Evidence to collect. Patterns to analyze. Crime to solve.
If my hands shake slightly while adjustingcamera settings, it's obviously from too much coffee this morning.
Three hours later, every inch of the grid has been photographed, seventeen samples collected for lab analysis, and that moment with Aiden replayed no more than a dozen times.
Okay. Maybe two dozen. But who's counting?
My phone buzzes with a text that makes my stomach plummet through the concrete.
Captain Lindstrom: Chief's office. Now. Bring Gentry.
The walk back to Engine 19 feels like a march to the gallows. His crew performs equipment checks with the careful attention of people trying to look busy while their lieutenant is otherwise occupied.
Aiden's bent over the pump panel, and my eyes have absolutely no business tracking anything about how his turnout pants fit.
Professional. I'm a professional.
"Gentry."
He straightens immediately, and something in his expression suggests he's been dreading thisinteraction as much as I have. "Pritchard. Everything okay with your evidence collection?"
"We're being summoned." The phone screen glows with doom. "Chief's office. Now."
Color drains from his face. "Both of us?"
"That's what 'bring Gentry' usually means, yes."
His hand runs through dark hair, leaving it mussed in a way that's unfairly attractive. "Any idea what this is about?"
"No clue, but given our luck, it's probably not a commendation for inter-departmental cooperation."
Despite everything, his mouth quirks up at the corner. "We haven't been that uncooperative."
"We were literally yelling at each other three hours ago."
"Loudly discussing." One eyebrow rises. "With passion."
"That's not better."
The drive to headquarters passes in silence except for radio chatter and my internal monologue of doom. Engine 19 follows in my rearview mirror, Aiden's jaw set in a tight line that suggests his thoughts aren't much cheerier.
Fire Chief Carmen Rodriguez's corner office overlooks downtown CopperRidge—a constant reminder of the responsibility resting on her shoulders. The fact that she's standing when we enter, rather than sitting behind her imposing desk, triggers every alarm bell in my head.
"Sit."
Not a request.
We sit. Aiden smells like smoke and that distracting cologne. Filing that under "things that don't matter."
"Either of you care to explain this?"
Chief Rodriguez turns her computer monitor toward us.
My stomach doesn't just drop—it evacuates the building, the state, possibly the continental United States.
The video shows our confrontation from an angle that transforms it into something out of a romantic drama. There's Aiden reaching for me. Me pulling away. Him catching me as I stumble. That moment of eye contact that apparently lasted long enough for Maria Santos to add a slow-motion effect.
The caption reads:
