Fire Born (Firehouse 343) (5 page)

“Last I knew,” the Gracechurch marshal was saying, “they were still in the waiting room on the surgical floor.
Cal’s daughter and his fiancée were very distraught when the doctor came in and told us he didn’t make it through the surgery.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss, Marshal Dresden. And theirs,” Martie said softly.

***

For a man who didn’t smoke, Chris sure as hell felt like he needed a cigarette. Or even better, a
n entire
case of Budweiser to drown his sorrow in. It still felt unreal, the wound in his heart still too raw
. But no matter how much he wished it weren’t so, Calvin was gone.
The truth of that hurt so much it was hard to breathe.

Although they had all wanted to stay, he had sent the rest of B Platoon home when the fire marshal had left them at about 5:30 that morning. They had a long drive ahead of them to get back to Gracechurch
and
they were going to need to sleep, even if it wouldn’t amount to much. Chris had said he was staying with the family. Irene had protested weakly that it wasn’t necessary for him to stay, that she would be alright looking after Tonja and
Karalyn
on her own. He had seen differently in her eyes. She and Cal might have been divorced for the last twelve years, but she wasn’t handling his death as well as she would like them all to believe, and h
e’d have to be blind not to
have
see
n
the gratitude
behind her tears.

The hospital staff had been very gracious about allowing them the use of the
waiting room for as long as they needed. Both Tonja and Kara had been given mild sedatives to calm them down, and now all three of the women were sleeping. Chris knew he needed to sleep as well, his body craved it, but every time he tried closing his eyes he heard the sound of Calvin’s PASS over the speaker
in his mask
again.
Not to mention the fact that with the couches taken up
by his companions (and others waiting to hear about family members having surgery), he was left with only a chair to stretch out in. No way
his six-foot-two frame was
getting comfortable enough to sleep in a
Naugahyde
chair.

Having
given up on any chance of rest
, Chris rose and headed for the door, closing it quietly behind him when he stepped out into the hall. He raised a hand to rub the back of his neck, trying to work some of the kinks out of his aching muscles, and wondered if he should try to eat something. He wasn’t really hungry but knew that he needed food to
keep his energy level up, as sleep
had chosen to elude him. He turned toward the nurses’ station just down the hall, stopping short at the sight of the shapely
derriere
of the tall, black-haired woman waiting patiently for the nurse behind the desk to get off the phone.

She hung up
as Chris forced himself to move forward again, and looked up at the woman
.
“So sorry about that, how may I help you?”

“Two things, actually,” the woman replied, and he noted her voice was rich and throaty.
Sexy.
He could easily imagine that voice purring his name as he stoked the fires of her passion.

And that thought brought him up short again. While he’d always been a man who appreciated female beauty, he couldn’t ever recall being so turned on just be the sound of a woman’s voice. And hell, after everything that had happened in the last twelve hours, it was hardly the time to be thinking about getting laid.

“I would appreciate it if you could locate Dr. Alex Hoffman,” t
he woman was saying, and damn
if his libido didn’t stir again. “I
also need to see someone
name
d
Chris Paytah. He’s a firefighter—”

“Who is standing right behind you,” Chris finished for her, all thoughts of sex fleeing at the sound of his name. Okay, maybe not
all
thoughts—she had said his name in that sinfully sensuous voice of hers
, after all
. But this stranger coming to s
ee him—and the doctor who’d performed Calvin’s surgery, the one who had come to tell them of his death, now that he recalled—had certainly put a frown on his face.

She turned to face him, her eyes widening slightly. Chris took in the
golden-brown
orbs,
aquiline
nose
,
and full
,
pouty lips in a glance.
She was clearly of Mediterranean descent, and though her nose was a shade too strong to label her a classic beauty, he would call her gorgeous nonetheless.

Especially wh
en she smiled, which she did
somewhat hesitantly.
“Lt. Paytah, I’m Lt. Martine
Liotta
of the Montana Bureau of Fire Safety,” she said, holding her hand out as she stepped toward him. “I regret meeting you under these circumstances. You have my sincerest condolences for your loss.”

An arson investigator, he mused as he shook her hand. Not sure whether to be annoyed or relieved that Bob Dresden had set the ball rolling on the investigation so quickly, Chris merely nodded. “
I don’t have to ask why you’re here to see me,” he said.
“You want to talk about the
Breckon
Apartments fire.”

Martine nodded. “I realize that you’re grieving the loss of a friend, Lieutenant, and that it may be difficult for you to talk about what happened. But it really is better for me to ask these questions when the inci
dent is still relatively fresh i
n your mind. I’ll also need to speak to the rest of your platoon as soon as possible.”

Chris hated to admit it, but she was right. It was well known that the first 48 hours of any criminal investigation were the most critical. “Very well,” he said with a sigh. “Will the cafeteria be all right with you? I’m afraid the waiting room is occupie
d right now. Calvin’s family is
resting there.”

“The cafeteria will be fine,” she replied, then turned to the nurse again. After pulling a badge wallet from her pocket, she flipped it open and held it out for the nurse to inspect, then pulled a business card out of the wallet’s pocket. “When you reach Dr. Hoffman, tell him Martie
Liotta
of the Bureau of Fire Safety needs to speak with him, and I will need copies of all of Captain Maynard’s medical records. He can find us in the cafeteria.”

