Where There's Smoke

She stood and dusted her hands off. “Hey, Trask?” Not Nick. Nick was far too personal now. “I’m ready to get rolling.”

Nick turned inquiringly and crossed over to her. “You bounce back fast.”

Time to get it over with. She cleared her throat. “Listen, I want to thank you for catching me in there. You saved my life. I’m sorry if I was rude just now.” She fumbled for words. “I just…thank you.”

He smiled then, clear and uncomplicated. “Relax. It’s in my job description. Come on, let me introduce you to the guys.”

He led her over to where the crew stood. “Sloane, meet the guys from Ladder 67. This is Todd Beaulieu, Tommy Knapp, George O’Hanlan, our chauffeur, and Jim Sorensen, our probationary firefighter.” Nick pointed to each of them quickly. “This is Sloane Hillyard, from Exler. She designed the gear we’re testing and she’s running the program, so listen up.”

Sloane picked up one of the Orienteer modules. “Nice to meet you all. You’ve gotten the briefing on the equipment. Basically, we use data from a couple of sources to track where you are in a building, so that your commanders and colleagues always know where to find you and you always know your way out.” She paused. “The equipment is easy enough to use, but I’d like to demonstrate adjustments and operation first. Volunteers?”

There was silence while the men all looked at one another. O’Hanlan nudged Sorensen. “You should do it, Red. You’re the probie.”

Sorensen hesitated and with a sound of exasperation, Nick stepped forward. “I’ll do it.”

“Great.” Sloane handed him a helmet and one of the breathing masks equipped with the sugar-cube-sized display module. Then she held up a flat black package about the size of a pack of cigarettes. “This is the Orienteer data module.” She slipped the webbed belt around Nick’s waist and pulled it around until her fingers snugged up against the flat, ribbed muscles of his stomach. Sudden awareness rolled over her and she fumbled with the clasp. Shadow, then harsh sunlight…then the hard feel of his body pressed to hers.

“I’ll get it,” Nick said abruptly, pulling the strap from her hands. With a snick, the clasp locked. He put on the helmet and breathing mask.

“The belt pack sends a signal to a head-up display embedded in your mask so that you get a blue schematic projected on your faceplate over the background,” Sloane murmured, a catch in her breath. “The belt pack also communicates with the master unit at the outside command post so whoever’s running the scene can monitor locations on an LCD. The belt pack’s a wireless unit, so it can go under your turnouts or even in your pocket.” She found herself aware of every slight shift, every scent, every inch of his body. “The switch on top triggers a distress alarm to all of the other units. It shows up on the display here.”

As she tapped the clear plastic of his breathing mask, her fingers brushed Nick’s cheek. She glanced up involuntarily to find his eyes leveled straight at her. Even with the clear shell of the mask between them, the intensity of his gaze, the desire that flared for an instant stopped her words in her throat.

If the pause was too long, she couldn’t tell. For just that time, she was incapable of speaking. Sloane stepped back, too hastily. “I think that’s all. If anyone has any trouble with the fit, just ask me.”

Nick pulled off the mask. “All right, guys. We’re going to run this as a standard timed drill. Keep your mind on the gear, but let’s remember that this is also a search-and-rescue exercise. Treat it like the real thing. O’Hanlan, Knapp, you guys take the top two floors, Beaulieu, Sorensen, you guys take the bottom two. By the book, guys, and let’s get Harvey and Gladys while you’re at it, okay?”

It was the scent she noticed first, the odor of burning wood drifting across on the breeze. Faint tendrils of smoke trickled from the top window.

Knapp rubbed his hands together. “Smell that, guys? Break out the hot dogs and marshmallows, we’re ready for a party now.”

With casual efficiency, the men donned the masks and modules and walked to the tower. Sloane saw them give a quick thumbs-up to Nick, then they plunged into the thick pall of smoke.

Nick pulled on his turnouts, the thick yellow garments obscuring the lines of his body, to Sloane’s relief—and a tiny, sneaky sense of unease that she didn’t want to admit. “Are you going in, too?”

