Feel the Heat

by Kathryn Shay

  “Sure, I’m done at the academy for the day. Let’s go.”

  Five minutes later they were seated at Minx’s, a cozy, two-room restaurant only a block from Quint/Midi Twelve and a little farther from the academy. Beth sipped a glass of wine, and Francey drank a beer.

  “How are you faring without work?” Beth asked.

  “I’m okay.” She held up her arm. “The cast comes off next week, so there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. I should be back on the line maybe by the end of May.”

  “Super. Been working out?”

  “Yeah, at Chelsea’s gym. And I’ve been running every day.”

  Beth’s auburn eyebrows knitted. “Be careful. Your balance will be off from the arm. I’d hate to see you injured from a fall while you were running.”

  “We’re taking it easy.”

  “We?”

  “I’m running with Alex.”

  “I thought you weren’t going to see him.”

  “I wasn’t.” She hesitated. “He suggested we run together, mostly so he could watch over me, I think. It’s worked out well.” At Beth’s frown, Francey added, “We’re just friends. We’re not letting the relationship go any further.”

  “Good.”

  “You don’t like him?”

  “I have no opinion one way or the other of him. You decided he wasn’t good for you. Your reasons are sound. People should make rational decisions and stick to them.” Beth’s clinical diagnosis of the situation didn’t match the turmoil Francey experienced whenever she thought about her and Alex.

  “I think I’m supporting my decision not to get involved, no matter when or where I see him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s going to Philadelphia at the end of the week on business. I’d love to see the fire museum there. We talked about my tagging along.” Francey took a swallow of beer. “I’ve decided not to go. I’d be tempting fate.”

  Beth nodded. “Good girl. You can’t be too careful.”

  Francey usually disagreed with that. She’d always felt Beth Winters was way too cautious about life, often to her own detriment. “In this case you’re right.” She picked up a menu. “Now, let’s eat.”

  oOo

  Alex sank back into his leather office chair, his mouth agape. “What?”

  The fresh-faced investigator who was filling in for Bob Zeleny shifted uncomfortably, an understudy unsure of his role. “The fire was not accidental. We’ve gone over all the data, and our report will state that the blaze was set intentionally.”

  “Arson?”

  “Fire Marshal Zeleny will have to determine whether or not there was criminal intent. But the burn pattern and the charring indicate that the fire itself was started on purpose.”

  “What else could the cause be?” Richard leaned forward in his seat. His face was drawn and rather pale.

  “Again, Fire Marshal Zeleny will have to decide that. I can’t say for sure someone wanted to burn the building down. All I can say is that the evidence shows the fire was lit intentionally with a device. We found the remains of some metal that looked like an electric fire starter.”

  “You must have some ideas.” Alex struggled to keep the frustration out of his voice.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Templeton. You insisted on an update, and that’s all I can give you.” The investigator raked a hand through his short crop of hair. “I probably shouldn’t have told you this much until the fire marshal makes his final decision.” He stood and snapped his briefcase shut. “Captain Zeleny will be in touch. We’re not going any further because he’s expected to be back next week sometime.”

  After the investigator left, Richard loosened the knot of his tie and swore. “What the hell does this mean?”

  Alex rubbed the bridge of his nose where a headache was trying to take root. “I can’t believe someone set fire to our business.”

  Standing, Richard prowled the office. He’d been tense lately. Alex had played golf with him on Saturday, and his brother had seemed distracted and quiet.

  “You doing all right?” Alex asked, studying him.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m concerned about you. You seem anxious.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be? This goddamned investigation is taking forever.”

  “Francesca says it’s common for investigations to drag on like this.”

  Richard stopped in his tracks. “Francesca? I thought you’d decided not to see her.”

  “I’m not seeing her romantically. I’m spending some time with her as a friend.”

  “Give me a break, Alex. No one wants to be friends with a woman like her.”

  “A woman like her?” Alex frowned. “You haven’t even met her.”

  “She’s a woman in an all-male profession.” At Alex’s raised eyebrows, Richard added, “She sleeps with a group of men every night. How many of them has she boffed, do you think?”

