Chapter Five Grant
I’ve been a firefighter for more than two decades.
In that time, I have been burned, bruised, broken, and stitched back up again more times than I can count.
I’ve worked seventy-two hours straight during devastating hurricanes and days-long Nor’easters.
I’ve performed CPR on strangers in subway stations and carried children down smoke-filled stairwells.
All of that is to say that I possess an exceptionally high tolerance for stress.
Which is exactly why it irritates me so deeply that one civilian investigator with sparkly green eyes and an alarming disregard for authority is currently testing the limits of it.
I stand in the doorway of the main conference room in the wake of a meeting with our administrative team and stare out through the glass partition overlooking the apparatus bay.
Below me, the crew moves through their post-incident routines with practiced efficiency. Gear is cleaned, equipment is checked, and reports are filed. Order is restored.
Or mostly restored.
Because Investigator Meadows is currently down there examining evidence bags with the same intensity of a trained bomb squad agent.
My jaw tightens. She had no business entering that apartment fire scene the other day. I don’t care how many city credentials she carries or how many exceptions Deputy Chief Morrison made in department policy for the sake of her so-called assignment.
She walked into an active fire scene without protective equipment. The fact that she was right about the traces of accelerant doesn’t change that. If anything, it makes the whole situation worse. Competence has a way of convincing people they’re invincible, but nobody is.
I know that better than most. I’ve made mistakes before. Awful mistakes that still haunt me, mistakes that cost lives, and the only thing that’s allowed me to move forward is following the correct procedures and knowing that staying within the lines won’t lead me or anyone on my crew astray.
“Cap?”
I glance up to find Wes standing in the doorway. He’s back on duty perhaps a little too soon, but I know he prefers to be here at the firehouse keeping himself busy.
Busy, apparently, keeping our investigator company up on the rooftop. Not that I believe Wes was doing anything unprofessional, but… well, I don’t fucking know. The fact that Meadows has seemingly warmed up to everyone else in this station except for me makes me wonder if I’m the one in the wrong.
Of course, I’m not. She’s the one breaking rules and throwing everything off balance.
“Everything good?” I ask, nodding my chin toward the engine he was inspecting.
“Yeah.”
His gaze flicks down toward the bay below.
Toward Noelle, who is standing off to the side with Rivera and Officer Jackson, sorting through a stack of fire scene photos.
Anyone else might think that Wes is simply checking if he’s needed back down there, but we both know Rivera is a veteran who doesn’t need backup against a pair of city officials hungry for evidence.
“She shouldn’t have gone in there,” I say.
Wes is quiet for a moment. He doesn’t need to ask for clarification on who she and in there are. I swear the guy can read minds, which would probably be unsettling if it wasn’t also convenient.
“Probably not,” he finally answers.
Neither disagreement nor agreement. Just a statement of fact. Classic Wes.
I exhale through my nose. “Get some rest, will you? I feel like I’m working you like a dog.”
He gives me one last knowing look that I choose not to acknowledge, and then disappears back downstairs.
The real problem isn’t just the insubordination, though. It’s something else. Something significantly more inconvenient.
Noelle Meadows arrived at this station only a few days ago and has somehow managed to occupy entirely too much of my attention. It’s unacceptable for me to be so distracted.
She’s intelligent, yes, but also difficult and stubborn. She challenges my orders as if she’s personally offended by the existence of authority. The professional part of me finds that exhausting. The rest of me…
Nope. I shut that thought down immediately.
I have a station to run, a crew to protect, and an investigator sleeping under my roof because somebody out there might be trying to burn us alive. There is no room in that equation for something as trivial and useless as attraction.
A knock sounds on the open door of the room, causing me to jump. I blink, not realizing I lost focus on the scene below, and can no longer pinpoint Meadows’ location.
Which might be mildly concerning, except that when I turn my head toward the sound of the knocking, she’s right there.
She snuck up on me.
“Yes? Can I help you?” A little too cold to pass for professionalism maybe, but I am truly trying my best.
Meadows steps inside carrying a folder tucked beneath one arm.
Her hair is still slightly damp at the ends from a recent shower, curling up in pretty tangles of copper and bronze.
She’s wearing a blouse and trousers, a little too formal for a firehouse, but the ivory and navy hues compliment her coloring so perfectly that I can’t help thinking one stupid, traitorous thought.
She’s beautiful.
But, of course she is. It’s obvious, the way snow is white and concrete is unforgiving. It’s a pointless thing to notice, so I shove it away.
