WHEN THE PUB door opened, Dylan glanced up from the stock he was inventorying. “Well, look who the cat dragged in.”
His brother Aidan, an arm crooked around the love of his life, C.J. Ludzecky, came toward them. He had the O’Neil looks—black hair, blue eyes—but Aidan’s disposition was more easygoing than the rest of them. It showed in his wide grin and pleasant demeanor. Patrick brooded most of the time, Liam was melancholy, and Dylan himself was usually enervated.
“Hey, Dyl.” Aidan hiked himself up and hugged his brother, albeit awkwardly, over the bar. C.J. kissed Dylan on the cheek.
“You glow, girl.”
“Secret Service agents do not glow.” Her smile contradicted the denial. She linked her arm with Aidan’s. “We’re back.”
“Already?”
“Yep. As of yesterday, your sister has a new personal protective agent, Kip Michaels. Good guy. Been waiting for a spot in the VPPD to open up.”
Dylan studied her. Despite her denial, she did glow, with her blond hair hanging loose and her amber eyes filled with joy. She was dressed in a soft pink blouse and jeans to match. “Feeling okay about leaving the detail?”
“Okay enough. I start in the New York field office next week.”
“Think this clown is worth it?”
Snatching an orange slice from behind the bar, Aidan took a bite. “Am I, babe?”
C.J. rolled her eyes. “You two.” She scanned the pub. “Where are the guys?”
Just then the back door opened and in walked Liam and Mikey. “Hey,” Liam said.
“C.J.!” Mikey raced to her.
She caught him on the run and hugged him tight. “How’s my favorite O’Neil man?”
For a minute the kid buried his face in her neck. Dylan watched Liam watch them. They were all worried about Mike, but of course his dad was the most concerned. Having had trouble with his own son Hogan, Dylan understood only too well what Liam was going through.
Mikey drew back but kept his arms draped around C.J. “Nuh-uh, Uncle Aidan’s your favorite.”
C.J. whispered in his ear, “Nope, you are. And guess what? We’re back in New York to stay.”
Saying nothing, Mike hugged her again.
Then Aidan stepped up and reached for the boy. “Gimme him.”
After more warm welcomes, they all settled at the bar. Dylan glanced at Liam, who winked at him. Aidan nodded.
“Did you hear the one about the blonde who went to see a ventriloquist show?” Dylan asked C.J.
“Not again.” C.J. shook her head. “Don’t you guys give up?”
“Did you hear it?”
“No.”
“The ventriloquist said to the dummy, ‘Got any good jokes?’”
“The dummy replied, ‘Yeah, there was this blonde who went into a library...’” He proceeded to tell three blonde jokes in a row, until finally a woman in the audience bolted up. Blond hair down to her waist, very curvy. Beautiful. ‘Stop it,’ she yelled. ‘How can you be so politically incorrect? Color of hair does not determine IQ. When will you guys lay off?’”
“The ventriloquist turned red. ‘I’m so sorry, madam. I was just joking. I—’”
“The blonde interrupted him. ‘I’m not talking to you,’ she snapped. Then she pointed to the dummy. ‘I’m talking to him.’”
Liam, Aidan and Dylan guffawed and even C.J.’s lips twitched.
Mikey’s brow furrowed. Then awareness dawned on his face. “I get it. She thought...” He began to laugh.
C.J.’s eyes narrowed on the group and Dylan was reminded of the tough agent who’d protected his sister until she fell for Aidan. “I’m going to find the worst Irish male joke I can.”
Dylan hooted. “Bring it on, baby.”
While they were razzing her, the pub door opened again; a beautiful redhead walked inside.
C.J.’s face flushed. “Holy hell. I can’t believe this.”
“Rachel Scott, right?” This from Liam.
Mike went wide-eyed. “That’s the TV lady who got Rory kidnapped.”
Last summer, when Bailey, her kids and some of the O’Neils were staying at Clay’s lake residence, Scott, who was a TV reporter from WNYC, had found out and publicized the Second Family’s whereabouts. She’d also covered a hostage situation that Clay was involved in, with little care for her effect on their family. They’d all been furious at her sensational journalism, but Clay had been the angriest and had done his best to see that Scott’s career suffered for her negligence.
Scott’s face was all business as she came toward them.
“What do you want?” C.J. asked.
“We got word you were in town, Agent Ludzecky. I was hoping the vice president and Second Lady were with you.”
