Off the Map (Winter Rescue #2) (9 page)

“All right. I’m in.”

His heart surged, but he maintained a wary front. “On what condition?”

“No condition,” she said. “Let’s just say I’m moved by your concern. I can respect a man willing to fight that hard for someone he loves.”

He waited patiently for the rest, but it seemed that was all she had to say.

Chapter Five

“Thanks for taking the time to see me before the meeting.”

Carrie managed a smile and pushed a paper cup of coffee toward Newman, hoping he wouldn’t notice it was missing a good three inches off the top. She always drank too much when she was anxious—it was some kind of evolutionary need to pump her body with fluids so she could push them all out in a nervous sweat later—so a healthy portion of his latte had made its way into her stomach already.

She was going to need the caffeine more than he would, anyway. It promised to be a long night.

“No problem.” She cast a glance around their empty meeting space, a church rec room with poor ventilation and buzzing fluorescent lights overhead. Their Search and Rescue group didn’t have an official headquarters, but they often met in this basement, which, though not well-ventilated or particularly cheery, was large enough to hold them all. “Is this about my clearance? You don’t have to worry. I haven’t officially had my license revoked yet, so until the notice from the FAA comes through, it’s perfectly legal for me to take the Falcon up.”

Legal but probably not the smartest decision of her adult life. There were no rules preventing her from taking out the recently acquired SAR chopper—nicknamed the Falcon for its bright red color, easily visible in the snow—but she wasn’t devoid of common sense, either. She was basically sitting here, asking Newman to personally hammer the last nail in her career.

Strange how much it felt as if she were asking him to personally hammer that nail into her stomach instead.

She forced a laugh. “In fact, it’s probably a good idea for you to take advantage of this opportunity while you still can. In a few weeks, I’m probably going to be completely useless to you anyway. Clipped wings and all that. You might as well get one last run out of me before you have to kick me to the curb, right?”

Newman didn’t seem compelled to stop her babbling, so she bit on her lip to keep anything else from spilling out. Excess liquid consumption and nervous prattle—it was all coming back to her now. She had several not-so-fond memories of standing before her father just like this, his silent disapproval sending her into a spiral of idle chatter and manic frenzy. Looking back, it was hard to tell if he’d done it on purpose—punished her adolescent transgressions with oppressive, absolute silence—but he couldn’t have come up with a more effective way to keep her in line. She’d have given anything for a temper tantrum and a slammed door.

She wouldn’t mind either one of those things right now, but Newman remained firmly in place. It took about ten more seconds for understanding to hit, almost leveling her flat.

“How stupid of me. You’re kicking me to the curb now, aren’t you? That’s why you wanted to see me before everyone else got here.”

“No. That’s not it.”

“Oh, thank God.” She hadn’t meant to give so much of herself away, but it was too late for soldierly restraint. That ship had sailed long ago—much to her father’s dismay. “Then what did you want to talk about?”

Newman gestured toward one of the folding chairs and waited while she settled herself before taking his own seat. “You were fired from your job.”

She nodded, even though he hadn’t phrased it as a question.

“Can I ask why?”

She stared at him, at his perfectly immobile mustache, wishing she could read this man as well as she could read Scott. Some women might prefer the tall, dark, and silent, but give her an accessible and explosive bastard any day. At least she never had to wonder what Scott was thinking.

“You don’t know why I was fired? Did you forget that whole episode last month where I went rogue and almost totaled a highly sophisticated piece of medical flight equipment?”

Newman gave a discreet cough. “I’m familiar with the report the medevac company headquarters filed with the FAA, and I’m aware of the obstacles you’re up against now. But what I’d like to hear is your version of events.”

“My version of events?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“If I don’t mind?”

He smiled in what she assumed was supposed to be some kind of assent and sat back in his chair, hands folded over his stomach. And then he waited. Watched. Stared.

