Prologue

"They're ready for you, Mr. Duggan," said the cheery receptionist who sat outside the fire marshal's office. The smile on her face was all sunshine and roses.

Phoenix was not feeling the sunshine and roses. He was pissed. Besides being quite certain he was about to get fired, he was equally confident he would be arrested by the end of the day.

Phoenix stood, trying hard not to growl at the woman watching him. He wasn't going to thank her. He didn't have it in him. He'd been scowling for weeks and wasn't about to stop now.

After two weeks of unpaid probation, during which Phoenix had basically been under house arrest, he was anxious to get this process moving forward, for better or worse.

The thing that sucked the most was that Phoenix was a damn good firefighter. He loved his job and took pride in it. At least, he had up until about three months ago when someone had decided to start setting fires all over the city and framed Phoenix for the arson.

Worse than that, not one person believed his story—that he was being framed. Even his immediate supervisor and a man he'd considered a close friend until recently, Captain Marks, had expressed his skepticism with regard to Phoenix's innocence.

Reminding himself to remain calm, he took a deep breath and opened the door.

Jerkins, the fire marshal, and Marks, Phoenix's captain, sat at a small conference table. They both rose as Phoenix entered.

Jerkins pointed toward the empty seat at the table. "Thank you for joining us. Please, have a seat."

Marks was fidgeting, looking anywhere but at Phoenix.

Jerkins, on the other hand, looked calm and oddly pleased.

Fuck both of you , Phoenix thought to himself. At least there wasn't an officer standing in the room with handcuffs out and ready. Small blessing. Phoenix took a seat in the offered chair.

Marks lowered onto his seat, too, busying himself by straightening a file folder in front of him. It wasn't open, and it was huge. Several inches thick. Phoenix was sure it contained a mountain of evidence that would prove Phoenix was a serial arsonist. Didn't even fucking matter that it wasn't true. The evidence was substantial. He was well aware.

Jerkins cleared his throat as he resumed sitting. "Let me begin by expressing our apologies for the hell you must have gone through for the past few months."

Phoenix lifted a brow but held his tongue. Apologies? Fuck you .

"I'll get right to the point," Jerkins continued when Phoenix offered no response to his previous comment. What the hell had the man expected Phoenix to say? Oh, thank you. I feel much better knowing you're sorry that my entire life has been destroyed, and I'll probably end up doing thirty to forty behind bars. It makes me feel so much better that you're sorry .

"There's been a development," Jerkins continued. "A man came in this morning with a file of evidence that exonerates you from every incident of arson you were framed for."

Phoenix stared at him. For several seconds, he simply processed the man's words in his head. "Pardon?" he asked, his mouth dry.

Marks finally lifted his gaze. "We were wrong. We see that now."

Phoenix slowly leaned forward in his chair, his spine going rigid as he set his elbows on the table. He stared at Marks and then shifted his gaze to Jenkins. "You're fucking with me."

Jenkins shook his head. "No. You've been cleared of all crimes. You're free to return to your job. If you'd like to take some time off first, we'll give you all the time you need."

Phoenix glanced at Marks again. "Return to my job?" His heart was racing. He was still struggling to process this unexpected development. "My job?" His voice rose significantly.

Marks flinched and sat taller. "If that's what you'd like, yes. You're one of the best firefighters I've ever worked with. I'd like to have you back with the company."

A slow rumble of laughter escaped Phoenix's mouth. It came from someplace deep. It was ugly and made both men wince. Still laughing sardonically, he rose and wandered to the window to stare out at the city while he processed.

He ran a hand over his short-cropped hair and then down to stroke his recently shaved jaw. Exonerated… "Who?" he asked without turning around.

"Who what?" Jenkins responded.

Phoenix spun to face the men and leaned against the windowsill. He had no interest in sitting. He was antsy. "Who provided you with this sudden influx of evidence?"

Marks flinched. "We don't know. He didn't give his name. He simply dropped off this file folder and told us to take care of our internal problems." Marks patted the giant folder under his palm.

Phoenix stared at the folder with new appreciation. He'd assumed it had been a mountain of evidence proving his own false guilt. Instead, it was apparently a pile of information that proved his innocence. Who the fuck had brought it in, and where had they gotten the data?

More importantly, who the fuck had framed him in the first place?

Marks cleared his throat again and looked Phoenix in the eye. "I'm sorry this happened, Phoenix. I'd like to have you back."

Phoenix crossed his arms. "Well, that ain't fucking happening. Every single person at the station believed I was guilty, including you. I've known you for years. I thought we were friends," Phoenix growled, wondering how he was able to remain calm enough not to pick up that damn file and throw it at the wall so that the room rained with papers.

"We are, and I'm apologizing. My hands were tied, Phoenix. The evidence?—"

" Fuck the evidence," Phoenix shouted. "You know me. You know I would never put another human in harm's way. Not ever. Not for any reason." He inhaled slowly, trying to control his temper. "Do you know who the arsonist is?"

"Yes, and the man has been arrested," Jenkins stated.

Phoenix jerked his gaze toward the fire marshal. "And what was his connection to me?" As far as Phoenix knew, he had no enemies. That had been the most perplexing part of this entire farce.

Jenkins drew in a breath. "Seems you were first on the scene to a fire at his house a year ago. The fire was too far gone to save, so you made the decision not to waste resources on that home, instead putting effort into protecting the surrounding dwellings. The guy held a grudge. He planned this for months."

Phoenix remembered that fire. The man had been furious, but Phoenix hadn't thought much about it at the time. People tended to have all sorts of reactions when faced with losing their homes to fire. Blaming the fire department was often high on that list.

Phoenix had made that call, and it had been the right decision. His quick action had saved four other homes in the area from destruction.

He had nothing more to say to these men. He would never fight fires in this town again as long as he lived, and he wasn't sure he'd ever join another company. He needed time to get his head on and wrap his mind around this development before he could make any decisions about his future. However, none of his options would include ever stepping foot into a firehouse in this town or any neighboring town.

Shoving off the windowsill, Phoenix said, "Are we done here?"

Jenkins rose. "Uh, sure. We can be. You're welcome to call me with any questions. If you'd like to be transferred to another firehouse, that can be arranged. Let's meet in a few days and discuss your options."

"No." Phoenix shook his head. "We won't be meeting to discuss my fucking options. I have a million options. None of them will include working for any of you."

Marks took a deep breath as he stood. "I'm sorry to hear that, Phoenix."

Phoenix let out another off-sounding cackle. "No, you're not. You feel guilty. That's all. And I don't give a fuck about your guilt."

He lifted a hand to rub both temples and then strolled out of the office without looking back.

He continued down the hall and out the front of the building, not stopping until he reached his truck. He paid no attention to the SUV next to his truck until a man stepped out of the passenger side, blocking Phoenix's door. "Phoenix Duggan?"

Phoenix lifted a brow. Who the hell was this guy? The last thing he needed was more trouble.

The man held out a strange gold coin with a swirled pattern. It wasn't any particular currency. "It was my team who worked night and day to exonerate you. Take this marker. Your benefactor will call on you one day soon to repay the favor. Oh, and the department will contact you about a compensation packet for being falsely accused and removed from work. Get a lawyer. They'll need to pay ten times more than their first offer."

With his brain running in circles inside his skull, Phoenix had no idea why he held out his hand to accept the strange coin, but he stood dumbfounded, too stunned to respond as the man climbed back into the SUV, and the driver pulled out of the space.

Phoenix was left staring at the strange coin, bouncing it in his palm. Benefactor? Favor? Mark? What the hell sort of alternate universe was he living in?