That’s why it was so odd that she felt comfortable talking to the major. Gail. Her name was Gail.

“Do you want to grab something to eat?” Gail asked.

Jett hesitated, uncertain if she wanted to say yes because a little friendly company would help take her mind off the horrors she witnessed every day, or because Major Gail Wallace made her heart beat faster. Because the last thing she wanted was to want something she couldn’t have.

“I should probably catch some rack time,” Jett finally said.

Gail studied her silently. “Another time, then.”

Jett hesitated a beat or two as Gail turned away. “On the other hand, I can sleep later.”

“Wonderful,” Gail said, smiling back over her shoulder at Jett. “Come on, then. I’m buying.”

A knock at her door brought Jett upright, icy water streaming from her face. She grabbed a towel on her way out of the bathroom.

“Yeah?” she called.

The door opened and Linda stuck her head in. “Do you want to pitch in for pizza? We ordered a bunch.”

Jett rubbed her face vigorously and shook the water from her hair.

“Okay. Sure. I’ll be right out.”

“Don’t wait too long or there won’t be anything left but the boxes.”

The door swung closed and Jett sank down on the side of her bed.

In the six weeks she’d been at PMC, she hadn’t gotten friendly with anyone. The first few weeks she’d spent riding with other pilots to get used to the system and the crews, rotating shifts until her mandatory probation period was over. For the last few weeks she’d been on a regular rotation and flew with the same crew more often than not. Without the division of rank, the civilian crews were more relaxed and informal than she was used to in the military. Until now, she’d been able to avoid a lot of the socializing that went on, but she couldn’t keep ducking the people she worked with without being rude. As much as she wanted to stretch out on her bed with her eyes closed and just wait, with her mind blank, until the next call out, she pulled the door open and stepped into the lounge. She could pretend to enjoy herself for a few minutes of meaningless conversation. She was good at pretending.

Tristan piled her beepers and the rest of her gear on the dull brown metal cabinet that served as a bedside table in her on-call room. After calling the page operator with her extension, she kicked off her running shoes and socks, and crawled under the sheet, still in her scrubs. The adrenaline rush was tailing off, and she was hovering on that edge between exhilaration and exhaustion. She needed to get some sleep, but her mind was racing.

More reporters had been waiting when Healthstar arrived back at the hospital. Apparently someone at the scene had called the hospital’s powers that be, too, and the chief of anesthesia had been rousted from bed and had met them on the roof with the trauma team. He was in the OR doing the case right now. Tristan wasn’t insulted that she’d been bumped, since she would have had to call in backup if she’d gone to the OR. Considering the extent of the patient’s injuries, she’d have been in the operating room all night long. Unfortunately, Tristan had been delegated to feed the reporters something so they wouldn’t begin gnawing each other’s arms off.

After fielding questions for fifteen minutes, she’d finally escaped.

The state police had verified that the woman was indeed the governor’s daughter-in-law, which meant this story was going to be top news for the foreseeable future. If she was lucky, someone else would have to deal with the press after tonight. With a sigh, she closed her eyes and tried to relax. She could feel her pulse racing, and with nowhere to divert all those jumbled hormones, her body channeled them elsewhere. She felt a familiar stirring between her legs. Great. Wired and horny.

If she’d been reasonably certain she wouldn’t be interrupted, she might have been tempted to do something about the insistent thrum of excitement in the pit of her stomach, but the last thing she wanted to do was get even more worked up and then get called before she could finish. She’d just have to tough it out, and sooner or later, her mind would shut down and she’d fall asleep. She was just on the verge of drifting off when the phone rang.

“Holmes,” she said.

“Hi, Dr. Holmes. It’s Mary up in L and D. We need you up here right away.”

“I’m on trauma call—I think maybe you want Jerry Edwar—”

“Nope, we want you. Dr. Maguire specifically asked for you if you were in-house.”

“Quinn?” Tristan thought Quinn was still in Vegas. “What’s she got to do with it?”

“Dr. Blake has been in labor since late last night. She might need to be sectioned and—”

“I’m on my way.” Tristan dropped the phone into the cradle and rolled out of bed. After pulling on her socks and running shoes, she clipped her beepers back to her waist and took off at a jog. Labor and Delivery was all the way on the other side of the hospital and up two floors. The obstetricians needed their operating rooms near the newborn nursery and neonatal intensive care units. The doctors and nurses in obstetrics had very little to do with the other hospital staff, with the exception of the pediatric intensivists, who camped out in the neonatal intensive care unit taking care of the critically ill preemies.

Honor Blake is about to deliver. Jesus. Tristan tried to remember how far along Honor was in her pregnancy. Honor was chief of emergency medicine, but Tristan knew Quinn Maguire, Honor’s partner, far better. Quinn was now the trauma chief at PMC, but before that she’d been a trauma fellow at the same hospital in Manhattan where Tristan had been an anesthesia resident. Tristan had been surprised along with everyone else when Quinn didn’t stay on at St. Michael’s in a staff position, but then she’d heard Quinn had fallen in love and settled happily in Philadelphia. Tristan had met Honor a few times when she’d been called to the emergency room. The ER at PMC handled surgical as well as medical emergencies, including trauma. Whenever she was on call, Tristan was down there at least once. Honor was smart and easy to work with, and the last time Tristan had seen her, very pregnant.

Tristan barreled through the double doors at L&D and saw Quinn, wearing rumpled navy scrubs, pacing in front of the nurses’ station.

From the looks of her, Quinn hadn’t been to bed in quite some time. Her jet black hair was disheveled, and even from the end of the hall, her blue eyes appeared bruised. Tristan couldn’t remember ever seeing Quinn so agitated. Unlike many surgeons, Quinn was the epitome of calm in the midst of crisis. She rarely raised her voice, almost never lost her temper, and had just about the fastest hands Tristan had ever seen.

