Page 39 of Single Mom's Firefighter SEALs
But grief isn’t a vow. It’s not a house I’m meant to live in forever just because I still love the man inside it.
When I open my eyes, Buck is watching me. He bends and kisses my forehead in a way that’s so slow and reverent, it makes me ache.
His hand stills, and he holds me tight as we lie there, warm in the cold night, while danger waits somewhere in town.
Nothing’s been fixed. The threat hasn’t disappeared, and tomorrow there’ll be reports and meetings and students and fear.
But something has changed. Something real.
He kisses my shoulder again. “You don’t have to figure everything out tonight.”
I let the weight of my head relax onto his arm as his heartbeat pulses against my back.
“No,” I murmur, “but I think something changed anyway.”
His arm tightens around me. “Yes, it did.”
CHAPTER 21
WESTON
By the time the book fair winds down and most of the parents’ SUVs have pulled out of the lot, I’ve circled the school twice on foot.
It’s the kind of cold night that makes sounds carry farther than they should. Branches scrape against brick, the flagpole line clinks against the metal, and my boots crunch noisily over old snow and frozen dirt.
I cut across the side of the building again, keeping my flashlight beam low, because there’s no need to advertise my position. The janitor called in sick, which means Elena will be staying late to lock the place down tonight. Buck didn’t like that, and neither did I.
Sentinel’s doing extra patrols, the motion lights are up, and cameras cover more angles than they did a week ago. None of that changes the fact that somebody keeps coming back.
Near the edge of the staff lot, next to a stand of scrub and young pines, I crouch and let the flashlightsettle. From here, there’s a clean view of both the main entrance and the staff lot.
Two cigarette butts lie half-ground into the dirt, wet from the thin layer of melt this afternoon. Buck found butts just like this earlier this week, dark paper, strong foreign tobacco, nothing sold near Moon Ridge.
This isn’t a bored teenager hiding a bad habit or a teacher taking a break.
I glance up, tracing the sightlines the way I was trained to. Front doors, staff entrance, Elena’s office window along the side. Anyone sitting here could see who comes in and who stays late. They could watch to see whether Elena leaves alone or has T.J. with her, and track her direction when she drives off.
My jaw locks.
A few yards farther out, near the service road that cuts behind the gym, there are tread marks in the dirt. Snow softened their edges, but not enough to hide the fact that they’re the same pattern Calder found near the fire station. Whoever parked here knew how to pick spots that don’t draw attention from the road but still give useful angles.
I move past it, scanning wider to where three narrow impressions form a rough triangle in the dirt. Tripod legs.
It’s not a spot for a hunter or some dad taking photos of a winter concert, especially not with concealed parking and imported tobacco.
“Son of a bitch,” I mutter. The anger that rolls through me is hot against the cold. Arson was bad enough. This is planned and deliberate, rather than reckless.
Whoever this is, he has patience, resources, and enough training to know what matters.
Not enough to stay invisible, though. The cigarette butts are sloppy, and so are the tripod marks. Parking in repeat concealment sites is careless. A full professional wouldn’t leave a pattern this easy to connect.
It tells me the man we’re dealing with is dangerous and arrogant enough to think he won’t get caught.
I straighten, roll my shoulders once, and key the radio clipped under my coat. I keep my voice low as I pass Buck the basics.
“Copy. I’ll have Calder come document it in better light first thing,” he says. “Get Elena out of there, and don’t dump more on her tonight unless you have to.”
He knows I’d rather give her every piece of intel we have than leave her standing in the dark, but Buck’s right. She’s carrying enough. Too much.
