have two minutes to put on your jumpsuit and protective gear, including helmet, and then place the duffel bag on your back.” As he spoke, Emma swiftly began to don the suit, her eyes widening as she spied the heavy gear inside the bag.
“After the whistle blows, you have ten minutes to maneuver the course. This is the first of many trials for this particular test before your examination, rookies. Don’t screw up.”
Emma was seconds away from backing out, eyeing the heavy helmet in her hand and the even heavier duffel at her feet, when she felt a prickling on the back of her neck. She didn’t have to turn around to know where the source of the now familiar sensation came from.
Mentally squaring her shoulders, she completed suiting up in the allotted time. When the whistle blew she was off and running with the others.
“Carrying a friggin’ twenty-five-pound rucksack, wearing another ten pounds of gear while tripping over tires and going facedown in a pool of water in an obstacle course…what in the world was I thinking?” Emma wondered aloud, reflecting on her afternoon.
But she knew what made her accept the challenge. It was for the same reason she went after any new challenge, particularly one she was told she couldn’t do. She didn’t need any psychotherapist to give her an unneeded, expensive, in-depth analysis.
It wasn’t that she’d been abused physically as a kid. Instead she’d been ignored, or tolerated at best. Left on her own, she’d never had many friends, being shuffled from relative to relative. She learned to rely on herself and herself only, determined not to need anyone to take care of her.
That transient way of living, picking up and moving frequently, had also made it so that she’d never needed a “home.” If she occasionally thought of what it would be like to stay in one place longer than a few months, of having somewhere to call home, she reminded herself that she had the type of life she’d always wanted—an exciting career, traveling, experiencing the world on her own terms.
After completing the obstacle course, her body dripping with a combination of sweat and water from the headlong dive, she nearly collapsed as soon as she made it to the other side. Despite it all, she’d found herself grinning her face off, proud that she’d beaten several of the other rookies who’d started with her. A movement to her left caught her attention and she spotted Shane on the sideline with a few other men, his focus solely on her. Their gazes locked.
Emma inhaled a swift breath. The way her pulse quickened, heart banging against her chest, had nothing to do with the physical act she just completed and everything to do with the man who was watching her.
Emma caught the glint of admiration in his bright blue eyes before he turned away.
Groaning, Emma settled back against the headboard, crossed her legs and dragged her bag from the floor before plunking it down beside her.
She took out her cell phone, flipped it open and saw that she’d missed two calls. Without looking she knew that both had to be from her editor. She didn’t really have anyone else who would call her. Particularly because of her lifestyle, she had next to no one she actually called “friend.” The few she did were reporters or photographers and led a similarly transient life, and rarely made idle phone calls just to chit-chat.
And that was the way she liked it, she reminded herself.
When she’d spoken to her editor earlier, their conversation had been brief; she hadn’t gone on to detail her experience with Shane. She’d assured him everything had been going “peachy,” and then there’d been a pause and Emma had held her breath. Bill was one of the few people who could pick up on how she was feeling, no matter how hard she tried to hide it from him. Although he hadn’t called her out, just gruffly said, “good,” she knew she wasn’t off the hook.
“Might as well get this over with,” she mumbled.
She quickly punched in his number, the only one she knew by heart, and waited for him to pick up the phone.
After several rings, a gruff voice on the other end barked, “Hello.”
“Hey, Bill, it’s me.” Emma leaned back against the headboard, sighing deeply.
“You sound like hell.”
“Way to make a girl feel good,” she replied, laughing humorlessly.
“Been one of those days, huh?”
“Yeah, you could say that.”
“Humph. I was wondering when you’d call. How’s it going so far? You all settled in?” Emma heard the concern he tried to hide in his scratchy voice. Asking if she was settled in was his way of asking what she needed from him. Not if she needed anything, but what she needed. Emma knew that whatever it was she needed, he’d do everything in his power to help her. He never actually came out and told her that he worried about her, that he cared, it wasn’t his style, but Emma knew he did.
Bill Hanley knew her better than anyone, including her own family. He’d been the one to give her her first job, right out of journalism school. He’d also been the one to give her her first overseas assignment.
He was the first person to believe in her abilities as a reporter—even during the times she doubted them herself. Emma was determined not to let him or herself down.
“Yeah, Chief, I’m cool. I’ll let you know if I need anything.”
There was a moment of silence. Emma was about to disconnect the phone when he surprised her. “Look, if things get funky, let me know. You don’t have to put up with bull. I know some folks,” he said, and she smiled.
His phrasing reminded her of an old mafia flick. Bill had an old-school way of speaking, straight and to the point.
“Is there something you neglected to tell me?” She shut her eyes, allowing her head to rest back against the wrought-iron headboard.
There was a slightly short pause before he spoke. It was small, but enough that it made her fatigue melt away and alertness take its place.
“Bill?”
“The base manager and I go back, way back. I once did a story about his firefighter unit in the army, back when he was in the military. We became friends and have kept in contact ever since.”
“And?” she asked when he paused again.
“And…about two years ago he lent his help to jump a fire in Alaska. There was a lot of talk surrounding the fires that he and several of his men helped to fight. Rumblings about negligence on the part of senior personnel, to jumpers ignoring direct orders from the general manager. One jumper died and one was pretty badly injured. As far as I can remember there was a lot of talk about a female jumper in particular. Someone blamed her for one of Roebuck’s jumpers’ death.”
“What was the name of the jumper who survived? The male jumper?” she asked, although she already knew the answer before Bill opened his mouth.
“Westend…Westwood. Shane Westwood, if I recall correctly. Why?”
Emma was silent. The feeling in her gut worsened. “And the woman, who was she?”
“Can’t remember
