Flames
Flames
A round-robin novel by the authors of the Mansion, in honor of the heroes of September 11th, 2001.
Chapter One
Marisol wasn't sure what she'd expected to find when she and her fellow
officers from the Philadelphia police department reached the FEMA site, but
it surely wasn't a massive picnic for half the firefighters, cops and EMTs in
the state. Fire trucks, squad cars and ambulances filled the parking lot of
the closed-down high school on the outskirts of Harrisburg. A siren shrilled
as another massive truck rumbled into the fray, and laughter rang out from
the mostly male crowd. The driver of a souped-up pickup revved his engine as
if longing for a race.
"Wonderful," she muttered. "They canceled the FEMA exercises and decided
to hold a tractor pull instead."
"Buck up, Benitez." Sergeant O'Malley said, grinning. "How bad can it be?"
She gave him a cool stare over the tops of her sunglasses.
"I hate to admit it, Sarge, but Benitez is right." Nick Spanelli --
dressed in his black slacks, Italian loafers and sage-green shirt -- looked
around uneasily at the crowd of men in worn-out blue jeans, scuffed work
boots and plaid shirts. "I think we've wandered into a foreign country."
"So we're not in Kansas anymore." O'Malley shrugged.
"No, we are in Kansas," Nick said. "That's the problem."
"What's wrong with Kansas?" the fresh-faced rookie named Wes asked.
"You ever been to Kansas?" Nick asked. "Their idea of coffee is a cup of
black crude that comes from a diner called the Chat 'n' Chew."
O'Malley shook his head. "It's a sad day when a beat cop turns up his
nose at a cup of real coffee."
Since Marisol had no desire to agree with Nick Spanelli, she glanced
around again. "Where do you suppose we go to check in?"
"My guess would be the school gym," O'Malley said.
His guess proved correct, and they managed to register after a long wait
in line, with apologies from the volunteers for the confusion.
"We've just never had so many people want to participate," explained the
harried woman behind the folding table. Even as she spoke, another throng of
participants crowded in, adding their voices to the overall din. "I guess
with everything going on in the world, people just want to be better
prepared."
"I suppose so." Marisol forced a smile as she accepted her packet of
information. She could hardly disagree with the need for specialized training
in case of more terrorist attacks; she just didn't see why she had to travel
to the middle of nowhere to get that training. "If you could point us to
where we'll be staying "
"Oh, yes. I believe that nice young fireman over there volunteered to
handle barracks assignments." The woman pointed to her left.
Marisol turned and saw a small crowd milling around the quintessential
wilderness man: tall, broad-shouldered, with sandy-blond hair and a face that
belonged on Boy Scout recruiting posters.
"Oh, look," Nick said. "It's Paul Bunyan."
Marisol turned the cool stare on him, irritated by his condescending
attitude, but even more by the fact that she'd thought basically the same
thing. "You know, Spanelli, just because a guy doesn't have a lifetime
subscription to GQ doesn't mean he's a moron."
"Sorry, Princess." He met her glacial stare with a smirk. "I didn't
realize you went for the backwoods type."
"I don't. At least, not any more than I go for guys who think they're
God's gift to women."
"Knock it off, you two," O'Malley interrupted as he headed toward the
overgrown Boy Scout with the clipboard. "We've all had a long trip from
Philly, so let's find out where the hell we sleep."
Paul Bunyan glanced up as they approached, having sent the crowd around
him on to the next destination. His gaze passed over Marisol, then snapped
back. The blatant once-over he gave her had her hackles rising, and the appreciative smile that followed washed away all her guilt at having judged him
on appearance alone. What was it with men, anyway? Couldn't any of them see
past an attractive face and a fit female body? Yes, she owned a mirror. She
knew what she looked like. Just once, though, she'd like a man to get to know
her before he started coming on to her.
"Well, hello! I mean ... " Bunyan actually blushed. "Can I help you?"
O'Malley rattled off their names and city of origin. Mr. Wilderness
pulled his eyeballs back in his head long enough to check his clipboard.
"Yes, I have the four of you listed right here." He started reading off their
names and barracks numbers, but stopped when he got to "Benitez." He looked
up, turned red again, then looked back down. "We, uh, seem to have a problem."
"What's that?" O'Malley asked.
"I have four men down here. At least I ... " He looked up again. "Which
of you is Marisol Benitez?"
