to make sense of Mark being here.
Of Mark being a Jayhawk pilot from Jeff’s last station.
“I’m Petty Officer Second Class Larry Volk, flight mechanic with Elizabeth City,” continued the introductions.
Cassie couldn’t breathe. Fear weighted her shoulders. Dread compounded it.
“Lieutenant Robert Fillmore, copilot with Elizabeth City,” spoke up another man.
The whole crew was from North Carolina. What were the odds that this was a group Jeff had known? Jeff had flown with?
Mark was a common enough name. She hadn’t thought twice about it last night. But in the context of the Jayhawk and the Elizabeth City connection, she made sense of all the clues. Heard Mark’s full name and rank and recalled it listed on the flower arrangement card Jeff’s crew had sent when they couldn’t attend the memorial. Mark Sampson. The pilot who’d flown her brother’s final mission.
The man she’d spent the night with was the same man who had left her brother to drown.
At her strangled exclamation, the pilot’s eyes swerved her way, widening in recognition.
But did he really recognize her? Of course not. He had no idea who she was or how deeply she’d betrayed her brother’s memory. The thought of it knocked her breath out, like ice water.
Her eyes drifted out of the hangar and back toward the bus. For a moment she envisioned racing to it, returning to the hotel and then to Idaho. But she didn’t think she could live with this burden any better there than here. She wasn’t that kind of woman any longer.
Hitching her duffel bag higher on her shoulder, she stared at a distant spot over Mark’s shoulder. Leaving wouldn’t honor her brother. This heartless pilot would not take that from her, too.
No.
She’d go on the mission as planned. Maybe, amid the chaos of this natural disaster, she’d better understand the choices Jeff had made—and the sacrifices. To do that, she’d need to avoid the officer whose presence would be enough to keep her wounds from healing, even if that meant ignoring the strongest attraction she’d ever felt for a man.
* * *
WHY WOULDN’T SHE meet his eye?
As introductions rolled on, Mark stared at Cassie and listened to his crazy heartbeat. It’d taken every ounce of willpower to squelch thoughts of their night together during preflight inspection this morning. He’d worried he might never see her again. But here she stood, even more beautiful in natural light, and looking far too vulnerable to fly into the aftermath of a Category 5 storm.
Damn it. He could not let her mess with his head.
Would not let memories of their incredible night distract him from what he really needed. This mission.
And the absolution that each successful operation would bring him.
Exhaust fuel permeated the waterlogged air when more engines fired to life around them. His gaze swept over her as she huddled in the group, her arms crossed, shoulders folding in. The thin, dirty light revealed the purple shadows under her eyes. Shadows he was responsible for.
Did she regret last night? She’d seemed as satisfied as him when they’d parted. Still, the pain he’d noticed in the bar shimmered around her now. Gone was the passionate woman who’d rocked his world.
The redhead beside her finished her introduction and turned, giving the floor to Cassie.
“I’m Cassie Rowe, RN American Red Cross, Greater Idaho,” she said, voice ragged. She hit him with a stare like a threat.
“First timer!” proclaimed the woman next to Cassie and a smattering of cheers and claps rose.
“Getting her dollar ride,” one of his crew put in.
Rowe. The name backhanded him like a slap from his old man.
Jeff’s last name. And hadn’t he been from the Midwest? Mark’s brain buzzed, his nervous system flashing warnings brighter than any heads-up display on a flight screen. He tried recalling the names he’d written on the card to Jeff’s family.
There was definitely a sister.
Outside, the light shower turned into thick, clammy rain. When the group turned his way, he automatically waved them on board, a buzzing in his ears. Time to leave. He had less than five minutes before takeoff. But he had to know.
He tipped his hat to each of the members when they clambered on board, then pulled Cassie aside. She jerked her elbow free and examined him with flat eyes that sucked in everything and emitted nothing.
“Cassie—”
The rain blew against them, shifting, and an engine whined loud as another plane took off.
She put up a hand and backed away, her eyes overbright. “No. I can’t—” She stared around her, dazed, then tossed her duffel bag into the cabin, bounded by him and hauled herself inside the helicopter.
Damn.
“Yo! Time’s up, Commander,” called Robert through the open cockpit door.
“Got it.”
He climbed into his seat, donned his helmet and strapped himself in. Robert shot Mark a questioning look, which he ignored as he compartmentalized and began the familiar start-up routines. Didn’t Cassie’s last name trip a signal in anyone else’s mind from his crew? His hand fisted in his lap while Robert moved the battery switch to On, flipped on the APU and checked through the hydraulic systems. Mark fired up the engines and the rotors whirred to life, the blades slicing through the fog rolling in off the bay.
After cross-checking his engine and system instruments against his start checklist, he tuned up the ground frequency and waited for a break in the chatter to request taxi clearance.
Something skimmed across Mark’s mind. Cassie’s eyes. Same color as Jeff’s. Then there was his old crewmate’s leave request for a sister graduating nursing school.
Cold sweat popped on his brow.
Shit.
“She’s Jeff’s sister,” he murmured under his breath, his voice ragged.
His shoulders tightened. Not the right time to dwell on this. But holy hell. Given her reaction, she’d realized who he was, too.
Her parents blamed him for Jeff’s death. No doubt Cassie did, as well.
And how could he fault her? He hadn’t stopped blaming himself.
He squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out the riot of thought and focused, drawing on his training. He was supposed to be putting this shit behind him. He’d sworn up and down to the military docs that he could handle flying.
That meant he would damn well get this bird in the air and put the mission first.
When the ground control conversation ended, he slowed his breathing. “St. Pete ground, Coast