  Lurching forward, Alex slapped his hand on the desk. “I don’t ever want to hear anything like that out of your mouth again.” The buzzer sounded on Alex’s phone. He glared at Richard for a second, then picked it up. “Templeton.”

  “Alex, this is Mike, at the guard station out front. There’s a woman here to see you. She said if I called you, you’d let her in. Name’s Francey Cordaro.”

  “Yes, of course.” He eyed Richard, who was leaning sulkily on the doorjamb. “Show her back, would you, Mike?”

  When Alex replaced the receiver, Richard walked to the window and stared out. After a long minute, he turned to face Alex and jammed his hands in the pockets of his expensive suit. “I’m sorry if I was out of line. Ever since I was little I hated getting you mad. Or disappointing you. This thing with the fire is making me crazy.”

  “You’re my brother, Richard, and I’m glad you’re concerned about me, about the family again. But my relationship with Francesca isn’t anything to worry about.” He glanced to the doorway, then at Richard. “Let’s table this discussion now. She’s coming in here any minute.”

  As Alex stood and shrugged into his sport coat, Francey appeared in the doorway. She glanced at Richard. “Excuse me, the guard brought me back here. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

  “You didn’t.” Alex circled the desk as she entered the room. Richard pivoted. “I’d like you to meet my brother. Francesca, this is Richard Templeton.”

  When he moved in closer, she held out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Richard.”

  Alex watched Richard rein in his surprise. “You, too, Francesca. I owe you for saving Alex’s life.” He turned to Alex with a give-me-a-break expression on his face. Alex didn’t need to be a mind reader to know his brother’s thoughts. How could you be friends with anyone who looked like Francesca? And God, she was beautiful tonight. Even the navy slacks of her uniform accented those long legs. And the light blue shirt didn’t disguise her full breasts.

  “I’ll be going now.” Richard faced Francesca again. “Good to have met you.”

  When Richard left, Alex focused on her. “This is a surprise. I didn’t expect to see you tonight. Sit down.”

  She took a nearby chair. “I had dinner with my friend Beth a couple of blocks away and decided to visit you, knowing you’d probably still be working.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s seven o’clock, Alex.”

  He dropped into the chair Zeleny’s assistant vacated. “This has been a hell of a day.”

  Francey observed him. “Want to talk about it?”

  He did. Especially to someone who knew the circumstances. Briefly he filled her in on the latest development, then finished, “What could be a reason other than arson that a fire was intentionally set with an electric starter?”

  Francey shrugged. “There’s a lot of them.”

  “Give me one.”

  “Could be a homeless person found a door open and came inside. He started a fire for warmth and the thing got out of hand.”

  “Was it cold that night?”

  “No, but it had been ra
ining earlier. He’d have been chilled and wet from that.”

  “Still…”

  “I’ve seen this kind of thing happen. I’ve actually been called to a fire where that was the case.”

  Alex leaned back, closed his eyes and massaged the tense muscles in his neck. “That possibility makes me feel better.” He glanced at her. “You do that a lot.”

  “I do?” Her smile lit up the room.

  “Yes.” He held her gaze. “Do it again this weekend. Come with me to Philadelphia. Distract me from all of this.” He motioned around the room with his hand. “Make me feel better.”

  She hesitated. “That’s what I came to talk to you about.”

  “Say yes.” He gave her an ingratiating grin. “Please.”

  She stared at him. He couldn’t read her expression. Then, almost resignedly, she said, “All right, I’ll go.”

  oOo

  Alex clicked the shutter of his camera, capturing Francesca’s image as she spoke to the curator of Philadelphia’s Firemen’s Hall Museum. Herb MacGregor, a line firefighter who oversaw the restored firehouse, had snagged her as soon as they walked in. Alex leaned against the wall and watched her chat animatedly with him. She’d been just as energetic and interesting on the trip down. He hadn’t laughed so much in years…

  “Where did you get that book?” he’d asked as she read aloud from a book called Firefighters: Humorous Stories and Jokes.

