Firestorm

Chapter Two

Mallory about-turned out of Sully’s office and steamed across the yard to the standby shack. The barracks in the back, adjacent to the locker rooms, held twenty single, plain, metal-framed beds, ten to a row down each side. She chose to sleep in the hangar loft, not out of modesty but just for a few moments of peace and quiet at the end of the day. The guys would be stirring any minute. No time now for anything but a quick shower and a hurried breakfast, but it really didn’t matter. She was too aggravated to relax anyhow.

She cut through the main equipment room on her way to the locker room. Orderly rows of jump suits, helmets, and gear belonging to the crew on the jump list she’d made up the night before hung from pegs on the wall. Her Kevlar jacket and pants hung closest to the door. She was the IC when she jumped, and as incident commander, she was first in and last out of the hot zone.

A windowless swinging door on the left side led to the women’s locker room, where she and Sarah Petrie, a veteran jumper and her best friend, stored their extra gear and clothes, and shared a six- by-six-foot communal shower. The plywood walls didn’t do much to mute the noise when all the guys were next door, and any conversation was easily audible. Not that the illusion of privacy really mattered. They lived together for six months straight, eating and sleeping and sweating and risking their lives together. Privacy took on a whole new definition under those circumstances. The only truly private place was in her head.

She peeled off her clothes, piled them on the bench running lengthwise between the row of gunmetal gray lockers and shelves holding towels and cubbies for gear, grabbed a towel, and walked naked to the shower. After twisting the dial to hot on one of the four showerheads, she stepped under the water. Standing under the pounding spray, she replayed the meeting with Jac Russo. She couldn’t quite put her finger on what annoyed her, and that annoyed her even more. Sure, Russo had circumvented normal channels in getting the posting, and that offended her sense of order. Maybe her sense of fair play too. All the same, she didn’t usually vent her feelings out loud, particularly in front of people she didn’t know. Or in front of a coworker like Sully. She prided herself on being in control, on being cool, on placing reason ahead of emotion. It’d earned her the nickname Ice, and she liked it. Some people extended the name to Ice Queen, but she wasn’t bothered by that. If she did keep her feelings under wraps, what of it?

Perfunctorily, she squirted shampoo into her palm and lathered up her hair, turning, eyes closed, letting the heat smooth out some of the tension in her back. So why was she bothered so much by Russo? Because she hadn’t picked her? That seemed a little bit petty, and she didn’t like thinking of herself that way. But Russo was an unknown, and unknowns made her uneasy. Fire was enough of an unknown, appearing on its own timetable, spreading at its own rate, jumping lines where least expected, blowing up, cresting a ridge where it never should’ve been, trapping eleven wildland firefighters in a clearing that should’ve been a safety zone. A safety zone she’d picked. Nine of them had walked away.

She closed her eyes tighter, trying to forget the anguished faces of the families waiting to see who walked out of the forest alive, and who did not. Looking to her for information, for answers, and her having none.

She shuddered and opened her eyes, waiting for reality to drive the memories away, and all she got was tears in her eyes. Tears that had to be from soap, nothing else.

This year everything would be different. This year she was in charge from day one—ops and training manager. She’d see that the rookies were hammered into shape and the vets honed to razor sharpness. She’d picked her new guys so carefully. They all had the goods, they were all young and healthy and strong. And then along comes Russo. The outlier, the unknown. Sure, Russo had some firefighting experience, but the details were pretty thin on paper. Russo was still practically a rookie, and the way she’d been appointed suggested she didn’t have the skills to make it on her own. That was a real problem.

Mallory sudsed her breasts and torso, bending to finish the rest of her body in quick automatic swipes. Russo. Maybe she’d wash out. One thing was for certain, Russo wouldn’t be jumping if she didn’t make it through basic training. Mallory was going to be sure Russo’s month was every bit as rigorous as she could make it.

Mallory flipped off the shower, wrapped the towel around her chest, and knotted it above her breasts on her way into the locker room. The four metal lockers against the wall were an optimistic number since even two women stationed in the same place was unusual. Out of the three hundred smokejumpers in the country, less than one-tenth of those were female. Sarah should be arriving the beginning of June. If Russo was still here, that would make three, with a locker to spare. Sarah slept off base whenever she could and usually bunked in the main barracks when she couldn’t. Russo would have to as well. Mallory considered the extra bunk in her loft and discarded the idea. No way was Russo sleeping in her quarters. A clear picture of dark challenging eyes and a sinful mouth, just a hint of a mocking smile turning up one corner of full sensuous lips, shot through her mind. Oh hell no, Russo wasn’t sharing her loft.

