Chasing Fire (24 page)
Authors: Nora Roberts
Tags: #Contemporary, #Fiction, #Romance, #Women fire fighters, #Suspense, #General
Nobody complained. Not about the extra work or the tedium of doing it. While she’d been with Quinniock, Janis set up her MP3 with speakers so R&B, country, rock, hip-hop softened the clamor of the machines. She watched Dobie do a little boot-scoot across the floor to Shania Twain with a load of Smitty bags in his arms.
Could be worse, she thought. It could always be worse, so the smart thing to do was to make the best out of the bad. When Gull hauled in chutes for repair, she figured the cops had cleared the ready room.
She left her machine to go to the counter and help him spread the silks.
“How bad is it?” she asked him.
“Probably not as bad as it looked. Everything’s tossed around, but there’s not as much actual damage as we thought. Or I thought, anyway. A lot just needs to be sorted and repacked.”
“Silver lining.” She marked tears and cuts.
“With a rainbow. Maintenance is setting up tables outside. Rumor is Marg is putting a barbecue together, and she’s got a truckload of ribs.”
Rowan marked another tear. Men who hadn’t bothered to shave or shower that morning were singing along with Taylor Swift. It was just a little surreal.
“When the going gets tough,” she decided, “the tough eat ribs. We’ve got nearly all the chutes that were in for rigging and repair done, and nearly all of those packed. Coming along on PG bags, Smitties, ponchos and packs.”
She paused, met his eyes. “If it keeps moving, maybe we’ll fit in that run.”
“Ready when you are.”
“I hate being wrong.”
“Anybody who doesn’t probably has low self-esteem. Low self-esteem can lead to a lot of problems, many of them sexual.”
She knew when she was being ribbed, so nodded solemnly. “I’m lucky I have exceptionally high self-esteem. Anyway, I hate being wrong about thinking this was a shot at me. I’d rather she’d taken a shot at me. I’d rather be pissed off about a personal vendetta than this.”
“It sucks, but there’s something to be said about listening to Southern and Trigger singing a duet of ‘Wanted Dead or Alive.’”
“They weren’t bad. No Bon Jovi, but not bad.”
“If your glass is half empty and has a chip in it, you might as well belly up to the bar and order a fresh one. I’ve gotta get back.”
Bright side, she thought. Silver lining. Maybe it took her longer to find them—or want to—but what the hell. She might as well toss away her crappy glass.
She examined every inch of the chute before turning it over to repair, then started on the next. She was so focused on what she thought of as an assembly line of life and death, she didn’t hear L.B. walk up beside her.
His hand came down on her shoulder like a spotter’s in the door. “Take a break.”
“Some of these need rigging, but most of the ones coming up just need patching.”
“I’ve been getting updates. Let’s get some air.”
“Fine.” The bending, hunching, peering left her stiff and knotted up. She wanted that run, she decided, wanted to burn off the tension and hours of standing.
Then she caught a whiff of the ribs smoking on the grills, and decided she wanted those even more.
“Holy God, that smells good. Marg knows exactly the way to get the mind off problems and on the belly.”
“Wait’ll you see the cornbread. I just got off the phone with the police.”
“Did they arrest her? No,” she said before he could speak. “I can tell by your face. Goddamn it, L.B.”
“She claims she was home all night. Her mother’s backing her up.”
“Big surprise.”
“The thing is, they can’t prove she wasn’t. Maybe when they go through everything, they’ll find some evidence. You know, fingerprints or something.”
He thumbed out a Life Savers to go with the one already in his mouth, and made her realize the stress had him jonesing for a Marlboro.
“But right now,” he continued with cherry-scented breath, “she’s denying it. They talked to the neighbors, too. Nobody can say for sure if she was home or wasn’t. And since none of us saw her, they can’t charge her with anything.”
L.B. puffed out his cheeks. “Quinniock wanted us to know she’s making noises about suing us for slander.”
“Give me a break.”
“Right there with you, Ro. She won’t, but he thought we should know she got up a pretty good head of steam when he questioned her.”
“The best defense is offense.”
“That could be it, sure.” He looked out over the grill and she imagined the dozens of things on his mind, the load of weight on his shoulders.
“Hell, all that’s for cops and lawyers anyway.”
“Yeah. The main thing is if we get called out, we’re okay. We can send out twenty at this point.”
“Twenty?”
“Some of the mechanics pitched in to help out the ready room team. They’ve been working like dogs. We’ve got gear and supplies for twenty squared away. I’ve already requisitioned replacements for what’s damaged or ruined. This isn’t going to slow us down. You’re back on the jump list.”
“I guess it wasn’t as bad as it looked.”
“Well, it looked pretty damn bad.” She watched him, very deliberately, roll off some of that weight. “We’re smoke jumpers, Swede. We can saw a line from here to Canada. We can sure as hell handle this.”
“I want her to pay.”
“I know, and by God, so do I. If they find anything to link her to that ready room, I want them to toss her in a cell. I felt sorry for her,” he said in disgust. “I gave her a second chance, then a third one when I fired her instead of calling the cops. So believe me, nobody wants her to pay more than I do.”
The phone in her pocket jingled.
“Go ahead and take it. I’m going to pass the word on lunch.” He headed back, turned around briefly to walk backward. “Keep clear of the stampede,” he warned.
Laughing, she pulled out her phone. Seeing her father’s ID reminded her of the messages she’d left him.
“Well, it’s about time.”
“Honey, I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you. I got in late, and didn’t want to chance waking you up. I’ve been busy all morning.”
“Here, too.” She told him about the ready room, the police, about Dolly.
“For God’s sake, Ro, what’s wrong with that girl? Do you want more help? I can reschedule some things, or at least send over a couple men.”
