Fire Born (Firehouse 343)

by Christina Moore

  Prendi una presa, Martine! she chastised herself. Chris Paytah was a material witness in her investigation, and a man who was grieving the loss of a dear friend. Her focus should be on finding the person responsible for the Breckon Apartments fire, not the man who with his voice alone had made her nipples harden and her toes curl.

  No, she thought with a determined shake of her head. Definitely need to stop thinking about that.

  Three

  “Thank you, Chris, for staying with us all day,” Irene said as she walked him to the door.

  “You don’t need to thank me, Irene,” Chris replied. Stepping over the threshold of the hotel room’s door, he turned to face her again. “Kara and Tonja needed me, and so did you. Think nothing of it.”

  “Are you sure you won’t let me pay for your room as well? I think it’s the least I could do,” she asked.

  He shook his head. “No, that won’t be necessary. Just get some rest. You have a long drive ahead of you tomorrow.”

  With a sigh, Irene nodded. “Alright then—I’ll see you before I go, I hope?”

  Nodding, he offered her a weak smile. “I’m sure you will. I still have to rent a car to drive Kara back to Gracechurch.”

  “I wish I could just stay with her, but I need to make arrangements for my absence at work. And unfortunately, I can’t do it over the phone.”

  “I understand, and I’m sure Kara does too,” he consoled her.

  After several hours at the hospital, Chris and Dr. Hoffman (who’d appeared in the cafeteria to speak with Martie and deliver the records she’d asked for) had convinced Tonja and Karalyn to leave. They were reluctant to go, not wanting to leave Calvin behind in the hospital morgue. Hoffman assured them both that he would arrange for Calvin’s body to be transported to the funeral home in Gracechurch first thing the next morning.

  Because they were all exhausted, Irene had called and reserved rooms for them at the local Holiday Inn. She was sharing a room with her daughter and Tonja would be right next door. Chris had insisted on paying for his own room over Irene’s protests. Tonja had spoken briefly to her sister Helen, who was coming from Glasgow to collect her later that night, but they’d still gotten a room for her to rest in. Irene had to return to Bozeman in order to rearrange her work schedule before she could join Karalyn in Gracechurch to arrange Calvin’s funeral, so Chris had said he would rent a car and drive Kara home himself.

  Irene sighed again. “Try to get some rest yourself, will you?” she said wearily.

  The fact that he hadn’t slept in nearly 36 hours was not lost on him. Chris feared that, tired though he was, rest would be long in coming. He didn’t mention this to Irene, of course; he merely nodded his acquiescence and, after kissing her cheek, shooed her inside her room and headed for his own. Once there it took only one look at the queen-size bed to confirm that his mind just wasn’t ready to shut down. He walked past the bed and opened the gauzy curtains of the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out at the city beyond.

  God, how he missed Calvin already. Though there were only thirteen years between them, the older man had been something of a father-figure to Chris, even though his own was still a part of his life. Cal had taught him everything there was to know about being a firefighter, had shown him all around his hometown of Gracechurch and helped him fall in love with it nearly as much as his own hometown of Wolf Point. He had leaned on their friendship throughout his divorce from Irene and had spoken to Chris before anyone else after meeting Tonja, whom he claimed to have fallen in love with at first sight. Cal had asked him to be his best man at their wedding.

  The wedding would no longer take place. Kara, the little sister he never knew he wanted (being the middle of three boys himself), would not walk her father down the aisle. Tonja’s mother would not give her hand to Calvin in marriage. The men from B Platoon would not get to throw him the bachelor party to end all bachelor parties.

  He wouldn’t be able to go to Cal for advice anymore. Not on how to deal with the men when they were being difficult, nor on how to handle the women he met. He felt a sad smile come to his lips as he thought of just how much he would have liked to tell Cal about Martie, had he met her under different circumstances. His friend would have encouraged him to go for it, to take a taste of the spicy Italian while he had the chance. Women that beautiful, as Cal would say, didn’t come along very often.

