Kimberly Meter - A Real Live Hero

“I told you my answer is no, and I don’t care how you pretty it up.”

“Trace, you’re being shortsighted,” Peter said, trying to assert some authority. “Think of the department.”

“I am. Don’t you realize she’s not interested in true stories but fake drama? Producers like her do everything they can to ramp up the tension and the excitement with creative editing. We could end up looking like idiots.”

“I would never do that,” Delainey assured Peter. “We want to accurately portray the hardworking men and women of the Search and Rescue. I feel this is an opportunity to highlight a career choice that not many are aware of. Think of all the positive feedback this project could create.”

“We don’t suffer from an image problem,” Trace said, crossing his arms and standing his ground. “We do our job quietly and efficiently—we don’t need cameras documenting our every move.”

“Trace, I can’t believe you are so naive,” she said, shocking him. “The squeaky wheel gets the grease and your wheel has been moving so soundlessly, the powers that be have completely forgotten why you’re important. Budget cuts are everywhere—even in Hollywood—and I can’t imagine a program being so flush that they couldn’t use a bump.”

“We haven’t been flush in years,” Peter grumbled. “Everyone’s been instructed to tighten their belts and we’ve had a hiring freeze for three years.”

“See?” Delainey said, smiling. “Stop being so stubborn. It’s a month of your life and then we’re out of your hair.”

“I said no.”

Delainey sighed as if Trace were being deliberately difficult, and Peter’s mouth had firmed to a tight, agitated line.

“We all have to do things for the greater good sometimes,” Peter said gruffly. “Even you, Trace Sinclair.”

“Of course, as the star of the show, you’d receive a salary—”

“I’m not interested in your money,” he ground out.

“Then donate your salary to a worthwhile charity,” Delainey continued, unfazed. “Because this is happening.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

She smiled and he held her stare, wondering what her ace was. She was too confident, too unruffled. And Peter was nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room filled with rockers. Something didn’t feel right. He narrowed his gaze at them both, finally coming to rest on Delainey. “You’ve greased the wheels to ensure your success. What’d you offer him?” he asked, going straight to the point.

She didn’t pretend to misunderstand and answered without a hint of guilt. “Money for a program that’s been on the chopping block...something you care about.”

Trace swore under his breath, glaring at Peter and feeling betrayed. “You promised me that you’d give me time to try and figure something out.”

“Trace, be reasonable. The Junior Search and Rescue program is expensive and the liability is too high right now to take on when the entire department is facing brutal cuts. It was either the junior program or an employee. Times are hard and the state is strapped,” Peter said, lifting his shoulders in a helpless gesture.

Damn bureaucrat. He narrowed his gaze at Delainey. “How much money did you offer?”

“Enough to keep the program funded for the next year as well as some equipment donations—provided you agree to sign on the dotted line. Like you said, without you, there’s no show. The head of the network wants you and he’ll accept no substitute.”

Manipulative little she-devil. She’d hog-tied him without so much as breaking a sweat. He smiled thinly. “You sewed that right up, didn’t you? Nice and tidy with a little bow, too.”

“A girl’s gotta eat,” she answered with a smile. “I’m just doing my job.”

“Everything’s about the job, isn’t it?” he asked, punching below the belt, but he didn’t care. She deserved it.

Delainey ignored his jab and offered her hand. “Is it a deal?”

He stared at her outstretched hand and fought the urge to slap it away. The idea of touching her, particularly to strike a devil’s bargain, scalded his good sense. But she had him. She’d struck at the jugular and he had no choice but to stem the bleeding. He hadn’t thought she’d sink so low, but she had and she didn’t look the least bit apologetic. “I’m curious...how’d you know about the Junior Search and Rescue?” he asked.

“What does it matter?” Peter asked, irritated. “The program needs money and Delainey is here offering it. I don’t see the problem.”

Delainey graced Peter with an indulgent look, but the one she sent Trace was downright glittering with challenge. “Part of my job is to solve problems, wherever they may arise. I noticed that picture on your wall.” She pointed directly behind Trace and Trace mentally swore. “And you seemed to be happy around all those little kids. I asked Peter who the kids were and he said they were the program’s first junior volunteers. And then he mentioned that the program was on the chopping block. I saw an opportunity and I took it.”

“And we’re very grateful you did,” Peter added, shooting Trace a meaningful look. “Now is no time for pride, Trace. Think of the bigger picture. Those kids love that program, right?”

Trace jerked a nod, privately fuming at how neatly Delainey had circumvented his refusal.

Delainey smiled. “Problem solved. Provided Trace agrees to our terms.”

Well, he supposed she’d won this round, but he didn’t have to be gracious about losing. He took a step closer, actually crowding her personal space a little, and she faltered just a tiny bit as she stared up at him. He hoped she saw the burn in his eyes as he said, “You think you’ve won, but you might want to think twice. I’ve spent the past eight years cultivating a deep and abiding hatred for you, and now you’ve just given me an outlet. You might find me a difficult person to manage.”

She swallowed and in the background Peter sputtered in indignant embarrassment at Trace’s harsh words, but Trace didn’t back down. And she knew he meant every word. She drew a deep breath and lifted her chin, like a badger staring down a predator that was twice its size, and finally said, “I look forward to working with you, Mr. Sinclair.” Her voice didn’t shake, but there was the slightest wobble to her bottom lip that gave away her nervousness.

That’s right, honey. You’re right to be nervous. You just bit off more than you can chew.

And Trace hoped she choked.

“Get everything in writing—every last dime she promised,” he called over his shoulder as he left. “Delainey Clarke has a bad habit of making promises she never intends to keep.”

* * *

DELAINEY STRUGGLED TO keep her expression professional and unaffected by Trace’s parting comments, but she felt sliced to ribbons. He hated her? How could he say something so cruel after everything they’d shared? Just because she’d had bigger dreams than their little Alaskan town, suddenly she was the villain? How about the fact that he hadn’t been the least bit interested in helping her achieve her goals and had simply tolerated her aspirations as the ramblings of a dreamer?

Before she realized it, she was clenching her fists. It was several seconds before she registered Peter’s voice trying to smooth things over, as if he were afraid she’d change her mind after Trace’s rude display. As if she could change her mind. She was just as rooted in circumstance as Trace was, not that the jerk cared. “He’s got a tough shell but he’s a softie at heart,” she heard Peter saying, and she absently nodded with a forced smile. “I’m sure he didn’t mean what he said about hating you. He’s just mad at being pushed against his wishes.”