Awaken to Danger (5 page)

habit of calling about every nitnoid detail, which made the job more time-consuming than need be.

Quade was a helluva flyer, had been a dedicated commander, and no doubt cared about his people,

even if his gruff demeanor implied otherwise on more than one occasion. But Carson had often wondered

what would have happened to the squadron if Quade died while in charge.

Delegation was important. Sure there were times he could do the job better than someone less

experienced, but if someone else could do the job well enough, that was okay, too. Otherwise how did

anyone learn if they never had a chance to stretch their wings?

But what did he know? He was too damn young to be in this job anyway. Even with delegating, he was

working his ass off so much he was lucky to get breakfast.

Or lunch.

He tucked the phone back in his thigh pocket and stared up at the balcony marking Nikki's place, her

UNC alma mater flag waving beside her sliding doors. His chest went tight again as he thought about

finding her this morning, her spine so straight while she sat wrapped in that blanket. He would do anything

to wipe away this horror for her. Any-damn-thing. Nothing would slip his attention in this investigation.

And hell, suddenly he understood Quade's position a little better.

Because Nikki's safety was one responsibility he couldn't bring himself to delegate.

* * *

calling to her for grades, but she resisted. Her students deserved her complete attention and a fully

functioning brain.

She needed air, space, sun, all in short supply on this rainy day. But at least her balcony would be less

claustrophobic than the tiny apartment that had seemed so big when she first moved in last fall.

Nikki snagged her cordless phone from the cradle and slid open the balcony door. She really craved a

long run on the beach but her aching body probably wouldn't hold up for any length of time. Too bad the

pool was closed for the winter. The water, chilly though it might be, invited from below.

Dropping into a lounger, she started to dial her mother's number when the phone rang in her hand before

she could punch the first number.

She checked caller ID and found "Caller Unknown."

Her stomach clenched. Residual nerves, no doubt. She tapped the On button. "Yes?"

Silence stretched for a second too long. Her nerves flamed. She started to hang up and sprint back inside

when a cleared throat on the other end stopped her.

"Nikki?"

Carson.

But he'd only just left. Standing, she scanned outside, past the swimming pool and found him three stories

down in the parking lot, against the closed tailgate on his truck. She rested her elbows along the wooden

rail, phone pressed to her ear as firmly as her eyes stayed locked on his tall, lean body.

"Did you forget something?" She'd returned his jacket, although she did still have his handkerchief.

"I seem to have overlooked doing one mighty damn important thing for too long."

The weight of his words seeped through the telephone. Did he intend for there to be a deeper meaning?

Could he be referencing their night together after all these months? That evening she'd thought finally he'd

noticed her only to have him leave the next morning and pretend the whole night never happened.

She wished she could erase that night from her memory as easily as she'd forgotten the one prior. "At

least one of us has good recall today."

"I'm not talking about today."

"I know." How silly to speak on the phone while they looked at each other, but with a swimming pool

between them and three stories of height, they were safe from touching.

Could he be as affected by her as she was by him? The disturbing and tempting thought spread soothing

warmth through her on an oh-so-cold day. "Maybe we shouldn't talk right now with everything so

jumbled—"

"I'm sorry for the way I behaved that night and the next morning."

An apology months too late.

She wouldn't be drawn in again. She couldn't bring herself to believe he was total scum, but something

was messed up in that head of his and she didn't want any part of the fallout again.

Best to shoo him away fast before she did something reckless like ask him to come back up and inside.

"You're forgiven."

"I don't deserve your forgiveness, but thank you."

She didn't want his gratitude. She wasn't sure what she wanted—okay, she knew she'd always wanted

Carson—but more than that she wanted to safeguard her heart so she wouldn't spend the next two

decades mooning over a man as her mama had done.

"Thank you for your help today. I really need to go now. Goodbye."

She hung up fast, a clean break, as she should have done the first time Carson had smiled a hello at a

squadron picnic years ago. Better yet, she turned away, back into her apartment. She wasn't a

twenty-year-old hero worshipping the new guy on her father's crew anymore.

God, had she really had a thing for Carson for nearly three years?

Nikki angled through the half-open sliding door and dragged it closed, phone still clutched in her hand.

Time to finally place that call to her mother. She punched in her parents' number and waited through
ring,

ring, ring.

"Hello?"

Chris. Her brother.

Her hands shook with adrenaline letdown along with the need to talk to somebody, and her brother was

so
the only person she could hang with right now. They'd forged a tight bond during all their family moves

and their parents' marital troubles. She didn't care why Chris was back early from his New Year's road

trip with college friends, but thank God he was.

She shouldn't drive anywhere because of the drug and nerves. Her brother could come over and pick her

up. She couldn't stall telling her family any longer.

"Hey, runt. It's me. Could you come over? I've had a really crummy day."

* * *

Carson gripped the stick on the C-17 and hurtled the craft through the sky closer to his home base. Only

a couple more hours left until landing with the squadron representatives who'd flown out to Omaha for

Owens's funeral.

He'd paid his respects to the family and worked like crazy not to think about the unanswered questions

from the night the man had died. Still he couldn't help but wonder if Owens had been the one to drug

Nikki's drink. And how had it happened at Beachcombers, the last place he would expect something like

that to occur? Beachcombers wasn't some rave club, just a low-key seaside restaurant and bar where

flyers hung out.

