Where There's Smoke

She’d been wrong when she’d thought his face held more character than perfection. Clearly, the sharp slashes of his cheekbones, the compelling shape of his mouth translated into above-average looks. It was simply that the force of his personality was so strong that it overwhelmed the handsomeness, carried it past simple good looks to a more dangerous realm, giving him the ability to hypnotize, the power to obsess.

The sudden flicker of warning ran through her to the pit of her stomach. In defense, she moved to stare out the window. Outside, a dog barked and boys shouted as they threw a football in the street. Inside, a subtle tension filled the air.

Nick shifted in his chair impatiently. “Yeah, okay. Let me know when it’ll go. Great, talk to you later.” He hung up the phone, turning to where Sloane stood. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but for just an instant her hair blazed the exact color of flame. For just an instant, he watched without speaking. He shook his head and forced his mind to business just as she turned from the window.

“All finished?”

“Yes. Sorry about the wait.” Because he was still having a hard time concentrating, Nick plunged in without preamble. “So, Ms. Hillyard, what has the councilman’s office promised that we would do for you?”

His tone was more brusque than he’d intended. It made Sloane’s mouth tighten and she took her time coming back to her chair. “I believe the councilman’s office is taking a sincere interest in your safety, as I think you’ll see. Now, I made an appointment through the city weeks ago,” she said frostily. “I assumed you’d be ready to discuss this.”

Nick silently cursed the man who’d taken the garbled message, then cursed the fact that it had been uncovered so late that he’d had no time to sort it out. And he added Ayre, just on principle. No matter how gorgeous she was, whatever the woman was selling, it was going to take time he didn’t have. “Yes, well,” he said, summoning his patience for what looked to be a long siege, “why don’t you start at the beginning?”

Sloane took a deep breath. “I work for the Exler Corporation,” she said, a little too carefully. “I’ve developed a system called the Orienteer. It’s designed to locate firefighters in burning buildings.”

“How?”

“It’s got a microprocessor that combines global-positioning-system input with a database of building plans to locate anyone, anywhere. You want to find your team members in a burning building, you can. If they need to track their way out, it will lead them. No one will die the way they did in the Hartford packing-house fire ever again.” Her voice caught, so briefly he couldn’t be sure he hadn’t imagined it. “We’ve gone through the preliminary lab qualification and breakdowns. The last step is testing in a real-life situation with firefighters.”

“No way.” Nick was shaking his head before she finished. “My guys aren’t guinea pigs.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Not a chance.” Nick knew how this went, oh, he knew it. Put on the dog for the politicians, invest precious departmental resources and when the photo ops and the elections were done, so was the funding. That was bad enough, but put his men at risk for that photo op? That was where he drew the line.

“You can’t just refuse.”

“First of all, it’s totally impractical.” That was the part that really burned him about operators like Ayre. It couldn’t be something reasonable or useful. No—some babelicious Girl Scout turned up with her science project and Ayre saw only the headlines, not the lives at risk.

“Impractical?” Sloane’s eyes flashed. “How can you say that when you don’t know the first thing about it?”

“Where are you going to get all the blueprints?”

“We’ve already gotten them from the planning commission. The microprocessors for the test units are being loaded up with plans for every building in Boston and Cambridge.”

He snorted. “Do you actually think those are up-to-date in a city like this? You really want to bank someone’s life on that?”

“We’re confirming layouts as we’re entering them.”

“Checking up on every structure? You’ll never get it done,” he said dismissively. “You want to be useful, get me a couple more thermal cameras, build me a better breathing mask. Something proven. Something practical.”

Sloane flushed. “The equipment is practical. And proven. It’s been completely lab tested, it just hasn’t been used in a fire situation before. Both the department and Councilman Ayre’s office are behind this.”

“I’m sure they are. The chief and Ayre grew up on the same block.”

She gave him a level stare. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He sighed. It really wasn’t her fault. “Look, I’m sure you’ve got the best of intentions, but you don’t know how the game goes around here.”

“But I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

She looked, he thought, strung tight as a piano wire. It didn’t make her any less gorgeous. “Ayre starts with the fire-safety shtick every election cycle. It gets him press, photos in front of shiny red trucks. It’s all about exposure and it’s nothing he’ll support with funding. Trust me on that, I’ve been through it before.” He shook his head in frustration. “Ayre just wants to make headlines. You’re the tool he chose to do it with.”

“What is with you? I’m talking about equipment that can help you and you’re talking about conspiracies.”

He bristled. “No, I’m talking politics.”

“And I’m talking about saving lives,” she retorted. “You’ve got problems with Ayre? Then vote against him next month. I don’t care. All that matters to me is getting this equipment qualified.”

“And you’re dreaming if you think they’re actually going to buy this gadget.”

“It’s not a gadget,” she said hotly. “It’s a very sophisticated system.”

“A very…” He shook his head like a dog throwing off water. “Do you understand anything at all about firefighting?”

Her eyes burned for a moment; it took her a visible effort to tamp her reaction down. “Of course I do. I consulted with firefighters in Cambridge when I was designing the equipment.”

“Great. Take it to them to test.”

“We’re not taking it to them. We’ve taken it to the city of Boston and the city says you. This isn’t some project of the week. This testing is critical and trust me, it is going to get done. Bill Grant in the fire chief’s office wants your company to do the testing. Ayre wants it. I want it. You’re way down the list, Captain Trask.”

Nick didn’t even attempt to quell the bright flare of anger. “That’s where you’re wrong. You may think that because you had a couple of nice visits downtown that you can come in here and do whatever you want.” He rose, stalking toward her until she was forced to tilt her head to hold his gaze. “But this is my firehouse and I don’t care what Ayre wants, I don’t care what it is Grant wants and I certainly don’t care what you want. I am not going to put my guys at risk so Ayre can take pictures of the two of you testing out a video game.”

Sloane paled for an instant, then shot to her feet, two spots of color burning high on her cheekbones. “This equipment is going to get qualified, no matter what it takes. I don’t give a damn if I’m a tool or a pawn or whatever the hell you think I am if it means that I save one person’s life, just one.” Her voice rose in fury. “And you are not going to stand in my way.”

They faced each other, inches apart, crackling with tension. Something kinetic surged through the air between them then, something elemental that had nothing to do with firefighting and everything to do with heat.

Sloane moved away first, because she had to, because she felt the shudder of weakness in the wall of anger surrounding her. “Where’s your telephone?” she demanded. “You don’t want to do this, Captain Trask? I’ll save you the trouble. Forget about wasting your time, testing with you would be a waste of my time.” She crossed to his desk and snatched up the telephone receiver. “Where’s the number for the fire chief’s office?”

He studied her a moment, his brows drawn together in a frown of concentration. Then he plucked the receiver from her hand. “I’ll dial it for you.” He punched in the numbers rapidly and waited. “Bill Grant please. Yes, I’ll hold.” He handed the receiver back without a word.

Sloane waited, listening to Nick stalk out into the hallway. There was a click on the line, then a voice. “Bill Grant here.”

“Hi Bill, it’s Sloane Hillyard.”

“Sloane, good to talk to you.” The words were ever so slightly shaded with relief. “You have perfect timing. I was just trying to reach you.”

“Well, you’ve got me now. What do you need?”

“Can you hold off contacting Ladder 67 for a day? We had a little paperwork snafu here and the memo that should have gone to them is still sitting here in my office. Give me a day to get everything set up with them and we can go ahead.”

Sloane glanced out toward the hall and found her gaze pinned to Nick Trask’s. He was yards away, but she felt a clutch on her chest as sure as a physical contact. The breath of a shiver that passed up her spine was composed partly of anxiety, partly of feelings she was afraid to identify. She tore her eyes away and turned back to the desk. “Too late, Bill. I’m calling you from the firehouse.”

“Oh.” He paused for a moment and Sloane heard the rapid, nervous tap of a finger against the phone, maybe, or the desk. “Um, is everything okay?”

“Not exactly. In fact, after talking with Captain Trask, I think it would be best for me to work with a different company.”

“Let’s not be hasty, Sloane. Nick Trask’s one of the best men we’ve got.” Now she heard all four fingers begin to drum the desktop in sequence. “If there’s any hitch here, it’s my fault. Why don’t you let me talk to him and see what the problem is?”

