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“Let’s go up to the officer’s mess,” Bram suggested.
She grimaced, giving him a sidelong glance. “We could grab something from the vending machine. It’s quicker.”
Again Bram gave her that infuriating smile that threatened to make her blush. “Because I want to sit back and relax a little, Lieutenant Travis. Or are you going to give me an argument on that too?”
Her gray eyes narrowed. “No argument, Lieutenant Gallagher,” she informed him lightly. Why did she have the feeling he was stalking her?
Stuffing her cap into one the pockets of her flight suit, she walked through the doors of the officer’s mess. They stood out in their olive-green flight suits among the other officers who were dressed in dark blue serge pants and light blue short-sleeve shirts. Storm bridled when she saw Kyle Armstrong and his copilot grinning up at her when they entered. She felt like she had to explain why they were over here and then decided to hell with it. Let them think what they wanted. They went through the cafeteria line, and Storm found a couple of chairs at an empty table to give them some privacy from prying eyes.
Bram sat opposite her, his tray filled. He gave a glance at hers.
“You’re not eating much,” he noted, pointing disapprovingly at the soup and salad.
Storm ran her fingers through her hair, wishing she had a brush right now. She knew her hair probably looked flattened against her skull after wearing the helmet. And then she laughed at herself—why, all of a sudden, did she worry about how her hair looked? She hadn’t before. She met Gallagher’s concerned gaze.
“I like staying at one hundred and thirty pounds, that’s why. Don’t start picking on my eating habits too,” she said gruffly, picking up her fork.
His smile was devastating as he paid attention to his plate heaped with slices of hot roast beef. “Am I picking on you?”
“You know you are.”
“My, my, aren’t we touchy. Are you like this every day?”
“For your benefit, yes.”
“My benefit?”
Storm glared up at him. She felt giddy and happy—but why? It was him. Damn! “Yes, yours. And don’t give me that innocent look, Gallagher. You know what I’m talking about. We’re not boy meets girl. We’re adults. And I can see you coming from ten miles away.”
He nodded, chewing thoughtfully in the silence afterward, his blue eyes dancing with laughter. “Want to play twenty questions with me?”
Storm gave him a black look. “No.”
“What are you hiding from?”
“You.”
“Why?”
“Because, lieutenant, you seem to feel it’s your right to know me on a personal level.”
He gave her a guarded look, continuing to eat. “I think that’s fair. After all, we’re going to be working together for at least a year.”
“Don’t remind me.”
Bram grinned, knowing she didn’t mean it. He saw the confusion and fear in her eyes and suddenly realized that something must have occurred in her personal life to make her so wary. “Okay,” he said, easing up on her, “I’ll can my twenty questions. Just answer two for me, will you?”
“Two?”
He held up two fingers. “Yeah, two.”
She frowned. “I can count, Gallagher, and you don’t need to hold up your fingers so everybody can see you.”
So, that was it. Bram looked around, noticing a couple of the pilots and watching them with great interest. His face softened and he dropped his hand. “Looks like there’s more than a little interest in you and me by your protective friends.”
Uncomfortable and yet relieved that he understood, Storm blotted her lips with the napkin. He wasn’t as insensitive as she had first thought. “They’re worse than women when it comes to me,” she admitted unhappily. Kyle Armstrong would tease her mercilessly tonight when they all got together at the Q or alert quarters.
He laughed softly, shaking his head. “What is this, reverse discrimination? Men being protective about you and on guard toward me?”
Storm shrugged. She didn’t want to tell him that Armstrong and the rest of the guys wanted to see her married again. They were forever trying to fix her up with some eligible bachelor. Their hearts were in the right place, but it was embarrassing. “They mean well,” she told him. “They’re like brothers, you know? Sometimes they get in your hair and become an irritation.”
Bram nodded. That was good to know—she treated them like brothers, not lovers. “Well,” he informed her softly, his voice a vibrating growl, “don’t even begin to look at or treat me like a brother, lieutenant.”
She toyed with the salad, her pulse skyrocketing. “Don’t worry, Gallagher, I’ll never make that mistake with you.”
His mouth drew into a grin. “Good. I’m glad we finally agree on something.”
Storm gave him a warning glare. “I agree with you on very little, Gallagher.”
