“Patience, Maguire,” Honor said. “Remember when we get home how you’re going to be all restless and not able to sleep and I’m going to—”

“Let’s go now.”

Honor laughed and held out her arms for Jack. “Arly’s inside watching a movie with the other kids. When it’s over, we’ll go, okay?”

“All right. Can I get you anything?”

“No, but…” Honor pointed surreptitiously to a small group of people sitting on Linda’s back porch steps. “Maybe you should talk to Tristan. I’m not sure she’s doing real well.”

Quinn frowned and looked where Honor was pointing. Tristan leaned against the porch post. She was a little disheveled—her shirttail was hanging out of her jeans, which wasn’t like her—but she seemed okay otherwise. “What do you mean?”

“I noticed she’s drinking a lot, and that’s not usually her style. And she just looks…I don’t know, lost.”

“I’ll check on her on my way inside to collect our girl.”

“Don’t be long.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I won’t be.”

Tristan carefully maneuvered her way through the throng of people congregated on the stairs and Linda’s porch. Inside the kitchen she sidled around more nurses and techs and doctors and other hospital personnel, everyone talking about what had happened. She found the scotch and poured another two inches into a small red plastic cup. The first half went down with a bit of a bite, the second was smooth and warm. She lifted the bottle but stopped in mid-pour when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Her heart leapt, and she spun around. Then she kept her smile in place through sheer force of will. Jett wasn’t here and she wasn’t coming. Fuck, no point thinking about where she was.

“Hey Quinn,” Tristan said heartily. “Rough one, huh?”

“Yeah, but we had some good saves too. That fireman you tubed is going to make it. That was good work.”

“Well, sometimes you get lucky.”

“That wasn’t luck.” Quinn put her arm around Tristan’s shoulder and said quietly, “You doing okay?”

“Peachy.”

“You look like shit. Why don’t you go home and go to bed.”

“I will, as soon as I find some company.”

“We’re all a little shaky—”

“Nope. Not me. I’m solid.”

“Uh-huh.” Quinn stared intently. “Is it work or something else? You don’t usually drink yourself under the table, and you’re about there.”

“I’m okay.” Tristan swayed and gripped the counter behind her. “I won’t drink any more. Word. Just tired.”

“Let me walk you home.”

Tristan shook her head. “You’ve got the family here. Not going far. I’ll make it.”

“I don’t think—” Quinn stopped as a truly gorgeous redhead came sailing up and about jumped on Tristan.

“Tristan, baby, I just got your message!” Darla slid up next to Tristan and smiled at Quinn. She looped her arm around Tristan’s waist and kissed her on the side of the mouth. “I would have been here sooner, but I was finishing an audit and didn’t check my voicemail until just a few minutes ago.”

“There you go.” Tristan grinned at Quinn. “I’ll be fine now.”

“Make sure she gets home all right, will you?” Quinn said to Darla.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of her.” Darla rubbed Tristan’s stomach and nuzzled her neck. “Come on, baby. Let’s find someplace to sit down for a while.”

“Sure, okay. Night, Quinn.” Tristan dropped her arm over Darla’s shoulders. She definitely needed to sit down for a few minutes and clear her head. She was having trouble getting her thoughts in order, and something about what was happening didn’t feel quite right. If she could just think for a minute, she knew she’d figure it out.

“Take care of yourself, Tristan,” Quinn said.

“Always do.”

Jett walked past Linda’s house three times before pushing through the gate and starting down the path to the back. She knew the impromptu party was still going on because she could hear it. She didn’t see Tristan’s car, and she looked for it. Tris probably wasn’t here. But her apartment had been dark when Jett had driven past. Maybe Tristan was already home and asleep. Even as she thought it, Jett doubted that was true. She knew what Tristan would be looking for right now, what she needed to chase the nightmares away.

