Читать книгу Where There's Smoke - Kristin Hardy - Страница 10

If he ever won the lottery, Nick thought, he’d hire people to shop for him. Not just certain kinds of shopping—pretty much anything that involved cash registers and standing in line. Certainly anything with narrow aisles and those shiny chrome racks crammed so close together that he was perpetually bumping them with his shoulders.

“Can I help you?”

A teenaged sales clerk popped up at his elbow. The fixed, Mouseketeer smile on her face scared him a little. On the other hand, having to spend more than two more minutes in the boutique scared him more.

He looked at the piles of silky scarves and fancy handbags. “I need a birthday gift for my mother.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place. How about something to add a little color to her winter wardrobe?” she asked, holding up a sheer band of fabric with a twisting pattern of burgundy and gold.

The dark red brought Sloane Hillyard to mind. Not that he needed a prompt. She’d been in his thoughts since she’d come to the station two days before. Granted, she had a face that was hard to forget, but if it had only been that, he could have dismissed her as a high-tech huckster. What had made her linger with him was the way she’d looked at the end. There had been that instant that she’d paled. And the words, so impassioned she’d practically vibrated with them: If I save one life, just one life…

There was something driving her, that much was obvious. He couldn’t help but admire her for it. There was a “Why” there and it was enough to make him wonder about the project. Of course, if his mind returned to the generous sweep of her mouth, the fire of her hair, the heat that had flashed between them in his office, he was only human, right?

Forget about the project, it was enough to make him wonder about her. And wonder where the testing might take them.

“Do you see any scarves your mother might like?”

The clerk’s voice broke into his thoughts and Nick brought his focus back to the task at hand. There was plenty to think about there, too. “My mother’s not much of a scarf person,” he answered. At least not scarves that were more for looks than for warmth. On the other hand, why not? He’d come in with the vague idea that he wanted to get her something different, something other than a new plant or a sweater from L.L. Bean.

Something that would surprise her, maybe put the spark back in her eye, the spark that had been missing since his father had died the previous spring.

Somehow, though, a scarf didn’t quite seem likely to do it.

“How about something to pamper her?” The sales clerk was twinkling at him, he noticed uneasily. “We have some nice bath sets with body gels and lotions.”

“Not sure I want to go there. How about something else?”

“A watch?” She led him from the small gift section over to the glass display cases.

“I don’t think so.” A watch would be unnecessary at the Trask family farm; there, you simply rose before dawn with the shrieking alarm clock and worked until long after dark. He looked at the velvet-lined cases filled with rings and bracelets of gleaming metal. Shiny and cold and all so unlike Molly Trask. He’d never actually seen her wear jewelry anyway, except for the plain band of gold his father had given her. The band of gold she still wore. “Do you have anything else?”

“Well, we’ve got—”

“Hold on.” A warm, soft gleam caught his eye. “What’s that?”

“Oh, good choice.” The clerk’s eyes brightened, this time in a decidedly mercenary fashion as she led him over to the far end of the case. “That’s our Vintage Collection, made by a local designer out of antique and rose gold. She does some really lovely pieces.”

For those prices they ought to be, Nick thought, but there was a simple grace to the necklace that had first caught his eye. “How about that one?”

She beamed. “Perfect. It’s a charm necklace. The artist has made a whole collection of birthstone charms that go with it.”

Perfect, indeed. “That’s it,” he decided, reaching back for his wallet. “Let’s see…give me a charm each for October, May, January, September and December.” One for her, his father, his two brothers and himself. A reminder of family around her neck all the time. She’d like that, he thought. You needed family around when times were tough.

And sudden guilt nipped at him with tiny, sharp teeth.

He hadn’t left Vermont to hurt anyone. He’d left because it was the only way he could breathe. As much as he’d loved his family, he’d needed more than anything to find his own way. He’d always assumed they’d be there when he went back.

He’d never expected his father to die so young.

