Читать книгу Red Tail - Lindsay McKenna - Страница 7

Three

The Q, the barracks for pilots on alert, consisted of two double bunks to a room in a two-story structure. On retiring to their rooms, the pilots unlaced their boots and left them nearby in case the duty officer called on two or more of them to assist in a search and rescue mission. The room at the end of the hall was a large lounge sporting several comfortable sofas and chairs gathered around a color TV set. Storm had her boots off, dangling her long legs over the arm of the chair. It was almost ten P.M. and she dozed intermittently, the television blaring in the background, providing the stabilizing sound of human voices.

One by one, the on-duty pilots called it a night. Storm was afraid to go to bed. This was her first night back on duty since the loss of Dave Walker. She had been placed on nonduty status and given time to recover from the emotional shock and loss. It was the normal procedure after air crashes or traumatic circumstances. Kyle rosé and walked over under Bram’s watchful eye, his hands resting on each arm of the chair as he stared down at her.

“Okay, Stormie?” he asked in a low voice.

She nodded, barely opening her eyes. “Yeah, fine, Kyle.”

“Sure?”

Kyle knew what she was going through. They had been close friends since she had first been assigned to SAR. “Yeah…” she mumbled, her arms wrapped across her body, head buried against the chair.

“You look real tired.”

“I am.”

“Why don’t you hit the sack? You’re gonna end up with a crick in your neck if you don’t.” He smiled, but his green eyes were solemn as he watched her closely.

Storm shrugged. She didn’t want to tell Kyle of the nightmares that stalked her every night. “I’ll go in a little while. Thanks….”

He straightened up, giving her knee a pat. “Okay. Good night.”

Dozing again beneath the lamplight and the comforting noise of the television, Storm remembered very little after that. At one point, Bram came over and checked on her before he left for his room, which was situated next to hers. He had gently stroked her hair, crouching down beside her, his blue eyes assessing her worriedly. For the first time in a year, she felt protected. Smiling softly, she mumbled good night to him and dozed off again.

Near eleven, Storm roused herself and stumbled blindly into her darkened sleeping quarters. Drunk with exhaustion, she left her flight suit on and wearily lay down on the bunk. Maybe now she was tired enough for sleep to come without a battle. She was lucky if she got three hours of sleep a night since the accident.

“I’ve got to help him, Storm!”

She shook her head adamantly, gripping the flight controls as the helicopter hovered precariously over the deck of the yacht. The ocean was fairly calm, making the boarding of the ship by the SES drug-busting Coast Guard crew of the Sea Hawk relatively easy. The yacht had a helicopter landing pad on the rear deck. When the request came in for them to assist in the mop-up operation, Storm landed the aircraft gently on the pad. It was an unusual request, but she complied. Merlin was out the door, helping to round up the smugglers and their cache of marijuana and coke. But it wasn’t over yet. The whine of the turbine engine of the 52 added to the cacophony of shouts and orders. She and Dave watched in horror as one smuggler grabbed a small boy who was part of the crew, holding him hostage at the bow of the ship with a gun held to his head. Two Customs agents armed with shotguns slowly approached the twosome.

“He isn’t going to put down the gun,” Dave said grimly, giving Storm a sharp glance. He began unharnessing. “Damn!”

“Dave…don’t go! Stay here. There’s nothing you can do!” she ordered. Her concentration was torn between keeping the helicopter steady on the deck and remaining aware of the chaos taking place around them.

“He’s gonna kill that kid, Storm. I know Spanish. Maybe I can get our guys to back off and I’ll talk him into giving up the boy.”

Before Storm could protest, he was gone. Helplessly she watched as Dave, still in his helmet, climbed out and ran toward the prow of the ship. She bit her lower lip hard, aware of the hatred on the face of the Colombian smuggler. Storm watched as everything in her recurring nightmare slowed to anguished single frames, sending waves of horror through her.

Even above the roar of the 52’s rotor blades kicking up gusts of wind, Storm heard the smuggler screaming shrilly in Spanish as Dave placed himself in front of the boarding crew. Her stomach knotted, and her sweaty hands tightened on the controls. The smuggler raised the gun, aiming it at Dave’s chest. No! Oh, God, no! He was going to shoot Dave! She watched as the ugly snout of the gun barrel rosé level with Dave Walker’s chest. She saw the man’s finger pulling back on the trigger.

“No!” she screamed again and again. Sobs tore from her throat, and she buried her face in her trembling hands, unable to stop the awful sounds from escaping. She was barely cognizant of someone switching on the overhead light, as well as the mumbling and movement around her. Hands, friendly hands, fell on her shoulder, pulling her around, breaking the spell.

“Stormie?” Kyle whispered anxiously. He pulled her upright so she could sit up. A few of the other pilots, awakened from their sleep by her screams, stumbled out of bed and down the hall, coming to her room and standing near Armstrong.

She sobbed hard, embarrassed, realizing she had awakened almost everyone in the Q. “I—I’m sorry,” she cried brokenly. “I didn’t mean to wake everyone…”

Armstrong smiled understandingly, watching as Gallagher made his way through the assembled pilots, crouching down by Storm’s left leg. “It’s okay,” Bram soothed.

Storm felt Bram’s firm grip on her arm. It had an immediate mollifying effect on her turbulent emotional state.

“I’ll take care of her,” Bram told the others, daring any of them to dispute his right to do so. She was his partner. He was her copilot. It was an unwritten law that they took care of each other, and it didn’t matter how new he was. Reluctantly Armstrong released his grip on Storm’s other arm. There was a trace of disbelief in his green eyes, questioning Bram’s motives. He glanced up at Storm, who was trying to wipe away the tears with her trembling hands.

“Stormie?”

