Smoke and Fire Read online

  Brady nodded to the receptionist, knowing she’d be the talk of the office pool for the rest of the day. She was so glad she didn’t have to listen to office gossip.

  “May I get you something to drink? Coffee, orange juice, water?” Ann asked as Brady followed her down the hall.

  Brady wanted a second cup of coffee but was afraid it would prolong the meeting she didn’t want to be in in the first place. “No, nothing, thanks.”

  Ann knocked twice on the door before opening it and stepped inside. She indicated Brady should follow.

  “Gentlemen, this is Brady Stewart,” Ann said, looking from Brady to the men standing around the coffee carafe at the end of the table. “Ms. McMillan will be in shortly. Please everyone make yourself at home.”

  A big beefy man with balding black hair, a large mustache, and an ill-fitting suit spoke first. “What role do you play in this show?” the man boomed. The coffee cup in his large hand looked like it came from a child’s tea set.

  Brady changed her mind about the coffee. She didn’t know she’d be meeting with anyone other than the boss, and after counting all the men in the room, she figured this would take much longer than she thought. She needed that coffee now more than ever.

  “Excuse me?” Brady asked, pouring the steaming liquid into the delicate cup.

  “What do you do? You’re not the photographer, cuz you don’t have a camera. Are you the reporter from the Morgan City News?”

  “Who are you?” Brady asked, baffled why she was in this room with these men.

  “Jack Bingham. I have twenty-five years of a perfect safety record. More than I can say about any of the others on my crew. I’m with the Oxbow crew under Gill Heard.” He pointed to the other men before he continued. “Hammerstone invented some new piece of equipment, Baxter and Cormier recommended a new process for storing the C4, and Marcus and Showalter are the heroes of the Hunts Crossing blowout. Each man nodded when Bingham said his name.

  Brady recognized the name of the man’s crew and the other accomplishments he listed. She was beginning to realize this was more than a one-on-one meet and greet with the boss. It must be some kind of award or recognition event.

  “Brady Stewart. I pulled some dumb ass out of harm’s way,” Brady said.

  “No shit?”

  “No shit.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said, shaking his head as if he couldn’t figure out which was more surprising, saving a man’s life or a woman on a crew who saved a man’s life. He finally added, “Plenty of them to go around, that’s for sure. What crew you on?”

  “Nineteen. Flick Jordan’s the chief. But I was a fill-in on another crew when that happened.”

  “Flick.” The man paused and nodded. “I worked for him a few years back. Never had a woman on a crew I worked before.”

  “That makes two of us,” Brady said as the door to the conference room opened.

  Chapter Four

  “Gentlemen, sorry for keeping you waiting,” a man with dark-red hair said, entering the room. He stopped looking back and forth between the men and Brady, puzzlement clearly written all over his face. Brady knew the instant he realized who she was.

  “My apologies,” he said, looking directly at her. “I’m Buck Hightower. Ms. McMillan is a few minutes behind me. You must be Jack,” he said, shaking the man’s hand vigorously. “Congratulations on your safety award. We need more men like you at McMillan.”

  He turned to each man and acknowledged him in a similar manner. Then it was Brady’s turn. “Brady Stewart,” she said, extending her hand. She preferred to take the lead in uncomfortable situations.

  “Ms. Stewart, I’m honored to meet you. Thank you so much for your heroic actions. I’m sure Steckman can’t thank you enough either.”

  Brady didn’t hear the rest of what Buck said, her attention drawn to the woman walking into the room.

  The photographs of Nicole McMillan didn’t do her justice. She was striking, elegant, and sophisticated, and she exuded power, confidence, and raw sexuality all in one nice, stunning package. She had what Brady had once read was described as presence. Impressive was the other word that came to mind. Other things came to mind as well, but Brady filed them away to think about later.

  Nicole quickly glanced at the men in the room and hesitated when their eyes met. A slightly raised eyebrow was the only clue she gave upon realizing just who Brady Stewart was. Jesus, does anyone in this company realize I’m a woman?

