Stepping out onto the street, Scarlett was surprised to see the darkness that had been tingeing the edge of the horizon when she’d left the last fire scene had fully engulfed the sky. How had she lost so much time without drinking anything stronger than a soda? Her mind was still jumbled with data and theories, and at first the coolness that tinged the air took her by surprise. She wrapped around her shoulders the leather jacket she’d been carrying as she made her way around the back of the diner to the parking lot.

At least she’d driven there, sure even before she’d arrived that she wouldn’t be drinking. Even the short walk to back to the station would take too long. Her mind had conjured up a link between the fires and a possible terrorist scenario, and now it wouldn’t let it go. Something in her subconscious kept poking at her. Maybe the lab report would give her one more missing puzzle piece.

As she shrugged her second arm into the jacket’s sleeve, she tilted, and her keys fell to the ground. Scarlett froze, scanning the entire lot, her gaze taking in nothing more than an old tree in the corner and buildings’ back walls, the faded brickwork, about half of which was covered in graffiti tags. When had she become so paranoid? True, Monroe wasn’t exactly angelic, but it wasn’t to the point she feared being attacked in a parking lot—solely because she let her guard down for as long as it would take to pick up her keys. At least, she hadn’t until after that god-awful night.

Scarlett huffed out a breath. How had she let those bastards take so much? It wasn’t enough that they’d taken her husband? She’d somehow let them destroy every sense of safety, every moment of happiness from her future, too?

Her jaw clenched, and her lips set in a firm line. She was done. It was just keys lying on the concrete, for God’s sake, but somehow on that windy night, they were a sign. A sign she was done looking over her shoulder every step, done locking herself away and beating herself up over every time she allowed herself to feel the least bit human.

Derek wouldn’t want her to lock herself away for the rest of her life. He’d want her to go out, to laugh, to have fun with friends, and maybe even in time find someone to share her life with again. Scarlett’s hands tensed as she made her decision. She’d been in mourning for two years, not just for Derek but for what his death had represented. It was time to move on, to let go of the guilt that she was still alive and start acting like it.

But first she had to pick up her damn keys. One more glance around the parking lot and then she bent at the knees and scooped them up. Her hand was shaking slightly by the time she stood, but she was still alone. No boogey man had flown out of the darkness and attacked. She turned and stepped briskly toward her car. She was done letting anyone—old enemies or new—replace happiness with fear. It was time to nail these bastards.

The drive to the station took under ten minutes. She made the trip, turns and all, mostly on autopilot. Along with the case swirling through her mind, new thoughts had muscled in, vying for her attention. Connor’s attention at the fire earlier that day had been intense, the dark shape of him emerging from the fire, giving her shivers. Even underneath all the protective gear, she’d be able to identify his silhouette easily.

She’d deliberately avoided him, until something shiny lying in the rubble of what was left of the third house caught her eye. His touch a few moments later had been electric. She’d heard all the old sayings—sparks flying and all that. She was beginning to think whoever coined that phrase had experienced a Connor of their own; someone you couldn’t get out of your head even when you activity tried to push them away. The entire week, she’d been fighting to stay away from the man. Scarlett thought she’d been up against the world, every asshole that had taken something from her, but really she’d been fighting against herself.

What had happened to Derek had been horrific, but whether she lived the rest of her life in fear was her call. She was responsible for refusing to let them take anything else. Until that night, she hadn’t realized that the only thing holding her back from being happy again was herself. She was strong, damn it, and she was taking her life back. She grinned. Starting with texting a hot firefighter she knew and asking if he could meet her for coffee later.

Scarlett hoped she hadn’t read the signs wrong. Somehow, even though she’d turned him down flat at least three times, and even thrown the man out of her apartment just minutes after sex, somehow Connor still wanted her. She wasn’t letting him slip through her fingers. She just hoped she wasn’t too late.

She slid her car into a spot in the parking lot across the road from the back entrance to the station. The street was quieter at that time of night, but she should still leave the spots out in front of the station for the general public. The pizzeria and tattoo business just a couple of doors down were both open late and ensured the street was never really empty.

She’d just stepped out from her car and pulled her phone from her pocket when a clang from the other end of the parking lot sounded. It had been quiet, muffled almost, and for a few seconds, Scarlett had trouble figuring out which direction the noise had come from. A crunch of gravel underfoot sounded behind her, and she turned, but before she could spin to face the noise, the sharp crack of gunfire echoed across the lot. Something hot seared across her bicep, and her mind flooded with pain as another crack sounded, followed by a muted thud as the bullet slammed into a wall across the road.

Scarlett threw herself behind her car, praying it would be cover enough as she fumbled for her service weapon. Her arm shook as she held the gun. She was trapped. There was no way with her injured arm that she could hold her weapon and reach for her cell to call in backup. She could only pray that someone in the station across the street heard the exchange.

She didn’t have to wait long. The back door of the station was flung open, and a voice called out into the night. “Christensen? That you out there?”

“Affirmative, Chief,” she called back.

“Hold your position,” her boss called back. “Backup is clearing the scene now.”

New noises reached her ears. The squeal of tires and more footsteps, rushing now, along with shouts. She stayed behind her car, squatting, unmoving even when her leg muscles joined in with the shakes. It seemed as if it took an age, but in what was probably just a few minutes, one of her fellow cops rounded her car, concern covering his face as he took in her position. “Got her, Chief,” Scott Wilder spoke into a handheld radio. A detective, he was dressed in plain clothes but had a ballistics vest over the top. He squatted down behind her, his eyes running over her, pausing at the brand-new tear in her favorite jacket. “Need some help, Scarlett?”

She shook her head, forcing herself to use her arm to holster her weapon, causing new flames to lick their way up her arm. She gritted her teeth but refused to show anything more. A nutjob taking pot shots in the parking lot was one thing. If her chief knew she’d been injured, she’d be on desk duty quicker than she could blink. There was no way she was being benched. Not when she was so close she could almost taste it. “I’m good,” she ground out.

She stood and stepped forward, Scott falling into step behind her. In the relative darkness of the parking lot, the dark texture of her jacket hid a lot, but she could feel the slippery warmth of blood on her arm. She had no doubt if she stepped inside the station and into the bright light, someone would notice. The fact she was still standing minutes later meant the wound wasn’t bad enough to panic over, but try telling the boys that. She was as good as any of them, but after Derek’s death, they all wanted to shelter her, to protect her, more than they ever had before. She huffed out a breath, her steps stopping. She couldn’t blame them, but she could get the hell out of there while she still could.

She turned to Scott, slugging him lightly in the shoulder with her good arm and plastering a smile on her face. “Thanks for the help, but I think I’m going to get out of here. Tell the boss I’ll drop off a report tomorrow.”

Scott frowned but didn’t argue. His gaze drifted back down to her arm. “You’ll go to the ER and get that checked, though, right?”

She smiled. “I promise I’ll get it checked out.”

By myself, once I get the hell out of here.

Now the adrenaline had started to fade, Scarlett’s skin was starting to crawl. The warm slick of blood inside her sleeve coupled with watching for every movement and noise as more cops appeared in the lot was making her twitch. By some miracle, her car didn’t have any new holes itself, but from the look on Scott’s face, there was no way she was hopping behind the wheel of her car and driving off. She huffed out a breath. She couldn’t blame him. If the situation was reversed, she’d be doing exactly the same thing. That didn’t change her ever-increasing need to get the hell out of there.

Scarlett fished out her phone, biting back a groan at the movement. There was one person she could call, who’d be there, no questions asked.

She swiped across her phone and then hit the number in the recent calls list. Thank God for speed dial. “Connor? I need some help.”