Mallory opened her locker, pulled out a clean white sleeveless tank, a short-sleeved navy T-shirt, and navy cargo pants from the stack on the top shelf, and tossed the pile onto the bench. After dumping her dirty clothes into the laundry bag in the bottom of her locker, she toweled off her hair and lobbed the damp towel into the hamper, feeling her skin pebble and her nipples tighten in the cold room. The slight scuffling sound of the door opening behind her brought her whipping around, flinging wet hair from her eyes. Russo stood framed in the doorway, her duffel dangling from one hand.

“You have a bad habit of sneaking up on me,” Mallory said, feeling her nipples tighten even more under the unabashed scrutiny.

“Sorry about that,” Russo said, her husky voice deeper than Mallory remembered.

“You want to close the door?” Mallory said.

Russo pulled the door shut, closing them into the cramped space. “Sully told me to bring my gear over here. I guess he didn’t know you’d be naked.”

Russo wasn’t much taller than Mallory, five ten or so, and rangier. Lean where Mallory had a bit of curve even when in hard, summer shape. Russo’s gaze was direct and unapologetically appraising. Mallory’s breathing kicked up, and she willed herself not to grab for her shirt. She’d been naked with Sarah thousands of times and never given it a thought. Sarah was straight—at least she’d never indicated otherwise—but even if she wasn’t, Mallory wouldn’t have thought anything of being undressed around her. Work and sex never crossed paths in Mallory’s consciousness.

Odds were, Russo was straight too, but Mallory was glad for the bench that bisected the space. Her skin felt hot, and Russo seemed to take up more space than she ought to. Maybe it was her eyes—they never wavered once they looked at you. Like you were all she saw.

“I don’t think whether I’m dressed or not is really on Sully’s radar.” Nonchalantly, Mallory reached into her locker for a pair of navy bikini briefs, pulled them on, and slid the tank over her head and down over her breasts. Russo’s gaze followed her movements, and Mallory had a second’s flash of Russo’s hands tracking where her gaze had just gone. Her stomach tightened. What the hell?

“Ought to be on someone’s radar,” Jac said.

Damn it, Mallory felt herself flush. Annoyed with herself now, she jerked on her pants. Turning her back to Russo, she quickly finished dressing and clipped her radio to her pants. Good. Ready to go. Ready to get to work.

She wasn’t used to anyone putting her off stride, not in the field and not in her personal life. The women she dated, when she had time to date—which this time of year was practically never—were always self-sufficient women with busy lives of their own who wanted good company, interesting conversation, and undemanding sex if the mood was right. If sex didn’t happen, an enjoyable evening with someone who wasn’t on the job was satisfying enough for her. Women just didn’t occupy a big place in her life, and never disrupted it. Russo had done nothing but disorder her usual calm routine just by breathing the same air. Being around Russo made her feel as if she was missing a layer of skin, and she never felt that way. The tingling in her belly was unfamiliar too. No, that was a lie. It was very familiar, just not very frequent. Double damn her body for having no sense of discretion whatsoever. Russo’s sexy dark gaze heated her beneath her skin, in a place she couldn’t control. No matter. No problem. Maybe her body was reckless, but her head wasn’t.

Mallory picked up her watch, strapped it on, and headed for the door. “You can use that locker on the end.”

“Thanks.” Russo unzipped her gear bag and stowed her gear quickly and efficiently.

“If you plan on getting anything to eat, I’d hurry if I were you. Now you’ve only got twenty-five minutes.”

“I’ll be there.” Jac paused. “How about I buy you breakfast? Boss.”

“Breakfast is free,” Mallory said, walking out.

“Figure of speech,” Jac called, hurrying after the woman she had to impress. She hadn’t done a very good job of that so far. Not that sucking up to anyone was part of her repertoire, but Mallory James was her boss. Mallory would decide when she jumped and what she did when she landed. Since she planned to pull her weight on this team—hell, she planned on doing more than that, she wanted on permanently at this post—she’d have to prove herself. And that meant convincing Ice James she wasn’t just some appointee getting a free ride, courtesy of her father’s connections. Just the opposite—her father hadn’t been doing her any favors, but Mallory wouldn’t care about her problems. Why should she? “Keep you company, then.”

Mallory hesitated, looking as if she might say no.

“Might be our only chance,” Jac said hurriedly, lengthening her stride to stay by Mallory’s side. “Seeing as how you’re going to wash me out later today.”

“You so sure I won’t?” Mallory asked, her green eyes snapping.

Jac grinned. “Pretty sure.”

“Like I said. We’ll see.”

Mallory kept walking, but she hadn’t said no, so Jac fell into step with her. Outside to the east, the first ribbons of dawn purpled the sky over the mountaintops. Base camp was situated in a dip of flat land between towering crags of rock face and dense evergreen forests. At eight thousand feet, the crystal-clear air shimmered with the whistle of the wind, always the wind slicing down the mountainside, and the chatter of daring early birds. Then testosterone-infused laughter laden with the energy of a dozen men eager for adventure erupted in the yard.

