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She nodded and returned to her seat.
As they ate, they continued getting to know each other. “You know some of my story. Tell me about your family,” he asked, his eyes gleaming.
She chuckled. “You met my mom and two of my sisters. There are five of us. I’m the oldest. You met Sophie, the ER doc. You met Molly, the ME. Then there’s Isobel, a forensic psychologist specializing in criminal behavior and profiling. Ruthie is a defense attorney.”
“The Everhart girls. What a group.” He smiled at her. “I’m growing partial to the big sister.”
Olivia blushed. “Well, Captain Reynolds, I’m growing partial to you too.”
He checked his watch and looked sad. “Livvy, I need to get going. I’m due on shift tonight.”
She walked him to the door. “Be careful.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his.
Jackson closed his eyes and savored the kiss. It was a gentle kiss filled with desire and promise. If he had a choice, he’d kiss her for days.
A fire alarm ringtone sounded on his phone, reminding him he needed to head to work. His eyes opened, and he pressed his forehead to hers. “Promise me you’ll give me a raincheck.”
“It would be my pleasure.” She gave him a wide smile.
Seven
The moonless night’s air hung heavy over Waverly Junction. Tonight, a different kind of dance was taking place, one between flames and shadows.
In the heart of the city, the old Terrene Theater, a grand relic from a bygone era that still served as a playhouse, had become the stage for a raging inferno. Its ornately carved marquee, adorned with the title of its current play, curled and smoked. Fire burned, illuminating the theater's exquisite façade before sending it crumbling to the ground.
As Station 3 gathered around the table in the firehouse, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, accompanied by the sweet scent of red velvet cake baked by one of the firefighters, Samantha Rodriguez.
“Alright, everyone, dig in,” Jackson declared, cutting into the cake with a grin. “First coffee of the night shift calls for some dessert, don't you think?”
The firefighters eagerly grabbed their mugs, some adding a splash of cream or sugar, while others took theirs black. As they settled into their seats, the friendly banter began.
“Jackson, this cake is almost as sweet as your firefighting skills,” one of the company members joked, earning a round of chuckles.
Jackson laughed, raising his mug in acknowledgment. “Thanks, but I think the real hero here is the one who baked this masterpiece. Shoutout to Sam for the delicious treat.”
Samantha smiled. “Dave’s wife is the other hero. She taught me how to make the frosting.”
Dave grinned proudly, taking a bite of cake. “Yeah, she's a keeper, alright. Almost as good as her cooking is her tolerance of the late-night shifts.”
The group shared a knowing chuckle, recognizing the sacrifices their loved ones made to support them in their line of work.
As they savored their cake and coffee, the conversation drifted to lighter topics—weekend plans, sports updates, and the latest firehouse gossip. Laughter filled the room as they exchanged stories and teased each other like the close-knit family they were. They were laughing when the alarm sounded.
“Attention all units, attention all units. Dispatch to Station 3, Battalion 1, we have a report of a fire at the Terrene Theater; repeat, fire reported at the Terrene Theater. All available fire units in the vicinity, please respond immediately. Unknown status of occupants, exercise caution. Repeat, fire at the Terrene Theater, respond Code 3.”
His company headed toward the apparatus as Jackson hopped into his Tahoe, then they pulled out. Jackson’s gut sank. In the distance, the night sky was flickering orange. Before their arrival on scene, he began barking orders and calling for additional help. He learned early in his career, the more providers, the better.
Stepping from his truck, he heard the desperate cries for help from above the theater, voices of people trapped in terror. His protective gear crinkled as he charged through the smoke, his heart pounding.
* * *
On the outskirts of the chaos, a sleek black sedan, red light flashing, flew through the night's shadows, stopping at a safe distance from the turmoil. Olivia emerged from her car, popped her trunk and pulled out a pair of bunker pants and boots. After stepping into them, she slipped into her turnout coat and helmet. Both the jacket and helmet were marked with the word POLICE. She grabbed a telephoto camera and hung it from its reflective strap around her neck. Her determined stride carried her toward the blaze. Her eyes, sharp and unyielding, surveyed the scene. It was an investigator's gaze, trained to see what others might overlook.
There was something different about this fire: the way it was spreading, the intensity of the flames, and the potential choice of the landmark theater as a target.
The night air was filled with sirens and yelling, flashing lights, and rolling smoke. As firefighters fought the heat and destruction, her detective's mind filled with questions. She watched them drag three sooty, unmoving humans onto ambulance stretchers.
Liv stood still as small eruptions of white-tinged fire popped. This was no ordinary blaze; she was sure it was an act of arson. It was her job to find the how, what and meaning. She unlocked her phone and called Michael. She wanted another set of experienced eyes on this blaze.