Nick slipped on his gloves. “Part of my job. I do it in all fires, unless there’s no one else to supervise.” He pulled on his gloves. “Besides, I want to see what your work is worth.”

In full uniform he became anonymous, one of the ones who walked into hell. She could almost forget how he’d looked at her. She wanted to, Sloane thought as he headed toward the tower. How very much she wanted to.

There was a gut-level dread of fire in her that skittered around her already nervous stomach. It was a controlled situation, Sloane told herself, there was no need to be apprehensive. Still, where fire was involved no situation was ever really controlled. There was always the freak accident, the unexpected. Firefighting was a profession predicated on risk. And if you took enough risks, it stood to reason that sooner or later you’d pay the price.

She’d won the state science fair in high school, had graduated with honors from both college and grad school. She’d won research grants to develop the Orienteer. None of it had meant as much to her as the fact that her first live test had gone flawlessly. The crew had a suggestion or two, but overall it had been a success.

Now she just needed more.

“Trask,” Sloane called as O’Hanlan brought down the ladder. Nick headed toward her, his walk loose and athletic. He’d taken off his turnouts and wore only his gray sweat-darkened department T-shirt and blue pants. It wasn’t fair that they looked so good on him.

He looked at her inquiringly. “What do you need? We should get back to the station.”

“I wanted to talk with you about the upcoming schedule.” She had to strain to be heard over the drone of the ladder motor.

“It’s too noisy out here. Let’s go into the observation tower.” They climbed the steps of the squat tower that sat apart from the burn structure. Nick opened the door and let her go in ahead of him.

The small room appeared to be entirely made up of windows overlooking the training ground. Water had streamed over the concrete and the tangle of hoses from the fire engine. Harvey and Gladys sprawled over behind the ladder truck, amid a pile of helmets and turnout coats, Halligan tools and six-foot-long ceiling hooks. “It looks like a battleground from here,” Sloane murmured. She didn’t glance away as she spoke.

“It is a battleground. All fires are. It’s a matter of winning before they claim any casualties.”

Sloane shook her head at the idea and turned. She wasn’t prepared to find Nick so close behind her. “You’re all crazy, you know.” She raised her eyes to meet his. “How can you walk into a burning building knowing you’ll face fire, injury, maybe even death?”

Nick shrugged. “I’m a firefighter. It’s what I do.”

For a moment, Sloane was reminded of a statue of a Roman centurion she’d once seen, strong, proud and utterly fearless. A quick, primitive wave of response rippled through her.

She forced herself to breathe. “I want to do one more testing session in a controlled environment. We’ve gotten permission to burn down a condemned two-story unit in Roxbury in a week. I’d like to run the crew through there, through a floor plan they don’t know to get them used to relying on the Orienteer.”

“We can’t afford any more time off the street.”

His words were quick and final. Sloane’s chin came up. “It’s not your choice, Trask. I want to be sure about this.”

“And I want to keep my men from walking into a burning building if they don’t have to. Why not do the second round of testing here?”

“Because after one run through the burn tower, even I could navigate it through heavy smoke.” She didn’t bother to hide the sarcasm. And she didn’t plan to take no for an answer. “I want a better approximation to a real fire ground. I’d think you’d want that, too.”

“Look, you know my concerns.”

“And you know mine,” she countered. “We need to do the testing, period. One or two more days won’t hurt.”

“It won’t hurt?” His eyes were turbulent as hell smoke. “Every minute we’re out of the firehouse, people are potentially at risk. Ladder 67 had eighty-two calls last week alone. If an alarm comes in for our company while we’re gone, they call in a truck from the next station over.” He took a step closer and he was all she could see, all she was aware of. “The next station is two miles away, five minutes under the best of conditions. Do you have any idea what a fire can do in five minutes? Do you know how long even a second is to a person who’s trapped, waiting for a ladder?”

The blood drained from Sloane’s face. Her eyes were on Nick but her gaze was within as she remembered talking with Mitch’s crew chief. “The flashover just took a second or two. If we could have found him, we could have saved him. We got there just after the flashover, but it was too late….”