C.J. stood and straightened to her full five feet eight inches. Scott was taller than she looked on TV. The woman studied C.J.’s outfit. “You’re not on duty.”
“I’m not on the VPPD anymore.”
“What?” Dylan could practically see the newswoman’s mind clicking. “Can I interview you about why?” She glanced at her watch. “I can have a crew here in ten minutes.”
“What do you think’?” Aidan asked, moving close to C.J.
Regally, Scott tossed back her hair. “Surely this...freeze has gone on long enough. I tried to apologize personally to the vice president. I sent several notes. What do I have to do?”
“Drop off the face of the earth?” Aidan suggested.
Liam stepped forward. “I apologize for my brother’s manners. I’m sure you were just doing your job. But Clay’s the only one who’s got say here. It’d be better for you and our family if you’d just leave us alone. Please don’t come back to the pub.”
Green eyes flamed with frustration. They snapped to Dylan. “You’re a journalist. Do you agree with them?”
Dylan wrote a weekly column for the magazine CitySights and loved the part-time work. “Jury’s still out on that one, sweetheart.”
As he knew she would, she bristled at the nickname. “I can’t believe this. Well, I’m not taking it lying down.” Turning on three-inch heels that made her legs look long and sexy, she strode out.
“Hmm, another fiery redhead,” Dylan said. “Speaking of lying down, I’ll bet she’s hot in...”
Liam cleared his throat, reminding Dylan that Mikey was there.
“Why would she be hot, Uncle Dylan?”
“Never mind, kiddo. You’ll find out soon enough.”
C.J. tugged Mike off the stool. “Come on, Mike, you and I are going to stroll up to the park. We’ll leave these Neanderthals to their lewd comments.”
“What’s a Nean...what does that word mean?”
“Something you, my man, will never be.”
Dylan watched them leave hand in hand. “She’s great.”
“I am so hooked.” Aidan stared after her. “And loving every minute of it. Finally, I got myself a girl.” His eyes focused on Liam. “How about you? Any dates since I left?”
“Nothing I’d repeat.”
“He was checking out this strawberry-blond firefighter who comes in here.”
“Yeah? Do tell.”
“I wasn’t checking her out. And let’s not talk about me. I’ve had enough of that today.”
Dylan stilled. “The therapist appointment?”
Liam nodded.
“How’s that going?” Aidan asked.
“Good. Glad you pushed me to do it. All of you.”
“Well then, let’s see what else we can push you into.” Aidan motioned to the tap. “We’ll have a beer and you can tell me all about the firefighter.”
Dylan got drinks, wondering if Aidan could help him and Paddy come up with a plan to pull his brother out of his funk. He glanced at the door where the redheaded reporter had gone. No, she’d be too much for Liam. Damn, she’d be too much for him, and he was used to fiery hellcats.
o0o
FRUSTRATED, SOPHIE TURNED the treadmill up to seven and adjusted the incline higher. Though she was on duty, she’d snatched twenty minutes to run. Fitness was crucial to firefighters, but especially to women in the department. They had to develop strength to compensate for their lesser muscle mass. One reason she’d made it in the old boy’s club was because she could out-lift and outdistance the majority of the guys. It didn’t come easy, either, and she took every opportunity to work at it.
She also found that exercise helped her to figure things out. In the last four days, she’d interviewed eight possible roommates—roommates that she didn’t even want. But she’d given it a shot by putting an ad in the FDNY newspaper, figuring if she got another smoke eater, they might not see each other much. But hell, she hadn’t known there were so many weird people in the department...
Claire Malcolm, a paramedic, had run a hand over Sophie’s dining-room table and sniffed. “Not very tidy in here. We’d need to schedule regular cleaning sessions. I won’t pick up after you.”
Sophie had thought, Lady, you won’t be here to pick up after anybody.
A guy name Nick who worked on Squad 28 had seemed okay until he saw her plants. “I’m allergic to the mold in the plants.”
He seemed like more trouble than he was worth.
A lieutenant Hannah knew who played in a band wanted to move in right away. Sophie was thinking seriously about it, until he told her he had to practice his sax here. She didn’t think she could handle that.
Others had similar peculiarities. Looking for a roommate didn’t seem to be the answer. Which left getting a part-time job.
