Oliver's smooth, asshole baritone drones into Harris' ear. "The only thing that will satisfy me now is that one of you dies. You have one shot at convincing Agatha that it shouldn't be her. Do you want to try?"
"Yes." Harris jumps to his feet. A thousand times, yes! The deal sucks, and he'll take it.
"Follow my instructions. Are you smart enough to decipher that if you deviate, she dies?"
"Yes."
"Good. Get into your truck."
Where there's Oliver, there's fire. Harris pulls the closest set of the fire-retardant overalls from its hanger, balls it up under his arm. He has no idea what and when Oliver has hacked and how he keeps tabs on them. He'll keep mum, but he has to risk a minor detour. Because where Oliver is, there's fire.
Harris turns into the locker room and collects gear that can come in handy.
He keeps his shoulders relaxed, his eyes forward, like he hasn't a care in the world. Like it's perfectly alright to remove the gear from the fire station and carry it toward his personal truck in the middle of the workday. Like—
"Sarkisian!" Lt. Jung blocks his pass. He was born knowing every regulation, so he is bound to notice that Harris is up to no good. "Sarkisian, just where do you think you're going? Colin's all set for you."
Colin! Hearing! That other life... His heart thumps. Once. Twice. His mind claws its way out of the tunnel leading straight to Agatha. "I... will be there shortly."
Jung frowns and that frown spurs Harris' sluggish brains on. He looks into his boss' face with the intensity of a hypnotist. "I... Sir! I just want to pick up cinnamon buns, then I'll be right back. You know how much I love them! Adore them! Can't get enough of it."
Sweat drenches his back from the effort to make Jung understand without stretching the pauses between the keywords longer. If he'd heard someone speaking in this affected manner before, and was in a position of authority, he'd order an illicit drug test. But Jung is not him. The lieutenant has a penchant for making the right calls.
Please, make the right one this time as well. Harris won't ask for anything else ever again.
"There were cinnamon buns in the break-room in the morning, and they smelled so good, I barely sat through counseling. Alas, all gone! I'll buy enough for the next shift too."
Come on, come on! There were no buns in the break room, and Jung must remember the latte incident. He was so pissed, and it happened only a few short weeks ago. Weeks filled with emergencies and life-threatening situations, but... Please!
Harris stares at his boss willing him to read the call for help in his eyes.
Remember, dammit! Remember that I hate cinnamon and threw a hissy fit.
"Who am I to stand in the way of the cinnamon buns?" Jung's gray eyes burrow through Harris' skull, belying his joking tone. "You go on now. We'll see what we can scavenge in the meantime. Ha-hah."
The bellicose laughter at the end wouldn't win Jung an Oscar, but this isn't Hollywood. This is a Fire House, and the matter of life and death. So when Harris mutters, "Thank you, Sir," his eyes water.
In the interest of conspiracy, he doesn't hug Lt. Jung, but the weight lifts off his chest. Not completely, of course, but enough to breathe. He'll take it.
"I'll be quick, Sir." He trudges on and stops only to glance over his shoulder at Jung. Hopefully, his boss will consider the possibility that Oliver plugged into police dispatch. Hopefully, he gets to Lonita, because Lonita knows how devious Oliver is.
YOU ARE READING
Ablaze
Mystery / Thriller||Love Triangle between a Firefighter, an Arsonist and an Heiress ♡|| Deeply wounded by his mother's betrayal, Harris, a Milwaukee firefighter, doesn't accept human failings, including his own. That's until he saves a redhead from a burning hotel...
