He was going to love her in a way those other idiots hadn’t been able to.
For the millionth time since the accident, he mulled over what had occurred during their routine training mission two days earlier and how quickly the situation turned deadly. He had almost forgotten why they called her Tenacious Bitch. The mission and safety of others would always be her primary goal. He closed his eyes and replayed the training mission.
The winds had been stronger than anticipated that morning, blasting out of the northwest at a steady thirty knots with gusts up to forty. A few hearty souls had gathered on the beach to watch, huddled deep inside their down parkas. Sakajawea, the New Harbor cutter, was strategically positioned a few hundred yards offshore to observe, document and assist if necessary.
The sea was angry that day and in a change from their normal routine, Frankie had invoked “Captain’s discretion” and insisted all four of them wear their mustang suits.
“Humor me,” she had replied when Quinton questioned the order. She couldn’t give them a specific reason. Gage shrugged and followed her hunch. Wearing the cold water survival suit for a couple of hours wasn’t undue hardship. Erring on the side of safety was simply good sense.
She was as smart as she was beautiful.
Frankie’s right hand barely moved as it plied the cyclic stick, adjusting to wind gusts almost before they hit. She held them steady, hovering at a two o’clock position close enough to the off-duty rescue swimmers, termed ‘ducks’, to keep track of their progress but far enough away not to blast them with the rotor wash. She waited until Quinton gave the go-ahead for extraction.
The winds whipped the ocean into a turbulent froth. The swell of the waves would carry the ducks in their bright orange dry suits, up and up and then plunge them sharply down a twenty-foot trough out of sight.
Each time the ducks disappeared behind a wave, her jaw visibly tensed. She fretted over their welfare until she could see them again. Her lips puckered into a tantalizing pout that only Gage could see. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly to get his mind off his aching groin and back on the mission.
“The automatic flight control system is at full ops,” he reminded, in case she preferred to have the computer hold the helicopter in a stable hover.
“Understood.”
From their earphones, they heard Quinton.
“Rescue swimmer ready for first victim.”
Frankie toggled the controls. It took mere seconds to close in and hover fifteen feet above the water for Damon’s free fall. Gage chanced a look behind him. Damon had moved up and was sitting in the door of the helo while Quinton did a weight check on the hoist.
Every action was by-the-book, executed in a proven right way to do the maneuver. Gage glanced over at Frankie. Her eyes were fixed on the horizon. He looked down at the water. All four ducks were in perfect alignment, ready to be picked up and checked off on the exercise in time for lunch. Over the years, this mandatory training mission was one they performed countless times, in all sorts of weather.
Quinton gave the command to jump. Damon pushed out and down in one smooth move, caught the backside of a six-foot swell and rode it up and over.
“Swimmer away,” Quinton advised. “Proceeding to first duck.”
A high-frequency vibration slithered through Frankie’s legs.
“Gage, did you feel that?”
“Negative.”
“Move in for pickup.” Quinton gave Frankie the verbal orders that zeroed her in directly over Damon. “Forward ten. Right five. Hold.” Gage mimicked his instructions with hand signals.
“Deploying basket.” Quinton slowly lowered the basket to where Damon and the first duck waited.
Frankie frowned again. Gage scrutinized the instrument panel. All readings were normal. Nothing amiss.
“Is there a problem, Captain?” he asked.
“A faint vibration. I can feel it rippling up my calves.”
Gage concentrated his attention on the pedals but couldn’t detect it. The first seaman clambered into the basket. Damon gave the signal to send the basket back down.
“Ready for hoist,” Quinton acknowledged.
They worked quickly, repeating the procedure until everyone was aboard and the basket and boom were safely stored.
Zena was thirty feet over the water with Quinton preparing to secure the hatch when all hell broke loose. A loud bang was followed by an accelerating counterclockwise spin.
“We’ve got tail rotor failure,” Gage advised.
Frankie struggled with the useless controls. The anti-torque system had blown apart.
