Touched By Fire. Elizabeth Sinclair

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      The next morning, unwilling to call A.J. as he’d instructed her to, Sam rented a car and drove herself to work. She had just settled at the hated desk in the corner of the apparatus bay when the phone rang. “Engine company one-oh-eight,” she recited by rote with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, which on her personal can’t-wait-to-do-it scale rated somewhere around minus one hundred.

      “Sam?” Rachel Sutherland’s concerned voice came over the wire. “A.J. and Luke told me what happened yesterday. Are you okay? Luke says Santelli put you on the duty desk.”

      Rachel’s concern didn’t surprise Sam, but it certainly raised her hackles at being reminded of her punishment, as if she needed reminding.

      “I’m fine.” With any luck that would be the end of this part of this conversation.

      She’d suffered enough embarrassment over this. The guys hadn’t stopped teasing her since the news got out. One of them even brought in a pillow for her to sit on.

      More than a bit embarrassed at her situation, since her assignment would normally have been meted out to someone who had committed a serious infraction, Sam was miffed that A.J. had seen fit to spread the news of her embarrassment far and wide. Well, maybe that was an exaggeration, but Rachel would be one more person to point out to her that her life was in danger—a reminder she could do without and if she heard it one more time would send her running screaming from the room.

      She knew that this was not a punishment, and that the chief and A.J. were only thinking of her safety. She should be thankful for that. But if it wasn’t happening to her, it would be much easier. She could accept the logic of their actions. Still, being taken off active duty smarted and that A.J. had been instrumental in it really hurt. Then again, he had no idea how much firefighting meant to her.

      Nor did he know how terrified she really was, and she would make sure he never found out. The very last thing she needed was A.J. hovering over her, protecting her, overseeing her every move. And he would. She knew that as surely as she knew her name.

      “Are you sure?” Rachel said, cutting into her thoughts.

      Good grief, had she said any of that out loud? “Sure about what?” With her mind centered on her troubles, Sam had lost the entire thread of her conversation with Rachel.

      “Are you sure you’re okay?” Rachel’s voice had grown more tense.

      Relieved that she hadn’t voiced her thoughts, Sam rested her forehead in her hand. “Absolutely. I’m fine.” Period.

      Silence fell between them.

      “So is that the only reason you called?” Sam asked, hoping to divert the conversation.

      “No, but I promised Luke I wouldn’t bring it up unless you’re sure you’re okay.”

      A sigh of impatience issued from her. “I’ve been through worse and lived to tell the tale, Rachel.”

      That wasn’t entirely true. There had been only two other times in her life that Sam had felt this helpless, this defeated: when she was ten years old and her father had walked out of her life, and when she was nineteen and had to stand by and watch while her drunken mother was incinerated in a motel fire. Both times, she’d wondered if she would live through it. She had, but deep down, she still bore the scars. On top of that was her sister Karen’s belief that Sam had stolen her childhood. Karen had cut off all communication with her, and she hadn’t seen or talked to her only relative in too many years.

      But she didn’t want to think about any of that now. She had enough on her mind.

      “Now that we’ve established that I’m not an emotional pile of mush, what was it you promised Luke you wouldn’t bring up to me?” She tried to lace her voice with humor.

      Rachel hesitated for a few seconds. “Well, okay, if you’re sure. Actually, there are two things I wanted to talk to you about. The first is do you have a date for the children’s burn unit charity ball next Saturday?”

      Lately, with everything that had been going on, Sam hadn’t given much thought to the ball. She wanted to go, but the only person she would want to go with was also the one person she was trying her best to avoid. Maybe she should just go alone. After all, nowadays that would hardly be looked down on. She laughed to herself. Like A.J. or Santelli would let that happen. If she wanted to go at all—and she did—then she’d find a date so she wouldn’t have to listen to them.

      “No, not yet, but I’m working on it,” she finally told her friend, hoping it would put an end to the subject.

      “Well, you better get a move on. It’s coming up fast.” Rachel paused. “Word is that a certain chief of detectives isn’t spoken for yet.” Before Sam could say anything, Rachel blurted, “FIST has a job. The man who owns the building that houses the Main Street bookstore that burned last week contacted me. They want us to investigate the fire for arson.”

      Sam СКАЧАТЬ