“No,” Jac said.

“I suspect a large part of the funding here is state,” Fleming said, almost as if she were talking to herself. Then she smiled at Jac, circling like shark to prey. “The same friends of your father who pulled strings to get you here could make your girlfriend’s job disappear.”

“That’s absurd,” Mallory snapped.

Jac pulled away from Mallory’s grasp, her face blank. “That would be a hell of a lot harder than getting me a position I was already qualified for.”

“You think so?” Fleming asked coolly, watching Jac as if sighting down the barrel of a sniper rifle. Focused, unblinking, sure. “Do you really want to take that chance?”

“Don’t do this, Nora.”

“Don’t make me. You know you won’t win.”

“How long?” Jac asked, her head throbbing.

“Jac, what are you doing?” Mallory exclaimed.

Jac didn’t look at her. She couldn’t possibly explain to Mallory the power her father wielded, legitimately and maybe, behind the scenes, not so legitimate. Only someone who had felt the pincer crush of his methodical attack for years would believe what he was capable of. He could do more than make Mallory’s job disappear. He could probably make this entire station redundant. Nora was more than his campaign manager, she was his fixer—when problems came up, she had free rein to do anything she wanted. Nora Fleming did not make idle threats. “How long do I need to pretend to be the perfect daughter?”

“As long as we need you. Your father is running on a decency campaign. I don’t have to tell you what that means.” Fleming laughed, completely without mirth. “Powell has a lesbian daughter. Your father needs to show he’s done a better job with you. Admittedly, he’s got his work cut out for him.” She laughed again. “But luckily you clean up well.”

“Jac, don’t let her railroad you into this,” Mallory said urgently. “This is your life, Jac.”

Jac wanted to say, No, it’s your life, but Mallory wouldn’t believe her. Or if she did, she wouldn’t care. Mallory’s life was about responsibility—taking care of everyone else, no matter the cost to her. Jac didn’t plan on being another person Mallory sacrificed part of herself for. She wasn’t going to drag Mallory into the soul-draining vortex her life was about to become. Besides, with her gone, whoever had taken that photograph would have no more reason to stir up trouble. Mallory would be safe. Jac nodded at Fleming, who smiled, pleased with her victory.

“Jac, no,” Mallory said.

“I’m sorry.” Jac took a step away. She didn’t think she could leave if Mallory was touching her. “Please understand. I need to do this.”

The shock and pain in Mallory’s eyes almost dropped Jac to her knees. She had to get away, and fast. She slipped around Fleming and vaulted onto the ladder, half falling to the concrete floor. She made her legs work. Hurried out.

She couldn’t think about Mallory or she’d break. She had to get home. She needed to convince her father she wouldn’t endanger his public image. She needed to play his game, at least while he held the winning cards. Then maybe Mallory would be safe.

*

Mallory watched Jac disappear from sight, unable to believe she was going. How could she just walk away? From the job, from her. How could she let her father do this?

“She would have left sooner or later, you know,” Fleming said conversationally. “I’ve known her a long time. She’s not the type to settle down.”

“Get out.”

“I can track down the source of that photograph, if you like,” Fletcher said, picking up her briefcase.

“I don’t want anything from you.”

“Although with Jac gone, whoever took it will likely lose interest soon enough. Nevertheless, the offer stands.”

“How can you treat her like she’s nothing but a chess piece in her father’s game?”

Fleming regarded her with an expression of respect. “I like to win. Someone has to lose.” She shrugged. “Besides, I’m not the one sleeping with trash and ending up in the tabloids.”

“Neither is Jac.”

“Maybe not this time.” Fleming smiled. “This time she’s outdone herself. I’ll see myself out. Thanks.”

Fleming somehow managed to climb over the edge of the loft in a skirt without showing more than a flash of thigh. A few seconds later the staccato rap of her heels ricocheted across the hangar deck.

Mallory sank onto the edge of the cot. The rumble of a powerful engine filled the hangar and quickly faded away. Jac was gone. She had disappeared as quickly as an ember floated into the night sky and flickered out. Mallory felt the darkness close around her. She was numb. Somewhere, deep inside, she knew she was angry. Angry and hurt. And scared. Jac couldn’t keep denying herself and survive. Mallory dropped her head into her hands.

Think. She had to think.

She just needed a few minutes to make sense of everything. Then she’d probably see this was for the best. She’d never wanted a relationship. Especially not with a woman whose absence made her feel as if a part of her had died. She focused on the sleeping bag tangled around her legs. She thought of lying in the soft, warm flannel with Jac wrapped around her. She thought of Jac’s fingers stroking her as she drifted into sleep, filling her as they made love, igniting her body and soul.

She hadn’t asked for that. She hadn’t asked for any of that. She hadn’t known she needed it. Now she had to decide if she could live without it.

Chapter Thirty

The hangar was tomb-like. Even the ever-present drip of oil from machine parts and the whine of wind sluicing over the metal roof were absent. The silence Mallory ordinarily found peaceful only made the ache inside harder to bear. She was off call, with a sunny day for the first time in a week ahead of her, and everything was wrong. Jac should be here and she wasn’t. They should still be wrapped up in each other, wakening to the sound of each other’s breathing, touching and making love. Jac should not have left her. Jac should not have broken her heart. She’d let Jac touch her—let her into her body and her damn heart. Didn’t Jac know she didn’t need to fight alone, that Mallory would have stood by her? Mallory wanted to kick the joined sleeping bags over the edge of the loft into the mocking emptiness below. Real mature. What did you expect? You slept together one night. Hardly grounds for an engagement.

