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
