Airborne Emergency

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“Well?”

“I’ve been totally professional. And if I made a short comment or two, they were for your ears only.”

“You know what big ears people working together have. And living in such close quarters, believe me, they’ll be picking up the vibes sooner rather than later. Having their so-called leaders at odds with each other won’t be conducive to a good working environment.”

“Vibes? Not much I can do if we enter the realm of the metaphysical.”

“Just tell me this—what are you so resentful about? I’m the one you made a fool of. Just what do you have against me?”

“You really don’t know?”

“Por Dios, you’ve always been on my case, even after I got out of your life, and I’ll be damned if I know why you hate me so much. Was today payback for that day you suddenly decided I made good target practice for your budding feminine wiles?”

“I don’t hate you, Vidal. I don’t do destructive emotions. You’re not on my list of favorite people, that’s all. And, really, today had nothing to do with the incident you refer to.”

“The incident? In the singular? I seem to remember a string of disasters. Ending with me drenched in cocktail in my so-called moment of glory, with palm imprints on both my cheeks, two women calling me names I’ve yet to know the meaning of, accusing me of things I never even imagined, in front of a hundred people. And all captured on video. I even made it to some gossip column. Complete with photographs.”

She’d been sixteen and what everyone had described as wild. At least as far as extreme sports, hobbies and fashion went. And she’d been reeling with the discovery of the secret from which her parents had protected her and her siblings so well. It had been Vidal who’d told her, erasing the knight’s image she’d superimposed on his true character, rewriting history, her very memories, making her feel lost and agonizingly foolish. So she’d retaliated. Surely such a big, bad man could handle being made to look foolish, too?

She’d invited his last two discarded girlfriends to the graduation party her father had thrown for him in their home, knowing what harpies they were. And he had been there sporting his latest conquest, the girl who’d taken the state beauty-queen title from both of them. It had just been a matter of waiting for the fireworks to start. She couldn’t have anticipated they’d be so violent, though.

Things had gotten ugly, fast. But funny, too. The women had been so over the top, while Vidal had been so immovable, so unresponsive in the middle, it had turned into a farce. Her lips twitched at the memory.

An intimidating sable eyebrow rose in irony. “So you’re still enjoying the joke. The old, or the new? Both, no doubt. To be expected really. You were always a pain in the—”

“Is this any way to talk to an old friend?” She couldn’t hold back. A chuckle escaped.

“You were right the first time, Cassandra. We were never friends.” His voice was as bored as his eyes. “We stayed in the same house and you harassed me from the first day I set foot there until I stopped giving you the chance.”

Stayed in the same house? That was how he viewed living in her home, her parents equally his, till he’d walked out of their lives, never to look back? And “harassed” him? That was how he viewed her misguided hero-worship? The man was as cold as they came.

“Then I went and gave you another chance today.” He leaned closer. Not improper close, but she still felt trapped.

Trapped. Like that night of the party. He’d chased her to her father’s study, trapped her against the wall, his muscular arms on both sides of her head, the bars of a prison she’d been desperate to escape—desperate never to escape. He’d stood there above her, the cocktail still dripping from his hair and glasses, his fury lashing her, everything about him making her weak, dizzy, scared—elated. She’d stared at him, trying to reconcile the image she’d held of him all her life with what she’d discovered. He’d stared down at her until time had warped and stopped, then he’d sworn in Spanish and exploded out of the room, out of the house. He’d never returned.

“Fourteen years pass and the moment I see you again you play another dirty trick on me. Tell me, Cassandra, is this the only way you get your kicks?”

“Believe it or not, you’re the only one I ever played those tricks on.”

By way of explanation or peace-offering, that stank.

Those impressive eyebrows rose again, made it clear he agreed with her thoughts. “Oh, I’m honored. But just in case you feel tempted to pull this kind of trick on someone else, remember—most men wouldn’t just let it go.”

Was he telling her he would? She met his steel eyes. He was. She noticed something else, which had been niggling at her since she’d first laid eyes on him again. Beyond the magnificent looks and the innate power, there was that...depletion, that dimming. He’d said he wasn’t back to normal, had been coughing, mentioned resistant strains. He’d been sick, seriously so.

Suddenly the agitated resentment that had had her in its grip since she’d realized his new superior position in her life evaporated. She felt sick with the drain, sick at her behavior. Her behavior had been inexcusable, even before she’d known the full truth. She was being childish now.

It was pure defense. Instinctive, unreasoning. His very nearness fried her self-restraint. Memories of his lips tapping her lifeforce, drinking deep, buzzed in a loop in her mind, scrambling her logic pathways. And she’d thought she’d been laying a trap for Vidal. He’d climbed out unscathed.

What had she been thinking? Why had she done it? To punish him—for what? Betraying every ethic and value and tie she held dear? Using his gifts not to benefit humanity but to amass wealth and power? Being indiscriminately promiscuous? Hurting her father, the man who’d snatched him out of hell? Or was it for his continuing hold over her father’s heart and, worse, his faith, when Vidal had never done anything to earn them, let alone keep them?

Well, here he was, seemingly doing his bit for humanity. His sex life had nothing to do with her. And her father was capable of settling his own scores, and free to love and believe in anyone he pleased—her approval wasn’t required.

No matter what she thought of Vidal, personally or professionally, leading him on had been stupid, not to mention bitchy. If she’d had time to think about it, if she’d been capable of one clear and rational thought back then, she would have probably backed off.

No matter now. It was time to start again. At least try to.

He was getting up, ending this.

“Vidal...” She grabbed his arm. His sculpted, hair-roughened arm. He sagged back heavily and she jerked her hand away.

Stop being ridiculous. Just get this over with.