If she ever woke up in the trauma unit needing emergency surgery, she wanted Quinn Maguire to be standing over her.

“Hey, Quinn, I hear you’re about to add another member to the family.”

Quinn smiled, but it seemed forced. About Tristan’s height, she ordinarily moved like an athlete, powerfully graceful. At the moment, she looked like all that power was about to roar down the hall with the force of a flash flood in a desert arroyo. Quinn was surrounded by so much nervous energy the air practically crackled. “Honor’s been in labor twenty hours. The baby’s holding up, but Honor’s getting pretty tired.”

Tristan clapped a hand on Quinn’s shoulder. “Who’s the OB?”

“Deb Brandeis.”

“That’s good news.” Since Tristan spent a lot of time in OB and the NICU doing high-risk anesthesia procedures, she knew Deb well, and Deb was that rare mixture of highly competent and deeply caring.

At that moment, a small redhead in baby blue scrubs popped out of a patient room and headed toward them like a whirlwind.

“Hi, Tris.”

“Hey, Deb.” Tristan grabbed Honor’s chart off the counter and flipped through to the medical intake form. As she scanned it, she said,

“How are we doing?”

“Moving along. Quinn,” Deb said, clasping Quinn’s arm. “We just had a dip in the baby’s heart rate. It only lasted a few seconds but—”

“No more waiting.” Quinn was already halfway down the hall.

“Let’s go.”

Tristan watched her. “Jesus, she’s wound up.”

“Normal for the expectant partner at this point,” Deb said easily.

“Let me talk to Honor and tell the nurses to get the room set. Are you ready?”

“How’s the epidural?” Tristan asked. It was standard to insert a catheter into the lower portion of the spinal canal and inject anesthetic directly around the cord to reduce the pain of the labor contractions.

The mother remained awake, and the regional anesthetic avoided the need for potent sedatives that could adversely affect the baby’s heart and respiratory rates.

“The block is working great. Honor’s been pretty comfortable.”

“Then I just need to get her to sign a consent. Anything else I need to know?” Tristan joined Deb on her way down the hall.

“She’s healthy. No meds. No significant family history. She had one uncomplicated vaginal delivery about ten years ago.”

“Piece of cake, then,” Tristan said.

“Yeah, except both parents are doctors.” Deb laughed. “Why do I get them all?”

Tristan bumped her shoulder. “Must be because you’re the best.”

“Must be.”

“Don’t look so worried, baby,” Honor said, mustering as much strength and positive attitude as she could. God, she was tired. She didn’t remember this being so much work the first time she did it, but she’d been ten years younger then too. Younger and never touched by tragedy. Everything was different now, and remembering what made life so very good, she grasped Quinn’s hand. “I love you. Everything is going to be fine.”

“I know.” Quinn squatted next to the bed, holding Honor’s hand to her cheek as she stroked her damp, sun-streaked hair. Honor’s collar length waves were lusterless, her deep chestnut eyes shadowed with exhaustion. “Deb thinks you’ve about had enough hard work for one day. I agree.”

“She said that dip in the fetal heart rate wasn’t anything to worry about,” Honor said, her eyes going to the monitor by the bedside that beat at a steady hundred and sixty a minute. “The baby’s fine.”

“Absolutely,” Quinn said, her voice raspy. “But it’s time for you to rest, sweetheart.”

Honor sighed. “It will take me four times as long to recover if I have a C-section.”

Quinn grinned. “Then I guess you’ll be out of work eight days instead of two.”

“I want to be able to take care of the baby when I get home.”

“You will.” Quinn leaned over and kissed her forehead. “You’ll just need a little extra help for a week or two. Arly and Phyllis will love doing extra baby duty. So will I.”

Honor frowned at the mention of their daughter. “Have you talked to Arly? Is she okay? She’s not scared, is she?”

“Arly? Scared?” Quinn laughed. “I can’t answer her questions fast enough, starting with, why can’t she visit, followed by when can she see you and the baby. She’s waiting by the phone for my hourly updates. Phyllis said she refused to go to sleep until Phyllis promised to wake her up for my calls.”

“Thank God for Phyllis.” Honor sighed. They’d all be lost without Arly’s grandmother. “Don’t tell Arly about the surgery. I’ll explain that when I see her.”

Quinn kissed her again, this time on the lips. “I won’t.”

Quinn looked over her shoulder at the knock on the door. Deb entered with Tristan right behind her.

“Honor, honey,” Deb said. “It’s time to get this little camper some daylight.”

“Okay,” Honor said, finally giving in to the inevitable. “Hi, Tristan.”

“Hi, Honor.” Tristan put Honor’s chart on the bedside table and swung her stethoscope from around her neck. “Let me listen to your heart and lungs real fast, then I need you to sign this consent.”

“I’ll see you in the OR.” Deb patted Honor’s hand and disappeared.

A moment later, Tristan followed her out.

“Don’t go anywhere, okay?” Honor gripped Quinn’s hand more tightly. She was used to being in charge, making hard decisions quickly, and accepting responsibility. She’d been alone, raising her daughter, for a long time before Quinn, but in the last two years she’d come to accept that having a shoulder to lean on when she was tired or frightened didn’t make her weak. And that she could always trust Quinn to be there.

“I’ll be right beside you the whole way,” Quinn whispered.

Honor nodded and closed her eyes. She was safe. And she was ready.

Chapter Three

Quinn stroked Honor’s face as she watched over the sterile barricade that separated the operating field from Tristan and all her anesthesia equipment. The scene was as familiar to Quinn as her own face in the mirror, but everything this time was different.