  Frustrated and wanting to fight off the tears pricking the backs of his eyes, Chris stepped away from the window, shoving his hands into his pockets as he did so. He frowned when his left hand encountered a foreign object, and pulling it out he saw that the crumpled piece of cardstock was the business card Martie had given him before she left the hospital. On the front was her name, Martine Liotta, in bold letters. Underneath were two lines, the first reading Lieutenant – Engine Company 23 – Billings, Montana and the other reading Arson Investigator, Montana Bureau of Fire Safety. Last on the front of the card was her business number and extension.

  He turned the card over, smoothing it out as he did so, remembering that she had jotted her cell phone number on the back with the instruction that he was to call her anytime if he thought of anything else he felt was relevant. He was suddenly consumed with the desire to hear her voice again, to hear that husky, sensual sound wash over him and…

  And what? If he called her, she would expect him to have new information to impart. He could hardly tell her that he had called to hear her talk because her voice turned him on—he didn’t think that would go over too well. He supposed he could tell her he was having trouble unwinding and that he just needed someone to talk to. But for that he could call any one of the guys in his unit. So what would he tell her when she asked why he’d called?

  Chris still hadn’t figured out what he was going to say even as he tapped the keys of his cell phone to dial her number. He just prayed he wasn’t about to make a complete fool of himself.

  The phone rang. And rang. And rang again. He was about to hang up—having no desire to speak to her voicemail—when she picked up and answered with a breathless, “Salve?”

  In spite of himself he chuckled. “I’m afraid I don’t know what that means,” he told her.

  Martie laughed. “It’s one of several words in the Italian language with which to greet someone. It means ‘hello.’ Sorry it took me a bit to pick up—I just got home, and I never answer my phone when I’m driving.”

  “A wise decision,” Chris said, moving around the bed and the short dividing wall to sit on the couch. “Talking or texting while driving is very dangerous.”

  “Indeed it is. So what can I do for you, Chris?”

  The question he had dreaded, for which he still had no clever answer. Chris decided on giving her an amended version of the truth. “I’m sorry if I’m bothering you. I just… Have you ever been so damn tired your body screams for sleep, but you just can’t shut your mind off long enough to fall into it?”

  “Yeah, I’ve been there. I was a firefighter for six years myself—still am, technically,” Martie replied.

  “You ever work a shift anymore?”

  “Yup. Every Monday I ride with A Platoon at my old company, and I fill in whenever they need an extra pair of hands if I’m able,” she said. “My brother Tony’s the lead for Company 23’s D Platoon, and my father’s the captain of Ladder Company 30.”

  Chris smiled. “A firefighting family. Must be nice.”

  She laughed again, a sound he already liked a lot and wanted to hear more of. “Not when your big brother’s the boss. Tony was the lead on A-Shift my last full year.”

  He laughed as well. “No, I suppose not,” he conceded.

  “Are you back in Gracechurch?” Martie asked then.

  “No, still in Billings, at the Holiday Inn on Midland Road,” he replied. “Tonja and Karalyn—Calvin’s fiancée and his daughter—they were too wiped to make the trip this morning. Tonja’s sister is supposed to be here around nine tonight to pick her up, and I’ll be renting a ca
r to take Kara home tomorrow, since her mother has to return to Bozeman for a day or so to arrange time off.”

  “Actually, I could take you.”

  Chris’s brow drew together. “What do you mean?” He didn’t think she was offering just to be nice.

  “Chris, I have to go to Gracechurch myself tomorrow. Would have done it today if I hadn’t gotten swamped with paperwork and an unexpected deposition this afternoon,” Martie explained. “I need to talk with the other men from your platoon, residents of the building, and I need to survey the scene itself.”

  “Oh, of course,” he mused. “Should have known you weren’t just fishing for an excuse to see me again.”

  Now where the hell had that come from? What was this, high school?

  Martie chuckled, and he was inordinately pleased to realize she sounded nervous. “I, uh… I would like to see you again,” she said at last.

