The locker room door swings open. Marco walks in, still in his street clothes, that badge clipped to his belt like it’s part of his DNA. His dark eyes scan the room with the same intensity he probably uses on crime scenes.
“Saw you pulled a Morgan out of a fire tonight.” He drops his investigation kit on the bench. “Jake’s sister.”
“And her kid,” Theo adds helpfully. “Don’t forget the kid. Cole was very heroic about it.”
“I’m going to punch you,” I tell him.
“You’d have to catch me first, old man.”
I’m thirty-two. He’s thirty-one. The age jokes are getting old.
Marco ignores our bickering and pulls out his notebook. “The fire started in the storage room. Accelerant patterns suggest arson.”
That stops me cold. “Arson? You’re sure?”
“I’m always sure.” He flips through his notes. “Flashpoint origin, pour patterns on the floor, secondary ignition points. Someone set that fire deliberately.”
“Jesus.” I sit down hard on the bench. “Rachel and Tommy were upstairs when it started.”
“I know. I questioned her.” Marco’s expression doesn’t change. “She seemed nervous.”
“She seemed traumatized,” I correct him. “There’s a difference.”
“Maybe.” He makes another note. “Or maybe she knows more than she’s saying.”
Theo straightens up, smile gone. “You think Rachel had something to do with this?”
“I think everyone’s a suspect until they’re not.” Marco looks at me. “How well do you know her?”
“She’s Jake’s sister.” I stand up, needing to move, needing to do something with the energy crawling under my skin. “I’ve known her since she was a kid. Used to come over to their house after school, remember? She’d be doing homework at the kitchen table while we played video games in the basement.”
“That was fifteen years ago,” Marco points out. “People change.”
“Not that much.” But even as I say it, I remember the woman I carried out tonight. The one with green eyes full of fear and fire. She’s not the gangly teenager I remember. She’s all grown up with a kid of her own and an ex-boyfriend who apparently wasn’t worth keeping around.
Jake mentioned she’d moved back home a few months ago, some messy breakup. I didn’t ask for details because Jake gets protective when it comes to his sister, and I didn’t want to seem too interested.
Didn’t want to admit I was interested at all.
“She manages the café,” Theo says. “Has keys, knows the layout, would know where to start a fire for maximum damage.”
I turn on him. “You’re not seriously suggesting—”
“I’m playing devil’s advocate.” He holds up his hands. “Marco’s going to investigate her either way. Might as well think it through.”
“There’s nothing to think through. Rachel didn’t burn down her own workplace.” I yank my t-shirt over my head, needing to get out of these smoke-saturated clothes. “She was terrified up there. That wasn’t fake.”
“Fear doesn’t equal innocence,” Marco says quietly. “I’ve seen plenty of guilty people scared of the consequences.”
His response makes me remember my father’s funeral. Closed casket because the fire accident left nothing worth showing.
I was eighteen, barely holding it together, and the Morgan family showed up. Not just Jake, but his whole family. His mom brought casseroles. His dad helped me figure out the insurance paperwork. Rachel, fourteen and awkward, sat with me on the porch and didn’t say anything because what was there to say?
Jake stayed for three days. Slept on my couch. Made sure I ate. Kept me from doing something stupid when the grief got too loud in my head.
The Morgans saved me that summer. Gave me a family when mine died in a shower of steel and broken safety regulations.
I’d walk through fire for any of them.
