by Kathryn Shay
She turned.
“You sure nothing’s wrong?”
“Nope. Nothing.” She walked out the door.
THE HELL THERE ISN’T, Jake thought half an hour later out in the bay. They’d reviewed the basics on breaching a confined space and were ready to crawl through the thirty-foot-long, two-foot-diameter iron pipe laid ominously on the cement floor of the huge garage. To make it even more difficult, the ends were blocked once the firefighter entered the pipe. Done frequently enough, the drill would acclimate the rescuers to dark, tight spaces. So far, Chelsea hadn’t been any help at all. She’d been more like a kid pouting at not getting her way.
“All right, who wants to go first?”
No response.
Not even Chelsea, who’d done it.
He shrugged. “Okay, I’ll go.” Dropping to his knees, Jake stuck his head inside; the faint scent of disinfectant couldn’t mask the iron smell. His shoulders just managed to clear the opening. Inside, it was tunnel-dark. Smothering. He drew in a deep breath, which filled his lungs with heavy air and made his mouth taste coppery. Closing his eyes, he inched in. He could feel his breathing escalate. Sweat popped out on his brow. His stomach muscles clenched. Jeez, this was tougher than eating his first smoke.
“Come on, Lieutenant, you’re halfway there.” Murphy’s voice from somewhere outside calmed him. Slowly, he crept along. When he reached the end, he pushed aside the plywood, shimmied out and came to his feet.
“It wasn’t pretty,” he said as he wiped his face with a towel Mick tossed to him. Whitmore was barely looking his way. “My physical reactions were acute.” He gave them a rundown of his body’s responses. Chelsea offered not a speck of support.
Mick went next. He ducked his head in, his shoulders, and crawled about a foot; then he backed out. “Can’t do it. Not today.” His expression was sheepish, but they’d been told most people took more than one try to master the pipe and not to proceed if they felt they couldn’t.
Jake smiled and patted his shoulder. “That’s okay. Your reaction’s not uncommon.”
Santori looked at him. His gaze slid to the hole. Stepping back, he crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. “I’m not gonna even try.”
“I will.” Diaz got a foot farther than Mick.
When Peter took his turn, he got a third of the way through.
“Listen,” Jake said soothingly, “this isn’t unusual. It’s a tough exercise. We’ll keep doing it till we all get it.”
Filled with winter frost, Santori’s eyes narrowed. “What about Whitmore?”
Jake’s gaze slid to her. He could tell she was enjoying this. Pushing herself away from the truck she’d been leaning against, she headed to the pipe. Dropping to her knees, then her stomach, she inched in. Her shoulders disappeared. Her fanny scraped the top, but she fit better than the guys. The soles of her boots disappeared.
After a minute Jake bent down at the other end. “Halfway, Whitmore, you can do it.”
In almost no time the plywood block slammed back, and her head popped out. Gracefully, she eased her body onto the cement floor of the bay and got to her feet. Though some strands had escaped the knot she habitually tied her hair into and her face was flushed, she was breathing easy. Staring down her nose at the guys, she offered no explanation that she’d done it before. No confession that it was hard for her the first time. She glared at them, hitting them all square on their masculine egos. Then she turned and left the bay.
Jake was angry. Really angry.
Twenty minutes later, he found her at the rig, fiddling with the water gauges. She was driver today, but he suspected her actions were perfunctory.
“Whitmore, I wanna talk to you.”
She kept her back to him as she unscrewed and replaced the covers. Sweat made a line down the back of her T-shirt, which clung to her, outlining solid deltoid muscles. “So talk.”
He clamped his lips for a minute to get control of his temper. Damn it, he’d done his best to ease her way in here. He didn’t deserve this shit. He wouldn’t tolerate it. “Look at me, Whitmore.” As it was a direct summons from an officer, she had no choice.
She turned, her eyes brandy-colored and mutinous. “Yes, sir.”
“What the hell’s going on?”
“Going on?”
Feeling his temperature rise like heated mercury, he straightened to his full height and counted to ten. Then he said, “Yesterday you were part of the team. Today you did your best to make the guys feel like shit. You know how tough it is to go through that pipe the first time.”
