by Kathryn Shay
Though the reason they were having this big powwow was a hell of a thing to happen.
Peter called from the stove, “Get everybody, will you, Mick? We’re about ready.”
“And what did our own Julia Child make today?” Chief Talbot asked. Huff’s cooking was legendary throughout the department.
Peter glanced over his shoulder. “Spaghetti and meatballs.”
Jake was surprised by the meatballs. Once the guys had stopped ribbing Chelsea about not eating red meat, they’d cooked accordingly, substituting chicken for her portion, often choosing fish for all of them. Peter had been especially considerate. Oh, well, she could go without protein for one meal.
Damn, what the hell was he doing worrying about her diet?
As he listened to the official banter from the brass, he admitted to himself he knew the answer. He cared about Chelsea. In more ways than were good for either of them. During this last bout of insomnia, he’d finally realized his feelings ran deep. It wasn’t just that he was physically attracted to her, though she regularly set off fireworks in his body these days. It was that he liked being with her, sharing things with her and having her in his life at the firehouse—and outside of it.
As if conjured up by his thoughts, she appeared in the doorway; though she’d obviously just washed, her face was flushed and her T-shirt sweaty. Shrugging into the light blue dress shirt and buttoning it, she teased Don. “I won, Diaz. You do my cleanup all week.”
“How the hell did you learn how to shoot hoops like that?”
“I’ll never tell.” She glanced around, frowning at the RFD officers and union members. Usually she was reserved around visitors, careful to stay in the background, like a student in class who didn’t want to be called on.
“We having a department meeting here today?” Diaz joked.
“Nah, I met with these guys this morning,” Jake told them. “I’ll explain it over lunch. It concerns this firehouse.”
“Chow’s on.” Huff stood back from the counter where he’d assembled the food.
They all headed for the serving line. Out of the corner of his eye, Jake saw Huff approach Chelsea. He said something in her ear, and she smiled broadly. Jake felt that smile zing all the way to his gut; he turned to the food.
Determinedly he didn’t look at her again until she sat—at the other end of the table. They were avoiding each other and had been all morning except for the two calls they’d had where they were forced to work together. He glanced at her plate; it was filled with meatballs. Salad was the only other thing she’d taken.
Mick noticed, too. “You don’t like pasta, Whitmore?”
“I love it.”
“There’s none on your dish.”
“I’m only eating protein, vegetables and fruit this week.”
“Why?”
She flushed. Jake opened his mouth to deflect her from the hot seat, but caught himself. What the hell was he doing?
“I’m competing in a triathlon Thursday night. So I’m bulking up.”
“Really? I been thinking about doin’ one of those myself.” Joey was heavy into weight lifting and keeping in shape.
Chelsea’s brows rose. “Yeah? If you want to talk about it later, find me.”
“Okay.”
Huff was the last to sit. “So,” he said in typical policeman, no-nonsense manner, “why’s the brass here?”
From the end of the table, Jake addressed his crew. “I asked them to come because I want to start a search to find a runaway teenager. Chief Talbot gave his approval this morning.”
“I don’t understand,” Diaz said. “Why would we do that?”
“She’s the daughter of a fellow firefighter in Illinois. I was at the union office yesterday when Rick Mayfield called to say his fourteen-year-old daughter, Suzy, ran away ten days ago. They got a tip that she was in Rockford. He and his wife are en route—” Jake glanced at the clock “—as we speak.”
“Jeez, a fourteen-year-old’s been gone ten days,” Diaz commented. “My Katie’s fourteen.”
“What can we do for them?” Mick asked.
“First, we’ve set up a headquarters here in the back room of the fire station. Phones, a fax and a computer will be transferred there after lunch. On- and off-duty people will man it. Calls at night can be transferred to the watch room.” He paused. “I’ll oversee it.”
“Sounds good to me,” Joey said. “What do you need help with?”
“Well, we’ve got a sign-up sheet that’s gonna go to all the stations today. Off-duty firefighters will canvass the streets with pictures, hand out leaflets for the next couple of days and man the phones here.” He nodded to Mary Sokel, the chief’s secretary. “Mary’s been released from her duties today to do some phone work, like contacting the missing person’s bureau and calling the newspaper and TV and radio stations to get coverage.”
The guys all knew Mary. She often came over for lunch and was one of their favorite people.
The union leader said, “No one’s required to participate, but I think it’s good PR. It’s also a way we can help out a brother. The local’s putting both manpower and some benevolent money for copying, et cetera, behind this.”
“Those poor parents,” Chelsea said. Jake had avoided looking at her as he spoke, but he glanced over now and caught the sadness in her eyes. “Where are they going to stay?”
“We talked the Hyatt into putting them up free for a few nights, but that’s only temporary.”
“Francey’s house has been empty since she got married,” Chelsea told them. Jake saw Joey stiffen. “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if they stayed there.”
Jake nodded.
“I’ll take care of it,” Chelsea said.
Talk continued through the meal. Huff had said almost nothing, which wasn’t unusual; he was normally reticent. So Jake was surprised when he stood to get another helping of food and asked, “You guys like the meatballs?”
“Yeah,” Diaz called. “Get me a few more.”
