Chapter 2 Professional Tension #2
"Impressive." His tone remains neutral, but something in his eyes has changed. "Any other examples?"
"Dozens." I flip to another map, ignoring the pleased flutter in my stomach at having scored a point.
"The old mining road on the west face. Satellite shows it as a viable access route, but the middle section collapsed last winter.
Or the cave system near Thunder Ridge that provides emergency shelter during lightning storms."
With each example, Mac's team leans closer, their initial skepticism morphing into genuine interest. Rodriguez and Burke exchange looks, clearly reassessing their assumptions. Parker takes notes on a small pad, occasionally nodding.
"Your thoroughness is commendable." Mac's admission comes reluctantly, but his eyes never leave my maps—or is it me he’s studying? "Though I maintain that a combination of technologies provides optimal safety."
"I never suggested abandoning technology." I cross my arms, mirroring his earlier stance. The movement pulls my coffee-stained shirt across my chest, drawing his gaze momentarily before he deliberately looks back at my face. "Just supplementing it with actual knowledge of the terrain."
Parker checks her watch. "Time for the morning check-in with base. Coffee break for fifteen?"
Mac nods, and the crew files out, not even attempting to hide their knowing glances and whispered comments. Only then do I realize how Mac and I have been leaning toward each other, barely six inches separating our faces.
I step back, my body oddly reluctant to break the connection. "That went well."
"Did it?" His voice holds a note of amusement. "I'd say it's just getting started."
I busy myself with reorganizing maps, struggling to regain my professional composure. "Your team seems competent."
"High praise indeed." He doesn't move from his position, watching me with unwavering attention. "Are you always this passionate about cartography, Mackenzie?"
"I'm passionate about keeping people alive." I don't look up, afraid of what he might see in my eyes. "These mountains don't forgive mistakes."
"That sounds like experience talking."
The unexpected gentleness in his voice makes me glance up. His expression has softened; the challenge replaced by something more complex. For a moment, we're just two people, the charged atmosphere between us settling into something almost comfortable.
Before I can respond, the door swings open and Scout bounds in, muddy paws leaving prints across the polished floor. She heads straight for Mac, completely bypassing me, and sits expectantly at his feet.
"Traitor," I mutter.
Mac crouches, scratching behind Scout's ears. The position brings his face level with my hips. I step to the side, disturbed by how my body responds to the proximity.
"Smart girl knows quality when she sees it." He looks up at me from his crouched position, a view that sends inappropriate heat coursing through me.
"What did you feed her when I wasn't looking?"
"Nothing yet." He straightens in one fluid motion, bringing him closer than before. The morning light catches the gold flecks in his blue eyes as he grins down at me. "I keep beef jerky in my pocket for emergencies."
"Firefighting emergencies or dog-bribing emergencies?"
"Same thing." He doesn't step back, forcing me to tilt my head to maintain eye contact. Scout remains pressed against his leg, the canine equivalent of taking sides. "These evacuation routes—I'd like to walk them personally."
The casual request carries weight. Fire captains typically delegate such tasks to their team. The implication hangs in the air between us—hours alone together on remote mountain trails.
"You don't trust my maps?" I raise an eyebrow, attempting nonchalance despite the sudden acceleration of my pulse.
"I trust verification." His expression turns serious, though his eyes still hold that dangerous spark. "If we need these routes in an emergency, I want them imprinted in my memory, not just on paper."
The logic is sound, but something tells me there's more to this request. Still, I can't refuse—not without seeming unprofessional or, worse, afraid of spending time alone with him.
"Fine." I close my map case with more force than necessary. "It'll take several days to cover the primary routes."
"I've got time." His voice drops lower, vibrating through the small space between us. "Unless you're too busy giving tourists creative directions around town?"
Heat flares in my cheeks at the reminder. "I can make room in my schedule."
"Good." The challenge returns to his eyes as he leans closer, close enough that I can feel his breath on my face. "I find hands-on experience far more educational than theoretical discussions."
The double entendre hangs in the air between us, impossible to ignore. I should be offended. Instead, something electric and dangerous sparks in my chest.
"Seven routes, Captain Sullivan." I refuse to step back, though every survival instinct screams at me to create distance. "Hope your hiking boots are broken in."
"Worried about keeping up with me, Mackenzie?" The question carries layers of meaning, none of them about hiking.
"Worried about having to carry you back down the mountain when your California lungs can't handle our altitude. And my name is Jo."
He laughs—a genuine sound that crinkles the corners of his eyes and vibrates through the air between us, somehow more intimate than his earlier provocations.
"Fair warning, Mackenzie…" He deliberately refuses to use my name. "I’ve summited Denali. Twice." His eyes track over my face, lingering on my mouth before returning to my eyes. "I have excellent... endurance."
Of course he does.
The crew filters back in, carrying coffee cups and pastry bags from Maggie's. They distribute them with the efficiency of people accustomed to sharing resources, and I'm surprised when Rodriguez hands me a steaming cup.
"Two sugars, no cream—right? Sheriff mentioned that's how you take it."
"Thanks." I accept the unexpected kindness, noticing several crew members watching the exchange with poorly disguised interest.
"So, Cap," Burke calls across the room, "Ms. Mackenzie convinced you about those trail markers yet?"
