Drew swallowed equal parts panic and bile that had gathered at the back of his throat. “I’m going down! Give me a damn suit! I’m going down to get him!”
The captain came out of the cockpit. “Lieutenant Evans!”
He looked up, found himself staring into the angry eyes of his captain. Joe “Domino” Saratoga was the size of a warhorse. Older. Experienced. He’d fought in Panama and the Gulf War. He’d paid his dues and Drew had always liked and respected him.
At the moment, he wanted to punch him.
“With all due respect, we can’t leave that man behind to die!” Drew flung open the aft cabinet in search of a wet suit and tank. He knew he was losing it. He could feel his control slipping the same way he’d felt Rick slip away just a few seconds earlier. But there was no way in hell he could stand by while they left Rick behind.
“Son, we’re following SOP. There’s a PJ RTG on the second chopper. He’s fresh and suited up.”
Through his communication gear, he heard the pilot receive the order to return to base. Because he couldn’t meet the other man’s gaze, he turned to lean against the cabinet.
The captain put his hand on his shoulder. “They’ll find him and bring him home.”
Drew opened his eyes only to realize his vision was blurred with tears. Tears of anger and frustration, but most of all grief. “Damn it!” He slammed his fist through the cabinet door.
Pain sang through his knuckles and up his arm, but Drew barely noticed. He heard Joe speaking to him, but couldn’t understand the words. He couldn’t believe what had just happened. Couldn’t believe they were going to leave Rick behind. That he could be dead.
“He was burned,” he heard himself say.
“He’s strong.”
“I dropped him.”
“Don’t go there, Drew.”
“I let him go—” The next thing Drew knew, he was being spun around and shoved hard against the panel.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Joe said. “Now pull yourself together. We’ve got civilian casualties to tend.”
Giving him a final, hard look, Joe shoved away. Drew leaned against the aft panel for several long seconds, his head reeling, his heart feeling as if it were about to explode. Vaguely, he was aware of the medic getting one of the subjects into a litter and starting an IV drip. The crackle of the VHS radio coming through his headset comm gear. The rank smells of crude oil, singed hair and scorched clothing. The little girl crying for her mommy.
Numb with the remnants of adrenaline and horror and grief, he walked over to the hatch and looked out at the driving wind and rain and the churning, black water below. In the distance the fire lit up the horizon with unnatural yellow light. But it looked small and inconsequential from this far away.
He couldn’t believe Rick was still out there. Injured. Maybe dying. Drew closed his eyes against the brutal slice of pain. He thought of Rick’s wife and wondered who would tell her. He wondered if she would blame him. If she would hate him.
Responsibility for what had happened settled onto his shoulders with the weight of a Navy ship. The guilt that followed crushed him.
Sinking to his knees, Drew put his face in his hands and wept.
CHAPTER ONE
Four years later
Emerald Cove, Florida
Drew Evans stepped out of his small office and squinted against the bright morning sunshine, trying hard to ignore the headache grinding his brain into little pieces. The aspirin he’d downed with a cup of yesterday’s coffee sat in his stomach like a handful of rocks. He felt as if he’d gotten into a fight with a Mack truck and lost. He didn’t even want to think about how he looked.
He had a vague memory of a thatch-roofed bar, a pretty bartender who’d evidently flunked out of bartending school, the sound of reggae mixing with the sound of the surf, and the smooth burn of Puerto Rican rum. He’d been a goner in less than an hour.
That had been two days ago. Forty-eight hours lost and hardly missed. One of these days he was going to learn the slow crawl out of the bottle was a hell of a lot harder than the plunge into it.
Shoving his aviator’s glasses onto the bridge of his nose, he started across the gravel lot toward the dock. Around him, the South Florida morning dazzled like a big, gaudy emerald, beckoning him to notice. Because he did—he always noticed how beautiful the mornings were in the Keys—Drew smiled in spite of the headache. He’d lived in plenty of places in his thirty-five years—San Diego, Hawaii, Germany, Norfolk—but none of those places could compare to the magic of the Florida Keys.
