I’ve been waitin’ for you, girl …
Forrest said it telepathically to his Cuban sandwich as he unwrapped the foil and plastic in which it was sealed, taking a deep inhale of the crusty bread and piled-on fixings inside. One of the highlights of any shift was eating his handcrafted sandwich, which he liked to wash down with a bottle of home-brewed sweet tea. No matter the heat outside, his cooler kept both items fresh.
Though his sandwich may have varied each day, he liked to eat whatever kind he brought with a bag of kettle chips and take a load off his feet while he listened to music in the cool, air-conditioned confines of his truck. Today had been another hot day—one not made easier by the fact he’d been out late the night before, drinking down at the firehouse for poker night and shooting the shit. Even the smallest of hangovers felt amplified when you spent your days in the punishing heat. His lunch felt well-earned. More than usual, his sandwich would taste good.
Forrest had just pulled the two pre-cut halves apart, put the first down on his passenger seat and made to take his first bite of the other when his cell phone rang.
“Shit,” he said. So close.
But any firefighter on duty at the height of fire season would be an idiot not to answer his calls.
He pressed the call pickup button on the steering wheel of his truck. “’Lo? This is Forrest Winters.”
“Forrest, it’s Frank. Glad I caught you. Good to see you the other night at Genie’s.”
Forrest straightened a bit at the sound of Barnett’s voice. “Oh, hey, Frank. What’s doing? Missed you last night at poker …” He trailed off.
Frank chuckled. “I’m still hurting from three weeks ago and all that money I lost to Grizz. I’ll go back when he stops cheating. But listen …”
Here it was—the reason why Frank had really called.
“I’m calling as a courtesy. To let you know where we came out on the Little Pigeon Creek fires.”
The way he phrased it told Forrest everything he needed to know.
“What’d y’all decide?” Forrest asked.
“Now, we’ll be on watch,” Frank was quick to reply. “But I don’t have the resources to fully investigate it, which means I can’t put it on the books as a crime. If I rule it as a crime, I’m on the hook to solve it. And, especially if I call it arson, if I can’t prove I’ve done enough to prevent another incident, it’s my ass on the line.”
Forrest fought to control a rush of anger. “It’s all our asses on the line if there’s another fire and it gets out of hand. My guys are at risk more than yours. And when there’s a wildfire, it’s not just acreage that burns. Do you know how many living things are tied into this ecosystem? How many paychecks inside and outside of the park rely on tourism? How many animal species would go extinct if we let them burn?”
“Look, man,” Frank cut in. “I know all those things. And, believe me—I’d catch the guy if I thought we had a snowball’s chance in hell. But I don’t have men to spare for a wild goose chase.”
“Wild goose chase?” Forrest sputtered.
“That’s exactly what it would be. We’ve got three crimes and zero witnesses. That means I don’t even have a description of a suspect to give to my guys. And my men aren’t trained detectives—they’re first responders. They don’t even patrol any of the areas where the fires have occurred. We’re just not set up for this.”
Forrest quieted, still seething. Frank’s points weren’t wrong. But the consequences of not responding could be dire. Something else about this bothered him—something he hadn’t identified yet.
“Look. I know you’re mad about it, and you have a right to be. None of this is any disrespect to your opinion. But I can’t put resources on a manhunt in high tourist season if we don’t know the man we’re hunting for or have any idea of where he’ll strike again.”
Forrest caught his sandwich out of the corner of his eye, his appetite now gone. “I guess were all up against bureaucracy and budget cuts these days,” he conceded. Livid as he was, he couldn’t afford to alienate Frank.
“If I was you, I’d make friendly with every beat officer in every agency. Folks who are already on the ground are your best chance at eyes and ears now. Who’s that new ranger? The one who’s supposed to be good?” Frank asked.
“Sierra Betts?” Forrest guessed.
“No. Not her. The one Grissom brought to the scene. What’s that kid’s name? Peck?”
Forrest ran into Dennis Peck from time to time, just like he ran into Sierra. Only, he usually saw Dennis at Sugarlands, chatting up Grissom and shooting the shit. Forrest had no clue when Dennis actually made his rounds.
