Nothing Left to Burn (15 page)

I studied his face and finally nodded. “Okay. If I decide to go, I’ll drag your ass along with me.”

“Cool.” He started walking, and I watched him for a second or two.

It was. It really, really was.

Chapter 13

Reece

The needle’s almost in the red, Dad. Let’s see how brave you are. I’ll be at his altar, because I have nothing left to burn.

At school on Tuesday, Alex and I had just grabbed lunch when Gage waved us over.

“Logan! We could use your help.”

At the squad’s usual lunch table, Bear was in the middle of a large-scale freak-out.

“What’s going on?”

“I got an F,” he said with a look of horror.

I looked at him sideways. “Bear, an F isn’t the end of the world.”

“Yeah, it is. If I fail this class, I can’t stay on the squad.”

Whoa. I didn’t know that. I put my tray down and grabbed a seat. “What class?”

“Bio.” He folded his arms on the table and let his head fall on top.

Max raised his eyebrows over the bottle of water he’d just guzzled. “So study extra this week. No big deal.”

But Bear’s face just got redder. “I can’t! I have to work, and we’re doing knots this week in J squad.”

Amanda shook her head. “Bear, we’re not going to let you fail. Logan’s a genius. He’ll help.”

I choked on my turkey sandwich. “I’m not a genius. I just memorize stuff. Alex is the genius.” I looked around, but Alex wasn’t there. “Where the hell did he go?” He was no longer behind me. I scanned the cafeteria and found him at our usual table. “Amanda, could you tell him to come back and eat with us?”

“Heard you saw the trucks roll on Saturday. Pretty damn cool, right?” Kevin grinned, and I smiled back. He was right. It was.

“Come on, that wasn’t really the first time you saw the trucks roll out, was it?” Gage asked with a smirk.

“Actually, it was.”

Gage grinned. “I’ve seen it probably a hundred times by now. Never gets old.”

Max looked up from the hot cheerleader he’d been eyeballing. “Did you hear anything about it? The fire, I mean.”

Gage shook his head. “No, why?”

“The address. Juniper Court. There’s a boarded-up house on that block. Foreclosure.”

Bear cursed. “You think it’s another one?”

“Another what?” I cut in.

“Arson.” Gage tipped back his bottle and swallowed some water. “We’ve had a few this year. Nobody knows who it is.”

“How do you know it’s arson?”

Max leaned in, dark eyes shifting around for eavesdroppers. “We don’t. The guys won’t talk to us about it. But we hear shit, you know?” He took another careful look around. “Like the first one, back in January. It was an empty house, windows all boarded up. Neighbors swore they saw light in the house for days but never said anything until after the place poofed.”

“Yeah, and Gage was working with Steve Conner. Tell him what you found out.” Bear slapped Gage’s arm.

“Steve’s our fire marshal. He doesn’t fight fires; he investigates them after—you know, for the reports. His laptop ate a document, so he asked me to help him recover it. I saw the report. The suspect is a real pyro. They think he was practicing. Inside what was left of the structure, they found piles of ash, which they think was kindling. Best guess, oil-soaked paper arranged like fuses.”

“Whoa, I read about that. Trailers, right?”

Max nodded. “Wait, it gets better. We got snow—a lot of it. Everything’s quiet for weeks until most of the snow is gone. Then, another arson—this time, a boarded-up place over on Delaney. I overheard the chief talking to Steve about this one. Steve said he was sure it was the same guy, but he was escalating.”

“Escalating? Like getting sicker?”

Gage shook his head. “More like more dangerous.”

“How does Steve know this? Doesn’t the fire burn up everything?”

“No, dude.” Gage waved a hand. “That’s a myth, and Steve says it’s what eventually gets arsonists caught. Fire leaves a footprint through a destroyed structure. Steve can look at scorch marks and the color of flames to tell you if a fire is electrical, chemical, accidental, whatever.”

“Right. Rainbow fire.”

Gage laughed. “You know about that?”

I nodded. “Read it in one of the books. Gasoline burns yellow, copper burns green.”

Gage’s eyebrows raised. “Keep reading, dude. You’ll be an expert in no time.”

A groan from Bear interrupted our fun. I glanced at him, but he was frowning over a notebook. “What’s tripping you up, Bear?”

