Maybe his foul mood was simply a reflection of the shitty weather. For the “Sunshine State,” he’d seen more rain than sun, and right now it was coming down at a forty-five-degree angle.
Resigned to the inevitable, he dug his cell phone out of his tired blue scrubs and hit six on autodial. It was a number he’d grown to dread calling on a good day. Today wasn’t turning out to be one of those.
Officially, his ER shift ended three hours ago. But a five-car pileup on I-275 had kept him, and every other doctor they could commandeer, busy piecing together human carnage. Hell, maybe his bad mood had less to do with the weather than the bloody mess he’d been fighting for the last four hours. He rubbed the stubble on his face, listening to ringing on the cell.
The all-night diner down the street would delay going home. Delay going to a stark apartment filled with moving boxes he hadn’t bothered unpacking. Delay going through the motions of living?
His mother answered, irritation coloring her cultured voice. Since she had caller ID, it must be directed at him personally, but damn, that was nothing new either. “You left a message to call. No matter the time.” He sounded defensive to his own ears. Wasn’t that a hell of a note for a forty-two-year-old doctor?
“No, I’ve left multiple messages. What if it had been an emergency?”
“You’re a doctor’s wife. You would have dialed nine-one-one.” He hunched his shoulders. Great response. He’d launched an IED on a civilian. His mother, no less. Not that she could claim innocence. Their relationship had deteriorated into guerrilla warfare years ago.
“You need to talk to your father. You owe him your respect.”
Same old argument, and exactly why he hadn’t returned her call. No, make that calls. “Mother, I don’t owe him anything. Nor do I have anything to discuss with him. Grandfather accepted my decision to stay in emergency medicine. Father needs to do the same.” The ever-present drumbeat behind his eyes intensified.
“Stillman, you’re being selfish. How do you think it looks to his partners, his clients, when his only son refuses to join his practice? He was so excited when you returned to medical school after that foolishness in the army.”
The skin on the back of his neck tightened as if shrunk by the damp night air. His experiences during his first deployment to Iraq had convinced him to become a doctor. A real doctor. His grandfather, then his father, had built an empire nip-and-tucking only the wealthiest of the wealthy.
“Catering to never-ending narcissism holds even less appeal after my second tour of duty. If Father wishes to apologize to me, he has my number.” He clamped his mouth shut before more wounding words could escape. There had been enough bleeding for one night.
A bolt of lightning strafed the sky over the parking lot. Thunder followed in hot pursuit. “I’m sorry. I need to get back to work. I’ll call after I get a landline installed in the apartment.”
Static garbled her parting words before the connection dropped. An odd feeling that he’d missed something important wormed through his gut. Why was his mother trying to mend a twenty-year-old rift? What had happened to make her even try?
Another bolt of lightning blinded him. Damn, the storm was getting stronger. He powered down the phone and slipped it into his pocket. That diner was sounding better and better. He grabbed the door handle before a new sound registered. A helicopter? In this?
He shifted his attention skyward. Couldn’t be a Life Flight chopper, not in these flying conditions. He stepped to the edge of the portico and shaded his eyes from the slashing rain. Only military would go up in this chaos. And then only because the poor schmuck of a pilot had been ordered to go.
The helipad’s landing lights blazed to life. Stillman watched with growing admiration and a kick of excitement as the pilot brought the Coast Guard helicopter in with more speed and finesse than he could have mustered in picture-perfect conditions. Flying in the Reserves now, he’d spent six years as an army chopper-jock before going back to medical school.
Stillman ducked inside. He’d like to meet the guy. Maybe shoot the shit over a cup of coffee. With that kind of ballsy flying, he obviously could stomach the hospital’s excuse for caffeine.
* * *
Caitlyn didn’t relax until the two survivors were off-loaded at the hospital. Joe and Clay accompanied the injured men inside, leaving her and Ryan alone.
Ryan popped off his helmet. “What the hell was that all about?”