“That’ll change,” he informed her darkly.
“I doubt it.”
* * *
Storm didn’t want to go inside the Q, which stood outside the ramp and hangar area. Four days had flown by and they were on alert again. It was almost 2100 when she walked outside, heading toward the quiet ramp where the readied helos and Falcon jets sat waiting for the next SAR call. Hands thrust deep in her pockets, she watched the apricot color of the sunset deepening. The colors were spectacular; she had come to love dusk in Florida. Tonight there were a few threatening clouds, mostly towering cumuli, rising like castle turrets in the distance. That meant a few isolated thunderstorms later over the ocean. Bowing her head, she walked slowly along the ramp area, away from the hangar, lost in the world of changing colors that painted the sky. It was lovely, and finally she halted, lost in the display.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” came Bram’s voice from behind her.
She turned her head slightly, watching him quietly walk up to her shoulder and halt. The peacefulness of the sunset muted all her suspicions as she saw awe written across his features. He was just as moved as she was. A small smile curved her lips.
“This is my favorite time of day,” she confided softly, returning her attention to the sky.
“Mine too. That and dawn. I like to see the colors on the horizon. Best time to fly.”
She felt totally at ease with Bram. Four days had worked miracles in dispelling their initial distrust of each other. There was a tender look in his eyes right now. Storm liked the feeling swirling and building quietly between them, a sharing of something far greater than themselves. The apricot hue deepened to an incredible orange that grew paler as it reached toward the darkening cobalt sky.
Bram glanced down at Storm. Her profile was clean, and her skin had a glow to it. There was a faraway look on her face now, and he longed to reach out and touch her. Her lips were slightly parted, her eyes wide, as she continued to watch the spectacle. They stood in silence another ten minutes before he spoke.
“I’ve been trying to find some time today to talk with you alone, Storm,” he said, turning toward her.
Her heart catapulted as he called her by her first name. It rolled off his tongue like a caress, and she responded effortlessly to the tone in his voice. But she also heard the seriousness of it and faced him, a mere twelve inches separating them. Looking guilelessly up into his features, she searched his darkened blue eyes.
“About what?”
“You don’t play games, do you?”
Her brows drew downward. “Games? No. Is that what you wanted to talk about?”
He shook his head. “No.” He scratched his head furtively, looking toward the sunset again. “I’m having one hell of a time relating to you, Storm. You’re not like the women I know. Or have known. They’re into their cute, coy games. They don’t come out and say what they really feel.” He gave her a rueful smile. “You come off differently.”
Storm felt defensive about his assessment, crossing her arms. “That doesn’t make me any less a woman, you know.”
He raised his eyes. “I didn’t mean it that way. No, you’re a woman in or out of a flight suit; believe me,” he said fervently. Then he grinned. “The touch you have with a helo is a woman’s touch, not a man’s.”
“Flying is a matter of finesse and sensitivity, not brute strength,” she reminded him.
He held up his hands. “I agree. Listen, we’re getting off track, Storm. I need to say something to you,”
She licked her lips, preparing for the worst. “Okay. I always want honesty between us, Gallagher. Even if it hurts, I want the truth.”
Placing his hands on his hips, he looked down at the concrete between them for a long moment. Finally he raised his head, an undecipherable expression in his eyes as he met her gaze. “First, I owe you a genuine apology for the way I behaved that first afternoon we pulled alert. I don’t normally go around accusing women of going to bed with men.” He grimaced, finding it hard to put the rest of it into words because of the avalanche of emotion boiling up within him. “Last Friday, before I left Mobile, Alabama, to move down here, I got my finalized divorce papers.” He lowered his gaze, pursing his lips. “A two-day drive down here plus the bitterness of the divorce has made me a little sour on women. And when I met you Sunday and realized it was going to be a woman breaking me into SAR, I damn near came unglued.” His blue eyes grew softer as he searched her stunned features. “I was angry at my ex-wife, and I lashed out at you instead, Storm. You represented all women to me in that moment and how much they can hurt a man.”
Storm cleared her throat, unable to maintain his gaze. “I see…” she whispered. Tears came to her eyes, and it surprised her. Why tears? Her heart contracted with pain for him. “Under the circumstances, I guess I can’t blame you for your actions, Bram. I probably would have done something quite similar.”