  “Dylan brought it over last night.”

  “It’s dumb. Read me some more.”

  “All right, let me see.” She’d flipped through the pages as Alex steered his Porsche down Route 17. He rarely drove long distances anymore, but this trip had proved to be pure pleasure. Francesca had entertained him for three hours, and time had flown by.

  “Oh, my God,” she’d gasped.

  “Come on, woman. Aloud.”

  “All right.” She cleared her throat. “Why do firefighters make such good lovers?”

  Alex practically swallowed his tongue to keep from saying, Because they’re just like you. Interesting. Funny. Beautiful. And sexy as hell. “I, um, don’t know. Why?”

  “There’s a list.” She giggled.

  “You aren’t embarrassed, are you, Francesca?”

  “Not after what I hear at the fire station. The guys are like adolescents once they get going. Okay, one—because all firemen are hung like hose.” Alex rolled his eyes. “Two—because female firefighters do it on their knees.”

  Alex laughed. “Now that has possibilities.”

  She sniffed in pretended offense. “Number three, because firefighters always come in emergencies.”

  Closing the book, she’d stretched the seat belt and swiveled to the side, the new cast hardly an impediment anymore. “Okay, tell me a businessman’s joke.”

  “I don’t know any.”

  “Sure you do. Come on, just one.”

  Alex strove to remember some of the funny stories and humor that made their way to him. “Oh, yeah, I do know one. These three guys, a doctor, an architect and a salesman, who is a businessman, decided to have a contest to see whose dog was the best. They tied up a bag of bones and hung it overhead. The doctor started. He stood and said, ‘Okay, Scalpel, go get ‘em.’ Scalpel ran to the bag of bones, yanked it down and made a full-size, anatomically correct skeleton. Then the architect got up. ‘Okay, Slide Rule, go get ‘em.’ Slide Rule ran to the bones, got the bag down and built a three-story house out of them. Then the businessman lazed back and said, ‘Okay, Expense Account, go get ‘em.’ Expense Account bounded to the bones, wrestled them down, ate the whole bag, screwed the other two dogs and took the afternoon off.”

  Francey had giggled again…

  From across the room, he saw her approach him. “Firefighter MacGregor has some documents he wants to show me in the back. Would you like to come with me?”

  He feigned a scowl. “Is this like a firefighter’s version of showing you his etchings?”

  “Stop.” She batted his arm playfully. “You wanna come?”

  “No, I’ll pass.” He indicated a small bench to the left. “I’ll sit here and do some things on my phone.”

  “All right, but don’t go through the displays without me.”

  “I’ll try to stop myself.”

  When she was gone, he sat and pulled out his phone and clicked into the note-taking app. He hadn’t had time to record his impressions of the meeting with Scientific Equipment about buying their company. He’d conferred with the president all morning, had lunch with the executives, but the plum of his day had been meeting Francesca at the museum at one o’clock. So instead of writing down his thoughts, he focused on her.

  The night before, when they’d arrived at the Warwick Hotel where he’d reserved a suite for them…

  Francesca had stood at the concierge desk and stared at him. “A suite?”

  “Yes. I always stay in a suite. It has a couple of bedrooms and a living room and kitchenette.”

  “Fine. How much is it?”

  Alex folded his arms. “Why?”

  “Because I want to pay my share.”

  Struggling to keep a straight face, Alex shook his head. “Francesca, I’m paying for the rooms.”

  “Not for mine.” She turned to the concierge and, in a move that would have made Susan B. Anthony proud, pulled her credit card out of her backpack and handed it to him. When he hesitated, she asked, “You do know how to split the bill, don’t you?”

  The man had looked at Alex, and when he’d nodded, said graciously, “Yes, of course.”

  Once they followed the bellman to their suite, Alex faced her. “Is it okay if I get the tip?”

  “Sure. I’ll get the next one.” When the bellman left, she gave him an arch look. “Don’t worry, Alex, I won’t embarrass you. I know what a good tip is.”