The problem, thought Sloane, was that she didn’t want to be anywhere near Nick Trask, certainly not for a period of weeks. “All right.” She turned to Nick. “It’s for you.”

Sloane walked out into the hall where she could finally breathe. The testing couldn’t be interrupted. Everything depended on getting the gear qualified. Everything.

After a moment, she looked around. To her left was the stairway that ran down to the apparatus floor. To her right, the hall ended in a T, with the dormitory on one side and probably a kitchen and rec room on the other. Without even trying she could picture the latter—worn, comfortable furniture, a TV and VCR, probably some back issues of Fire Engineering magazine tossed down on a table. Before she could block it, the image of a lanky, boyish-faced redhead sprawled on a firehouse couch came to her with painful clarity. Oh Mitch, she thought and grief and loss surged in for a blinding instant.

“Ms. Hillyard,” Nick’s voice called to her. “Grant wants to talk with you again.”

She responded automatically, entering the office, reaching for the phone. “Yes?”

“Hi, Sloane,” Grant answered cheerily. “I just wanted to apologize for the mixup over there. I’ve discussed the situation with Nick and he’ll be happy to work with you on this project.” Sloane glanced over to where Nick stood, staring at her again. Oh, she could see how happy he was about the project. “It’s up to you, of course,” Grant continued, “but it’s really best. It could take quite a while to get another company lined up.”

Sloane bit back a protest. Grant had her neatly cornered. The testing had to be finished in two months, when production was scheduled to begin. There could be no delays and he knew it. Sloane sighed. “All right. Let’s stick with the plan.”

“Wonderful.” She could hear the satisfaction in Grant’s voice. “If you have any more hitches with the testing, just give me a ring and I’ll take care of things, okay?”

“Sure. Anything else?”

“Actually, yes. Can you put Nick back on?”

The clamor of the alarm bells shattered the quiet of the firehouse. Sloane couldn’t prevent herself from jumping.

Nick was galvanized into action instantly. “Tell him I’ll call him back,” he barked over his shoulder, sprinting for the fire pole in the dormitory.

“He’s got…”

“I know, an explosion at the oil-tank farm. It just came in here. Sloane, thanks very much.” Grant’s voice was hurried as he said goodbye.

The previous atmosphere of calm had been replaced by one of controlled urgency, the air charged with tension. Even as Sloane rushed down the stairs, most of the men were on the apparatus floor pulling on turnouts, grabbing waiting helmets and gloves. A stocky firefighter turned away from the enormous district map that covered one wall and climbed into the cab of Ladder 67. “I got it, cap. Let’s fly.”

Sloane hurried to get clear as the last of the men vaulted aboard the gleaming apparatus. Already the motors throbbed, the station door was peeled back. She slipped outside as the ladder truck and the pumper hit the street, lights flashing and sirens shrieking.

The firefighters were on their way.

Chapter Two

If he ever won the lottery, Nick thought, he’d hire people to shop for him. Not just certain kinds of shopping—pretty much anything that involved cash registers and standing in line. Certainly anything with narrow aisles and those shiny chrome racks crammed so close together that he was perpetually bumping them with his shoulders.

“Can I help you?”

A teenaged sales clerk popped up at his elbow. The fixed, Mouseketeer smile on her face scared him a little. On the other hand, having to spend more than two more minutes in the boutique scared him more.

He looked at the piles of silky scarves and fancy handbags. “I need a birthday gift for my mother.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place. How about something to add a little color to her winter wardrobe?” she asked, holding up a sheer band of fabric with a twisting pattern of burgundy and gold.

The dark red brought Sloane Hillyard to mind. Not that he needed a prompt. She’d been in his thoughts since she’d come to the station two days before. Granted, she had a face that was hard to forget, but if it had only been that, he could have dismissed her as a high-tech huckster. What had made her linger with him was the way she’d looked at the end. There had been that instant that she’d paled. And the words, so impassioned she’d practically vibrated with them: If I save one life, just one life…

There was something driving her, that much was obvious. He couldn’t help but admire her for it. There was a “Why” there and it was enough to make him wonder about the project. Of course, if his mind returned to the generous sweep of her mouth, the fire of her hair, the heat that had flashed between them in his office, he was only human, right?