A slight smile edged his sensual mouth. “I’m finding out all kinds of good things about you, Storm Travis. You stand up for what you believe in, but you’re equally forgiving of others’ mistakes. That’s a nice attribute.”
She shivered inwardly as his voice soothed her. Tears stung her eyes and she turned away from him. Was she going to cry? My God! “In the past year, I’ve found out just how human I am,” she admitted rawly. Rubbing her brow, she managed a small broken laugh. “Just one thing…”
Bram cocked his head, watching her profile silhouetted against the darkening horizon. “Name it.”
“Be just as forgiving with me, Bram. I—I’m kind of on an emotional roller coaster right now because—of, well, circumstances. I might shout at you when we’re in the cockpit together, or—”
He reached out, placing his hand on her shoulder, turning her toward him. It startled him to realize that her dove-gray eyes were filled with tears, making them appear luminous and vulnerable. He wanted to keep his hand on her shoulder but allowed it to drop to his side instead.
“We got off on the wrong foot the other day because of my attitude, Storm,” he told her earnestly. “You showed your professionalism with me, regardless of how badly I made an ass of myself. You didn’t let your personal opinion of me interfere with teaching me the ropes. You’ve earned a big chunk of my respect. I’ll never lose my temper with you when you get a little out of sorts.”
A quivering smile fled across her lips. His touch had been healing and stabilizing to her torn emotional state. Storm longed to have him put his hand on her once again, to simply step into the circle of his arms. She had been a year without any kind of emotional support—bereft, floating aimlessly. And she yearned for what Bram offered honestly and without games. A newfound respect shone in her eyes for him.
“Okay,” she murmured huskily, “truce?”
“Truce,” Bram promised thickly.
Three
The Q, the barracks for pilots on alert, consisted of two double bunks to a room in a two-story structure. On retiring to their rooms, the pilots unlaced their boots and left them nearby in case the duty officer called on two or more of them to assist in a search and rescue mission. The room at the end of the hall was a large lounge sporting several comfortable sofas and chairs gathered around a color TV set. Storm had her boots off, dangling her long legs over the arm of the chair. It was almost ten P.M. and she dozed intermittently, the television blaring in the background, providing the stabilizing sound of human voices.
One by one, the on-duty pilots called it a night. Storm was afraid to go to bed. This was her first night back on duty since the loss of Dave Walker. She had been placed on nonduty status and given time to recover from the emotional shock and loss. It was the normal procedure after air crashes or traumatic circumstances. Kyle rosé and walked over under Bram’s watchful eye, his hands resting on each arm of the chair as he stared down at her.
“Okay, Stormie?” he asked in a low voice.
She nodded, barely opening her eyes. “Yeah, fine, Kyle.”
“Sure?”
Kyle knew what she was going through. They had been close friends since she had first been assigned to SAR. “Yeah…” she mumbled, her arms wrapped across her body, head buried against the chair.
“You look real tired.”
“I am.”
“Why don’t you hit the sack? You’re gonna end up with a crick in your neck if you don’t.” He smiled, but his green eyes were solemn as he watched her closely.
Storm shrugged. She didn’t want to tell Kyle of the nightmares that stalked her every night. “I’ll go in a little while. Thanks….”
He straightened up, giving her knee a pat. “Okay. Good night.”
Dozing again beneath the lamplight and the comforting noise of the television, Storm remembered very little after that. At one point, Bram came over and checked on her before he left for his room, which was situated next to hers. He had gently stroked her hair, crouching down beside her, his blue eyes assessing her worriedly. For the first time in a year, she felt protected. Smiling softly, she mumbled good night to him and dozed off again.
Near eleven, Storm roused herself and stumbled blindly into her darkened sleeping quarters. Drunk with exhaustion, she left her flight suit on and wearily lay down on the bunk. Maybe now she was tired enough for sleep to come without a battle. She was lucky if she got three hours of sleep a night since the accident.
“I’ve got to help him, Storm!”