He glanced over at the windsock a few yards from the maintenance hangar near the water and gauged the wind speed and direction. The wind was below ten knots and coming out of the south. Perfect for flying, but he knew there would be storms later. Pilots had radar when it came to predicting weather. In the Keys, the storms came like clockwork every afternoon during the summer. Brief downpours that turned the air to steam. Drew had every intention of being back long before the afternoon thunderstorms started.
Standing at the end of the dock, he looked down the narrow gangway where his seventeen-passenger Grumman Mallard seaplane rocked gently in the surf. The quick swell of pride made him smile. An F-18 she wasn’t, but she was a pretty little thing and fun as hell to fly. He’d earned his water landing and takeoff certification right out of the Navy. In the four years since, he’d tried very hard not to look back.
Drew had spent the majority of those years building Water Flight Tours into the small, but lucrative business it was today. He’d turned an idea into a reality and made it work. Pouring his life savings into a charter plane service had been a huge risk. He’d worked weekends and holidays, forfeiting sleep and peace of mind for a stab at success and the American Dream. But it was a risk he’d been willing to take. A risk that, in the end, had paid off.
He liked to think he worked so hard because of his love of flying, his inherent independence, because he was ambitious. But sometimes his mind strayed a little too close to the past, and he wondered if maybe he worked so hard because he didn’t like the taste failure had left at the back of his throat. Maybe his foray into the American Dream was his escape. Maybe he’d spent the last four years running away from a mistake he would never live down. From ghosts he would never forget no matter how hard he tried.
Shoving thoughts of the past aside, Drew started toward the Mallard. Beyond, Emerald Cove inlet shimmered prettily. On the dock, brightly dressed tourists flocked like colorful wading birds fishing for baby shrimp. They came from all over; he’d seen the license plates in the gravel lot behind his office: Georgia, Ohio and a dozen counties right here in South Florida. He would give them what they came for. An aerial tour of one of the most breathtaking sights in the world: the Florida Keys.
He would start right here at Emerald Cove, which was situated just north of Key Largo and boasted some of the best fishing in the world. Then he would fly low over an aircraft salvage yard, known by the locals simply as “the graveyard” and the sunken sailboat just south of the reef where barracuda and shark converged to feed. From there, he would take them south, over John Pennekamp Coral Reef State Park, south to Key West, then to the Dry Tortugas to the west, and finally back home to base. If all went as planned, he would be home in time to watch the storms roll in.
Holding that thought, Drew headed toward the group for his preflight check, a quick overview of the rules and then he would begin the boarding process. Just another day in paradise.
He could feel the tourists’ eyes upon him as he approached and smiled at the floppy hats, sunburned noses and silly T-shirts. Families. Couples. The occasional retiree out to break the routine. Most of them, he knew, had never met a pilot or flown in anything other than a Boeing 727. The Mallard seaplane was different, particularly the water takeoffs and landings. Drew didn’t offer peanuts or martinis during the flight. He didn’t have to. The scenery beyond the windows held his passengers rapt. Thanks to Mother Nature and some hardworking co
ral, his customers always got their money’s worth.
Drew loved flying more than anything else in the world. Being a pilot defined who he was, and he couldn’t imagine doing anything else. Flying was the ultimate freedom and the supreme challenge rolled into a single feat that never ceased to take his breath away. Flying was the one thing in the world Drew felt passionately about. Four years ago, it had saved him from despair when nothing else could.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, stepping onto the concrete floating dock. “My name is Drew Evans and I’ll be your pilot and tour guide this morning. Does anyone have any questions before boarding?”
“Hey, mister, we gonna see any sharks today?” asked a bright-eyed boy about eight years old.
Taking the clipboard from inside the plane, Drew smiled down at him, then at his parents. “There’s been a school of hammerheads hanging around just east of Duck Key. How about if I swing out that way and we’ll have a look?”
“Wow! Cool! Mom, did you hear that?”