“Quinton,” she spoke with icy calmness. “Immediate evac.”
There was no time to call a mayday warning. The rescued ducks bailed back out of the spinning helicopter and tumbled into the waves below. Damon followed, immediately setting off an orange flare. Quinton paused long enough to make certain all was clear below before he jumped.
Emergency procedures called for the pilot to promptly back the throttles to the off position to prevent the helicopter from spinning. Doing so would also cause Zena to make a beeline for the ocean below. Frankie wanted a more controlled ditch.
Engine one began sputtering.
“Gage, go. Get out of here!” A fine line of perspiration dotted her upper lip. “I have to ditch her.”
“Negative.” Gage knew her plan. He also knew there was no time to escape from the five-point harness strapping him to the seat.
“Now!” she yelled.
“No.” His hands were on the dual controls, ready to add his strength to hers and take control if necessary. “We’re doing this together.”
“Get out.”
“You need my help.”
“I need you safe.”
Engine two began to sputter.
“Go!”
“I’m staying with you.”
With only seconds remaining, Frankie threw the throttles to the off position. Every light on the control panel lit up like a Christmas tree.
Zena plummeted to the swirling ocean below.
Frankie dropped their nose to maintain the rotor RPM. If she couldn’t hold them at the perfect angle, the transmission would tear loose on impact and hurtle through the cockpit window, killing them both. Frankie pulled back on the stick and pulled the pitch of the blades up just before Zena hit the water. She held her breath and looked at Gage.
Sky and ocean blended into salty foam.
The noise of the rotor blades disintegrating combined with the force of impact to knock every centimeter of air from their lungs. The freezing ocean rushed in to claim them.
Gage had seen his share of battle. He had experienced the surreal sights and sounds that were impossible to explain and had lived to lose sleep over it. Their chances for survival now rested on luck and swiftness. Being paralyzed with indecision had never been an option for him and there was no room for it now.
Frankie was fumbling to release the sturdy harness latch when he pulled her loose from the bindings. With all the strength he could muster, Gage pushed her ahead. Frigid water bit the bare flesh of his face. He could feel the sickening roll as the helicopter turned upside down in its slow descent to the ocean floor. Frankie scissor-kicked to overcome the drag of heavy boots. Her father’s dog tags floated about the cockpit like shimmering smelt, flickering past Gage’s face. He reached out to grab the chain and missed.
They swam through the open hatch door together and let their natural buoyancy pop them to the surface amidst the debris, roaring wind and stinging waves. Frankie gulped in a tortured breath of air. They bobbed a few feet apart, stared at one another.
“You disobeyed my direct order.”
“You’re welcome,” Gage retorted and pulled her close enough to inflate both their life vests. “I appreciate your concern,” he snapped, “but you know damned well there was no way for me to get out in time.”
Her lips quivered. A tumult of anguish and relief broke across her drenched feat
ures. Her arms flew up to wrap tightly around his neck. She pulled him into a crushing embrace. “You scared me to death.” The salty kiss she pressed to his forehead quickly rode down to his mouth. She lingered there. Lips warm, wet and soft. Then she ran her tongue across his teeth. It almost did him in. Even in the chilly water, Gage could feel the familiar stir of an erection down below. He glanced over her shoulder and caught sight of Damon swimming rapidly towards them. Two hundred yards to the south, the cutter was pounding through the waves, heading for Quinton and the ducks.
He pushed away slightly and stared at her. Seeing her struggle desperately to free herself from the harness had almost stopped his heart. Gage didn’t know what to say so he kept it technical.
“That was a good call, having us wear the mustang suits.”
“I can’t believe you did that,” Frankie gasped, clinging to him as a large swell carried them along. “I can’t believe you stayed with me. I was so frightened for you,” she choked. “All I could think about was getting you out of there.”
Likewise, he thought, too unnerved at the idea of losing her to express the sentiment out loud. All he could do was hold her tightly and give a silent prayer of thanks.
