Chasing Fire

don’t guess she’d transfer to West Yellowstone, or maybe over to Idaho for a stretch.”
    “No. She’d see that as running. Abandonment.”
    “Maybe. But maybe not, if you went, too.”
    “She’s not there yet, Dobie.”
    Dobie pursed his lips, watching Gull as he drank coffee. “But you are?”
    Gull stared down at his half-eaten breakfast. “Fucking lupines.”
    “What the hell’s lupines?”
    Gull just shook his head. “Yeah, I’m there,” he said as he got to his feet. “Goddamn it.”
    Southern, Gibbons and Janis came in, still sweaty from PT, as Gull stormed out.
    “What’s that about?” Gibbons demanded.
    “Sit down, boys and girls, and I’ll tell you.”
     
     
    TEMPER BUBBLING, Gull tracked down L.B. outside a hangar in conversation with one of the pilots.
    “How the fuck did this happen?”
    “Do you think I didn’t ask the same damn thing?” L.B. tossed back. “Do you think I’m not pissed off?”
    “I don’t care if you’re pissed off. I want some answers.”
    L.B. jerked a thumb, headed away from the hangar and toward one of the service roads. “If you want to jump somebody’s ass, find a cop. They’re the ones who screwed this up.”
    “I want to know how.”
    “You want to know how? I’ll tell you how.” L.B. picked up a palm-sized rock, heaved it. “They had two cops outside the Brakeman house. Shit, probably looking at skin mags and eating donuts.”
    He found another rock, heaved that. “My fucking brother’s a cop, over in Helena, and I know he doesn’t do that shit. But goddamn it.”
    Gull leaned over, picked up a rock, offered it. “Go ahead.”
    “Thanks.” After hurling it, L.B. rolled his shoulder. “They were out in the front, watching the house. Brakeman’s truck is around the side, under a carport. So he loads it up sometime in the middle of the night, then he pushes it right across the backyard, cuts a truck-sized hole in the frigging fence, then pushes it right across the neighbor’s yard to the road. Then God knows where he went.”
    “And the cops don’t see the truck’s gone until this morning.”
    “No, they fucking don’t.”
    “Okay.”
    “Okay? That’s it?”
    “It’s an answer. I do better with answers. She’s third load. Can you put her on Ops if we get a call for one or two?”
    “Yeah.” L.B. picked up another rock, just stared at it a moment, then dropped it again. “I’d figured on it. I just wanted to wait until she’d cooled off.”
    “I’ll tell her.”
    “She’s been known to kill the messenger. That’s why I sent Cards,” L.B. added with a slow smile. “He’s just off the DL, so I figured she’d take it easy on him.”
    “That’s why you’re chief.”
    Gull swung by the barracks to grab a Coke, considered, and though he thought it the lamest form of camouflage outside a Groucho mustache, he grabbed caps and sunglasses.
    On the way to the loft, he pulled out his phone, called Lucas.
    Since most of the unit was doing PT or still at breakfast, he found only a handful working in the loft along with Rowan. She inspected, gore by gore, a canopy hanging in the tower.
    “Busy,” she said shortly.
    He tipped the Coke from side to side. “You know you’re jonesing by now.”
    “Very busy.” Using tweezers, she removed some pine needles lodged in the cloth.
    “Fine, I’ll drink it.” He popped the top. “L.B. wants you in Ops if we catch a fire.”
    She jerked around. “He’s not grounding me.”
    “I didn’t say that. You’re third load, so unless we catch a holocaust, you’re probably not going to jump on the first call. You’re a qualified assistant Ops manager, aren’t you?”
    She grabbed the Coke from him, gulped some down. “Yeah.” She shoved it back at him, returned to her inspection. “Thanks for letting me know.”
    “No problem. About this situation.”
    “I don’t want or need to be reassured, protected, advised or—”
    “Jesus, shut up.” He shook his head at the ceiling towering above, took another drink.
    “ You shut up.”
    He had to grin. “I’m rubber; you’re glue. You really want to sink that low? I don’t think Brakeman’s your problem.”
    “I’m not worried about him. I can take care of myself, and I’m not stupid. I’ve got plenty to keep me busy, here, in manufacturing, in the gym when I’m not out on a fire.”
    Meticulously she removed a twig, marked a small, one-inch tear for repair before she lowered the apex to examine higher