I began with filtering out the water, a trick I’d learned to make going anywhere near the ocean bearable. I concentrated, and much like gradually turning a tap off, the relentless pressure of my element eased, leaving me with a mess of other liquids to sort through.
The stadium had a staggering amount of alcohol on the premises, and like water, I filtered it out, packaged it away, and made a note to bring suppressors with me if I did get roped into attending another baseball game. Even with my skill at adjusting how I sensed things with my talent, I expected the sheer volume and variety of liquids at the site would overstimulate me within an hour at most.
Melody didn’t notice I’d removed a few of the suppressors, but Kevin did, and he nodded.
To my relief, I found nothing unusual in the parking garage, and before Melody could notice I’d taken off any of the suppressors, I clasped them around my wrist again. Kevin and Liam did a check of the vehicle, too, and once the head of Melody’s detail gave the all clear, we got into the vehicle for the drive to the royal airstrip.
The game turned the roads into a chaotic mess. “This traffic is going to make us late, isn’t it?”
“I accounted for traffic,” the princess replied with a grin. “One must always account for traffic in a city where the roads make zero sense. In the future, architects should ignore the routes cows prefer and plan logically. However much I hate to admit it, New York is planned logically. Boston? Boston was planned by a herd of drunken bovine.”
“Why were the bovine drunk?”
Melody shrugged. “It’s the only explanation I have for the state of Boston’s roads. Obviously, no one actually planned the street layouts. It’s no wonder there are so many Massholes around here. It’s hell to get around, and that’d make anyone cranky. Unfortunately, the drunk bovines failed to consider public transportation in their city layout, so we get a losing grade there, too.”
“It’s not that bad,” Kevin protested.
“It really is that bad, Kevin. I know you grew up here, but it’s really that bad. The only reason you’re saying it’s not bad is because Liam’s driving.”
“That’s true,” the agent admitted, and he didn’t sound at all sorry about it. “It’s a perk of my job. I can make my partners drive when I don’t want to.”
“Does anyone ever want to drive around here?”
“No,” everyone in the vehicle replied.
I laughed. “Well, at least you’re honest about it. What’s Montana like?”
Maybe looking forward to the destination would help me get over the bad feeling developing in my chest over the thought of flying so far in a small jet. I even understood the only reason I was worried involved the high number of incidents Melody dealt with as a daily part of her life.
If someone wanted to get rid of her, crashing the plane would make an excellent way to accomplish that goal, and a lot could go wrong with a jet of any size.
I hoped the rest of her security detail was able to keep anything from happening, but my awareness of the situation only conspired to make me want to get a close look at the interior workings of her security. If I could, I wanted to improve it, although beyond making certain the RPS was appropriately geared and trained for survival situations, I had no idea what I could do.
I blamed the rescuer in me; I wanted to save everybody, even when I knew I attempted the impossible.
It occurred to me that Melody dealt with the worry all the time, and it amazed me she’d emerged so calm about the situation. Had she once concentrated on all of the possibilities like I did? Had it gotten to the point she’d grown numb or accepting of the reality someone wanted her dead?
I was usually in the business of saving lives, but if I ever figured out who was behind the murder attempts, I’d be sorely tested. Melody deserved a lot better.
But, the more I thought about it, the more I believed it wasn’t an isolated incident—and that she was right to fear her own security. What I didn’t understand was why anyone would target her.
People who genuinely cared enough about others to put their lives on the line didn’t come around every day, and no matter how many wanted those everyday heroes around, there was nothing everyday about them.
If there were, the search and rescue circuits wouldn’t be short-staffed all the time, nurses wouldn’t be run ragged because there wasn’t anyone to take their busy shifts, and doctors like Melody wouldn’t be so rare.
No, there was nothing every day or ordinary about the type of person who’d put their life on the line for another without question or regret.
I still wasn’t sure how I’d become that sort of person, but I refused to regret—and I refused to change.