Forget about the project, it was enough to make him wonder about her. And wonder where the testing might take them.

“Do you see any scarves your mother might like?”

The clerk’s voice broke into his thoughts and Nick brought his focus back to the task at hand. There was plenty to think about there, too. “My mother’s not much of a scarf person,” he answered. At least not scarves that were more for looks than for warmth. On the other hand, why not? He’d come in with the vague idea that he wanted to get her something different, something other than a new plant or a sweater from L.L. Bean.

Something that would surprise her, maybe put the spark back in her eye, the spark that had been missing since his father had died the previous spring.

Somehow, though, a scarf didn’t quite seem likely to do it.

“How about something to pamper her?” The sales clerk was twinkling at him, he noticed uneasily. “We have some nice bath sets with body gels and lotions.”

“Not sure I want to go there. How about something else?”

“A watch?” She led him from the small gift section over to the glass display cases.

“I don’t think so.” A watch would be unnecessary at the Trask family farm; there, you simply rose before dawn with the shrieking alarm clock and worked until long after dark. He looked at the velvet-lined cases filled with rings and bracelets of gleaming metal. Shiny and cold and all so unlike Molly Trask. He’d never actually seen her wear jewelry anyway, except for the plain band of gold his father had given her. The band of gold she still wore. “Do you have anything else?”

“Well, we’ve got—”

“Hold on.” A warm, soft gleam caught his eye. “What’s that?”

“Oh, good choice.” The clerk’s eyes brightened, this time in a decidedly mercenary fashion as she led him over to the far end of the case. “That’s our Vintage Collection, made by a local designer out of antique and rose gold. She does some really lovely pieces.”

For those prices they ought to be, Nick thought, but there was a simple grace to the necklace that had first caught his eye. “How about that one?”

She beamed. “Perfect. It’s a charm necklace. The artist has made a whole collection of birthstone charms that go with it.”

Perfect, indeed. “That’s it,” he decided, reaching back for his wallet. “Let’s see…give me a charm each for October, May, January, September and December.” One for her, his father, his two brothers and himself. A reminder of family around her neck all the time. She’d like that, he thought. You needed family around when times were tough.

And sudden guilt nipped at him with tiny, sharp teeth.

He hadn’t left Vermont to hurt anyone. He’d left because it was the only way he could breathe. As much as he’d loved his family, he’d needed more than anything to find his own way. He’d always assumed they’d be there when he went back.

He’d never expected his father to die so young.

And yet, in its own way, firefighting was his way of honoring his father’s legacy. For as long as Nick could remember growing up, Adam Trask would drop anything he was doing at the sound of the town siren and rush to join the other volunteer firefighters to beat back flames.

Nick remembered the day the siren had sounded when they’d been at the farm supply store: the exhilarating drive to the firehouse, the purposeful rush of the men as they’d leapt into the fire engine. Instructions to Nick to stay put had held only as long as it had taken the pumper to leave, then he’d jogged out into the street and down toward the scent of smoke. The mixed terror and pride of watching his father plunge into the burning building was still as fresh in memory as it had been that day. Seeing him hurry out, soot-streaked, with a young girl clutching at his neck, had filled Nick with a kind of baffled awe.

Somehow, Nick thought as he signed the charge slip for the clerk, staying on the Trask farm to make maple syrup had never even come close.

He walked outside, fishing in the pocket of his bomber jacket for his cell phone, flipping it open to punch up a number.

The line clicked. “Gabe Trask.”

“You owe me two hundred bucks,” Nick told his younger brother as he crossed the pavement to his Jeep.

“You don’t say. You late on your car payment again?”

“Nope. You said we’d split Mom’s present. That’s splitting it.”

There was a short silence. “I left you with responsibility of picking Mom’s present?”

“Yep.”

“What was I thinking?”

Nick unlocked his door and got in. “How to come out smelling like a rose with zero effort?”

