Dead on Arrival (2 page)

Thank goodness Jagger hadn't argued with me
, I thought as I sat on the chair near Lilla's desk. She fiddled with the paperwork, and I also thought anyone who'd survived four husbands, two of whom were abusive, sure fit into this investigative job pretty well. She looked as if she knew exactly what she was doing.

I, on the other hand, sat there thinking of Sky, Jagger, Sky, and Jagger until my mind was nearly mush. Damn. Why couldn't I get a job with less attractive guys around me? Way less attractive. Something about that Texas drawl had peaked my interest.

Then it hit me that I'd openly agreed to fly on a helicopter.

I rested my head in my hands and thought for a few seconds, then prayed the rest of the time that I wouldn't get assigned any helicopter runs. After all, I wasn't a trained nurse in airovac or an EMT.

“Pauline. Pauline.”

“Hm?” I looked up to see Lilla looking at me and assumed she had been calling my name. “Sorry. Did you say something?”

“I have some paperwork, release forms,
chérie,
for you to sign so you can do a ride along.”

“Ride along?” I figured that meant a test drive in an ambulance since Jagger and I were obviously going to do our investigative work as if on orientation. Surely we weren't going out alone? I laughed at the stupid thought.

“With
Monsieur
Sky.” She leaned back in her seat with the paperwork in her hand.

I got stuck on
Monsieur
Sky until it hit me—the ride along was a fly along!

“No way!” flew out of my mouth just as Sky and Jagger approached from the office behind Lilla.

“No way what?” Sky asked.

Lilla started to say, “Pauline does not—”

Damn that drawl. “Thanks, Lilla. I'll explain.” I chuckled to fill in the gaping hole of my conversation and to buy myself time to make up a lie. I stunk at lying. When I looked at Jagger, he knew that as well as he knew that I was trying to come up with a fib.

And damn it all but he just stood there
silently
.

I decided to wave my hands as if that would erase everyone's current memory and said, “So, this should be fun. A ride along, I mean,” as I got up and pushed past traitor Jagger and stood next to Sky. “You are going to be careful, aren't you?” I did my best hooker eyelash fluttering and turned back in time to see Jagger shaking his head. Once. Thank the good Lord, however, once was bad enough.

I couldn't help glare at the metal container I was about to enter and wondered if there was more than one bolt that held on the blades sticking out of the top. I'd heard there wasn't.

Sky and his buddy pilot, who'd been introduced as Mario Fortunato, were doing some kind of pre-flight check of the chopper. I held my breath and prayed they wouldn't miss a loose bolt or
the
loose bolt, but since Jagger sat inside as if nothing bothered him (and it didn't) I didn't want to sound girly-scared.

“It's a go,” Mario said and winked at me.

I laughed. “Tell me, Fortunato, are you going to bring good luck our way?”

He laughed. “None needed with Sky at the controls.”

I let out the breath I'd been holding since signing my life away on Lilla's release form and let Mario guide me toward the open door of the helicopter, which sat so innocently on the helipad.

Jagger had obviously set this up. The guy pulled more strings than a marionette operator.

I ignored the bright red color (originally thinking blood here), telling myself it would be better for other aircraft to see us in the sky as opposed to white or blue. On top were the blades. Two blades, or actually it looked like one really long one. I'd have felt better with about six instead and again prayed that more than one bolt held them on.

The chopper was much shorter than I'd imagined and had what looked like three tails (one could only hope three tails offset one blade). All in all, not exactly a menacing figure—until I thought about getting inside.

As I readied to turn and run, Mario reached inside and pulled out a helmet, which he handed to me without even asking my size, then ran through instructions like walking low so the blades wouldn't…you know…and that there were earphones and a microphone inside the helmet to communicate with the pilots.

Great. I'm sure my soft, shaking voice would come out loud and clear over the roar of the swirling blades.

Then again, at least they might not hear me screaming.

Okay, before I knew it, I was strapped into a seat next to Jagger (good if we had to evacuate), and with my eyes shut (figuring he couldn't see because of the helmet) we were above the ground.

