Tristan narrowed her eyes. “You’re not lost by any chance, are you?”

The soldier turned back to Tristan, a curious question in her eyes, and the elevator doors opened and then closed, leaving her still standing in the small foyer. She pushed the down button again. “No.”

Well then, why are you here, Tristan wanted to ask, but it wasn’t any of her business, and she didn’t have any time left. “Enjoy the rest of the day.”

“You too, and stay alert out there,” the brunette said.

“Thanks,” Tristan said, and ran for the helicopter. Linda, with one hand on the handle of the large side sliding door, leaned out of the aircraft, whose rotors were already spinning. Tristan could make out the rest of the team inside. She ducked her head and vaulted into the cabin. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

Linda pulled the door closed and tapped Jett on the shoulder, saying at the same time, “All aboard, Chief.”

Tristan strapped in next to Linda and, keeping her transmitter turned off, leaned close. Under cover of the motor revving, she asked “Who was that?”

“Who?” Linda asked.

“The brunette. The soldier.”

“Oh. I don’t know. A friend of Jett’s, I guess. She showed up in the flight lounge a while ago, asking for Jett.”

Tristan frowned. “And Jett brought her up here?” To our favorite place, she almost said.

“I don’t think so. I think she came up on her own.”

“Pretty fucking good friend,” Tristan muttered, “or a pretty ballsy one.”

“What?” Linda yelled, signaling that she couldn’t hear.

Tristan shook her head. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

Except it did. It mattered a hell of a lot. Because no matter how much Jett said whatever had happened between her and the mystery woman in the Army was over, her eyes said otherwise. Tristan didn’t believe in coincidences, not when they showed up out of the blue and acted like they owned the place. Following Jett to the flight deck. Hell.

She stared past Quinn into the cockpit. She couldn’t see Jett’s face, only her shoulder, one arm, and her hand. She watched Jett’s fingers cradle the stick, reading the aircraft through its vibration and pitch, just as she had read Tristan’s body as she’d clenched and tightened. Tristan had a quick flash of Jett grabbing Mandy, of her hands skimming Mandy’s breasts, and suddenly Mandy became the woman by the elevator. Only this time Jett wasn’t just touching the woman, the woman was touching Jett too. The idea made something inside Tristan coil so tightly she felt herself quiver.

A strong hand gripped her shoulder and broke her reverie.

“You okay?” Quinn yelled.

“Yeah. Fine.” Tristan tore her eyes away from Jett. “Couldn’t be better.”

“It’s going to get hairy down there,” Quinn said, peering into Tristan’s face. “Stay focused.”

“Always am.” Tristan closed her eyes so Quinn couldn’t read them, and blanked her mind. They’d be in the field in a few minutes and lives depended on her being sharp. She didn’t have time to think about Jett, or why the idea of Jett with any other woman made her furious. She wanted to hang a sign on Jett that said mine. What the hell was that about?

Jett studied her approach through the wide windows of the glassedin cockpit. Even from a few miles away, signs of the devastation were clearly evident. The air surrounding the site of the freeway collapse was cloudy with particulate matter, probably concrete dust, resembling what she’d seen in Baghdad after buildings had been reduced to rubble by missiles and bombs. She tensed, half expecting incoming fire, automatically preparing to begin evasive maneuvers. Despite the internal climate control on the aircraft, she was sweating. The closer she got, the more the ground action looked like a war zone. Huge slabs of concrete were standing on end, resembling a jumble of giant dominoes haphazardly tossed about. A section of the overpass had accordioned down onto the highway below. If the collapse had occurred even a half a mile in either direction, there would have been houses buried in the rubble rather than just vehicles.

“Oh my God,” Jett heard Linda say over the radio. “There are cars everywhere. In the water…oh my God.”

