High Impact (23 page)

“Get some good pictures?”

Emery laughed. “I kind of went overboard. Took something like four or five hundred and got a ton of really good ones. Thank God for digital cameras with huge memory cards. I’d be broke if I still shot film.”

“Wish I could have gone with you.” Geneva reached across the table and put her hand on Emery’s. “Want to take a walk after dinner?”

“Geneva, look…” Emery gently extricated her hand, and Geneva visibly stiffened. “You’re wonderful, and I can’t tell you how flattered and honored I am that you’re interested in me—”

“
But
…I think I know what you’re about to say.” Frowning, she looked at Emery curiously. “Did I do something? Say something?”

Emery shook her head. “Please don’t think it’s anything you did. I just think it’s best we remain friends. I like you. A lot. I really do. In another time and place, it well might have happened, even though I’m not convinced you’re the type of woman who can deal well with a brief affair.” She folded her hands on the table and looked squarely at Geneva. “I can’t start something with you because Pasha and I had a lot of time to talk and get to know each other on the trip. I’ve become quite interested in her, Geneva, and want to focus my attention on her. I’m sorry. I know you two are friends, and I hope this doesn’t create an awkward situation.”

Geneva sat back and chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip, her eyes sad. “I can’t say I’m not disappointed, Emery, or I’d be lying. But you don’t need to worry about this hurting my friendship with Pasha or making things awkward. We’re solid. You both have tried to consider my feelings, and I appreciate that.”

“Thank you for being so understanding.”

“I hope we can stay friends and maybe hang out together if Pasha’s busy and you’re between trips. I’m totally respectful, believe me. I won’t hit on you. I think too much of both of you.”

“Then I’d like that very much, too.” Emery admired Geneva’s grace. She’d reacted very much the same way when Emery had informed her she wanted to date both of them. And, apparently, when Bryson had ended things between them. No drama, no pouting. Just genuine good wishes for the ones who got away. “You know, Geneva, whoever does end up with you is one lucky woman.”

Geneva blushed, and some of the sadness in her eyes eased. “Thank you. I’ll miss your charm, among other things.”

“Can I buy you lunch?” Emery asked.

“The least you can do. I’m suddenly in the mood for lobster.”

Next day, June 8

Emery popped a Percocet before she headed downstairs to dinner. Thanks to the rain, she’d done virtually nothing in the last two days but sleep, read, and watch TV, but her joints and back still hadn’t recovered from her hikes with Chaz and the others. Sleeping on a cot in a confining sleeping bag hadn’t helped, either. Her next excursion, ten days of whitewater rafting, began day after tomorrow. Hopefully, additional rest would get her in good shape for the challenge. At least sitting in a raft should be easier on her legs than hiking.

Yesterday’s pounding rain had given way to a cold, stiff wind and consistent heavy mist, so thick it soaked her hair in a few minutes. The forecast for the trip was clear and sunny, at least to start, but with unusually cool temperatures—high fifties during the day and below freezing overnight. At least that should help minimize bugs.

The miserable weather had also kept her from spending time with Pasha. She’d called the office yesterday hoping for a date after dinner, but Pasha had said rescheduling the grounded charter flights and deliveries would necessitate working through dinner and well into the evening. A follow-up call this morning had brought only slightly better news. Pasha couldn’t take a break but hoped to make dinner with the group.

Emery missed her, more than she’d ever missed anyone she’d so recently met. Oh, a few women had lingered in her memory for a while, but she hadn’t felt this driving desire to see them again. Certainly not with a woman she hadn’t even slept with yet.

Her mind involuntarily conjured up an image of Pasha beneath her in the throes of passion, green eyes boring into hers. A shudder of arousal settled low in her abdomen.
Please be there.

Most of the other members of ADLIB hadn’t made it to dinner the night before, either, Karla stranded in a remote village and Chaz at home tending to Megan, who’d contracted a cold. So just Bryson, Geneva, and she had eaten together, and the party broke up early. She hoped more could make it tonight, especially if Pasha couldn’t get away. She could use the distraction.

