by Vivian Arend
The noise calmed as athletes settled back into their routines. The newcomers vanished, and Devon took an unobtrusive spot at the edge of her peripheral vision.
Alisha put her irritation aside and focused on her body. On making it strong enough to handle anything tossed her way.
If only she could train her heart and soul as easily.
* * *
Devon watched.
He’d been watching forever, it seemed.
Across the room from him, Alisha sipped from an oversized water bottle as she visited with the Lifeline pilot, Erin Tate. Alisha looked like a tiny blonde doll beside the powerfully built black woman, but he knew they were both forces of nature, and that made Devon smile more than the disparity in their sizes.
The team winch man, Anders, lay sprawled over two-thirds of the couch discussing the latest mountain film he’d seen with Xavier and Tripp, their paramedic and avalanche specialist, respectively. The three guys were about as far apart in physical appearance as possible, but together they were a hell of a team.
Together they saved lives.
Whatever things made them stand apart didn’t matter to Devon, as long as they worked together when it counted.
The door opened and their boss entered the room. Marcus Landers was a legend in his own way. Not that Devon would ever say that to the man—Marcus would tie him up and leave him dangling from a rope for mentioning how much he’d inspired Devon early in his career. And working for the man?
His level of hero worship at first was a trifle embarrassing to remember. Only Devon had put that reverence into what he considered good use. He’d joined Lifeline and committed to making a difference.
Marcus glanced around the room. “Damn. You’re all here.”
“Ha.” Erin raised her middle finger in salute. “You’re late. We should make you do circuits of the training field to make up for keeping us waiting.”
Marcus grinned. The man was notorious for his creative training methods. And his creative punishments. “Just keeping you all at the top of your game.”
“You enjoy it too much,” Tripp pointed out. “We know better than to be late without a note from the hospital or visible stitches.”
Everyone shuffled into position around the massive boardroom table. Alisha curled herself in a chair across from Devon, ignoring him and speaking to Marcus. “This must be an important meeting. You didn’t bring us any Tim Horton doughnuts.”
“Doughnuts before lunch? Ugh.” Erin leaned forward and picked up the roll of paper Marcus had dropped on the table. “But you brought us a treasure map.”
Marcus folded himself into the chair at the head of the table. “Treasure beyond your wildest dreams, Erin.”
She raised a brow. “I can dream pretty big.”
“Hey,” Anders interrupted. “Before you get started on the official part of the meeting, what’s happening at the Banff training school? I bumped into your brother the other day, and he was grinning far too hard.”
“Probably still gloating over having Becki James as a head coordinator,” Devon said.
Marcus’s smile deepened at the mention of his lover. “The school is damn lucky to have her on full time. The grin, though? He got a new sponsor who set the school up with a couple of scholarships plus enough cash to revamp the entire training centre.”
Tripp whistled softly. “Sweet. Unnamed benefactor?”
“Some Toronto bigwig with more money than God. Said he wanted to help support the ongoing development of excellence.”
“Should see if he wants to pour some cash this direction,” Xavier suggested. “Because you know this place could use a little sprucing up, and we are excellent ourselves.”
Across from Devon, Alisha had stiffened, watching the banter, but no longer participating. There was a tightness to her body that hadn’t been there moments before.
Conversation continued around them about what they’d do to fix up the staff quarters of Lifeline if they had a spare million to play with. Devon ignored them and instead thought through all the reasons he could for Alisha’s strange tension. She’d grown up in Toronto. That was the only connection he could come up with without doing more research.
Marcus tapped his hand on the table to get their attention. “Okay, speculation about the Banff SAR school aside. I have news.”
“Raises?” Erin teased.
“Actually, yes.” Marcus waited until the hoots and hollering died down. “You’re a horde of wild animals this morning. What the hell did you have for breakfast?”
“I don’t know what she ate, but Alisha went climbing over a gym rat.” Tripp held his hands up in surprise as Alisha whirled on him in exasperation. “Well, you did, right?”
“How is it my business is all over this town in less than an hour?” She glared across the table at Devon.
He hated how quickly she looked at him to be the cause of her troubles. He shook his head. “Don’t blame me. I have better things to do than gossip about your choice of workout equipment.”
“Nah, it wasn’t Devon.” Tripp held up his phone and showed Alisha the screen. Her face grew red as she stared.
Devon grabbed Tripp’s wrist and pulled the phone to himself to look. Someone had taken a picture of Alisha and Photoshopped it so she appeared to be climbing over King Kong.
“Enough.” Marcus shook his head. “Bunch of children, all of you. You want the news, or should I take you to the nearest playground for a while?”
Only, his grin remained firmly in place. Marcus knew the truth. The teasing and joking—it was all part of dealing with the stress of life-and-death decisions. They played hard, they worked even harder.
Marcus looked them over one by one as he spoke. “It’s been a good summer, guys. I’m proud of you and the way you’ve operated. There have been a couple of nasty situations we had to deal with, and you pulled together and made it happen. Thank you.”
