Radclyffe - Firestorm

It was empty. Ray hadn’t automatically been disqualified, even though he would miss several days of training, at least. A ripple of irritation went through her. She’d almost gotten canned for helping him out. Mallory hadn’t cut her a second’s slack, but then Mallory had made it clear that morning she wasn’t going to. Well, that was okay—she was looking forward to showing Mallory she was wrong about her. She might have gotten in the door on her father’s connections, but she’d be staying because she could do the job.

She also noticed that in Mallory’s recounting of the incident, Ray was described as having strayed from the trail, fallen, and sustained a head injury. Jac had assisted him upon noting his situation. Nothing in the report suggested that either one of them had deviated from standard protocol running the course or following the incident.

“You write this like a politician,” Jac muttered.

“No need to insult me,” Mallory shot back.

Jac grinned. “I just meant you don’t give anybody anything to work with.”

Mallory hitched her hip onto the desk. “Do you always look at every situation as if someone is going to make money off it with a front-page article in the Star ?”

“Pretty much. The minute I drop my guard, someone usually bites me in the ass.”

“You’re serious, aren’t you?”

Jac hesitated. Sharing personal information, especially humiliating information, did not come easily.

“Forget I asked,” Mallory said brusquely, busying herself with the bandages.

“The last woman I…dated…sold some revealing photos to the tabloids.”

Mallory swung around, her eyes blazing. “That’s unconscionable.”

Jac shrugged. “Doesn’t say much for my judgment.”

“Don’t be ridiculous—no part of that could be your fault.”

“Ah, well, I appreciate you saying so.” No way was she telling Mallory that fiasco was what had ended her up in Montana, in Mallory’s boot camp. She couldn’t believe she’d told Mallory anything at all about Annabel’s ambush. Maybe she had a secret desire to fail or something, because Mallory couldn’t think much of her now. “Wasn’t the first time, just the most dramatic.”

“I’m sorry, that’s hateful. I suppose there’s no reason for you to believe me, but you’re safe here.”

“I’m not even sure I know what that means.”

Mallory extended her arm, as if she were about to touch Jac’s cheek, and then she drew back. “Well I hope you find out.”

“Yesterday I would’ve said it doesn’t matter.”

“And today?” Mallory said softly.

“Today, everything feels different.”

Mallory nodded, her eyes distant, unsmiling. She glanced in the direction of the infirmary, as if checking on Ray through the walls. “I think I’d have to agree with you.” Her gaze swung back to Jac. “I just don’t know whether that’s good or bad.”

Chapter Eight

Mallory concentrated on packing up the medical supplies. The cavernous hangar suddenly seemed way too small, and Jac was way too close. Even in summer, the hangar was cool, and this early in the year it was downright cold. But Jac’s naked back had been warm. So very warm. Mallory glanced at her fingertips, half expecting them to be red. They still tingled from where she’d brushed them over Jac’s neck. “You should get some chow, Russo.”

“Are you heading over?” Jac asked.

“Not just yet.” Mallory knew she sounded dismissive, probably downright unfriendly, but she just needed a minute or two by herself to recalibrate, get her bearings. She hadn’t been herself all day, not since the moment she turned around and bumped into Jac. The world had angled to tilt, and she hadn’t been able to right it yet. And she really needed to—the persistent churning in her stomach was a distraction. So was the low-level buzz of arousal slightly lower down that absolutely should not be there, not when she hadn’t planned on it, not when she wasn’t prepared.

“Mallory?” Jac’s voice came from very nearby, soft, gentle, questioning. “Everything okay?”

“Of course. I’ve just got some things to do.” She did have plenty to do before the afternoon’s exercises, but that wasn’t the reason she wasn’t going to have lunch with Jac. Last year at this time she would’ve socialized with the rookies—lending moral support, giving them a few tips, answering their questions. She’d been closer to being one of them last year. Still senior, often in charge, but she hadn’t been determining their fates. At least, not consciously. Now she couldn’t afford to stop thinking about what she needed to do to keep them safe, and getting friendly with them wasn’t going to help her do that. The realities of the job had changed—every smokejumper lived with the knowledge that the work was dangerous, life-threatening, and any call might be their last. No one spoke of it, and she doubted that very many thought of it. She had never feared for her own life. She’d also never considered that she would be the one to walk out of the mountains beside stretchers bearing two jumpers she’d been responsible for. She would have sworn on everything she believed that she would die before she would let one of her fellows perish. She’d been wrong, and she would never be able to make that right. She could only see it never happened again. Jac was a distraction she couldn’t afford, and friendship was out of the question. “You go ahead, Jac. You’ll need fuel for this afternoon.”

“Okay.” A whisper of heat brushed over her shoulder, Jac touching her ever so briefly. “You ought to take your own advice.”

The caress was so butterfly light, Mallory might’ve thought she’d imagined it except for the tremor coursing through her body and settling in her bones. Resolutely, she kept her back turned as Jac’s footsteps faded away. Taking a deep breath, she settled herself. Jac derailed her balance like no one else she’d ever met, probably because Jac was so unpredictable. Challenging and cocky one minute, incredibly tender, unknowingly vulnerable the next. Jac was nothing like Mallory had expected, considering her family, her father, and her reputation. And wasn’t that exactly what Jac had been saying since the moment she’d arrived? Jac was a problem all right, but not because she was anything like the person Mallory had assumed her to be.

Mallory sighed. Expectations based on appearances were so very often wrong, and she’d fallen right into the trap. Jac was nothing like her aloof, condescending, virulently privileged father. Jac was, if anything, remarkably open considering how careful she apparently needed to be just to protect the privacy others took for granted. God, imagine having someone you’d slept with expose your intimate moments. Mallory couldn’t imagine having something so private spread across the nation in a trashy newspaper. She’d had enough trouble dealing with the media notoriety after Idaho. At first she’d been too numb to really notice the intrusion, and after a few weeks, a new story came along, and she was no longer front page. Considering that Franklin Russo was a front-runner for the presidential nomination, Jac was likely to remain in the public eye indefinitely. Was it any wonder she was so vigilant? First a lifetime of scrutiny, then a lover using her for some twisted gain.

Mallory’s hands shook as she closed the locks on the FAT box. How could Jac blame herself for that woman’s betrayal? She wished she knew who the woman was. She wasn’t prone to violence, in fact rarely ever lost her temper, but her blood burned with the desire to do something—say something—find some way to extract a measure of justice on Jac’s behalf. She laughed bitterly, and the sound echoed like bullets ricocheting against the metal roof.