“Hey, I want a shopping mall, I’ve got either an hour drive over to Stowe or two hours down to Concord.”

“You’re breaking my heart, here.” Nick hooked his phone up to the hands-free cord. “Listen, I just shopped voluntarily, thanks to you.”

“Now who’s whining?”

“Me.” Nick turned the key and the Jeep roared to life.

“So what did we buy for her?”

“A necklace.” There was a short silence. “Gabe, you there?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, I just fell asleep from boredom for a minute there. Tell me you got something a little more original than a gold chain.”

“Have some faith, will you? It’s a charm necklace made out of antique gold.”

“Hence, the price,” Gabe said dryly.

Nick checked behind him and backed out of the parking space. “It made me think of her,” he said simply. “She can wear it all the time under her clothes and it’s got a charm for everyone in the family.”

“That’s not bad,” Gabe admitted. “Let me guess. A woman helped you pick it out, right?”

An image of Sloane’s face flashed into Nick’s head. “Nope, not unless you count the clerk who took my money.”

“Gee, my brother’s evolving in the big city. So are you going to bring it up for the party?”

“I can’t make it to the party,” Nick said, stifling another stab of guilt. “I’ve got one more week until the promotional exam. I’ve got to spend every minute studying that I can.”

Gabe cleared his throat. “Jacob’s not going to be happy.”

“Now there’s a surprise.” There was a lot that didn’t make their elder brother happy these days and most of it centered around Nick. “I’ve put a year into this exam. I can’t drop the ball at the last minute. I’ll overnight you the present and you can take it to her. She’ll understand.”

“I’m sure.”

“Look, I’m sorry Dad died, but I can’t quit my job and move home.” The words were out before Nick could stop them.

“And I didn’t ask you to,” Gabe said carefully. “You’ve got something to work out with Jacob, you do it with him, okay? I gave up being the go-between when I hit puberty.”

Nick pulled up to the exit of the parking lot and watched the sweep of passing traffic. “Oh, I don’t know. You made out pretty well being a go-between when we were kids. In fact, I remember a couple of summers you extorted candy bars from me just about every week to smooth things over.”

“Extorted is an ugly word,” Gabe said reprovingly. “I had a gift for working with people and you wanted to show your appreciation for my efforts. Who was I to say no?”

“Particularly when you had your hand out.”

“When opportunity knocks…”

Nick punched the accelerator and whipped out onto the highway. “Exactly. Still like Baby Ruths?”

Walking down the white hallway to her lab at Exler, Sloane could hear the radio before she ever neared the door. The station promo segued into a song, accompanied by her lab intern, Dave Tomlinson, an MIT engineering student assigned to her for the year. Bright and efficient, he had a quirky sense of humor and a penchant for indie rock, preferably at high decibels. And invariably he sang along. Sloane fought a smile and reached out for the doorknob.

Dave’s wobbly falsetto carried out into the hall, breaking off abruptly when Sloane opened the door. “Uh-oh.” His hand was already on the dial, turning down the volume. “The warden returns.”

“And none too soon. Do you know they can hear you down in manufacturing? You’d better watch out or the only place you’ll be playing tunes will be your dorm room.”

Dave sat at the computer workstation and grinned. “You say that, but I don’t think it really bugs you. Deep down inside, I think you got a soft spot for me.”

“Quite an imagination you’ve got. You should have gone to Berklee College to be a rock star instead of MIT,” she said, flicking a glance at the list of chords and lyrics he’d scribbled on the lab white board.

“But then you’d have some boring goob of an intern instead of a talented, charismatic young guy you liked.”

“What I like is interns who get their jobs done.” Her tone would have carried more authority if humor hadn’t hovered just beneath the surface.

“Yeah, that was what you said when you tutored me in thermo.”

That had been when she’d known she was in trouble. Her ice look, the one that had always kept her assistants at a respectful distance, had never worked on Dave.

Now, he squinted unrepentantly at the computer and tapped the keys. “Hey, I get something done now and then. Did you notice these?” With a flourish he indicated the Orienteer modules and user manuals stacked neatly at one end of the lab bench. “All of them loaded up with software and calibrated, ready to go live. I’m running a simulation on the last one now.”