I foresaw painful days ahead of me, but I could only hope what I gained would be worth what I lost. In reality, a man like me couldn’t keep a princess, but I could do my best to make her safe. And, in my own way, although I’d taken a twisting, turning path to get there, I’d helped change everything for my family and keep them safe, too.
Unfortunately for me, the seductive voice of ambition whispered in the back of my head, and I wondered if it might be possible to have it all and lose nothing in the process.
For her, I’d try.
In the vast majority of search and rescue ventures, we used a helicopter due to their mobility, ability to hover, and the fewer requirements for places to land. The royal airstrip was as I remembered, but instead of the large jet we’d used to fly from France to Maine, I faced off with a much smaller machine, the kind I viewed as a sleek death trap with wings. To be fair, I expected the plane classified as the best of the best for jets of its size, but if given the choice, I would’ve preferred catching a wild horse and riding the intractable beast to Montana.
The way I looked at it, I’d have higher odds of surviving the horse.
“You don’t look happy,” Melody observed. “Is there something wrong with the plane?”
What wasn’t wrong with the plane? I’d understood it would be small when I was informed it was a six seater, but I’d seen larger Cessnas. “If I had to find this thing in a mountain range, I’d be cussing the pilot for picking such a dainty plane.”
Kevin and Liam reacted with the same stony grace of statues. One day, I’d have to ask the RPS agents where they learned to be so stoic.
“There’s nothing wrong with the plane.” Melody shot me a glare, and then she gave Kevin her full attention. “Right?”
While she engaged in a staring contest with Kevin, I removed several of the suppressors and concentrated on the plane. Outside of the expected jet fuel, I found nothing amiss, much to my relief. While I couldn’t tell if anyone had meddled with it in other ways, I assumed everything would be fine on that front. I returned the suppressors to my wrist and attempted to relax.
It didn’t work.
Kevin sighed. “We’ve been guarding the plane since the pilot did his checks, and everything’s been quiet.”
“Who’s flying?”
“Edwardo.”
Melody smiled. “He’s a good pilot. He’s always so smooth on landings and takeoffs.”
“That did factor in why we got him; your father is with Petrov, and your uncle has Olander today. I suggested we take Edwardo as the airstrip in Canada is a little more challenging.”
I arched a brow. “A little more challenging than here?”
The RPS agent shot me a glare. “A little.”
I questioned everything I knew about the RPS and their role in protecting royals. “That doesn’t sound dangerous at all.”
To my surprise, Melody barked a laugh at my sarcasm. “This is making your search and rescue heart faint in your chest, isn’t it?”
“From unadulterated terror.”
“You’re not afraid of that little plane, are you?”
“I’m skeptical. That’s not quite the same as afraid, right?”
“Why are you skeptical?”
Kevin laughed, clapped my shoulder, and came to the rescue by sayi
ng, “He’s in search and rescue, Melody. Little planes like this are the stuff of nightmares for him. You need to remember that he sees the consequences of planes crashing often. The larger jets, like the one we took before, are less likely to crash compared to the smaller planes like this one. Of course, the passenger jets are far more of a disaster in loss of life when they do have a bad crash, but he’s accustomed to rescue operations dealing with these smaller planes. Usually props?”
“Usually props,” I conceded. “Helicopters are a lot harder to survive if they do go down, but we use them for our operations because of their versatile nature. And I wouldn’t call it the stuff of nightmares. Skiing on an avalanche-prone slope is my thing of nightmares. You don’t have a golden hour with an avalanche. I’d call it less than a ten minute window for a successful avalanche rescue if the victim is buried.”
“Ten minutes?” Melody squeaked. “Is it even possible?”
I lifted my wrist and jangled my collection of suppressors. “That’s part of why I’m invaluable on avalanche rescue and have done so many. I can find the survivors in the snow, and I have the helicopter drop us off where the victims are. Flameweavers can do the same, assuming the body isn’t buried too deep. I have a better depth perception compared to flameweavers, though.”