She arched an arrogant brow. “You did it.”
Purposefully ignoring the comment, he closed the distance between them. It surprised him that he was almost a head taller than she was. “Why didn’t you tell them you’d done it before? Why didn’t you encourage them through it?”
“Why should I?”
“Because you’re part of this crew. And crew members support each other.”
She straightened, too, which brought her face close to his chin. “Well, I didn’t feel like part of the crew this morning when you all were trashing me in the locker room.”
Jake froze. His mouth gaped. “You heard that?”
“Yeah, I heard that.” She stared him down, the emotion in her eyes reaching flashover. “Thanks a lot for sharing last night’s drama with them, Lieutenant.”
He drew a blank. Then it dawned on him. His thumb hit his chest with a thud. “You think I told them about Billy’s shenanigans?”
“Oh, spare me.” She turned her back on him again.
Without thinking, he spun her around. Sexual harassment training had taught him that uninvited touching was taboo, but by the time he remembered it was too late. Still, he didn’t let her go. “I didn’t tell the guys anything.”
Her look was pure disbelief.
“I didn’t.”
She stepped back and crossed her arms.
He jammed his hands in his pockets. “Joey and Peter ran into Billy at Pumpers after the game. Milligan filled them in.”
Chelsea’s shoulders lost some of their starch. Good.
“You know, Whitmore, try giving some of us the benefit of the doubt. What would I have to gain by spreading gossip about you? I’m tryin’ to make it easier here for you. For us all.”
Eyes rounded with surprise, she stared at him. “I thought—”
“Yeah, it’s obvious what you thought. Cut me some slack, will you?”
She didn’t respond. Even, white teeth came out over her bottom lip, instead.
“And the guys, too. They shouldn’t have been trashing you. I would’ve stopped it if I’d caught it in time. But you could have either risen above it or confronted them this morning, instead of sulking about it all day.”
With one last glare, he turned and left her alone with the rig.
CHAPTER FOUR
STROBE LIGHTS flashed in sync with the pounding rhythm of a group named Death Face. Its predecessor, Skull, hadn’t been much better. Jake closed his eyes to block out the lights hammering the black walls of Beelzebub’s Den, Derek’s favorite club; wearily, he rubbed his temples. His head was throbbing from another night with not enough sleep and a very long day with Firefighter Whitmore.
Jake could picture her proud carriage and tilted head as she challenged him. Well, I didn’t feel like part of the crew this morning when you all were trashing me in the locker room. She hadn’t backed down, and he admired her grit.
“That sound is so awesome. Don’tcha think, Jake?”
Dragging his mind away from his latest problem, Jake smiled at one of his perennial ones. “Sounds like a lot of noise to me, buddy.”
Derek grimaced, then, as usual, smiled at Jake. The boy loved him as much as he loved Derek. It was one thing Jake was certain of. But he was not at all certain about how to help the young James Dean who sat before him. Derek wore the collar of his black shirt turned up, and had perfected the practiced sneer of a rebel.
Death Face wrapped up their set just as the waitress approached.
“Ready to order, handsome?” She only had eyes for Derek.
Derek nodded. “Yep.” He looked at Jake. “You?”
“Sure.”
“What’ll ya have?” She’d edged close to Derek, her hip brushing his arm.
Derek gave her Danny’s grin. “Two hamburgers with the works. Some of those big French fries. And two more Dr. Peppers.”
Actually Jake would have preferred a cold beer and some hot sex, but he’d settle for…Damn, where had that come from? Must be the erotic lyrics of the music. He wasn’t dating anybody, and it had been a while since he’d had a good, long night of lovemaking.
The waitress grinned, snapped her gum and took their menus.
As he watched her leave, Derek said, “Man I love that waitress. She’s hot.”
Jake was transported to another time….
Hey, buddy. Let’s go to Georgie’s. They got these hot waitresses that wear little black French-maid outfits.
He’d gone with Danny; the waitresses had been as hot as Danny had said. He and Danny had been eighteen, a year older than Derek.
