When Sparks Fly

PROLOGUE

July

AN EXPLOSION RUMBLED through the old warehouse. In unison, the tall, narrow windows shattered. Glass cascaded to the ground in a shimmer of gold-and-silver sparks. Flames licked out into the night, flirting with a sultry breeze. The scents of tar and wood smoke and burning rubber sharpened the air.

Beautiful, the watcher whispered. He took an artist’s pride in the quality of his work. Not many men had the brains and the guts to create a spectacle like this.

Or the power to command such an intense reaction. A mob of firefighters attacked the burning warehouse with military zeal, their hoses sprawling across the pavement like water moccasins in a nest. Lights from pumper engines and ladder trucks, from ambulances and police cars, broke up the darkness in flashes of red and yellow, blue and white.

And the sounds of fire—the wail of sirens and the cries of men, the hissing, crackling blaze, the groan and rumble of a building surrendering to destruction—made as sweet a music as any he’d ever heard. He would have listened all night long.

But then a plume of water arched across the sky, forcing the fire into retreat. Soon enough, the firefighters would win. They almost always did.

Shouts came from his right as a crowd of smoke eaters emerged from the yawning door of the warehouse. One man strode ahead of the group, with another draped over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry.

The watcher winced. Damn. Even before the ambulance pulled away, the faces of the men watching told him what had happened. For the first time, one of his fires had killed.

He could honestly say he was sorry. For the dead man, and for his family—a wife, a son, and a baby on the way. For the firefighter who’d carried him out, who now stood in the dark alone, mourning the loss of a friend and partnear.

But mostly he was sorry for himself. A death increased suspicion, focused the investigation. If a detail had escaped him, if one single piece of evidence fell into the wrong hands...

No. He was too good, he’d been doing this too long. He didn’t make mistakes.

Just lie low, he told himself. You’ve seen enough for now. You can feed on the news reports and pictures for days to come.

And he could plan the next one. The fascination of deciding when and where to burn drove his days, lit up his nights.

So many buildings, he chuckled. So little time.

Who needed a wife and kids, anyway, when they could make love with the fire?

CHAPTER ONE

September, a year later

THE NEWS SPREAD through the station like wildfire through August grass. The captain had a woman in his office.

A young woman, so the report went, a very attractive young woman, with bright gold hair and a figure that kept the guys hanging out in the hallway, or polishing up the kitchen, or just soaking up sun outside the front door, ready to catch a glimpse and, maybe, exchange a smile. In the middle of the week, in the middle of the afternoon, with nothing to do but buff the old truck one more time, this was the most excitement they’d had in days.

Inside the station office, Tess O’Connor held her own excitement firmly under control.

You come highly recommended, Miss O’Connor, Captain Bobby Logan admitted as he scanned her records. Looks like personnel couldn’t get their hands on you fast enough.

Tess allowed her face to relax into a smile, but kept her back rigidly straight. Thanks, sir. I’m looking forward to working here.

Let’s see—you go by Theresa?

T.J., sir. After the hazing she’d taken at her last station, she’d made it sound as neutral as possible. There was no point in giving anyone an edge.

Ah. Good. He made a note with a pencil, then looked up from her folder and sent a penetrating glance her way. Why Durham? I would think Philadelphia has more to offer—this is a pretty quiet part of Carolina.

And you had seniority there you won’t have here, was his unspoken point. This is my dad’s hometown, sir. I wanted to come back to his first department.

Your dad’s a firefighter? He glanced down at the record again, flipped a couple of pages, and focused sharply. Tim O’Connor is your dad?

Yes, sir.

A reminiscent smile crossed the captain’s strong face. I was a rookie under him—wasn’t sure if I’d survive his training drills! I remember every man in the department was sorry when he moved away. His expression changed, suddenly, as he remembered the rest. He died, didn’t he? On duty?

Tess swallowed hard over the lump in her throat. Yes, sir. Six years ago. Not long after I started.

He was still a young man. With a lot of living left!

She called up her standard response, designed to ward off pity. But he went out doing the job he loved, sir. He wouldn’t have chosen any other way.

Which was the truth, as far as it went. But Tim O’Connor might have picked another time to die. Just one more day would have been enough. Surely, given a choice, he would have asked for a chance to make peace with his daughter.

Instead, she faced the rest of her life with just the memories. Six years, so far, of missing him—hearing echoes of his laughter in the house, looking for his face at the fire station or on the street. Six years spent remembering his last night at home and the bitter way they parted. Tess had sometimes thought she could still hear the echoes of that argument bouncing off the kitchen walls.

Now, with her mom dead, too, the last tie to that house—that life—had been broken. Needing a new start, she’d come to the only other roots she had, her dad’s hometown. Maybe just being here could somehow heal the rift between them.