Grinning, enjoying the moment a hell of a lot more than he had a right to, Drew reached up under the wing and expressed a small amount of fuel from the preflight check reservoir into a clear plastic cup. He knew Jet A by color and smell and could now rest assured the correct fuel had been pumped into the tanks when he’d refueled yesterday afternoon.
He’d just stepped off the pontoon after checking the aileron flaps, when a woman standing at the end of the dock caught his eye. He couldn’t see her features from where he stood, but her silhouette was starkly familiar. It was a silhouette he would never forget no matter how many years or miles he put between them. No matter how hard he tried.
The sharp pang of recognition shook him, sent his heart hard against his ribs. Denial that it could be her rose inside him. There was no way she could have found him. Not that he’d been hiding, he assured himself. He’d simply moved on with his life. He’d hoped she had, too.
A small boy, maybe four years old, stood at her side. Drew took in the blue cap, baggy shorts and skinny legs and tried not to remember, tried even harder not to feel. He’s the right age, a cruel little voice pointed out. And Drew was suddenly, utterly certain it was her.
What in the holy hell was she doing in Emerald Cove?
Thankful he was wearing sunglasses, he stared at the woman, trying hard not to let his shock and disbelief show. His eyes did a quick, dangerous sweep of her, taking in her tiny waist, the curve of her hips and athletic shape of her legs. She was casually dressed in khaki shorts, a sleeveless yellow blouse and sandals with flat heels. But Alison Myers didn’t look like a tourist. She didn’t blend into the crowd. She stood out, like a brilliant diamond surrounded by rough-cut stones. She sure as hell shouldn’t have looked sexy, but she did. Alison always looked sexy. And Drew had always felt like a son of a bitch for noticing.
The old attraction tugged hard at him, a big fish snagged on a barbed hook and fighting for its life. It shouldn’t have surprised him that even after four years and the hell of losing his best friend nothing had changed. The reality of that disturbed him. He knew it was unreasonable, but he suddenly felt incredulous and a little angry that his hormones would betray him now.
He’d tried desperately to forget her. To forget what he’d done, not only to her, but to her son. How could she do this to him now?
She smiled and waved upon realizing he’d spotted her. Drew knew he should smile back at her but, God help him, he couldn’t. He couldn’t do a damn thing except stare at her and feel the memories tangle with dread and augment like a big sour ball in his gut. Her hair was shorter, but the color was the same sun-streaked blond. She’d cut it into a sleek style that swung like a curtain of silk against her jaw when she turned her head. She’d lost some weight—a little too much if he wanted to be truthful about it. Drew preferred more substantial women. The kind who wore tight jeans, a quick smile and had a weakness for pilots. Alison Myers had never been that kind of woman to him. But that had never mattered.
Drew approached her, praying he was wrong, that the woman walking toward him with a smile on her face and a little boy at her side wasn’t the woman he’d spent the last four years trying to forget. But he knew it was her. He would know her anywhere. He would know her by scent alone, by the sight of her legs, by the rise of tension inside him whenever she was near, though he’d never had a right to think of her in any of those terms. He may have put six hundred miles between them, but he’d dreamed about her too many times in the last four years not to recognize her now.
For an instant, Drew felt like turning around and walking straight back into his office and locking the door behind him. Not the kind of conduct one would expect from an ex-Navy officer. But Alison Myers was the last person on earth he wanted to see. He did not want to talk to her. God forbid, he did not want to look into her son’s innocent eyes, knowing what had happened to his father. Alison represented a past he wanted to put behind him forever.
He didn’t want her here, dredging up all the memories he’d been working so damn diligently to forget. Why couldn’t she just leave the past behind and let him move on with his life?
Feeling as if he were about to face the firing squad instead of a chat with an old friend, Drew held his ground just outside the hatch. Because he needed something to do, he looked down at the clipboard in his hand and scribbled something meaningless. Vaguely, he was aware of sweat breaking out on the back of his neck, his heart pounding in perfect rhythm with his head. He felt trapped and annoyed and a little mean. The urge to run was overpowering. But if he’d learned anything in the last four years, it was that running didn’t help. It was the fastest route to nowhere, and memories had a way of following a man no matter how far or how fast he ran.
