Beth slapped her hand down on Ben's desk. She could feel her face flush and her pulse hammer. "Implicit in every one of these heroic acts is a total disregard for firefighter safety."
The battalion chief crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. "Isn't that a bit of an exaggeration?"
Snatching the magazine from his desk, she yanked the pages open to the smiling face of Dylan O'Roarke. "Number one—jumping into a fully involved fire, through a glass window, no less. Number two—ignoring an official command to vacate a roof. Number three—unless he's unusually fastidious, he didn't bring a mouth guard on a date. Certainly he performed the respiration without one. Number four—we don't carry the needed props for a paving machine. You know damn well he didn't wait until the vehicle was secured."
O'Roarke shot to his feet, his fury evident in the darkened blue of his eyes and the thin line of his mouth. “The man would have died if I'd waited for the right chocks. The baby in the theater was blue. And those firefighters inside the warehouse could have bought it if I hadn't taken the few extra minutes on the roof."
"You could have bought it, O'Roarke, any one of those times. Even that baby could have been HIV positive and contaminated you."
"It's a risk I'm willing to take."
"You can do whatever the hell you want. But I won't have our recruits thinking this is the way firefighters are supposed to operate."
"All right, you two. Neither of you are helping." Frustrated, Ben ran a hand through his hair. He turned to Reed Macauley, who sat in the corner quietly observing the scene. "Want to help me out here, Macauley?"
Reed's eyes sharpened. "I can't say this isn't going to be a problem with the recruits. They will get a mixed message. I can't say I condone Dylan's total disregard for his own safety, as well as dismissing standard operating procedure." The psychologist edged forward in his seat and linked his hands between his knees. "But I also won't sit here and condemn a man for some of the most courageous acts I've ever heard of in firefighting."
Beth took a deep breath. "I'm not condemning him."
"The hell you aren't.” O’Roarke’s eyes blazed blue fire.
"I'm not. My sole concern is the effect this article will have on our recruits."
"Why is this such a big deal? Their chatter will die down in a few days."
"It's a big deal because I just stood up on Monday in front of the entire class and highlighted the academy's emphasis on safety, on following SOP." She waved the magazine in front of him. "This litany of your exploits contradicts everything I said."
O'Roarke crossed to her and they stood face-to-face, much as they'd been earlier in the bathroom. Now, however, he seemed to tower over her. "You really hate me, don't you?"
She drew back.
"Dylan," Reed intervened.
"Let her answer. You do, don't you?"
Her breath hitching, Beth shook her head. "No, I don't hate you. But what you do is totally objectionable to me."
"Then I am totally objectionable to you. Because what I do is who I am. If you despise that you despise me."
Beth swallowed hard.
His hands fisted at his sides, O’Roarke glared at her. Anger simmered hotly between them. Then he stalked away, heading for the door.
Ben said. "Don't leave yet, Dylan. There's something else."
O'Roarke stopped. Shoulders rigid, his back to them, he seemed to struggle to control himself. "What?"
"The governor wants to present this award to you."
No one had to point out that this would garner more publicity.
"Next weekend."
Again the charged silence.
"At the National EMS Firefighter Convention in New York City."
Beth threw up her hands. "Oh, for God's sake."
"You want to tell him?" Ben asked her.
Shaking her head, she walked to the bulletin board, tore down a brochure and flipped the pages until she found what she wanted. She crossed to O'Roarke and handed it to him.
Reluctantly, he skimmed the list of presenters at the conference. "Shit."
"Did you note the topic of my workshop?" she asked sweetly.
He read aloud from between clenched teeth. "Safety on the rescue scene, with special emphasis on recruit training." He was silent for a moment. Then he said, "I won't go to the ceremony."
"You don't have a choice. Chief Talbot delivered the news about the governor this morning. He loves the idea. As a matter of fact, he says you should attend the whole conference, for good PR." Ben shrugged. "What's more, he wants someone at the ceremony with you to officially represent the Rockford Fire Department, and since Beth is already going, he's named her. He says it's perfect."