A little before six, she headed downstairs and found the place packed. She spotted Geneva first, filling her drink tray at the bar, then Bryson, alone in the corner booth. Emery tried to suppress her disappointment as she headed over to join her. “Hey, Bryson. Megan’s still sick, I take it?”

“Getting better, but they decided to stay in again and eat some soup.”

“And Karla?”

“Reached her by phone.” Bryson drummed her fingers impatiently on the tabletop. “She’s staying with the family of the little girl she treated, so she’s fine. Weather forecast calls for fog and wind tomorrow, but I may get a window in the afternoon to go pick her up.”

“You get stir-crazy when you’re grounded very long, don’t you?”

Bryson laughed. “Occupational hazard, I guess. No secret I live to be up there, and pretty much the case with every other bush pilot I know. Lot worse, though, when Karla’s not here to keep me otherwise engaged.”

Geneva headed their way, looking more harried than Emery had ever seen her. “I swear to God, if another person asks for some special order—cottage cheese instead of salad or no meat in their chili—they’re going to be wearing their food home.”

“That bad, huh?” Bryson asked.

“Going to be a long summer. Drinks?” Geneva pulled out her pad.

“Usual,” Bryson answered.

“Coffee, please,” Emery said.

“No new microbrew? I had one all picked out for you.”

“Not tonight, thanks.” The Percocet wasn’t handling her pain very well, so Emery would probably have to take another before long. Though she didn’t always adhere to the doctor’s warning not to mix her pain meds with alcohol, she probably should tonight since she wanted to be in the best possible shape for her next trip.

“Be right back with those. Know what you want for dinner yet?”

“Just six now,” Bryson said, after consulting her watch. She looked at Emery. “Mind waiting a while, in case Dita and Pasha can get away?”

“Sure. Fine by me.”

Geneva brought their drinks and returned to bustling between tables. Emery noticed Ruth and Toni at the bar and waved, inviting them over, but they pointed to their full plates of food and declined with broad smiles.

“I bet you’ll be busy the next few days making up for all the cancelled flights,” Emery remarked.

“Yeah. Good thing it’s light now twenty-four seven. Gives me a lot of latitude when to fly, but makes for some very long days.” Bryson sipped from her bottle of Black Fang. “I was supposed to shuttle you guys up for the whitewater trip, but Skeeter’s going to have to take you instead. Had to reschedule a resupply run up to some miners, and I’m the only one who knows that area real well. Tough place to land.”

“Shame you won’t be going. I hope you’re all caught up by the time we get back, at least, so I can book another private charter in the Cub. That’s truly
the
way to see Alaska.”

“I’d love that. Don’t often get a client who’s happy to fly the way I like to.” She reached for her beer again, but paused with it halfway to her lips and grinned. “Hey, look what the cat dragged in.”

Emery followed her gaze and saw Pasha and Dita hanging their wet coats over the antlers at the roadhouse entrance. Her spirits lifted. When Pasha turned, their eyes met, and they both grinned like fools. This time, Pasha slid into the booth next to her, though she stopped short of touching her.

“Glad you made it,” Emery said.

“Hi, Emery.”

“Had to, didn’t get a break all day and we’re both starving.” Dita slipped into the seat next to Bryson. “But can’t stay long. Still rearranging the schedules.”

“That’s a pity,” Emery said.

Geneva paused by their table, her tray full of drinks. “Hey, Pash. Dita. Drinks?”

They both ordered coffee and told her they had to eat and run, so she delayed her deliveries long enough to take their meal orders.

“Looking forward to the rafting trip?” Dita asked Emery.

“Are you kidding? Wish we could leave right now.” She glanced at Pasha, who had a shy smile.

“Toni and Ruth feel the same. They stopped in today to get a map and more info on where we’re going.” Pasha nodded toward the bar where they sat, and they all turned to look.