Caitlyn blew out a breath and eased her own helmet off more slowly. “I don’t know, but I’ve never been more thankful for an equipment malfunction.” When the warning light came on she’d opted to set down at the closest hospital with a landing pad even though it meant flying into the heart of the storm.
“Notice how the two of them seemed to catalogue everything about Fly Baby and what we did?” She tapped the instrument console as if patting a favorite child.
Ryan shook his head and huffed out a laugh. “Caity, it’s a multimillion-dollar helicopter, not a pet.” His expression sobered. “I’m calling our security on a landline. Have them do a little snooping into the background of those two characters.”
Caitlyn nodded. “Good. Our new little tadpole did well tonight.” Clay had picked up on the weird vibes and, under the guise of checking for injuries, searched both men for weapons then reported the all clear to the crew over the intercom.
“Please don’t mention that to him.”
She stowed her helmet and picked up her rain gear. “Why?” She slipped her head through her poncho and looked at her copilot. “I’m the commanding officer. Any performance assessments should come from me.”
He smirked. “Yes, your highness, but the kid’s had a major crush on you since he arrived at the air station. If you say anything nice, you’ll send him right over the edge. He’ll be like a puppy following you around making a fool of himself. I’ll tell him he did a good job. You continue your reign as Queen B.” He patted her cheek then ducked into the rain.
She pulled her hood up and prepared to make a run into the hospital. Dammit, just what she didn’t need—a puppy.
* * *
Stillman grinned when he found the pilot. The guy was flirting with the nurses while two other Coasties stood talking to a security guard.
“That was a hell of a landing you pulled off,” Stillman said. He quickly scanned the name on the flight suit and held out his hand. “Lieutenant Greeley, I’m Dr. Stillman Gray.”
The handshake was solid, but the guy shook his head with a laugh. “Sorry, can’t take credit for that sweet landing. I’m just the copilot. I only touch the controls when there are blue skies and calm winds.”
The other Coasties joined in the laugh. Obviously a private joke.
The lieutenant tipped his head toward the doctor’s lounge. “Pilot’s in there, if you want to extend congratulations.”
All right, he could play along. Stillman nodded his thanks and pretended not to notice the looks exchanged between the three men before he walked away. The lounge was empty except for...well, son of a bitch.
She sat with her back to him, her hands busy unbraiding the richest red hair he’d ever laid eyes on. She finger-combed it then gave a head toss that made him groan.
Startled, she turned and pinned him with glacier-blue eyes.
“Would have lost that bet,” he said and walked to the coffeepot sitting on the warmer. He filled a mug with last shift’s burnt offerings.
“Okay, I’ll play along,” she said, startling him with his own thought from a moment ago.
He eyed her over his mug. While her accent hinted at Carolina mountains, her beauty screamed Manhattan.
The drab flight suit accentuated her coloring as well as her shapely curves. He read the name tag above her right breast. Damn, he should have picked the Coast Guard instead of signing on to be all th
at he could be, to quote his army recruiter.
He gestured with his mug. “With that red mane my money would have been on green eyes.” He pulled out the chair across the table from her and settled onto it. “That was mighty fine flying I saw you pull off, Lieutenant Stone. I’m Dr. Stillman Gray.” He held his hand out. She rewarded him with a firm grasp of long fingers and soft skin. Her smile said she liked what she saw.
“Caitlyn,” she replied. Her eyes narrowed and she made a tsking sound. “Imagine that, a doctor in a doctor’s lounge.” She fluttered her fingers at his chest. “I thought you guys were supposed to wear stethoscopes around your necks so you didn’t look like orderlies.”
“I’m off duty,” he replied and studied her face. Not an ounce of makeup marred her perfect complexion and phenomenal bone structure. Freckles dusted her nose and cheeks, adding to her natural beauty. He sipped his coffee and hid the resulting grimace behind his mug. God, this stuff needed a warning label.