The probie came into the workout room. He was a good-looking guy with his swarthy complexion and dark hair and eyes. Sophie had done her share of initiation—short sheeting his bed, stuffing his locker full of mothballs—but he was so enthusiastic, it was hard to be mean to him. “Cap said to tell you the kids are coming in a half hour.”
“Thanks, Jules.” He looked the worse for wear. “What were you doing?”
“Swabbing the floor. For the third time today.”
“I remember those days. At least it’ll be clean when the school gets here.”
He leaned against the doorjamb. “I like little kids.”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t you?”
“I don’t think about them much.”
“You don’t want any?”
“Someday, maybe. But I’m not even sure of that.”
“It’ll be fun having them here.”
“We’re out of service for two hours.” She started to slow down. “I’m gonna shower first.”
Jules left and by the time the second-grade class from St. Mary’s Catholic School arrived, Sophie was dressed in her light blue shirt, navy pants and low black work boots. She joined her crew to meet the students, show them around and give them some instruction on fire safety.
Mackenzie led them to the common room where juice and doughnuts had been set up. “Welcome to Company 14. Why don’t you get something to eat, then sit down in one of the chairs?”
The kids were cute, dressed in navy jumpers for the girls and blue pants and white shirts for the boys. She took note of the chaperones, two nuns who wore black skirts and white blouses and crucifix necklaces, a woman who was probably a mother volunteer and...oh, Liam O’Neil. Now she remembered. He’d told them his kid was coming today. When he caught her gaze, he smiled and waved. She nodded and glanced to the group to see which kid was his.
A little boy had turned around to face the back of the room. His dark hair was a bit curly around his ears and neck, and he had huge blue eyes. No smile, though. When he found Liam, he gave a half grin.
Mackenzie asked for quiet. “Again, welcome, all of you. We’re here to tell you about the fire department and to teach you some fire safety. I’m Captain Mackenzie, and these are the five firefighters who are going to spend some time with you. After you finish your snack, we’ll go look at the trucks.”
“Yay!”
“The trucks.”
“Super.”
A boy, who’d been talking the loudest, raised his hand. Reluctantly, Mackenzie took his question. “What’s that thing behind you?” the kid asked.
The cap swallowed hard. Under a banner that read, “WE WILL NEVER FORGET,” a flag, a plaque with engraved names and the Maltese cross hung lovingly on one wall. “It’s a tribute to the men who worked at this firehouse and were killed in 9/11.”
Sophie shot a glance at Cooper and Bilotti. They were stone-faced.
Mackenzie added, “You kids were just babies when this happened, but we lost a lot of good people in the bombings by terrorists.”
“Our teachers told us about it,” the same kid said.
“Good.” Mackenzie cleared his throat. “Now, here’s how today’ll work. Firefighter Tyler will explain what each rig does, Lieutenant Bilotti will take you on a tour of the firehouse, Firefighters Cooper, Torres and Murray will conduct safety drills with you.”
Actually, they’d make Jules do most of the work, especially the demonstrations.
Sophie stepped forward. “You ready, guys?”
They all nodded. She led the group to the bays where two rigs were housed. She had them stand by the engine first, as it was still in service. The gleaming red truck, freshly washed every morning, could go on a run any minute now. “This beauty is Engine 33. It’s called an engine or a pumper because it has an engine that pumps water onto the fire. It might get a run any minute. See those yellow layered things on top?”
Some of the kids nodded or said yes.
“Those are hoses of several widths and lengths. Most of the engines in FDNY’s fleet have five-hundred-gallon water tanks. The biggest pumps go to the high-rise buildings.”
They all stared at her. Was she talking over their heads? Hell, she didn’t know that much about kids. She led them over to Ladder 44. “This rig is called a ladder or a truck because it carries the ladders needed in rescue work. Ladder length varies and often depends on where the unit is assigned. This one has a platform for higher places and all different-sized ladders. Firefighters on ladder trucks are the ones who go in and find people and get them out. They also carry extrication equipment like halligans” —she pulled out the ax with a curled end— “to take down ceilings. We also have various pry tools and rams to open stuck doors.”
Bilotti had dragged out some of the Hurst tools and handed her a giant scissor-like thing. “You’ve probably heard about this one, too. It’s called the Jaws of Life and can rip open the hood of a car.”
The kids’ eyes widened and they murmured among themselves.
“Any questions?”
A little redheaded girl raised her hand. “How come you work here? I didn’t know they had lady firemen.”
