Fleet Landing: A New Thriller
Fleet Landing by Wendy Gee
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Fleet Landing
ATF Special Agent Cooper “Coop” Bellamy alienates his 11-year-old daughter with inflexibility. When the Charleston fire chief asks him to investigate a baffling series of devastating fires plaguing her city, he leaps at the opportunity to rekindle the estranged relationship with his kid and nab the serial arsonist. But the firebug’s insatiable appetite for destruction turns deadly pulling him further from his family.
Sydney Quinn, Charleston’s top TV reporter, champions the retrial of a man she believes was wrongly convicted of another deadly arson. When she links that decades-old fire with a current spate of arsons, she receives dangerous taunts from the mysterious Falcon who’d rather she left the maze of deceit undisturbed.
Sydney’s flare for the controversial contends with Coop’s unyielding ‘rules save lives’ philosophy as they team up to unmask the mastermind behind the trail of scorched houses and tattered lives. Coop’s mettle will be further tested when his daughter is kidnapped by the person his suspects of having set the fires.
If he has any chance of finding her, he must put his career and reputation on the line while confronting a darkness in his own past. Both Sydney and Coop will make unlikely allies, without knowing they’ve crossed paths with a monster.
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Read an excerpt of Fleet Landing:
Fleet Landing
Chapter 4 excerpt
Wendy Gee
Hot, hungry flames gobbled aged lumber despite dozens of Charleston’s Bravest conducting a furious full-court press to contain the wind-whipped inferno’s assault on beleaguered Fleet Landing.
Attack lines from first-due units snaked into multiple front and rear doors from hydrants blocks away. Second-due units mounted defensive efforts while crews from additional pumpers kicked in front doors and shouted for occupants to escape the blaze.
Special Agent Cooper “Coop” Bellamy nosed his Jeep behind two ladder trucks straddling Kinkaid Street and instinctively switched into arson investigator mode—sizing up conditions, assessing hazards, and estimating the debris field. To his horror, the tightly packed, century-old, wooden houses lining the narrow block formed a perfect crucible.
Coop ignored the blur of sirens and crush of hoses.
He sprinted over to a burgundy truck parked halfway down the curb and located a familiar battalion chief. “Hot damn, Paul. Glad you’re the one in charge of this mess.”
The ruddy-faced firefighter glanced between the conflagration, Coop, and a dry-erase board in rapid succession. “Chief Sinclair said she put the bite on ATF. Never imagined they’d send a hotshot like you.”
“The chief is an old friend.” The invitation also offered Coop an opportunity to address mounting problems with his estranged eleven-year-old daughter, who lived with his ex-wife in nearby I’On. Though, reconciliation stretched his imagination, since Haley wouldn’t even speak to him.
“How’d you get here so fast?” Paul asked.
“I was visiting the King Street station when the callout came. A probie gave me a radio and directions. Said if I got lost, I should follow the smoke.” Coop pointed toward the sky where the fire’s murky discharge had coalesced into a thick black stain.
Paul signaled his assistant and tapped a vacant space on the tactical Assignment and Accountability board.
The assistant responded by shouting into his radio. “Dispatch, request all available units. And call the off-duty guys. At least twenty structures fully engulfed.”
Paul straightened. “Damn probie didn’t know you used to be a helluva firefighter back in the day. Before you crossed to the dark side.”
Coop clutched his chest. “Back in the day. Dark side.”
Radios echoed as an emergency services operator dispatched more apparatuses to the scene. “Ladder 101, Battalion 106, Engines 118, 202, 219, 303. Respond to Kinkaid fireground. Be advised, heavy traffic on the bridges.”
“Enough about me,” Coop said. “You have a real brouhaha on your hands. I don’t usually arrive until the ashes are cold, but I’m still a helluva firefighter. What can I do?”
“Have the police seal the street. Expand the perimeter. And suit up.”
“I’m on it.” Coop flagged a rangy apple-cheeked cop, placed a hand on the guy’s shoulder, then flashed the badge he’d tugged from his pocket. “Back these spectators away. Move the cars out of the street and off supply lines. Fire command needs a clean five-block perimeter to maneuver. And place extra cruisers on bridge ramps to clear a path for trucks coming from East Cooper and West Ashley.”
The young cop lifted a defiant chin. “I don’t work for you.”
Coop acknowledged the longstanding cop-firefighter rivalry with the thread of a smile. “Son, now isn’t a good time to be a jackass. Besides, interfering with a firefighter in the performance of his duty is a felony.”
“Roger.” The cop grabbed his radio.
Coop ditched the smile. In fact, now seemed like a really bad time for any funny business because this fire broke the mold. The inexhaustible Fleet Landing arsonist had tossed out his playbook with a brazen daylight number.
Author of Fleet Landing Wendy Gee
After a successful career in the U.S. Navy, Wendy Gee now channels her boundless energy into community volunteering, leaving no stone unturned—or unpainted—at the Charleston Fire Department, Friends of the Lewes Public Library Board of Directors, and Sussex County Habitat for Humanity.
A proud graduate of the University of Michigan, University of Arizona, Naval War College, and Old Dominion University, Wendy combines her academic prowess and life experiences into her writing.
Her work has been shortlisted with Killer Nashville and the Writer’s League of Texas. And as a lifetime member of Sisters in Crime, Wendy’s passion for the mystery genre is no secret—though she might leave a few clues lying around just for fun.
Learn more about Wendy by visiting her website.
Elena Hartwell/Elena Taylor
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