He watched her blush even as her own smile grew wider. He really did love her ass—it was the first thing he’d noticed about her. And even covered by the trousers of her suit and partially hidden by the matching jacket when she stood, he could still see the perfect, firm shape of it.
But he really needed to stop thinking of how much he wanted to put his hands on it, or he was going to be walking into the station noticeably distressed. His team would never let him hear the end of it.
Martie turned into the station’s parking lot then, and all thoughts of her beautiful butt fled when he noted Calvin’s Bronco parked next to his Explorer. His chest squeezed tight but he fought to put it down as he got out of Martie’s car and headed around the back, from which they retrieved Calvin’s belongings. The warm, late-summer day had led to the guys putting up the bay doors, and so they walked into the station to the right of Engine 14.
Football and Logan met them halfway through the garage. Both men eyed Martie curiously, and the latter’s lingering, appreciative glance caused Chris to frown.
“This is Lt. Martine Liotta of the Montana Bureau of Fire Safety,” he said gruffly, causing Logan to look up—finally. The other man’s brown eyes widened a fraction and he cleared his throat, reaching up to scratch his nose in a gesture Chris knew was an acknowledgment of his prior claim.
Good, he thought.
“Martie, these yahoos are Logan Kilbride and Curtis Edmonds,” he went on. “Around here we call ‘em Airborne and Football.”
“Football I get,” she said with a grin at the man who bore the nickname. “Washington Redskins all-star, ’94 to ’96. It really is too bad about the knee.”
Football grinned. “You a fan, Martie?”
“Oh yeah. You had a mean running game, up until that damn Steeler crashed into you in Pittsburgh.”
“Yeah, I coulda been retiring right now on a few fat-cat endorsement deals,” Football lamented. “But hell, the money ain’t nothin’ compared to what I do now. This is my life.”
Martie nodded and looked over at Logan with a raised eyebrow. “So how’d you get a nickname like Airborne?”
“I served six years with the 101 Airborne Division in the Army,” he told her proudly.
“Wonderful—thank you for your service,” Martie replied.
Logan looked a little taken aback, and Chris could understand why: So few people gave genuine thanks to veteran and active-duty service members. But then he smiled and nodded. “Your thanks is appreciated. I’d offer to shake your hand, but they’re a little full at the moment.”
He looked up at Chris. “These are the boss’s?”
Chris nodded. “Yeah. Hospital had the fire marshal pick ‘em up today. I want to get the turnout gear cleaned up before I take this stuff to Kara.”
“You want me to hit the boss’s locker for you?” Football asked.
“Actually, no. I got it. Martie needs to talk to you guys about the fire. The rest of the squad here yet?” Chris asked.
Football nodded. “Yeah. Still got one of the vols here too.”
“He can stay then,” Chris told him as he started toward the back of the station where the bunkroom, kitchen, dining room, office and locker rooms were. “I’ve got some work to do and we’re gonna need him if there’s a call.”
Gracechurch’s volunteer firefighters, referred to as vols by the full-time crew, weren’t actually giving up their entire day for nothing. They were each paid a generous wage, and most of them were more than willing to stay on extra hours whenever they were needed. When the four of them entered the combination lounge and dining room, everyone stood. Terry came forward and pulled something from his pocket, holding it out to Chris.
“For Calvin,” he said simply.
Chris handed the box in his arms off to Logan, who stood to his right, and took the one-inch black elastic mourning band from Terry. Because firefighters didn’t wear their badges on their uniforms, he pulled the band up his left arm and settled it over his sleeve as each of the other men had done.
He then turned toward Martie. “This is Lt. Martine Liotta from the BFS. She needs to talk to everyone from B Platoon about the fire.”
One of the guys from A Platoon came forward then and took the box she held from her arms. Chris took the one he’d carried back from Logan and, nodding at Martie, he left her to it. Jackson walked with him in silence to the laundry room, where there were industrial-grade front loading washing machines. The two of them separated the liners from Calvin’s turnout gear, closed up all the fastenings, and put them in one of the machines along with the detergent they always used. After turning the machine on, Chris thanked the younger man, who told him to think nothing of it.
When he was alone, he carried Calvin’s white helmet and boots over to the large sink along the wall, and proceeded to scrub them clean. The boots he took care of first, and when he picked up the white helmet, he looked at it a moment and studied the front. A steel shield was fastened over a hardened piece of black leather, both attached to the helmet itself. The leather was there so that the words cut into the shield could be read: at the top was the name of the city, Gracechurch, and at the bottom were the words Fire Dept. In the middle was the rank of the wearer.
Captain.
Soon he’d be wearing one of these instead of his yellow lieutenant’s helmet. Chris couldn’t really picture it. He’d led the men on B-Shift plenty of times in the past when Calvin was absent for one reason or another, and sure, he’d thought every so often of seeking a promotion to captain. But damn it, he didn’t want it like this. Not because a man was dead and his position needed to be filled. As he’d told Martie and Dresden, he wanted to earn it. Chris didn’t feel like he had.