“As for my flying—” she shrugged as if she’d merely pulled into a parking space at the mall “—it’s just another day at the office. Hey, maybe you can help me.” Her eyes lit up as she deftly re-braided her shoulder-length hair.
Stillman forced his attention away from the uniform that now stretched tightly over her plentiful, but oh-thank-God-they’re-real breasts. Instead, he took her cup and looked at the half-inch of oily-black liquid. “How many of these have you had?”
Her smile drew his attention to full lips and made him forget all about his fifteen-hour shift and lack of sleep. And that thought led to bed, and to his lack of female companionship since long before his hasty move from New York. He could use a diversion. Especially a redheaded one.
She smacked his hand away from her cup and grabbed it back. “Not nearly enough.” Her head tilted and she narrowed her eyes. “Are you friends with a Dr. Golden? He’s a big-time plastic surgeon. Owns this huge yacht—”
In no mood for discussing plastic doctors, or the shallow plastic people they attracted, he stood abruptly. His chair squealed a protest across the floor. “No, sorry, can’t say I am.” In a bikini, she’d make a hell of a fine deck ornament on some rich bastard’s yacht, he’d give her that.
He ignored her startled expression and eyed her more critically. Whatever she’d had done had been first-rate. He’d grown up with examples of his father and grandfather’s handiwork, knew the kind of quality money could buy.
“Looking for a reference?” He scanned her chest. “Maybe a breast augmentation to become Military Times’s next centerfold?”
She surged to her feet. “Wait just a darn minute, Mr. Hyde. I don’t give a rat’s butt what you think, however, to give credit where credit’s due, how I look doesn’t come from an injection or scalpel. What I’ve got came from my mama and daddy’s genes. And the only reason I asked about the doctor—well, you don’t need to know because I can see you don’t give a flip about anything except your own inflated ego.”
She spun around and stormed out of the lounge without a backward glance.
Her abrupt departure, combined with the long hours and the gruesome evening, crashed down upon him, leaving Stillman hollow and as bitter as the coffee burning a hole in his gut. He rubbed his face and rotated his head to try to ease the tightness in his neck muscles. Yeah, he was overreacting to the lieutenant’s reference to a plastic surgeon. It wasn’t like it mattered one way or another, but why the hell couldn’t he seem to get away from his father’s legacy of greed?
* * *
Caitlyn barreled right into Ryan. “Has the replacement part shown up?” she demanded, sidestepping him and striding toward the exit. She needed to recategorize doctors with serial killers and sadistic manicurists. Hell, she’d date her rescue swimmer before she’d date another doctor.
“Yeah. What happened in there? Should we send Clay in to mop up the blood and bury the evidence?”
Caitlyn stopped in the middle of the corridor and looked at the sincere expression on Ryan’s face. She laughed, her anger dissipating as quickly as fuel in a headwind. “No blood. But if I ever, ever suggest going out with another doctor, knock me over the head and dump me in the Gulf. By the time I swim ashore maybe I’ll have regained my senses.”
Joe and Clay fell in behind her as she once again headed to the exit. A few feet from the doorway she heard Dr. Butt Head calling after her.
“Lieutenant? Lieutenant Stone!”
Caitlyn turned and the crewmen formed a defensive line in front of her. She folded her arms and angled her head back for a haughty look. Okay, she was five-ten, but the evil doctor was a good six-two or three.
“I apologize. It’s been a long night and let’s just say you hit an overly...sensitized nerve.”
“Asinine,” she added in her most regal voice.
The handsome doctor’s expression registered confusion but little else. Why did that not surprise her?
“Excuse me?” he said.
“Uh, I think she means you should apologize for your asinine behavior,” Clay said.
Lord, her puppy was growling. She caught the glint of humor in Stillman’s blue eyes, but at least he was smart enough not to laugh. Otherwise, she’d have to hurt him.
The doctor stared at her with a perfectly straight face. “Lieutenant Stone, I humbly apologize for my asinine behavior.”
