by Olivia Rush
Ladder 128? Wasn’t that the station of the fireman on TV?
He handed me the warm sheet of freshly printed paper before I had the chance to think the matter over too much.
“That’s the address and all that. Tell him I sent you, and he should be eager to help out. He’s a good guy.”
I folded up the piece of paper and held it carefully in my hands as though it were made of solid gold.
“Thanks, Danvers,” I said, slipping the paper into my pocket. “You won’t regret this.”
“Here’s hoping,” he said, waving me off and turning his attention back to his computers.
With that I was off, ready to write the story of a lifetime.
2
STONE
“You serious, Chief?”
I sat back in my seat in Chief Stokes’s small office. The walls were lined with pictures of various Ladder 128 crews, along with a few knickknacks collected over the years. A big red helmet, more than a hundred years old and worn by the first chief this station ever had, hung over Chief Stokes’s desk, making it clear that he was the man in charge. Chief’s desk was clean and bare, aside from a framed picture of him, his wife Chloe, and their then-newborn baby.
“Serious as it gets,” he said.
“You really want me to take time out of station duties to talk to some random reporter?”
Stokes placed his hands on the arms of his chair and looked away for a brief moment.
“I know it seems like a waste of time, and I know you’ve probably already spent enough time talking to the press to last a damn lifetime. But the editor of the paper and I go way back, and I owe him a favor or two. So, letting one of his reporters talk to you is how I’m gonna pay him back.”
I didn’t like this. I was in this line of work to be a fireman, not to talk to the press whenever they got curious about one thing or another.
“What do they even want to know about?” I asked.
“Just want to ask a few questions about how we run things here at the station.”
“Isn’t that what the website’s for?” I asked.
“I’m no reporter,” said Stokes, “but I’m pretty sure ‘here’s what I read from a website doesn’t really qualify as thrilling journalism.”
He leaned forward, his way of letting me know he was leveling with me.
“I know this is a pain, but you know as well as I do that jobs like ours aren’t in the public eye anymore.”
“Says the man with a million views on YouTube,” I said amicably.
A while back, before he was made chief, Stokes pulled some heroics that made him a viral sensation. He was the talk of the town—at least until the next video of a panda sneezing or something came down the pike and knocked him out of the top trending spot.
“Hey, I know it better than anyone. That video got us a lot of good publicity, and good publicity can be worth its weight in gold, you know. You like the new paint on the trucks? We got that because the city took notice of us.”
“Doesn’t help that the story of the fireman and the teacher against the arsonists was the tale of the century,” I said with a grin.
“That’s what I’m saying,” he said. “You let those people in the city know that we’re not just faceless machines and they’re more likely to have your back when it comes time to vote on funding.”
“OK, OK,” I said, raising my hands in defeat. “You sold me—I’ll do it.”
“That’s my Stone,” he said. “Always a team player.”
“So, when’s this guy supposed to get here?” I asked.
A beep sounded out from Chief’s intercom.
“I think that’s her right now,” he said with a smile.
“‘Her?” I asked.
Sure, it wasn’t too hard to imagine that the reporter would be a woman, but for some reason, I’d pictured some hard-nosed guy with a paunch and an extra chin or two.
When I headed down to the station lobby to meet her, however, I saw that she was anything but that.
She was gorgeous, to put it mildly. The reporter was a redhead—a shade of red almost as intense and deep as the fresh coat of paint on our trucks. Her eyes were strikingly blue and clear. Her face was heart-shaped and stunning, and her mouth twisted into a little smirk that seemed to suggest she was in on something that you weren’t. And her body… damn. She was slim and well built, but with a roundness to her hips and ass that made my cock twitch as soon as I laid eyes on her. The buttons of her light blue blouse strained against the obviously ample cleavage underneath.
She was a knockout, through and through, the type of girl I would’ve been more than happy to take home back in my player days. But that was then, and this was now, and right now I just wanted to answer whatever questions she had and get her off my back so I could get back to real work.
“Hi!” she said, her features going as bright as a lightbulb as I approached her. “Stone Black, right?”
She stuck out a slim hand toward me. I glanced down at it skeptically, already feeling in my gut that there was more to this girl than the chipper reporter she was presenting herself as.
“That’s me,” I said, taking her hand and giving it a shake, a crackle of something like electricity running through my body as our flesh pressed. “Did Chief tell you my name?”
I glanced up to see the reporter’s eyes were lingering on me, the bottom of her lip tucked under her teeth as she chewed it softly. It looked like the attraction I’d felt from the instant I laid eyes on her was more than mutual.
“Oh no,” she said, shaking her head and coming back to the moment. “I saw a replay of your interview with the news on TV earlier today. Name like that’s hard to forget.”
“And speaking of names…”
She tapped her head with the palm of her hand.
“Oh, where are my manners?” she said. “I’m Callie Sullivan with New York Weekly.”
“New York Weekly?” I asked, crossing my arms over my barrel chest. “Isn’t that one of those rags where they talk about who’s wearing what and all that crap?”
