Bobby POV

We'd relaxed slightly after Kevin's call.

Because maybe we'd jumped the gun.

I mean, who was to say that the car in question hadn't changed hands more than once?

It still could've happened like we thought.

Our guy could've left the keys in it, waiting for it to be stolen. Only Ronnie Wilson hadn't taken it. Ace Bentley had. And then Ronnie had bought it off of Ace.

Which ultimately meant that neither guy had anything to do with the murder.

"It's been really bugging me," Kevin had said. I knew he'd probably been staring at that BOLO ever since we left 1PP. He desperately wanted to help us catch the guy. "I was sure I knew the guy."

"Do you know the name Ace Bentley?" I'd asked him, hoping to maybe jog his memory.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I don't know who that is, but it's not the guy that Kendra saw. Because I remember now. A while back, he was a client of Johnson. I ran into him a few times, but it's been awhile. His name's Mac Tomlin."

"Okay, thanks."

So I'd hung up with him and filled Alex in on what he'd said. She slowed from an insane speed down to one only slightly above the limit.

"We still can't be too sure," she said. "Keep trying Sean."

So I continued to dial my brother-in-law until at last he picked up.

"Hey, Bob, I was just getting ready to call you."

That was what Sean said when he answered the phone.

His tone was casual, as though we hadn't been trying for the past fifteen minutes to get either him or his partner to answer.

And he'd called me Bob.

Shit.

"You're in trouble, aren't you?" I asked quickly.

"We're just about to wrap it up," he said. "We'll be back to the 6-1 in about…oh, say ten minutes, give or take."

My mind scrambled to decipher his code.

And just the fact that he had to speak in code at all was causing me to mentally stumble.

Because hadn't we just determined that he was most likely not in any danger?

That if Mac Tomlin was our killer, then Ace Bentley was harmless?

And what were the odds that Mac and Ace lived in the same building, when Ace had randomly stolen the red Mercedes quite some distance away from there?

Unless it hadn't been random.

That thought stormed my brain, but then I had to stop it. I had to focus, because obviously Sean was trying to pass on some information.

I could do this.

He'd said the 6-1.

And obviously the 61st precinct had nothing to do with anything, not to mention the fact that he wasn't going anywhere without a car.

So he'd be back in ten minutes? To the 6-1?

"Sixth floor, apartment 110?" I asked suddenly.

He barked out a laugh.

"How do you know this stuff, man?" he asked. "I mean, anyone in their right mind would've put money on the Heat, and yet you bet on Cleveland. Just goes to show that it takes more than one player to make a team, huh?"

I wasn't sure how to respond to that, but I didn't have to. Sean kept talking.

"Yeah, I guess Lebron got that message loud and clear," he said. I heard a male voice in the background, and then Sean quickly added, "Bob, I've got to run."

And then the call was disconnected.

"He's in trouble," I said to Alex as I set down her phone. She reflexively stepped down harder on the gas.

"Didn't we just decide that he wasn't?" Bernard asked.

"We're missing something here," I replied.

"But he was able to tell you which apartment?" Alex questioned.

"In a roundabout way. And then he started talking about basketball."

"Basketball?" Lupo asked. I repeated the conversation verbatim as Alex closed in on our destination at a nearly frightening rate.

"So both of our guys are there? Is that what he meant by it takes more than one player?"

"Maybe not both of those guys, but definitely more than one. Or at least, that would be my guess."

"We should call the 2-7 and get uniformed back up," Bernard suggested.

"But we don't know what we're walking into," Alex argued. "What if the sight of cops causes the killer to panic?"

"She's right," I agreed. "Tomlin, or whoever, was obviously listening to Sean's end of the phone call. Sean was instructed to deflect attention. We need to go in soft."

Sean POV

After talking with Bobby, I disconnected the call and clipped my phone back onto my belt.

"What was all of that basketball crap?" the guy asked me.

"You said to be casual," I replied with a shrug. "I was. And I kept him away, right? So now what?"

"Now you two are going to put down your weapons."

"I don't think so," Hayes spoke up.

"Sweetheart, you don't have any choice," the guy said with a grin. "I've got half a dozen propane tanks stored in that closet right over there. If this place lights up, it'll only be a matter of minutes before those tanks explode. Do you really want to take the chance on being able to put out the flames fast enough? Because you know there's no way you'll get everyone out of this building in time."

"That means you, too," I reminded him. "How fast do you think you'll get out? You set fire to the place, then we may as well shoot you, right? Because at that point, we won't have anything to lose. The way I see it, we're in a standoff."

"You see it wrong," he argued, and as he said the words, he threw the lighter at me.

And I don't mean that he tossed it.

He slung it, and the natural response was to attempt to catch it. Of course, I still had my gun in my hand, and it was a flaming projectile that was heading in my direction.

And I could make excuses until the cows came home, but the bottom line was, I didn't catch it.

It slipped past my fingers and hit me in the chest before starting on a downward trajectory. I continued to reach for it, juggling it all the way down to the floor.

While this was happening, Hayes shifted her focus away from Ace and onto the other guy, who was now making a break for the door.

As she readied herself to shoot, the lighter struck the floorboards and they ignited instantly, creating a line of fire between us and the front door.

She fired two rounds, but the sudden blaze must have altered her aim. The guy was out the door.

We both whirled around toward Ace at the same time, since he was still on our side of the flames and that was when I saw that he'd picked up an ashtray from the coffee table.

"Hayes!" I shouted in warning, and then I aimed at Ace, ignoring the heat that was all around me.

But we were both too slow.