Calls of “Hey, Boss” and “Morning, Ice” floated their way, and Mallory waved, a slight smile softening her full lips, turning her classic features from distant to beautiful.

“Ready for a workout, Cap?” called a wiry blond in a green flannel shirt and jeans, his mustache and rough stubble tinged with hints of red.

“That’s my line, Bowie,” Mallory responded. “Hope you didn’t get too soft over the winter.”

“Still hard, Ice.” Bowie patted his belly, and the other guys hooted good-naturedly.

Mallory just shook her head.

“How many rookies besides me?” Jac asked, noting that a lot of guys shot appreciative glances Mallory’s way, though she didn’t seem to notice. Why wouldn’t they? She was a knockout. Thick, wavy chestnut hair just kissing her shoulders, deep-set almond-shaped green eyes, elegantly carved cheekbones saved from appearing delicate by her strong chin and direct gaze. Great body—loose and strong and full in all the right places. Athletic and fit with undeniable grace. Jac’s mouth actually watered, and she nearly laughed out loud at her pathetic musings. Mallory James, if she even liked women in bed, was more likely to give her twenty-five push-ups than the time of day.

“Four.”

“Huh?” Jac said.

Mallory cut her a bemused stare. “Four other rookies. Although I suppose technically you’re a snookie.”

“I’m pretty sure I don’t like that idea,” Jac said. “Sounds like one of those chocolate-covered marshmallow things.” She patted her stomach, mimicking Bowie. “Pretty hard myself.”

Mallory gave her a flat stare. “Snooks are second-years. And this isn’t day camp, Hotshot. This is make-or-break time.”

“I got that message.” Jac grinned when Mallory’s gaze lingered on hers. “Loud and clear, Boss.”

“Enough with the Boss already.” Mallory opened the door to a long, narrow room that smelled of coffee, eggs, and bacon.

“Oh man,” Jac moaned, “when you said breakfast I thought you meant vending machines and microwaves.”

“We’re lucky to have on-site meals. Luckier still to have Charlie Awita as a cook. This used to be an auxiliary Air Force outpost, so there’s a kitchen and dining hall.”

“Does everyone live here full-time?”

“Mostly—a couple of the married crew keep apartments in town.”

“How about you?”

“How about me what?” Mallory grabbed a dented stainless steel tray from a stack at the end of the food line and handed it over the counter to a middle-aged Native American wearing a Grateful Dead T-shirt and a white apron around his portly waist. “Hey, Charlie, fill it up.”

Charlie smiled. “Good morning, Captain Mallory.”

Mallory smiled back. “Don’t call me Captain, Charlie. Ice will do just fine.”

He shook his head, his dark eyes shining. “Oh no, I don’t think so. It’s an honor to lead the team. You should be proud.”

“I know and I am, but it doesn’t change anything else.” Looking uncomfortable with the praise, Mallory took the tray heaped with scrambled eggs, bacon, and biscuits and moved quickly on down the line to the coffee machine. She grabbed an extra-large cup and filled it to the brim.

Jac followed her lead. “So?”

Mallory sat at a square wooden table in front of a window with a killer view of the long valley that narrowed into a pass between two towering peaks. “So…what?”

“Are you married?”

“No.”

“So no apartment in town?” Jac blew on her steaming coffee and tried a sip. Excellent.

“No.” Mallory paused, studying Jac through narrowed eyes. “What are you doing here, Russo? I assume you could have had your pick of places to go—so why here? We’re remote, we see hard time all season, we never get any filmmakers or writers wanting to do documentaries about us. We’re just not high profile.”

Like you. The words hung in the air unspoken.

Jac set her fork down and lifted her coffee cup, buying a few seconds. She’d expected the question but didn’t know how she wanted to answer. If she told Mallory James why her father had leveraged his political clout to get her a job in another state, a job he knew she wanted and would have a hard time turning down, she’d have to reveal a whole lot more about herself than she ever did to anyone. The silence lengthened and she met Mallory’s gaze. Mallory’s eyes were a darker green than they had appeared earlier, with flecks of gold glinting in the bright sunlight that had burst in the sky. Deep, intense, unflinching eyes that almost made her want to tell it all. Almost. “Maybe the same thing you are.”

“Oh? And what would that be?”

Trying to prove I’m worth something to someone on my own. She opted for a safer answer. “Trying to make a difference.”

“You don’t know why I’m here, and you didn’t answer my question. But it won’t really matter if you don’t make it to the end of the month.” Pushing back from the table, Mallory stood. “Now you’ve got ten minutes.”

Jac watched her walk away. Cold. Remote. Beautiful. Like the mountains. And probably just as unforgiving. But she’d never been afraid of a challenge, and Mallory “Ice” James was all that and more.