A brief expression flashed on her face that seemed to suggest she didn’t take kindly to her paper being referred to like that. But I made sure to flash her a little smile to let her know that I wasn’t being entirely serious.
“Well, fashion and local personal-interest stories are some subjects we feature in our magazine.”
“Is ‘personal interest’ your way of saying ‘gossip’?” I had to hide my smirk. I didn’t want to give her too much trouble, but something about little Callie just made me want to tease her like a third-grader. Was it because I was so instantly attracted to her?
I put the matter out of my head.
“We like to keep on top of the matters our reader base finds to be of the most interest,” she said, clearly doing her best not to give me a piece of her mind.
“And you think an interview with a fireman is what they’re into?”
“Of course!” she said. “You guys are total heroes, but the city only gets to see you when you’re in action. They’re all dying to know just what you guys get up to when you’re not saving people from burning buildings. And your chief said you’d be just the man to talk to.”
I shifted my weight from one foot to the other as I thought the matter over. Something about just how eager this girl was made it clear that even if I were to say ‘no,’ she’d end up right back here at the same time tomorrow with a new pitch. And again the day after that, then the day after that.
“OK, fine,” I said. “Let’s head upstairs, and we can get this thing over with.”
“Awesome,” she said. “This all might seem like a pain in the butt now, but when kids are stopping you on the street begging for an autograph, you might be singing a different tune, you know.”
“Sure,” I said.
I wasn’t in this line of work for the fame, but I let her think she’d appealed to my nonexistent sense of vanity. The two of us headed upstairs. As we passed throug
h the barracks, the boys said some polite “hellos” to Callie that made it clear just how hard they were trying to not ogle her. And as the two of us were leaving the room, I took a look back over my shoulder, noting that just about every pair of eyes in the place was wide as saucers and locked onto her ass.
I wagged my finger, jokingly chiding them as we turned the corner and headed down the hallway.
“Nice day out,” I said. “Might as well do this outside.”
I led Callie to a ladder and gestured up.
“After you,” I said.
She gave me a quizzical look before taking hold of the ladder and climbing up. I followed after her, Callie’s perfectly shaped ass now right in my face. She wasn’t looking, but I felt compelled to at least pretend to be a gentleman and look away as we ascended the ladder. After a quick climb, the two of us arrived on the roof of the station, the sky a clear blue above and Brooklyn spread out all around us.
“Nice view,” she said, looking around. “I’ve got one window at my place and the only thing it has a view of is the brick exterior of the building right next to mine.”
“Damn,” I said. “Bet you pay good money for a view like that.”
Callie flashed me a smirk before taking a seat on the concrete barrier of the roof and pulling out her laptop. Then she patted the spot next to her. I took a seat and we got started.
“OK,” she said, typing away. “Stone Black. Sounds like the name of someone who should be running covert ops for the CIA or some such.”
“That’s actually my career plan if this whole fireman thing doesn’t work out,” I said. “Figure it can’t be too hard of a job to get.”
Another smirk, this one a little warmer.
“A fireman with a sense of humor,” she said, seeming pleasantly surprised.
“What,” I asked, “you expect us all to be humorless meatheads or something? I mean, don’t get me wrong—the FDNY’s got more than a few of those in the city.”
She typed something, and I craned my neck to get a glance.
“Now, now,” she said. “Don’t take look at how the sausage is made, Mr. Black.”
I raised my hands in mock defeat.
“But that’s as good a place to start as any,” she said. “Have you ever served in the military or anything like that? Seems to be pretty common for firefighters.”
“I did,” I said. “Served in the Navy. Not by choice, however.”
I regretted the words as soon as I’d spoken them. And judging by how Callie’s eyebrow raised, she knew she’d found something juicy.
“‘Not by choice, eh’?” she asked. “I have to know more about this little detail.”
“No, no,” I said. “Can this part be off the record, or whatever the term is? I don’t need the city finding out about my, ah, checkered past.”
“Fine,” she said. “But you have to tell me.”
“Do I now?”
“I mean, look at you,” she said, waving her hand in front of me. “You’re, like, an all-American quarterback type. Bet you dated the captain of the cheerleading squad and everything.”
“Ah, I wouldn’t say we really ‘dated’…”
I caught myself again. Now I was blabbing about my dating history?
Callie let out a little laugh, one that I found very easy on the ears.
“Seriously, I can’t imagine a guy like you getting up to anything more than frat hazing. What happened?”
“Very, very short version of the story is I was a little less wholesome than I looked back in college. I didn’t run with the best crowd, and when my luck caught up with me, I ended up in front of a judge, who told me that I could join up or go to jail. Seemed like a no-brainer, so the Navy it was. And that’s all you’re gonna get.”
Her features formed into a mock pout.
“Fine, fine,” she said. “So, you were a little bit of a bad boy in high school and college, then you joined the Navy, then the FDNY.”