The nurse took the card and nodded. “Yes, ma’am,” she replied, reaching for the phone.

The arson investigator turned back to Chris. “Shall we?”

He nodded. “Yeah, let’s get this over with. I want to get back before Cal’s family wakes up.”

“Lieutenant,” the nurse called out as they moved to walk away. “If any of the ladies wakes while you’re gone, I’ll let them know where you are.”

“Thank you,” he told her, and then
he
and Martine—Martie, she had said to the nurse—headed for the elevators.

They were silent on
the ride down, du
ring which Chris tried his har
dest not to be aware of the incredible example of femininity standing next to him. She was close enough that he could smell her perfume, a blend of citrus and some flowe
r he didn’t recognize—possibly
orange blossoms. He didn’t want to be aware of
the swell of her breasts or the curve of her hips, the perfect roundness of her ass. Calvin had been dead hardly more than six hours and he was lusting after the arson investigator assigned to his case. This was nuts.

In order to avoid his eyes being drawn to her backside when she walked, he hurried off the elevator first when it stopped on the ground floor. Martie either didn’t notice his rudeness or chose not to acknowledge it, and simply fell into step beside him. In the cafeteria they each bought a cup of coffee and he led them to a table by the windows.

After taking a sip of the bitter coffee, he set the paper cup down and said, “So what do you want to know, Lt.
Liotta
?”

“Please call me Martie,” she told him.

He nodded. “You can call me Chris, I suppose.”

She smiled again, a fuller one this time. Chris ground his teeth and reached for his coffee again, resolutely ignoring the tightening in his groin.

“Thank you, Chris,” Martie said, then reached into the messenger bag she’d had slung over her shoulder and pulled out a small voice recorder. “Do you mind if I record
this? I find it easier to
con
duct interviews
this way and translate them into notes later.”

Chris shrugged. “Whatever you feel is best, I guess.”

She switched the recorder on and placed it on the table between them. After reciting her name, the date, and giving his name as the person being interviewed, she said softly, “Tell me about yesterday, Chris.”

He felt his chest squeeze tight just thinking about it. In his mind he could still see Calvin’s determined f
ace when he said he was going
to help Football and Terry search for the people trapped inside
the burning building
. He could still feel the unease settling into the pit of his stomach, that feeling that something just wasn’t right.

Slowly, starting from the moment the call came over the station loudspeakers, Chris recounted the events of the day before. He told her everything that had happened on the scene as best as he recalled it—which was in unfortunately brutal detail. Martie didn’t ask him any questions until he had finished speaking.

“Protocol says Captain Maynard should have stayed outside with
the ground crew and sent you or another firefighter in to assist with the search
,” she said. “Why do you think he didn’t do that?”

He shrugged again. “I don’t know for sure, but if I were to hazard a guess it’s because he’s a parent too—or was—and wanted to ensure that little girl was reunited with her mother. Cal had a daughter too. She’s pretty broken up over this.”

“
You could have reminded him of the SOP and insisted on going inside instead,” Martie pressed.
“Why didn’t you?”

“Because protocol also says that the commanding officer’s orders are to be followed by his subordinates,” Chris replied sharply. “It was Calvin’s call.”

“Of course,” she conceded mildly.
“
And Marshal Dresden?
He should have taken command on his arrival and did not—he left you in charge and departed almost as soon as he’d arrived. What do you think of that?”

Chris frowned, and his voice was sharp once again as he replied tightly, “I think that his friend of more than 30 years was more of a priority to him than a building that was not worth saving.”

She surprised him a little when next she asked, “
How is that little girl, by the way? You said her name was Jessica?”

“It is. And last I heard she was resting comfortably at Gracechurch Memorial. Cal’s actions, covering her like he did, saved that kid’s life,” he said.

Martie nodded. “I’ve no doubt of that, Chris.”

The softness of her voice, the way she all but breathed his name, and once again he found himself wanting her. Those lips were just begging to be devoured
, her body to be explored. Or maybe his grandfather was right and it had been too long since he’d had a woman in his bed
.
Whatever the case, a
s insane as it was given the emotional roller coaster of the last day, there was
just
no denying that he found Martie
Liotta
attractive.

But when the hell could he ever do anything about it?

***

Oy
mio
, Martie thought as she got into her car.
Her hands holding the wheel, she closed her eyes and tilted her head back to the headrest. Chris Paytah was nothing like
what she’d expected. Well, she really hadn’t known
what
to expect, but it certainly wasn’t a tall, muscular Native American with short, ebony hair and
dark chocolate eyes—and a mouth that had drawn her gaze more times than she cared to admit. Unbidden, his face came to her mind’s eye and once again she found herself staring at a top lip that reminded her of a bow, and a full bottom lip that looked just right for pulling with her teeth.
She’d also noted the bottom of what appeared to be a sleeve tattoo on his right fore
arm. If it was a fu
ll sleeve, then…damn. That was sexy.

Telling herself to get a grip, Martie sat straight and put her key into the ignition. She had notes to translate—she still needed to speak to the other men from Chris’s team, getting their perspective
s
on the incident. Although she could probably conduct those interviews over the phone, she knew she wouldn’t. She preferred a hands-on approach. Talk
ing to the men in person
would make her appear more sincere, which in turn might incline them to be more open with their opinions. Being a woman and playing the sympathy card wouldn’t hurt
, either
.