“Bring the bowl,” the chief said. “We’ll pass ’em around.”
Jake caught Chelsea’s grin. He also noticed she took another portion. When everybody was chowing down like the meatballs were manna from heaven, Huff said, “Turkey’s great, like you said, Whitmore.”
“Mmm,” she answered, busily chewing.
“Turkey?” Joey asked. “Whaddaya mean?”
All the men looked at their second helpings.
Huff announced, “Used ground turkey, instead of beef. Better for your arteries.”
“Hell, my wife tried that once, and it tasted terrible.” Diaz studied his plate. “I told her never to cook nothing like that again.”
“I’ll give her the recipe from The Healthy Firehouse Cookbook.”
No one said anything, then Diaz quipped, “So long as we don’t have stewed chickweed and acorns for lunch, it’s cool with me.”
Chelsea grinned as she sank her teeth into another meatball.
WHEN CHELSEA’S RELIEF arrived at the end of the day, she headed to the back room, a ten-by-ten square with a couple of windows, two desks and chairs and various machines humming away. It would function as the command post for Operation Suzy. Chelsea shuddered at the thought of a kid so young living on the streets. When she entered the room, Mary was hanging up the phone.
Her kind brown eyes smiled, belying her Attila the Hun reputation. She threaded graying hair off her face and said, “That’s it. The flyers are done and the night shift is going to bundle them. We’re circulating the sign-up to all the firehouses for volunteers to canvas the streets.” She glanced at the clock, then her gaze swept Chelsea. “Are you going to be around a while?”
“For a little bit. Why?”
“Here are the lists of what I’ve done. Could you give them to Jake? My granddaughter has a dance recital in two hours, or I’d stick around.”
“Sure.”
The woman gave Chelsea a pat on the shoulder and hustled out of the room.
<
br /> Chelsea sat and closed her eyes. Give them to Jake. Damn, she was trying not to think about Jake. But she could still see his face as he stared at her mouth and grasped her shoulders like a man who wanted to—She cut off the thought, just as she’d done for two full days—and nights—since she’d almost kissed him.
She’d almost kissed her lieutenant.
Smart move, Whitmore. Jumping from the pot to the fire. You blew it at your last house by getting involved with a fellow firefighter. Let’s top that by picking the officer this time.
She sighed. She hadn’t exactly picked Jake. It had just happened slowly over the past couple of months, like the way spring crept up on her, or dawn rose over the horizon. First she’d been impressed by his gentle but firm leadership. Then she’d been touched by his concern for her fitting in, his fairness in helping her do it. The night Billy attacked her and Jake had come to her sealed the deal. Along the way she’d noticed his world-class muscles and tall, lean length. Add to it how great he was with Jessica and Timmy, and she’d been caught by a web that had Jake Scarlatta’s name on it.
Damn.
With more force than necessary, she punched out Delaney’s number. Her sister answered on the first ring. “Delaney Shaw.”
“Hi, Laney, it’s me. I need a favor.”
“Another one?”
Chelsea chuckled. “How’s Derek doing?”
“He’s a tough nut to crack. But he adores that lieutenant of yours, so he’s giving me a fair shake. We’re making progress.”
That lieutenant of yours. “I owe you for that.”
“No, I want to help. Besides, Scarlatta’s payin’ me big bucks for it.”
“Oh.”
Delaney laughed. “I offered to do it free, as a favor to you, but he absolutely refused.”
“Jake’s got his principles.”
“So sis, what do you need?”
“Nothing big. The RFD’s gotten involved in searching for a runaway who’s been seen in Rockford. I thought maybe you could give us some pointers on what else we should do.” Chelsea filled her in on the steps they’d already taken.
Delaney said, “That’s easy. Got a fax there?”
“Yep.” She gave her sister the number.
“I’ll send over the names of organizations that offer shelter to runaways and a list of where kids on the street hang out. Will that help?”
“Yeah, a lot.”
“Chels?”
“Hmm?”
“Is everything else okay? You sound funny.”
“I just haven’t slept well the last two nights.”
“I thought that was getting better.”
It was, before I almost kissed Jake.
“It comes and goes. Listen, you’ll be at the triathlon Thursday night, won’t you?”
“Wouldn’t miss seeing my sister go for the gold.”
“Thanks.” Chelsea sighed. “I love you, Delaney.” Her voice caught.
“Me, too. You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll look for the fax about helping Suzy.”
“If there’s anything else I can do, let me know.”
When Chelsea hung up, she buried her face in her hands.
“You’re not fine.”
Startled, she swiveled in the seat.
Jake was leaning up against the doorjamb. “I overheard.”
“Overheard?”
He came closer and stood above her. Tipping her chin, he said, “You look tired.”
“Well, you heard me say I haven’t been sleeping well.” Chelsea searched the hard planes of his face. “You, neither, I can tell.”
He swallowed. “Since the other night.” The look he gave her seared her insides. She wanted to weep for what she felt. Dropping his hand, he nodded to the phone. “What’s Delaney sending us?”
She told him.
His eyes glowed like coals burning low. “Really? You did that for us?”
