Nancy Gideon - Warrior For One Night

By all but one.

It was her worst hangover squared.

Moving woke an Anvil Chorus between her temples punctuated by the cannons from the 1812 Overture. Every inch of her ached. She had no business crawling out of bed, except the business she had to take care of. She’d used all her persuasive powers on the physician at the E.R. to agree to let her go home without an overnight stay.

Now, to find out if she still had a job.

After shaking a few more pain relievers into her hand and swallowing them dry, she gathered the courage to knock.

He’d saved her butt the night before. There was no way around that. Her mistakes had almost gotten them both killed. If she had a scrap of self-respect, she’d make her apologies and gracefully resign. But she needed the paycheck. Desperately. And now she had the E.R. bill hanging over her head, bouncing behind her aching eyes like a bad check.

He’d done more than come to her rescue. That’s what chafed her emotions raw. He’d stayed with her. Though she’d been drifting in and out, the only constant she could recall was his presence. And she’d clung to it and the firm press of his hand. In the ambulance, in the E.R., he’d stuck by her, offering up a small smile of encouragement as she lay helpless. She hadn’t had the chance to thank him. And he hadn’t told her goodbye. She’d tried to find him through the thick forest of her friends but he was gone. And even though she’d been surrounded by noisy familiarity, she’d felt suddenly alone.

The door opened and they stood face-to-face.

A rush of complex feelings had Mel tongue-tied and awkward. What did you say to a man who’d saved your life and babysat you through a trauma unit? What did you say when your heart was abruptly hammering hard and fast with a press of emotions that gratitude couldn’t come close to explaining? The urge to fling her arms about his neck and steam the stiffness from his lips with her kiss had her trembling in an effort at restraint.

His brusque attitude saved her from that mistake.

“I need to make another pickup from the seller in California. He’s gotten an offer for the rest of his collection and the buyer wants a look at it first.”

He stepped back from the door and went to get his coat. Mel blinked, totally off balance. No inquiry as to her health. No sign of concern whatsoever. After cradling her hand and wearing her blood on his designer clothes, he was back to all business as if they’d never shared…What? What had they shared? What was she trying to make out of it? She cleared her throat gruffly and squared her stance, trying to appear competent and in control while her careening thoughts and emotions pinballed inside her.

“I got a clean bill to fly.”

He didn’t even glance around. “I assumed as much or you wouldn’t be here.”

I’m fine. Thank you for asking.

He shrugged into his suit jacket, grabbed up his case and brushed by her without a glance. Expressing a sigh, Mel followed. And she followed the way he moved with a new appreciation. Xander Caufield was full of surprises.

Once closed in the elevator together, they stood shoulder to shoulder, both intently watching the floor numbers count down. Might as well get it over with.

“Thank you.”

No shift in expression betrayed that he’d heard her. Just when she was about to swallow down her pride to say more, she felt the brush of his fingertips against hers. Then the warm, firm squeeze of his hand. That was it.

Enough said. She smiled faintly to herself as the doors opened to the lobby.

The fact that he chose to sit up front with her said more. She hoped it wasn’t because he was afraid he’d have to be there to catch her if she decided to pass out.

Once they were in the air and cruising, she glanced over at his immobile profile. When she lifted up the edge of his jacket, he turned to her in what was almost alarm.

“Just wondering where you kept the superhero suit.”

“What?”

“I haven’t seen moves like yours outside of an afternoon adventure matinee.”

A slight smile but no response. She prompted him with a lift of her brows.

“Private school.”

It was her turn to look confused.

“I was that skinny, sensitive, geeky kid with glasses who used to get beaten up every morning for his café latte money. I was Alex Caufield III back then and I used to hide in the janitor’s closet until after the final bell so I could sneak into my seat without a bloody nose. There was no dignity in it but it was a lot less painful.”

“So your folks enrolled you in martial arts classes?”

“No. My mother didn’t believe violence was a solution to any problem. So I used my café latte money to pay our Korean gardener to teach me how to kick the crap out of anyone who got in my face. Classes are for earning trophies. Street fighting is to keep your glasses from getting broken.”

“And now no one gets in your face,” she concluded, impressed but not wanting to show it.

A small smug smile. No, she supposed they didn’t.

“So why hire me when you can do your own crap kicking?”

“Company policy. Liability purposes.” Catching her thoughtful look, he turned his attention to the scenery, ending the exchange of more words than they’d totaled for the past two days. She reassessed him with a leisurely look. A street fighter in Armani. An enticing contradiction.

They traveled in silence for a time until he broke it with a soft oath. She followed his stare downward and understood his horror. They were approaching the fire zone.

It was like flying over hell.

A crackle of static on the radio had Mel quickly adjusting the frequency. And what she managed to pick up chilled her.

“Firefighter down. Requests emergency extraction.”

The signal was weak and breaking up. She put on her headphones to filter out the copter noise, but still the message was fragmented. She waited, breath suspended.

“Come on. Somebody answer.”

“What is it?”

Alerted by her tone and tense posture, Xander pulled the earphone away so she could hear his urgent question. The look she gave him was stark with dismay.

“One of our guys is down. He got cut off from his crew by a sudden backfire. He’s injured. I don’t know how bad.”

“He’s down there?” Xander nodded to the inferno below.

“Yes.”

“Isn’t someone going in for him?”

“I don’t think his call got out.”

He followed her anxious attempts to contact the stranded firefighter who wasn’t answering. She put out a call to any nearby aircraft, but the closest was too far away to do the injured man any good. She cursed low and passionately. The nose of the copter dipped and they swooped down to skim the burning treetops. The heat was sudden and intense. Struggling to see through the thick haze of smoke, Xander finally called out, “There he is.”

The situation was a worst-case scenario. They could see the single figure, prostrate on the ground with the fury of the beast rushing toward him. Mel tried the radio again. No answer.

“There’s no place for me to set down and he can’t hook himself up to a harness.”

“I’ll go down.”

She must not have heard him right. “What?”

“I’ll go down after him.”

She stared at him, flabbergasted. “Are you crazy?”

He never even blinked. “You’ve got a hoist back there, right? I’ll go down after him and you bring us both back up.”

He made it sound so simple. Her heart started beating fast and furious. “You have no idea how dangerous—”

“I’ve been rock climbing and base jumping since I was fifteen. I know how to rappel. Does that man have the time it’ll take for you to check my credentials?” His voice lowered, becoming rough, soft and persuasive. “Mel, you’re going to have to trust me. I know what I’m doing. And I’m going to have to trust you to pull me out of there before both of us are barbecue.”