At least her brother was watching her and didn't seem to mind the occasional check-in call from Carson

—under the guise of keeping tabs on J. T. Price's family while the man was deployed. He would continue

checking in with Chris and with Special Agent Reis, while keeping his distance.

Game plan set, boots rocking the rudders, Carson lost himself in the sky as he soared the cargo plane

through the clouds the way he escaped through hours spent skimming his thirty-one-foot Catalina sailboat

over the waves.

Blue, blue and more blue...

He lived to fly, whether it was through the sky or along the ocean. That's all he'd ever wanted. He hadn't

planned on a commander gig, but here he was, responsible for people like the crew around him.

Back in the cargo hold were loadmaster Picasso and inflight mechanic Mako.

Up front in the cockpit, new baby copilot Kevin Avery sat in the right seat and instructor pilot Nola

Seabrook was strapped in a jump seat behind them.

God, when had he gotten to be the old guy? Except he wasn't that much older than these aviators.

Somehow he'd landed on the fast track—he hoped because of his ability. Although he often wondered if

his prestige-hungry parents had played some of their behind-the-scenes games in their high-power circles

with congressmen who happened to be close buddies with a general here or there.

The military wasn't supposed to operate that way, but the whole thing had spiraled beyond his control.

So he worked his ass off to be the best damn pilot, officer, leader possible in order to be worthy of his

commission and whatever responsibilities came his way. Including checking on Nikki.

And did everything have to cycle back around to Nikki Price?

Jesus, he needed to start seeing other women. Except he didn't have the time or interest in anyone else.

Work overload and stress maxed him out. He knew his limits and he recognized the danger signs if he

pushed himself to the wall. He was trying to lose himself in the sky, and would have to find time to sail

soon. All to fight the urge to take what he really wanted and could never have again.

A drink.

Too many people counted on him. He couldn't risk screwing up. Stats read that every alcoholic's drinking

affected at least four other lives. Any mistake he made would ripple through the whole squadron.

In spite of Nikki accepting his apology, what he'd done was unforgivable. He'd been so damn arrogant

that night, thinking he was holding it together. That he was somehow stronger than his parents because

he'd battled and won against
his
addiction.

His fall had been swift.

Attending his friend's wedding should have been low stress. Sure, drinks would flow, but he resisted that

temptation every time he partied with his crewdog pals. He'd even hung out with his wartime crew before

Spike's wedding. Life had finally been good again, the hell of their shoot down and capture in the Middle

East past. He'd been cleared in the initial mandatory pysch eval. He knew with his family history he

needed to be careful.

Then when he'd least expected it, everything flew apart. Why had seeing Spike that happy left him so

damn shaken, enough to weaken and do something he'd been fighting for over a year not to do—hit on

Nikki?

Next thing he'd known, he was looking at the bottom of an empty shot glass, then another, more

following until.. .he couldn't remember more than spotty flashes of tangling naked with her in the sheets.

Amazing flashes.

Flashes he also feared may have been brief and not nearly as good for her. Wasn't that a kick in the ego?

And also a well-deserved punch to his good sense.

His fist clenched around the throttle. He fought the destructive urge to be with her every day. He couldn't

offer her a damn thing, had tried to settle for friendship but knew now he couldn't go for half measures in

any part of his life. He wasn't as strong at resisting temptation as he'd thought.

He had enough on his plate staying sober and doing his job. Speaking of which, he had a young pilot here

in need of leading right now. Being an Air Force officer was about more than flying. He had a duty to

train, mentor, motivate future leaders.

The failure with Owens weighed heavily on his shoulders today. He'd been certain the man was shaking

his gambling problem. He'd even begun attending support meetings with other addicts.

Carson thumbed the interphone button. "Lieutenant Avery, let's talk. Career planning can never start too

early. What's your goal?"

The wiry young pilot who probably weighed all of a hundred and thirty pounds soaking wet answered,

"To be the Chief of Staff, sir."

Seabrook snorted into the headset from the jump seat. "Lieutenant, it may have escaped your notice, but

since Curtis LeMay died, all the Chiefs of Staff have been fighter pilots."

"Oh." The scrawny kid deflated in his leather seat.

Damn. You'd think she stole the kid's ice-cream cone. "She has a point, but things change. Military

transport is the fastest growing airframe, and we're raking in those medals. So you never know. What's

your plan for making Chief of Staff?"

"I plan to be the best aviator I can be, sir."

Ambitions were all well and good, but he definitely needed to have a sit-down with this kid later about

specific choices for different career paths, or before he knew it, he would be in a job he hadn't foreseen,

either. "How about we settle on a more immediate goal today, with tangible early results."

"And what would that be, sir?"

"You tell me?" Take some initiative, kid. Having a goal was great, but setting attainable immediate goals

to get there was even more important. In the last three months, Carson had tried to be the mentor to

Owens he hadn't found around himself near enough. A.A. meetings had taught him well the necessity of

guidance and support, one-day-at-a-time steps.

"I'd like to earn a call sign, a cool one like yours, sir."

Avery thought the call sign "Scorch" was cool? Jesus, it came from the mortifying moment of setting his

own mustache on fire with the flaming Dr Pepper drink in a bar.

Seabrook laughed, husky and slightly wicked. "So you're not enjoying the call sign always reserved for

the newest aviator."

Avery winced. "No, ma'am."

"Then get to work earning a new name, Bambi."

Carson smothered a laugh at the lieutenant's shudder of disgust over the undignified moniker. "I'll keep

my eye on you and see what new handle I can come up with."