Goofing aside, Tripp relaxed back in his chair, pride on his face. “Did you hear back from that rescue we did up at Takkakaw Falls? Did the dad pull through?”
“He did.” Marcus gestured down the table. “And that’s what I mean about good work. That man would be dead without you. All of you, working together. The family would have lost their dad, a woman her husband.”
“It’s what we signed up to do.” Xavier shrugged.
“It’s what we love to do,” Alisha corrected.
“And it makes a difference. Don’t ever forget it. You might have won awards last year. This year, you quietly did your job, and got it done. So again, thank you.”
“Easier without the media in our bloody faces all the time, anyway,” Erin muttered. She focused on the roll, giving it a poke. “I take it your secret news has something to do with this?”
Devon agreed. Curiosity was eating at him. “Enough cheerleading, Marcus. I want to see what’s on the roll.”
Marcus gestured. “Go for it.”
Eager hands reached forward and unrolled the paper, securing the edges in place.
“A map of western Canada?” Alisha tilted her head. “Oh, cool. You’ve marked the locations of our rescues.”
Everyone leaned in then, pointing to markers and commenting on the toughest parts of the rescue they remembered, or the most memorable.
“This is like some kind of scrapbook, Marcus.” Erin eyed him. “Who knew you had it in you?”
He grinned. “Becki’s idea.”
“Go, Becki.” Alisha dragged a finger over the mountain range to the east of Banff. “It’s an awesome idea.”
“And, what’s more exciting? We’re going to have markers in a much wider range over the coming months and years. This is my news.” Marcus leaned over the table and laid his forearms on a section of the map, his prosthetic left hand on the divider line between Saskatchewan and Alberta, his right arm down the center of British Columbia. “This, to date, has been our corridor. Now?”
He opened his arms wider and settled his right hand off the coast o
f Vancouver Island.
“Holy shit.” Erin leaned forward. “We’re taking over coastal duties as well?”
“Pacific rescues have been added to our list. With cutbacks to the government, we’re now on call for any extreme situation between here and Port Tofino. As far north as needed.”
A thrill of excitement shot through Devon. “Does this mean I get to break out the scuba suit a bit more often?”
Marcus nodded. “Probably in coordination with naval SAR, but yes. Your reputation as a guppy is now official.”
The grin stretching his cheeks felt awesome. Devon glanced at his teammates, pleased to see the same thrill on their faces that he felt at the news.
Erin waved a hand in Marcus’s direction. “Does this mean you’re getting me a bigger, better chopper? Because those are some long-ass hauls you’re talking about.”
Marcus tossed her an envelope. “Try a man in every port. You’ll have a chopper on the island to access—we’re adding a plane to the team here in Banff. And yes”—he caught her with her mouth still open—“you get a bigger bird to base here.”
Erin danced in her chair as she pulled out a manual and paperwork.
Tripp and Xavier were arguing about which one of them would get to drop from the new chopper first. Devon laughed, then looked across at Alisha to see what her response was.
She stared at the map, a smile pasted on her face that was so fake he could have peeled it off and put it on the shelf. “Alisha?”
She blinked at him before shaking off the cloud. “You and your scuba suit. I thought you’d gotten over that fixation the time you got stuck in the kayak.”
He laughed. “That was five years ago, and say what you will, it was a blast.”
She raised a brow. “Oh, so much fun as we hauled the entire kayak out of the pool on a winch system. I think I still have the newspaper report. The one with you as front-page news.”
“Hey, when you got it, flaunt it. Banff Crag and Canyon needed my extraordinary good looks to peak sales that week.”
“So giving.” Alisha made a face at him as she rose to her feet, taking her empty glass with her. “Marcus, I need a refill.”
Their boss waved her off, busy arguing with Erin about exactly what upgrades the pilot was allowed to get on the larger, brighter, faster helicopter.
Devon . . .
He watched.
Like he always watched, especially Alisha.
In the last five minutes something had gone wrong. The tension in her body as she’d walked away? The lack of gushing at Marcus’s big news? That wasn’t the Alisha he’d been obsessing over for the past five years.
She should have been vibrating in her seat, asking a million questions. Usually her reactions would have made him crazy with need as she poked and teased in what he’d come to consider the longest foreplay session in the fucking universe.
Walking away quietly? Something was beyond wrong. All the little clues he’d been putting together over the past months were there, gathered in a heap. Now he had to find a way to sort them out. Make them into sense so he could know what the hell was wrong with Alisha.
So he could fix it.
She’d shot him down once, a long time ago. Probably didn’t even remember that she’d told him to grow up and get a life. To stop goofing around and wasting his opportunities.
He’d done that, so well, in fact, that his life had changed, and whether she was ready for it or not, he was more than ready for her.
He was going to find out what had put that fear behind her eyes. Find out, and help her deal with it.
No turning back.