Cars floated upside down in the Delaware River, kept afloat by air pockets inside the vehicles. Jett figured there had to be dozens more beneath the surface. At one spot where two block-long sections of the highway formed a funnel, cars and trucks lay piled at the bottom of the vee. Coast Guard cruisers and smaller boats littered the waterways.

Emergency vehicles jammed the side streets in all directions. A news helicopter drifted into view. Jett disliked sharing her airspace with news choppers. Even experienced emergency helicopter pilots occasionally crossed paths midair, but the news pilots tended to be too busy jockeying for camera angles and exclusive shots to adhere to strict safety protocols. Risk takers. Jett might take chances, but she knew her limits. They didn’t.

“This is Healthstar 3, two nine nine PMC. Request LZ site.” The FAA would have set up a temporary flight restriction above and around the disaster area, so the TV and radio news choppers weren’t likely to come any closer. Just the same, Jett slowed and circled, keeping an eye on them while waiting for clearance to land on one of the designated landing zones. The firecrews on the ground would direct her to one.

“Roger Healthstar 3. Your LZ is the Marina parking lot. You have power lines at the southwest corner. Land between the trucks.”

“Roger.”

Jett set down in the parking lot on the river side of the destroyed highway, a few hundred yards from the center of the rescue activity.

She climbed down from the cockpit to help unload the emergency equipment.

“Try to work as a team,” Quinn instructed the medics. “If another crew requests assistance, go ahead, but let me know where you’re going. We don’t want to lose anyone out here, and these situations can be unstable. Don’t take any chances.”

Jett edged through the people toward Tristan, who was offloading equipment. She had been surprised to see Tristan climb aboard, but her overwhelming response had been pleasure. Pleasure and relief. Gail—Gail who was no longer part of her world—had just appeared out of

nowhere and then disappeared just as quickly, and Jett didn’t want to think about her, couldn’t think about her now. And when she’d seen Tristan, Gail’s face had faded. Instead she’d remembered waking up with Tristan in her arms and the feeling of peace like none she’d ever experienced. All the while she’d been in the air, she’d thought about Tristan. Tristan, who never seemed afraid to talk about anything, who could get Jett to talk, to feel, even when she didn’t want to. Tristan, who wasn’t afraid of Jett or what she wanted. Jett replayed how Tris’s hard, strong body had softened with desire and how her tight, powerful muscles had trembled on the brink of orgasm. Thinking about caressing Tristan, of making her cry out with pleasure and release, fueled the hunger that had never ebbed, and Jett had to fight not to touch her. Like an addict, she craved more.

“You doing search and rescue now?” Jett asked, cramming her hands in her pockets because she didn’t trust herself.

“Being out here beats sitting back at the shop waiting.” Tristan kept dragging equipment out of the cabin. She was still thinking about the brunette. About who she was and why she’d come looking for Jett.

It bugged her that she wanted to know so badly, and she didn’t know how to ask, and she didn’t know how to stop thinking about her with Jett.

“Look,” Jett said hurriedly. “I’m going to be transporting casualties to any available hospital, and from the looks of things, we’re going to be out here for a while.”

Tristan stopped what she was doing and finally looked at Jett.

“Yeah. A very long night. Be careful.”

Jett grinned. “I was just going to say the same thing to you.”

“I’m always careful.” Tristan went back to what she was doing, stiffening when she felt Jett’s hand close around her upper arm. Even that casual contact sent her pulse into overdrive. Then Jett moved closer and their legs touched. Tristan started shaking, and for a terrifying second, she thought she might actually fall. She locked her knees and gritted her teeth. She needed some control, and she needed it fast. This thing with Jett, whatever the hell it was, had her so completely turned around she didn’t recognize herself.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Jett murmured.

Tristan shook her head. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. You’re right. I had a great time.” She lifted her shoulders and forced a casual tone. “You definitely know what you’re doing.”

Jett ran her fingers up and down the inside of Tristan’s arm, stroking the bare skin below her scrub shirt. “No, I don’t. Not where you’re concerned.”

