Page 35 of Falling for the Firefighter
"Captain Sullivan." I match his formality, aware of Parker's presence and the subtle shift in dynamics. "What can I do for you?"
Parker unrolls a satellite map across my desk, securing the corners with paperweights. Red X marks dot the terrain in a distinctive pattern.
"Three new fires," Mac explains, pointing to each X. "All started within a four-hour window last night. All in remote locations without trail access."
I study the map, recognition dawning. "These are all in the northwest sector. Near the old mining claims."
"That mean something to you?" Mac watches my face with the intensity I've come to expect.
"Maybe." I pull out my own map of the area. "This sector has been abandoned since the Silver Creek Mine shut down in the 90s. No official trails, minimal access. You'd need serious backcountry skills to reach these spots."
"And intimate knowledge of the terrain," Parker adds, eyes sharp.
I trace the pattern with my finger. "These aren't random. They form a perimeter around this valley." I tap the center of the triangle created by the fire locations. "Old prospector territory. Dozens of abandoned claims."
"Any idea why someone would target that area?" Mac leans closer, his arm brushing mine as he studies the map.
The contact, however brief, sends warmth cascading through me. I step back slightly, needing distance to think clearly.
"Not immediately, no. It's remote, rarely visited. No valuable structures or resources." I frown at the pattern. "But the placement feels deliberate. There’s been no lightning in the area to account for one fire, let alone three."
"That's our assessment, too." Mac straightens, all captain now. "Fortunately, they were quick to put out the fires, and they’re no longer a threat, but we’re concerned about reoccurrences."
"You think whoever set those will set more?"
"Can’t risk ruling it out, which is why I want to position observation teams at strategic points surrounding this valley. Eyes on all potential access routes, monitoring for further activity."
"Sheriff Donovan can help with that. Or Jackson Hart. He’s a local guide who knows those mountains almost as well as I do."
"Sheriff's coordinating with state authorities." Mac's eyes lock with mine. "Jackson’s already out with clients and unavailable. We need someone who knows the unofficial routes. The game trails, the old mining paths—the ones that don't appear on any official map."
Understanding dawns. "You need a guide."
"We need you," he says.
"No." Ice slides through my veins, my heart rate spiking.
"Josephine—"
"I said no." My voice comes out harder than intended. "I don't guide people. Not anymore."
Parker glances between us, sensing the sudden tension. "I'll check in with Rodriguez on the equipment status," she says, tactfully retreating to the far end of the visitor center.
Mac waits until she's out of earshot.
"You guided me."
"That was different." I cross my arms, hating how defensive I sound. "You’re a professional, and those were established evacuation routes. This is?—"
"This is what you do." His voice softens. "You know these mountains. My team needs that knowledge."
"I make maps." I turn away, rearranging papers on my desk with shaking hands. "I don't take people into the backcountry."
"Why not?"
The simple question slices through my defenses. I could lie, make up some excuse about being too busy, but he'd see through it immediately. Something about Mac has always made it impossible to hide.
"Three years ago," I say finally, my back still to him. "I was leading a guided hike. Family of four—parents, two children. The youngest, Sarah, was eight." I swallow past the tightness in my throat. "She wanted to see mountain goats."