“I’m telling you, man,” Frank continued. “The boots on the ground are your best shot at seeing something. Get the rangers, researchers, and game wardens on your side.”
Six hours and one uneaten sandwich later, Forrest had cooled somewhat, gone for a long drive and begun to regroup around a plan. He might not have agreed with all of the chief’s logic but Frank was right about one thing: if his department wasn’t going to take it, Forrest would need eyes and ears. And he also needed allies—true allies who would do more than just say something if they saw anything suspicious. He needed someone who would go in pursuit.
What Forrest needed was a partner. Only one person came to mind. And she came to Donner Bakery every Tuesday. It was why Forrest had knocked off early—why he lounged at one of the bakery’s inside tables, at the tail end of a slice of banana cake and halfway through a glass of milk. Barnett’s other reason for not wanting to take the case—to keep it on the ranger books as an incident instead of putting it on the police books as a crime—gave Forrest even more reason to want to talk to her in private.
“Sierra …” He feigned surprise. “Fancy meeting you here.”
She hadn’t seen him when she’d walked in, breezing right past him to get to the counter. Forrest had waited a few seconds, taking her in before he announced himself. She was showered and lovely, her hair in a looser bun than usual. Stray wisps kissed smooth skin the hue of sequoia trees. Her cornflower and navy-blue-striped sundress hugged her breasts and opened to a flowing skirt that stopped at her knees. Dainty sandals revealed toenails painted purple. He didn’t see her out of uniform nearly enough.
“Forrest …” she said with the slight frown of a person unaccustomed to seeing him out of context.
He closed the pocket notebook he’d been writing in—an outline of the proposal he would submit to the special commission. Never mind that he hadn’t yet gotten the green light. He rose to his feet, and strode to where Sierra stood at the counter. At the same moment he arrived, Joy set an open cupcake box in front of Sierra, showing her the confection before making to close and sticker the pink box. It was topped with white buttercream and sprinkled with dark chocolate crumbs, and had an Oreo stuck upright in the frosting.
“I didn’t know you like cupcakes,” he lied.
“Everybody likes cupcakes.”
“Well, if everybody doesn’t, everybody should. Why don’t you let me buy you that? I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”
“I can buy my own cupcakes.” Already, she seemed suspicious. “And I wasn’t planning to eat this here. Can’t you just corner me at my ranger station one day and steal my bites like you always do?”
Buoyed by her snark, he smiled. Something in the way she said it made him think she welcomed his little drop-ins.
“Invitation accepted,” he responded smoothly. “But what I want to talk to you about can’t wait. It’s urgent, and sensitive.”
He said that last part quietly, looking around to be sure he hadn’t been heard.
She blinked. “You want to buy me a cupcake and have a secret conversation with me?”
“I prefer the term confidential.”
She blinked again.
“I know this sounds weird. I promise you, it isn’t. I thought of something that could be good for us both. But we should go someplace to discuss it. Small town, word travels, and all. Will you at least trust me enough to hear me out?”
When Sierra sighed and shook her head, as if preemptively disappointed in herself, it was clear she’d made her decision.
“What are you suggesting exactly?”
“I’m suggesting we go for a walk.”
Still looking put out, she picked up her cupcake box by its string.
“Hey, Joy,” he hollered, loudly enough to be heard in the kitchens. “Put Sierra’s cupcake on my tab.”
The weather was cooler now in town than it tended to be in the park, not just owing to the time of day. Some valleys languished in still, settled air but Green Valley caught a breeze. Walks down Main Street could be pleasant in the summer. Dinner smells from restaurants and the aroma of burnt honeysuckle filled the air. The thought crossed his mind that it would have been nice to wander into one of said restaurants with Sierra, to have a real conversation—not just about work—over a real dinner.
“I can take that for you.”
Her hands were full. One hand clutched some sort of wallet strapped to her wrist. The other held the top of her pastry box by its strings. When he held out his own hand, she gave him the box and muttered a quiet thanks. They walked in silence until he turned them off onto a side street.
“Barnett gave me a call about the fires. Told me his determination.”
His sidelong glance showed him her furrowed brow.