Jake experienced nostalgic feelings similar to those he’d had about Jess at the game last night. He remembered Derek as a little boy. Found himself wishing things didn’t have to change.
“Derek, let’s get this out of the way before we eat.”
The boy blew bubbles into his soda. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Ma’s pissed off at me because of yesterday.”
“I’m pissed off, too.”
Mutiny rose in Derek’s almost black eyes. That same mutiny had been in Danny’s the last time Jake had seen or spoken to him.
You sold me down the river, just like I was afraid you’d do when you got to be an officer. You turned me in. It’ll never be square between us again, man. Never.
“Drinking and drugs are unacceptable, Derek. Why are you fooling around with them?”
“Somethin’ to do.”
“Something dangerous.”
The boy shrugged. “Maybe it’s in my genes.”
Jake felt his shoulders tighten. He rubbed the muscles of one while gathering his thoughts. “This is about your dad, isn’t it?”
The boy made a conscious study of his glass. “Whaddaya mean?”
“I miss him, too, Derek.”
“I don’t miss him. He walked out on Ma, me and you.”
“Yes, he did. It doesn’t mean we don’t still care about him.”
“Speak for yourself.” Derek’s tone held disgust and anger, but Jake could detect the underlying hurt. The boy sighed and asked, “Listen, are you gonna rag on me all night, or is this gonna be fun?”
“One more point. Then we’ll enjoy the music.” Begrudgingly Derek smiled at Jake’s dry tone. “I want you to talk to a counselor.”
“A shrink?”
“Yes.”
“No way!”
So much like Danny. Get help? Like from a shrink? You gotta be kiddin’ me.
With fatherly concern, Jake leaned over and grasped Derek’s arm. He’d spent ten years building trust with this boy. He rarely called on that bond, but now was the time. “I want you to think about it.” Derek watched him with owl eyes. “For me.”
Derek’s Adam’s apple bobbed. His surly teenage-boy mask slipped, and he was all kid for a few seconds. “Okay, I’ll think about it.”
Jake sighed. Thank God. He didn’t know what he’d do if he lost Derek. Losing Danny had been bad enough.
As the screech of an electric guitar split the air, Jake vowed never to let that happen. He decided he’d talk to Reed about it.
THE WEIGHT ROOM, a huge complex with three main workout areas and side rooms for specialties like aerobic kick boxing and gymnastics, was hopping. Trainer Spike Lammon towered over Chelsea as she raised the barbell from flat on her back on the padded bench. Spike was dressed in gray pants and shirt with the club’s snazzy logo, and his fit body was worth a thousand dollars of advertising for the gym. His forehead furrowed as he checked off her routine on the clipboard.
“Come on, babe, this is the last of the weights.” He grinned like a little boy with a frog behind his back.
“Think about all those younger women you’ll be competing with.”
She tried for a scathing look, but sweat poured into her eyes despite her hot pink headband, and her limbs, encased in flashy hot pink shorts and crop top, were close to muscle burnout. Nevertheless she bench-pressed two hundred pounds of iron one more time.
“Great job,” Spike said when she was done. “That’s it for tonight.”
She sat up and scowled. “Let’s go in the back and work on my floor exercises.”
He shook his head. “You’re pushing too hard.”
Playfully she socked him in the arm. “Remember all those younger women breathing down my neck.”
“Still, I think you should stop.”
“She at it again, Spike?”
Chelsea turned to see Francey Templeton behind her. She took in Francey’s outfit—black nylon shorts and a plain white T-shirt. She couldn’t get that girl to dress right. Exiting the locker room was her husband, Alex; now he knew what to wear. Garbed in hunter green workout clothes, he could have walked off the pages of GQ.
Spike shook his head at Francey. “She’s working too hard.” His voice was ripe with affection.
“At what?” Alex asked as he came up to them, his hand sneaking familiarly to his wife’s neck. She leaned into it. Chelsea turned her gaze away. Sometimes their closeness was hard to watch.
“Chelsea’s competing in the Fitness Triathlon at the Dome Arena here in Rockford.”