With a sigh, he scrubbed the helmet clean and set it on a rack next to the boots to dry, then reached into the box with Calvin’s SCBA gear. He washed the tank and straps and made sure the mask was as clear as glass. After taking the tank back to refill it, he carried it with him into the locker room. He pulled the clothes out of Calvin’s locker and folded them, putting them in the bottom of the box, and placing Calvin’s personal items on top. The keys to the Bronco he placed in his pocket, as he was like to have to drive it over to his house later. Then he hung up the SCBA gear inside the locker and left the door open so that the straps could air dry.
He next carried the box into the office that was shared by the four shift leads and walked over to Calvin’s desk, clearing all of the personal items off of it and out of the drawers. Chris then took a pad of paper and itemized everything he had in the box per departmental procedure. After sitting the box to the side on the floor, he sat with his elbows on the edge of the desk and stared at the pile of folders on one corner, knowing that they were men and women who had applied for a position at the new firehouse.
Cleaning Calvin’s gear, clearing out his locker and his desk, Chris had done it all on autopilot. Except for that moment as he’d been about to clean his helmet, he’d forced himself not to think. Not to feel. Just to act. Just do the job that needed to be done because that was the only way he could get through it. He knew, of course, that business—that life—had to go on without Calvin, but looking at the pile and thinking that the responsibility was now his almost felt like a betrayal.
Like he was trying to pretend Calvin had never existed.
Which was stupid. At thirty-six years of age, he knew better. It wasn’t like him to think illogically because of how he was feeling. Despite the wildness of his teenage years, he’d long prided himself as always keeping a level head and being one of the most rational people in a group. So he was at a loss to explain why doing yet another job that needed to be done made him feel like he was dishonoring Calvin’s memory—when in fact, taking over the job Cal had started out on was the best way he could honor his friend.
The heart knows reason which reason does not know.
Chris frowned, then smiled and shook his head. Trust his grandfather’s timeless wisdom to return to him when he
needed it the most. It was one of the reasons he loved the old man so much—he always seemed to have the right words. He made a mental note to make time to get back to the reservation and see him soon and reached for the first folder on the pile.
Six
Martie sat at one of the round tables in the dining room with the other four members of Chris’s platoon. The men from A Platoon and the volunteers filling in for Calvin and Chris had all moved out into the garage to give them some privacy.
Whether by accident or design, Rick, Terry, Logan and Football appeared to have glued themselves together—they were like a big block of muscle, having moved their chairs to face her instead of sitting evenly around the table. Perhaps they were just making a statement of solidarity, perhaps they thought to intimidate her. If that were the case, then they were in for a surprise, as growing up in her family (which was full of cops, firemen, lawyers, doctors, and the occasional Mafia hitman—or so the rumor went) had given Martie quite the backbone. No man had ever intimidated her, and she wasn’t about to let these four break that record.
As with Chris, she pulled out a digital voice recorder and asked them if they minded being recorded. They all agreed. This recorder was, of course, one of her spares, as she’d left the one she normally used with Chris the night before. He hadn’t mentioned it or given it back to her yet, but she was okay with waiting. Hopefully the reason was because the words she had spoken in her message meant something to him. They had certainly meant a lot to her.
Beginning the interview, she asked each man to speak one at a time, telling her his own version of the events at the Breckon Apartments. She started with Football, whom she had learned from Chris was the man who actually found Calvin. Terry spoke next, giving a nearly identical story, as he’d gone in with Football to pull out the elderly couple as well as Captain Maynard and the little girl. Logan spoke of encountering Jessica’s mother, whose name he didn’t know, and of spending much of his time on the ladder, until he’d been the one to carry an unconscious Jessica down to the EMS team. Rick had spent all his time on the ground just a few feet from Chris, and his story was much the same as his had been.
“The reason you asking us these questions is because BFS thinks there was some sort of negligence involved?” Terry asked her.
“No, Mr. Richards,” Martie said. “The purpose of these questions is to see if any one of you remembers something, saw something, heard something, that the others did not. It helps me establish a timeline for the incident, which can become an essential component of the prosecution’s case should any fire be determined a case of arson.”
“If this is arson, does that mean whoever set the fire could also be tried for Calvin’s death?” Rick asked.
Martie nodded. “Captain Maynard’s death was a direct result of the fire, so yes. The arsonist would also likely be charged with numerous counts of endangerment, at least one for each of the residents, and possibly even attempted murder, if it can be proven that he or she intended for the residents of the building to die.”
“And Calvin?” Football pushed. “What charges might the fuckhead face for his death?”
“I can’t say for certain, but based on my experience, the charge would likely be negligent homicide,” she answered. “Of course, if the target was the first responders, the prosecution could push for a murder charge.”
Martie glanced at each man in turn. “Despite this discussion of what could happen if this turns out to be arson, I want each of you to prepare yourselves for the possibility that it was an accidental fire.”
“No way,” Logan said with a shake of his spiky blond head. “It took us maybe ten minutes to get to that building, if that long. No way a little accident like a lit cigarette sparks a few flames that become an inferno in that short amount of time.”
“The building is fifty years old, Mr. Kilbride,” Martie pointed out kindly.