  He’d grinned at her. “Sweetheart, the last thing you do is embarrass me. Now, trampling on my ego is another thing. Don’t you know the man is supposed to pay?”

  “That’s Neanderthal, Templeton. Welcome to the twenty-first century.” Then her violet eyes grew huge and serious. “I didn’t think, though…downstairs, were you embarrassed?”

  He crossed to her and ran his knuckles down her cheek.

  “Not in the least. But I insist I treat for dinner tomorrow night. I’ve got a special place in mind.”

  “I never refuse a free meal.” Then she drew back. “But how about tonight? I’m starved.”

  “Surprise, surprise.” He picked up the room service menu. “Here. Order for us both while I shower.”

  He went into one of the bedrooms, shaking his head. She was quite simply enchanting. Everything she did pleased him. He’d purposely quelled the little jolt of pain that shot through him when he admitted how much he liked her. But he wasn’t going to brood because he couldn’t have more. He planned to enjoy what he had.

  They’d eaten rare, juicy steaks and baked potatoes with gobs of sour cream, drank a bottle of dry red wine and watched some TV before they turned in. If he’d gone to bed alone and frustrated, it was worth having her with him. He’d slept surprisingly well and looked forward to the day with her…

  “Sorry I was so long.” She glanced at his phone. “Did you take your notes?”

  He stood and smiled. “No, just thought about things. Come on, I’m dying to see this place.”

  She angled her head at him. “Are you really?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  “Firefighting isn’t an interest of yours.”

  Unable to resist her, he tugged on a lock of her hair. “No, but it’s one of yours. So I want to learn about the history.”

  Smiling at the compliment, she headed across the room. The wall opposite the entryway was long and curved. Painted on it was a mural of an early bucket brigade—life-size images of firemen, buckets, wagons and horses, all silhouetted in black. Beneath the painting was a glass-enclosed case of fire artifacts. She painstakingly read each plaque.

  �
�What would these be used for?” Alex asked, pointing to a group of fire marks.

  “They indicated which houses had insurance and which company would reimburse the fire department.”

  Down a small incline was the bay that housed the old-time trucks. A brass pole stood in the corner. “Ah, the famous fire pole.” Alex ran his hand over the smooth surface.

  “Yeah. An accident waiting to happen.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The first fire poles were wood. Splinters were murder.”

  “Is that why they got rid of them?”

  “No, because next they went to brass. They stopped using those because of the sprains firefighters got when they slid down.” She shook her head. “I guess the designers of firehouses thought it would be quicker to use a pole, but waking up from a dead sleep and reacting in minutes is tough enough. To slide down a pole from the second floor is nuts.”

  “Get over there, I’ll take your picture.”

  Laughing, she scooted across the room, grasped the pole and wrapped her leg around it—her long, better-than-a-Rockette’s leg, outlined perfectly in black spandex pants. He groaned and snapped the picture.

  Patiently she led Alex to the old pumpers and ladder trucks, pushed the More Information button every time she saw one and listened attentively to each speech.

  “I didn’t know Dalmatians were firehouse dogs because they got along with horses,” she commented. “I wonder if Dylan does.”

  Dylan, again. Alex was getting to hate a man he’d never met. “Dylan?”

  “Yeah, he has this beautiful Dalmatian named Quint.”

  “Quint, after your…rig, right?”

  When she threw a friendly arm around his back, he slid his around her waist. “You catch on fast, buddy.”

  He squeezed her firm body through her pink oversize shirt and felt his heart rate kick up. “I try, Francesca.”

  Alex admired the architecture of the restored firehouse as they trekked upstairs. Everything was brick; two circular staircases led to what simulated old-fashioned firehouse quarters, along with other displays. Covering the wall of one staircase was a mural of a famous Philadelphia fire. Alex snapped a photo of Francesca studying it, as if she was picturing being there. As he stared at the raging flames and clouds of dense smoke, he tried to imagine her in the midst of the inferno. Out of nowhere, a blast of fear hit him like a sucker punch to the gut. The danger she faced daily was staggering. It took him the climb of the rest of the steps to get over the fact of her vulnerability.