32
Shane sat at a meeting table in the fire marshal’s downtown office, his nerves on edge at the number of men with badges and black suits who entered the room.
He leaned toward his friend John in the next seat over.
“I thought you guys just wanted to ask me a few questions about the warehouse fire,” he said in a low voice.
“We did, but then the Feds showed up and kind of took over.”
“You could’ve warned me.”
“I wasn’t allowed to,” he whispered back.
Shane nodded, hearing his friend’s worried thoughts. John always meant what he said and said what he meant, which was refreshing compared to most people, but sometimes annoying.
Shane tugged at his collar, feeling hot and sweaty in the packed room. “Is it stuffy in here?”
“Not that I can tell.”
“I feel like I’m burnin’ up.”
“Good mo
