Shane stood in the entrance to his apartment, staring at the blackened walls. He’d hated not being upfront with Charlie as to where he was going, but he couldn’t lay this on her after everything else. Scott coming over gave him the opportunity to get it done while she was still safe.

Everything was covered in a fine layer of ash. The paint bubbled along the walls, and whatever was left of his curtains hung in tattered strings. He’d been lucky, he supposed. One of his neighbors had noticed the smoke and called it in, getting the guys there in time to save the structure. He was going to have to buy new, well, new everything, but at least the walls would stay up.

He leaned down and picked up a book that had fallen near the door. The scorched cover slid off when he touched it, dropping yet more ash on his hand and clothing. He was going to have to tell Charlie what was going on when he got back. There’s no way she’d believe he just randomly happened across a fire scene while out on his mystery errand. He only hoped that it didn’t worry her more than she already was. He leaned down and wiped his fingers along his jeans. They were already past saving, and this way, at least he could avoid leaving black fingerprints everywhere he went.

Mason appeared behind him, holding out a hard hat. “You can go in, if you want to. Just wear this.” He smiled, but his face was full of sympathy. “Don’t need you any more injured than you already are.”

Shane took the hat and stepped forward into the room. Something crunched beneath his foot, and he ignored it. Well, tried to, anyway. If he thought about everything that had been destroyed, and all the work that would be needed before he could move back in—he wasn’t ready for that yet.

Despite everything, he smiled. Charlie. At least he had her. The fire at his place totally sucked; there was no way around that, but it did mean that he could hold her while she slept every night. For at least the next few weeks, probably more like a month or more, he’d be taking advantage of her good graces and staying with her. It was either that or crash at Matt’s, and the guy snored like a Mack truck.

“I gotta get back,” Mason said. “But stay as long as you like.”

Shane tossed another unidentifiable fried belonging aside. “It’s not as if someone’s going to break in.”

Mason walked over, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “I am really sorry, Man. All of us are hoping to see you back on shift soon. Both of you.”

“As soon as I’m able.”

Mason grinned. “As soon as the doctor clears you. I know you, Shane. No signing off on anything yourself.”

Shane smiled back, holding up his uninjured hand. “I’ll be good. I promise.”

“And I’ll be watching,” Mason said, still smiling. “Call me after shift and the boys will come around, help you clean this mess up.”

Shane nodded. “Appreciate it.”

Mason shrugged. “It’s what we do. Besides, I’m sure we could talk Meg and Maya into making lunch. That’d make just about anything worth it.”

Shane’s stomach rumbled at the thought of Meg’s buttermilk chicken and coleslaw. And then Maya, who could make any dessert taste like it was melting into a cloud of soft, squishy heaven in your mouth. The burrito had long worn off, and he realized how hungry he was. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Mason tipped his hard hat and then waved, walking back to his truck. Shane watched him drive away and then went back to the debris inside his apartment. It looked like a few things were salvageable, but for the most part, he’d be starting over again entirely. Thank God he’d digitized most of his photos the last few years. Everything else—his movies, books—was already up in the cloud, wherever the hell that was, and so he’d taken the time to scan in his photos. They were the only thing he would have really missed. Everything else was just stuff. It could be replaced. For the second time in just a few days, he found himself offering up a small thanks that he and Charlie had been out of the house, sighing even as he had the thought. What she’d been through must have been terrifying, but it was better than being dead. He’d like to think that one of them would have smelled the smoke, felt the heat, anything, but he’d also attended too many fires where people had died in circumstances that should have been entirely avoidable.

He stood, his eyes scanning the apartment. What had caused this fire? He couldn’t see anything and he hadn’t thought to ask Mason, too overwhelmed by his first look inside the damaged room. He walked further into his apartment. Damn it. The main window in the room was cracked. He was going to have to get someone out to replace or at least cover it before any rain came. Not that it really mattered; the furniture, in this room at least, was literally toast. This room had definitely been hit the hardest. He bent down, starting to sift through the bits of furniture dotted with burnt belongings. Maybe if he uncovered a bit more of the floor, he’d be able to find the point of origin. He was sure he hadn’t left anything switched on. Faulty wiring? Shane didn’t really want to think of the alternative.

Arson. Just as the thought crossed his mind, suddenly it was all that he could think about. Especially when something hit him over the head.

Shane’s knees buckled and he lost his footing, half groaning, half yelling when he hit the ground injured shoulder first. A hand reached around and tried to roll him over. When Shane dug his feet into the debris and held on fast, two hands went around his neck instead. Fucking hell! He grabbed again, but this time all he managed to do was rip off a glove. The world started to gray around the edges and so before it disappeared entirely, he reached out his other hand, grabbing desperately at the leg of his destroyed coffee table. The movement gave his attacker the leverage he needed to swing Shane around, but blessedly, the momentum helped carry the coffee table leg with him. Shane hit out—hard—and the hands fell away from his neck as the other man fell away, landing with a muted thud on the ashes behind him.

Shane forced himself to scrabble up to his knees. He heaved in great lungfuls of air as he watched the man on the floor first lie prone, then twitch, then start to move. The man’s face was hidden, a large hoodie and bandanna hiding his identity, and Shane’s eyes flew to the only part of skin he could see—the hand that had lost the glove. As he realized what he was seeing, he nearly fell backward again. A large scar covered the man’s hand.

Herman Langley.

Shane scrambled for the table leg, but he was hampered by the damn sling. Before he could push himself to his feet, Langley was standing—barely. His gaze was pinned on Shane as Langley wobbled on his feet. Langley pulled off the bandanna, holding it against a wound almost gushing blood on the side of his head. Shane moved to stand again, but he was almost as useless. His shoulder was screaming at him, and the haze hadn’t entirely left his vision. It took nearly everything he had to push himself to his feet again and grab the table leg. By the time he’d gotten upright and steadied himself, Langley was gone.