"That would be me," she answered, suspecting the problem.
Nick leaned close to whisper in her ear. "Guess they don't have many
Marisols in Hicksville."
Ignoring Nick, she stared at the man in front of her. "Let me guess. You
saw a first name you didn't recognize, knew I was a cop, and automatically
assumed I was a man."
"Basically, yeah. But it's okay, really. We can straighten this out. I
just need to move you out of my barracks."
"Your barracks?" She raised a brow.
His flush deepened. "When they asked me to take over this mess, I figured
the easiest course of action was to go by the alphabet, since that's how
they'd made out the master list." He tapped his chest. "I'm Bennett. Jack
Bennett. So you came right before me."
"Great. This is all I need." She crossed her arms to control her
irritation. "So now I have no place to sleep."
"Hang on. Give me a minute." Blowing out a breath, Jack leafed through
the pages on the clipboard. For one insane moment, he wondered if he could
get by with saying he had nowhere to move her, that she'd have to bunk in
with him. God, it was tempting. But from the look on her face, she wouldn't
go for it. "It'll take a little doing, but we'll find you a spot," he
assured her.
"Oh, well, we wouldn't want you to overtax your brain," the city-slicker
beside the woman said.
Jack narrowed his gaze at the guy. "I think I can handle it."
"Better do it quick, before she accuses you of sexual harassment for
assigning her to sleep with you."
Sparks flared in Marisol's dark eyes as she turned on the man beside her.
"Spanelli, you're such an ass sometimes."
"Only sometimes?" He grinned at her. "Why, Mari, you give me hope."
"Correction. You're an ass all the time." She straightened to her full
height, which nearly equaled Spanelli's but barely came to Jack's shoulder.
"Now back off and let the guy work this out."
Dazzled by the sight of her in all her indignation, Jack just stared.
Class, he thought. She was pure class, with an intriguing touch of fury
tossed in to add interest. As if the mystery of what was beneath the
close-fitting dark pants suit wasn't enough to have his imagination working
in overdrive. And her face -- God help him. With her black hair pulled back
in a sleek ponytail, nothing distracted from the exotic beauty of her olive
skin, fine bones, and those deep brown eyes. She didn't even wear makeup, he
realized. Or at least not much. She was a woman a man could take to bed and
not wonder what he'd wake up with when the sun came up.
"Hey, Jack! How's it going? Any chance you'll get free for the football
game?" Marcus's voice sounded right behind him, startling Jack back to
reality.
"Football game?" Spanelli snorted. "I thought we came to Hicksville to
work."
Marcus turned to the four Philly officers, flexing his shoulders. The
movement was nonchalant, but Marcus was such an imposing figure that Spanelli
instinctively stepped back. "No harm in a little -- " Marcus began in his
deep growl. But then he stopped, and a disbelieving grin broke over his face.
"Jesus in heaven. Mari, is that you?"
"Marcus?" Sheer delight subsumed the anger in Marisol's face, making her
even more stunning.
"Man, look at you, girl, all grown up!"
"And you, too. Whatever happened to that scrawny little scrub the hydrant
used to float down the gutter when we wrenched it open on hot days?"
Marcus laughed. "Still mouthing off to the guys, are you? Well, maybe now
I can ask you what I always wanted to back in the day how come you were
forever itching to shoot hoops with us instead of sitting and watching like
the rest of the girls?"
"Because I knew I'd kick your lame butts. And let me ask how come you
never let me?"
"Because we knew you would, too! Hey, a guy's gotta protect his image,
you know. So what are you doing here?"
"Philly PD," she told him proudly.
"No way! Really? Ah, your old man must be bustin' at the seams. How's he
doing, anyway?"
"He's okay." Some of the light in her eyes dimmed. "He's had some health
problems, but you know Papa. He'll never admit he's growing old. I keep
telling him, just hang on until I make detective. Of course, considering what
I'm up against -- " She glanced around derisively at her companions. Spanelli
hooted, and Sergeant O'Malley grinned. "That should be any day."
Marcus contemplated her companions as well. "Surely the entire department
must know there's nothing Marisol Benitez can't do once she sets her mind to
it."
"Well, right now, the only thing I have my mind set on is finding a place
to park my gear." She gestured to the duffel bag at her feet.
"Is there some kind of problem?" Marcus turned to Jack.
