Someone in the firehouse is feeding Sullivan information.
“She’s not good with authority.”
I wonder why. I don’t say that aloud but it’s written all over my face. At his eyebrow arch, I continue. “Commissioner, what exactly do you need from me?”
“I need you to take care of my daughter.”
Somehow I don’t think he means the way I’d like: both of us naked, figuring out the perfect spots that turn each other to jelly. Probably shouldn’t be thinking of sex with the daughter of the man who could have my head on a pike in front of the Quinn Academy if he’s feeling chippy.
“We look out for everyone here. Your daughter is safe on my crew.”
“But she could be safer. Do you think she has what it takes to go the distance? Or is she just here as some sort of messed up way to honor her mother and screw with me?”
Now I’m truly pissed. This dysfunctional families bull shouldn’t be a factor in the running of any firehouse.
“Listen, sir, I don’t care about this personal crap except insofar as it affects the ability of one of my crew to do her job. Plenty of people have succeeded while running on spite. If that’s what gets her engine running, then I won’t question it. If there’s nothing else?”
I’m already walking away.
“You’re on probation here yourself, Rossi. You think I’ve forgotten your attitude problem from a few months back? There’s a lot of scrutiny of anyone who comes in from another service because you haven’t learned to do it our way.”
I halt, not liking the threat in those words. “The captain has nothing but praise for my performance. We meet once a week to discuss it.”
“Let’s hope it stays that way. I know moving here was a big deal for you and your family. Just keep an eye on Abby and if she steps out of line, report it to me.”
I turn and walk back. Dead wife or not, I will not be threatened in my own firehouse.
“Are you that desperate to have her run out of CFD, Sullivan? I won’t do your dirty work for you.”
He pulls on the edges of his jacket. “Like I said, do your job as her superior officer and keep her out of trouble.”
“You’re underestimating her, you know that? There’ve been a couple of hitches, but nothing that can’t be smoothed out. Abby has what it takes to succeed at this job: the drive, the smarts, the passion. She just needs a few people with a bit more experience to have faith in her to put it all together. Try support instead of sabotage. Goes a long way. Sir.”
He has no comeback for that, and I have no intention of waiting for one. I don’t even watch him head out because I’m back in Venti’s office before the Commish has put a key in his car’s ignition.
“What the fuck just happened here?”
Venti shakes his head. “He’s got a bee in his asshole about his kid. We always knew there’d be extra scrutiny once she was assigned here.”
“How the hell did he hear about the run this morning? I haven’t even had a chance to write up an incident report. And he knows about an off-the-books set down I gave her a few weeks ago.”
Venti leans back in his chair. “So he has eyes and ears here. It doesn’t surprise me. The man cares about his kid.”
“And you’re going to put up with him coming in here and telling us how to run this firehouse?”
Venti squints at me. “I get where he’s coming from. If it was my Evie—”
“Well, it’s not.” Evie is the cap’s daughter and is currently dating Tyler Brooks, which apparently caused some drama a while back. “Abby Sullivan is doing just fine and I sure as hell am not allowing anyone else to tell me how to be her CO. I will not be treating her with kid gloves, either. As for this light duty business, you’re seriously allowing that?”
Venti looks at me long and hard. “What was the incident report gonna say?”
I resent the implication that it wouldn’t tell the truth. “What happened. She gave her air to Wozniak and she probably saved his life. Not that he deserves it, the lazy prick.”
“So, she did the wrong thing for the right reason. She needs to be made aware of that and if the CFD commissioner tells me I need to limit her to the firehouse, then that’s what needs to happen. It’s not that far off the mark, Roman.”
Give me strength. I could tell him about the veiled threat Sullivan just made about my future with CFD, but I’m not sure I’d be getting any sympathy from that quarter. We might both be Italian but Venti isn’t about to take my side against the brass, not when he’s this close to retirement. Besides, word is he and Sullivan were academy buddies back in the day.
So, fucking great.
I know this much. I won’t be spying on Abby for her dad or giving her any special treatment. Still I can’t help thinking I’ve just dug myself a deeper trench of trouble when it comes to my future at the Chicago Fire Department.
Nineteen
Abby
I’m still fuming over what happened this morning. My light duty was effective immediately, so for the last hour of my shift I was relegated to a bunch of shitty jobs around the station while the crew headed out on one more run. Apparently a floater from the pool would fill my spot for the next couple of weeks.
The whole situation stinks to high heaven.
Roman pulled me aside later and told me he didn’t agree with the decision but it wasn’t up to him. Fine, whatever. If he isn’t going to go to bat for me, so be it.
My father didn’t seem the least bit regretful about imposing that punishment on me. Obviously he’s been looking for an excuse to come down on me, and now he has it. He must feel like a million dollars.
I’m at home, trying to nap, and failing, when a text message pops up from Diner Dude, the first one he’s sent me since the night he gave me his number and I shot him that text to tell him I’d made it home safely.
You okay?
I consider ignoring it, but after several false starts, I decide to go with an informative, Fine.
That good, huh?
His response produces a mirthless chuckle from me. He used to be married, so he can probably translate the language of “fine” proficiently.
He doesn’t wait for me to respond. You want to get breakfast?
I want to punch something.
That can be arranged.
My intercom buzzer sounds, making me jump. Is Roman here?
I shouldn’t want to see him, but a part of me—the part that craves his approval, and fuck my life, his comfort—needs to hear his voice, even if it’s telling me I screwed up.
I press the door admission button and take a quick look around. The place could be tidier—oh, what do I care? I only need to impress him at work and it seems I can’t get that right.
I stick my head out the door just in time to see him crest the rise of the stairs in running shorts and a gray tee, but no appealing sweaty damp patches, so he hasn’t put in his exercise yet. The clean masculine scent of soap and spice hits me hard.
He stops a foot short of me and leans a hand on the wall. The pose is anything but casual; he seems to be taking charge of my hallway like he takes charge of everywhere else.