Even Emery didn’t suspect Pasha had deliberately diverted Bryson and Dita’s attention so she could reach beneath the table to touch Emery’s thigh. The resulting shock, after forty-eight hours of separation, briefly made her hair stand on end. Fortunately, she gasped in surprise so softly, probably only Pasha heard her. However, Pasha didn’t giggle as subtly.

“What’s so funny?” Bryson asked.

“Oh, nothing,” Pasha replied. Her hand remained on Emery’s thigh, and once again, Emery marveled at the strong sensation of calm and contentment that flowed into her. That giddy-happy feeling whenever they got together was becoming addictive.

Unfortunately, their food came right away, and they had only an hour together before Dita announced they should get back to the office.

“Any chance you’ll get some free time tomorrow?” Emery asked Pasha in a low voice as Dita and Bryson planned an early-morning briefing on the rescheduled flights.

“Unlikely, I think.” Pasha frowned. “Much as I’d like to, there’s—” Her eyes widened.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Emery’s worried tone alerted Dita and Bryson that something had happened, because their conversation halted and both turned to look at Pasha as well.

Pasha’s face went white and she grappled for the edge of the table a millisecond before they all felt it.

The ground began to shake.

A half-dozen glasses perched too near the edges of tables crashed to the floor, and assorted cries of surprise and alarm echoed through the roadhouse. The lights blinked off, then back on.

A seed of panic took root in Emery’s chest but had no time to bloom before the movement ended.

A burly guy at the next table spoke first. “What the hell?” Obviously a tourist, from his way-too-shiny boots and the BlackBerry on his hip. “Was that an earthquake?”

Bryson answered the man. “Yep. Pretty good one, too. But don’t worry. They’re pretty common here. We get more, and stronger ones, than any other state. A seven or better almost every year. But most of the time they’re so small you never notice ’em.”

Emery felt Pasha’s hand on her thigh again.

“You okay?” Pasha asked.

Emery nodded. Everything had happened so fast she hadn’t finished processing it. For an instant, she’d been back in that elevator, bile rising in her throat, but Pasha’s comforting touch helped restore her sense of well-being.

Grizz’s baritone rang through the room. “Settle down, folks. No harm done. Just watch the glass on the floor until we can sweep it up.”

“I could do without any more of that,” Emery said.

“Don’t blame you.” Bryson turned to Pasha. “Everything…all right?” she asked vaguely.

“I told Emery about my premonitions, Bryson, so you don’t have to be so cagey. And I think it’s over.”

“How did you know about it?” Emery asked. “What did you feel?”

“I got this…this weird sensation of falling, and terror, and being enveloped in darkness.”

Exactly what Emery had felt in Sofia. From the look in Pasha’s eyes—a combination of confusion and recognition—she, too, had made the connection, but couldn’t explain it.

“Scary moment for sure,” Dita said. “And not to downplay it, but we really should get back, Pash.”

“Right behind you.” Before she slipped out of the booth, however, Pasha leaned over and whispered, “I’ll try to call you later.”

“I’d like that,” Emery whispered back.

Bryson didn’t linger much longer because she wanted to try to reach Karla and check on her, so Emery got back to her room by eight. Still unsettled, she turned on the TV and immersed herself in a repeat of
Doctor Zhivago.
By the end, she’d moved Russia up on her itinerary.

The late news came on, the quake topping the headlines. “A large portion of the state felt an earthquake measuring six-point-one on the Richter scale shortly after seven p.m. Pacific time, from Anchorage north to Coldfoot, and as far west as McGrath,” the dour-faced, blue-suited newscaster reported. “Scientists at the U.S. Geological Survey located the quake’s epicenter on the Denali Fault, between Anchorage and Fairbanks. That’s the same region where the 2002 quake that measured seven-point-nine originated. Hospitals have admitted several people but there are no known fatalities from this latest tremor. Authorities report widespread power outages and numerous instances of damage to structures.” The screen changed and a cute young blond reporter replaced the dour anchor. “Serena Matthews is in Fairbanks, outside a school that lost a roof. Serena?”