This was the guy who was going to help her? Maya hitched an eyebrow, giving him a once-over. He was tall, with short blond hair and a lean strength about him. A touch of stubble brushed his cheeks, but the rest of his face was smooth, unlined. Sure, he was cute, but really? She hadn’t driven for over a day to be passed off to the nearest free hand. This was the most important thing she’d ever done in her life, and so far she’d been met with resistance or outright hostility at every turn. Was her latest idea on how to get around the roadblocks thrown in her face over before she’d even had the chance to try?

She’d been counting on the chief to help her. It had been his unit that had been called out to the fire. Surely he had to know something. Something beyond the rhetoric the cops, and then the Feds, had spouted at her family. She didn’t believe them for a second—any of them. Everyone was protecting their own asses, or something else, but she knew better. There was no way things had gone down the way they’d been written up in the official report, and she was going to prove it if it was the last thing she did. She owed him.

Her parents had long given up, writing her brother off as the black sheep of the family. It was easier for them that way, Maya supposed. She couldn’t believe either of her parents really thought that any of it was true, either. But with the FBI breathing down their necks, she could understand why they didn’t pursue anything, even if she didn’t agree.

That didn’t mean she was going to drop it. Hell, no. Her brother had been there for her since she was born, with toy soldiers when she’d rejected dolls, wicked-awesome dessert constructions that towered almost, it seemed, to the sky, and with a hug and a bandage when she fell off her bike. Or skateboard. Or face-planted on the concrete in her skates. A tomboy, Maya had grown tall fast, and her coordination hadn’t kept up with her legs. Even though his friends had teased him about playing with a girl, Jesse had always let her tag along, sneaking her a candy bar before dinner when he’d had some spare coins rattling around in his pocket. He’d loved her, and she’d adored him.

There was very little of her childhood where he hadn’t been there, somewhere. Even when he’d graduated high school and gone off to college when she was still in middle school. Even when he’d applied for the FBI. He’d been gone for nearly five months at the academy, but he’d called and written. And when she’d stood at his graduation, applauding as he’d crossed the stage, Maya knew she’d been the proudest in the room. His classmates clearly saw him the same way she did, electing him as class spokesperson for the ceremony.

So where had it all gone so insanely wrong?

She forced another breath into her tightening lungs and swiped a stray hair off her forehead. Damn it. If she got herself all worked up again, Chief Stone would probably change his mind on the small concession he’d already made and toss her out on her ass. All he’d need to do would be to put her case down as the rantings of a grieving woman and that would be that. It would be over, all over again.

His offer was more than she’d had when she’d started out that morning, more than she’d ever gotten arguing with her brother’s section chief. He’d so kindly suggested that she leave it to his best judgment, that they’d take care of it. That was in public. When no one else had been listening, he’d told her to shut up about anything to do with her brother permanently, or lose any hope of accessing what meager death benefits they might get. Might get. She’d rolled her eyes in disgust and told him to go to hell.

And now the FBI wouldn’t talk to her anymore.

So here she was, in the office of Battalion Fire Chief Alex Stone, of Monroe, Georgia. She’d shown up at the firehouse early, hoping to catch the men who had been on shift that night before they headed home for the day. Perhaps at the end of shift they’d be more willing—and able—to talk to her than risking an emergency if she’d shown up in the middle of shift.

The firehouse wasn’t a massive building, but it was still as impressive as hell to her. Two large bay doors lifted upward, housing the engines; and racks lined the walls, holding special equipment: uniforms, oxygen tanks. It had been quiet when she’d arrived, empty, but soon the fire engine had returned and tired, dirty men had piled out, kicking off boots and dropping helmets and gear on the concrete floor. She admired the hell out of them. The men and women inside that building risked their lives on a daily basis, for people they’d never met. Her brother had done that, too, which is why he needed her to step up now. To do what he couldn’t.

She wasn’t sure Chief Stone believed her any more than the FBI had, but at least he’d passed her a tissue when her emotions had betrayed her and tears had welled in her eyes. She’d swiped at them angrily. Maya had cried plenty of tears for her brother, but she’d be damned if she would cry a single one over what had been done to him. She wasn’t sad; she was fucking pissed, and when she found out who was responsible, she was going to make them pay.

Which is why she needed someone higher up than the damn rookie. The guy couldn’t be more than a year or two older than she. Just how long had he been a firefighter? Had he even attended the fire last year that had taken her brother from her?

“Hi, I’m Seth Hale,” he said, shaking her hand. He looked at her apologetically when his hand left a soot streak across her palm. She didn’t care, and offered him a small smile. May as well start trying to get on his good side.

Before she could reply, the chief spoke again. “Seth will help you access the authorized reports and explain any terms you don’t understand, answer any questions you have.” The chief turned to Seth. “Maya is looking for information on the fire at Judge Taylor’s place. Public record only.” He trained his eyes on Maya at the last part and she resisted the urge to cringe. He’d clearly figured her out from the moment she’d stormed into his office.

“Can I see the house?” she asked. May as well try for everything. She could always get the address from the reports and go herself, but having a trained eye with her—even the rookie’s—could be useful. There had to be something more there, and she wasn’t leaving until she found it.

“Seth, you willing to take responsibility for her at the scene?” the chief asked.

Seth turned to her, watching her carefully. Maya schooled her features, hoping she looked at least somewhat reasonable. In the end, she didn’t care whether she was “allowed” or not, she was going. But if she could avoid being charged with breaking and entering or tampering with evidence, that’d be great.

“Sure,” he said at last. “Assuming she can borrow some safety gear. The place is cleared?”

“You’ll have to ask Liam Cohen about that. If it’s not, then it’s all destroyed anyway. Place has been exposed to the elements for months now.” The chief huffed. “You know how it gets. Victim was a Federal court judge, and so everything has to be run through them.” He turned to Maya. “You can go, if you promise to stick to Seth here like glue, and don’t touch a damn thing.”

“You got it,” she said. She had no idea whether she’d keep that promise until she got there, but Chief Stone was the first person in a few very long months who would even give her the time of day. It would help her in the long run to keep him on her side. She breathed in deeply again. Her temper and her patience were frayed, leaving her almost constantly on edge. It hadn’t been a gradual thing. It had pounded on her from the moment she’d opened the door in the middle of Sunday dinner at her parents’ place to find two men in dark suits standing on the doorstep, and it hadn’t let up since. Not since they’d told her that her brother was dead.

And that he’d killed a Federal judge.