  Hightower introduced Nicole to each of the men, and she responded with a short comment about why each of them was here. Brady thought Nicole made small talk easily, a trait more aptly described as the gift of gab or the ability to bullshit with anyone at any time about anything. Brady didn’t like to beat around the bush and said pretty much what was on her mind, if she had anything to say at all. Then it was her turn.

  “Nicole, this is Brady Stewart,” Hightower said.

  “Ms. Stewart,” Nicole said, extending her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you and McMillan is proud of your work, especially the way you pulled Steckman out of the fire.”

  Brady was rarely at a loss for words, but the smooth, melodious way her name slid off Nicole’s lips sounded like a soft rain on a warm summer night. It took several moments for Brady to remember her self-taught manners and shake the offered hand.

  “Thank you, Ms. McMillan, but I was just doing my job. I told my crew boss that, but he seems to think it’s a big deal,” Brady replied, reluctantly releasing the strong, warm hand in hers.

  “Well, it is a big deal, and I didn’t want it to go unnoticed. Our lives depend on each other every day we’re on the line, and without that we might not make it home in the same condition we left.”

  Brady detected a slight tremor in her last words but doubted if anyone else did. Her senses were on high alert with Nicole, from the subtle fragrance she wore to the perfect tailoring of her impeccable suit to the surprising flat dullness in her eyes.

  Everyone at McMillan knew the story of Nicole. She was a firefighter herself and one day after over ten years on the line was badly burned in an explosion when the wellhead she was installing flared. She wasn’t expected to live and, by what Brady had read and all appearances now, her recovery and months of recuperation were successful. Brady wanted to search for any signs of her legendary burns but forced herself to keep her eyes from straying.

  Nicole was impressed by the woman standing in front of her. Brady Stewart wasn’t at all what she expected. That was an understatement. Brady wasn’t much more than an inch or two shorter than herself, her build stocky, and from experience Nicole knew she had to be strong and incredibly tough. Her handshake was firm but not overpowering, her eyes clear, and her interest obvious. The first was expected, the second mandatory, and if her racing pulse and pounding heart were any indication, the third a complete surprise.

  “You’ve been with us for what…eight years?” Nicole made a mental note to have Buck research and report on how many other women were on the lines.

  “Yes.”

  “You were on the A14 fire in Kuwait last year, right?”

  “Yes, I was.” Brady didn’t appear to be the least bit surprised that she knew. Nicole had an almost photographic memory when it came to her company. She knew who had been on what fire, when, and how long it had taken to contain.

  Nicole nodded, remembering the video of one of the largest fires McMillan had worked in the last year or two. It had taken five crews, dozens of pieces of equipment, and forty-eight days to extinguish.

  “Well done.”

  Nicole had an overwhelming desire to sit down with Brady over a beer or two and talk with her. She wanted to know every little detail of the fire, wanted her to describe in minute detail everything that happened at the scene, wanted to experience it vicariously through Brady’s words. Instead Buck took over the meeting and everyone sat around the large cherrywood conference table.

  As Buck talked,
Nicole mulled over her reaction to Brady. Since her accident, Nicole had not set foot on a site. The mere thought of a fire made her break out in a cold sweat and her stomach threaten to dump its contents on her shoes. After months of nightmares of being burned alive, her mother encouraged her to go to therapy. Instead, Nicole moved out of her parents’ house, back into her own on the other side of town, and it was never mentioned again. She hadn’t allowed herself to think about the details of a fire in years.

  While Buck and the others talked she caught everyone except Brady staring at her at least once. She knew what they were looking for. Like everyone else who knew about the accident, everyone except the most polite people always were trying to catch a glimpse of the horrific burns that had scarred her body. Even though she understood their curiosity, it still hurt to have people envision her body as a canvas of scars. Through sheer luck or the grace of God, her hands, face and neck hadn’t been exposed to the life-altering flames that had engulfed her years ago. The long sleeves and pants took care of the rest.

