Where There's Smoke

“No thanks. I hate heights.” Sloane started to turn away from the window, then gasped and jerked backward, knocking into Nick. His hands caught her shoulders automatically; he released her a moment later.

But not before she absorbed the feel of his palms.

Deep in her belly something clenched like a fist.

Adrenaline, she told herself, that was all it was. Whether it was from Nick’s touch or the thing she’d seen, she couldn’t tell. Because she didn’t want to find out, she stared instead at the figure wedged between the bed and the wall. “What in God’s name is that?”

“That?” Nick grinned. “That’s Harvey.”

It lay flat on the concrete, dressed in turnouts and steel-toed boots, one arm stretched out plaintively toward her ankle. It was ridiculously thin and even in its reclining position was tall enough to have been instantly drafted by the NBA, had it only been alive. “Harvey?”

Nick seemed to relax. “Our search-and-rescue dummy. They stash him and his wife, Gladys, in here somewhere before they start the fires. When we send the crew in to search, they’d better come out with both of them. Harvey’s set up to weigh about as much as the average man. Feel.”

Nick reached past her to pick up the outstretched arm. He was near enough that she could catch the scent of male, near enough that she could see the play of muscle through his T-shirt as he bent over. She moved to step away but a stray piece of wood from the fire pile caught her heel and she stumbled backward, arms out to brace against the wall behind her.

And in a surge of terror felt only empty space.

There were moments of absolute clarity in life. One minute Nick was bending down over Harvey, glad of something to do, the next, Sloane’s cry was ringing in his ears. There was no pause for thought, no time for horror. Operating only on reflex, he surged up toward the window cutout even as Sloane’s feet left the floor. Pulling her back in to safety took a flicker of a second. For an instant there was only adrenaline. Then he swept her to him, holding her tightly.

“There was nothing there.” Sloane’s voice wavered. “I just backed up and there was nothing there.”

Four stories. Four stories down. His mind repeated it like a litany of horror. And at the bottom, solid concrete. “It’s all right,” Nick whispered, as much to himself as her. “I caught you. You’re safe now. You’re safe.”

He’d saved lives before. The amazement and rush were familiar, but no close call had ever shaken him this much. All the fragrant luxuries of her, the precious individuality, so fragile and so very nearly snuffed out. She was alive now, though, wondrously, completely alive.

He’d had no idea how right she would feel in his arms, close enough that he could feel her heart beating against his chest. For a moment, there was only the soft feathering of her breath over his neck, the silkiness of her hair against his cheek. He heard her sigh, then her body seemed to melt into his.

There was a shout and the sound of footsteps clattering up the stairs. Nick pulled away, staring at Sloane, who looked as shaken as he felt. Then O’Hanlan and Knapp burst into the room.

“My God, are you all right?” O’Hanlan turned to Nick. “Jesus, Trask, what happened? We turned around and there she was hanging half out the window.”

Sloane sounded calm, looked calm unless you noticed how rigidly she’d clasped her hands together. “I tripped.”

“Good thing Nick was here.” O’Hanlan studied her with concerned eyes. “You’re sure you’re okay? You scared the life out of us.”

“I nearly scared the life out of myself.” Sloane glanced over at Nick, as though unable to help herself.

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.