“Those aren’t supposed to be announced until the debrief tomorrow afternoon.”
“He gave me a heads-up—you know, as a professional courtesy.”
And ’cause he knows it’s bullshit and wanted to give me time to cool down.
“He won’t call them arson. Won’t link the fires. He won’t pursue further investigation and they won’t be ruled as crimes, all on account of a lack of evidence.”
In the seconds it took Forrest to break the news, Sierra's expression transformed. The look of mild annoyance that he always seemed to elicit in her was replaced by something half-angry, half-grim.
“How the hell do the presence of accelerants and retardants at all three fires constitute a lack of evidence?”
This reaction was why Sierra was the right person for the job.
“Barnett knows just as well as everyone else I made the right call.”
“Then what is he doing?” she half-shouted with utter consternation.
He stopped walking and looked at her squarely.
“Same thing a lot of these guys do. Covering his own ass.”
Forrest broke down what he’d figured out—an extension of what Barnett had all but admitted privately.
“He doesn’t think he can catch the guy. He’s got nothing to go on to make an arrest. But if he admits the fires are linked, and that it’s arson, he’s on the hook. He’ll be in a world of hurt if there’s a bigger fire that sounds like it’s in relation to a case he couldn’t solve.”
Sierra’s responding voice was terse. “How will they go on the books, then?”
This was the part that impacted her. “They’ll all go in as Level 5 Incidents. In your territory.”
He gave it a minute to sink in. By not making it his own problem, Barnett had just made it hers.
“This is bullshit.”
The vision of her so lovely in her dress was in discord with the fact that she was spitting mad. She smelled sweeter than honeysuckle, but softer somehow—the crispness of hyacinth and the warmth of vanilla all at once.
“Hell yeah, it’s bull,” Forrest said bluntly. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you. If Barnett won’t do shit, we’ve got to take matters into our own hands.”
“We?” She put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes, leaning in as if she hadn’t heard correctly.
“That’s right.” Forrest stood a bit straighter. “I think you and I ought to work our own investigation. As a team.”
Sierra crossed her arms. She was getting that sexy, mad-hot look that only seemed to come out when she was specifically mad at him. It was different from how she looked when she’d only been mad at Barnett a moment before.
“And why would I agree to something like that? Like you said, Barnett made his decision. I can’t go over his head. Case closed.”
Forrest couldn’t help his answering smile.
“Unlike most of the other yahoos assigned to this case, you actually care about catching the culprit, and you have real skin in the game.”
She narrowed her eyes and leaned forward, getting into his face a little. Damn, if it wasn’t hot. For the first time since cooking up his scheme, Forrest began to think about what it would really be to partner with her. Investigating would lead to theorizing. Theorizing would lead to validating or invalidating working ideas, which, with Sierra would definitely lead to arguing. Arguing would lead to extreme attraction and tight pants and a whole lot of other things that sounded like perks and problems all at once.
“If I care so much about my skin, why would I risk anything that seems like insubordination, let alone with someone who could blow the whistle on both of us if he got caught?”
Forrest raised an eyebrow. “Who says I’d be the one to get caught?”
She shook her head in a pitying way. “You haven’t thought this through.”
He crossed his arms and leaned back on his heels, flashing his best self-congratulatory smile. “See? That’s where you’ve got things wrong. I’ve thought it all the way through and it’s bulletproof. My plan is resplendent in its sheer perfection.”
“Right …” she said slowly. “Well, I can see you’re really excited. And thanks for thinking of me, but you’re gonna have to find another partner in crime.”
“I prefer the term partner in justice.”
The fervor of her continued refusals gave him pause.
“Well, partner in whatever-you-want-to-call-it, this isn’t really my kind of thing.”
He leaned closer, his voice quiet and low as he stared into her eyes. “You may have everyone else tricked into thinking you’re some squeaky-clean, golden-girl rule-follower, but I’ve got your number, Ranger Betts.”
She leaned in even closer. “And I’ve got your number, Marshal Winters. You’re just a food-stealing hotshot who likes to win.”
Then, she held out her hand, looking up at him expectantly, and said in a way that told him the conversation was over, “I’ll take my cupcake now.”