Melody turned to Kevin. “Assuming I can convince him to stay, we’re putting him on avalanche rescue in the winter. We’re also putting him on ocean rescues. And I’ll fight Dad over it if I must.”
“Noted,” the RPS agent replied.
Well, that would make some decisions easier to make than others. I worried it would become a choice of what was best for the both of us. I had baggage and prejudices. She had a murderous asshole on her heels. My baggage and prejudices would be harder to overcome than a murderous asshole—I hoped.
“It’ll be all right,” Melody assured me before strolling towards the plane, her cat safely contained in his carrier. “You’ll see.”
Chapter Fourteen
One willfully taken dose of cyanide and a plane crash later, and I had some serious doubts about just about everything. Fortunately for everyone on board, despite my intense dislike of small planes, I had done my due diligence in flying them just enough to somewhat land the plane where I wanted.
I lacked the skills required to get the plane to sufficiently pull out of the pilot-induced nose dive, but I’d been able to scramble to the cockpit in time to grab the co-pilot controls and prevent the plane from lethally smacking into the Canadian wilderness.
Thanks to Canada’s plethora of lakes, I’d been able to belly flop the plane onto the water before it came to a rather traumatic halt on the shore. I’d even dodged the trees—mostly.
I had questions, but I figured I’d ask them later. Later would be after getting the survival kit, getting away from the smoking wreckage of the plane, and making sure everyone had survived somewhat intact.
Judging from Kevin’s vehement, pain-filled curses, somewhat intact would be the best I could wish for.
I tested the headset again, which confirmed my initial fears; before suiciding and attempting to take us with him, the asshole pilot had done something to the plane’s electronics, ensuring the short-range and long-range radios were out. Ripping off the useless set, I slammed it against the haywire, crackling controls before scrambling between the seats to get to the back. “Everyone okay?”
Neither heard me, as they hadn’t taken off their headsets, and I yanked Melody’s off and snapped my fingers at the door so she’d get a move on. “Grab the cats. I’ll deal with Kevin.”
At first glance, Kevin had somehow broken his right arm on landing, which would turn our day into even worse of a disaster, assuming he hadn’t stocked the emergency kit properly. Then again, with Melody around, maybe we’d get off lightly—or at least as lightly as we could with a makeshift splint.
Melody obeyed, and once she was fighting with the door to get it open, I unbuckled Kevin’s belt and eyed his arm. Bone had an odd, almost translucent appearance when it poked through muscle and skin, and the lack of severe bleeding warned me he’d dived straight into shock.
It amazed me he was with the program enough to curse.
Deep shock, however, was a good thing in trauma, as long as I could pull him out of it. For a brief window of time, the body’s restriction of blood flow would prevent him from bleeding out on me until I could set the break and get it splinted.
“What the hell happened?” Kevin gasped out.
“Cyanide.” The almond scent had betrayed the pilot’s cause of death the instant I’d gotten close to the man. “My bet is willfully ingested or in a time-release capsule.”
Considering we’d been in the air for almost two hours, I put my bets on willfully ingested.
Kevin spewed so many curses I worried he’d give himself an aneurism.
“Moving now, cursing later,” I ordered, grabbing him by his intact arm and dragging him out of his seat. Melody still struggled with the door, and after I told her to move, I wound up and gave it the hardest kick I could. It popped open, and she scrambled through the gap, grabbing Sparrow’s carrier on her way out. Debris took the blame for her difficulties, and it took several more kicks until I could force it ajar enough to help the RPS agent out of the downed plane. “Where’s the kit?”
“Silver box lashed behind the seats,” Kevin gasped out.
“Melody, get him at least a hundred feet from the plane along the water. I’ll grab the kit and Mr. Asshole. Take Sparrow with you.” At least the cats had seemed to survive the crash; both animals wailed and hissed.
