Page 47 of Falling for the Firefighter
Mac stands at the edge of what was once the Silver Creek Mine's processing facility—rusted equipment scattered among foundations overgrown with wildflowers and young aspens. Rodriguez and Martinez flank him, all three studying something that has their full attention.
Scout's behavior changes the moment we approach the old mining facility. Her nose goes to the ground, following scent trails with intense focus. She circles the area twice before stopping at a specific spot, looking back at me with the alert expression that means she's found something significant.
"What is it, girl?" I follow her lead, and that's when I see the signs of recent habitation that the men missed—disturbed vegetation and the faint depression where someone recently slept.
"What've you got?" I ask, slightly breathless from the climb.
Mac turns, relief flickering across his features before professional focus reasserts itself. "Evidence our fire-setter has been busy."
He leads me to what appears to be a hastily abandoned campsite. Sleeping bag still warm to the touch. Coffee dregs in a metal cup. And scattered across a flat rock, detailed maps of theentire Angel's Peak region—marked with locations that match perfectly with yesterday's fire sites.
"Whoever was here left in a hurry," Rodriguez explains. "We found this site maybe twenty minutes ago. Still smoldering embers in the fire ring."
"These are mine." I study the maps, recognition dawning cold in my stomach. "Older versions, but definitely mine."
"What?" Mac's voice sharpens.
"These maps. The style, the notations—I drew these." I pick up the topographical sheet showing Lookout Point, my precise pencil work visible in the margin notes. "But I've never seen these particular copies before."
"How is that possible?"
"I don't know." My hands shake slightly as I examine each map. All mine. All unauthorized copies. All marked with fire locations I never designated. "Someone's been reproducing my work."
Mac and Rodriguez exchange glances laden with implications I’d rather not consider.
"Who has access to your original maps?" Mac asks carefully.
"Official copies are on file at the visitor center, the sheriff's office, and park service headquarters." I set the maps down with deliberate care. "But I update my copies constantly. Anyone could have photographed my maps at the visitor center, or anywhere else I've displayed them publicly. The detail and accuracy suggest someone had extended access to study my work."
What chills me isn't the accessibility of my work, but the sophistication of the operation. This isn't some amateur with a grudge. This is someone who understands both fire behavior and my mapping techniques well enough to weaponize my expertise against the mountains I love.
My radio crackles. Parker's voice cuts through the charged silence: "All teams, be advised. Fourth fire reported at Crystal Falls. Estimated start time thirty minutes ago. This is now a coordinated arson investigation."
"We need to get back," Mac says quietly.
The return hike passes in focused silence. Mac leads, setting a punishing pace through terrain that blurs past in shadow and fading light. I follow, mind churning through possibilities—who had access to my maps, when they could have been copied, how long someone might have been planning this coordinated attack.
By the time we reach base camp, full dark has settled over Angel's Peak. Emergency vehicles fill the parking area—fire trucks, sheriff's deputies, state investigators. The coordinated response suggests this is no longer being treated as random vandalism.
Back at base, the chaos hums around us—radio static, clipped orders, the sharp scent of smoke riding the wind.
Mac stands near the command tent, legs braced wide, arms crossed over his chest as he listens to another report from dispatch. All control and steel and that unreadable calm that only makes me want to tear into him and demand he lose it—just once—with me.
Parker meets us at the staging area, expression grim. "Cap, we've got problems."
"Report."
"The Crystal Falls fire was set with an accelerant. Professional job—multiple ignition points, strategically placed for maximum spread."
Mac's jaw tightens. "Someone with serious expertise."
"Has to be," Parker says. "The fire placement shows an intimate understanding of both terrain and firefighting protocols."
"Find out who's behind it." Mac in command has never looked sexier.
"Trying, Cap." Parker glances over at me, then back at Mac. Something shines in her eyes, and a slight chuckle escapes her.
I step closer, Mac’s presence solid and reassuring, while my mind replays our last conversation, about words I’ll feel and titles I’ll use. Instead of addressingthat, I force myself to focus on the fires.