“I—Bram will take care of me,” she stammered thickly. “I’m going to get up anyway. You guys don’t need me waking you up again. Especially when we’re on alert.” She rosé unsteadily, grateful for Bram’s assistance. Grabbing her boots, she stumbled from the room and headed toward the lounge. She found a chair and sat down, pulling on the boots and lacing them up expertly out of habit. Bram joined her moments later, his boots already on. His hair was tousled, his eyes puffy with sleep. She felt a sharp stab of guilt as she met his inquiring blue gaze.

“I’m sorry, Bram,” she murmured, standing.

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Don’t be. Come on, let’s go for a walk. You need some fresh air.”

How did he know that? The confining area was almost suffocating her. She made no protest when he kept his hand on her arm as he led her outside into the muggy night. They walked away from the building toward the ramp in the distance. Once the darkness closed in on her, she felt better. Looking up, Storm lost herself in the beauty of the night sky. They walked for almost ten minutes before she finally came to a stop and turned to Bram.

“You must think I’m crazy.”

His craggy features were shadowed by the starlight as he looked down on her. “No. I think something traumatic happened recently. I’ve known too many good pilots who had to bail out or lost someone in a crash to think you’re crazy.” A slight smile pulled at his mouth. “You scared the hell out of me, though. I probably rosé two feet off that bunk when you started screaming.”

Storm shakily pushed her slender fingers through her hair. “God, I feel like a fool,” she muttered. “What will the other guys think?”

Bram reached out, placing both hands on her shoulders, his fingers lightly massaging the tenseness out of them. “They were worried for you, Storm. Want to tell me what happened? I’m your copilot, remember? We’re a team now.”

She was grateful for his gentle demeanor. His hands were strong and coaxing to her taut shoulder muscles, and she longed just to fall into his arms. Hesitantly she told him about Dave Walker. Tears welled up in her eyes again as she repeated the nightmare to him.

Bram released her, then lifted his callused hands and framed her face, forcing her to look up at him. His heart wrenched in his chest as he saw the glittering gray diamonds of her eyes awash with tears.

“Look,” he said evenly, “that was a situation where no matter what you said or how you felt, Storm, Dave would have done it anyway. If he loved children that much, you had to expect that of him. He counted on the smuggler giving up the child, not shooting him instead,” he told her softly.

Huge tears rolled down her taut cheeks and Bram’s features blurred. “But—but I lost my copilot!” she cried hoarsely. “I was responsible! I should have done something more—”

Bram’s face tightened, his eyes darkening. “Listen to me, Storm,” he said gruffly in a more authoritative voice, “you did all you could. You sat with a helicopter perched on a yacht that was unstable as hell. There was no way you could shut down the 52 and go out there to help him. The helicopter might have slid off into the ocean. You accurately assessed your duties.” His lips became a grim line. “Quit blaming yourself. You’re human. You did the best you could under some hellish circumstances. You’re damn lucky those smugglers didn’t start firing at you. Hell, you could have been killed too!”

His touch was excruciating, awakening her dormant senses to an agonizing awareness. What he said was true. She knew that in her head. But in her heart—her heart was shattered with the loss of Dave. She had lost two men whom she had loved and cared for deeply in the span of a year. Dave had been like a replacement for her brother Cal, whom she adored but rarely saw anymore.

“Oh, Bram…” she whispered rawly, “I hurt so much inside for Dave’s wife and his children…”

“Come here,” he ordered sternly, and took her into his arms, crushing her against his body. He had felt her hesitate initially but then Storm had fallen against him like a supple willow. He groaned, feeling her softness yield against the hard planes of his body. He placed one hand against her silken hair, aware of her special female fragrance that thrilled all his senses. She buried her head on his shoulder, crying softly, and he held her, rocking her gently in the darkness, murmuring comforting words of solace near her ear.

Finally the tears eased and so did the pain she had been carrying in her heart. The feel of being held was overwhelmingly consoling to her ravaged spirit, and Storm nuzzled into Bram like a lost kitten beneath his solid jaw, content to remain there. Other senses were coming to life within her, though, as she became aware of his steady heartbeat, his male scent, and the strength of his arms around her body, providing her with safety. It was all so crazy. She had known Bram Gallagher less than a week, and here she was in his arms. Somehow it seemed right, and she knew he felt the same way.

Bram stroked her hair. “Better?” His voice was husky.

Storm nodded, not wanting to pull away but knowing she must. Reluctantly she placed her hands on his chest, looking up into his shadowed unreadable face. His cobalt eyes gleamed, sending a shiver of longing coursing through her.

“I’m sure you need this on top of everything else,” she said, her voice hoarse.

A slight smile curved the corners of his mouth. “I don’t consider you a problem, Storm.” His arms tightened momentarily against her, and she became wildly aware of his arousal, her body tingling with an aching fire of its own. “Matter of fact, if you want the truth, it’s nice to be needed again.”

Her heart wrenched as she heard the pain reflected in his voice. He had tried to disguise it with lightness, but she had heard the inflection. Bram was affecting her sensually, and Storm fought to maintain a level of lucidity. Stepping out of his embrace, she said, “You don’t need me crying on your shoulder.”

Again that same smile warmed her heart. “How long has it been since you cried, Storm?”

Touching her flushed cheeks with her palms, she closed her eyes. “A year.”

“I’m glad you decided to put those tears on my shoulder, then,” he said, pointing to the darkened patch on his flight uniform.

She managed a partial smile. “Masochist.”

“You got it. Come on; feel like walking back now?”

Storm hesitated, her eyes widening. “I—I’m afraid I’ll wake them up again with my screams.”

Bram shook his head. He slid his hand around her waist, pulling her against him and urging her to walk beside him. “It won’t come back tonight, Storm.”