With an effort, Sloane drew herself together. “I’m sorry about departmental policy, but we need to do this testing in the safest possible way. If everything goes well with the next round, I’ll release the units to you to take on a fire ground. It’s my decision, though,” she warned him. “We’ve got to be sure everything’s working flawlessly and the guys really understand what they’re doing.” And the conversation needed to be over with, now. She brushed past him toward the door.

“Wait.”

“I’ve said everything I had to say.” She was too close to the edge, Sloane thought desperately, way too close.

“Will you just hold on a minute?” Nick pushed his hand against the door. “Stop, dammit.”

“What?” Her voice was tight with tension.

“You’re right, okay? I’m sorry. I was wrong. It’s a fair decision.” He caught Sloane’s shoulder and turned her to face him.

Because she hadn’t had time to compose herself, she was still pale. Her eyes were huge. Nick looked at her slowly, carefully, feeling the pull begin again. “This really matters to you, doesn’t it?”

She looked as if she was holding herself together with sheer nerve. “Of course. I want my design to work.”

Nick shook his head. “There’s more going on than that. You care about this project too much.”

“I care about doing my job,” Sloane answered stiffly.

“There’s something going on here that doesn’t have anything to do with the job.”

He was right, this wasn’t about the job. It was about what had started in the tower and was moving out of her control with frightening speed. “Perhaps you just have an overactive imagination,” Sloane responded, fighting to keep her voice even.

“I don’t know. Let’s test it. Empirical method,” he told her as he leaned in, sliding his fingers along her cheek. “Experiment and observe.”

“You’re out of your mind, Trask.”

“Nick,” he corrected softly, so close she could feel his mouth form the word.

“What?”

“Call me Nick.” Then his lips brushed hers.

Sloane stilled at the contact. Warm, soft and unexpectedly gentle. The sensation didn’t bowl her over but simply engulfed her like an ever-rising tide, deceptively calm, relentless in its power. For years, she’d kept herself separate from everyone, for years she’d shied away from a simple human touch. Now, her nerve endings hummed with forgotten sensations. A quick brush with the tip of his tongue, a nibble to tempt her, his exploration was unhurried and exquisite. She barely noticed as he slipped past her defenses and made her yearn.

The subtle sounds of intimacy filled the small space of the tower: the whisper of skin against skin, the soft, involuntary noises of breath, of arousal. And the scent of desire rose around them.

He knew she intrigued him. He hadn’t expected the taste of her to trigger an immediate hunger for more. When she gave a soft sigh, he fought the sudden drive to go deeper, to find out if she carried the passionate urgency she brought to the project to all aspects of her life.

He forced himself to go slowly instead, his touch gentle. She was like a fire smoldering in a closed room. He could sense the heat and power but couldn’t find its source. The taste of her skin was maddening, her scent powerful enough to make him reel. He journeyed from the soft side of her throat back to her lips and suddenly the fire blazed as her mouth came to life under his.

Sloane didn’t know where the hunger came from, knew only that she was driven to taste, to savor, to revel in sensation. For too long, she’d denied herself any contact. Now she searched for more, driven by the feel of his mouth and light brush of his hands over her skin. Desire flashed through her, hot as flame, threatening to overwhelm her entirely.

A blast from the ladder truck’s air horn made them jerk apart. Sloane returned to a rapid, flashing clarity. She stared at the scene outside, unable to tell whether any of the men were looking at the observation tower. “Very funny, Trask. Was this some kind of a show for your men?” She attempted to brush past where he stood, unmoving.

“Hardly. This tower is designed so people can’t tell if they’re being watched. The windows are smoked so dark you can’t see in with the lights on, much less off.”

“You’d be the first to point out that designs don’t always work as intended,” Sloane said curtly. “Now listen to me very carefully, Trask.”

“Nick,” he corrected.

“Just listen,” Sloane snapped. It was terrifying, how easily he’d slashed his way through the barriers she’d surrounded herself with. She had to push him out. She had to escape before he knew how much she was at risk. “I am here to do a job that is entirely dependent on the cooperation of your truck company. I will not have my credibility damaged in front of your men.”

“It wasn’t damaged.”

Her eyes flashed. “It could have been. You’re interfering with my work.”

