KINCAID
DrunkenPoet: You told me identifying details were off-limits, so I’ll have to get creative. What’s your favorite wine and why is it Sauvignon Blanc?
IndexEcho: Sorry, more of a beer guy. Wine’s too rich for my blood. Fave beer is Summer Song made near where I grew up. You?
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Subject: Re: Official Notice of Permit Suspension
Dear Fire Dom Kincaid,
Thank you for your prompt and wildly proportionate response to the recent incident.
While I appreciate your detailed retelling of how a flaming orange peel met a rogue spritz of sanitizer and briefly terrorized a napkin holder, I feel compelled to point out a few things:
The “procedural negligence” was, in fact, me attempting to provide an entertaining, Instagram-worthy drink presentation to paying customers—something you might know about if your job involved serving people instead of scowling at them.
The fire was extinguished immediately using equipment I purchased, installed, and trained my staff to use.
No injuries occurred, unless you count my emotional trauma from watching you drench my walnut bar in potassium salt foam like it was a county fair pie-eating contest.
So while I admire your commitment to the “kill a mosquito with a sledgehammer” approach, I respectfully request you un-suspend my permit before I decide to bill the Legacy Fire Department for damage to my bar’s finish.
Warmest regards (pun very much intended),
Alexander Marian
Owner, Timber
I stared at the email on the monitor in front of me while my coffee cooled on the desk. “What the actual fuck,” I grumbled under my breath. “Is he insane?”
A voice shouted through my doorway from somewhere in the hall. “Chances are yes, if you’re talking about McMasters, Chief.”
Cody McMasters fired back. “Fuck you, Javi!”
Back in Philly, I would have snapped, “Knock it off!” But I hadn’t been in Legacy long enough to start being a hard-ass with my crew.
“Who’s refilling air canisters right now? Wasn’t that supposed to be you, Sujo?” I called out.
“Yes, sir,” he said. “But if you’re asking the state of someone’s mental health, Tiff’s the one you want to ask. She’s pretty clued in to people like that.”
I grunted. The last thing I needed was to ask Javier Sujo’s girlfriend anything. I’d only met her once, and my ears were still ringing from her bubbly questions.
After leaving the site of the incident at Timber yesterday, Sheriff Westland had cautioned me on “raising a stink” with Alex Marian.
“Or any Marian, for that matter,” he’d added.
“They’re big money around here. The Legacy equivalent of the Kennedys.
I’m not saying they’re above the law. No way.
I’m just saying, go easy. Be sure before you pick a fight with someone over something that looked like a fairly minor accident. ”
“The United States sees fatalities every year from restaurant fires, Elias,” I’d informed him. What I hadn’t added—because it wasn’t relevant—was that the number was three. For a country of three hundred and thirty-five million people. Not bad odds. But still greater than zero.
And the number of fire- and smoke-related fatalities on my watch would be zero if I had anything to say about it.
At least from here on out.
I stood up from my desk and moved out of my office to the large open bay where the crew was working on various tasks in and around Legacy’s two largest rigs. “Lieutenant Pope,” I said, spotting the woman I wanted to talk to. “Got a minute?”
The deceptively small woman turned from where she was currently polishing the chrome bumper of the nearest rig and lifted her eyebrows before standing up. “Sure, Chief. Let me wash up?”
I nodded and returned to my office. When she came in and took a seat, I leaned forward over the desk. “First of all, thank you for coming in early and finishing up that certification paperwork. I know it’s a pain in the ass.”
Kinsey shrugged, the cut muscles of her shoulders and biceps standing out in the navy tank top she wore. “Gotta be done, right? At least most of it’s online now.”
“Agreed. When you were in Chicago, did you ever see a fire that started from a cocktail at a bar or restaurant?”
She pursed her lips in thought. “Well, yeah, I guess. I mean, we had this one club that got crazy one night, and the bartender went all Tom Cruise in Cocktail, you know?”
I squinted at her. “You know that movie?”
She laughed and shook her head, setting her dark brown ponytail swinging across her shoulders.
“No, man, but I’ve seen the GIF, right? Anyway, I guess the bartender was showing off and decided to arc the high-proof shit that he lit up with the lighter.
So the flame arced, too, and set a bunch of Cinco de Mayo decorations off.