“I’m not sure I understand,” she said slowly. “You were there when they released me—you even talked directly to my boss. I took the helicopter out against corporate policy. The tail rotor failed on the way back. I had to make a running landing, and with the winds as strong as they were, it was less than perfectly executed.”

She’d told the story so many times now she practically had it memorized. Reason. Cause. Outcome. Repeat.

“I’m not a highly educated man, Carrie, and I don’t pretend to have all the answers, but the last time I checked, a helicopter pilot can’t just hijack a 9-1-1 call and force a team of paramedics to accompany her onboard.” Newman’s mustache tilted dramatically upward, almost as if he were smiling underneath it. “At least, not without a gun and an outstanding warrant for her arrest.”

“It was complicated. I misunderstood my orders.”

“Ah. I see.” His words accepted her story. His tone did not. “I wonder…was it complicated to be in communication with the emergency operator the whole time you’d gone rogue?”

She bit the side of her lip.

“And did you misunderstand the control tower when you were cleared for takeoff and landing?”

She bit the other side.

Newman’s mustache twitched again, this time more gently—almost benevolently. He leaned forward, closing the distance between them. “According to what I’ve been able to glean, you weren’t on the clock when the call came in, which leads me to believe one of two things. Either you really did storm in there with a gun and a suicide mission, or you were asked to make a special trip because you were the only pilot willing—and able—to make the trip under those weather conditions. Especially since it would have to be done away from the watchful eye of the suits who sign your paychecks.”

She stopped biting long enough to release a pent-up breath. It should’ve been a relief to have the truth out there, to know that not
everyone
viewed her as a massive liability to the human race, but she felt more anxiety than anything else.

“You can’t tell anyone,” she said quickly. “If the FAA or corporate headquarters asks, I acted alone. It was my bad judgment call that took us out there, my mistakes in the air that caused us to crash. End of story.”

“You’re not going to tell me the truth?”

She shook her head. She wanted to—she really did, but it wasn’t her truth to tell. Her boss had a wife and four kids. The EMTs who’d been on the flight with her had a couple of spouses and another four kids between them. The receptionist who’d asked her to come in took care of her elderly mother.

They were all technically culpable and in line for immediate termination for answering that call, but Carrie was the only one without family, without any real ties to this city, without people who depended on her or even cared all that much if she ended up on the streets. Carrie was the only one who was completely alone.

“It was my fault.” She stuck her chin out. “I’m sorry for the damages I caused, but I’m not sorry for going to get that woman. I’d do it all over again if I had to.”

Newman’s expression didn’t change. “Even if it means I can’t, in good conscience, allow you to take Scott out tomorrow?”

Her chin sank. Her heart sank. Her whole body melted into a puddle on the floor. “That’s not fair.”

“It’s not,” he agreed. “Do you want to change your story now?”

“I don’t believe this. You’re blackmailing me.”

“That I am.”

“I’m a good pilot.”

“That you are.”

She shot to her feet, furious at Newman for agreeing with her, furious at Scott for putting her in this position, and furious with herself for wanting to put that ungrateful bastard above everyone and everything else. She almost did it, too. She almost gave up every one of the coworkers she’d lost her job trying to protect in order to save Scott’s favorite dog.

“I know my own limitations, sir,” she said, resorting to the formal tones she’d always adopted when speaking to her father.
Yes, sir. No, sir. Of course I’m not yelling, sir.
“The crash was unfortunate, but it had nothing to do with the weather conditions or the circumstances. It was a broken tail rotor, something no one could have predicted, and something that could have happened just as easily on a windless summer day. I would never,
ever
put my crew or a patient at risk unnecessarily. You have to believe that.”

“I do.” This time, his smile moved more than his mustache, reaching all the way up to the crinkles around his eyes. “In fact, that’s what I told the investigator looking into your case when they asked me for a report.”

She glanced up, eyes wide. “The FAA asked you?”

“They did.”

“And…do you think they’re going to let me keep flying?”

“Honestly?” His gaze didn’t waver from hers. “I think taking this mission isn’t going to do you any favors. It makes you appear reckless.”