Across the desk, Bobby Logan stared down at her papers in silence. After a respectful minute he lifted his eyes and pinned her with a sharp blue gaze. Well, I might as well warn you right away, T.J.—you’re gonna have trouble. I’ve got a bunch of good ol’ boys out there, guys who think women belong in the kitchen, in the bedroom, on the playground—anywhere but in the fire station. They won’t make it easy for you.

Glad for the change of topic, Tess brushed off his concern. I know, sir. I’ve seen it before.

Then you must know you’ll have to start close to the bottom, as far as duties go. You’re a good firefighter, from what this says, and I can use you. But you also know how much teamwork counts. You’re gonna have to find a way to be part of the team here.

In other words, Don’t expect anybody to make things easy for you.

Standing, Logan extended a strong, square hand. Tess got to her feet and returned his grip as tightly as she could, answering his smile with one of her own. Thanks very much, sir.

He nodded. It’s good to have you, T.J. You can— A crisp knock interrupted him. Yeah?

The door swung in. Those reports you wanted, Bobby.

Tess released the captain’s hand and turned to get a look at the one who’d been elected to do the snooping. She met a pair of coal black eyes, filled to the brim with a combination of mischief and approval.

A troublemaker, she thought, watching his grin widen in response to her gaze. But she smiled back anyway. A guy so good-looking deserved at least that much.

Captain Logan didn’t spare a glance for the papers he hadn’t asked for. Right, he said dryly. Ray, this is T. J. O’Connor. She’ll be reporting for duty as soon as all her paperwork goes through. T.J., Ray Minetti. Senior member of the crew and unofficial troubleshooter. His grin looked a little forced.

The shape of Minetti’s well-shaped mouth kept its curve, but his eyes skidded from Tess’s face to the captain’s in surprise. About time you got a secretary, Bobby. He didn’t bother to hide the question behind his statement.

Logan took a long time to come up with an answer for that one. Waiting patiently, Tess kept her gaze on Minetti’s classical profile, listened to the quality of the silence, and caught a glimpse of the battle ahead.

Cut me some slack, Ray, the captain said finally, running a hand over his more salt than pepper hair. You know the department won’t spring for a secretary. T.J.’s been with a unit up in Philadelphia. She wants to relocate and we’re lucky to get her.

Minetti’s eyes came back to her face. Really?

That’s right, Tess dismissed him with a turn of her shoulder. She looked directly at the captain again. Thanks again, sir. I expect to be ready to work next week.

Captain Logan nodded. I don’t know if they told you—we work twenty-four hours on, twenty-four off for ten days, with five days off between shifts. Our new one starts a week from Friday. I’ll look for you then.

Right. Tess picked up her purse and put her hand on the doorknob, then glanced across at Minetti. I look forward to working with you, she told him sweetly, and stepped through the doorway before he could reply.

On her way down the hall, she couldn’t help noticing all the extra personnel in sight. She flashed them a genuine smile as she walked toward the door and got a few wolfish grins in return. Typical—she could have worn a flour sack, instead of her nicest slacks and jacket, and the guys would still see her as a sex object.

Well, let them think she was some sort of fashion model for now. They’d find out soon enough how wrong they were!

Out on the front steps, she remembered that she’d meant to ask the captain about Barney. She passed the same audience on her way back in, but ignored them this time. Just as she lifted her hand to knock on the captain’s door, Tess caught the drift of conversation through the partly open panel.

Has she got any real experience? The question was unmistakably Minetti’s. Is there a chance she’s actually been in a fire before?

She’s not a rookie, Ray! She’s got a couple of citations, on top of a training record that makes yours look like a third-grade report card. She’s not gonna be a problem. And I’m counting on you to see that she gets accepted as part of the team.

"Thanks a lot, Bobby. All I have to do is my job—and make sure she doesn’t get into trouble while I’m doing it. No sweat."

Breathing shallowly, the heat of anger burning her cheeks, Tess stepped back and turned quietly around. She’d heard enough.

So had all the other eavesdroppers, now conveniently out of sight. But just in case someone she couldn’t see was watching, she kept her shoulders square and her chin high until she reached her car.

Even then she wouldn’t give anyone peeking out the windows the satisfaction of seeing her react to Minetti’s doubts. With careful control, she eased her red VW Bug into gear and backed around. A brisk stop at the end of the driveway preceded the rattle of gravel as she pulled out onto the highway and put-putted away.

A mile down the road, in the parking lot of a shopping center, Tess’s temper exploded.

Make sure I don’t get into trouble! She banged the steering wheel with both fists. As if I’m a liability on a call, instead of an asset! Just who does he think I am?

Visualizing Ray Minetti’s all too handsome face, she answered the question aloud. For your information, Mr. Minetti, Tim O’Connor’s little girl has been riding fire trucks since she was five years old. She’s damned good at what she does and she doesn’t need anybody watching out for her. Stick around, and we’ll see who’s taking care of whom!

