by Olivia Rush
Her green eyes lit up.
“Yeah! Exactly like that. How did you know?”
“I’ve been looking into the matter,” I said. “These guys’ve been going around town and threatening shop owners, and I’m thinking they might be the ones behind the fire.”
“Really?” she asked. “Oh my god. I hope you get those dicks.”
I typed a few more notes into my computer. As I did, I caught the girl looking at me in a strange way.
“Wait a minute,” she said, tapping the air with her fingertip. “You’re…”
Here we go, I thought.
“You’re the hero firefighter!” she said, clasping her hands together, her eyes going even wider than before. “The one who, like, jumped from one building to the other.”
“Yep,” I said, not really wanting the recognition. “That’s me.”
“That was so, so amazing,” she said, her tone shifting into something very fangirlish. “The city needs more men like you, more men who aren’t scared little dorks, you know? All the guys I know would’ve stood off to the sides and, like, tweeted about the fire or something.”
“Well,” I said, trying to keep things nice and sterile. “Not everyone has the training I do.”
“I bet you’ve got a lot of what other men don’t have,” she said, placing her hand on the table and inching it toward mine, her eyes taking on a much sultrier expression. “Say—my apartment’s not far from here. If you want, we could go back there and, you know, have a drink or two. Maybe see if you can…jog my memory.”
Her eyes, her expression, her tone—all of them made it clear what she had in mind. And it wasn’t more interviewing. As she made her very obvious offer, I realized that I wasn’t tempted in the slightest. Like I said, maybe a couple of years back, I’d been all over it. Or, all over her, that is.
Now, however, the thought of being with any woman other than Chloe just seemed…weird. Which itself was strange—I’d only known her for a short time, but that didn’t lessen at all how much I thought about her, how often I imagined her naked, her face twisted in orgasmic pleasure as I entered her over and over again…
I shook my head, snapping myself back to the present moment.
“Ah, thanks,” I said, closing my computer and slipping it back into my bag. “But I think I’ve got all the information I need.”
In a blink, the girl’s expression turned from obvious seduction to total disappointment. “Oh,” she said, clearly not used to having her advances turned down. “Well, I hope you get these guys.”
She took a sip of her drink, her eyes still downcast. One more flick of her eyes to mine suggested it wasn’t too late for me to change my mind. But there was no question about what I wanted, and it wasn’t her.
I stepped out of the bar and into the early evening streets of Brooklyn. The scene was bustling—another lively day in the city. But all I could think about was the job at hand, especially now with the “distribution” lead.
My phone buzzed in my pocket and I pulled it out. It was Chloe.
“Hey!” she said, her voice bright. “What’re you doing?”
“Just, uh, some extra work for the department.”
“Extra work? What, like going around and making sure kids aren’t playing with matches? Dressing up as a giant Dalmatian and singing songs about fire safety?”
She laughed good-naturedly on the other end.
“No, nothing like that,” I said, not doing a very good job of keeping things under my hat.
A beat of silence passed.
“Wait,” she said. “Does this have something to do with the fires around town?”
Damn, the girl was perceptive. I looked around, as though some NYPD spy might be listening in, but then shook my head at my paranoia. Part of me wanted to lie to Chloe, just to keep her out of harm’s way. But the idea of being untruthful with her left a terrible taste in my mouth. Chloe was bringing something out of me that I wasn’t sure I understood.
I turned my attention back to the current situation.
“Yeah,” I said. “It does.”
Another beat of silence.
“Then I want in.”
“You want what?”
“If you’re trying to figure this out, then I want in.”
“Are you serious?” I asked. “No—no way. You’ve already put yourself in enough danger. I’m not going to let you risk yourself again.”
A laugh sounded from the other end.
“Did it sound like I was asking for permission from the big strong fireman?” she said. “No. When I say ‘I want in,’ that means I’m in, whether you like it or not.”
The girl was strong-willed, I had to give her that. Though I should’ve already known that after I watched her slam into that thug.
“Fine,” I said. “But nothing too dangerous.”
“Ethan, I’m not suggesting that I’m going to go all commando on these guys. But if you’re trying to put some clues together or something, I can help out. I’d love to.”
I suppose she had me there. She was a smart cookie, and it’d be stupid of me to turn down her help.
“Fine,” I said. “Meet me back at the apartment.”
“Deal.”
An hour later, Chloe and I were on the roof of my building, my laptop and handwritten notes spread out on the farmer’s table in front of us. The sun was dipping low in the sky with brilliant purples and reds, the din of the city rising up from below the stone barriers on the roof.
“It’s the distribution,” said Chloe, finally speaking after taking fifteen minutes or so to look everything over.
“That’s just what I’d figured out right before you called. I met with a girl who owned one of the businesses and our little talk helped me put two and two together.”
Chloe raised a dark eyebrow.
“A girl, huh?” she asked. “Should I be worried?”
“Not even a little,” I said, a bit surprised at how quickly my answer came out.
