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Kimble saw her coming and shook his head. “Never seen anything like that before.”

Brandon snorted. “Neither have I. Hit that spot now.”

The hose opened up, sending a blast of water across the brick and blowing the flag she had just planted flat against the ground. Desiree looked back, caught sight, and frowned with irritation.

“Sorry, but we have to get the fire under control,” Brandon apologized.

A few seconds later, the fire was chewing through the roof, black smoke boiling over the whole block.

Desiree watched as Brandon worked the radio, coordinated with Ruiz at the rear, and kept an eye on the wind. The flames shifted, started to collapse the old tin awning above the loading dock.

“Everybody out of the alley—now,” Brandon called.

A chorus of “Copy that” echoed back.

The rest of the fight was just sweat and brute force. The crew beat the flames down, peeled back siding, and swept the interior for anyone dumb enough to have hidden inside. Kimble took a paint can to the shoulder but laughed it off, and Ruiz had to chase a looky-loo off the lawn, but otherwise it was by the book.

When the last of the fire was snuffed out, Brandon left Kimble to roll hose and walked the perimeter with Desiree, notebook in hand.

She looked over at him, cheeks red from the heat but not a flicker of regret in her eyes. “These pictures and samples are going to help solve this case.”

“Next time, you wait for the go-ahead,” he gently scolded. “That was too close.”

“I couldn’t wait, or we would have lost the sample,” she shot back. “And just from the smell and consistency, I can almost guarantee it’s the same accelerant as the warehouse fire.”

Brandon let out a heavy sigh, then shrugged toward the crowd behind them. “You want to handle the witness interview?”

She nodded as they made their way over. The witness was a man in his fifties, in a flannel shirt, standing just past the yellow tape like he wasn’t sure whether to stay or go.

Desiree introduced herself, notepad open, pen ready. “Can you tell me what you saw?”

“I was walking my dog,” he started. “Past the alley. Saw someone come out of the back door. Running right before the fire broke out.”

“Running, or walking fast?”

He thought about it. “Running. Like he didn’t want to be seen.”

“Can you describe him?” She asked, hoping that he might be able to give them a description to go on.

“Male. Average build. Had on a dark hoodie. Black, maybe navy.”

“Height?”

A shrug. “About the same as me.”

“Hair color, skin tone, anything on the hoodie—logo, text?”

He shook his head slowly. “Sorry. It happened so fast, I didn’t really see much detail. I wish I could be more help.”

“You’ve done plenty by calling the fire in,” Desiree assured him. Then, handing him one of her cards, she added, “If you think of anything else, please call.”

The witness took the card with a nod, then hurried away.

Desiree turned to face Brandon. “Not much to go on.”

“Useless,” Brandon growled. “Could be anybody.”

“Not anybody. Somebody who likes the thrill and keeps setting them to keep it going. It means he won’t stop.”