“That’s about the long and short of it,” I said, hoping she didn’t pry into any more details.
“Good, good,” she said, her eyes on her keyboard as she typed away.
“And that scar,” she said, pointing to the patch of burned skin on my left forearm. “That happened in the line of duty?”
“No,” I said, my voice stern. “And that’s not something I’m up for discussing, so don’t bother asking.”
“Fair enough,” she said, typing more.
“Now,” she said, taking her blue eyes up from her computer. “I have lots of questions about your life as a fireman, what made you sign up for the FDNY, all of that. But I’m thinking this story really needs to start with a contemporary angle, something to hook the reader.”
“Okay,” I said, not sure where she was going with this.
“So, what I’m hoping for is that you can give us a behind-the-scenes look at the fires that’ve been breaking out across the city. You know, the office fires that no one can seem to figure out.”
“Wait a minute,” I asked. “You want to know information about the fires that the FDNY and NYPD haven’t released to the public? Kind of stretching the definition of ‘behind-the-scenes.’”
Callie’s eyes went wide for the briefest of moments, and I got the distinct impression that I’d just caught her in the middle of something.
“I, um, just think it’d be interesting information to have in the article. You know, I profile the station, and then I add in little bits here and there about the investigation in progress. Kind of like, two stories in one.”
That’s when it dawned on me that I was, in fact, talking to a member of the press. And in my experience with the press, they’ll say whatever they need to in order to get the information they’re looking for.
“Let me ask you this, ace reporter,” I said, moving over and putting a little distance between us. “Are you here to do a write-up on the station, or are you here to get breaking information on the fires? Because something’s telling me that you’re not exactly solely interested in the human angle here.”
“Listen,” she said. “Stone, I’ll level with you—it’s the fires I’m interested in. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m sure that life here at Ladder 128 is thrilling and all that.”
“Glad to hear that,” I said. “Don’t know what I’d do if I thought you weren’t totally entranced by my lifestyle.”
She scrunched up her face in a way that, I think, was an attempt to look pissed. But it actually looked pretty cute.
“These fires are the story of the year,” she said. “I can just tell. And if I can break the story with information from the firemen themselves, I know it’ll be just the story I need to make my mark.”
She flashed me a winsome little smile and a wink. I couldn’t believe what this girl was telling me.
“Listen, Callie. I don’t know if you think that you can walk into any place in the city, wiggle that cute little ass of yours, and get whatever information you need, but it’s not working with me. Now, if you want my help, you’re gonna need to give me a little better reason than how good it’d be for you.”
A little pout formed on her face, and I could tell that I was right on in my assumption that she was used to men tripping over themselves to impress her. Hell, with a body like that, I couldn’t really blame her for putting it to use.
“You want me to make the case for you as to why you should help me?”
I shook my head. “You’re not getting it, are you?” I said. “You lied about why you wanted to come here, you lied to the chief, and you lied to me. As far as I’m concerned, this conversation’s over.”
I stood up and started toward the ladder leading down from the roof.
“Come on!” she exclaimed as she ran toward me with little, hurried steps. “Maybe if you give me a little insider info I might be able to, you know, help you guys out or something!”
I couldn’t help but let out a booming laugh.
“How old are you, anyway?” I asked.
<
br /> “Twenty-six,” she said, a stern look on her face.
“You’ve got a lot to learn about how the world works, Miss Sullivan. And here’s a lesson from me to you. Just because you want something really, really badly doesn’t mean that the world needs to bend over backward to give it to you.”
I gestured toward the ladder. Callie opened her mouth to speak but closed it before any words came out. I got the impression she realized that this battle was over. She stomped her foot on the concrete before starting down the ladder.
“Careful now,” I said, a smirk on my face.
I met her at the bottom, and she gave me another hard look.
“Listen,” she said. “You don’t understand how stubborn I am when it comes to stuff like this. I’m gonna find out what I need to find out, and if you want to help me and be a part of it, then that’d be great. If not, you can just get out of my way.”
“That’s an easy decision to make,” I said.
With that, I stepped aside. Callie gave me one last harrumph as she shot past me, down into the lobby, and out one of the side doors.
Something told me, however, that this wasn’t going to be the least I heard from Miss Callie Sullivan.
3
CALLIE
I was so mad at Stone that I wanted to punch the damn wall. I let out a cry of frustration as soon as I stepped out of the fire station, angry at myself for wasting my time, and even more furious with myself for not having the foresight to think Stone might be savvy enough to figure out what I was up to.
I supposed I figured a pretty boy like him would be all looks and no brains. But as I thought the matter over during my walk back to the subway station, I considered that “pretty boy” wasn’t really the right way to describe him.
I mean, his face was something else, but the man was built like a tank—all muscle, shoulders like boulders, had to have been at least six-four. For me, “pretty boy” tended to bring to mind those waifish hipster types I’d always see walking around Brooklyn, not men who looked like they could take a damn cannonball to the gut and still be ready to eat half a farm for breakfast.