Jack could have just looked at her, forever. But he forced his gaze to
his friend. "I, um, didn't realize Marisol was a woman," he admitted,
shamefaced. "I have her assigned to my barracks."
Marcus burst out laughing. "Oh, sweet!" He bobbed his head back and
forth, studying Jack's face. "I don't see any bruises, though, so I guess
she hasn't popped you one."
"Not yet." He glanced at Marisol, tried to picture her shooting hoops and
fighting with the boys. Oddly enough, it wasn't that difficult.
"Let me see that." Marcus took the clipboard from him and started
flipping pages. "Here we go. There's one cot left in number twenty-four. Just
head out the back doors there. The barracks are set up in the area beyond the
old track field."
"Thanks, Marcus." She waved at him. "It was good seeing you again. Let's
catch up on old times while we're here."
"You bet!" Marcus called after her as she left. Then he turned to Jack
and frowned. "Hey, you okay? You look a bit flushed."
"Oh, I'm dandy. Now if you'll just find a crowbar and help me get my
foot out of my mouth. What the hell kind of name is Marisol?"
"Latino. Means Our Lady of the Sun.' And it looks to me like you need
more help getting your tongue back in."
"Well, that, too."
His friend laughed. "You better not let Jan catch you drooling after
another woman."
The mention of Jan brought Jack back to earth with a thud. "I'm not
engaged to her. And you know I've been having second thoughts about the
relationship."
"I do, but Jan doesn't. And even if she did, you'd have to suit up in
full gear before going after Marisol. Unless you like getting burned."
Our Lady of the Sun. Jack gave his friend a pointed scowl. "Don't you
have a football game to play?"
"I do. Bet you ten to one she'll be out there, too. That is one tough
chick." Marcus turned to watch as she made her way through the packed gym, so
Jack did, too. "Whoo-ee, Mari, have you ever grown up!" Marcus murmured
appreciatively.
"Excuse me," the man who'd been waiting in line behind the Philly
contingent said for the fourth time.
Jack took the clipboard back from Marcus. "Sorry for the wait," he
muttered. "Name?"
Marisol squinted against the late-afternoon sun as she stepped out the
back door of the school gym. Autumn had burst on western Pennsylvania is all
its red-and-gold glory, and even a city girl couldn't help but enjoy a deep
breath of crisp country air. Slipping her sunglasses down into place, she saw
that a game of tag football had already begun on the old practice field.
"Hey, cool," Wes said. "Think we can still get on a team?"
"Like they'd want a squirt like you." Nick slugged him on the arm.
"Why don't you two go on to your tents?" O'Malley suggested. "I need to
have a word with Benitez."
A warning fluttered in Marisol's stomach as Nick and Wes swung their
duffel bags over their shoulders and head down the hill. "What is it, Sarge?"
He let out a long-suffering sigh. "Look, I don't know what's going on
between you and Spanelli, and I don't want to. What you do on your own time
is your business. But when I have two officers who can't work together, it
becomes my business. So I want you to get rid of that chip on your shoulder
and get along with the man for the next few days."
"What?" The air left her lungs in a rush. "I don't believe this. Nick
Spanelli spends the whole train trip out here baiting me, and you come down
on me?"
"Have you ever stopped to think that the guys on the force wouldn't
hassle you so much if you weren't such an easy mark?"
"They hassle me because I'm a woman," Marisol said curtly. "The last I
heard, that was sexual harassment -- and illegal."
"They hassle you because that's what cops do! It's not like you're the
only one who has to take some ribbing. They hassle Nick about his fancy ties
and Italian shoes. They hassle Wes because he's so squeaky-clean. Hell, they
hassle me for my bad back and flat feet. The trick is to laugh it off and
hassle them right back, not get your drawers in a wad."
"It's not the same," she insisted. "Good-natured teasing is one thing.
Suggestive remarks after I turn someone down for a date are another."
"Is that what's going on between you and Spanelli?"
"He's one of them. Yes."
O'Malley sighed. "Well, find a way to work it out. And that's an order."
"An order?" She stared at him in disbelief. "You're ordering me to put up
with Nick's insulting remarks?"
"I'm ordering you to get along. Look, Marisol." He rubbed a freckled hand
over his craggy face. "We're here to learn better ways to protect civilians
against future attacks. That requires new levels of cooperation between the
fire departments, police and EMTs. That's what this whole exercise is about
-- cooperation. So, yes, I'm ordering you to put your personal grievances
aside and concentrate on the big picture. Ignore Nick, hassle him back -- I
don't care, but find a way to work with him. You got it?"
