The Fireman's Son. Tara Taylor Quinn

event. Reese had seen the change come through on the calendar.

      As before, his guys had the fire put out with little effort, but Reese didn’t like what he saw. They’d had to use the hose this time.

      “He doused a bigger area with gas,” Brandt said as Reese approached. The rest of the crew were standing back, watching, knowing better than to contaminate his crime scene with so much as a footprint that wasn’t needed.

      Their boots were distinct—far different from a size-ten running shoe—but they could still ruin an imprint.

      “And he’s moved to private property,” Reese said.

      “Which is bad, considering that we now have to start giving serious consideration to the fact that people are likely to get hurt if this continues...” Brandt’s concerned tone echoed what Reese had already been thinking.

      “But it’s going to make it harder for him to continue without someone seeing something,” Reese added.

      Police were already canvassing the neighborhood. They’d left the fire scene to Reese. Evidence bag in hand, he took a step closer.

      For now, with the scenes so small, he preferred to be alone. They were a small-town fire department. Paid, not volunteer. If they wanted to stay that way, everyone needed to pull extra weight.

      And Brandt did more than his share.

      Truth be told, Reese liked the fieldwork. He hadn’t fully realized just how much of his time would be taken up with administrative duties when he took the job. He didn’t mind them most of the time, but they’d hired him for his wildfire, investigative and inspection skills, too. That was the work he loved.

      Kneeling near the burning embers, similar to last week’s but in a larger pile than the previous week, he noticed what he thought was a small piece of something white. He shined his flashlight. There was nothing but ashes in the center of the clear gas burn that snaked out for several feet. Except that fleck of white. He had to get to it without disturbing the circle.

      Camera in hand, he snapped pictures first. Plenty of them.

      He took shots of the doused grass and dirt that hadn’t burned. He had samples packed up to prove they’d been doused, but he already knew. He’d smelled them while he’d processed them.

      Now...to get to that...

      “Reese?”

      Shit. He almost dropped his camera.

      The truck hadn’t left yet. Brandt would still be conferring with the police detail and any witnesses. The last thing he’d expected was to hear Faye’s voice right behind him.

      “What?” His bark was brusque. She should know better than to disturb him at a crime scene.

      “I just...”

      The tone of her voice was anything but brusque. She looked...scared?

      “What is it?” Where the softness suddenly entering his tone had come from he had no idea. He hadn’t thought he had it left in him to be soft.

      Had rather hoped there was none left.

      “I recognized someone...”

      “Where?” He was all business now. Taking her shoulder, he turned her so that her back was to the others. “Who?”

      “Back there.” She pointed to the crowd of neighbors gathered behind the taped-off crime scene.

      “He was standing off by himself...you know...like we’re trained to watch for...”

      Technically, as an EMT she wasn’t trained to notice a possible suspect in the back of the crowd watching his work...but he wasn’t surprised that Faye would pick up on the jobs going on around her.

      And take on whatever responsibility she could.

      No. He shook his head. The Faye he thought he’d known hadn’t existed. And this wasn’t about her, anyway.

      “Who was it?”

      “A kid from The Lemonade Stand. Kyle Dawson.” She sounded scared. “He’s older than they usually allow to stay there, and he’s in a bungalow with his mother. I think he’s being homeschooled there. But I just saw him. I know it was him.”

      “It’s dark, Faye. And...”

      “He’s taken Elliott under his wing, Reese. My son really looks up to him...”

      And Elliott had had matches. He’d started a fire...

      “He’s a victim,” she said, her tone pleading. Prompting another memory flash. Senior year of high school. Captain of the football team had made fun of Faye’s dad’s beat-up car in the parking lot. Reese had been ready to deck him. Her dad, a janitor, was an honest man. A good guy who worked a lot and who was raising Faye all by himself. Faye had stopped him from taking the kid out. Telling him that the kid’s own dad had just skipped town, leaving him and his mother and little sister without support.

      He wondered what had happened to Len Browning. Where he’d been when Faye’s husband had been abusing her...

      Shaking his head, Reese admonished himself for the inappropriate trip down memory lane. A dead-end road.

      “I’ll put a call in to Lila,” he said, pulling his phone out of the holster on his belt.

      She nodded. Took a couple of steps back, watching him, as though she wanted to say more.

      But as he started to speak into the phone, Faye turned around and left him to it.

       CHAPTER SEVEN

      FAYE COULDN’T SLEEP. Not even on the couch in Elliott’s room. She just couldn’t shut down the worries clouding her mind. The fear slicing through her heart.

      Was Elliott’s Lemonade Stand mentor their serial arsonist?

      She’d been so grateful when Kyle had taken Elliott under his wing. Had felt like their luck was finally changing when Elliott had responded so positively to the older kid. She hated the thought of him in trouble.

      Dots connected of their own accord.

      Elliott had gotten his matches from someone he was protecting. Even Sara Havens couldn’t get him to ante up on that one.

      Was her son being led astray at the very place where she’d taken him for guidance?

      Life seemed to explode out of control right before her eyes. Kyle was a resident at the Stand. His mother needed to be there. Elliott was only there as part of a special counseling and education program for at-risk kids.

      But there was another program he could attend.

      On the east coast.

      Was she going to have to pull up again and move to such an unfamiliar place? Recertification in another state would take time. Where would she work in the meantime?

      And that assumed the shelter in New Jersey would even take her son, or that they could work with her on the fee for having him there.

      The Lemonade Stand was essentially free to her—she could donate when she was able.

      She’d been considering talking to someone about a position on the High Risk team. Fire and Rescue didn’t have a representative on the team...

      But she was going to have to leave.

      She couldn’t expose Elliott to any more risk.

      He’d set a fire, for God’s sake! A fire, of all things. She’d told him over and over about the dangers. He knew that she worked with people who risked their lives every single time a fire got out of control.

      Turning over on the slippery leather couch so she could better see her son, watch him while he slept just like she’d done when he was a baby, she