* * * *
Stripped naked and stuffed into a warm blanket only minutes later, Gage remained mute, staring straight ahead while a grinning medic took his blood pressure. Ensign Shelly Patterson had saved his medical exam for last and she was taking her sweet-easy time. Everyone at the New Harbor base knew the spindly brunette had been lusting after him for years. Gage wasn’t interested. Never had been. However, he was getting an interesting response from his snarling, waterlogged captain, so he played along with the groping exam, slowly unfolding his blanket to give Patterson a full frontal view. She exhaled a little gasp and grinned.
There was a commotion from the far corner of the cabin. Gage glanced over. Frankie was shrunk into a tight ball of wet hair, dry wool and silent fury. Snuggled in tight next to Quinton, she scrutinized every lingering move Patterson made with a glare that spoke volumes. Quinton reached over and soothingly patted her knee as Gage lifted his arms. Patterson painstakingly assessed him for any broken ribs, actually repeated the motions twice, “Just to be sure.”
Gage heaved a weighty sigh and submitted to her unconventional abdominal assessment. Fingertips dipped low enough to raise his eyebrows. Another commotion stirred in the corner. Angry whispers, the rustle of blankets, a muffled curse.
“Ensign?” Frankie called out.
Patterson’s head whipped around.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“I’m feeling lightheaded. Could you take my blood pressure?”
Patterson grabbed a stethoscope and rushed over to the senior officer.
Frankie’s voice had sounded remarkably strong for someone who suffered from low blood pressure, Gage reflected wryly. He sneaked another glance in that direction. Quinton gave him the thumbs-up. Gage leaned back and let a wicked smile crease his lips.
After being medically cleared, they were taken by van to Coast Guard headquarters for debriefing. The process didn’t take long. All four were back on duty in time to watch themselves on the eleven o’clock news.
Chapter 7
HOMEBODY
Frankie awoke just past dawn, rested and bursting with energy. She splashed cold water on her face, dressed quickly and took off barefoot for the sandy beach to look for unusual pieces of driftwood. The tide had been exceptionally high during the night, and pushed debris all the way to the edge of the bluff.
The morning was typically damp and hazy. By afternoon, the sun would rise victorious. A blue heron flapped inland to new hunting ground, its long neck tucked in close to its body during flight.
The water was a darker shade of green today, olive tinged with murky brown. Long strands of kelp twined the beach and marked the highest point of tide. She took a tranquil breath and listened to the rhythm of the ocean.
On the bottom of that vast body of water, Zena rested peacefully. How many lives had their helicopter saved from the chilly waters that eventually claimed her? Frankie lost count. A flood of sadness, followed by marked relief, washed over her.
They had been very lucky that day.
The crash had been a clear case of mechanical failure. Within hours of their accident, a new helicopter was en route from Seattle. No formal investigation, no suspensions, no hint or innuendo of pilot error. The Admiral praised their ability to act in the midst of extreme risk before promptly sending them back to work.
Frankie blinked.
A surfer caught her eye as he rode a wave. She paused to stare. His balanced, aggressive style reminded her of someone else who was comfortable either above or beneath the ocean’s surface. She felt a clench of anticipation down low in her pelvis.
Gage.
She shook her head to clear it. Her neighborhood was an ideal locale for surfers. Long, gentle waves wrapped around the north jetty and curved to deposit the rider on the stretch of beach below her house. The fearless surfer dipped low, swaying side to side for a better angle on the wave.
“Nice technique,” she whispered.
Her mind couldn’t help but stray. What sort of technique would Gage use to make her see the spots he’d promised if she would agree to have sex with him.
What was she going to do?
Her gaze dropped and settled on a stick of driftwood. Stripped of bark, bleached white by the sun and salt, it resembled the reclining form of a nude woman. Frankie smiled. The piece would make a perfect gift for an old friend — Andie. She and her husband and their two enormous dogs were coming by later that evening for dinner.
