Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 44188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 221(@200wpm)___ 177(@250wpm)___ 147(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 221(@200wpm)___ 177(@250wpm)___ 147(@300wpm)
I shouldn’t even be here. Samantha and her boyfriend—Lily’s real dad—don’t seem happy, but I don’t give a shit about that. For the first time, I realize with absolute certainty that I would never get back with Samantha—not in a million years. I don’t think I ever loved her in the first place. I thought I loved her. But I guess I was playing house. She was pregnant and needed a man, and I stepped in to be that guy. It felt good. I guess I like being the hero. Or the rescuer. It wasn’t even about Samantha being the right one or what she could give to me. It was me seeking meaning by being a provider.
I carry the coolers out and help myself to a Sprite. As I stand there watching little girls run around, it’s clear as day I don’t need to be here. If I stopped showing up, Lily would forget me—hell, she would’ve already if I’d stepped back when I should have. Having me around may not be the best thing for the kid. It’s probably confusing to her.
“Go run up and grab the cake, will you?” Samantha says.
“Nah,” I say.
Her head jerks up in surprise and she frowns.
“I gotta go.” I don’t add good to see you, or see you later, because it’s suddenly crystal clear that I’m done.
As I walk away, a twisted thought takes over me. Am I doing the same thing with Lia I did with Samantha? Just taking charge of her life, moving way too fast? Am I inventing a connection that’s not there?
Sure, we like to have kinky sex—we’re fucking awesome together. But I jumped right on her and attached myself like glue without even taking the time to know her. Did my domineering alpha male tactics sideline the chance for a real relationship?
Is that even what I want? Because if it is, I’m sure as hell going about it the wrong way.
Lia
I spend the late afternoon taking buses through our station’s neighborhoods. I have a feeling our teen pyro isn’t done, even though he came close to getting caught. I’m looking for likely targets in the same vicinity as the other two fires. By evening, I narrow it down to three empty buildings. One used to be a corner liquor store, another is an office building with the ground floor available for lease and the last one is an old Catholic church.
A little voice in my head keeps nagging me to stop this search, but I can’t let it go. I want to help this kid. I take the bus back to the empty liquor store because if I were going to set a fire, it’s the spot I would choose. It’s on a corner without a ton of foot traffic, on a seedier street in the neighborhood.
My instincts pay off, because I see a slender figure skulking around. His dark bangs are long and hanging in his eyes and he wears that wary, ready to bolt tension in the angle of his elbows.
I walk on past because I don’t really have a plan. Am I going to talk to him? What will I say—Don’t do it? The fire won’t actually save you?
That’s what I want to tell him. But what are the chances of him listening? The kid needs help. And in order to get it for him, I’m best off catching him in the act. Then a social worker will get involved. He’ll be in the system. Spoken like a cop’s daughter, I suppose. I have faith in the system.
I round the corner and stop, my back against the wall. I wait as darkness presses in. My heart thuds against my chest, and I have to push away Blaze’s warning about personal danger.
This kid is worth the effort. He needs help.
I pull out my phone, ready to call 911. Twenty minutes later I smell lighter fluid. I dial emergency and walk swiftly away so my voice won’t be heard. “I’m calling to report an arson in progress. 314 W. Janey. Suspect is a dark-haired male youth, approximately five feet, 120 pounds.” Being a cop’s daughter means I know how to call in a crime.
“What is your name, ma’am?”
“Lia Burke, NYFD, off-duty.”
“Is a fire truck required?”
“Not yet, but it will be if the police don’t respond soon.”
“Please hold on the line.”
I drag in a long breath, forcing my heart rate to slow. “We have an officer five minutes away. Are you somewhere safe, ma’am?”
I look around the decrepit neighborhood. “No.” Again, Blaze’s anger with me over the last fire comes rushing back. I don’t need to be stupid about this—I’ve done my part. I’m neither a cop nor on duty as a firefighter. “I am leaving the vicinity now. I’m available at this number for questioning or if they require a witness.”