Ace swung the ashtray, catching Hayes in the head. She immediately went down to the ground, perilously close to the line of fire.

I pulled the trigger as Ace went down to his knees to hit her again.

My first shot caught him in the forehead.

The ashtray fell from his hand and he crumpled into a heap on the floor.

"Hayes!" I yelled again as I hustled in her direction. The fire was spreading at an alarming rate, and my mind was in a panic.

I needed to get her out.

I needed to put out the fire.

I needed to sound the alarm.

I needed to call the fire department.

I needed to get the propane tanks further away.

I needed to find the other guy.

I needed…to do one thing at a time.

First priority: make sure the suspect is no longer a threat. So I dropped to my knees and checked the pulse of Ace Bentley.

Definitely dead.

The next concern was my partner.

She was out cold, but she was breathing steadily.

Although that could change quickly if we stayed in with this smoke.

I pulled her further away from the fire and then ran to the closet where the tanks were supposedly stored.

Nothing.

So had he lied about their existence or merely their location?

Most likely their existence.

I couldn't afford to spend much more time in this apartment. The flames were getting higher and the living room was almost completely engulfed. He definitely hadn't been lying about the fact that the wood was treated with accelerant.

I'd never been in a situation quite this frightening before and I suddenly had a new respect for my big brother.

This was what he dealt with every day. The smoke and the blackness and the insanely intense heat.

I ran down the hall, making a quick scan of the place in search of the propane tanks, but I still didn't see anything, so I grabbed a blanket from the bed. Then I hurried back to Hayes and scooped her up, throwing her over my shoulder.

She grunted, which I took as a good sign that she was coming around, but I couldn't afford to take the time to set her down to double check.

Instead I tossed the blanket over her, hoping that it would offer her some protection from the flames, and then I made a mad dash through the line of fire.

The apartment door was still open, so I raced through it and out into the hallway where I set my partner onto the floor and then looked around for the fire alarm.

"Eames," Hayes muttered, regaining consciousness.

"Just stay right there," I instructed as I pulled the red handle. Instantly, the blaring alarm sounded, followed by the onset of the sprinkler system. Then I banged on the door across the hall. It only took a minute before the occupant pulled the door open.

"Did you pull that alarm?" she asked hotly, as though she routinely had to deal with such antics.

Had she honestly not heard the gunshots? Could she not see the smoke?

"Yeah, call 9-1-1," I ordered loudly above the din. "The apartment across the hall is on fire. Do you have an extinguisher?"

She disappeared into her apartment and then moments later, returned with an extinguisher.

"Did you call?"

"They said they were on the way."

"Good. Go outside and wait for the fire department to give you the okay," I told her.

A few more people filtered into the hall, but not too many considering it was early afternoon on a work day.

"Take the stairs!" I heard Hayes call out to them as they made their way toward the end of the hall. I saw that Hayes had gotten to her feet and was now standing unsteadily near the doorway of Bentley's apartment.

"Back up," I told her as I stepped back through the doorway.

I pointed the extinguisher at the blaze, but it was akin to using a spoon to empty a lake. There were no working sprinklers in the apartment either, so they must have been disabled.

The hallway, on the other hand, was a regular monsoon.

Ordinarily, getting drenched while in my suit would not have been all that appealing, but considering that my skin felt scorching hot, the water was actually soothing.

"What about the propane?" Hayes asked me. She stood next to me, once again the consummate professional despite the fact that her head had to be killing her. She had blood running down the side of her face, although the sprinklers were serving to wash some of that away.

"I didn't see any," I replied as I continued to spray the contents of the extinguisher, deciding that it had to be better than doing nothing.

Although the smoke was rapidly filling the hallway and I wondered how much longer we could hold out before we'd have to leave and let the professionals handle it.

"Eames, we need to get out of here," Hayes said. "This extinguisher is never going to do it."

"There's probably a hose in the stairwell," I said suddenly, wishing I'd thought of it sooner. "Go check it out."

She held my gaze for a moment and then took off toward the stairs.

Before she got there, the doors flew open and out came Alex.

"Sean!" Alex called out.

Only my sister would run into a fire, I thought with open admiration.

And Bobby, I amended as I saw her husband follow her out of the stairwell.

And apparently Lupo and Bernard, I added with a shake of my head.

"Help me get the hose," Hayes told them. Lupo and Bernard turned around, going back into the stairwell with Hayes while Bobby and Alex came running towards me.

Bobby took the extinguisher from my hands and took over the task while Alex pulled me a few feet away from the doorway.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I said automatically. Then I said it again, more to reassure myself than her. "Yeah, I'm okay. I think I breathed in some smoke, but…"

And as if to punctuate my assertion, I suddenly started coughing uncontrollably.

"Get him out of here," Bobby instructed. "He needs oxygen."

"I'm fine," I argued.

"We've got this," I heard, and I realized that Lupo and Bernard were once again in the hall, this time manning the occupant's fire hose. "We already sent Hayes down. Go."

"Bentley's dead. I shot him. He's in the apartment," I told Alex as she walked with me toward the stairs.

"What about the other guy? Tomlin."

"That's his name? I didn't know. He…" I trailed off for a minute because I hated to admit that I'd let him get away. It was frustrating and demoralizing and…yet still the truth. "He got away from us. Hayes shot at him, but I don't think she hit him. Then the place went up, and Hayes got knocked out by Bentley and…"

"Hey," she said soothingly as I stopped on the third floor landing. I was breathing like a freight train and needed to take a break. "You did good. We've got Tomlin on the run now. We'll get him."

TBC...