I’d have to hope Melody could address any injuries from the impact, as I doubted fleece-lined carriers had done a good job of cushioning them during the crash.
Aware of the putrid stench of smoke and fuel, I slung Mr. Asshole’s carrier over a shoulder and hauled ass to the kit, unclipped the belts holding it in place, and dragged it out of the wreckage. I halted long enough to clip open the clasp and peek inside to confirm I’d gotten the right box.
A fortune of survival and medical equipment greeted me, and nodding my satisfaction, I closed the box. Weight hadn’t been a factor in the RPS’s decision on what to get, and I figured I hauled at least seventy pounds of gear away from the plane.
I could only hope someone had had the sense to include at least one backpack in the mess.
Joining Melody along the lake’s shore, I kept an eye on the downed plane while cracking open the kit and doing a gear check. To my relief, someone had deemed a splint kit to be a wise acquisition, and I grabbed it along with the compact medical kit. “How are you with bones, Melody?”
“Not as good as I’d like. I usually leave that work for the bone menders; they’re more common than the work my family does. Bone mending is more of an earthweaver thing.”
It was? Huh. “Really?”
“Bones are made up of a lot of hydroxyapatite and various other minerals, including calcium. Because it’s organic mineral compounds, it’s more up an earthweaver’s alley than mine. Bone is the main reason a body’s water composition isn’t higher. I’m good at the stuff primarily composed of water. Bone isn’t it.”
“So, if I set the bone, you can repair the tissue damage?”
“Enough to keep it from getting infected and let it heal.”
I made a mental note that while Melody could perform miracles, it wasn’t in the way I thought. I checked the med kit, humming over the limited supply of painkillers, which came in both oral and injected forms. “I hope you don’t mind needles, Kevin.”
“I mind needles a lot less than I mind death,” he replied through clenched teeth.
“Good man. Sit tight, and we’ll get you patched, then we’ll make a game plan.”
The plane chose that moment to ignite in a ball of flame. I tensed, abandoned my initial plan to treat Kevin, and went to work removing the suppressors, tossing each one to Melody as I took it off.
“Yell at me later,” I announced before
doing the one option I had to keep the pristine Canadian wilderness from catching fire and making even more of a mess of our day: I relocated the water from the lake to the vegetation surrounding the plane, and I drenched it so it wouldn’t ignite. Steam billowed from around the plane with a wince-worthy hiss. “Let’s not turn this nice wilderness to ash.”
“I’ll save yelling at you for something else,” the princess whispered.
It would have to do. Once I was satisfied the surrounding forest wouldn’t catch on fire, I replaced the suppressors, disliking how exhausted the effort left me. I didn’t have time to be tired. Before I could even think about rest, I needed to make sure the important checkboxes for survival were ticked off, and I had hours of work ahead of me before I’d be satisfied.
Kevin came first, and the rest of the work would have to wait. “Melody, until I get this splinted, your job is to keep an eye on the plane and the forest; if it looks like a fire is starting, tell me. Otherwise, once it’s splinted, it’ll be your turn to work with him.”
“Got it. I’ll check the phones.”
My brows rose at that. “Phones? Out here? There won’t be reception.”
“Mine is a satellite phone.” Melody’s expression darkened. “Or it should be.”
Considering someone had convinced the pilot, a man Melody had seemed to trust, into taking cyanide and crashing the plane, I wouldn’t blame her for her skepticism. I counted the pilot as an inside job, and judging from Kevin’s darkening expression, so did he.
Until I was proven wrong, I’d pretend we were on our own, and I’d be forever grateful that the pilot had been the only casualty thus far.
My fears—and Kevin’s—were confirmed that more than one accomplice in the RPS had been in on the effort to kill Melody. Someone had deactivated the satellite capabilities of the princess’s phone, and when her head of detail checked over the device, they’d done so in a way he couldn’t fix, not out in the bush following a plane crash.
Bonds Page 18