And yet, in its own way, firefighting was his way of honoring his father’s legacy. For as long as Nick could remember growing up, Adam Trask would drop anything he was doing at the sound of the town siren and rush to join the other volunteer firefighters to beat back flames.

Nick remembered the day the siren had sounded when they’d been at the farm supply store: the exhilarating drive to the firehouse, the purposeful rush of the men as they’d leapt into the fire engine. Instructions to Nick to stay put had held only as long as it had taken the pumper to leave, then he’d jogged out into the street and down toward the scent of smoke. The mixed terror and pride of watching his father plunge into the burning building was still as fresh in memory as it had been that day. Seeing him hurry out, soot-streaked, with a young girl clutching at his neck, had filled Nick with a kind of baffled awe.

Somehow, Nick thought as he signed the charge slip for the clerk, staying on the Trask farm to make maple syrup had never even come close.

He walked outside, fishing in the pocket of his bomber jacket for his cell phone, flipping it open to punch up a number.

The line clicked. “Gabe Trask.”

“You owe me two hundred bucks,” Nick told his younger brother as he crossed the pavement to his Jeep.

“You don’t say. You late on your car payment again?”

“Nope. You said we’d split Mom’s present. That’s splitting it.”

There was a short silence. “I left you with responsibility of picking Mom’s present?”

“Yep.”

“What was I thinking?”

Nick unlocked his door and got in. “How to come out smelling like a rose with zero effort?”

“Hey, I want a shopping mall, I’ve got either an hour drive over to Stowe or two hours down to Concord.”

“You’re breaking my heart, here.” Nick hooked his phone up to the hands-free cord. “Listen, I just shopped voluntarily, thanks to you.”

“Now who’s whining?”

“Me.” Nick turned the key and the Jeep roared to life.

“So what did we buy for her?”

“A necklace.” There was a short silence. “Gabe, you there?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, I just fell asleep from boredom for a minute there. Tell me you got something a little more original than a gold chain.”

“Have some faith, will you? It’s a charm necklace made out of antique gold.”

“Hence, the price,” Gabe said dryly.

Nick checked behind him and backed out of the parking space. “It made me think of her,” he said simply. “She can wear it all the time under her clothes and it’s got a charm for everyone in the family.”

“That’s not bad,” Gabe admitted. “Let me guess. A woman helped you pick it out, right?”

An image of Sloane’s face flashed into Nick’s head. “Nope, not unless you count the clerk who took my money.”

“Gee, my brother’s evolving in the big city. So are you going to bring it up for the party?”

“I can’t make it to the party,” Nick said, stifling another stab of guilt. “I’ve got one more week until the promotional exam. I’ve got to spend every minute studying that I can.”

Gabe cleared his throat. “Jacob’s not going to be happy.”

“Now there’s a surprise.” There was a lot that didn’t make their elder brother happy these days and most of it centered around Nick. “I’ve put a year into this exam. I can’t drop the ball at the last minute. I’ll overnight you the present and you can take it to her. She’ll understand.”

“I’m sure.”

“Look, I’m sorry Dad died, but I can’t quit my job and move home.” The words were out before Nick could stop them.

“And I didn’t ask you to,” Gabe said carefully. “You’ve got something to work out with Jacob, you do it with him, okay? I gave up being the go-between when I hit puberty.”

Nick pulled up to the exit of the parking lot and watched the sweep of passing traffic. “Oh, I don’t know. You made out pretty well being a go-between when we were kids. In fact, I remember a couple of summers you extorted candy bars from me just about every week to smooth things over.”

“Extorted is an ugly word,” Gabe said reprovingly. “I had a gift for working with people and you wanted to show your appreciation for my efforts. Who was I to say no?”

“Particularly when you had your hand out.”

“When opportunity knocks…”

Nick punched the accelerator and whipped out onto the highway. “Exactly. Still like Baby Ruths?”