She was tempted to say something more, but she noticed how tired Sarge
looked. Maybe his feet were bothering him. So she only said, "Yes, sir," and
swung her duffel bag over her shoulder. "I read you, sir."
"Good." He let out a groan as he hoisted his own bag. "God, my back
hurts. Let's get settled in."
But Marisol's temper still simmered that evening as she sat on her cot in
the empty barracks, going over the schedule for the next day. Her tentmates
had headed for the marshmallow and hot-dog roast taking place in the middle
of the track field. Laughter drifted toward her, and someone seemed to be
trying to get up a campfire sing-along. Apparently this first day was just
one big get-to-know-each-other party.
She pointed her flashlight at the papers on her lap, trying to
concentrate, but the echoes of words kept distracting her. Not just
O'Malley's words, but what Mercedes had said: "Why do you have to make so
many waves?"
Because I'm tired of having to prove myself, she'd wanted to fire back.
Because I want respect. I deserve it, and dammit, how can I make a
difference in the world without it? That's what I want -- to make a
difference.
Again, Mercedes's voice taunted her: "Sometimes you have to go along to
get along."
Am I really that difficult? She thought about what O'Malley had said -- that
the male officers wouldn't razz her so much if she didn't take offense so
easily. But it made her angry, because it wasn't right. Was she supposed to
just laugh it off when they made sexually suggestive remarks?
She slumped back against the bunk, wondering if O'Malley had a point. It
was true that the men were just as politically incorrect with each other as
they were with her. They even made jokes about each other's penises, for
heaven's sake when they thought she was out of earshot. At least she
didn't have to put up with that.
Maybe Sarge was right. Maybe she needed to learn to laugh it off. If ever
there was a time for people to put aside their personal problems and unite in
a common cause, this was it. To a point, of course. Sexual harassment was
wrong, and she'd never be a doormat about it. But maybe she could learn to
give back a little more and take offense a little less. After all, if she'd
wanted to live in world that was completely PC, why in God's name would she
have become a cop? It wasn't like Papa hadn't warned her. And he'd had
thirty-five years on the force.
A knock sounded at the post at the front of the tent, breaking into her
thoughts. Setting down the flashlight, she padded along the row of cots in
her stocking feet and pushed open the canvas panel. Jack Bennett stood in the
faint yellow glow of the emergency light over the door, wearing a
fleece-lined coat against the October chill.
"Hey, Benitez." He gave her a shy smile. "I didn't see you at the
bonfire, so I just wanted to be sure you found your tent."
"I'm fine. Just reading over the material about tomorrow's drill." She
glanced toward the bonfire in the distance and saw black silhouettes against
a towering blaze. Orange sparks swirled upward, joining the haze of smoke.
"That's quite a fire. I trust you have it under control."
"What, that thing? We could douse it in -- " Jack stopped just short of
saying "a pissing contest," and cleared his throat. "Uh, no time."
She laughed, as if she knew perfectly well what he'd been about to say.
God, she had a great laugh, low and just a bit throaty. "No time, eh?"
"Yeah." He'd been right about how she'd look day or night; even dressed
in gray sweats, she boggled his mind. "So, um, if I give you my personal
guarantee you'd be perfectly safe ... would you let me roast you a hot dog,
to make up for the mixup earlier today?"
She cocked her hip in a stance that made his pulse kick up another notch.
"Are you asking me for a date to a wienie roast?"
"No! Of course not!" he said, more than a little defensively. One look at
her told him if he said he was, the answer would be no. "I'm just rolling
out the welcome mat. Seeing as how you're from the big city, I figured it was
my duty to show you a little country hospitality." He took a deep breath to
screw up his courage. "So, what do you say? Care to join the party?"
Before she could answer, the crowd around the campfire suddenly burst
into "God Bless the U.S.A."
"Listen." He tipped his head toward the sound. "How can you pass up the
chance to come sing along with that?"
"You actually like that song?" she asked incredulously.
"Well, yeah. How can anyone not?"
"It's so hokey," she told him, starting to laugh.
"It's patriotic," he retorted, in an odd, almost formal way.
"Well, maybe it is." She studied him a moment. "All right. In the spirit
of cooperation and patriotism, I suppose I can let you cook me a hot dog."
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