ABondThroughTheFire

The city never slept, and neither did Jared Kinard. He sat in his unmarked car, the rain streaking down the windshield as the night stretched endlessly before him. The rhythmic patter against the glass was a familiar backdrop to his restless thoughts, though tonight it felt heavier, as if the city itself was bracing for something. He adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, his gaze scanning the deserted street outside. Another case. Another innocent life on the line.

The crackle of his radio interrupted the quiet.

“Detective Kinard, report to HQ. New assignment. Urgent.”

Jared sighed, tossing his empty coffee cup onto the passenger seat. The bitter aroma lingered, a reminder of too many sleepless nights. He shifted into drive, the tires slicing through the rain-slick streets toward the precinct. The wipers worked furiously, clearing a path through the downpour, but the weight in Jared’s chest remained.

Inside the precinct, the briefing room was unusually quiet—an ominous sign. Captain Corinne Blanco stood at the head of the table, her usual composed demeanor replaced with a shadow of urgency. Her sharp eyes met Jared’s as he entered.

“Take a seat, Kinard,” she said, sliding a manila folder across the table. Her tone was clipped, businesslike, but there was a flicker of something else in her expression: concern. “This one’s serious. You seem to be the only man who can handle the job.”

Jared opened the folder to find a photo of Savannah Cole. Her almond-shaped eyes seemed to challenge the camera, framed by a cascade of natural curls. Beneath the photo, pages of intel detailed her life and the danger surrounding it.

“Who is she?” Jared asked, scanning the documents.

“She is an independent investigative journalist,” Blanco said. “She uncovered evidence linking one of the city’s most powerful tech companies, Kinston Dynamics, to arms trafficking along with a lot of other things such as sex and drug trafficking. She wrote a piece in the post about It without saying so many words and now we believe that her life may be in danger.”

Jared frowned. “So why am I here?”

“She’s under protective custody, but she’s not the type to sit still. She’s determined to finish the story.” Blanco’s tone sharpened. “Your job is simple: keep her alive. She’s a target, and whoever’s after her won’t stop until she’s silenced. On the flip side, someone from high up wants Miss Cole alive.”

Jared closed the folder and stood. “Where is she now?”

“In a safe house downtown,” Blanco replied. “She’s not going to make this easy, Kinard. Be ready for anything.”

The safe house was unassuming, tucked away in a quiet neighborhood where the rain pooled in the cracks of the pavement. Jared parked a block away, his instincts kicking in as he scanned the surroundings. A single streetlamp flickered nearby, casting long, eerie shadows. He noted the absence of a patrol car—unusual, given the circumstances. His hand hovered near his sidearm as he approached the door.

When he knocked, expecting a team of officers to greet him, the door swung open to reveal Savannah Cole herself. Her piercing gaze met his, steady and unflinching, as she leaned against the doorframe. Despite the loose sweater and jeans, there was an air of defiance about her.

"Where're the other officers?" he asked looking around.

“They left. Let me guess—you’re my babysitter?” she asked, her voice laced with sarcasm.

Jared straightened. “Detective Jared Kinard. I’m here to keep you alive, Ms. Cole.”

She crossed her arms, her smirk both defiant and amused. “Let’s get one thing straight, Detective. I’m not going to stop doing my job, no matter how many people want me dead. If you’re going to follow me around, you’d better be ready to keep up.”

Jared’s jaw tightened. “Keeping up won’t be the problem. But you’d better listen when it counts.”

Her smirk widened, and she stepped aside to let him in. “We’ll see about that.”

Inside the safehouse was small but cozy, a two-bedroom, two-bathroom setup with an open kitchen that flowed into the living area. The walls were painted a neutral beige, and a soft gray sofa sat against one wall, flanked by a modest coffee table. A flat-screen TV hung on the opposite wall, though it looked like it hadn’t been used much. The kitchen counter was cleared with the exception of a coffee maker, an assortment of mugs, and a bowl of fruit. The faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air, mixing with the clean, slightly soapy scent of the space.

Jared noticed a corner near the kitchen with a small desk, currently serving as Savannah’s makeshift workspace. Her laptop hummed softly, surrounded by stacks of papers, notebooks, and a huge beer mug with the letter 'K' on it. The hum of the rain outside filled the silence as Savannah motioned for him to sit.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” she asked, already reaching for a mug.