“I gotta go,” Tristan said, aware of Quinn waiting for her nearby.

Jett was driving her crazy, not just from touching her, that was bad enough. The slightest caress got her so hot she couldn’t think. She was a little sore from all the sex, but she still wanted it. Wanted Jett. And that’s what was really driving her nuts. One minute Jett was there, touching her, taking her, pushing her to places she’d never been, and in the next minute she was gone, sequestered behind a wall of perfect indifference, leaving Tristan feeling gutted. Laid open and bleeding.

And all she could think was that she wanted more. “Fuck, I really gotta go.”

“Yeah. Go. I’ll catch you later.”

Tristan didn’t go. Instead she turned so her back was to Quinn and only Jett could see her face. “I want to kiss you right now. I want you to do to me what you did last night. How fucking crazy is that?”

“Pretty fucking crazy,” Jett agreed. She took a breath. “And about last night. When things settle down, we should do it again.”

“We should. I’ll call you.”

“Yeah, do that,” Jett called after her. She watched the team disappear, then headed toward the white van with the flag indicating it was the command post. She needed to let someone know she was available to transport. She rubbed her fingertips. They were warm, and she thought of Tristan’s skin. She thought of how easily Tristan had recognized what she needed, and how effortlessly she’d given it.

I know what you need, Gail had said. But maybe she’d been wrong.

Quinn squatted next to a fire rescue van, twisted off the top of a plastic bottle of water she’d snagged from a cooler filled with them, and punched in Honor’s cell phone number on hers. After three rings the call was picked up.

“Hello?” Honor said, sounding harried.

“Hi, love, it’s me,” Quinn said.

“Baby,” Honor replied softly. “How are you? How are things out there?”

“Pretty grim,” Quinn said. “They’ve been pulling cars out of the river for the last six hours, and it still looks like there’s more down there or under the rubble.”

“If we get many more, we’re going to have to close,” Honor said.

“We’ve converted half the fifth floor to an intermediate care unit, and all the intensive care units are full. We’re boarding patients in the ER. God only knows how much blood we have left.”

Quinn could hear the strain in her voice. “You need to go home, Honor. It’s been almost eight hours. It’s too soon for this.”

“I haven’t been walking around, I swear.”

Quinn said nothing.

“I promise I won’t stay any longer than two more hours. Then I’m gone.”

“Okay.”

“What about you? What’s it like out there?”

“Hot.” Quinn guzzled the rest of the water. She didn’t need to tell Honor about the casualties. Honor was getting them flown in to her. “A lot of cars are burning. If it wasn’t August, it would feel like it anyhow. The smoke makes it tough to see. I just talked to the OR. Every room is running. Things are slowing down a little out here. If there are people in those cars, well—there probably aren’t many more survivors, and it’s going to take a long time to get them out. Most of the acute surgical patients have been transported. I’m heading back to the OR now.”

“Are you going to be able to get any sleep before you start operating?”

“I’ll try.”

“Take care of yourself, baby. I love you.”

“I love you too. Tell Arly I said hi, and I’ll see her tomorrow sometime. Kiss Jack for me too.”

“I will. Miss you.”

“Me too.”

Quinn put her cell phone away and went to find Jett. She wanted to hitch a ride back to the hospital.

Tristan wrapped a thin strip of tape around the endotracheal tube she’d just placed and secured it to the cheek of a child who appeared to be no more than four. The Coast Guard had pulled her out of the water, just floating there. Tristan wondered where her family was and tried not to think about how long she might have been in the water, how long she’d gone without oxygen, how long her brain had suffered from hypoxia. If Tristan let the pictures of grief and loss into her head, she’d be useless. So she did her job and passed the child off to the next person to do theirs. Two medics strapped the child carefully to a gurney and trundled away. Still crouched down beside her equipment box, Tristan wiped the sweat off her forehead and was surprised to see streaks of blood on the back of her arm.