Her nose wrinkles at my greeting. “I brought some preliminary notes regarding the recent fire.”
She places the folder on the conference table, raising her eyebrows expectantly.
I glance at it, then at her.
And I can’t very well refuse to do my job just because I don’t feel like dealing with her attitude. Or her undeniable beauty.
Again… pointless.
“Sit,” I tell her as I lower myself into the chair at the head of the table.
Her eyebrows rise immediately. “We don’t need to discuss it now. You can read through them and we can meet later. Whenever.”
I lean back in the chair. “Alright.”
Her eyes narrow for some reason.
Then, rather abruptly, she snaps, “What?”
“What?” I echo.
“You clearly have something you want to say to me.”
“Do I?”
She crosses her arms. “Don’t be coy. I’m listening.”
Fine.
I purse my lips. “That was reckless, what you did the other day. You disobeyed a direct order from a captain at an active scene.”
“Actually, I didn’t step foot inside the apartment until I overheard confirmation that it was secured.”
“Secured for authorized personnel in the appropriate gear,” I clarify through gritted teeth. “Not yet secured for civilian investigators and the like. The smoke hadn’t even cleared yet, Meadows.”
Her expression doesn’t change. “I was performing my duties according to my training.”
“You were risking your life.”
“And you risk yours every day, don’t you?”
I stare at her.
She stares back.
The room suddenly feels oddly smaller.
“I am trained for it,” I reply as evenly as I can manage.
“And I’m trained to investigate arson.”
“Not while inhaling smoke and other unknown fumes. You didn’t even have a ventilator.”
She crosses her arms. “I wasn’t in danger.”
I almost laugh, and not because it’s funny. Because it’s outright absurd.
“Danger doesn’t ask permission before it kills you,” I growl.
Her expression flickers at those words. Briefly, almost imperceptible, and then gone.
“You don’t get to dictate how I do my job, Captain. That’s between me and my direct supervisor.”
Captain.
Fuck, I wish the way she mockingly dangled that honorific in front of me didn’t light a spark inside me.
I rise from the chair.
She tracks the movement, but doesn’t retreat.
I move around the table slowly.
Her eyes, bright with petulance, are an impossible green. Like winter pine beneath fresh snow.
I only halt my approach when I’m close enough to notice the faint freckles scattered across her nose. Close enough to see the pulse fluttering in her throat.
Close enough to know this is definitely another one of those reckless mistakes that I’m going to regret.
“While you’re living in this station, you obey my orders. What happens to you affects my crew and I am responsible for it.”
Her breath catches, but her chin lifts defiantly. It’s both infuriating and enticing.
“I don’t need babysitting.”
“No, but you could use some better judgment.”
Her eyes flash. Unfortunately, I can’t help noticing that anger looks good on her.
“You’re impossible,” she snaps.
“And you’re stubborn.”
She steps closer, eyes narrowing. I hold my ground.
It’s a mistake. She doesn’t back down the way I expect her to.
Instead she closes the remaining distance between us like she’s making a point, and then we are simply too close, close enough that I can see the exact shade of green her eyes go when she’s furious, and something in me shifts before I can stop it.
I move before I think. One hand finds the wall beside her head, then the other. She doesn’t flinch. Her back is against the wall and my arms are bracketing her on either side and I am not touching her but the space between us has become its own kind of contact.
Everything goes silent. There are no radios crackling in the distance, no dutiful chatter echoing from the bay, no footsteps shuffling to and fro all over the station.
Nothing but the sound of us breathing. The space between us narrows to inches. Her gaze drops to my mouth, then immediately flicks back up to my eyes.
Merely noticing it is enough to send my blood boiling with something far different than frustration.
For one dangerous second, I want to…
No. Absolutely not.
I straighten immediately and step back.
Noelle’s cheeks are flushed. I think mine might be, too. Or maybe Danny cranked the heat up too high on the mezzanine again.
“Just stay out of active scenes until I personally invite you into them, Investigator Meadows,” I grumble at her.
Her expression shutters. “Noted, Captain Hale.”
Then, without another word, she storms out of the room, letting the door slam shut behind her with an unnecessary bang.
I stare at it for a long time, trying to remember a single fucking thing I was supposed to be doing before she walked in.
Which is deeply irritating, because I’m only five hours into a twenty-four hour shift.
And I already know exactly what I’ll be thinking about for every single one of the hours remaining.
***