She nodded. “Finding this girl means a lot to you, doesn’t it?”
It was his turn to nod.
“Because of Jess?”
“Yeah, and Derek.”
“Delaney’s seen him.”
Jake gave her a grin that made her stomach somersault. “He said she steamrollered right over his objections to seeing a shrink.”
“She’s good at what she does.”
“Apparently. Of course the fact that Derek thinks she’s drop-dead gorgeous doesn’t hurt.”
“Hey, whatever works.” She looked away, gestured to the desk. “Mary left you some lists.”
“Well, I’d better check them out.”
“You’d better.”
He crossed to the other side of the room. She said hesitantly, “I can help here for a while. I don’t have a training session until six.”
He cleared his throat and sat at the desk. His look was full of feeling. “Do me a favor.”
“Of course.”
“Leave.”
She angled her head in surprise; then his reasoning hit her. He didn’t want to risk being alone with her.
“All right.” She glanced at the desk. “But I’m going to help with this search.”
“That means a lot to me.”
She stood. “It means a lot to me, too.”
ON THURSDAY NIGHT, Jake pulled open the door to Our Lady of Mercy House, a popular haven in the city for teenage runaways, according to Delaney Shaw. Three stories high, the old brick building had been an elegant residence at one time. Jake preceded Ben Cordaro into the foyer and to the reception desk. There was a neat living room to the right, a hallway to the left, a staircase straight ahead. Though worn, the furnishings were tidy.
A tall, slender blonde looked at him. “May I help you?”
“Andrea?”
“Hi, Jake.”
He stared at Mick Murphy’s wife. “It’s been a while.”
“A few months.”
“I didn’t know you were working here.”
She shook her head in dismay. “So Mick still hasn’t told you guys I went back to work. I’d have thought with Chelsea Whitmore’s influence, he’d be less Neanderthal at the firehouse these days.”
“No, he hasn’t told us.” Jake turned to Ben. “Ben Cordaro, this is Murphy’s wife, Andrea.”
Offering his hand, Ben said, “Hi. I’ve seen you at functions, I think.”
She nodded. “What brings you here, Jake?”
“Hasn’t Mick told you about Operation Suzy?”
Andrea flushed. “Uh, no, Mick and I haven’t…aren’t…well we’ve been busy.”
Jake frowned, picking up on the vibes that something was wrong between Mick and Andrea. But he said only, “Aren’t we all.” He explained their mission.
Ben handed her a photo. “Have you seen her?”
Immediately Andrea’s big blue eyes widened. “Why, yes. She came here last night. But she was gone in the morning.”
Jake’s heartbeat escalated. “She say anything?”
“We talked a bit. She seemed upset. Her running away had something to do with her father.”
Oh, God. Jake’s immediate thought was abuse. Would they find this little girl only to send her back into a nightmare?
“It’s not what you’re thinking, Jake,” Andrea said, as if reading his mind. “She seemed worried about her father, and her mother, who, I take it, drinks.”
Surprised, Jake scowled.
“It was pretty dicey stuff, more than I could handle as a social worker. She needs psychological help.”
“If we can find her.” Ben’s look was grim. All the firefighters with daughters were having trouble with this case. “Here.” He handed Andrea the department’s hotline number. “Keep this handy. Call us if you hear from her again.”
“I will.”
As they turned away, Andrea beckoned Jake back. “Is Mick all right? At work?”
“Yeah, fine, his usual cheerful self. Why?”
“Sometimes I worry about him. He’s not
happy I’ve gone back to work. It seems he thinks it reflects poorly on him as a breadwinner if his wife brings in an income.”
“Mick’s old-fashioned in a lot of ways.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Andrea smiled. “I’d like to meet this Chelsea Whitmore. Maybe she can lighten Mick up. She’s doing a good job, from what I hear.”
“She is,” Jake said tightly.
Jake and Ben left the shelter. Outside, the hot July air enveloped them. A blanket of stars twinkled as they headed to their car to go to the next shelter on the list.
“So, Chelsea’s working out all right?” Ben’s tone was nonchalant, but underneath Jake caught fatherly concern and battalion chief worry.
As Jake made perfunctory remarks to Ben about Chelsea’s performance, he saw her, in his mind, crawl through the pipe and face the guys haughtily; he pictured her tending to the gunshot victim like Florence Nightingale; he heard her voice over the radio warning about the newspapers in the old English teacher’s house. “Yeah, she’s a good firefighter.”
“Jessica’s crazy about her.”
“I know.”
She was in fact, at the triathlon competition right now. The one Jake refused to attend when Jess asked him to go with her. The place he’d rather be right now more than anywhere else in the world.
But he’d forced himself not to attend.
The disclosing of events in their lives had to stop. Then the emotional connection would abate. Which would eventually stifle the physical thing that seethed between them like low flames waiting for enough oxygen to flare out of control. He intended to smother it.
It had to stop, because the consequences of pursuing a relationship that wasn’t professional with Firefighter Whitmore were untenable. He knew from the past what could happen, and he’d be damned if he’d go down that road again. Especially because of the decision he’d finally made…
“Ben,” he said carefully. “I’ve been thinking about taking the captaincy exam.”