Chloe flashed me that killer smile of hers, then turned her attention back to the computer. Her fingers flew over the keyboard as she pulled up the listings for the businesses hit by the fires. She went to one website after another, her eyes narrowed in concentration. Sitting this close to her, I caught a whiff of her hair, the scent making my cock stir a little bit. The idea of having a little rooftop fun came to mind…
“Look,” she said, pointing to the screen. “All of the businesses on the list had their goods shipped through Lancel Inventories, a small chain out of Queens. So, I looked up the company and saw that they’re one of the few small distribution companies left in the city—most shipping is done by giant firms these days.”
“OK,” I said, following along.
“And now, all of a sudden, there’s another firm taking over their clients. But I can’t find a trace of them online. Looks like they’re trying to push Lancel out of the game. So, what I’m thinking is that whoever this mystery company is, they’re trying to illegally take over the business of one of the few small firms. The fires are probably their way of sending a message, something like ‘change who you do business with, or else’.”
“Then maybe once they’ve pushed Lancel out, they can start moving into the rest of the city.”
“Bingo,” said Chloe. “Or whatever else they have in mind. “But for now, they’re starting small.”
“And illegally.”
“That’s right,” said Chloe. “I’d bet any amount of money that these thugs are some organized crime lowlifes that they hired to intimidate the businesses to move their business over…or else.”
“An offer you can’t refuse sort of thing,” I said.
“That’s right,” she said. “Now, if we want to figure out who the next targets might be, we’re going to have to find out who’s still left on Lancel’s client list.”
“And I found out that all the fires happened three days after the offer was refused.”
“OK, so if we ask around at
these places and figure out where the most recent offer was made, we’ll be able to determine where the next fire will probably be.”
I sat back in my seat, letting the discussion sink in.
“You know,” I said, “you and I make a pretty good team.”
Chloe smiled.
“Looks like the chemistry isn’t just limited to the bedroom,” she said, giving me a wink.
I couldn’t help but agree. Chloe turned her attention back to the computer, typing and clicking away. After a few moments, the color drained out of her face and she sat back in her seat. Whatever she’d just learned, it wasn’t good.
“What is it?” I asked, craning my head to catch a glimpse of the screen.
“One of the businesses,” she said. “Look at this.”
She copied and pasted one of the names in the client list into the search bar. She then clicked the street view option. The block it pulled up looked like any other little section of Brooklyn.
“Still don’t get it,” I said.
She turned the view until it landed on a large, stately building crammed in between the businesses and apartments.
“That right there?” she said, pointing to the screen. “That’s my school.”
Oh shit.
“Then we don’t have any time to waste,” I said. “We have to go to the police.”
I remembered at that moment what Chief had said about staying away from the NYPD, but this was too serious to ignore. Children’s lives could be at risk if I didn’t act—my career be damned.
“Right,” said Chloe.
We packed up our things and headed to the nearest police station. The place was bustling, men and women in uniform zipping here and there, phones ringing, and various other office noises filling the air.
“You what now?” asked the bored-looking middle-aged officer at the front desk.
I sighed, frustrated.
“We have reason to believe that there might be an arson at a nearby business—one right next to an elementary school.”
“Right!” said Chloe. “And we have some notes to prove it!”
“You have some notes?” she asked.
Then it was her turn to sigh. This one was more annoyance than frustration, however. She picked up the phone and requested someone to come up to the front desk. A minute or two later, a heavyset man in a tan suit appeared in front of us, a bored expression on his face and a dull badge hanging from his pants pocket.
“Name’s Detective Dykstra,” he said, his tone suggesting he’d rather be doing anything else but talking to us.
Chloe didn’t waste a second. She went into everything we’d learned, giving as much detail as she could.
But the detective’s only responses were a few “yeahs” and “uh huhs.”
“So,” said Chloe, when she was done. “You gonna go arrest these guys or what?”
The detective placed his hands on his wide hips and spoke.
“We know the fires you guys are talking about, and we’ve checked them out. All of them have burn patterns that are consistent with electrical fires. Look you guys, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but to put it bluntly, you’re a couple of amateurs. If we went around chasing every lead some civilian brought to our attention, we’d never be able to get a thing done around here.”
“But he’s not just some civilian,” said Chloe, pointing to me. “He’s FDNY.”
“And I appreciate his service. Look, here’s what I’ll do. You email me the information and I’ll take a look at it.”
“But we’re on a time crunch here,” I said. “We’ve got between one and three days to find these guys before they strike again.”
“Best I can do is tell you I’ll look it over,” he said.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a card.
“Here,” he said. “My email’s on there. Send over what you got, and I’ll check it out.”
He didn’t even wait for us to say anything in response before turning and taking off.
“Are you serious?” asked Chloe, looking like she wanted to chase after him and demand he give our situation the attention it deserved.
I put my hand on her arm and shook my head. I’d dealt with enough NYPD to know that making a scene was the last way to get what you wanted with them.