“Yeah, we do.” She raised a brow at the captain. “Not enough, though. There are only thirty in the entire department.”
She caught Liam O’Neil’s frown.
“How come there aren’t very many?”
“Some people still view firefighting as a guy’s job.” She thought of the men who’d done despicable things when the first female firefighter, Brenda Berkman, bulldozed her way, and the way of other women, into their ranks. Even wives and kids protested. “Sometimes women are afraid to try to be a firefighter because society doesn’t think they should.”
“That’s dumb,” the girl said.
Sophie grinned. “I think so, too. Any other questions?”
“How many fires do you go to in a day?” a nun asked. “There are eleven fires every hour in the five boroughs. We catch our share.”
“Eleven?” This from the mother. “Wow!”
“I—”
A blast of static came over the PA. “Lower West Side, Box 234, Engine 33. A 10-75.” Which meant a working fire.
There was rumbling from the house and six firefighters appeared in the bay. Each hustled to his pair of rubber boots and navy turnout pants that sat on the concrete floor near the engine. They kicked off their house shoes, and within seconds, they were in their goods and onto the rig, where their coats and face masks, called SCBA, were waiting in assigned seating. Not even two minutes after the call, the engine tore out of the house.
Amidst the shrill of the siren, the kids were openmouthed.
Sophie was glad they got to see a real run.
After she finished her talk, the kids headed to the common room for a safety lesson. But the little O’Neil boy hung back and sidled over to his father. Squatting, Liam spoke to his son, who shook his head and tried to take Liam’s hand. Again, Liam spoke to him and when he looked up and caught Sophie’s gaze, his eyes were troubled.
She walked over. “Hi. Who’s this?”
Liam opened his mouth, but the boy answered before his father could. “Mike O’Neil.”
“Well, Mike O’Neil, aren’t you going to go in for the lesson?”
He looked down at his feet.
She squatted. “Mike, is something wrong?”
He shook his head.
“Didn’t you want to come today?”
“I wanted to.”
“Don’t you want to do the lesson?”
He shrugged.
She stood and stretched out her arm. “How about if I take you inside?”
Finally the boy raised his head. “ ’Kay.” He glanced at his dad.
“Your dad will be there, too, in the back.”
Dad mouthed “thank you” as she led the boy out.
Sophie sat beside Mike as the guys started with simple safety issues, like closing the doors to rooms so if a fire started, it wouldn’t spread, to safety in stove use and electrical appliances. Torres demonstrated the “Stop, drop and roll” drill to teach kids what to do if they themselves caught on fire. They discussed the importance of having fire paths out of the house and gave the kids window stickers to indicate to firefighters a child’s room in the home.
When the lesson was over, Sophie squeezed Mike’s shoulder. “That was good, don’t you think?”
“Uh-huh.” Shyly he looked at her. “I didn’t know they had girl firefighters, either. The ones that came for Mom were all guys.”
“That came for your mom?” Liam O’Neil was married? She hadn’t thought of that and was vaguely disappointed.
“When she was sick. Sometimes, we had to call the fire department to take her to the hospital.”
“I’m sorry your mother’s sick, Mike.”
Eyes wide, the boy glanced around wildly. When he spotted his father, he bolted off the chair and darted over. Sophie followed him.
“What happened?” Liam asked, grasping onto Mike when the boy encircled his waist with his arms.
“I don’t know. He was talking about the fire department coming to help your wife, and he got upset.”
“I see.”
“I don’t know what I did.”
Still holding on to his son, Liam’s face shadowed with pain. “My wife died three years ago. Mikey doesn’t talk about her too much.”
“I’m so sorry.” Again, she hunkered down to Mike’s eye level. “I didn’t mean to make you sad, Mike.”
His face averted, she heard him say, “It’s okay.”
“No, honey, it’s not. I know how you feel.”
He took a peek at her.
“My mom died when I was ten. I know what it’s like to lose your mommy when you’re little.”
“Did the firefighters help her, too?” he asked.
Sophie’s throat got tight. “They tried, but it was too late. My mom, me and my brother were all caught in a burning building. They did get me and my brother out safely, but not her.”
Now the boy totally disengaged from his dad. “Really?”
“Yeah, really.”
“I’m glad they saved you.”
She smiled. “Me, too.”
Liam’s gaze was warm with approval. “Me, too.”