rather sit on my lap.”
She scooted across the seat. “Why am I sitting in a fire engine?”
“Everybody wants to at least once.” Very much at home, he stretched his arm over the seat. “So, what do you think?”
She scanned the gauges and dials, the oversize gearshift, the photo of Miss January taped to the dash. “It’s interesting.”
“That’s it?”
She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. She wondered which control operated the siren, which the lights. “Okay, it’s fun.” She leaned forward for a better view through the windshield. “We’re really up here, aren’t we? Is this the—”
He caught her hand just before she could yank the cord over her head. “Horn,” he finished. “The men are used to it, but believe me, with the acoustics in here and the outside doors shut, you’d be sorry if you sounded it.”
“Too bad.” She skimmed back her hair as she turned her face toward him. “Are you showing meyour toy to relax me, or just to show off?”
“Both. How’m I doing?”
“Maybe you’re not quite the jerk you appear to be.”
“You keep being so nice to me, I’m going to fall in love.”
She laughed and realized she was almost relaxed. “I think we’re both safe on that count. What made you decide to sit in a fire engine for ten years?”
“You’ve been checking up on me.” Idly he lifted his fingers, just enough to reach the tips of her hair. Soft, he thought, like sunny silk.
“That’s right.” She shot him a look. “So?”
“So, I guess we’re even. I’m a third-generation smoke eater. It’s in the blood.”
“Mmm …” That she understood. “But you gave it up.”
“No, I shifted gears. That’s different.”
She supposed it was, but it wasn’t a real answer. “Why do you keep that souvenir on your desk?” She watched his eyes closely as she asked. “The doll’s head.”
“It’s from my last fire. The last one I fought.” He could still remember it—the heat, the smoke, the screaming. “I carried the kid out. The bedroom door was locked. My guess is he’d herded his wife and kid in—you know, you can’t live with me, you won’t live without me. He had a gun. It wasn’t loaded, but she wouldn’t have known that.”
“That’s horrible.” She wondered if she would have risked the gun, and thought she would have. Better a bullet, fast and final, than the terrors of smoke and flame. “His own family.”
“Some guys don’t take kindly to divorce.” He shrugged. His own had been painless enough, almost anticlimactic. “The way it came out, he made them sit there while the fire got bigger, and the smoke snuck under the door. It was a frame house, old. Went up like a matchstick. The woman had tried to protect the kid, had curled over her in a corner. I couldn’t get them both at once, so I took the kid.”
His eyes changed now, darkened, focused on something only he could see. “The woman was gone,anyway. I knew she was gone, but there’s always a chance. I was headed down the steps with the kid when the floor gave way.”
“You saved the child,” Natalie said gently.
“The mother saved the child.” He could never forget that, could never forget that selfless and hopeless devotion. “The son of a bitch who torched the house jumped out the second-story window. Oh, he was burned, smoke inhalation, broken leg. But he lived through it.”
He cared, she realized. She hadn’t seen that before. Or hadn’t wanted to. It changed him. Changed her perception of him. “And you decided to go after the men who start them, instead of the fires themselves.”
“More or less.” He snapped his head up, like a wolf scenting prey, when the alarm shrilled. The station sprang to life with running feet, shouted orders. Ry pitched his voice over the din. “Let’s get out of the way.”
He pushed open the door, caught Natalie in one arm and swung out.
“Chemical plant,” someone said as they hurried by, pulling on protective
She scooted across the seat. “Why am I sitting in a fire engine?”
“Everybody wants to at least once.” Very much at home, he stretched his arm over the seat. “So, what do you think?”
She scanned the gauges and dials, the oversize gearshift, the photo of Miss January taped to the dash. “It’s interesting.”
“That’s it?”
She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. She wondered which control operated the siren, which the lights. “Okay, it’s fun.” She leaned forward for a better view through the windshield. “We’re really up here, aren’t we? Is this the—”
He caught her hand just before she could yank the cord over her head. “Horn,” he finished. “The men are used to it, but believe me, with the acoustics in here and the outside doors shut, you’d be sorry if you sounded it.”
“Too bad.” She skimmed back her hair as she turned her face toward him. “Are you showing meyour toy to relax me, or just to show off?”
“Both. How’m I doing?”
“Maybe you’re not quite the jerk you appear to be.”
“You keep being so nice to me, I’m going to fall in love.”
She laughed and realized she was almost relaxed. “I think we’re both safe on that count. What made you decide to sit in a fire engine for ten years?”
“You’ve been checking up on me.” Idly he lifted his fingers, just enough to reach the tips of her hair. Soft, he thought, like sunny silk.
“That’s right.” She shot him a look. “So?”
“So, I guess we’re even. I’m a third-generation smoke eater. It’s in the blood.”
“Mmm …” That she understood. “But you gave it up.”
“No, I shifted gears. That’s different.”
She supposed it was, but it wasn’t a real answer. “Why do you keep that souvenir on your desk?” She watched his eyes closely as she asked. “The doll’s head.”
“It’s from my last fire. The last one I fought.” He could still remember it—the heat, the smoke, the screaming. “I carried the kid out. The bedroom door was locked. My guess is he’d herded his wife and kid in—you know, you can’t live with me, you won’t live without me. He had a gun. It wasn’t loaded, but she wouldn’t have known that.”
“That’s horrible.” She wondered if she would have risked the gun, and thought she would have. Better a bullet, fast and final, than the terrors of smoke and flame. “His own family.”
“Some guys don’t take kindly to divorce.” He shrugged. His own had been painless enough, almost anticlimactic. “The way it came out, he made them sit there while the fire got bigger, and the smoke snuck under the door. It was a frame house, old. Went up like a matchstick. The woman had tried to protect the kid, had curled over her in a corner. I couldn’t get them both at once, so I took the kid.”
His eyes changed now, darkened, focused on something only he could see. “The woman was gone,anyway. I knew she was gone, but there’s always a chance. I was headed down the steps with the kid when the floor gave way.”
“You saved the child,” Natalie said gently.
“The mother saved the child.” He could never forget that, could never forget that selfless and hopeless devotion. “The son of a bitch who torched the house jumped out the second-story window. Oh, he was burned, smoke inhalation, broken leg. But he lived through it.”
He cared, she realized. She hadn’t seen that before. Or hadn’t wanted to. It changed him. Changed her perception of him. “And you decided to go after the men who start them, instead of the fires themselves.”
“More or less.” He snapped his head up, like a wolf scenting prey, when the alarm shrilled. The station sprang to life with running feet, shouted orders. Ry pitched his voice over the din. “Let’s get out of the way.”
He pushed open the door, caught Natalie in one arm and swung out.
“Chemical plant,” someone said as they hurried by, pulling on protective
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