Page 42 of Falling for the Firefighter
"We need an alternative," I tell Mac, studying the terrain. "There's a hunter's blind about half a mile north, but it won't give the same coverage of the southern approach."
Mac consults his GPS, frowning at the readings. "What about that ridgeline?" He points to a rocky outcropping just visible through the trees.
"Too exposed." I shake my head. "First place lightning would strike in a storm."
"Underground options?"
"There's an old mine shaft entrance nearby, but?—"
"No." His refusal comes sharp and immediate, startling me with its intensity. "No underground positions."
Burke and Nguyen exchange glances but say nothing.
"It's stable," I counter, confused by his vehemence. "I've mapped it myself."
"No underground." Mac's voice carries an edge I've never heard before—something raw and final that brooks no argument. "Find another option."
The sudden shift in his demeanor raises questions, but his expression warns against asking them now. Instead, I scan the terrain, recalculating.
"There's a natural depression beyond that copse of aspens." I point to a barely visible dip in the landscape. "Good cover, decent sightlines. We'd need to clear some brush for optimal visibility, but it could work."
Mac studies the location, then nods curtly. "Show us."
As Burke and Nguyen follow me toward the new position, I catch Mac taking a deep breath, one hand pressed briefly against his sternum before dropping away. The gesture seems unconscious, almost like he's steadying himself.
The new position proves workable with minimal adjustments. As Burke and Nguyen set up their equipment, Mac performs a perimeter check, his earlier tension still evident in the rigid set of his shoulders.
When we leave them to continue to our final drop point, Mac maintains an uncharacteristic silence. I match his quiet, sensing whatever triggered his reaction isn't something he wants to discuss in the field.
The radio crackles to life, Parker's voice breaking through static. "Alpha Leader, this is Base. Come in."
Scout's ears perk forward at the radio static, her body tensing with the same alertness she shows before storms. She's always been sensitive to changes in atmospheric pressure, and her reaction tells me something significant is happening before Parker's words confirm it.
Mac unclips his radio."Alpha Leader. Go ahead, Base."
"New hotspot reported near Lookout Point. Tourist called it in. Appears to be fresh, within the last hour."
My stomach drops. Lookout Point is crawling with day-hikers this time of year.
"Size?" Mac's voice turns clipped, professional.
"Small, currently contained to a fallen log and surrounding brush. Fire team en route, but we're detecting unusual ignition patterns. May be connected to our arsonist."
Mac's eyes meet mine, the unspoken question clear. Lookout Point is at least four miles from the pattern established by the previous fires—a significant deviation.
"Civilian presence?" he asks, already calculating.
"Heavy. Weekend hikers, a tourist group from the lodge. Sheriff's coordinating evacuation."
"Acknowledged. Diverting to Lookout Point. Have Rodriguez and Williams maintain their position; all other teams proceed as planned. Alpha Leader out." Mac clips the radio back to his belt, decision made. "Change of plans."
Chapter 9
New Fires
We reachLookout Point in forty-three minutes, lungs burning from the pace Mac sets over technical terrain. The scent hits us first—acrid smoke threading through pine and summer wildflowers. Then the sound: the hungry crackle of flames consuming dry timber.
Scout's hackles rise the moment we crest the approach trail. She stops dead, nose working the air, a low whine escaping her throat—the sound she makes when something is fundamentally wrong.
