighthorse said.

“I’m on my way,” Linc told the operator as he climbed behind the wheel of his chief’s vehicle and tore out of the parking lot, lights and sirens blaring.

Fear was a living creature trying to claw its way out of his chest as his tires squealed around a corner.

“Hang on, Dreamy,” he whispered. “Just hang on.”

“Chief, Mike’s saying it sounds like the doc is saying something about a gun.”

He could see the flames from the end of the street. Neighbors were gathered on the sidewalk, clumps of people in pajamas and winter coats.

He heard the faint pop.

“Shots fired,” the call came across the radio. “All units to 214 Rosebud Lane. Shots fired. Structure fire.”

He stopped on the street, leaving the truck on, door open. He could hear the sirens coming. A quarter-mile out. But he couldn’t wait. He grabbed his helmet, threw on his bottle, and sprinted across the yard.

He could hear a barking dog, and his blood boiled. His girlfriend and his dog were in there, and he wasn’t waiting.

“Chief to dispatch. I’m on-scene. Going in.”

“Good luck, chief,” dispatch replied.

“Engine 231, one minute out.”

“Get her out, chief,” one of the neighbors called.

“Be safe!”

With the well wishes ringing in his ear, Linc affixed his mask and kicked in the cottage door.

If it were any other firefighter and any other house, Linc would have made them wait for backup. For command. For a plan. But it was Mackenzie.