"I say it sucks," O'Roarke said.
Reed expelled a heavy breath. "Maybe we should table this for now. Give us all a chance to calm down."
O'Roarke rounded on his friend. "I'm calm, Macauley. I'm just truly pissed off." With that, he turned and walked out of the office.
* * *
In the EMS classroom, Trevor Tully approached the front desk, and several other recruits crowded around. "So, Lieutenant, what’s it feel like to be a hero?" he asked.
O'Roarke smiled but didn't seem happy. Trevor knew he'd been holed up in the battalion chief’s office for an hour, but he thought they were celebrating. Instead, O'Roarke looked like he'd gone to a funeral.
"I'm not a hero, Tully. I did what I thought was best at the time." He hesitated. "You know, you guys—" he smiled at Sandy and Connie "—and gals, there's another side to this you should look at. I broke the rules in some of those instances."
"Yeah, man," Brady Abbott put in, "and saved lives."
"Right." O'Roarke crossed his arms. "But a firefighter's safety is more important than the victim's."
Sure, Tully thought No way is that true. The guy's just being modest.
"Lieutenant?" Hoyt Barnett asked. "If you had to do all those things over again, would you do them like you did? Or would you follow SOP?"
* * *
Connie Cleary shrank into the shadows as Brady Abbott faced Ms. Winters at seven on Tuesday of week four. She and the instructor had just finished their workout and Connie was cooling down on the other side of the room divider in the arena. When she realized they didn’t know she was there, she stayed very still.
"Ms. Winters, can I talk to you?"
"What about, Abbott?"
"You said on Friday if we had any questions on our weekly RTR to wait until Monday or Tuesday to think it over then come to you."
"All right. But make this quick." Ms. Winters was often curt, but today even more so.
"I got a one in EMS safety."
"Yes, you did."
"Is it because of what happened in the maze?"
Uh-oh, Connie thought. On Thursday, they’d gone into the maze, a simulated house used to practice rescues. They’d been blindfolded. Some of the recruits panicked. In the debriefing after, Ms. Winters had reamed Brady out for getting both himself and the victim stuck. He'd stood there stoically and taken the criticism. Apparently, he'd decided to deal with what happened today.
"I don't understand the one. I got stuck trying to save a victim's life."
"I intentionally put up that impediment you couldn’t seem to get around so you'd have to choose between saving yourself or risking your safety to get the victim out. You made the wrong choice."
"Did Lieutenant O'Roarke agree with the one?" Brady asked.
"An RTR is consensus."
Connie knew that wasn't an answer.
"If you have a problem with my response, Abbott, you can go see Battalion Chief Cordaro."
"No, ma'am. I don’t agree but I’d never go above your head. I just wanted clarification."
Ms. Winters turned from him and walked into her office.
When Brady passed Connie, she called out to him. "Brady?"
He stopped, and when he saw her, his face reddened.
"I'm sorry. I overheard."
The guy, who was always nice to her, looked down and smiled sadly. "It’s okay you listened."
"Want to talk about what happened?"
In answer, he plunked down on the mat next to her. "She knows damn well O'Roarke would have done the same thing."
Connie watched Brady as she finished stretching. Lieutenant O'Roarke was a doll, but he was wrong this time. She'd studied the textbook thoroughly—she'd always been good in school, and Ms. Winters had told her to capitalize on her assets—and the book warned against jeopardizing your safety for the victim's. In this instance, Connie would side with the woman who'd come in at six in the morning for the past three weeks to help her.
Brady looked at her with eyes that were confused. "I can't figure it out, Connie. O'Roarke and Winters are contradicting each other. How are we supposed to know what to do?"
Even Connie couldn't defend her new idol on that one.
* * *
Ace Durwin halfheartedly listened to the other recruits chatter until they got into the latest happening in the academy. Then he paid attention. Durwin hadn't expected so much intrigue in the course of the thirteen weeks.
"They're both going to be gone Thursday and Friday." Austyn Myers dropped the bomb as they sat around the lunch table munching hamburgers and French fries from a fast-food joint.