“Body planes, bro. I keep messing up which one’s sagittal and transverse.”

“No problem. Look.” I took his shoulders and turned him to face me. “All you need to remember is that the sagittal plane slices the body right down the center into a left and right side. What’s the first syllable in
sagittal
?”

“Uh, sag?”

“Right. Sag, as in—” I held my hands in front of my pecs as if they were weighted down. “Just imagine that line cutting right between a pair of—”

“Saggy tits! Holy shit, man. That’s genius.” Bear grinned. “Your dad says you read textbooks just for fun. Is that true?”

I took another bite, chewed, and tried to ignore the burn in my gut at his words. Okay, so I
did
read textbooks for fun; I had no life to speak of, so what the hell else was there to do? The sandwich soured and knotted in my gut. A whole series of inventive ways to commit patricide danced in my mind, but I said nothing.

“I don’t get it, Logan. All my parents do is nag, nag, nag me to get my grades up. Your grades are way up, and your dad still gives you shit. What the hell is up with that?”

“Because he’s jealous,” Amanda said quietly, sliding into Max’s seat.

I jerked my eyes to hers. Jealous, huh? I thought about it, but whatever was wrong between my dad and me couldn’t be distilled to a single word. The truth was my dad was a smart guy—in practical, commonsense ways. I was a smart guy in other ways, ways that filled my head with facts. I had a perfect memory, could pass tests easily, and could read books in a matter of hours, but what difference did any of that make when I had no ideas of my own? Dad knew that. I was smart, just not smart
enough
.

“So, Logan, do you think you could maybe help me pass some of my classes?”

“Some? How many?”

“I suck at bio and math. And maybe history.”

“Like I said, Alex is the real genius.” I looked around, but he wasn’t with Amanda. He was still at our table. “Did you tell him to sit here?” I asked her, and she shook her head.

“He said he’d catch up with you later.”

Oh.

Max perched on the table and laughed. “Damn, Bear, the only thing you don’t suck at is gym and lunch.”

“Hey, I’m good in Spanish.”

“Because you speak Spanish at home, dumbass.”

Bear slanted him a look. “We’re Portuguese.”

“Same thing.”

“And I’m the dumbass?” Bear rolled his eyes.

I exchanged glances with Amanda, but she just shook her head. I couldn’t take any more. “Okay, okay, I’ll help you if you two promise to stop arguing like an old married couple.”

Max folded his lips over his teeth and bent over at the waist. “Eh, what’s that, dearie? Speak up.” He cupped his ear.

The bell rang, thank God. Max took off with a grin and a wave. Bear groaned. “Quiz time. Hope I pass.”

“Remember what I said.”

“Sagging tits! Got it. See you later. And practice your knots!”

Amanda’s eyes almost fell from her skull. “What the hell did you tell him, Logan?”

“Just a way to keep body planes straight, no big deal. Come on. I’ll walk you to class.” I held out my hand—a totally unconscious gesture. Until she took it. Then it became the only thing I was aware of.

Abruptly, the note in my pocket felt like a thorn. I let go of Amanda’s hand to tug it out.

“What’s that?” she asked, but I shook my head.

“Nothing,” I said.

And the thing is that really wasn’t a lie.

Not anymore.

I stuffed the paper back in my pocket, finished the rest of my classes, and spent the rest of the evening practicing knot tying.

***

Wednesday evening, I sat in the same chair I’d occupied the previous week. I had my text and even brought a notebook this time. My leg bounced under the table, and my stomach kept twisting.

I was the first one here. We were doing knots today, or so Bear said. He’d had me reading everything from Boy Scout to nautical websites. I was pretty sure I’d dream about knots.

“Hey.” Amanda strode in, hung her backpack over her chair, and sat down.

I jerked at the sound of her voice, my blood pumping a little faster through my system. She was wearing her station uniform and had her hair pulled up in its usual vicious twist. It looked better when it was loose. I bet it was soft. She dropped her notebook on a table, and I jolted. What the hell was I doing, thinking about her hair? I couldn’t like Amanda Jamison.

Epic fail.

“Hey.” I forced my attention back to my text and kept reviewing the knots I’d practiced all afternoon. I totally understood why Bear freaked out about knots now.

“You study?” Amanda asked.