Frankie tucked the driftwood under her arm. A shorebird skittered over the sand ahead of her as she wandered the beach. The local residents were gearing up to meet the placid Friday morning. A couple jogged past. Frankie recognized them as the town librarian and her husband.
“Good morning,” she greeted and scanned the beach beyond them.
Couples.
Everywhere she looked, people were paired off. She walked slowly, enjoying the soft kiss of wind on her skin and considered her own marital status.
Being single was enjoyable, although at times she really missed the comfort of sharing her bed with someone else. She answered to no one, cherishing the ability to come and go as she pleased. All of her passion and creativity was thrown into living a solitary life to the fullest. Besides, with the exception of two, Quinton and Andie to be exact, Frankie hadn’t seen any truly happy married couples. The enticing idea of a soul mate was a subject best kept to speculative fiction books. What possessed two people to take a solemn vow and swear allegiance to the bitter end? She had a vague idea.
Loneliness.
A need for companionship.
Too often she had seen undying love wilt into everlasting resentment. Even her globetrotting parents had stayed together more out of habit than for any residual affection. They’d been more than happy to tell her all about their woes—whether or not she asked.
Frankie shook her head.
Finding the best good-provider she could stomach, then spending the rest of her miserable life with was not on Francesca Moriarty’s agenda. Neither, it seemed, was the ability to have the kind of great sex that her friends raved about.
Frankie had lost interest years ago.
She still listened, however, and took wistful mental notes every time one of the Sisterhood mentioned that esoteric entity called ‘orgasm’. The far-fetched concept sounded marvelous, electrifying.
Unobtainable.
Damon thought the problem was with the caliber of her previous lovers. Frankie wasn’t so sure about that. Not for the first time she wondered if there was something anatomically wrong with her. A physical defect of some sort?
Frankie forced herself to the present, strolled across the soothing warm sand while her mind wandered where it pleased. Her thoughts didn’t take long to zero in on the source of their constant yearning.
&n
bsp; Gage. Gage. GAGE!
She couldn’t stop thinking of him, couldn’t stop wanting him. The wildfire lust in his hypnotic eyes when he held open the bath towel and inspected her nakedness. The stark fear in her heart when he insisted on flying Zena into the ocean with her. The blazing kiss she couldn’t control afterward. The feel of his arms holding her tight to his chest while they awaited rescue.
Her mind was a buzz of emotions.
She was drowning in the anticipation that zinged through her nerve endings while she waited for him, ached for him, to touch her again. Gage hadn’t made a move on her since Zena crashed. She knew the decision up to her. If she wanted another kiss, she’d have to instigate it.
Always true to his word, he had shown up promptly at eight on Wednesday morning. It had taken him half a day to do the simple electrical project that Quinton could have completed in under an hour. And she hadn’t been able to take her eyes off him the entire time he puttered around the room.
“I want to kiss him,” Frankie yammered out loud. “I shouldn’t want to kiss him. It’s poor judgment. Bad call. Never shag your friends. Never, ever, ever shag your coworkers. Remember that, Moriarty,” she chastised herself. “Don’t be an idiot. You’ll spoil everything you’ve worked so hard to achieve.”
Andie had cautioned Frankie against being too inflexible. “Find out his intentions before you jump to any conclusions.”
Frankie let out a sigh. A gust of air whipped her cheeks and flowed through her hair.
She knew what Gage’s intentions were.
From day one at work, Frankie had laid down the law about her rules on fraternization. The edict had never been at issue.
Until now.
His methods might be agonizingly slow but Frankie was convinced that Gage was trying to seduce her. He was hanging around, being politely irresistible, hoping she’d change her mind on fraternization. Worse—she wanted to. Touching his hard body was all her muddled brain could think about.
As the last few days at work had passed, she realized that it wasn’t lack of trust fueling Gage’s strange behavior towards her. The real issue was lack of sex.
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