“Let’s go,” I said. “Nothing else we can do here.”
I couldn’t help but laugh a little as we stood in front of the station.
“What’s so funny?” asked Chloe.
“Nothing,” I said. “Just that the chief and I were both worried that the NYPD might not take too kindly to some fireman getting involved in their business. Both of us forgot to take into consideration just how little some people give a shit.”
“This sucks,” said Chloe, her tone one of total frustration. “But this means that it’s all on us now, right?”
“Looks that way,” I said.
“Then we don’t have any time to waste,” said Chloe. “We’ve got to get to the shop by the school and figure out how much time we’ve got. Let’s go.”
She didn’t need to tell me twice.
17
CHLOE
I was beyond furious. The urge to head back to the station, grab that smug detective by his lapels and give him the tongue-lashing of a lifetime was still burning strong in me as Ethan and I approached the shop next to the school. I glanced up at the school, fear boiling inside of me as I considered a fire spreading into the building. It was almost too horrible to even think about.
I’d never really noticed the place before—it was yet another one of the many bodegas in the area. The windows were dark and there didn’t seem to be any signs of life in the place.
Ethan approached the door and gave it a firm knock. A squat man with thinning hair dressed in a beige jumpsuit, the name “Henry” stitched on the right breast pocket, opened the door. He gave us a quick once-over and realized instantly that we weren’t there groceries. We gave our introductions.
“Mind if we talk for a minute or two?” Ethan asked, his voice stern. “It’s very important—it’s about your business.”
Part of me was glad to have Ethan around. With his commanding presence and deep voice, he was the kind of guy to whom it was hard to say “no.” Sure enough, Henry took one look up and down and stepped aside, gesturing for us to come in.
Henry pulled out a couple of cheap folding chairs from behind the counter and handed them over to us. We all took our seats, and Ethan didn’t waste any time filling Henry in on the details. When Ethan was done, a strange look formed on Henry’s face, as if this might be all some kind of prank.
“These guys are gonna burn down my business?” he asked.
“You said ‘no’ to them, right?” I asked.
“Of course I did,” he responded. “I’ve been with Lancel for years. No way I’m gonna break ties with them just because some goons show up and try to intimidate me.”
“And how long ago was this?” asked Ethan, his tone making it clear that this question was of the utmost importance.
“It was yesterday,” said Henry. “Yesterday morning. Sent those cocks packing like the scum they were.”
“And did one of them have a scar?” I asked, knowing that by this point it was a totally unnecessary question.
“Sure did,” said Henry. “Ugly one, almost as ugly as the rest of his face.” Then Henry sat up. “Now, wait a minute,” he said. “What the hell am I supposed to do about all of this? I got insurance, and this place is just a hole in the wall, but I’d rather not deal with my livelihood going up in flames, you know?”
“Get your important documents in order. We tried the NYPD, and they weren’t too keen on listening to a couple of amateurs,” I said.
“So, you two could be wrong.”
“It’s…possible,” said Ethan. “But it’s looking like you’re the next one up.”
Henry opened his mouth to speak, but Ethan cut him off.
“You can think we’re crazy or not
,” he said. “But just to be on the safe side, make sure that there’s nothing here for the next few days that can’t be replaced. And that means you.”
“Fine,” said Henry, throwing up his hands. “Store’s been losing business by the year. Maybe the joint getting torched would give me a reason to finally give it up.”
I let out a sigh of relief. But as much as this place didn’t seem to matter to Henry, the school was still at risk.
“Thanks,” said Ethan, standing up to shake Henry’s hand. “And we’ll do what we can to make sure you don’t have to deal with the worst.”
The two men shook, and soon we were back out on the street. I cast a nervous glance up at the school, the shape of the building backlit by the setting sun.
“Still got that to worry about,” I said.
“At least we’ve got a couple of days,” said Ethan. “We can breathe a little.”
“I’m gonna go talk to the principal,” I said. “Maybe she’ll be a little more willing to listen to reason than the cops.”
“Sounds good,” said Ethan. “I’ll meet you back at the apartment. And come hungry—I’ve got something in mind for tonight.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“That right?” I asked.
“Yep,” he said. “Figured the two of us could use a little relaxing after the day we’ve had.”
“I like the sound of that,” I said.
He flashed me one more pearly-white smile and was off. I lingered for a moment, letting the sight of Ethan hang in my mind’s eye. Despite everything, he still had that same pull on me, and I hoped that the night he had planned for the two of us tonight involved a little more than takeout.
I stepped up to the tall, arched dark wood doors that made up the entrance to the school. The place was quiet and a little eerie without the usual bustle of kids here and there. But I knew that Amelia Wexler, the principal, would almost certainly be here, even this late.
The lock to the doors clicked open as I slid my key card and moments later I was inside. My shoes clicked as I walked, the sound carrying down the place’s cathedral-like hallways. After a short time, I arrived at the door leading to Mrs. Wexler’s office.