Another alarm cut through the station, pulling me out of the daydream that I’d had. It was a good one, too—it involved Chloe Parker in, well, nothing.

“Heads up, Stokes!” shouted Stone with an eager grin. “We got a live one!”

It took a millisecond to get me back in the game. I jumped up from my seat and rushed to get my gear, the station already a wild flurry of activity. But I felt my stomach sink at the idea of another fire—what if this was the one by the school? What if Chloe and I had been too late?

“Where’s the call?” I asked, throwing on my gear.

“You’ll never believe this,” said Stone. “But it’s in Queens!”

I raised my eyebrows. My fear was quickly replaced with curiosity.

“What the hell are we doing in Queens?” said Rick. “That’s not in our neighborhood. Hell, that’s not even in our borough!”

I had the same thoughts.

“Some big warehouse fire,” said Stone. “They need some backup, and we’re ready to move. At least, that’s what Chief says.”

That was all I needed to hear. I geared up and soon we were off, the fire truck screaming down the streets of Brooklyn and finally into Queens. The neighborhood was Long Island City, a ritzy riverfront hood. We spotted the blaze from blocks off, and I soon realized the building was one of those warehouses that were currently being converted into expensive apartments.

Nothing about this seemed to fit with the rest of the fires—borough was different, type of building was different, even the time of day didn’t match up. A few trucks were already at work out front as we pulled up. The boys and I drove up next to them and did our thing. Luckily, the construction crews all managed to get out before the fire got too out of control, so it was simply a matter of putting the fire out.

It took about an hour of hard work, but the boys and I, along with the other crews, got the fire under control. When we were done, I took off my helmet and wiped my forehead with the back of my hand and let myself relax as best I could before starting with cleanup.

The cops showed up, and I positioned myself close enough to hear what they were talking about.

“You think this is connected to the Brooklyn fires?” I asked one of them.

“‘Connected’ in the sense that they’re all accidents,” said one. “At least, that’s what I’m hearing from the boys up top. They’re all getting close to closing the book on this. Shit’s just not looking right for arson.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. These fires had “arson” written all over them, and I’d even gone to the damn police with proof of my suspicions. The cops who’d spoken to Chloe at the hospital even said that they were looking at the fires as arson. And here they were, about to write off the investigation. I couldn’t decide if it was laziness or incompetence or what. But I knew now that it was all up to me.

And Chloe, of course.

Once the fire was out, I volunteered to stick around and help the Queens crews do what they could. I wanted to help, but even more than that, I wanted to check the scene out and see if there was anything I could find, anything that could link what had happened here to the other fires.

Stepping through the smoldering debris inside the warehouse, I found what I was looking for. The fire had started on the first floor, just like with the others. And the burn patterns seemed to indicate that it was, like the others, rigged up to look like an electrical fire gone out of control. I asked one of the construction workers how the wiring in the building was, and he said that he couldn’t believe it’d gone up like that—the electrician was a pro.

“Freak accident,” he said in a rough Brooklyn accident. “Had to be.”

I thanked him and headed off, certain that this was no accident, not by a long shot.

After spending the better part of the day on the site, I was about as hungry as it gets. A nearby diner seemed to call out to me, and once the Queens crew let me know that they had the situation under control, I headed over to grab a quick bite before heading back to the station.

About halfway through my burger, though, a figure appeared out of the corner of my eye. Keeping my gaze fixed forward, I watched with my peripheries as the figure grew closer and closer.

Then it, or he, slid into the booth across from me. I didn’t even need to look up from my food to know it was one of the men responsible for the fire. Up close he was even uglier than the glimpses of him that I’d caught. His chin was weak, his eyes were beady, and the scar on his face was ragged, as though he’d been picking at it as it healed. He was dressed in a black and white tracksuit, his head covered in a black Yankees cap.

“Afternoon, Mr. Stokes,” he said, his voice as creaky as an old car engine, his accent something out of a New York decade long passed.

I set my food down and glared at him hard.

“Tell me right now why I shouldn’t walk over to those cops in the other booth and let them know you’re the man they’re looking for.”

“Do you really need me to answer that stupid fuckin’ question?” he said. “Because there is no ‘man they’re looking for.’ They’re ready to write all of these fires off as fuckin’ accidents, believe it or not.”

He sat back in his seat and folded his hands across his belly.

“But not hero fireman Stokes. Or his plucky little sidekick.”

I was about ready to strangle the cock at the mention of Chloe. “You’d better be really careful with what you say about her,” I said, my voice razor-lined.

“Or what, you’ll leap across that table and beat the hell out of me? I’m sure the cops would love to hear your explanation for that one. Maybe someone might record it and put it on the internet. Might be a good companion piece to your other stunt.”

“Then tell me why you’re here.”

He smirked, his smile just as ugly as I’d expected.

“I’m here because I wanted to see you up close and in the daylight,” he said.

I clenched my teeth and worked my jaw hard, fighting back the urge to slug this asshole.

“Your boys saw me up close and in the dark,” I said. “And I’m sure you know how well that worked out for them.”

He waved a veiny hand through the hair, waving away what I’d said as though it were the most trivial matter imaginable.

“I pay those two for a few very select jobs, and one of them is being punching bags when necessary. They’re back on their feet and ready for more fun, if you’re that concerned about them.”

“You don’t know what would’ve happened if I’d had a few more minutes,” I said.

“So freaking noble,” said the man.

“You wanted to kill her because she’d be able to name you to the cops,” I said.

The man snorted. “Little did I know that the cops would be doing the work for me,” he said. “Didn’t even need to go to the hassle after all.”

I wasn’t interested in hearing any more of this cock’s yammering. “Tell me why you’re here,” I said. “And tell me why I shouldn’t put you in the hospital for what you’ve done.”

He sat back and folded his hands on his stomach, seeming like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“I’m here to give you a warning,” he said. “Because it’s not just me you need to worry about. It’s the very powerful people that I’m currently on payroll for. They’re very, very aware of what you’ve been up to, and you oughta be thanking your lucky stars that you’re such a high-profile person.” Then he leaned forward and narrowed his eyes menacingly. “Too bad we can’t say the same about your cute little teacher playmate.”

By instinct, my hand shot up and toward the man. But I stopped myself mid-motion, knowing I’d do nothing but attract attention.

“Good boy,” he said. “You’re a fast learner. Woulda thought a tank of a guy like you wouldn’t be too loaded up in the brains department. Now, if you’re really a brainy sort of guy, you’ll understand just what I’m implying by this.”

I gritted my teeth so hard that I felt for a moment like I might smash them into shards.

“And what’s more, I did a little homework—I know all about your history in the service, and how you couldn’t hack it when your men’s lives were on the line. You’ve been pretty fuckin’ lucky putting out our little fires so far. But as they say, you need to be lucky every time…we only need to be lucky once.”

I clenched and unclenched my hands under the table, more than anything wanting to drive one of my fists right into this asshole’s face.

“So,” he said, getting ready to slide out of the booth, “if I might leave you with one thing, it’d be this: You’ve got a lot of responsibility on your shoulders right now—your men, your girl, everything. You’ve got some choices to make, and you’d better make them good. Because whatever happens from here on out is all on you, Stokes.”

He tipped his hat and moved out of the booth. Moments later the bell above the door jingled as he left.

The man was right—I had decisions to make. But I knew exactly what they had to be.