She took a deep breath. “I was out of line. I should have told you who I was the moment I recognized you. Believe it or not, I didn’t recognize you at first either.”

His eyes narrowed on her face. This must be how it felt to be hooked up to a lie detector. “You didn’t?” She shook her head, mute. His probing deepened. “Then when did you?”

“After you came back from talking to...Miguel, was it? Anyway, what I mean to say is that I am sorry. It was stupid and on the spur of the moment, and I would take it back if I could.”

Her apology brought something fierce flaring again in his distant eyes. He had every right to be angry. Was he? No anger emanated from him, just...just... Oh, she didn’t know. He was too confusing, too opaque.

A long moment later, he lowered his eyes, exhaled and fell silent.

Vidal kept his eyes on his arm, searching with every iota of concentration for the burn mark he was certain her touch had left on his flesh. He had to. Or else he’d haul her into his arms and pick up where they’d left off.

He’d been keeping his senses focused just off her, shutting out the memories.

Then she’d had to go and tell him that.

So it hadn’t been an act. Every second, every sensation, starting with their eyes colliding, connecting across the cafeteria, during saving the little boy, as he’d rushed back to her afterwards. All real. She’d recognized something in him, known they’d connected on a fundamental level. Up until the moment she’d identified him.

And then? She’d teased and taunted him, hid her identity, led him on, to toss his weakness in his face later. But her eyes, her heat, her scent, her tremors had still revealed her real response. The reactions her mind couldn’t override, her will couldn’t hide.

Dios, he didn’t need to know that.

How could he convince himself now that his helpless reaction was just a misinterpretation of his sense of recognition, too?

Yet maybe the overpowering mutual attraction had been just that, their subconscious minds telling them they knew one another, shared a long, involved history filled with turbulent emotions.

Si, ciertamente. If that was it, he should be sitting straight in his chair now. Just the memory of the wild girl who’d given Arthur, and him, nightmares as she’d been growing up should have frozen his libido solid. He shouldn’t even have a libido where she was concerned. He never should have.

Maybe he was suffering from his prolonged abstinence? But he hadn’t been abstaining voluntarily. He’d just lost interest. Until he’d wondered if he’d ever have urges again, had almost forgotten what it felt like to have them.

So, was he having a backlash of uncontrollable lust now? But why should she be the one to resurrect his desires? Resurrect? He’d never had it nearly this bad. All his life women had told him he was one cold son of a bitch, on all counts.

It had to be artificial, this new fire. It was the weirdness of the situation. Or maybe he’d caught her fire. No doubt it would soon be extinguished, as fast as it had been ignited.

It had better!

Until it did, he just had to keep it neutral, force himself to cool down, forget. Grit his teeth and walk through the hell of the next three months.

A self-deprecating sneer almost escaped at that. He’d grown soft. This hell should be a breeze compared to the one that used to be his reality, his home.

But he’d escaped his home. There was no escape this time. This was a sentence he had to serve.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

Vidal took a deep breath. His lungs itched with the lingering infection that had almost killed him. A lungful of her scent didn’t help.

Get it done. Accept her apology, start afresh. Was that possible? They had to try.

“Cassandra, no apologies needed or expected. No more pranks either. Let’s just get on with our jobs. I’m determined to make this mission a success. I’m sure you are, too.”

“Why?”

What?

His focus sharpened on her face again. Damn. He’d intended to get up, end this right now. It had been a lousy idea, sitting this close to her. Dangerous. This close up, she was overwhelming. Cream and carmine and turquoise. Every line of feature and body detailed in an elegance and voluptuousness the masters had only tried to imitate, and failed. Whatever had happened to the pink-haired, black-eyed, covered-in-freckles, scrawny livewire? Though she’d stirred him even then, so much he’d... Oh, hell!

She’d asked something. Better use the distraction. “What do you mean—why?”

“Why—everything?” Her lids were half-closed, making her eyes thoughtful, curious, their luminescence undiminished by the horrible lighting of the plane. Something fizzed inside his brain. “Why are you here, doing this? Is this some sort of propaganda campaign? A grand philanthropic gesture to add to the Vidal Arro— Vidal Santiago legend?”

“Is that what you think?”

“I don’t know what to think. That’s why I’m asking.”

“It’s clearly what you want to think. Go ahead, make yourself comfortable. Believe what you like. Just as long as it won’t interfere with our work or you taking orders.”

“Ah, we come to that. You’re going to enjoy this part, aren’t you?”

“It’ll be novel, that’s for sure. As far as I remember, you never took orders from anyone, never followed rules.”

“Gee, you make me sound like some sort of anarchist hippie, instead of a highly disciplined trauma surgeon.”

Indeed. It had been a shock when Arthur had told him she’d entered med school. A bigger shock that she’d stayed, excelled. The Cassandra he’d known had made an art of squandering her abilities, superior in everything, sticking with nothing, ending up far behind her peers. When and why had the change occurred?

He shrugged. “Touché. So, why yourself?”

“Why am I here?” Her eyes crinkled, laughed, a hundred mischievous imps rollicking there. Something very painful twisted behind his breast-bone. “I’ll be charitable and satisfy your curiosity. You’re right. Following rules isn’t for me. It has definitely gotten to me. I’ve tried the sedate path of academia ever since I entered med school, then I finished my residency and looked around. Didn’t like what I saw. I had nothing to look forward to but what I got a full taste of during my residency— endless surgery lists, patients a thousand other surgeons can help, and step after step up the hospital executive ladder. Not what I envisioned when I entered med school. So I decided to go where people were really in need, where my presence can and will make a difference. I hooked up with GAO and they sent me to Afghanistan for two weeks. And, wow. I decided there and then that this was what I wanted to do with the rest of my life.”

“What did your parents have to say about it?”