Page 7 of Burn Protocol

I didn’t expect to walk right into the bay, but I am not sure I was expecting this either. It makes sense, though. Can’t have civilians running through the stationhouse at their leisure now, can you?

The receptionist returns alone after several minutes, shooting me an apologetic look.

“Lieutenant Gonzales will be right with you. Can I offer you something to drink while you wait?”

I fight to keep the frustration from showing on my face and return Tommy’s smile. The gesture makes him visibly relax and I feel my irritation ebb away.

“Some coffee would be nice.”

“Cream, sugar?”

“Both, please.”

He disappears again and I whip out my phone. Five past nine already. And this time it’s not on me.

When Tommy returns with a station mug in his hand, he is followed by a woman in dark-blue cargo pants and a matching polo. The Bombers’ logo is embossed at the chest.

My eyes travel up to her face and for a moment my breath falters. She is stunning. Dark curly hair tied back in a bun, hazel eyes scanning the room, and her full lips pressed together like she doesn’t want to be here. Which she probably doesn’t, because clearly, this is Elena.

“Miss Carter?”

Her voice is low and soft, almost like velvet. I have to swallow before I can reply.

“You must be Miss Gonzales. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

I stand up and extend my hand. She eyes it for a moment and then flicks her gaze back up.

“Follow me, please.”

My brow arches up as she turns on her heels and marches back to the door, my hand still hanging in the air. I stare after her for a moment and then look at Tommy, who shrugs ever so slightly. He presses the mug into my open hand and holds the door open like a gentleman.

“Welcome to stationhouse 2, Miss Carter.”

A warm welcome indeed.

Elena marches ahead of me with long, powerful strides. She walks like a woman on a mission, knowing exactly where she is going. Her heavy boots thud on the tiles.

I have to work hard to keep up with her, which, considering my short height, is a whole challenge on its own already. Not once does she glance back to see if I am following her. She just… knows. And if I wasn’t, I doubt she would care.

We walk through a haze of small corridors, all with the same old tile floor and yellowed ceiling plates. Some doors are open, leading into small offices where people are working behind computers older than me. It surprises me because I never realized there was so much to running a firehouse.

Eventually the hallway opens up into a wider space, which has a steel stairway leading up to a loft. Elena marches up and leads me into what must be their cantina.

There is a small kitchen to the side, with a large Smeg refrigerator in the same fire-red as the trucks. I grin at the little detail. There are worn leather couches in the back, and there is a huge TV plastered to the wall. There is even a dartboard.

In the middle of the room there is a long table with about twenty chairs. Elena sits down at the corner of it and gestures vaguely toward the chair across from hers. I hesitate for a moment, but then sit down.

My hands wrap around the mug while I look for a way to anchor myself. The sensation that courses through me takes me by surprise. I am used to cold and distant people, but Elena seems to despise me. And I haven’t even asked her anything yet. I have no idea how to move forward from this in a way that is comfortable for us both, and that might end up being a huge problem.

I trail my gaze up toward Elena and find her staring at me with a set jaw. Her eyes are blazing. Maybe not so much at me, but at my presence here. She was forced to do this, and that makes everything ten times worse.

“Miss Gonzales, thank you for taking the time to meet with me today.”

My voice is soft but steady. I roll my shoulders back slightly to open myself to her and hope that she returns the sentiment. But she just huffs out a half laugh.

“Just another day at the office, Miss Carter. Now please enlighten me. What is it exactly that you need from me?”

I am taken aback by her crude reply, but I manage to keep that from showing. She is not the first interviewee that bristled before I could even introduce myself properly. Maybe she just needs some time.