Andy turned back to his mother, worry shining in his eyes. “Please be careful, Mom,” he said, hugging her so tightly that her throat ached with emotion.
“I will,” Willa promised, meaning it completely. “Now I need you to go. Let your sisters and your grandmother know I’m okay, and tell your grandmother that your Aunt Carmen...”
“Who is right here,” Carmen’s voice interrupted as she approached the group, looking harried but competent.
“That she’s fine as well,” Willa said with a soft laugh.
“Yes, please tell your grandmother, I’m fine,” Carmen said, smiling at her great-nephew.
“I’ll walk you out,” Ace offered, gesturing toward the parking area where civilians were being evacuated.
Willa hugged Andy goodbye one more time, then turned to Holt. “Thank you for taking care of the boys tonight. And for bringing him to check on me.”
“Of course,” Holt said with a nod and warm smile. “I’ll get them home.”
He turned and walked away, following Ace and the teenage boys.
“That was very thoughtful of Director Dillinger,” Willa added to Carmen as Ace led the group toward the evacuation zone.
“Trust me, honey, there’s nothing thoughtful about that man.” Carmen’s sharp response caught Willa completely off guard.
“Why don’t you like him?” Willa asked, frowning at the venom in her aunt’s voice.
“It’s a long story,” Carmen said curtly, then looked away as someone called her name. “I have to go. Please keep your promise to Andy and stay safe.”
Carmen hurried off toward the triage area, leaving Willa standing alone with more questions than answers. She’d never heard her aunt speak with such obvious dislike about anyone. Her brow furrowed as she watched her aunt walk away. But there was no time to puzzle it out now. Her radio was cracklingwith updates from the fire line, and her team needed her full attention.
The next three hours passed in a blur of tactical decisions, resource coordination, and the controlled chaos of fighting wildfire. Willa found herself moving constantly between the command post, the fire line, and the evacuation areas, making split-second decisions that could mean the difference between containing the blaze and losing half the forest.
By the time the fire was officially declared contained, the moon was high overhead, and Willa’s voice was hoarse from shouting orders over the noise of engines and radios. Her gear felt twice its normal weight, and every muscle in her body ached from the constant tension.
“Captain,” Tom Morrison appeared at her elbow, looking as exhausted as she felt despite his head injury. “Good work tonight. Your team handled this beautifully.”
“Thank you, Chief,” Willa replied, pulling off her helmet and running a hand through her sweat-dampened hair. “Ready to take a look at the origin point?”
They walked together toward the area where the fire had started, their flashlight beams cutting through the smoky darkness. The illegal campsite was easy to identify. There was a cleared circle surrounded by the charred remains of camping equipment, with the blackened scar of the escaped campfire clearly visible at its center.
“Definitely careless fire management,” Tom observed, making notes in his ever-present notebook. “But still no sign of whoever was camping here.”
“None of the other campers remember seeing anyone,” Willa confirmed. “And all the registered guests are accounted for. Whoever this was, they’re either very good at staying invisible, or they got out of here fast when the fire started.”
“Captain Parker!” Ace’s voice cut through the night, and both Tom and Willa turned to see him jogging toward them, his face mask pushed back, and something clutched in his gloved hand.
“What is it?” Willa asked, though something in his expression was already making her stomach clench with dread.
“I don’t think this was an accident,” Ace said, holding up an empty gasoline can. The red plastic container was partially melted by the heat, but still clearly identifiable.
Willa felt the world tilt sideways as she stared at the can in Ace’s hand. Ten years ago, in the ashes of the Ember Lake fire that had killed her husband, the arson investigators had found an identical container. Same brand and the same size. It was found just far enough from the origin point to survive the initial burn.
“Where did you find that?” Tom asked, his voice suddenly sharp with professional interest.
“About fifty yards northeast of the campsite,” Ace replied. “Hidden under some brush that didn’t burn. Like someone tossed it there and expected it to be destroyed.”
The implications hit all three of them at once. If someone had deliberately started this fire, if the pattern from ten years ago were repeating itself, then Sandpiper Shores might be facing something far more dangerous than careless campers and tourist-season accidents.
Willa stared at the gasoline can and felt the carefully constructed walls she’d built around her grief and trauma beginning to crack. Somewhere in the darkness, someone was playing with fire in the most literal sense possible. Only this time, if this was arson, Willa would stop them no matter what it took before the arsonist could destroy any more lives.
13