“Yes,” he said. “Thank you.”

She poured the coffee and set it in front of him, a spoon resting beside it. Jared took a sip without adding cream or sugar, the bitter taste grounding him. Savannah watched him with a curious smile.

“So, Detective Kinard,” she started, leaning against the edge of the table. “Why you? Don’t tell me I’m so special they sent the best in the department.”

Jared met her gaze. “I specialize in high-risk cases. And apparently, you’re one of the riskiest.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “Flattering. But don’t let the smile fool you. I’m tougher than I look. I’m nobody’s chicken.”

“I don’t doubt that, but toughness doesn’t make you bulletproof,” Jared replied. His voice was calm but firm. “And in the famous words of Dee from What’s Happening, I’d rather be a live chicken than a dead duck.”

Savannah laughed, genuinely this time. She studied him for a moment, her expression softening slightly. “Fair enough. But I’m not going to sit here and wait for someone else to decide my fate. That’s not who I am.”

“I gathered,” Jared said dryly, gesturing to the cluttered desk. “What’s all this?”

She walked over and tapped the stack of papers. “Research. Names, dates, connections. Everything ties back to Kinston Dynamics. They’ve been smuggling weapons through shell companies, and I’ve got the proof. Problem is, I think that they know I have it too.”

Jared frowned, his eyes scanning the documents. “You realize this makes you their biggest threat.”

Savannah nodded. “And that’s why I need to finish this story. If I back down now, they win.”

A faint noise outside—a car door slamming—made Jared’s head snap toward the window. He moved swiftly, drawing the blinds just enough to peek outside. A dark sedan idled a few houses down. Its headlights cut through the rain, the engine rumbling low.

“Expecting company?” he asked, his tone edged with suspicion.

Savannah’s expression hardened. “No.”

Jared stepped away from the window, his hand instinctively brushing the grip of his firearm. “Stay here,” he ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Savannah’s jaw tightened, but she nodded. For the first time, her defiance gave way to something else: trust. She watched as Jared moved toward the door, his movements deliberate, every sense on high alert. When he returned a few minutes later, his expression was unreadable.

“No one out there,” he said. “But we’ll keep an eye out.”

The following weeks passed in a blur of routine and tension. Jared and Savannah developed a strange rhythm as they worked together. Grocery shopping, laundry, and mundane errands became part of their shared existence, punctuated by heated disagreements over her insistence on continuing her investigation. Every time she tried to sneak away to chase a lead, Jared was there, a wall of stubborn resolve blocking her path.

“You can’t keep me locked up like some prisoner,” Savannah snapped one evening, her voice sharp as she waved a folder of notes at him.

“I’m not trying to control you,” Jared shot back, his tone equally firm. “I’m trying to keep you alive. There’s a difference.”

“Alive and useless isn’t much better than dead,” she retorted.

Their arguments often ended in tense silences, but there was an undercurrent of mutual respect that kept them from fully clashing. Despite their differences, they found moments of camaraderie. Jared learned that Savannah’s favorite way to unwind was by blasting old R&B music while organizing her notes, and Savannah discovered that Jared’s dry humor surfaced when he thought she wasn’t looking.

One Saturday, Jared decided to change tactics. He drove them to a shooting range on the outskirts of town. The facility was quiet, tucked away among tall pines, with the faint smell of gunpowder lingering in the air.

“Why are we here?” Savannah asked, skeptical as she stepped out of the car.

“If you’re going to insist on taking risks, you might as well know how to handle yourself,” Jared said, handing her a pair of ear protectors.

She rolled her eyes but followed him inside. Jared set up a target and handed her a handgun. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

To his surprise, Savannah took to it quickly. Her stance was steady, and her aim improved with every shot. By the time they finished, she was grinning, the tension between them momentarily replaced with shared triumph.

“Not bad,” Jared admitted as they packed up.

“Not bad? I’d say I’m a natural,” Savannah teased, her tone light. She did not tell him that her Dad had taught her practical skills that can build confidence, self-reliance, and responsibility. She realized that there was a lot that he did not know about her.

Their laughter echoed in the car on the drive back, a rare moment of levity in the midst of chaos. For the first time, sparks of something more than frustration flickered between them, though neither was ready to acknowledge it outright. As the city’s skyline came into view, the unspoken promise of partnership hung in the air, fragile yet undeniable.

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