The backyard was dark and it took her a few minutes to make her way around, checking out the people standing in groups or sitting at a picnic table and on the porch. She finally saw Linda curled up on an old-fashioned porch swing next to a woman in shorts and a T-shirt.

“Hi,” Jett said.

“Jett, you made it,” Linda exclaimed. “This is my partner, Robin. Robin, honey, this is Chief McNally.”

Jett extended her hand to the other woman on the swing. “Just Jett is fine.”

“Good to meet you, finally.”

“Same here.” Jett peered through the open door into the kitchen. She recognized some faces, but not the one she was looking for. “Have you seen Tristan?”

“She was here earlier,” Linda said. “I don’t think I’ve seen her for a while, though. There are quite a few people still inside.”

“Okay. Well.” Jett rocked on her heels.

“Go check and see,” Linda said gently.

“Right.” Jett nodded to Robin, smiled at Linda, and ducked into the kitchen.

Jett found them in a room on the first floor that might be a den, but she wasn’t taking inventory of the contents. The only light came in through the open door from the hallway, but she didn’t need much light to tell what was happening on the couch. Tristan was mostly upright, sprawled with her arms outstretched on the back of the sofa and her legs splayed. Darla lay half on top of her as they kissed. Darla’s hand rested in Tristan’s crotch, her fingers circling lazily. Neither of them knew or apparently cared if they had company.

Jett felt the same burst of adrenaline and anger and fear she experienced when someone on the ground opened fire on her aircraft.

She had learned through bitter experience that the only way to survive the firefight was to fly through it. When Darla’s hand crept up Tristan’s fly and opened the top button, Jett moved. She walked to within a foot of the couch and cleared her throat.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Jett said, “but I need to talk to Tristan.”

Darla shifted to look up at Jett, her fingers still toying with Tristan’s fly. “We met before, didn’t we?”

“Briefly.” Jett kept her attention on Tristan, whose eyelids were heavy and her gaze unfocused. Jett waited until she was sure Tristan saw her. “I fucked up. I’m sorry.”

“No harm,” Tristan said, her words slightly slurred.

“Yeah, there is.” Jett squatted down next to the sofa opposite Darla and spoke directly to Tristan. “You need to go home.”

Tristan looked around and grinned lopsidedly. “Aren’t I?”

“No.” Jett glanced at Darla. “I’m taking her home.”

“She seems to be pretty comfortable right here,” Darla said, rubbing Tristan’s thigh.

“She’s not. She’s hurting. My fault—or a lot of it is.”

“I take it you’re friends.” Darla eased away from Tristan just a little.

“Special friends,” Tristan mumbled. Then she laughed.

“No, we’re a lot more than that. Excuse me.” Jett leaned over, slid both hands under Tristan’s arms, and heaved her up. She held her for a few seconds tight against her body until she was certain Tristan had her legs under her. Tristan rested her head on Jett’s shoulder and Jett hooked an arm around her waist. Then she said to Darla, “She’s special to me, but not the way she thinks.”

“I can see that.” Darla stood and straightened her skirt. “She shouldn’t be alone tonight.”

“She isn’t going to be,” Jett said.

Chapter Twenty-six

“Okay,” Tristan said, “I’m okay now. Head’s nice and clear. I’ll just head on home.” Tristan patted her pockets. “Keys? Did you see my keys?” She spun in a slow circle on the sidewalk. “Have you seen my car?”

Jett grabbed her when she started to sway and leaned her against the front end of her Jeep. “Stay right there. Don’t move.”

Tristan frowned. “The last time you said that to me, you just about fucked my brains out. That was nice.”

“I remember.” Jett opened the passenger side door, collected Tristan, and, with a hand on the top of her head, guided her inside. Then she leaned in and hooked her seat belt. “Don’t move.”

“Are you going to do it again?” Tristan yelled as Jett closed the door.

Jett slid in behind the wheel, started the engine, and pulled out into the deserted street. Linda lived in a residential neighborhood and most of the houses were already dark. She glanced at Tristan, whose head lolled back against the seat. Her eyes were closed. Jett smiled. Even half drunk and dead tired, she was the most beautiful woman Jett had ever seen.

