Fire Born (Firehouse 343) (11 page)

Officially, at any rate.
The Chief of Fire Operations
(who was in charge of fire services not only within the city but also the four surrounding townships)
had
elected to move into
an
office
at New City Hall. Only the
Fire Marshal and the Chief of Emergency Medical Services had chosen to remain in the old offices.

After passing through security, Chris led Martie toward the back of the building. They were greeted warmly by the receptionist and informed that “Marshal Dresden is expecting you, Lieutenant. He said to go on back.”

Chris nodded and headed for Dresden’s office, leading Martie down a short hallway before coming to a stop in front of a door with the marshal’s name and position on it in stenciled lettering. He raised his hand and knocked on the frosted glass, feeling somewhat nervous as to what this meeting was about.

“Come in.”

Opening the door, he stepped aside and let Martie precede him,
then
Chris entered and closed it behind him. Bob Dresden looked at him with one eyebrow raised.

“Marshal, this is Lt. Martine
Liotta
of the Montana Bureau of Fire Safety,” he said, introducing the two.

Martie stepped up to the desk and offered Dresden her hand, which he shook after standing. “
We spoke on the phone yesterday—it’s nice to put a face to the name.”

“Forgive my intrusion, Marshal Dresden,” Martie said with an apologetic smile. “But after speaking with Lt. Paytah at the hospital yesterday, I learned that he and Miss Maynard were without transportation home. Given that I was planning to come to Gracechurch to speak with the rest of his crew and visit the scene, I offered them a ride so that the lieutenant wouldn’t have to spend money on a rental.”

“That was very kind of you, Lt.
Liotta
,” Dresden said.

“If you’d rather speak to Lt. Paytah alone, I’ll certainly understand. I can wait in the lobby,” she added.

“If Chris doesn’t mind, neither do I,” he replied, gesturing for the both of them to sit. “You’re sure to learn of this soon enough.”

Chris frowned as he sat in one of the visitors’ chairs. “What’s this about, Bob?”

Dresden cleared his throat as he returned to his seat. “Chris, this is really difficult for me. Calvin was one of my best friends.
My wife and I introduced him to Irene. I’m Kara’s godfather, for goodness’ sake! It’s a matter of business that can’t be ignored, and yet I feel like I’m betraying the man’s memory.”

He sighed and reached down out of sight, and when he sat straight again the object he sat on the desk had the air rushing from Chris’s lungs, leaving him feeling as if he’d be punched in the gut.

It was a white, soot-covered firefighter’s helmet.
Calvin’s helmet.

“
Our illustrious Director of Public Safety
is, apparently, a superstitious bastard,” Dresden said, bitterness evident in his voice. “He’s afraid that Calvin’s death has cast a pall over the opening of Firehouse 343
. T
hat it’s a sign of bad things to come or some such nonsense
. With ‘all due respect
to Captain Maynard’, I’ve been ordered to replace him before the day is over.
Well, actually the CFO was given the order and he heaved it onto my shoulders.
”

For a moment
,
all Chris could do was
stare
across the desk at Dresden, no doubt with a dumbfounded expression on his copper face.

“Are you fucking
kidding
me?” he asked at last, not bothering to censor his words so that the marshal would know how pissed he was.

“I’m afraid not,” the other man replied sourly. “Believe me,
Chris,
I’m no happier abo
ut this than you are
.
I
called his office
directly
and
made sure
Brostack
knew it
, too
.”

“The son of a bitch is lucky he keeps an office in New Town,” Chris muttered darkly. “Or I’d probably end up losing my job for knocking his fucking teeth down his throat. I mean, come on—Calvin’s been gone only a day, and he’s already replacing him as captain of the new firehouse?
‘All due respect’ my ass.”

“Another reason it’s a good thing you can’t do that, Lieutenant,
is
because then I’d have to conduct my search for Calvin’s replacement all over again.”

Chris had been about to say somethi
ng else snide about Director
Brostack
—that is, until Dresden’s words sank in.

Blinking rapidly, he said instead, “Come again?”