He bowed slightly and she couldn’t stop her mouth from curling up. This queen gig was working out just fine.
A gust of damp air and the smell of hydraulic fluid heralded the arrival of another crewman.
“Lieutenant, we’ve got your helo fixed. It’s ready when you are,” the mechanic said.
Caitlyn’s smile spread. To hell with Dr. Butt Head, she still had fun weather to fly in.
County General Hospital, St. Petersburg, FL,
Sunday, 4 September, 0130 hours
The man slipped out of his hospital bed as soon as the nurse left his room. The dying squeak of her rubber-soled shoes on polished linoleum told him she’d turned the corner at the end of the hallway. He’d memorized the floor’s layout when they’d transferred him from the ER. Pay phones and relative seclusion lay twenty feet to his left.
A quick scan confirmed no one was around to take notice. He ignored the pounding headache. The injury had been a stupid mistake, but had afforded him the perfect cover. He picked up the phone’s handset and dialed an untraceable toll-free number.
Few people would understand the language he spoke, but he kept his voice low out of habit.
“Target confirmed. The pilot is a woman.”
Chapter Two
Santee, South Carolina,
Friday, 9 September, 1845 hours
Caitlyn walked into her childhood kitchen and it was as if she’d never left. The children’s faces were different, yet, thankfully, the same haphazard order prevailed.
Her parents stood side by side at the sink, forming an assembly line of dishwashing, drying and storing with the help of a pretty teen. An eight-or nine-year-old boy held court with a lisping tale of derring-do on a skateboard.
Though Caitlyn was the only baby born to her parents, they’d continued adding children to their family with hyper-regularity. Some passed through, needing unconditional love and understanding for a few months; others stayed for years, but retained foster-child status. And some, a lucky few, found permanent love through adoption into the Stone family.
Somehow, she’d never gotten over the childish belief she’d failed to be enough.
“...then this stupid girl screamed I was goin’ ta run over her damn—”
“No cussing, you know the rules,” Caitlyn’s father said, turning to punctuate the warning with a practiced glare. He was drying his hands when he caught sight of Caitlyn and the frown instantly surrendered to a grin. “Caity-did!”
He had
her in a bear hug before she could say “Hello,” transporting her into Daddy’s little girl. He cherished her not for her rank, not for her looks, not for her flying ability, but for just being Caitlyn Stone.
“How are you?” her mother asked without taking a step toward her.
Caitlyn’s chest tightened. Her dad released her and leaned back against the counter.
The cussing urchin stared with narrowed brown eyes. “I thought she was in the military,” he accused.
Her mother smiled at Caitlyn and put her hands on the boy’s shoulders. “Caitlyn’s in the Coast Guard, honey. She flies helicopters.”
Jealousy sparked over the casual contact her mother gave so freely to others, then died of embarrassment. What kind of person begrudged a child?
The kind who still craves her mother’s caress.
“How come she don’t got a uniform on?”
“Doesn’t have, not don’t got,” her mother corrected automatically.
Once a teacher, always a teacher, Caitlyn mused. She offered her hand to the boy when her mother made the introductions. He hesitated before taking it in an awkward shake.
“I only wear a uniform when I’m on duty.” Right now she was the antithesis of military regulation with her short dress, high heels and loose hair. She canted her head at the boy. “Dad says you’re quite the hotshot on wheels.”
She flicked a glance at her mother. “I’m definitely not on duty today.” She extended her arms and wagged her fingers to show off freshly manicured poppy-red nails. “I visited a friend on maternity leave and had a ladies’ day out with all the trimmings.”
Caitlyn tried not to be envious of her friend’s pregnant bliss. She’d learned early on that men enjoyed dating her. And the very few she allowed in her bed would have gladly stayed. But none of them wanted a helo pilot for a wife.
Or, apparently, as the mother of their children.
The blonde to her mother’s left cocked one hip and dramatically rolled her eyes. “We’re supposed to be in a hurry, remember? You promised to take me shopping.”
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