from the planning commission. The microprocessors for the test units are being loaded up with plans for every building in Boston and Cambridge.”
He snorted. “Do you actually think those are up-to-date in a city like this? You really want to bank someone’s life on that?”
“We’re confirming layouts as we’re entering them.”
“Checking up on every structure? You’ll never get it done,” he said dismissively. “You want to be useful, get me a couple more thermal cameras, build me a better breathing mask. Something proven. Something practical.”
Sloane flushed. “The equipment is practical. And proven. It’s been completely lab tested, it just hasn’t been used in a fire situation before. Both the department and Councilman Ayre’s office are behind this.”
“I’m sure they are. The chief and Ayre grew up on the same block.”
She gave him a level stare. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He sighed. It really wasn’t her fault. “Look, I’m sure you’ve got the best of intentions, but you don’t know how the game goes around here.”
“But I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
She looked, he thought, strung tight as a piano wire. It didn’t make her any less gorgeous. “Ayre starts with the fire-safety shtick every election cycle. It gets him press, photos in front of shiny red trucks. It’s all about exposure and it’s nothing he’ll support with funding. Trust me on that, I’ve been through it before.” He shook his head in frustration. “Ayre just wants to make headlines. You’re the tool he chose to do it with.”
“What is with you? I’m talking about equipment that can help you and you’re talking about conspiracies.”
He bristled. “No, I’m talking politics.”
“And I’m talking about saving lives,” she retorted. “You’ve got problems with Ayre? Then vote against him next month. I don’t care. All that matters to me is getting this equipment qualified.”
“And you’re dreaming if you think they’re actually going to buy this gadget.”
“It’s not a gadget,” she said hotly. “It’s a very sophisticated system.”
“A very…” He shook his head like a dog throwing off water. “Do you understand anything at all about firefighting?”
Her eyes burned for a moment; it took her a visible effort to tamp her reaction down. “Of course I do. I consulted with firefighters in Cambridge when I was designing the equipment.”
“Great. Take it to them to test.”
“We’re not taking it to them. We’ve taken it to the city of Boston and the city says you. This isn’t some project of the week. This testing is critical and trust me, it is going to get done. Bill Grant in the fire chief’s office wants your company to do the testing. Ayre wants it. I want it. You’re way down the list, Captain Trask.”
Nick didn’t even attempt to quell the bright flare of anger. “That’s where you’re wrong. You may think that because you had a couple of nice visits downtown that you can come in here and do whatever you want.” He rose, stalking toward her until she was forced to tilt her head to hold his gaze. “But this is my firehouse and I don’t care what Ayre wants, I don’t care what it is Grant wants and I certainly don’t care what you want. I am not going to put my guys at risk so Ayre can take pictures of the two of you testing out a video game.”
Sloane paled for an instant, then shot to her feet, two spots of color burning high on her cheekbones. “This equipment is going to get qualified, no matter what it takes. I don’t give a damn if I’m a tool or a pawn or whatever the hell you think I am if it means that I save one person’s life, just one.” Her voice rose in fury. “And you are not going to stand in my way.”
They faced each other, inches apart, crackling with tension. Something kinetic surged through the air between them then, something elemental that had nothing to do with firefighting and everything to do with heat.
Sloane moved away first, because she had to, because she felt the shudder of weakness in the wall of anger surrounding her. “Where’s your telephone?” she demanded. “You don’t want to do this, Captain Trask? I’ll save you the trouble. Forget about wasting your time, testing with you would be a waste of my time.” She crossed to his desk and snatched up the telephone receiver. “Where’s the number for the fire chief’s office?”
He studied her a moment, his brows drawn together in a frown of concentration. Then he plucked the receiver from her hand. “I’ll dial it for you.” He punched in the numbers rapidly and waited. “Bill Grant please. Yes, I’ll hold.” He handed the receiver back without a word.
Sloane waited, listening to Nick stalk out into the hallway. There was a click on the line, then a voice. “Bill Grant here.”
“Hi Bill, it’s Sloane Hillyard.”
“Sloane, good to talk to you.” The words were ever so slightly shaded with relief. “You have perfect timing. I was just trying to reach you.”
“Well, you’ve got me now. What do you need?”
“Can you hold off contacting Ladder 67 for a day? We had a little paperwork snafu here and the memo that should have gone to them is still sitting here in my office. Give me a day to get everything set up with them and we can go ahead.”
Sloane glanced out toward the hall and found her gaze pinned to Nick Trask’s. He was yards away, but she felt a clutch on her chest as sure as a physical contact. The breath of a shiver that passed up her spine was composed partly of anxiety, partly of feelings she was afraid to identify. She tore her eyes away and turned back to the desk. “Too late, Bill. I’m calling you from the firehouse.”
“Oh.” He paused for a moment and Sloane heard the rapid, nervous tap of a finger against the phone, maybe, or the desk. “Um, is everything okay?”
“Not exactly. In fact, after talking with Captain Trask, I think it would be best for me to work with a different company.”
“Let’s not be hasty, Sloane. Nick Trask’s one of the best men we’ve got.” Now she heard all four fingers begin to drum the desktop in sequence. “If there’s any hitch here, it’s my fault. Why don’t you let me talk to him and see what the problem is?”
The problem, thought Sloane, was that she didn’t want to be anywhere near Nick Trask, certainly not for a period of weeks. “All right.” She turned to Nick. “It’s for you.”
Sloane walked out into the hall where she could finally breathe. The testing couldn’t be interrupted. Everything depended on getting the gear qualified. Everything.
After a moment, she looked around. To her left was the stairway that ran down to the apparatus floor. To her right, the hall ended in a T, with the dormitory on one side and probably a kitchen and rec room on the other. Without even trying she could picture the latter—worn, comfortable furniture, a TV and VCR, probably some back issues of Fire Engineering magazine tossed down on a table. Before she could block it, the image of a lanky, boyish-faced redhead sprawled on a firehouse couch came to her with painful clarity. Oh Mitch, she thought