Mac takes a sip of his coffee, eyes never leaving mine over the rim of his cup. "We're still in negotiations."
"Negotiations, huh?" Martinez exchanges looks with Parker. "That’s what they're calling it these days?"
A ripple of laughter moves through the crew. Mac silences it with a look, but not before I catch his own suppressed smile.
"Ms. Mackenzie has agreed to guide me through the evacuation routes personally," he announces, voice professional despite the speculation dancing in his eyes. "We'll verify the viability of each one."
"All seven routes?" Parker raises an eyebrow, her tone suggesting she understands exactly what's happening. "That's at least three days of hiking. Alone. In remote terrain."
"Thorough verification is essential for safety." Mac's tone doesn't invite further comment, but several crew members exchange knowing glances.
I focus on my coffee, pretending not to notice the undercurrents. Scout, still plastered to Mac's side, pants happily as if she's orchestrated this entire situation.
The rest of the briefing proceeds with professional focus, though I catch occasional smirks whenever Mac and I disagree, which is often. By noon, we've covered the immediate action plan for fire season preparation, and the crew disperses for equipment checks.
Mac stays behind, studying my map of Lookout Point Trail—the same one his coffee decorated earlier. He leans over it, strong fingers tracing the contours I’ve drawn with such care. The sight of his hands moving over my work sends an unwelcome shiver down my spine.
“This path here.” He traces a thin red line I’ve marked, the pad of his finger dragging slowly across the paper like it’s my skin. “It’s not on any official trail map.”
“Local knowledge.” I step in beside him, closer than I should, but not close enough to flinch. The heat of his body rolls off him like sunbaked rock, all danger and gravity. I point to the junction, refusing to retreat. “It’s a game trail. Links up to the main evac route. Saves twenty minutes.”
His eyes never leave the map, but I feel the weight of him shift—attention sharpening, focus zeroing in. “Show me tomorrow.”
“I need to mark the northern sector first—”
“And I need to know the most complicated terrain firsthand.” His voice drops, firm and final.
When he turns toward me, it’s a calculated move that closes the space between us. We’re chest to chest. Breath to breath. His body doesn’t touch mine, but it threatens to.
“Lookout Point sees the most foot traffic." He’s close enough that I can feel his breath on my cheek. "If we’re evacuating tourists, I want my boots on that trail.”
He’s not wrong. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.
“Fine.” I snap the map case closed and tuck it under my arm. “Meet me at the visitor center. 0800.”
“I’ll pick you up.” He says it as if it’s not a suggestion, but an order. He straightens, gathering his notes. His fingers brush mine as he takes a map I'm holding, the touch deliberate. "Where do you live?"
“That’s not necessary.” My voice tightens. Too breathy. Too revealing.
His gaze pins me, the corner of his mouth crooking with challenge.
“One vehicle’s more efficient, Mackenzie.
” Again with the name. His pupils darken, swallowing the blue.
As for my name, he says it slow—drawling my last name like it’s something he plans to sink his teeth into.
“Unless you’re uncomfortable being alone with me. ”
He’s baiting me. Testing. Circling the perimeter of some invisible line I’m too stubborn to draw.
The unspoken dare slices through me like a live wire.
“I’m not uncomfortable,” I bite out. “And my name is Jo.”
The challenge hangs between us—professional on the surface, something else entirely underneath.
He takes a map from my hands, fingers brushing deliberately over mine. Slow. Possessive.
“Mackenzie,” he repeats, soft but loaded. “You sent me on a wild goose chase this morning. Told me to ask for Jo, like some joke.” His grin turns predatory. “I hope you’re done with such antics."
He steps closer, close enough that I can feel the promise of what he isn’t touching. The pressure of withheld contact. My body buzzes with the nearness of him, with the way his voice curls into places it doesn’t belong.
“You want to lead me in circles, Mackenzie?” His voice is all smoke and heat. “Go ahead. But remember…” His breath grazes my ear. “I like the chase.”
The words strike like a flint spark, igniting something reckless and hot beneath my ribs. I should walk away. I should remind him—and myself—that this is business.
There are boundaries. Structure.
Instead, I stare him down. “It’s the cabin at the end of Spruce Lane.”
He leans back enough to meet my eyes, satisfaction gleaming. “Sending me on another scenic route?”
“No.” I meet his gaze steadily, refusing to back down. “That’s where I live, but I’ll drive.”
"No. I’ll pick you up.” He moves like a man staking a claim. “And I’ll drive. You don’t set the pace here, Mackenzie. Not with me.”
"I’m perfectly capable of driving myself and meeting you at the visitor center."
"I'll be at your place at 0800 hours. Don’t keep me waiting." His proximity makes the simple statement feel like something else entirely.
My breath stutters. My pulse hammers. He’s too close again, the air between us thick with challenge and something darker.
The intensity in his blue eyes suggests tomorrow will be about more than just verifying trails. Every nerve ending in my body lights up in anticipation and warning.
I should say no, and insist on meeting at the visitor center, surrounded by other people. I should create professional distance before this... whatever this is... escalates further.
"Don't be late," I say instead.
His grin turns slow and lethal while something ignites deep and dangerous in my chest, a slow-burning fuse leading to inevitable explosion.
"Wouldn't dream of it, Mackenzie." He reaches for a map I’m holding, fingers brushing mine—purposeful, possessive.