An uncomfortable quiver ran the length of him when she shoved her sunglasses onto her crown and waylaid him with eyes the color of the Caribbean and a fourteen-karat smile. “You’re a hard man to run down, Drew Evans,” she said, a little breathless, a little ruffled and a whole lot sexy.
Drew didn’t know what to say to that, so he said nothing.
She reached him a moment later, the little boy’s hand clasped tightly in hers. Drew looked dumbly at the child, then at Alison and felt another wave of disbelief wash over him. He hadn’t thought he’d ever see her again and the shock of it was like a punch right between the eyes.
“What are you doing here?” he managed to ask after a moment.
Her smile faltered, and he silently berated himself for sounding so harsh. He hadn’t intended to sound snappish. But didn’t she realize she had absolutely no reason to smile at him like that? Didn’t she know what he’d done?
“I wanted to surprise you.” She laughed, but now seemed uncertain. “It looks like I succeeded.”
“It’s okay,” he said a little too quickly. “I mean, it’s nice to see you again.”
“Nice, huh?” When he didn’t move, she rolled her eyes. “Well, there’s an enthusiastic welcome.”
Drew knew what was going to happen next. And for a split second he very seriously considered walking away and dealing with the consequences later. But he was aware of the little boy watching him, of his customers all around, of Alison Myers smiling at him and his body responding in a way that was worse than inappropriate.
He stiffened when she leaned close. Standing on her tiptoes, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. He felt the brush of her lips against his face like the meeting of heaven and hell, a silent explosion that was as devastating as any bomb. The worst part about it was he couldn’t do a damn thing, except stand in purgatory and watch it happen.
“It’s really good to see you,” she whispered.
Drew barely heard the words for the hot rush of blood through his veins. How was it that after four years of hell, she could still look at him as if he were her husband’s best friend and not the man who’d played a major role in his death? Where was the outrage? The hatred? And for God’s sake, how could he stand there knowing what he’d don
e to her and still want her?
The questions pelted him like jagged stones. Drew endured the brief contact and the pounding questions in stoic silence. He made no move to touch her. He might not be able to control his response to her, but he could damn well control his motor functions. He’d had his fill of guilt; he wasn’t going to do anything to add to it.
But in the instant when her lips had been pressed chastely against his cheek, he’d closed his eyes against the quick rise of heat. The rush of blood to his groin. The agony of knowing his lust for his best friend’s wife was still as strong as the day he’d first laid eyes on her.
She smelled like tropical fruit, rich and sweet—and definitely poisonous—to him, anyway. All he could think of was that he couldn’t think of a better way to go....
Grappling for composure, Drew disengaged from her, took a quick step back and tried to get his bearings. Because he was having a hard time meeting her gaze, because that kiss had done something he wasn’t proud of to his body, he looked down at the little boy at her side. But if Drew thought looking at her child would be any easier, he was wrong. The little boy looked up at him with big brown eyes that were hauntingly familiar. His father’s eyes, Drew thought, and guilt rose like nausea.
“This is Kevin,” Alison said cheerfully.
Hoping he didn’t look as shaken as he felt, Drew stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Kevin.”
The little boy grinned and shook his hand vigorously. “I’m four. Are you a real pilot?”
“I was the last time I checked.”
Kevin’s brows went together and Alison chuckled.
He had his father’s smile, too, Drew realized. He wondered how Alison had dealt with that. He wondered if she’d done a better job of dealing with Rick’s death than he had.
“You ever flown in a plane before?” Drew asked the boy.
“Me and Mommy flew in a plane from Washington D.C.”
Rick’s parents lived in D.C. Last he’d heard, Alison was living with them, had been since Rick’s death. Having lost her own parents in an automobile accident ten years earlier, she hadn’t had anyone else to turn to. Drew had wanted to check on her and her kid a hundred times, but in the end he’d always decided they would be better off if he just stayed the hell away.