  The meeting over, Nicole stood and shook hands again with the men who had made a significant contribution to the health and safety of her employees. She saved Brady for last and found herself asking Brady if she had time to come to her office after the tour. She knew Buck was watching her but she didn’t make eye contact, focusing only on Brady when she agreed.

  *

  Nicole paced back and forth in front of the three large windows in her office as she waited for Brady. After lunch Buck had taken the group on a tour of the McMillan company museum which, with the exception of the security desk and the bank of four elevators, filled the entire first floor. Her schedule was packed, which wasn’t unusual, and Ann had frowned at her when she told her to clear her calendar for the rest of the afternoon. She had no idea what she was going to talk about with Brady. All she knew was that she wanted to spend more time with her.

  Changing her pattern, Nicole wondered if it was because she knew Brady was attracted to her but just as quickly banished the thought. Other women had expressed interest in her, some subtly, a few with outright propositions, but Nicole had politely and firmly declined each one. Other than her physicians and a variety of other health-care providers, she hadn’t let anyone see the extent of her injuries. High hedges around the pool in her backyard kept prying eyes from glimpsing her scarred and maimed body. When she needed pure sexual release she took matters into her own hands, and when that no longer sufficed, she called a discreet number her physical therapist had given her years ago. The lights were always off in an obscure hotel room, and no real names were ever exchanged.

  How long had it been since she’d enjoyed the touch of another woman? The service, as she preferred to call it, was just that—a service. When she needed her hair cut she went to the hairdresser, when the sink was clogged she called the plumber, and when she was so tight with sexual need she called the number she had memorized. If she wanted a job done right, she got a professional. Nicole turned from the window when Ann announced Brady had returned.

  “Thanks, Ann, please have her come in.” Nicole smoothed her already perfectly pressed blouse and took a deep breath. Her mind was a jumble, her stomach in a knot. She fought down panic as she looked from the chair opposite her desk to the more casual seating area in the other corner by the window. Should they sit with the desk between them, keeping it all business, or be less formal on the comfortable couch? Good God, Nicole thought. How difficult is it to just sit down and have a conversation? Brady stood in her doorway, a look of her own apprehension on her face.

  “Ms. Stewart,” Nicole said, somehow managing to sound calmer than she actually felt. “Thank you for coming.”

  “Thank you for inviting me,” Brady said politely, but obviously uncomfortable.

  “Please sit down.” Nicole indicated the chairs closest to Brady. “Can I get you anything? Coffee, soda, beer?”

  “Beer?” Brady asked, seeming genuinely surprised.

  The smile on Brady’s face made her knees weak, and Nicole glanced at her watch for something to get her mind back on track. “Okay, not beer. Even though it is after lunch, it’s still a workday.”

  “No, I’m fine, really. Thanks. I’ve had enough coffee to drown a horse,” Brady said, sitting down at the end of the small couch. She leaned back and studied the room.

  Nicole followed Brady’s eyes as they took in the magazines on the small table in front of her, the knickknacks she’d collected from various parts of the world on the bookshelf to her left, the photos of various fires that adorned the rich, tan walls, and finally settling on her.

  “I didn’t think crews could ever get enough coffee.”

  “Generally that’s true. But when I’m not working, I try to be more civilized.”

  A flash of Brady uncivilized shot through Nicole’s imagination, and she grabbed the back of the chair to keep from stumbling into it as she sat down.

  “Are you all right?” Brady asked, concern in her dark eyes.

  “Yes, just caught my shoe on the back of the chair.” Nicole tried to find her composure that had so quickly deserted her when Brady walked in her office. “Do you get much downtime?”

  Brady looked at her intently and answered evasively. “You know how it is. You grab any time you can anywhere you can.”

  “Yes, I do.” For the first time in years someone was actually talking about her life before the fire. A mixture of nostalgia and familiar gut-wrenching fear settled in her chest. “Or at least I did.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I should go.” Brady started to get up but Nicole stopped her.

