Page 2 of Igniting Her

Ellie stopped long enough to read every number.

Mo noticed. “Don’t.”

“I’m only appreciating local history.”

“That expression is how property gets damaged,” he said with a laugh.

“You’ve known me six minutes.”

“I’m an excellent judge of character.” He pointed through another door toward a narrow office overlooking the apparatus. “Captain’s in there. She’s also an excellent judge of character, but you’re probably not going to enjoy it as much.” The warning should have cooled Ellie’s curiosity. Instead, she found herself straightening her shoulders before they’d even met.

At the sink, Jamie lifted a soapy hand in greeting. Priya sat at the far end of the table restocking a medical bag, her dark braid falling over one shoulder. Within five minutes, Ellie knew Jamie’s daughter had just lost her first tooth, Priya was training for a triathlon she claimed not to care about, and Teak had been forbidden to make coffee.

It was too easy.

That’s what made the warmth dangerous. Ellie knew how quickly a room could make space for her. She also knew how efficiently it could close again. She had just made Jamie snort coffee through her nose when the captain entered. Nobody snapped to attention. Nobody needed to. The room reorganized itself around her anyway.

Captain Cassie Everett wore a navy uniform without a crease out of place. She was tall, five-eight maybe, with an athlete’s contained strength and dark brown hair secured in a low twist. The first gray had come in at her temples and been left there, which Ellie liked immediately. Her face was striking rather than soft: clean lines, olive skin, a mouth made for disapproval. Storm-gray eyes moved once around the room and landed on Ellie.

The easy greeting rising to Ellie’s lips vanished.

Cassie Everett was beautiful. Ellie had noticed before the woman made it halfway across the room, and she was annoyed by it. But beauty wasn’t what killed Ellie’s next joke. It was the stillness. Ellie had spent her life around people whose tempers arrived before they did. The captain looked calm, but not peaceful. She looked like the type of person who was always waiting for something.

“Ridge.” Not a question.

Ellie stood. “Captain.” The word came out lower than she intended. Cassie held her gaze a fraction too long, then seemed irritated by the lapse.

“My office.”

Behind the captain, Mo made the sign of the cross. Ellie gave him a discreet middle finger and followed. Cassie’s office overlooked the bay through a broad interior window. A duty roster covered one wall, every name and assignment written in the same precise hand. The desk held a radio, a closed laptop, two stacks of reports, and nothing personal. Even the pens were aligned.

Ellie set the transfer packet on the desk and took the chair indicated by a wave of the captain’s hand. Cassie remained standing while she opened it. Page one contained the harmless facts. Certifications. Commendations. Eight years in Los Angeles, starting with the academy at eighteen. Swift-water rescue, technical rescue, firefighter-paramedic credentials. The official photograph of Ellie in dress blues, looking as though she had been caught impersonating a responsible adult.

Cassie read without hurrying. She didn’t offer Ellie the courtesy of pretending not to notice the sealed envelope clipped inside the back cover, where the ordinary paperwork stopped. “You’ve accumulated an unusual number of commendations for someone your age.”

“I started young.”

“I was relatively young too.” The answer was flat, not an invitation. Ellie watched the captain turn a page. A pale burn scar followed the inside of Cassie’s left forearm until it disappeared beneath her short sleeve. “Two valor citations,” she said. “A department medal. Three civilian commendations.”

“There were four, but one of them spelled my name wrong, so I don’t think it counts.”

Cassie looked up. Ellie smiled. Her smile had carried her through disciplinary hearings, bad dates, and a childhood full of adults deciding whether she was worth the trouble. The captain regarded it the way she might regard smoke appearing beneath a closed door: relevant, potentially hazardous, and not remotely charming.

“Do you answer every direct observation with a joke?”

“Only the ones that make me nervous.” That earned her a pause. The full weight of the captain’s attention settled on her, and Ellie felt it in the base of her throat.

Then Cassie lowered her eyes to the file. “Your former battalion chief describes you as instinctive.”

“He meant gifted.”

“I know what he meant.” Cassie closed the folder. “Instinct without discipline is luck, Ridge. Luck has an expiration date.” There it was: the sealed-file verdict without a single seal broken.

Heat crept up Ellie’s neck. “Respectfully, Captain, I’ve done the job for eight years.”

“You’ve done a job for eight years. You haven’t done it here.”

“Fire burns differently in Santa Vera?”