Alex cocked his head. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s a woman’s fitness contest.” Spike ruffled Chelsea’s hair. “They compete in muscle strength and tone, running endurance and speed and a dance and gymnastics routine.”
Francey brightened. “Sounds like fun.”
Groaning, Alex said, “Don’t get any ideas. Men look at you more than I like already.” He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “I’m off to warm up.”
Francey trailed her fingers down his arm. “Remember, if I beat you in weights again, you cook all week.”
“You won’t,” he called over his shoulder as he left.
Spike faced Francey. “I’ve got to get back to the desk. Don’t let Chelsea do the gymnastics routine tonight.”
As if figuring out a jigsaw puzzle, Francey stared after the trainer. “Are all men alike?”
“Too protective? Some.” Chelsea glanced over her shoulder at Spike. “He’s a godsend, though. He runs the gym. Overseeing my training is an extra bonus.”
“And he’s yummy to look at.”
Delaney’s comment about Jake came back to her—even if he is yummy. Well, her lieutenant wasn’t very yummy two days ago when he was spitting nails at her.
“Wanna come to the back room with me?” she asked Francey.
“No. Why don’t you keep me company on the treadmill and fill me in on what’s been happening at the station. That way you can cool down.”
“I want to work out some more.”
Francey squeezed her arm. “You look exhausted.”
Sighing, Chelsea rolled her shoulders. “I slept better last night. I took a pill and it helped. But okay, I’ll stay here.”
As the women headed to the machines, Francey said, “You haven’t been sleeping well since the thing with Billy. Beth thinks you should see a doctor.”
“How is she?”
“Great. All three of them are. We just came from visiting them.” The women mounted treadmills. Francey set her speed low and glanced at her friend. “Jake was there, too.”
“Was he?”
“Yeah. Timmy threw one of his early evening tantrums, and Dylan and Beth couldn’t do anything with him. Jake was the only one who could calm him.”
“Jake’s good at that kind of thing.”
; Francey frowned. “He looked as tired as you.”
“Well, we’re off for three days before we go on nights, so he can rest up.” When Francey didn’t respond, Chelsea asked, “Did he say anything about the crew?”
“Nope. I even got him alone a minute, and he told me to mind my own business.” Francey chuckled. “He always was the most closemouthed of all of us.”
“You talk about him as if he’s part of your family.”
“He is. Just not by blood. In a lot of ways, he understands me better than my brothers.”
After a moment Chelsea asked, “Why is Jake so quiet, France?”
“Personality. Life. His father—my dad’s best friend—died when Jake was ten. Dad tried to fill in, but Jake became the man of the house for his mother and three younger sisters.”
Chelsea thought about what had happened with her and Delaney after their mother’s death.
“Then there’s all that stuff with his best friend, Danny DeLuca, just before you and I got into the RFD. Jake doesn’t talk about it—all I know is Danny got in trouble and Jake was his lieutenant. I do know DeLuca quit and left town.” She hesitated. “I don’t like to gossip about Jake.”
When Chelsea nodded, she changed the subject. “So, how has it been with your new group?” Francey speeded up on her treadmill, but Chelsea didn’t. She would cool down and go home.
“Not so hot,” she replied.
“Really? Don’t tell me Jake’s done something to make it that way.”
“Well, kind of.”
“I don’t believe it. Even though he’s reserved, he’s the kindest, gentlest man I know. Excluding his big-brother teasing when he beats me at arm wrestling.”
Chelsea related the details of overhearing the crew talk about her confrontation with Billy the night of the ball game.
Francey didn’t say anything for a moment. “If Jake tells you he wasn’t a part of it, he wasn’t.”
“You trust him that much?”
“With my life.” She glanced at Chelsea. “Don’t get upset at me for saying this, Chels, but maybe you’re looking for trouble where none exists.”
Chelsea stepped off her machine and wiped her face with a towel, then sat wearily on the edge of the treadmill. Suddenly she felt like she’d been battling a blaze for hours. “That’s what Jake said. Maybe I am overreacting. He’s gone out of his way, otherwise, to make me feel accepted.”