Slipping into his Jeep, he backed out of the parking space and headed toward the entrance. He wasn’t quite ready to head home. He had time to take a short drive and clear his head. On a whim, Ryker took a right on the road that led deeper into the park.
Taking a sharp curve that led to the edge of the park, he slowed down when he spotted a tendril of black smoke coming from the trees. There weren’t any camping spots or public picnic areas back there that would explain a fire.
He parked, noticing a tipped-over bicycle partially hidden in the underbrush. Grabbing his first responder backpack and emergency radio, he got out of the Jeep to take a closer look. Three bicycles were sloppily camouflaged with piles of leaves and brush. Empty soda cans were scattered nearby, along with crunched potato chip bags and candy bar wrappers.
Voices filtered through the trees, male, adolescent, hushed. Ryker stealthily followed the sounds until the trees opened into a clearing, revealing three boys tossing debris and sticks intoa small fire. They were twelve, maybe thirteen. Old enough to know better.
The boy closest to him had a small blowtorch in his back pocket. He plucked something from a bag and tossed it into the fire while the smallest boy stepped back and chewed his thumbnail, clearly distressed.
“I gotta get home, guys. You should put that out so we can go.”
The other boys ignored him.
“My mom is going to be awake soon. I didn’t tell her I was leaving. I’m going to get in trouble.”
The kid with the blowtorch took it from his pocket.
Ryker made his move. “What do you have there?”
The boys jumped, their eyes widening in fear as he strode in their direction. The boy threw the blowtorch and made a half-turn to bolt.
“You can’t outrun a shifter, son. Stay where you are.”
The boys didn’t move as Ryker stopped in front of them and crossed his arms. All three looked at him wide-eyed and pale faced.
“What else do you boys have? Matches, lighter, flame thrower?”
The quieter boy jerked his thumb toward the one next to him. “Martin has matches.”
Ryker held out a palm. Four small packages of matches and one lighter were quickly deposited into it. He slipped the contraband into his back pocket and then turned to the kid with the blowtorch.
“What’s your name?”
The kid sneered. “I’m not telling you.”
“Shut up, Cal. He’s a shifter. Don’t piss him off.”
Ryker pointed to the kid in the middle. “Don’t swear.” Then to Cal. “Go get that blowtorch and bring it here.”
The boy’s eyes narrowed with distrust and something very close to hatred. Unbothered, Ryker motioned with a jerk of his head for the boy to comply. He did, then thrust the blowtorch into Ryker’s hands.
“I think I’ve found the culprits who’ve been starting fires around here.”
He looked directly at Martin, knowing the kid would crack. Cal got to him first. “Shut up, Martin.”
Martin looked like he might pee his pants. His eyes were glued to Ryker’s face. “Are you going to eat us?”
Ryker could barely hold back a grin. “Not right now.”
None of them looked as if they believed him.
“I’m a firefighter and I’m getting tired of being called over here to put out the fires the three of you keep starting. You’re all smart enough to understand that you might burn the entire park down.”
Cal smirked darkly. Ryker stepped into his personal space, forcing the kid to crank his neck to look up at him. He half expected the kid to start throwing punches.
“You’re the ringleader. I get it. You have a bad attitude, nothing to lose. It makes you feel good to play with fire, doesn’t it? Makes you forget about whatever’s going on at home, at school. Whatever it is that’s got you so riled up.”
“He’s mad at his dad,” Martin sighed. “’Cause he went to jail.”