  “And I’d like to see you again,” he confessed. “Really wish it didn’t have to be for business.”

  “Tomorrow’s about business, but, um, what about tonight?”

  Chris was so stunned by the question that he couldn’t think for a moment. Martie must have taken his silence as a negative reaction, for she hurriedly said, “I’m sorry, that’s probably a really stupid idea. Forget it. I’ll just see you tomorrow.”

  “Tonight is good,” he finally managed to say. “If a room service meal doesn’t sound too unappetizing, I wouldn’t mind having some company for dinner.”

  “That sounds just fine to me, Chris.”

  He hadn’t expected her to agree, even though getting together tonight had been her idea. But he also wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth—a beautiful woman he was undeniably attracted to would be coming to his hotel room to have dinner with him. Even as he was giving Martie his hotel room number so that she didn’t have to stop at the front desk, he was warning his low brain not to get too excited. It was just dinner. He barely knew her. This unexpected turn of events was the first bright light to shine into his life in the last 24 hours, and he wasn’t about to screw it up by thinking with his dick instead of his brain. Chris knew he’d only end up getting screwed, and not in a good way.

  ***

  Martie was nervous as she rode the elevator up to the third floor. She probably shouldn’t have come, but after hearing his voice, his confession that he would like to see her again and wouldn’t mind some company for dinner…she knew there’d be no resisting the desire to see Chris again. He intrigued her, he was handsome, and frankly it had been far too long since she’d enjoyed the company of a man.

  It’s just dinner—nothing wrong with sharing a meal with the man, she reminded herself for the umpteenth time when the lift stopped and the doors pinged open. Taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders, she stepped out into the hallway and turned left. In front of suite 312 she raised her hand and hesitated only a moment before resolutely knocking on the door. A couple of nerve-wracking heartbeats later the door was opened. Martie once again took a moment to appreciate Chris’s tall, muscular frame, his shoulders and arms almost straining the long-sleeved t-shirt he wore. And she knew from having seen it earlier that day that his behind very nicely filled out the seat of his low-slung jeans.

  A brief glance at the floor showed her that his feet were bare. What did you expect, Martie, bunker boots? she chided herself. Obviously the man had taken his footwear off in an attempt to get comfortable.

  Chris had smiled when he opened the door, and was now stepping aside so that she could enter. “Hi. To be honest I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

  She turned to him as he was closing the door behind her. “It would be rude of me not to after I invited myself over.”

  He laughed lightly. “I suppose so,” he replied, and gestured toward the couch. “Please, make yourself comfortable. I didn’t order anything yet because I didn’t want to be presumptuous and order for you.”

  Martie stepped over to the couch and lowered herself onto it gracefully. “That’s kind of you, but you could have ordered for yourself at least.”

  Chris joined her, sitting on the opposite end of the couch. “It would hardly be considered sharing a meal if I ate mine before you arrived.”

  He paused and then looked at her. “You look very nice, by the way,” he said with a smile.

  Heat rose to her cheeks and Martie looked demurely away from him. Truth was she had agonized over what to wear no matter how many times she’d told herself it was “just dinner.” At first she’d considered coming over in what she’d worn for work that day, which was a plain white button-down cotton shirt and gray slacks, with a black leather belt and black flats. But still she’d found herself standing in front of her open closet, scanning her clothes and thinking she ought to change. Eventually she’d settled on what she liked to call “dress casual”—a red silk blouse and her best figure-enhancing blue jeans, with ballet slipper shoes on her feet.

  “I, uh, I’m sorry I couldn’t change to something more appropriate.”

  She looked back. “You look just fine,” she assured him. “I mean, you obviously weren’t expecting to stay in town overnight so you can hardly be blamed for not bringing a change of clothes. And really, there would be no need to dress up for little ol’ me.” Or get dressed at all, her suddenly wicked inner voice added.

  Chris chuckled again. “My mother used to drill into us boys that a gentleman always dresses well for his lady…or any lady,” he amended quickly.