She shook her head adamantly, gripping the flight controls as the helicopter hovered precariously over the deck of the yacht. The ocean was fairly calm, making the boarding of the ship by the SES drug-busting Coast Guard crew of the Sea Hawk relatively easy. The yacht had a helicopter landing pad on the rear deck. When the request came in for them to assist in the mop-up operation, Storm landed the aircraft gently on the pad. It was an unusual request, but she complied. Merlin was out the door, helping to round up the smugglers and their cache of marijuana and coke. But it wasn’t over yet. The whine of the turbine engine of the 52 added to the cacophony of shouts and orders. She and Dave watched in horror as one smuggler grabbed a small boy who was part of the crew, holding him hostage at the bow of the ship with a gun held to his head. Two Customs agents armed with shotguns slowly approached the twosome.
“He isn’t going to put down the gun,” Dave said grimly, giving Storm a sharp glance. He began unharnessing. “Damn!”
“Dave…don’t go! Stay here. There’s nothing you can do!” she ordered. Her concentration was torn between keeping the helicopter steady on the deck and remaining aware of the chaos taking place around them.
“He’s gonna kill that kid, Storm. I know Spanish. Maybe I can get our guys to back off and I’ll talk him into giving up the boy.”
Before Storm could protest, he was gone. Helplessly she watched as Dave, still in his helmet, climbed out and ran toward the prow of the ship. She bit her lower lip hard, aware of the hatred on the face of the Colombian smuggler. Storm watched as everything in her recurring nightmare slowed to anguished single frames, sending waves of horror through her.
Even above the roar of the 52’s rotor blades kicking up gusts of wind, Storm heard the smuggler screaming shrilly in Spanish as Dave placed himself in front of the boarding crew. Her stomach knotted, and her sweaty hands tightened on the controls. The smuggler raised the gun, aiming it at Dave’s chest. No! Oh, God, no! He was going to shoot Dave! She watched as the ugly snout of the gun barrel rosé level with Dave Walker’s chest. She saw the man’s finger pulling back on the trigger.
“No!” she screamed again and again. Sobs tore from her throat, and she buried her face in her trembling hands, unable to stop the awful sounds from escaping. She was barely cognizant of someone switching on the overhead light, as well as the mumbling and movement around her. Hands, friendly hands, fell on her shoulder, pulling her around, breaking the spell.
“Stormie?” Kyle whispered anxiously. He pulled her upright so she could sit up. A few of the other pilots, awakened from their sleep by her screams, stumbled out of bed and down the hall, coming to her room and standing near Armstrong.
She sobbed hard, embarrassed, realizing she had awakened almost everyone in the Q. “I—I’m sorry,” she cried brokenly. “I didn’t mean to wake everyone…”
Armstrong smiled understandingly, watching as Gallagher made his way through the assembled pilots, crouching down by Storm’s left leg. “It’s okay,” Bram soothed.
Storm felt Bram’s firm grip on her arm. It had an immediate mollifying effect on her turbulent emotional state.
“I’ll take care of her,” Bram told the others, daring any of them to dispute his right to do so. She was his partner. He was her copilot. It was an unwritten law that they took care of each other, and it didn’t matter how new he was. Reluctantly Armstrong released his grip on Storm’s other arm. There was a trace of disbelief in his green eyes, questioning Bram’s motives. He glanced up at Storm, who was trying to wipe away the tears with her trembling hands.
“Stormie?”
“I—Bram will take care of me,” she stammered thickly. “I’m going to get up anyway. You guys don’t need me waking you up again. Especially when we’re on alert.” She rosé unsteadily, grateful for Bram’s assistance. Grabbing her boots, she stumbled from the room and headed toward the lounge. She found a chair and sat down, pulling on the boots and lacing them up expertly out of habit. Bram joined her moments later, his boots already on. His hair was tousled, his eyes puffy with sleep. She felt a sharp stab of guilt as she met his inquiring blue gaze.
“I’m sorry, Bram,” she murmured, standing.
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Don’t be. Come on, let’s go for a walk. You need some fresh air.”
How did he know that? The confining area was almost suffocating her. She made no protest when he kept his hand on her arm as he led her outside into the muggy night. They walked away from the building toward the ramp in the distance. Once the darkness closed in on her, she felt better. Looking up, Storm lost herself in the beauty of the night sky. They walked for almost ten minutes before she finally came to a stop and turned to Bram.
“You must think I’m crazy.”
