Passion Ignited. Kayla Perrin

time, the crowd had continued to grow instead of wane. Omar could hear the angry rants among the spectators. People were tired of their city being under attack. People wanted the arsonist apprehended immediately.

      Omar went over to Tyler McKenzie, the engineer on the pump truck. He was spraying water from the nozzle of a hose, allowing firefighters to drink and cool down. Naturally, fires were hot. But add to that, the protective gear they had to wear, and they all were sweating profusely underneath.

      “Omar, drink,” Tyler said.

      Omar put his face beneath the spray of water, sighing as the cold water splashed his hot face. Then he angled his head to drink several gulps.

      As he stepped away from the hose, his eyes were on the crowd. Suddenly, he spotted a face that gave him pause. It was a woman wearing a baseball cap pulled low over the top of her head.

      A black baseball cap.

      He had seen her before...at the last fire. He was sure of it.

      He watched her. Unlike the other spectators, she wasn’t checking out the scene before her. She seemed fidgety, her head turned to the right. Had she seen Omar looking at her, and was now avoiding making eye contact?

      Suddenly, she started to move. She weaved her way through the crowd, walking briskly.

      Omar started after her.

      “Ewing,” Chief Sully called.

      “Chief, I think I saw something.”

      “What?” the chief asked.

      But Omar didn’t have time to answer. He only had time to give chase. He made his way along the street in front of the crowd of onlookers, vaguely aware that they were observing him with curiosity.

      Someone gasped as he pushed his way into the crowd. “Excuse me,” he said. “Sorry.” And kept going.

      He saw the woman—dressed in dark colors—round the corner into an alley. Omar started to jog. As he got to the opening of the alley, he saw her running.

      She was clearly trying to get away.

      “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Omar muttered. A woman? A woman was the one setting the fires in Ocean City?

      That was the only thing that explained why she would be running after he had picked her out of the crowd.

      He started to run faster. With his long legs, he caught up to her in no time. “Stop right there!” he yelled.

      The woman didn’t stop, just glanced over her shoulder at him before turning sharply to the right.

      Omar picked up speed, darting around the corner she had just taken. He saw her heading toward Clark Street. Within seconds, he was upon her again. He reached out and grabbed her by the arm, and whipped her around. As he pulled her toward him, she landed against his body.

      She looked up at him, her eyes flaming.

      “What are you doing?” she demanded.

      “What are you doing?” he countered.

      “I was chasing the arsonist!”

      “Funny,” Omar said wryly. “That’s exactly what I was going to say.”

      She looked at him, aghast. “What?”

      “I saw you. And you saw that I saw you in the crowd. Then you took off.”

      Her eyes widened with indignation as she forced her body away from his. “Didn’t you see that guy?”

      “Right, lady. The only person I saw was you. Looking suspicious in the crowd, then taking off.” Omar tightened his hand on her upper arm. He wasn’t about to let her go. “The whole city’s been waiting for this day. I’ve got to admit, I didn’t expect the person terrorizing Ocean City to be a woman.”

      “You must be out of your mind.”

      “I’m the one out of my mind?” Omar retorted.

      “I’m not the arsonist!”

      “You can tell your story to the police.” Omar started walking with her toward Clark Street, but she dug her heels into the ground and tried to yank her arm free.

      “Let me go!” she demanded.

      “I don’t think so.”

      “You’re making a mistake.”

      “Sure I am.”

      When Omar continued to drag her toward Clark Street, she groaned, and then said, “Why am I not surprised? No one in this town is doing their job to catch the arsonist.”

      “Nice try.”

      With her free hand, she whipped off her baseball cap. Her dark shoulder-length hair spilled free. Omar’s immediate thought was how beautiful she was. He could see her face fully now beneath the streetlights. What would drive a woman like her to commit such heinous crimes?

      “You don’t recognize me?”

      Omar shrugged. Wait... He hadn’t dated her in the past, had he?

      No. He would remember her.

      He saw a look flash on her face. It was subtle. Disappointment? Perhaps a little surprise? He wasn’t sure.

      “I’m not who you think I am,” she said. She craned her neck to look around the corner onto Clark Street, and then threw up a hand in frustration. “And my God, you just let the arsonist get away.”

      The sound of exasperation in her tone caused Omar to halt. Was she actually telling the truth?

      “Why are you out here dressed in dark colors?” Omar asked. “And why did you run when you saw me?”

      “I didn’t run when I saw you,” she quipped. “I ran because I was certain I saw the arsonist.”

      Frowning, Omar released her. “You were serious about that?”

      “Yes!”

      “Who are you? And why are you out here alone trying to take down the arsonist?”

      “Because someone has to.” She let out a frustrated breath, then reached into the pocket of her jacket. “I’m Gabrielle Leonard. I thought you might recognize me when I took my hat off, but you probably don’t watch community television.”

      Omar said nothing.

      “Anyway,” she continued. “I’m a producer and host at Cable Four. I have a very successful show. Your Hour—”

      “Ahh,” Omar interjected, finally understanding. “So you’re a reporter, out here trying to get a scoop.”

      “This isn’t about a scoop,” she said. “This is about catching the person who—as you said—has been terrorizing our city. But thanks to you, he just got away.”

      Her eyes shot fire as she studied him, yet all Omar could think was how attractive she looked. Was she always this heated?

      He kept a level head as he said, “You’re a reporter. Not a cop. If you had pertinent information, you should have given it to the authorities.” Now Omar was beginning to get irritated. All too often reporters got in the way—because they wanted to get the almighty story. “You were in the crowd. You looked suspicious. And that’s why I came after you. I hope to God the person you saw wasn’t actually the arsonist.” His eyes roamed over her body. She was all of five foot five, maybe a hundred and ten pounds. “How exactly were you planning to take him down? By batting your eyelashes?”

      “Oh, that’s priceless. Now you’re going to throw out sexist insults?”

      “You’re a reporter, not a cop.”

      “I’m a TV host and producer.”

      “Whatever. The last thing we need is a civilian inserting herself