Dresden smiled grimly. “Part of Calvin’s job as captain of 343 was to select his staff—that is, he was to hand-pick the twenty-four men and women
who would staff the firehouse. Thus far he’d confirmed only two selections—Tonja Webber and you. You were to be his second in command. That makes you a natural choice to take his place.”

He was speechless in the face of this news, as Calvin hadn’t said a word about it. Chris had certainly hoped Cal w
ould choose him as one of the twenty-four
, and he’d been certain of
Tonja’s
placement on one of the shift
s as well. But there were hundreds of applicants for those 24 slots, from firefighters working the city and townsh
ip stations to men and women f
r
o
m other cities. Other states, even. He remembered then Cal mentioning that he’d actually reviewed apps from a handful of firefighters in New York, whose brethren they were honoring with the new firehouse.

“Chris?”

He started, having forgotten in his shock that Martie was even there. He turned at the sound of her voice to find her looking at him with a concerned expression.

“I… I’m stunned,” he said at last, turning back to the fire marshal. “Cal never said a word to me. And now you’re
telling me that you want me to take his place?”

Dresden nodded. “A promotion to captain would accompany your position as station commander,” he said. Then his eyes fell on the helmet. “I can get the Chief of Operations to order you a new helmet, or you can take Calvin’s.”

“If I’m
gonna
do this, I want a new one,” Chris said resolutely. “Cal’s helmet should go to Kara, or it should be buried with him.
Whatever she wants.”

The marshal nodded again.
“Of course.
I have Cal’s things from Gracechurch Memorial here—it’s how
I came to have his
helmet in the first place
. D
o you want to take them to her?”

“I can do that. Might as well, seeing as I’ll have to clean out his locker at the station when I get there.” Chris shook his head,
then
ran a hand through his hair and down his face. “Damn. I would never have wanted a promotion like this. I’d want it because I earned it.”

“Chris,” Martie spoke up again. “Pardon me if I’m speaking out of turn, but I daresay Marshal Dresden wouldn’t ask you to do this if he didn’t think you were the man for the job.”

Dresden nodded again. “She’s right. I’m offering this to you, for the most part, because you have the experience and train
ing necessary to do the job.
I am confident that you are up to the task. And I’m fairly certain Calvin thought the same thing, or he wouldn’t have named you his second.”

“Then that’s the only reason to do it,” Chris replied firmly.
“For Calvin.”

After Dresden’s announcement, Martie asked him a few questions about his own role in the fire, what he had done that day leading up to his arrival and departure on the scene. She even asked him point-blank why he had left Chris in charge and gone to the hospital, when in fact it might have been more prudent to stay and coordinate the operation, given that there were firefighters from other houses there.
Dresden had
answered her with a simple, “Chris had it in hand. And Kara needed the support more.”

When they had finished their discussion, Chris reluctantly took the boxes of Calvin’s things, which contained all his firefighting gear. As there were two, Martie helped him carry them out to her car. Once the boxes were stowed in the cargo area, they got into the front and she started the engine, asking him quietly for directions to the city firehouse. Chris mumbled the directions—the fire station was only a few blocks away—and sat with his chin in his hand, his arm braced on the window frame, staring out at nothing.

“I don’t want it like this,” he said after a long moment of silence. “If I were going for a promotion to captain, I’d rather it had been because Calvin or one of
the other captains had retired—not because Cal’s dead
and the jackass public safety director
is a
fuckin
’
‘
fraidy
-cat.
”

“
It may not be the
ideal way to get it,” Martie replied, “but you have it now, and what you do with it is up to you. I think the best way for you to honor your friend’s memory is to be the best captain you can be, using all the tools of
the
trade and advice that he gave you over the years.”

After a moment, he turned to her with a smile. “You know, I knew there was a reason I liked you. Keep it up with the sage advice and I’m
gonna
have to keep you around a while.”

“Well, I should certainly hope so,” she said lightly as she turned a corner. “I mean, it’s
kinda
hard to be friends if I’m not sticking around.”

“Certainly,” Chris said, and then his grin turned mischievous. “Of course, there are other reasons I want to keep you around, too. One of which you’re sitting on.”

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 Loga
n 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
st
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?”