Radclyffe - Firestorm

“You’d have to train whoever joined us to jump, Ice.”

“Still, I don’t get it.”

“Neither do I.” Sully gave her a wry shrug and waggled the folder. “I wasn’t given the option. She’ll be here this morning. You might as well look at this.”

Reluctantly Mallory took the folder and glanced at the typed application and the color photo clipped to the top of the page. Jac Russo. Twenty-seven—well, at least she had a couple of years on Russo in age and quite a few more in experience. At just thirty, she was young to captain a jump crew and wouldn’t have wanted to start out the season breaking in a hotshot who discounted her authority because she was younger or less experienced. The photo was a good one. Even the Polaroid head shot couldn’t dampen the appeal of bittersweet-chocolate eyes and thick black wavy hair—true black, not dark brown like her own—and also unlike hers, neatly trimmed above her collar. Russo’s face was a little too strong to be pretty, with bold cheekbones and an angular jaw. A decent face, nothing out of the ordinary, really. Mallory got caught in the dark eyes that almost leapt out of the glossy surface of the photo—intense, unsmiling, penetrating eyes. Eyes that held secrets and dared you to reveal yours. Okay, so maybe she was a little bit good-looking. The guys would probably be happy to have her around as long as she had even marginal skills. Mallory didn’t agree. She couldn’t afford to have anyone jumping who couldn’t carry her own weight. No one was coming out of the mountains on a litter on her watch. Not this year. Not ever again.

“I’m telling you right now,” Mallory said, flipping a page to look at the work experience Russo had listed, “if she can’t cut it, I’m not putting her up in the air. I’m not going to let her endanger my team. I don’t care whose daughter she is.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” someone said in a husky alto from right behind her.

Mallory spun around and went nose to nose with a woman about her height, their bodies colliding hard enough for her to feel firm breasts and a muscled torso press against her front. Molding to her—except that had to be her imagination. She pulled back, and the black-haired stranger took her in with a slow up-and-down perusal and an expression that was half-arrogant, half-amused. Her lips were full and sensuous and unsmiling—like in the photo.

“Jump to conclusions much?” the woman said.

“Sorry,” Mallory muttered. “I didn’t realize you were behind me.”

“I gathered that.” The really nice lips smiled, but the eyes were cool. “I’m Jac Russo.”

“Yes.” Mallory indicated the folder. “I saw the picture.”

“Did you also see the part that said I’ve got search and rescue experience? Can handle explosives? How about the part—”

“I noticed you’re short on field experience,” Mallory said tightly, “and this isn’t remedial class. Basic training starts”—she checked her watch—“in forty-five minutes.”

“I’ll be ready,” Russo said. “And I’m a fast learner.”

“We’ll see,” Mallory murmured.

“What—you’ve already made up your mind?” Jac’s expression tightened and her eyes went flat. “Let me guess. Something you heard on TV, maybe?”

“Sorry, I must have missed the bulletin,” Mallory shot back. She lifted the folder. “I was talking about what isn’t in here.”

“Don’t be so sure you know all about me from what you read,” Russo said.

“I’ll reserve judgment till I’ve seen how you run. You’ll be first up this morning.”

“Good enough.”

Sully cleared his throat loudly. “Russo, I’ve got some paperwork for you to complete.”

“Yes sir, I’ll be right there.” Jac didn’t shift her gaze from Mallory’s. “I didn’t get your name.”

“Mallory James.” Mallory smiled thinly. “I’m the ops manager and training coordinator. You can call me Boss. Or Ice.”

“What do your friends call you?”

“Mallory.” She made sure Russo got the message she wasn’t planning to fraternize with her. Not that she ever really did with any of the crew. She hung out with them, swapped stories, but she never really shared anything personal with anyone. Breaking away from Russo’s probing gaze, Mallory turned and tossed the folder onto Sully’s desk. She wasn’t sure what besides anger might show in her eyes, and she didn’t want Russo to see past her temper to her worry, or her fear. “Roll call at oh six hundred. Don’t be late.”

“Can’t wait.”

Mallory snorted and strode away.

Jac watched until the ops manager disappeared into a building across the tarmac. Well, that was a great start.

She’d been hoping to slide in under the radar, but that obviously wasn’t going to happen now. She couldn’t tell from the conversation exactly what was behind Mallory James’s animosity. Most of the time, a cold reception had little to do with her and a lot to do with her father. The higher he’d risen in national politics, the more airtime he got and the more controversy he stirred up. He seemed to thrive on the reactions his often extreme positions evoked—even death threats didn’t bother him. Unfortunately, the more visible he became, the more his notoriety overflowed onto his family. Her mother was an anxious wreck who didn’t want to leave the house past the line of protesters lined up across the street and the reporters in the driveway. Her sister Carly was generally humiliated by her parents anyhow, the way all seventeen-year-olds were, and was trying even harder than Jac had to prove she was nothing like their ultraconservative right-wing father. She’d started running with a tough crowd of dropouts and delinquents.

Jac had been hoping to escape some of the recent fallout here, but no such luck. She was used to being judged on the basis of her father’s latest sound bite, and usually that didn’t bother her. Today it did.

She squared her shoulders and faced the guy watching her speculatively from behind the desk. She’d been proving herself all her life—or more accurately, disproving the assumptions everyone made about her. In high school all she’d had to do was demonstrate her willingness to break the rules to crack the mold her family had created for her. Considering that breaking the rules usually involved sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll—all the things her father railed against—divorcing herself from her family’s politics hadn’t been all that hard. Most of the time rebelling had been fun, but she wasn’t sixteen anymore, and while she still chafed under the weight of rules and regs, she’d pretty much given up all the rest. The drugs and rock ’n’ roll for sure, and the sex most of the time. But then, it didn’t take a whole lot of sex to get her into a whole lot of trouble.

Realizing the guy was still watching her, still waiting, she said, “I guess you weren’t expecting me.”

He grinned fleetingly. “You’re quick.”

Jac shook her head and muttered, “Damn it, Nora, thanks for warning me.” She walked forward and held out her hand. “Jac Russo. I take it you got that part already.”

“Chuck Sullivan. I’m kind of the overseer around here, but Ice calls the shots.”

“Interesting nickname.”

His gaze narrowed. “None better at the job.”

Jac held up her hands. “Hey, I don’t doubt it. She just seemed a little fiery there for a minute.”

Again the fleeting grin and a shake of his head. “Not much riles her up.”

“I’m not sure I’m happy about having that privilege, then.” Jac sighed. “I didn’t know about this myself until yesterday when someone on my father’s staff told me, but I thought you’d been contacted. I don’t blame you for being pissed.”