Page 8 of Rescued Duty

His hand dropped to the table and hit the edge of the cereal bowl, tipping it over. Milk and soggy grains splashed across the surface, running in every direction.

Zack yanked the papers into the air.

This wasn’t just any cold case he’d been given to solve. He’d wanted to learn hazmat so he could feel closer to his father and prove to the squad that he belonged. Not reopen the incident that killed his parents.

THREE

Naya’s arm throbbed as she walked through the automatic sliding doors of the hospital to the parking lot. Just a bandage, not broken.

The medics had whisked her away at the site of the bridge collapse to inspect her injuries. When she couldn’t straighten her arm, they thought it best she have it x-rayed. She insisted on driving herself to the hospital. No need for an ambulance. At least she’d been able to help Zack support the injured man with her good arm.

Zack.

A car buzzed past her. Naya jerked back from the curb.

She’d spent the last two and half hours sitting in the ER waiting for results and thinking about a boy who’d grown into a man.

His teenage baby face had disappeared since she’d seen him last. Now he sported dark turbulent eyes, facial hair, and sturdy biceps. The uniform of a firefighter—which suited him more than she’d have thought.

A man who’d once been part of her story. But he’d stayed in the past, there one moment and gone the next. All these yearsthey’d lived in the same town, and they had to run into each other today?

No point resurrecting old memories. If he’d wanted to be part of her life, Zack would have made an effort to reconnect. Instead, he’d chosen to be a hero and have no contact with her.

She needed to focus on the story that Drew had assigned, or she would lose her shot at the job she wanted.

Naya hit the unlock button on her key fob, and the vehicle chirped from its spot a few feet away.

She slid into the seat and shut the door. Pain shot through her arm from pulling on the handle.

Naya blinked back tears and reached for her phone to call Ingram, the closest friend she had here in town.

“Hey, Nay.”

Naya leaned her head against the seat and smiled. “Hey, Grams.”

“That nickname makes me sound like I’m your eighty-year-old grandma who’s about to turn in for the night.” Ingram chuckled.

“It’s stuck this long, there’s no use changing it now.” Naya laughed.

“Good thing it hasn’t become public knowledge. Will keeps trying to come up with a nickname himself, says he wants something more original thanbabe,but at least he hasn’t thought of that one yet.”

“I can give your boyfriend some pointers,” Naya teased. “Are you still at the office?”

“Yeah. It’s been a long day, and the Green Warriors are still picketing outside the main lobby.”

“Want me to pick up a to-go order from Backdraft, and we can eat an early dinner? Or we can get Bebe’s Indian food like the good ole days.” Ingram had befriended Naya on the first day of school in fifth grade, twenty years ago, not knowing the quietgirl in class was in foster care and afraid of getting too close to anyone. Yet her friend’s persistence and kindness had pulled Naya out of her shell. She’d had dinner at the Chackos’ home weekly, before youth group, and learned all about Ingram’s Indian heritage over chicken curry. Eventually, Naya had grown comfortable enough to talk about her own home country, Haiti.

“Pass up the offer to get takeout? No way. Let’s do Backdraft. We need to drum up as much good business for them as we can. Count me in.” Ingram rattled off her order, and Naya jotted it down.

Backdraft Bar and Grill had gone through a rough patch when one of their employees had been caught sabotaging food to enact revenge on one of the counselors in town. That had been Terry’s last article before she’d retired. It had been a crazy story, but the truth had been exposed. It always surprised Naya what extreme measures people were willing to take to achieve their selfish goals.

“Great. I need to talk with the group at Ethos anyway, and I can run some questions by you too. Be there in thirty.”

Ingram said, “See you soon.”

After picking up their order, Naya parked in the visitor lot at Ethos, where Ingram worked. She made her way to the main entrance, food bag in hand.

The ten-story glass building was a prominent city-like structure in Last Chance County’s simple town of three-story brick-and-mortar establishments. Sure enough, a group of protesters huddled by the fountain. No workers were going to enter or exit the building without crossing paths with the group first—or an officer who made sure the group didn’t turn hostile. Their signs and chants even made Naya want to avert her eyes and duck into the building without a confrontation. Instead, she put on a smile and walked over to the crew.

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