Above
the ground.

And not on a smooth direct flight path. Oh no, Sky, obviously living up to his birth name, was maneuvering through Hope Valley as if in a video game and we were the targets.

Today's breakfast rose up my throat.

I grabbed Jagger's arm. Then let go as quickly as the idea flashed into my head that I seemed like a real “girl” doing that. Wouldn't sit right with him.

I blinked, thinking that might help and knowing it wouldn't do shit, until I took several long, slow, deep breaths—and reminded myself that vomiting next to these three hunks would not be in my best interest professionally or sensually.

Sitting much straighter, I refused myself anymore feelings of nausea (as if that were some mental luxury) and took several more deep breaths. “I am a professional” became my mantra until I heard some static and in that soothing, sexy Texas drawl heard, “So, ma'am, how you doing?”

“I love flying!” I shouted then promptly bit my lip. Really. What the hell was I talking about? I looked out the window to see the ground a gazillion miles away and us zooming in acrobatic formations that made military maneuvers pale in comparison. I held so tightly onto the handlebar next to me, my fingers numbed.

Suddenly I caught Jagger out of the corner of my eye. Not easy to do with the damn helmet on, but he sat there, eyes closed, and I think snoring.

Nothing bothered the damn guy!

I sucked in some air and sat straighter all the while telling myself that I could do this without vomiting, screaming, or passing out. In other words, I had to be professional both as a nurse and investigator. After all, I'd be transporting patients and had to devote my attention to them and not myself.

What seemed like hours flew by (pun intended since I couldn't ignore that I didn't have any feet on the ground), and before I knew it Jagger was standing next to me.

Standing?

We'd landed back at the helipad, and he was already out and waiting for me to come back to reality. At least my reality didn't involve airsickness.

I unhooked myself, stepped out, and lifted the helmet off my head. Had to weigh a ton. Then I caught my reflection in the window. Geez. Ghost pale and helmet hair and three hunks within inches.

That had to be the story of my life.

Sky stepped out and came closer. “So. How'd I do?”

I smiled, figuring he wasn't talking to Jagger. “You did great, partner.” I'd used a John Wayne cowboy accent. Not sure from where but definitely my attempt at Texas.

Jagger shook his head and walked toward the building.

I curled my lips at him and then turned to Mario and Sky. “Really, it was fantastic. Do you work for TLC?”

Mario stepped closer. I felt like an Oreo. “We work for them, but since Hope Valley isn't a budding metropolis, we cover nearby areas and transport to several of the big trauma centers in Hartford and New Haven if need be. Sometimes to New York City or Boston for private transportation. Costs a bundle in air miles.”

“Oh. I see.” I did see. TLC was making more money with this venture. Usually hospitals owned the helicopters, but in this case, they was privately owned. I couldn't wait to meet the Sterling twins. Oh yeah, the TLC/Sterling twins.

Normally I'm not a mean-spirited person, but standing there glaring at the owners of TLC, I wanted to ask, “So which one of you is the female?”

The twins were identical. Well, identical might have been a misnomer. They may have been clones, and when dressed (not that I saw the twins undressed) they were exactly alike right down to the short, cropped blonde hair, green eyes, and smile that appeared painted on—perhaps by a clown.

Since my thoughts were so uncharitable, I decided to stare at something else, but when I looked around Payne's office, there was nothing I could look at with a serious face.

The place was like something out of the fifties, but in no way similar to my mom's house. That at least had character. This office was a mismatch of old furniture—but brightly colored in oranges, reds, and purples as if the old psychedelic TV show “Laugh In” had exploded all over Payne Sterling's office.

But on one wall were all religious paintings (copies I assumed) and also assumed done by one Leonardo DaVinci.

Trying not to notice the place, I looked to my left where the door was opened to Pansy's office.

Black and white. That was it. Apparently Payne had gotten the color gene. Well, at least décor was one thing they weren't cloned in.

