Kristin Hardy - Where There's Smoke

He knew how she felt. He hadn’t caught up with what had just happened himself, knew only that it had started something, a drumbeat in his head that made the idea of professional detachment toward her a joke. “Let’s get downstairs,” he said brusquely.

It replayed in her mind over and over as they descended the tower. The whole thing had taken a matter of seconds. Shadow, then harsh sunlight, then a glimpse of blue sky as she’d rocked outside the building. And there had been terror, blinding terror. It had seemed like hours before her heart had begun beating again.

The solid ground under her feet came as a relief. Sloane couldn’t understand why it was only then that she started to tremble, first her hands, then her whole body. The men milled about nearby, talking idly, staring over at her. She took a deep breath and willed the shakes away. If she just ignored it, she thought with a tinge of desperation, maybe she could manage.

Nick walked up and looked at her carefully. “Do you need some time to get calmed down?” he asked.

To her utter horror she felt tears threaten. For a ridiculous instant, she wanted only to be held by him again. Instead, she laced her fingers together to still their trembling and took a deep breath. “I’m fine.” She attempted to smile. “Let’s get started. The gear’s in my trunk.”

Nick studied her and shook his head decisively. “Give me your keys and go sit down for a couple of minutes,” he instructed.

“Don’t order me around,” she returned. “I’m—”

“Look, don’t argue,” Nick said sharply. “I don’t care how tough you are, anyone would need a couple of minutes to recover from a scare like that.” His voice softened. “We’ve got plenty of time. I’ll get a couple of the guys to bring the gear over and then we can go to it. Now sit.” He paused. “Please?”

Sloane perched on the step of the ladder truck and gradually the wobbliness went out of her muscles. It was a relief to feel like herself again and ready to get started. Before she did, though, she had something to take care of.

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.