A few minutes later, Jett pulled into an empty spot along the curb a few doors down from her apartment building. She reversed the process, opening Tristan’s door, releasing her seat belt, and slipping one arm behind her back. “Let’s go, baby.”

Tristan turned her head on the seat and opened her eyes. “Did you go see Gail tonight?”

“We’ll talk about that later,” Jett said gently. “Right now, we’re going to bed.”

“Together?” Tristan frowned. “Nope. Bad idea.”

“All right.” Jett reached into the car, lifted Tristan’s legs out onto the sidewalk, and pulled Tristan out. “Up. That’s good.”

Tristan slung her arm around Jett’s shoulders. “Sorry about Darla.”

Jett shook her head and gripped Tristan’s waistband. “Come on, we’re right down here.”

“You mad?”

“No.”

Tristan sighed. “No, I guess not. We’re just fuck buddies.”

“We’ll talk about it later.”

“Nothing to be mad about. Nothing,” Tristan echoed.

Jett unlocked the outside door, keeping her arm around Tristan’s waist, and then the inner door. Three flights of stairs awaited them. She tightened her hold on Tristan, and they made it all the way up with only one missed stair that almost landed them in a heap.

“This isn’t my house,” Tristan announced.

“No, it’s mine.” Jett opened the door, reached inside for the light switch, and tugged Tristan into the apartment.

Tristan looked around. “It’s very neat. Very clean.” She turned and studied Jett intently. “Like you.”

Jett laughed. “Come on. The bathroom and the bedroom are down here.”

“Did you kiss her?” Tristan asked.

“No.” Jett took Tristan’s hand and pulled her down the hall. She pushed open the bathroom door. “Everything you need is in the medicine cabinet. All the toothbrushes in there are new.”

“Did she kiss you?” Tristan leaned against the doorjamb and spread her legs for balance.

“Yes.”

“I knew she would. I would. I’d come back for you too.” Tristan skimmed her fingertips over Jett’s cheek. “She got there first. God damn it.”

Jett gripped Tristan’s shoulders firmly and kissed her mouth very, very softly, then the line of her jaw, then below her ear. “No, she didn’t. Now shut up and get ready for bed.”

“You love her, though.”

“Shut up, Tris. We’ll talk later.” Jett pushed her over to the sink, and Tristan braced herself with both hands on the sides of the vanity, her head lowered. Jett found a toothbrush and put toothpaste on it. “Here.”

“She’s beautiful.”

“So are you. Here.”

Tristan took the toothbrush. Jett stood with her arm around Tristan’s waist while Tristan brushed and splashed cold water on her face. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Jett said.

Tristan looked at Jett in the mirror. “I want you so bad.”

Jett closed her eyes because she recognized the longing in Tristan’s. She’d seen it in her own eyes for years and never knew quite what it meant. Tristan was in no shape to hear anything right now, and if Jett kept looking at her, she was going to have to touch her. She opened her eyes, dropped her arm, and backed away. “The bedroom is right next door, Tris. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Tristan watched Jett’s reflection waver and fade in the glass and she panicked. She spun around. “Jett. I’m sorry.” The sudden motion made her dizzy and her stomach took a nasty dive. She closed her eyes and fought to stay upright. “Always push you away. Don’t mean to.”

“You don’t.” Jett steadied her. “It’s okay.”

“Please don’t go.”

“Come on.”

In the bedroom, Jett turned down the covers. “I’ll stay for a while. Get undressed so you can sleep.”

“I’m okay now,” Tristan muttered.

“I’m not.” Jett kept her eyes on Tristan’s face as she kicked off her shoes, unzipped her pants, and took them off. Then she pulled her T-shirt over her head and let it fall behind her. She slid between the sheets and Tristan hurriedly followed.