this.”
Bill surveyed the ground, spotted the matches, and disappeared around the front of the house. Minutes later, he returned with the investigator.
“I understand you’ve found something,” Morgan said.
She pointed to the ground. Agent Morgan examined the matches, took a photo, and then carefully placed them into a metal container.
“They were under the sand. You think it’s the igniter?”
“If it is,” the agent said, “it’s a different shark.” He flashed Colleen the briefest of closed-lip smiles and marched away.
“What’s he talking about sharks for?” Bill asked.
She spotted Rodney jogging toward them. “I’ll fill you in later.”
“Hey, Bill,” Rodney called from the corner of the house. “The press wants a statement.”
Colleen groaned.
“Tell them we’re coming,” Bill said. The deputy nodded and jogged away. “We should get Agent Morgan.”
“Something tells me he’s not the press conference type,” she said.
“Do you want to do it?” Bill asked.
“How long have you known me?”
“I’ll get started then,” Bill said, knowing of her distrust of the press, and strode toward the crowd while she went to retrieve Morgan.
The press conference was brief. Colleen confirmed that they had found a victim in the fire, Bill handled questions about the possibility of the death being a homicide, and Agent Morgan refused to speculate if the mainland arsonist had struck again. She had been relieved that he didn’t bring up the shark theory. Afterwards, she consulted with Morgan, left two guys at the site with the engine on the first shift of the twenty-four-hour rekindle watch, said good-bye to Bill, and headed back to the station. She was anxious to find out how her men were doing—particularly Chip and Kenny, who had been inside the burning structure. Responding to a call that involved a death was never easy.
Chapter 6
“You’re not Superman,” Fawn said to Chip with tears in her eyes. “You don’t have a cape.”
“I got something better,” Chip said, stealing a look at his fellow firefighters, who were checking equipment in the engine bay and pretending not to hear his conversation with his fianc é e. “I got turnout gear.”
Colleen and Jimmy exchanged a knowing look. This was one of the hardest aspects of the job—helping significant others understand why firefighting was not only an occupation, but a calling.
“Aren’t you proud of me?” Chip asked.
Fawn caressed his cheek. “Of course I am, Chipmunk. I just don’t want to lose you.”
“I got a great team here,” Chip said, gesturing to the room.
Colleen and Jimmy pretended to study paperwork as Fawn scanned the group. They peeked back in time to see Chip take Fawn’s chin in his hands and lift her face to his.
“Can’t I put out any fire?” he asked.
The room fell silent. Everyone felt the pain of the situation and the importance of the moment. Fawn stared into Chip’s eyes.
“Except the one you started in my heart,” she said, and kissed him deeply.
Someone called “Get a room!” and Fawn and Chip smiled sheepishly. Colleen heard Jimmy sniffle and caught him wiping his eyes.
“Are you crying?” she teased.
Jimmy wiped away a tear. “Better watch out. I’ll start calling you Cold-Hearted McCabe,” he said with a wag of the finger.
She gaped at him.
“Consider yourself warned,” he said with a grin, and exited.
Sparky gazed up at her. “I have feelings, don’t I?” she asked, and the dog wagged his tail.
“Hey, Crepe,” one of the guys called to Bobby. “When’s your momma coming by?”
“Why would she come by?” Bobby asked.
“Doesn’t she after every call?” someone else piped in.
“Yeah, since when does she need a reason?” Kenny asked, and the room broke into laughter.
Bobby shook his head. Kenny poked him in the gut, provoking a smirk. Chip kissed Fawn good-bye and then joined the men in packing equipment. A few swatted at Chip and whispered