what little he knew about her, she’d always been an astute judge of character. He might as well have been naked. “I like you fine.”
“Is it because Bill had me stay outside that night?”
“I can’t get into this now.”
“Okay, when?”
“I’m sorry if I gave you the impression I don’t like you. I like you just fine.” Her eyes remained fixed on his, and it was clear she didn’t believe him, as well she shouldn’t. He
didn’t
like her. Undeniably, he felt electricity in his stomach when he was around her, but he hadn’t liked her since Cordifis’s funeral, and it bothered him that she had found him out and that he didn’t have a good reason for his attitude. Or any reason. Hell, everybody liked Diana. And why wouldn’t they? She was sharp as a tack, amiable, straightforward, and she was a first-rate firefighter—that last a quality one wouldn’t necessarily expect to find in a beautiful woman. And without an ounce of snoot to her, as Bill had said that last day they worked together. Finney took a step back and looked around the room. “I miss this place. I thought I would, and now I do.” He turned to leave.
“Break a leg.”
“That’s the plan.”
11. THE GOVERNOR’S LIFESAVING AWARD
When Finney stepped out of the elevator onto the fourth floor, a businesslike secretary with green-tinted contacts and a pile of brunette hair told him the chief would be with him in a minute.
She left him to his own devices in a large office with a tall ceiling and a desk sporting photographs of Reese’s family. Hanging on the wall behind the desk, where you couldn’t miss it if you tried, was a Governor’s Lifesaving Award, praising BATTALION CHIEF CHARLES REESE for his actions the night of June 7. Surrounding it were framed photos and newspaper clippings chronicling Reese’s meteoric career, including a photo from
Time
magazine of Reese and Robert Kub running out of the Leary Way building in front of a ball of flame. It gave Finney the creeps. Maybe they should all chip in and buy Reese a scrapbook for this stuff so he wouldn’t have to plaster his ego all over the walls.
The search for Bill Cordifis had been the pinnacle of Reese’s career. Written up as a hero in the regional and national papers, Charlie rode his renown into the chief’s office three months later.
It occurred to Finney that Leary Way was the defining moment in the careers of both Reese and himself. Finney went into the burning building with a partner and forty-eight minutes later came out alone, burned, confused, disoriented, barely able to walk. Even though he, too, failed to bring Cordifis out, Reese went into that same burning building and came out as chief of the department. Finney sometimes wondered if his dislike of Reese was nothing more than envy—but no, his opinion had been formed eighteen years before, when they entered the department in the same drill school.
It was twenty minutes before Charlie Reese showed up, which was about ten minutes after Finney figured the chief had succeeded in making his point.
At five foot five, Reese was a short man in a profession of giants. He had unwavering eyes and wavy black hair. He wore loose-fitting trousers and an off-white dress shirt, the collar of which captured a wedge of soft flesh just below his chin. He’d been handsome once, and would still have been handsome, Finney thought, if he hadn’t let so much of his personality leach out into his face.
After shaking hands, Reese smiled slowly. “Whoever would have thought, huh? You and me. Here in this room.” He laughed.
“From day one you said you were going to be chief of the department.”
“And now here I are.” Reese laughed again, then walked around the desk and sat heavily in the leather chair. “So tell me, how’s your old man?”
12. UNTIL THEY PRY MY COLD FINGERS OFF THIS DESK
“Six months ago when they diagnosed it,” Finney said, “they told him aggressive treatment might give him a year at the
“Is it because Bill had me stay outside that night?”
“I can’t get into this now.”
“Okay, when?”
“I’m sorry if I gave you the impression I don’t like you. I like you just fine.” Her eyes remained fixed on his, and it was clear she didn’t believe him, as well she shouldn’t. He
didn’t
like her. Undeniably, he felt electricity in his stomach when he was around her, but he hadn’t liked her since Cordifis’s funeral, and it bothered him that she had found him out and that he didn’t have a good reason for his attitude. Or any reason. Hell, everybody liked Diana. And why wouldn’t they? She was sharp as a tack, amiable, straightforward, and she was a first-rate firefighter—that last a quality one wouldn’t necessarily expect to find in a beautiful woman. And without an ounce of snoot to her, as Bill had said that last day they worked together. Finney took a step back and looked around the room. “I miss this place. I thought I would, and now I do.” He turned to leave.
“Break a leg.”
“That’s the plan.”
11. THE GOVERNOR’S LIFESAVING AWARD
When Finney stepped out of the elevator onto the fourth floor, a businesslike secretary with green-tinted contacts and a pile of brunette hair told him the chief would be with him in a minute.
She left him to his own devices in a large office with a tall ceiling and a desk sporting photographs of Reese’s family. Hanging on the wall behind the desk, where you couldn’t miss it if you tried, was a Governor’s Lifesaving Award, praising BATTALION CHIEF CHARLES REESE for his actions the night of June 7. Surrounding it were framed photos and newspaper clippings chronicling Reese’s meteoric career, including a photo from
Time
magazine of Reese and Robert Kub running out of the Leary Way building in front of a ball of flame. It gave Finney the creeps. Maybe they should all chip in and buy Reese a scrapbook for this stuff so he wouldn’t have to plaster his ego all over the walls.
The search for Bill Cordifis had been the pinnacle of Reese’s career. Written up as a hero in the regional and national papers, Charlie rode his renown into the chief’s office three months later.
It occurred to Finney that Leary Way was the defining moment in the careers of both Reese and himself. Finney went into the burning building with a partner and forty-eight minutes later came out alone, burned, confused, disoriented, barely able to walk. Even though he, too, failed to bring Cordifis out, Reese went into that same burning building and came out as chief of the department. Finney sometimes wondered if his dislike of Reese was nothing more than envy—but no, his opinion had been formed eighteen years before, when they entered the department in the same drill school.
It was twenty minutes before Charlie Reese showed up, which was about ten minutes after Finney figured the chief had succeeded in making his point.
At five foot five, Reese was a short man in a profession of giants. He had unwavering eyes and wavy black hair. He wore loose-fitting trousers and an off-white dress shirt, the collar of which captured a wedge of soft flesh just below his chin. He’d been handsome once, and would still have been handsome, Finney thought, if he hadn’t let so much of his personality leach out into his face.
After shaking hands, Reese smiled slowly. “Whoever would have thought, huh? You and me. Here in this room.” He laughed.
“From day one you said you were going to be chief of the department.”
“And now here I are.” Reese laughed again, then walked around the desk and sat heavily in the leather chair. “So tell me, how’s your old man?”
12. UNTIL THEY PRY MY COLD FINGERS OFF THIS DESK
“Six months ago when they diagnosed it,” Finney said, “they told him aggressive treatment might give him a year at the
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