Page 82 of On Fire

There’s movement around me as men leave. Excellent under pressure, they continue to exit, two units are on—it’s a shift change so there’s fifteen of us in the building.

I start to move toward the kitchen.

Lowering the megaphone, Nic yells, “Keller, what are you doing?”

“McKinley’s back there. In the shower.”

Nic knows I don’t have a choice. Scanning every inch of the floor, I walk slowly through the kitchen to the bathroom. The shower is running full blast. McKinley likes a long hot shower. The guys tease him about it. There are two rows of five showers, like at a gym.

“McKinley!”

“Yes, sir!”

Before I can say anything else he shuts the shower off and sticks his head out from the curtain.

“McKinley. There may be a bomb planted here, at the firehouse. Listen to me. Listen carefully. Did you bring that towel in with you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Grab it and walk out of here slowly. Do not touch any walls, doorknobs and watch where you put your feet. This guy knows how to set up trip wires.”

McKinley looks at me. Looks at the floor, grabs the towel, and makes an exit from the stall. He’s pretty wild-eyed. He’s twenty-four, with a wife and one year old.

“You did great today, McKinley.”

“Thanks, sir.”

“We can cut the sir right now.” When he gets to me, I squeeze his shoulder. “I’ll walk out with you. I’ll be right next to you, okay?”

“Okay. Thank you.”

It takes about four grueling minutes to cross out of the kitchen to the garage.

At one point he stops and looks almost panicked.

“Hey,” I say. “You’re almost there. Tell you what, we’ll meet in the gym and workout tomorrow, okay?”

He nods and continues.

Nic’s standing there, the megaphone gone, and more cars have arrived. Jackson’s in the street talking on the phone. The men and Devon are an earshot away.

“I need to find it,” I say to Nic as soon as McKinley clears the building.

Nic nods. “I got you,” he says, and the two of us re-enter.

It’s getting dark but we don’t dare flick a light switch on.

“Talk to me.” As much as I’m being careful, I need to understand his thinking.

“Jim Graham murdered his brother and his brother’s lover two months later.”

“The chicken coop?”

“Yeah. And the other guy, an Anthony Pope, died in a car fire.”

“Jesus.”

“He saw us on the boat, Keller. Maybe he did see us kiss. I touched your back at the trash can. He could have caught that. So, he went after me.”