Shit burned up this wooden beam over the bar, and if a quick-thinking barback hadn’t gotten the extinguisher out quick enough, it would have reached the shelves of spirits behind them. Why do you ask?”
“They lose their flame effect permit?”
“What? No. They fired the bartender who did it. Turned out his blood alcohol was almost as high-test as the Bacardi 151. Club owners were pissed. If the cops weren’t swarming around, they woulda beat the shit outta the guy.”
In addition to being savvy and experienced, one of the highest-ranking firefighters on the crew, Kinsey was a social person, outgoing and friendly. Chances were, she knew exactly why I was asking.
I pushed off the desk and stood back up. “Okay, let’s go. We’re going to follow up on the Timber fire, and I want you to accompany me for the origin and cause investigation.”
She stood up and brushed off her dark uniform pants before tucking her tank top in a little more neatly in preparation for pulling her button-down uniform shirt back on out in the bay. “Sounds good. Just crossing t’s and dotting i’s?”
I reached for my tablet as well as my travel coffee mug. “Depends on what Alex Marian has to say for himself this morning,” I grumbled.
On the drive over to Timber, I paid close attention to my surroundings, still trying to memorize directions and street names.
Spring was finishing up for real this week.
Mountain snowmelt ran fast in the roadside ditches, and the air was damp and sharp with the scent of thawed earth and new grass.
Patches of green were creeping up the hillsides, and the peaks on the horizon wore only ragged collars of snow now, clouds drifting lazily around their shoulders.
Through the windshield, Legacy’s landmarks appeared in sequence—the farmers market’s hand-painted sign propped against a wall for touching up, the library’s front steps swept clean after winter’s grit, the gas station where two old-timers leaned against the ice chest, jackets already discarded on a nearby bench in the mild warmth.
I slowed for the turn onto Founder’s Row, where the hanging baskets had just gone up, spilling bright pansies and trailing ivy toward sidewalks still damp from an early morning sprinkle.
Up ahead, Timber’s broad front windows caught the pale sunlight, its carved wooden sign etched with the now-familiar Timber — Artisanal Pizza & Curated Wines. Even from here, I could imagine the scent of yeast and woodsmoke from the ovens, the warm murmur of customers inside.
The place was too familiar already. Not only had the mayor and sheriff brought me here after our interview, where Alex had acted like he’d never seen me before, but I’d also made the mistake of coming in to grab takeout my first night in town, not realizing the postcard mailer in my welcome packet was for the same place.
Again, Alex hadn’t even given me a second glance, looking right through me as if he hadn’t bailed on me that night in Amsterdam.
The shock of seeing him again had hit me like a backdraft. For three years, I’d carried the memory of that night—the way I’d convinced myself to find someone, anyone, to have sex with. To get past my hang-up on the memory of someone I’d lost to the cruel trickster of time and fate.
I’d found the attractive stranger sitting at the hotel bar, flirting with the bartender enough to convince me he was into men and possibly looking for action.
He was sexy and relaxed. Didn’t seem to take himself too seriously.
The perfect one-night stand to get someone else off my mind for at least a few hours.
After talking and flirting over a round of drinks, we’d made arrangements to head upstairs together after I visited the men’s room and he signed the bar tab.
I’d looked forward to exploring his body and enjoying the feel of him doing the same to mine.
It had been a long time since I’d been with someone sexually.
Even longer since I’d been touched by someone truly interested and attentive…
unless you counted the attentions of the medical personnel at Ramstein for several months after my accident, which I did not.
But when I’d come out of the bathroom, I’d spotted the guy tonsil-deep with another man in a dark alcove.
“What the fuck?” I’d almost blurted. But I’d quickly taken the rejection as a sign. Wrong man, wrong night. Hell, wrong city, maybe.
Regardless, it had left me with a decidedly bad taste in my mouth for the sexy stranger who was now the subject of my next incident investigation.
When I’d spotted him here in Legacy, leaning casually behind the bar with that same damn smile but muscles significantly more defined and hair cut into a deliberately messy style, my chest had gone tight.
Attraction had slammed into me, raw and inconvenient—and strangely stronger than before—only to be doused in an instant by his blank look.
No recognition. No flicker of familiarity.
Just a polite, distracted brush-off, like I was any other stranger wandering in for pizza.
The burn of it hadn’t faded. That whiplash from wanting him to wanting to strangle him was still with me every time I saw his face.