  Martie smiled. “You have brothers?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Two. One’s older than me and one’s younger. To Mom’s eternal disappointment, she doesn’t have any daughters. And none of us are married, so she can’t even claim to have them by marriage—though my little brother Greg has given her a grandson.”

  “And if she’s anything like my very Italian mother—and grandmothers—then she’s getting on your cases about settling down and giving her more.”

  “Every chance she gets,” he said with a laugh. Then Chris abruptly reached for the room service menu next to the phone and handed it to her. “Go ahead and choose your dinner. I’ve already made my mind up.”

  “Okay,” Martie said, taking the menu and perusing it briefly. “What are you going to eat?”

  Chris grinned. “We’re in Montana—it’s cow country. I’m gonna have a steak, a loaded baked potato, and an ice cold beer.”

  She reflected his grin as she flipped the menu closed and handed it back to him. “Sounds good to me. I like my steak well dead.”

  He raised an eyebrow at her. “Well dead?” he queried.

  “Yes. If I wanted my steaks bloody, I wouldn’t bother cooking them,” she replied matter-of-factly.

  Chris grinned and shook his head, reaching for the phone. He spoke briefly to the room service operator and after placing their order, he sat back into the corner of the couch, pulling a leg up and crossing it at the knee. Martie liked that he appeared to be relaxing—it meant that the poor man might finally be able to get the much needed sleep his body craved. She could tell just by looking that he was exhausted, and knew from experience that his mind was fighting the shutdown because his subconscious just wasn’t ready to accept the truth: his friend was dead.

  They made small talk while they waited for the food to arrive, mostly about their families and how they each got into firefighting. Chris had choked up more than once when he spoke of Calvin Maynard, from whom he had learned all there was to know about being a fireman, and Martie had been hard-pressed not to draw him into her arms and hold him. To tell him it was alright for a man to cry over losing someone he loved so much.

  But doing that was dangerous. She knew that if she touched him, even with the innocent intention of easing his pain, she would be tempted to do much more than that. She was here as a friend. She was not here to seduce him.

  Thankfully she was saved by the arrival of their dinner, the smell of the steaks and the buttery potatoes making her mouth water. Chris ti
pped the bellman and closed the door, then wheeled the cart over to the coffee table. When he lifted the dome lids covering their plates the rich mix of meaty and buttery smells intensified. Her host leaned over the plates and took a long sniff.

  “I have not been in the least hungry all day. Now suddenly I’m famished,” he said.

  “Glad to hear it,” Martie replied as he handed her a plate. “I’d hate to be eating alone here.”

  He next handed her the Bud Lite with lime she’d ordered to drink along with her utensils. Setting the drink down on a coaster, she held her knife and fork in her hand and waited until he was back beside her with his own food and drink before saying a silent Grace and cutting into her steak. Thankfully, there was no blood in the aromatic juice that flowed out.

  “Well dead enough for you?” Chris asked, his tone teasing.

  “Perfect,” she replied, emphasizing the point by placing another bite in her mouth.

  Martie was not remiss to the way his eyes watched her mouth open and close around the meat, nor the thin sheen of sweat that broke out over his top lip. Chris blinked and cleared his throat, turning away pointedly to concentrate on his own meal.

  Inside she was smiling. His reaction meant that she wasn’t the only one affected by the heat flowing between them. Martie wasn’t really sure what, if anything, she should do about that, but it was definitely nice to know.

  After a few bites of the steak and a swig of her beer, she turned to the baked potato, which had come smothered in butter, shredded cheese, chives and sour cream. It was as wonderful as the steak, and she was suddenly glad she had not listened to her doubts about how coming here was a mistake. The food was tasteful and much better than what she’d have made for herself—which was probably just a Hungry Man frozen dinner. Plus, she felt she was in good company. Chris had just needed a friend to help him unwind, and even if she was investigating the possibility of foul play in his best friend’s death, she could still be that for him. Not just tonight, but after the investigation was over. And hey, who knew what would happen then?