Football shook his head. “Nah, I’m inclined to agree with Airborne,” he said. “That fire was burning a while before we got there. We’d probably have heard about it sooner had more than half the residents not been out at the time. There were only the old couple, Jessica, and a couple of kids from the first floor home when it started. The old couple can’t move too well on their own, Jessica was hiding in her closet because her mom had stepped out, and the kids had their music up, from what I heard. They didn’t know the place was burning down around them until smoke started creeping under their door.”
Martie made a mental note to talk about that with the two young people when she interviewed them. “That’s an interesting point,” she said slowly. “Why do you think the businesses around the Breckon Apartments didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary?”
“How often do any of us?” Logan countered. “That dentist’s office behind the Breckon building was already closed I think, but there’s a McDonald’s right next door, and they didn’t even know the building was on fire.”
“Perhaps I will just have to ask them about it,” Martie said then.
She turned her head when the four men from Chris’s unit looked up at someone coming in. Another firefighter, blond and probably early 30s, she noted. He also wore a mourning band on his left arm, despite being clad in a t-shirt and jeans.
“What’s up, Simon?” Logan asked.
Simon looked around, then queried, “Chris called me. He in the office?”
Logan nodded and Simon turned to head into the office. Then the bell rang and an announcement came over the station loudspeakers.
“Dispatch to City Fire—Engine 14, Ladder 12. Fire reported at 200 South Madison Road. Respond Code 2.”
The members of A Platoon hurried through the lounge and into the locker room even though the men of B Platoon were on the clock. Chris came out of the office, watching as they ran back through the lounge, loaded into the two vehicles, and headed out of the garage. After a moment he looked over at Martie with a slight smile, then turned to Simon. “Let’s go into the office.”
Martie stood. “Hey, Chris?” she called out.
He stopped and turned to her again. “Yeah?”
She picked up her recorder and switched it off as she spoke. “Can you give me the address of the Breckon Apartments? I’ve finished the interviews here and I’d like to get to the scene to do my survey.”
Chris started back out into the lounge. “Airborne, grab your gear and go with.”
Raising an eyebrow, she said, “I have been in my fair share of burned out buildings before, Lieutenant. I know how to handle myself—I think I can manage on my own.”
She’d addressed him by rank to remind him that while they may have agreed there was something between them, she was here to do a job.
“You’re not going by yourself. It’s too dangerous,” Chris replied firmly. “I don’t think I need to remind you that a man is dead because of that building.”
A couple of the men from his crew cleared their throats. Martie felt her spine stiffen defensively, and she fought to keep the irritation out of her voice as she said, “No, Lt. Paytah, you don’t need to remind me. Nor should I need to remind you that Calvin Maynard is the reason I am here.”
She grabbed her purse, stuffing the recorder into it and heading for the door. Martie heard Chris ordering Logan to go with her again, and she had half a mind to just take off and find the place on her own—it couldn’t be that hard. But as she was yanking the door of her car open, she made herself pause and take a calming breath. Certainly Chris knew she didn’t need a baby sitter. He was just concerned for her safety in a building that was at risk of structural collapse. In such a place, it was best to have a partner along in case of trouble.
“Lt. Liotta?”
Martie turned to find Logan standing at the front end of the Sorento, his helmet in one hand and his turnout coat slung over the other arm. Wordlessly, she gestured to the passenger side, then climbed in behind the wheel.
***
Simon Temple had watched the boys from A-Shift leave, no
doubt feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins—they all felt the thrill whenever heading out to a scene. Then Chris noticed him watching his exchange with Martie, had felt the younger man’s gaze on him as he ordered Logan to go with her a second time. He stayed standing at the end of the short hall that led to the office while the other man grabbed his helmet and bunker jacket, watching him hurry to catch up, before turning back toward the office. Simon followed wordlessly.
Reckless woman, he mused darkly. Why did she have to go and argue with him in front of his men? Didn’t she know he was just trying to look out for her? She’d worked the job herself—she had to know that going alone into a building weakened by fire—especially one as old as the Breckon Apartments—was foolhardy.
Chris sat down at the desk that still felt like it was Calvin’s and gestured for Simon to sit as well. “Have a seat,” he said gruffly.
Simon sat in the single visitor’s chair. “So, um, what can I do for you, Lieutenant?”
Opening a folder lying on the desk in front of him, Chris looked down at the paperwork inside, and then looked up at him. “I’m going to tell you something that I haven’t told anyone else yet,” he began. “And the only reason for it is because I’ve got a lot to do and not really a lot of time to do it in.”
“Okay…” Simon replied.
“The rest of the boys will hear soon enough. Though I think its bullshit to do it before he’s even in the ground, Cal’s replacement as captain of Firehouse 343 has been chosen. That replacement would be me,” Chris went on.
Simon blinked. He appeared to be contemplating whether or not to say something—“Congratulations” was not a sentiment he wanted to hear right now.
Choosing the better part of valor, Simon remained silent, saying nothing at all.
Chris looked down at the papers in front of him again. “Says here that you’re interested in a transfer,” he said, telling Simon that what he was looking at was his personnel file.
Fire Born (Firehouse 343) Page 8