She doesn’t see me.
I move toward her slowly. As if she’s something spooked and shaking that might bolt if I breathe wrong.
“You alright?”
Her head jerks up at the sound of my voice. Eyes wide. Too bright. Her mouth opens, but no words come out at first. Then…
“I… think so. I didn’t… I woke up and it was just…”
She cuts off. Her hands clench tighter in the blanket. Her lip’s got blood on it, maybe from biting down too hard.
Mason Lane, the paramedic next to her, gives me a look. He’s usually got a funny comment to make in situations like this.
But not right now.
“She was inside. Got herself out before the back caught fully. Minor smoke exposure, maybe a burn on the left arm. She won’t let me look.”
I nod. My jaw’s already tight enough to ache.
The crew’s working the hoses in their usual rhythm, falling into the kind of flow that comes from too many years doing this and never enough time between calls.
The fire isn’t difficult. Contained mostly to the rear of the house and crawling up the porch, it dies quickly under pressure. It takes less than twenty minutes to bring it down to steam and smoke, and by then, the structure’s still standing, but it’s holding its breath.
It’s not a total loss, but it’s enough to shake the foundation.
Lo could have been killed.
I have to work to tamp down my inner Alpha.
The windows are black with soot. The siding on the back wall has blistered and curled. The roofline above the storage room is scorched, the paint peeled back like burned skin.
That smell, acrid smoke, scorched wood, wet insulation, presses into every breath and settles in the lining of my lungs.
I nod toward Colt on the ladder as he signals containment, but my attention’s already pulling toward the edges.
Because this fire doesn’t feel like a mistake.
I walk the side yard, boots sinking into soft ground as I study the pattern of damage.
The point of origin’s clear enough. The rear utility room, just under the back window, where the frame’s burned hot and fast in a concentrated spread.
The fire rose too clean, too sharp. It had help.
No sign of an appliance malfunction. No fallen candle. The wiring in that part of the house would’ve shorted, not flared.
Which leaves me with one answer.
This fire was set. Somebody meant for it to catch.
My jaw tightens. I press my glove against the edge of the porch post, feeling the anger radiating under the surface.
Someone came here with the intention of hurting her.
My Lo.
The question is whether they meant to scare her, or worse.
Who the hell would do this?