I heard a “Nice to meet you, Ms. Sokol” and swung my head back in time to see Pansy holding her hand out to me. Short nails, more wrinkles than my Uncle Walt, and bright white nail polish. I didn't know they even made white nail polish. I mean, what was the point?

I shook her hand, thought of what a weak grip she had, and said, “I'm thrilled to be working here,” hoping like hell that I sounded sincere. ‘Cause looking at these two weirdos, I sure didn't mean it.

“Since you are a registered nurse, Pauline, you'll be assigned to our most experienced employee who's been here longer than us. We are a private company and may run things a little differently. Nurses are only needed on certain trips, as it is expensive for the patients, but I'm sure you are aware that paramedics cannot give some medications or maybe do a treatment that is needed. When not flying, you'll help with the ambulance runs.” The siblings looked at each other and smiled.

Ick.

Not that it was a sexual smile, but it sure was weird.

Like they cared about the patient's wallet. The only thing these two cared about was money. I could just feel it in my intuitive brain, which had always served me well in my nursing. Often I could tell if a patient was going downhill and notified the docs ASAP. Now I was learning to trust that intuition.

“Welcome back, Jagger. You've been missed. The other paramedics are thrilled you're here to help out,” Payne said.

Wait a minute! Jagger? Paramedic? Why was I not surprised? I knew he wouldn't be pulling one of his chameleon charades at the expense of people's lives and pretend to be an EMT or paramedic. Nope. Jagger really was a trained paramedic. Maybe from his past military days. I'd ask him later.

He wouldn't tell me later or ever.

Pansy looked at Jagger (I think she winked at him!) and said, “Everyone around here calls the guy you'll be with ER Dano.” She laughed. “It's been so long, I'm not even sure what his real name is.”

Brother and sister broke out into hysterical laughter.

Jagger shook his head.

And without thinking, I said, “Dan?” then swallowed back anything else that might pop out of my mouth while I contemplated the two of these jokers committing fraud.

No way.

They obviously were too stupid.

Pansy's eyes darkened. She stepped closer to me and in a deep, husky voice said, “
No
kidding.”

Gulp. Okay, I took it back. My intuition said
she
could be lethal.

As if holding court, darling ER Dano sat in the only comfortable chair in the room, where he managed to garner everyone's attention—except maybe Jagger's.

I sat across the coffee table from ER, staring. We'd settled in the lounge area where the staff of EMT and paramedics waited for calls while, I'd learned earlier, some sat in satellite stations around the town and some in designated parking lots to be ready for 911 calls nearby.

The room had a somewhat homey atmosphere if you liked royal blue and red, but also a dreary atmosphere that said the twins were not interior decorators to be sure. Magazines were strewn across the glass top of the coffee table, the TV was attached to the wall as if someone might want to take the old thing home, and there were decks of cards on the tables by the window along with a Mr. Coffee machine on the counter nearby.

And ER Dano sat there as nonchalant as a statue while eager EMT newbies and experienced ones hung on his every word—which seemed to annoy him.

One of the newest (obviously because of his crisp new uniform) EMTs, which ER called Buzz Lightyear, probably because the kid looked as if he'd just stepped out of a brand new toy box, turned toward ER. “When do you think we'll get our next call?”

Oh boy. Suddenly I wanted to put my arms around the kid whose name badge said Jeremy Buttman (poor thing).

Without looking around or at Jeremy for that matter, ER said, “Eleven fifty-eight in the morning.”

“Really?” I think Jeremy bounced in his seat when he spoke.

“You think I'm a freaking clairvoyant?” ER asked.

Jeremy shook his head, and I wondered if he even knew what that meant.

“No, sir, it's just. I'm anxious is all.”

Yikes.

ER's grip tightened on his mug. He didn't look at Jeremy, but more at all of us—at the same time—and said, “It's not about the lights and sirens…it's not about drivin' fast…and it has
nothin'
to do with what you want or think you might know about medicine…”

Then, when he had all of our attention he leaned back slowly, took a dramatic sip of coffee, and paused.

The room hushed.

Even my heart beat faster, and I wondered if everyone could hear it. Poor Buzz looked as if he'd pass out.