“The testing was done for the day,” Nick countered.

“I’m on the job as long as I’m on fire department property.”

Nick reached out to finger a stray curl of her hair. “Next time I’ll make sure we’re off department property, then.” There was a hint of danger in his smile. It frightened her, because it made her want.

“There won’t be a next time,” Sloane flared, pushing past him. She paused, her hand on the doorknob. “After all, I’m just a tool for Ayre, right? Try to remind yourself of that every so often.”

Chapter Four

The hands of the clock on the wall moved noiselessly, counting off minutes of quiet broken only by the faint tick of pencils, the rustle of paper. Ranks of men sat at the tables, bent over sheaves of paper. Some scribbled madly, some thoughtfully, some stared blankly into space as though answers might suddenly, magically appear in the air in front of them. The second hand made its inexorable sweep about the clock face. The precious minutes marched relentlessly by.

The proctor at the front of the room cleared his throat. “Time, gentlemen. Please stop writing and bring your papers up to the front.”

Nick glanced up, feeling as though he had just broken to the surface after a long dive into a deep pool. Over the past months he had packed his brain with an enormous amount of detail about firefighting, fire management, personnel management, equipment, building codes, construction, hazardous materials and department regulations. He could recite the pump pressure of the fire engine and the weight of each size of hose, both empty and filled. Without thinking he could list the flashpoints of gasoline, methanol, dry cleaning fluid and a host of other chemicals. He knew as much about Boston building codes as any building inspector.

For nearly a year it had taken over his life. The hours of study had been worth it, though. The answers had been there when he’d needed them. Now that it was over, he felt light-headed, as though the facts that had poured out onto the paper had had weight. He set his paper down on the stack at the front of the room and walked gratefully out into the quiet of the hallway at fire department headquarters, rubbing his neck to loosen the tense muscles.

All done, he thought, and tried to take it in. For the first time in months he could relax without the voice of guilt reminding him he should be studying. Punching the elevator call button, he bounced a little on the balls of his feet, light with a growing sense of freedom. Maybe he could actually go out for a change, listen to some music, drink a few beers. A bell pinged and the elevator doors opened to allow him into the car.

“Hold the elevator.” A voice from the hallway interrupted his thoughts, a voice he recognized with the impact of a fist in his solar plexus.

Sloane Hillyard.

He’d thought of her in the four days since the testing, oh, he’d thought of her. Waving the ladder truck back into quarters after an alarm, sitting down to dinner with the crew, over and over he’d found her on his mind. He’d remembered her scent as he’d pored over statistics about building codes and fire standards. The memory of holding her against him had derailed his review of chemical reactions. He’d studied and he knew a thousand and one facts about firefighting strategies. He thought of Sloane Hillyard and he knew only one thing.

That he wanted her.

Sloane hurried down the hall toward the elevator, her mind on the clock and the relentless calendar. She’d just been through a morning that could have won awards for lack of productivity. She could only hope the afternoon would be better. Ahead of her, the elevator doors opened back up. A sign, she thought. Something, at least, was going right.

And then she stepped into the elevator.

“Hey.” Nick smiled at her lazily, leaning against one wall of an otherwise empty car that suddenly seemed very small. He wore a leather bomber jacket over a rough-weave blue shirt and khakis. She’d gotten familiar with the look of him in his departmental T-shirt and trousers. This was the first time she’d seen him in civvies.

She wasn’t at all prepared for the impact. They made him look leaner, rangier and subversively sexy.

“Going to the lobby?” Nick’s hand hovered over the lighted buttons of the control panel as the car started to move. “Better decide quick.”

“The lobby, please.” She stood next to him, immensely conscious of his eyes on her. After their last interlude, she’d resolved to put him out of her mind, which had worked about as well as the childhood game of not thinking of elephants. Still, just because she couldn’t stop thinking of the kiss didn’t mean she had anything to worry about. After all, how long had it been since she’d locked lips with a guy? Of course she’d overreacted. She probably would have with anyone. It was simply a physical response to an extremely attractive man, she’d told herself. Physical hunger was something she could recognize. Physical craving was something she could ignore.

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