Disappointment crashed down on her shoulders. She’d known, before she’d finished throwing Scott out of her apartment, that accepting this job would be professional suicide. But to hear it confirmed—and by a man she respected as much as this one—well, it hurt.

It
hurt
. That was the one thing no one seemed to understand. There was nothing about this situation that felt good, but running away from it wasn’t an option. “Does this mean you’re not going to let us go out?”

“Of course not. Rescues are what we do.” He sighed, and she realized that however unenviable her position was, Newman’s had to be about ten times worse. He and Scott were close—closer than most people realized—and if it was killing
her
to see how much pain Scott was in over Mara’s disappearance, she could only imagine what Newman was going through. “I just wanted to make sure you understand what you’re potentially losing here.”

Oh, she knew. Whether driven by guilt or fear of contamination by association, her former coworkers had shown themselves reluctant to continue being friends with her after she’d been let go. If she lost the SAR group the same way, there’d be nothing left for her here. “I know it probably seems silly, risking everything for a guy who doesn’t even like me.”

“I will admit to questioning your motivations. You do realize that no one will blame you if you turn this mission down? It’s well within your rights to say no. You don’t have to go just because he asked you to.”

She blinked back tears, thinking of the way her hopes had risen just before Scott crushed them under his heel. For a few minutes there, she’d thought he was asking her for comfort, for love, for the kind of reassurance that could only come from being in the arms of someone you cared about.

Those had been a lovely few minutes. A cruel joke, but lovely.

“I know I don’t have to,” she said, and smiled tightly. “But I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I let my personal issues get in the way of a rescue. If anyone else on the SAR team were to come to me with this request, I’d do it without a moment’s hesitation. It’s not right to punish Mara because Scott is an asshole.”

Newman laughed. It was a strange sound, deep and rusty from underuse, but still pleasant. “A fair assessment.”

Probably
too
fair, but what other option was there? Making herself invaluable to others was what she did best. “Does this mean you’ll let us take the Falcon?”

“She’s all yours. It’s going to be a hard sell explaining to the sheriff’s office why I signed off on the expenditures for this one, but I can handle him. He owes me.” Newman winked but immediately counteracted the show of friendliness with a stern cough. “But I don’t take this mission lightly. I’m counting on you to make sure Scott doesn’t get out of control out there. I’d like you to be my eyes and ears.”

She stared at him. “Me?”

“You know the stakes and your limitations better than anyone—and you also have the advantage of being able to manage Scott. Once he gets out there, he’s not going to be easy to rein in. I’ll expect you to rely on the national park ranger to guide the way, but I’m putting you in official charge of the operation.”

Carrie didn’t know what to say. People didn’t put her in charge of anything. Not plants, not animals, not important decisions, and certainly not rescue missions like this one. That was one of the benefits—and drawbacks—of having a reputation like hers.

“You can’t be serious.”

Newman got to his feet and squeezed her shoulder so tight it felt like a hug. “I never joke about Search and Rescue. You’re still fairly new to the team, Carrie, but I hope you realize how proud I am of you—how proud all of us are. There aren’t many people out there willing to take a stand for their convictions, and there are even fewer who will remain standing when things get as hard as they have for you. You’ll always have a place with us, no matter what the FAA ends up ruling. I hope you know that.”

She blinked, unable to offer anything more than a feeble, “Yes, sir,” in reply.

“Good.” He squeezed again. “And for your sake as well as Scott’s, I hope you find that goddamned dog.”

# # #

The mission came together too easily. Scott didn’t like it.

He’d come prepared with a speech and selected one of his favorite dogs yet to be placed, a cheerful golden retriever named Jenga who excelled at picking up dog trails. He’d expected to have to get on his knees to beg enough SAR members to make a full team. And he was sure having Carrie in the room glaring at him with murder in her eyes would prevent all but the bravest from joining them in a tin can that whizzed through the air.

As it was, they had to draw names.