"Yeah? Why?" Ryan Quinn, Myers's best buddy, asked with a mouthful of chocolate shake.
The two eighteen-year-old recruits had graduated from the East High School firefighter program together, as Cleary had, and were by far the youngest of the recruits. Ace felt like their father most of the time. He let them talk before intervening.
"They're going to a conference together."
"You're shittin' me." Quinn practically spit out his milk.
"Nope. There’s more. O'Roarke's getting his Firehouse magazine award at the same conference Winters is presenting a workshop on firefighting safety."
"They call that irony," Al Battisti, a rather quiet young man, put in.
Durwin shook his head. The recruits had been buzzing about Winters and O'Roarke's difference of opinion ever since O'Roarke's exploits had been published the same week Winters had given her spiel on EMT safety. Durwin was torn on the issue. He could see O'Roarke's point about saving people. But he sided more with Winters. Maybe it was his age, but Durwin wouldn't have wanted one of his sons to risk his own life any more than necessary to save a victim, so he didn't plan to do it himself.
"I'd hate to be on that plane with them," Tully said. "Poor O'Roarke."
Cleary said, "I feel bad for Ms. Winters. She's just trying to protect us."
"You're defending her because she's helping you get in shape," Tully said.
Cleary bristled. "You're defending him because he's helping you with your schoolwork."
Ace shook his head. This kind of dissension wasn't good. No matter who was right or wrong, the recruits were suffering.
"We're paying the price." Brady Abbott echoed Ace's thoughts. "I got a one because of the maze stuff on Friday's RTR."
Everybody immediately fell silent. Recruit training reports were crucial to getting through the academy.
"You should have opted for safety," Wanikya said to the group. "I did."
The younger recruits were amazed. John Wanikya rarely talked to them. Hmm, maybe this feud was having some positive effects, too.
"I was thinking about sharing my air pack with Harriet,"
Wanikya continued. "I even contemplated what O'Roarke would do. I went the other way."
"Why?"
"Because it was safer."
Sandy Frank spoke for the first time. "Could you live with yourself, John, if somebody dies and you could've saved him?"
Wanikya's dark eyes narrowed. "It'd bother me. But think about this. You won’t save any of those people you might rescue in the future if you bought it for one."
Durwin sighed. Things were sure more interesting here than they'd been in Beckville.
* * *
In the academy weight room, Beth sucked in air as she flicked the treadmill's pace switch up to seven. She didn't always run this fast, but she was trying to work off her frustration. Wiping the sweat from her forehead, she swore softly. Damn, how had things gotten to this point?
Though she'd stayed aloof from everybody all week, she was churning inside. Primary among her chaotic emotions was the fact that she felt bad for O'Roarke. She shook her head and ran faster. No one knew how much she loved the fire department—or why. Firefighters were truly America's Bravest to her. To be chosen for the award O'Roarke had been given was a coveted honor.
And she'd spoiled the nomination for him. She hadn't meant to. But she'd been shocked by the magazine's account of his dangerous rescues. All her initial fears about O'Roarke coming to the academy had been validated. The article's effect on the recruits had been borne out this week. There had been odd questions, contradictory statements made, even infighting. The past week and a half had been like picking through a minefield.
"I didn't know you were in here."
Beth slowed down and shot a glance over her shoulder. In black nylon running shorts and a gray T-shirt, O’Roarke scowled at her from the doorway of the exercise room. "I'm working out."
"I see." He nodded to the treadmill next to her, a shock of black hair falling into his turbulent eyes. "I could wait, if you'd prefer."
"I don't care if you use the equipment now."
His scowl deepened. He'd been so angry at her all week he'd barely been civil. As if to reinforce his animosity, he strode to the stereo system and turned it on full volume. Rolling Stones music blared out. The first song to play was “Rip This Joint.”
Beth said nothing. She imagined that was how O'Roarke felt about working at the academy right now.
He crossed the room, mounted the treadmill next to her and switched it on to what had to be about a five.