Unfortunately, the only person who heard that challenge was the grandmotherly type who cast a worried glance her way as she scurried past the open window of Tess’s car. Wincing in embarrassment, Tess turned her head and assumed an intense fascination with nearby store fronts.

The sign for Antonio’s Italian Restaurant reminded her she hadn’t eaten since six-thirty that morning. Her stomach rumbled in response.

Leaving her jacket in the car, Tess relaxed a little as sunlight fell like a soft blanket over her bare arms. Since this was only the middle of September, the city still boasted lots of green in the tall trees and lawns of the pleasant houses on the surrounding streets. Her dad always said that fall came late down south.

Even so, the essence of change rode the warm wind, teasing her with a tang of wood smoke and the pungent scent of turning leaves—a perfect day at the beginning of her favorite season of the year. Tess smiled as she crossed the parking lot, remembering tales of hot southern summers and gentle autumn afternoons, when a kid could play in the leaves without bothering with a coat. The house her dad grew up in might have been one of those she’d passed on the way out. One day soon she’d find it for herself.

Coming to a stop at the through-lane, she grinned and waved as the driver of an approaching car motioned her to cross in front of him. After the impersonal hassle of street life in the big city, the politeness of strangers down here amazed her. The lack of traffic and congestion was another pleasant surprise. Thinking about driving to work without worrying about Philly’s rush hour backup made relocating in her dad’s hometown look like just about the best idea she’d ever come up with.

Even with Ray Minetti hovering in the background!

The plate set before her a few minutes later was definitely the best idea she’d had in the last few hours—pasta shells stuffed with cheese, smothered in a homemade tomato sauce, with garlic bread rich enough to be a meal in itself. She’d deliberately ordered comfort food to smooth the rough edges worn on her ego by the station visit. With the first bite, she could feel the prescription starting to work.

Halfway through the mound of food, the needle on her starvation gauge dropped out of the danger zone. With her good humor reviving, Tess sat back against the seat to sip her iced tea and contemplate exactly how much trouble she’d gotten herself into this time.

No matter how angry he made her, crossing swords with Minetti would get her exactly nowhere. Logan had identified him as the leader of the pack. If she antagonized him, the other guys would follow his lead and she’d end up trying to climb a glass mountain, just to get along. Stupid tricks to put up with, phony physical tests to pass... as she’d told the captain, she’d done it all before.

When all she really wanted to do was the job.

A pleasant voice broke into her thoughts. More tea?

That would be great. Tess put her glass down on the table. A glance at the server confirmed her first impression of a beautiful young woman whose soft, thick-lashed brown eyes and clear olive skin complimented the restrained Italian ambience of the restaurant. The long braid of black hair hanging down to her hips would have done a Sicilian maiden proud.

Do you live around here? Tess asked when the girl finished pouring.

Sure. Her friendly grin invited friendship. Right up the street.

I need a place to rent. Are there any apartments nearby?

Oh, yeah. Putting her pitcher down, she wiped wet hands on her apron. I live in the Foxcroft apartments. And there are town houses, too. Really nice.

How do I get there? Tess listened carefully to the directions and left a good tip with her thanks.

Two hours later she had a lease for a place where her mom’s furniture would fit nicely and Barney could lie on the deck in the sun and look out into the trees. Most important, she would need less than ten minutes to get to the firehouse. She wouldn’t give anyone a chance to question her fitness for the job because she showed up late for work!

Heading back downtown to arrange for utility and telephone service, she passed the station again. The garage doors stood open to the afternoon breeze. At the center of a group of men, Ray Minetti leaned casually against the bumper of the engine, arms crossed over his chest, his head tossed back in laughter at the antics of someone she couldn’t see. She knew she was being paranoid to think they were making fun of her, but somehow the conclusion seemed all too obvious.

Tess clenched her jaw in irritation. Her intentions were good, but she couldn’t believe his would be. Without a doubt, Minetti was going to be trouble... spelled with a capital T!

OooH, NOOO! I can’t go down that big tall ladder! I might break a nail!

Laughing at Alan Peel’s falsetto voice and panicked expression, Ray turned his head in time to watch the red Volkswagen putter past. He caught a glimpse of short, shining gold hair ruffled by the wind and recognized T. J. O’Connor’s classy profile even before she glanced over. It was a hundred yards or more to the street, but he could have sworn he caught the spark of anger in her eyes before she shifted her gaze back to the road, revved the engine, and rumbled up the road.

She couldn’t have heard what was said. I think that’s enough, he warned anyway, with a karate chop at the air aimed toward Alan. It’s not doing anybody any good to make fun of a crew member.

The comic straightened up. Yeah, but who needs a woman on the crew, Ray? You might just as well sit down in the middle of a job and wait for the beast to get you if you have to depend on a woman as your backup!