“Yeah. Practiced on some old cord Matt had in a box in the basement.” Mom wouldn’t let Dad toss any of it.

Her eyes filled with pain before she looked away, and I winced, hating myself for upsetting her. I quickly changed the subject. “Why do you wear your hair pulled so tight? Doesn’t that hurt?”

Sure enough, she shot me a look that speared straight through me.

“Sorry, Paul Mitchell, I didn’t know I was supposed to get your approval.”

I held up both hands. “No, I don’t mean to bust your chops. I just wondered if that was part of the uniform.”

She thought about that for a moment. “I like my hair off my face when I’m working. To keep it secure, I twist it like this. We done with this topic, or would you like tips on French braids?”

I laughed once and tried not to squirm. I had only the vaguest idea of what a French braid was, but the image of my hair like that was pretty damn funny. “We’re done, we’re done.” I threw up both hands again.

Her lips twitched. She crossed her arms and slanted me a look, and my mouth went dry. She grabbed my text and flipped it open to the knots page. “Did you go through the whole section?”

“Yeah. I practiced every knot in the book plus some from a website Bear gave me.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Good thinking.” She slid her gaze to the door and lowered her voice. From the backpack she’d looped over her chair, she took out a rope bag. “Okay, listen.” She tugged a few feet out of the bag, put it behind her back, and kept talking. “When Neil taught us, he used to have us practice the knots over and over until our fingers went numb. We could tie knots blindfolded.”

She showed me the rope. It was tied in a perfect bowline knot.

“Your dad does a great job training a cadet here and there when they come up from the academy, but a class like this?” She shook her head and shrugged. “I don’t know what he’s gonna do. This week, he hasn’t said anything other than
knots
.” She blew out a loud sigh and sank back in her chair. “Which reminds me, I have to go copy the lesson plan. Be right back.”

I turned back to my text and grabbed the rope she’d left behind. The bowline knot, according to my book, could be easily untied as long as it bears no load, but it has a tendency to loosen. I examined Amanda’s work, tightened it, and tied a safety knot under it. Then I untied the whole thing, started over with a basic figure eight, set it tight, and tied another safety knot on that to finish it off.

Footsteps in the corridor snagged my attention, and I could tell immediately they weren’t Amanda’s. My muscles coiled, and I braced for the greeting I knew I’d get from my father. He stepped inside the room and stopped for second.

“First one here, Reece? I’m not impressed with brownnosing.”

I shrugged.
Yours
is
the
last
ass
I’d kiss.

He noticed the rope, grabbed it, and inspected my knot. “Whose rope bag is this?”

“Amanda’s.”

He nodded once, smirking down at me. “She’s got a thing for Logan boys.”

The blood in my veins simmered. My fingers itched on the rope, and my muscles bunched. “Amanda’s a great teacher.”

“Oh, you think so?” He laughed. “She’s good, Peanut, but until she, I don’t know, maybe fights an actual fire, I’m the best you’re gonna get.”

Peanut?
Christ. I looked up and glared straight through him. “We had a deal,
Jackie
.”

The laughter faded. Dad nodded. “Yeah. You’re right.” He angled his head, took a step back, and stared at me, stared at me like it was the first time he’d seen me. There was something in his eyes I didn’t recognize. Not pride, definitely not that.

But it was something.

“What?”

Dad shook his head. “Nothing.”

We stared each other down for a moment longer, and then I looked back at my text. Dad took Amanda’s rope, untied my knot, and tugged a few more feet out of the bag. With ten feet of rope snaking along the floor, he grabbed the rope and bent it into a U.

“What’s this?” he asked, holding up the U-shaped section.

“It’s a bight.”

With a twist of his hand, the U became a loop.

“This?”

“Round turn.”

“And this?” He manipulated the rope into another shape.

“A loop.”

He passed one end through the loop, twisted it around, and stopped halfway through a knot. “This?” He shook the part in his right hand.

“The working end.”

“And this?”

“Standing.”

“This?”

“Running end.”

He finished the knot and tossed it to me. “Dress it.”

I grinned because I knew what that meant. I examined the knot he’d tied. It was a figure eight—half-assed and loose. I worked the end back out of the loop, directed it through so that the working end was opposite the running end, tightened the knot, and finished it with a safety knot. Then I tossed it back to him.