Walking down the white hallway to her lab at Exler, Sloane could hear the radio before she ever neared the door. The station promo segued into a song, accompanied by her lab intern, Dave Tomlinson, an MIT engineering student assigned to her for the year. Bright and efficient, he had a quirky sense of humor and a penchant for indie rock, preferably at high decibels. And invariably he sang along. Sloane fought a smile and reached out for the doorknob.

Dave’s wobbly falsetto carried out into the hall, breaking off abruptly when Sloane opened the door. “Uh-oh.” His hand was already on the dial, turning down the volume. “The warden returns.”

“And none too soon. Do you know they can hear you down in manufacturing? You’d better watch out or the only place you’ll be playing tunes will be your dorm room.”

Dave sat at the computer workstation and grinned. “You say that, but I don’t think it really bugs you. Deep down inside, I think you got a soft spot for me.”

“Quite an imagination you’ve got. You should have gone to Berklee College to be a rock star instead of MIT,” she said, flicking a glance at the list of chords and lyrics he’d scribbled on the lab white board.

“But then you’d have some boring goob of an intern instead of a talented, charismatic young guy you liked.”

“What I like is interns who get their jobs done.” Her tone would have carried more authority if humor hadn’t hovered just beneath the surface.

“Yeah, that was what you said when you tutored me in thermo.”

That had been when she’d known she was in trouble. Her ice look, the one that had always kept her assistants at a respectful distance, had never worked on Dave.

Now, he squinted unrepentantly at the computer and tapped the keys. “Hey, I get something done now and then. Did you notice these?” With a flourish he indicated the Orienteer modules and user manuals stacked neatly at one end of the lab bench. “All of them loaded up with software and calibrated, ready to go live. I’m running a simulation on the last one now.”

“Very nice.” Sloane admired them. “Fast work. How did you get all this done? You were only just starting when I left for my meeting.”

He shrugged, clicking his mouse. “I kind of skipped lunch.”

“What?” She frowned at him. “You’re too skinny as it is, Dave.” She didn’t recognize herself playing the role of older sister because she’d never been one. “Go eat and I’ll finish qualifying the last one. Go,” she shooed as he hesitated. “Now.”

Dave stood up and grabbed his sunglasses off his desk. “Okay, mem sahib, your wish is my command.” He walked jauntily out into the hall. A moment later the door opened again and his head popped back inside. “Hey, boss?”

“Yes?”

“You really think I could be a rock star?”

Sloane tried to keep a straight face. “Truth?”

“Truth.”

“Don’t quit your day job,” she advised.

The door to the lab clicked closed on his whistle and Sloane got to work monitoring the simulations. Her good humor slid into humming concentration as she ran the Orienteer module through scenario after scenario. When the phone rang, she picked it up absently. “Sloane Hillyard.”

“Nick Trask, Ladder 67.”

She would have recognized his voice even without the introduction. It was unsettling how clearly she could imagine the lines of his face. Still, no one was going to distract her from getting the gear qualified, no matter how good-looking he was. Too much was at stake.

She made herself speak coolly, impersonally. “Captain Trask. How are you?”

“Good enough. How about you?”

“Fine, thanks. I saw the fire at the tank farm on the news. It looked bad.”

“For a while. We held onto it, though. Chief Douglass is a good firefighter.” It was the highest praise a firefighter could give.

“I’m glad everything worked out all right.” Sloane took a deep breath. “So what can I do for you, captain?”

“You could call me Nick, for starters. I only get called Captain Trask when I’m visiting schools or getting chewed out by the chief.”

She blinked. “Why?”

“Why do I get chewed out?”

“Why should I call you Nick?”

“We’re going to be working together, right? It might make things a little more friendly.”

“You didn’t seem too happy about the situation the other day. Why the sudden change of pace?”

“Call it an experiment. I know Ayre’s an operator, but you were right the other day, I don’t know you at all. I figure you deserve the benefit of the doubt.”

Oh, nice wasn’t fair, she thought with a little twist of alarm. Nice could be dangerous. Nice could be just the start of far more than she could handle. She paused. “So what can I do for you…Nick?”