Ray struggled with the politically correct answer. That’s not necessarily true. The captain says she’s got a good record up in Philadelphia and her physical stats are great. I—

They definitely looked good to me, interjected Jimmy Faber, for a big laugh.

Ray had noticed the same thing. But he didn’t join in the joke. Thanks a lot, Bobby. I think you’re going to have to back off on all this stuff, if you know what’s good for you. Like it or not... He held up his hands, rejecting any blame. I’m not saying I do, but like it or not, women are coming into the department. If they don’t get a fair shake, you can bet somebody will catch hell. Any man who goes too far stands to lose his job. I don’t want to see that happen to any of you guys. So be cool, keep your thoughts to yourself, and see how things work out.

He levered himself away from the truck and turned to go into the station but Duff Green, their rookie, stopped him with a question. That’s all you’re gonna do, Ray? Play it cool and wait it out?

These were the men he worked with, the ones he depended on to keep him safe. He had to be honest. And try to do the work of two men, Duff. It’s the only chance I’ve got.

Ray remembered that comment the next day, after his shift ended, after he’d gone home and showered, then called his sister and gotten her answering machine again. The girl was never home these days—he had the feeling she was avoiding him. But he wasn’t willing to bet she’d gone to class, either. To work, more likely, waiting tables at their brother Tony’s place... if she wasn’t helping out at the café downtown, or in the central kitchen with their mom. With six different restaurants owned and run by the family, the possibilities—and the driving—could be endless.

Checking his watch, he realized he had less than an hour to get to his own job, which meant he couldn’t check on Gina and make his other appointment. Gina—and whatever trouble she was in now—would just have to wait.

Ten minutes later, he parked in front of a small, neat house not too far from the station and made a careful survey. The guys on the crew had done a good job this summer keeping up with their chores. New paint on the blue shutters and red door, new gray siding and a closely trimmed lawn underneath the kids’ swing set made the place look comfortable and welcoming.

Ray pushed through the picket gate, noting that his repair job was holding up well. The front door to the house opened as he reached the porch steps.

Ray! It’s good to see you—come in! Rose Tilden gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek, while the bright-eyed hellion in her arms swung at his shoulder with a graham cracker.

Taking the boy into the crook of his elbow, Ray tickled a chubby belly with the other hand. You want to play tough, do you? Just remember—you started this!

Five minutes of delighted shrieks and squeals followed. I surrender! Ray gasped finally, pinned to the couch with a fourteen-month-old sitting on his chest. You win, pardner.

Rose lifted the victor into her arms and sat in the rocker by the fireplace. Okay, Markie. Let Uncle Ray get his breath. Here’s your juice.

Instantaneously, Mark abandoned all interest in Ray and grabbed the plastic cup. Sitting up, Ray brushed crumbs off his shirt and out of his hair. He’s a wild man. Where’s Matt?

Preschool, thank goodness. Mark settled on his mom’s lap with the juice cup. The two of them run me ragged most of the time. I kinda enjoy having just one to deal with in the morning.

Who wouldn’t? Is Gina still baby-sitting a couple of nights a week?

Rose glanced away. Um...

Ray sat up straighter. You’re not telling me she backed out, are you?

Oh, no. Rose brushed her short black hair out of her eyes and looked over again. I just felt so bad about taking her time, Ray, when she has classes and homework and tests, not to mention her job. I told her not to come for a while.

He shook his head. She’s got plenty of time. And I’m going to make sure she’s back here tomorrow night. You need a break, Rose. You can’t raise two boys all by yourself.

The room felt empty, all of a sudden. Rose looked down at the boy in her lap and stroked his curly hair. When she raised her head again, there were tears shining in her dark, wide eyes. I didn’t intend to. Mark was supposed to be here to help.

Yeah, I know.

Mark Tilden had planned to live forever, just like all the guys on the crew. Growing up together, he and Ray had mapped out their lives, which included joining the fire-fighting service and seeing the world. Sometime along the way, the program had expanded to include Rose, then baby Matt, and then another baby on the way.

But in the predawn hours of that steamy July night a year ago, in the middle of a warehouse fire started by some maniac with a passion for flame, Mark’s course got changed. They found him way too late, underneath a jumble of half-burned boxes and collapsed ceiling tiles. His oxygen had run out. The fire killed him.

And now his wife had two kids to raise on her own. Ray did what he could—and the guys at the station helped—but he knew it would never be enough. Mark’s absence was an aching hole in his own life. He could only imagine what it was like for Rose.

He looked across the room at the couple in the rocking chair. Markie had dropped into a nap with his juice half-done. Rose put the cup away and cradled him closer, dropping a kiss on hair the same black as his dad’s.

Let’s compromise, she suggested, in a lowered voice. How about Gina coming just one night a week? Then I won’t feel so guilty. Especially if I can get the boys in bed before she gets here.

Ray