She bit her tongue. He notched up again, then kicked it up higher a few minutes later. Over the music, she said, "You should warm up on this equipment." When he ignored her, she asked, "Why are you here, anyway? Aren't you and the recruits playing basketball tonight?"
"I canceled the game because we're leaving tomorrow. I wanted to run outside, but it's raining." He increased the speed again.
Trying to block him out, she closed her eyes and listened to the Stones. She hadn't heard them in years. Their sexual beat thrummed in her head, and after several minutes, when she started to feel uncomfortable, she decided to slow down and get out of there.
So, twenty-five minutes after O'Roarke had come in, Beth got off her treadmill. She took about five minutes to stretch on the mat. He abruptly shut off his machine and dismounted.
Her mouth dropped. "Aren't you going to cool down on that thing?"
"Get off my back, Winters," he snapped, wiping his face with a towel. He looped it around his neck.
She thought about joking that "Get Off My Cloud" would be a better retort, but she decided to play it straight. "I was just…"
O'Roarke made a move toward her, his eyes filled with scalding anger. Halfway, he stopped short and gasped, doubled over to reach for his left calf.
Her heart in her throat, Beth sprang toward him.
"What is it?"
"My calf. A cramp."
She dragged his sweat-slicked body to the mat. "Lie down."
"Goddamn son of a bitch," he said as he sank to the floor.
Flat on his back, he spread his legs apart and Beth knelt between them. She reached for his calf and began to knead. She could feel the muscle roped in tension.
He moaned. "That hurts more."
"Shut up, O'Roarke." She kept kneading.
The massage went on for minutes. Each second she touched him, Beth became more aware of him, lying on his back in front of her, his legs spread. There was that smell again—spicy cologne mixed with male sweat. His legs were corded with muscles and dusted with soft black hair all the way up to the hem of his black shorts. The Stones yelped about getting their rocks off and she closed her eyes, but the rhythm pulsed hotly in her blood.
When the pain began to subside, Dylan started to focus on Winters. He was startled to see her kneeling between his legs. Suddenly he became more attuned to her, her strong, supple fingers on his sore calf. She eased the pressure bit by bit and gently worked the muscle. The beat of the music abruptly changed when “I Can't Get No Satisfaction” came on. He was distracted from the soreness by the intimacy of their positions and the song's sexy implication. She was about a foot from his groin and breathing fast. Her hair was damp from her workout and curled a little around her face. Desire flickered and burned low inside him.
Then he noticed her clothes. A black leotard that outlined very full breasts. Which he'd touched that one night in the EMS storeroom. Sweat glistened on her bare skin above the scoop.
She looked at him. Her hands stilled but stayed on his leg. Then they slid along his skin behind his knee. She stared for a minute into his eyes—something kindling in hers—then swept his body from chin to crotch. He'd worn a jock strap, but his reaction to her nearness, the ember inside him turning into roaring flames, was obvious, particularly from her vantage point. She looked away. When the Stones' harmonica signaled their “Sweet Black Angel,” his gaze fell to her leotard again. Against the revealing spandex, he could see her nipples pucker.
Damn! What was he doing?
"Get off me now, will you?" he snapped.
Her eyes narrowed and turned cool. She dropped her hands. "I wasn't going to say I told you so, but since you're being so sweet and all…"
He sat up fast and grabbed her wrist. "You know, too bad you don't have any kids. You'd make a perfect nagging mother."
Her whole body froze. Her face went completely blank. The emptiness he saw there stunned him. Just like the other night when he'd asked about Tim.
Abruptly the music stopped.
"Look, I…"
She flung off his hand, stood and fled to the door. Hampered because of his cramp, he got to his feet and caught up with her before she made it out.
He grasped her arm. "I didn't mean that the way it came out. But I'm so angry at you, I can't control myself."
Her back to him, she leaned her head against the door. "You can never control yourself. That's part of the problem." She jerked her shoulder, forcing him to drop her arm. "Leave me alone, hero." And then she was gone.
Dylan sank to the floor and rubbed his sore leg.
Looked like a great weekend ahead.