“I think we’ve got it, but I’ll ask L.B.”
“Quinniock, you said. I know him a little. I met him when I did one of those charity grip and grins last year. He came out with his kids. We gave them a tour.”
“That’s where I saw him. He’s been through here, too. So . . . how was your meeting last night?”
“It was good. I’m going to work on this project for some of the high-school kids. And Ella—the client—she’s signing up for AFF training.”
“All that? That was some drink.”
“Ha. Well. Ah, you’ll probably meet her. She wants to connect up with the base, too. For this project. I’ve got a group coming in, but you tell L.B. to let me know if he wants extra hands. I can put in some time.”
“I will, but I think we’re good. You could come over after you close up. You can always put in some time with me.”
“I’ve got a dinner meeting with the accountant on the slate tonight. How about we plan on it tomorrow? I’ll come by after work.”
“Works for me. See you tomorrow.”
She clicked off, then started over to join the horde spilling out of manufacturing in a beeline for the tables.
Her mood improved. Progress, a full stomach, an upcoming date with her best guy. After which, she promised herself, she’d turn in early and bank some sleep.
It lifted her a little more to hear Matt laugh at something Libby said, to watch Cards dazzle one of the rookies with some sleight of hand, to listen to Trigger and Janis bitterly debate baseball.
As irritating as it was, Gull had been right. The Dolly crap? Just a bump.
She nudged him as they started back to their respective work areas. “Four o’clock, on the track.”
“I’ll be there.”
Asking for trouble, she thought, and admitted she liked it. So maybe she’d bend her rule just a little—or a whole lot—for him. Maybe think about it awhile, and stretch out the heat, that sizzle of tension. Or just jump in, go full blast, burn it up, burn it out.
They were both grown-ups. They both knew the score. When the fire between them lay down, they could just step away again. No scars, no worries.
If she opted for the jump, that’s just how she’d approach it. Two healthy, single adults who liked each other enjoying some good, tension-snapping sex.
“That’s a big, smug smile you’re wearing,” Janis said as she joined Rowan at the table.
“I’m deciding if I’m going to have sex with Gull sooner or later.”
“That would put a big, smug smile on my face. He’s just sooo purty—” She gave a shoulder wiggle that sent her ponytail, circled with bluebirds, dancing. “In a manly way. But what happened to the rule?”
“I’m thinking I’ll temporarily rescind it. But do I wait, keep getting off, so to speak, on the sexual tension, innuendo, byplay and pursuit? Or do I dive headlong into the hot, steamy, sexy goodness?”
“Both are excellent uses of time. However, I’ve found, occasionally, that building anticipation can also overbuild expectation. Then nobody can fully meet the overbuild.”
“That’s a problem, and another factor to consider. The thing is, I don’t think I’d be considering it, at least not yet, if this hadn’t happened. The Dolly Crapathon. It’s thrown me off, Janis.”
“If you let that tiny-brained, coldhearted, self-pitying skank throw you off, you’re letting her win. If you let her win, you’re going to piss me off. If you piss me off, I’m going to beat the snot out of you.”
Rowan went
pfftt
. “You know you can’t take me.”
pfftt
. “You know you can’t take me.”
“That has not yet been put to the test. I got my fourth-degree black belt this winter. When I make martial arts noises, thousands flee in terror. Don’t test me.”
“Can you hear that? It’s my knees knocking.”
“They’re wise to fear me. Go, have sex for fun and orgasms, and forget about the Dolly Crapathon.”
“You are wise as well as short.”
“I can also break bricks with my bare hands.” And examined her manicure.
“That’s a handy skill if you ever find yourself walled up in the basement of an abandoned house by a psychopath.”
“I keep it in my pocket for just that eventuality.” She glanced over as Trigger walked between tables on his hands. “A sure sign we’re going stir-crazy. Plenty to do, but we’re doing it grounded.”
“The way we’re going, especially with Super-Sewer Dobie, we’re going to be in better shape on gear and equipment than before
The Nightmare on Dolly Street
.”
The Nightmare on Dolly Street
.”
“I hope the cops put the fear of God into her.” Janis lowered her voice. “Matt gave her five thousand.”
“What?”
“For the baby. I heard her crying to Matt after L.B. gave her the boot. How was she going to pay off the hospital bills now, and the pediatrician? He said he could spare five thousand to help her clear up the bills, tide her over until she got work. I guess I get it. His brother’s kid and all. But she’s going to keep tapping him, you know she is.”
“Why work when you can sob-story your dead lover’s brother into passing you cash? If he wants to help out with the baby, he should give money to Dolly’s mother, or pay some of those bills directly.”
“Are you going to tell him that?”
“I just might.” Rowan gathered up the chute to take to repair. “I damn well might.”
She considered offering unsolicited advice and opinion—which everybody hated—or just staying out of it. By the time she took a break for her run, she’d all but exhausted ideas for a third choice. Maybe the PT would help her think of one.
She changed into her running gear, grabbed a bottle of water. Gull joined her as she walked out of the barracks.
“Right on time,” he commented.
“If I’d had to spend another hour indoors, I’d’ve hurt someone. What’ve you got in you today?”
“We’ll have to find out. I’ll tell you this, the ready room looks like Martha Stewart stocked and organized it. And I’m well past done with anything approaching domestic work, but I am looking to get some more rigger training.”
“So you’ve been studying there, too?”
“Knowing how something works isn’t the same as making it work. You’re a certified Master Rigger. You could tutor me.”
“Maybe.” She already knew him for a quick study. “Are you looking to work toward your Senior Rigger certification, or to spend more time with me?”
“I’d call it multitasking.”
They stopped on the side of the track where Rowan shed her warm-up jacket, laid her water bottle on it. “Distance or time?”
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