  “No, please,” she said, almost pleading. “I want you to stay. It’s just that you’re the first person in a long time who’s mentioned anything about my time on a crew.”

  “Really? But I’d think that’s such a big part of who you are, what you do today.”

  Nicole looked at Brady, and even under intense scrutiny Brady didn’t look away. “You’re very intuitive, Ms. Stewart.” Brady laughed, and Nicole’s grip on her stomach subsided a little.

  “I’ve been called a lot of things, Ms. McMillan, but intuitive was certainly not one of them.” This time Brady’s eyes sparkled.

  “Maybe you should expand the company you keep.”

  It was Brady’s turn to study her. Nicole couldn’t read anything on her face but could sense the wheels turning and a decision being made.

  “Thank you, but I like the company I keep. Present company included.” Brady let her comment sink in before adding, “And please don’t call me Ms. Stewart. That was my mother and I’d rather not…well, anyway…”

  “What’s your crew name?” In addition to their given name it was tradition that every crewmember had a nickname, usually bestowed on them by their first crew chief.

  Brady hesitated again before answering. “Bond.”

  “Bond?”

  Brady nodded. “Yes, as in James Bond.”

  This time Nicole laughed. “Why? Are you a spy?” Brady laughed and Nicole’s stomach flip-flopped.

  “No, nothing that glamorous or sexy.”

  Nicole motioned for her to continue.

  “As in doesn’t say much about their life and,” Brady looked directly at her, “gets all the girls.”

  The temperature in the room jumped ten degrees. Nicole’s groin burned and her hands started to sweat.

  “What was yours?” Brady asked back.

  Nicole swallowed hard and tried not to lose whatever composure she’d recently found. She wet her lips and saw Brady watch her tongue and her eyes darken. Holy crap, what is going on here?

  “Chipper. As in chip off the old block. My first crew chief said Chip was too butch for the boss’s daughter.”

  Nicole could hear Heat Bickford’s raspy voice as if he were standing behind her. She’d been assigned to Heat’s crew the summer she turned eighteen. She had been begging her father for months to let her out on a crew and he’d finally relented, t
rusting his only daughter to the care of his best friend. Heat had never left Nicole’s side the entire summer, calmly instructing, correcting, and praising her work. She’d returned to Heat’s crew every school break thereafter until she graduated from college three years later.

  Several seconds passed before either one of them spoke. Given the way Brady was looking at her Nicole began to wonder if she’d lost the ability to speak, let alone form a complete sentence. Not to mention a coherent one.

  “I bet it was difficult being the boss’s daughter.”

  Since it wasn’t really a question Nicole knew she didn’t need to answer, and she didn’t really want to. It had been difficult, to say the least, but she did what she was told, when she was told, and watched and learned from the best firefighter in the world—her father. With perseverance and grit she’d proved she was just as capable as a man doing the same job. She wondered if Brady’s experience was similar.

  “And do you have any problems with the crews because of…” Nicole thought for a moment as to how to ask her question and settled on “the Bond element?”

  Brady’s laughter diffused the growing sexual tension in the air. “I can’t say I’ve ever heard it referred to that way. I’ll have to keep that in mind. Never know when you’ll need a phrase like that.”

  It didn’t escape Nicole’s notice that Brady didn’t answer the question. Instead, Brady asked, “Did you?” Brady paused a beat. “Have any troubles because of the Bond element?”

  She dared a sip of her coffee, hoping her hands weren’t shaking. It was pretty gutsy for Brady to ask. It could very well be a career-limiting move to imply the boss was queer. It very well could backfire in her face.

  Nicole thought a minute, choosing whether to answer. If she did she outed herself, but if she didn’t, Brady would know she was afraid. For some reason what Brady thought of her was important.

  “No,” she said simply.

  “Was it because you were the boss’s daughter?”

  Nicole’s respect for Brady went up another notch. She laid it all out on the table. “Probably. I never asked. I didn’t talk about it, flaunt it, or hide it. If you make it a big deal it becomes a big deal. I consider it a nonevent.”