His To Protect

“Position and hold Runway 36L,” Mark barked into the mic. “Coast Guard copter 6039. Request for hover check.”

“Roger, 6039. Cleared for hover check. Advise when ready for takeoff.”

They rose ten feet and Mark scrutinized the instruments: 88 percent torque, 100 percent Nr, 2–3 degrees nose up altitude, 4–5 degrees left wing down and all other systems in the green. So far so good. Once stabilized, he checked for proper flight control response and verified his power setting. Nothing was wrong, yet he felt off.

Rob opened a bag of Jolly Ranchers and held it out. “Want some?”

“Nah.” Mark lowered the helicopter. His eyes fixed on the ground, mind focused on a precise landing position. Not on Cassie. Not Jeff. He brushed at the moisture beading his forehead.

“You okay?”

“Fine,” he said, his voice firm.

And he was. Had to be. He shook some of the pieces into his hand after all and tossed back a couple.

He’d worried this first large-scale disaster response since Jeff’s loss would shake loose old insecurities. Challenge his hard-won equilibrium. But he’d arrived on the flight line clearheaded for the first time in months. What an irony that Cassie Rowe had been responsible for that. She’d leveled him out better than any of the mandatory visits with a base shrink—had made him feel normal again. Until she’d sent him straight back to hell.

When the Herc disappeared from view, Mark cleared his throat. “Coast Guard 6039, ready for takeoff.”

He gave Rob a thumbs-up. Simultaneously, he pulled the collective to 98 percent torque, adjusted the tail rotor pedals to maintain heading and maneuvered the cyclic to stay centerline. As they rose slowly, he transitioned to forward flight.

“6039 airborne.” As they gained altitude, Mark turned to heading three hundred fifty and continued with his departure procedures, the helicopter shuddering slightly before smoothing out. The Sikorsky shuffle.

A normal takeoff, just like always. Nothing wrong. And nothing would go wrong on this mission, he vowed, then loosened his white-knuckle grip on the stick. The gray sprawl of ocean appeared below as Mark’s gaze drifted to the MFD screen. Current weather images of the hurricane continuously updated in the newly installed test weather radar. Although the hurricane had jogged east, a few bands still streaked across southern Florida.

He verified the correct course set for the Nassau, where they’d refuel before going on to the mission’s staging area in the Virgin Islands, and slumped back in his seat, his joints stiff. He had to get over this jittery sense that something wasn’t right.

Cassie’s accusing expression swam into view. She had every right to hate him. It’d been a long time before he’d been able to face himself in the mirror.

So why had she joined such a treacherous mission? This was her first disaster operation. At least Jeff had been trained for what he faced. Cassie had little preparation for this scale of an emergency and his protective instincts rose. He’d failed her brother and wouldn’t let another Rowe family member come to harm on his watch. He owed Jeff that much and more.

But aside from that obligation, he would put Cassie Rowe out of his head. He’d fought too hard to get back in the cockpit after the weeks he’d been grounded following Jeff’s death. No way would he let a woman get to him, undermine all he’d devoted his life to achieve.

Fat splats of rain peppered the glass and he glanced down at his radar. The last vestiges of the hurricane brewed their mischief up ahead. The final salvo in a storm that had inflicted devastating damage...yet a certain blonde on board his aircraft felt like the greater threat.

He would not be with her again, even if she’d had any inclination to come near him a second time. Getting close to Cassie would jeopardize the mission. His career. Possibly his sanity.

The problem with playing with this particular fire, however, was already knowing how sweet the burn would be.

4 (#ulink_beea5af1-f0e3-5db2-86ac-9d32f24bc609)

“GOOD WORK, NURSE ROWE.” The Red Cross’s chief nurse, Marjorie Little, nodded briskly as she strode down the long row of cots lining the temporary aid station’s sides.

They’d erected the house-size tent this morning since the inflatable field hospital units wouldn’t be operational for a couple of days. Minimum.

“Thanks.” Cassie peeled her damp collar from her neck and hoped for sooner than later. She secured an ACE wrap around her latest patient’s swollen ankle and turned, striving not to sway on her feet. It’d been a long ten-hour shift, but damned if she’d let it show. In fact, strange as it sounded, she’d enjoyed the frenetic pace. It was so different than the usual crawl of taking blood pressure and giving flu vaccinations at her father’s general practice. Best of all, she’d been too busy to think of a certain pilot...

Moans and cries, accompanied by murmuring medical volunteers and beeping, generator-fueled machines, comprised the day’s sound track, as relentless as the pelting rain against their canvas roof. The combined scents of sweat and antiseptic hung in the humid air. It coated her mouth, lined her nasal passages. She could smell it on her uniform. Her hair even...

“It’s all gone,” sobbed her patient, Melinda, an island tour guide. She clutched a small framed photo of her family—the only thing she’d managed to grab before her house collapsed, she’d told Cassie earlier.

“I’m so sorry.” She clamped down her own fatigue and smoothed a hand over her charge’s forehead. Good. Cooler. The ibuprofen had kicked in.

Despite her relief, a restless feeling swept through her. For the hundredth time today, she wished she could do more to help. Her patient would regain her health, but what about the rest of her life?

The flattened structures she’d glimpsed before landing on a less damaged coastal section being used for the Coast Guard’s staging area flashed through her mind. Eroded beaches, boats and debris appeared to be shoved ashore by an invisible, monstrous hand. The same one that’d punched out windows and torn the roofs off the few standing buildings. Lives, ripped apart at the seams, crushed and pulverized by powers beyond their control.

Although she had never experienced anything like that, in her own way, she could relate.

Her weary gaze drifted over the large bandage that hid a stitched gash on the woman’s temple.

She stiffened.

Right.

Tetanus shot.

Her patient risked lockjaw.

Adrenaline zipped through Cassie. A buzz. Urgent and fierce.

She moved aside as Raeanne slid by to attend to a writhing man on the cot beside Melinda’s and flagged down a physician.

“Doctor.” Cassie held out her patient’s paperwork. “I need a signature for a tetanus shot order.”

The stooped man scanned the patient’s file, peeked at her bandage and scrawled something fairly illegible on the chart before hurrying on.

“Do you have any allergies?” she asked her charge while consulting the chart. It never hurt to double-check. Melinda shook her head.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes, Taufik.” Raeanne squeezed Cassie’s arm as she passed by again, her faint smile appearing and disappearing as fast as it came.

“Any chance you might be pregnant?” Cassie continued.

“No.”

She snapped the chart closed and gave Melinda a reassuring smile. “I’ll be right back with your shot.”

A moment later, she slipped behind the curtained partition that held their medication and other supplies.

“How’s it going?” asked Raeanne, tapping a couple of oxys into a paper cup.

“Good.” She scanned the syringes, looking for the right size. She selected the correct needle and turned slowly, stabbing pain shooting down her spine.

“Good?” Raeanne dropped the bottle in the med cabinet, locked it and blew a dangling red curl out of her face. Her narrowed green eyes skimmed over Cassie. “That almost sounded like you meant it. You were so quiet on the flight, I thought you were having second thoughts.”

And she had been, she mused, grabbing a vial of Dtap. “I’m glad I came.” Which was mostly true, if not for Mark.

Still, she couldn’t shake the memory of how his arms had made her feel safe, his kisses transporting her away from all the fear of the upcoming mission. Little had she known he was a devil in disguise.