“I thought it was the other way around. That was the gist of our conversation yesterday, wasn’t it?”

“It was.” Sloane drew a precise pattern of interlocking diamonds on her desk blotter, trying to ignore the quick flutter in her stomach. “You made it pretty clear you wanted nothing to do with pandering to the politicos.” And she wanted nothing to do with any man who could make her stomach flutter. Especially if he was a firefighter.

“You hold a grudge?”

“No, but I need cooperation. Nick.”

“Well, my opinion of the situation hasn’t changed, but as you pointed out, it isn’t up to me. So if I can help you out—safely—then I’ll do it.”

The stiff note in his voice let her relax a bit. “Start with an open mind.”

“Done. If the equipment’s good, you’ll have my support. Just don’t expect it to go any further than the testing. The day the department has the money to buy pricey electronics like you’re peddling is the day I’ll be driving to work in a Rolls.”

Sloane took a deep breath. “I don’t know what you drive, but I do know this equipment is going to be an important tool, as common in firehouses as thermal cameras.”

“No doubt.”

“No, there isn’t,” she said shortly. There couldn’t be, not after all she’d been through. “Now is there something else, Captain Trask?”

“Nick. And yeah, there is. I need to know what you want to do about the testing. How many men you want, when, what kind of apparatus, all that. You might find an engine company better suited to your needs, by the way.”

Sloane shook her head, forgetting that he couldn’t see her. “No, it has to be a truck company. I’ve got five Orienteers to test, plus the master unit that I’ll be using to monitor. I’d like to keep it to the same group of men.”

“We can do that if you schedule carefully.”

“Good. What I had in mind was a session or two at the training facility, where we’ll have control. Once I’m sure the kinks are all out of it, you can start taking it onto fire grounds. I need a minimum of three fire situations over and above the training facility sessions to get meaningful statistics.”

“Okay. Let’s set up some dates.”

It didn’t take long, when it came down to it, and she entered the dates in her computer with satisfaction. “We’re all set, then. I’ll see you at the Quincy facility on Saturday.”

“All right.” Nick paused. “You know, Bill Grant backed you when I talked to him. Despite his unfortunate tendency to cooperate with Ayre, he’s a good man. Don’t let him down.”

Sloane hung up the telephone. Don’t let him down. The words echoed in her mind as she stared at the computer screen. She wasn’t seeing the data, though. She was seeing a red-headed boy hanging around the local firehouse, wiping down the engine and listening to the stories of courage and glory. Don’t let him down. She saw him on the edge of manhood, wearing the blue of the Hartford fire service, his lieutenant’s badge gleaming on his chest, pride gleaming in his eyes. She saw him at the altar, uncomfortable in his tuxedo and unmindful of the discomfort as he looked at the glowing woman who had just become his wife. Don’t let him down. She saw his casket being lowered into the ground.

The fire had been in an abandoned warehouse honeycombed with cold-storage lockers, decrepit and way below code. Two of Mitch’s guys had been searching a tangle of rooms for victims when the smoke had thickened and they’d gotten lost. Mitch had plunged in to find them. And had never come out.

How quickly had he passed out from the fumes after his air had run out? Sloane wondered for the thousandth time. Seconds? Heartbeats? Before or after he heard the voices of the firefighters on the other side of the wall, the firefighters who couldn’t find him?

Before or after the whole room flashed over into merciless, killing flame?

Officially, the cause of death had been the smoke inhalation, but the real culprit had been the labyrinthine building and the lack of orientation equipment. It could happen to any firefighter at any time. It had been Mitch’s bad luck it had happened to him. Even five years later, remembering made her tighten with the fury of senseless waste, struggle against the tearing loss.

Don’t let him down.

She wouldn’t let him down, Sloane thought now, staring around her lab, nor any of the people who staked their lives on the quality of their equipment. And she wouldn’t let down their families. She remembered what it was like to lose someone. She remembered too well….