When Mallory hurt, she worked. She straightened up the loft, squared the cots, placed a rolled sleeping bag at the end of each one. Then she headed to the standby shack to sort and clean the gear she and Jac had used on the SAR. The quiet in the cavernous hangar followed her out into the yard, beating at her like so many silent wings, making the air heavy and hard to pull into her lungs. Her limbs were sluggish, her mind vaguely empty. And the ache deep in her core throbbed with every step. The harsh lights in the locker room made her eyes water. She swiped at the moisture on her face and tried not to see Jac leaning against the wall of lockers, naked, water glistening on her smooth, tanned skin. She tried not to feel the heat of Jac’s flesh beneath her fingers. Tried not to see the wounded desolation in Jac’s eyes when Fleming had handed her that photograph.

Mallory stiffened. The photograph. A tiny click in the back of her brain cleared some of the fog. The click got louder, steadier, and disparate pieces of a fragmented picture started to fit together. How convenient that Fleming had a copy of the photograph—just in time for Franklin Russo’s candidacy announcement. Just the kind of ammunition Jac couldn’t fight. And then using it to threaten Mallory’s job? Maybe the whole station? Fleming knew Jac’s history. She had to know what Jac would do—Jac was programmed to put herself in the path of destruction for the sake of those she loved. Mallory paced around the bench between the lockers. Maybe Jac didn’t believe she wasn’t alone anymore, but that was no reason to let her go on believing it. Mallory considered her options. She might not be able to take on a powerful presidential candidate who chose to use his family as props and sent his rabid watchdog to make threats, but she wasn’t helpless, and she wasn’t giving up on Jac. The photograph was a place to start.

Energized, she spun around, checked her jacket pockets for the keys to the rented Jeep, and sprinted out to the yard. She tore out onto the highway and headed south. An hour later she drove through a still-sleeping Bear Creek and pulled up in front of Emily’s house. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was going to say or do, but she knew she had to start here. She checked her watch. Eight a.m. Emily might still be asleep. Maybe she should drive around town until she found an open coffee shop. She ought to at least bring pastries as a peace offering. As she reached to key the ignition, the front door of Emily’s small wood-framed house opened, and Emily stepped out onto the porch in a pale blue robe cinched at the waist. Looking perplexed, Emily waved and motioned for Mallory to come in. Mallory pocketed her keys, got out, and strode up the sidewalk. Emily stepped back inside and Mallory followed.

“Hi.” Emily stood on tiptoe and kissed Mallory lightly on the lips. “What are you doing here? Are you all right?”

“I’m sorry. I know it’s early. My clock is all turned around.”

“You’ve been out on a call?”

“Yes. And then some things—came up.”

Emily linked her arm through Mallory’s. “Come back to the kitchen. I was just about to make coffee. Are you hungry?”

“No,” Mallory said, although her stomach rumbled in contradiction.

“We’ll see about that. Take off your coat and tell me what’s going on.”

Mallory hesitated in the doorway to the cheery kitchen. Emily looked beautiful in the bright morning sun, her hair glowing, her skin fresh, her expression vibrant. She looked happy, and Mallory suddenly felt out of place and guilty for bringing discord into the tranquility.

“You’ve got something on your mind,” Emily said.

“I don’t know how to say this,” Mallory said abruptly.

Emily finished filling the coffeemaker with water, set the kettle down, and turned to study Mallory. “Come to tell me things have changed?”

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised after the last time you were here. Change was in the air.” Emily smiled faintly. “I’m disappointed, of course. But I’m not going to lose your friendship, am I?”

“Of course not. I—”

“You needn’t tell me how fond you are of me. I know.” Emily rested her hands on Mallory’s shoulders and kissed her again, not a sisterly kiss, but one with no expectations. A gentle, tender, caring kiss. “You’ve met someone. Someone who’s shaking you up. I think that’s a good thing.”

“There are some problems.”

“Of course there are. No one ever comes to a relationship without a past. Can you tell me about it?”

Mallory sighed. “I’ll try. You’re sure it’s all right?”

“Very sure.”

They sat at the table, and when the coffee was done, Emily poured two cups. Mallory told Emily about her relationship with Jac and the photograph in Jac’s locker. She left out Fleming’s visit and Jac’s family issues. She wouldn’t violate Jac’s privacy.

Emily’s brows drew down. “You’re sure the photo was taken here in town?”

“It had to be. It’s the only place we—” Mallory felt her face growing warm. Could she really be blushing at the mention of sex? Unbelievable. “We didn’t…we weren’t…last night was the first time we were together. The photograph was taken before that.”

“Where is she now?”

Mallory’s stomach tightened. “Something came up with her family. She had to leave.”

Emily didn’t look like she believed that was the whole story, but she didn’t question. “Well, if the photo was taken at the bar, there are limited options as to who was responsible. After all, who around here would care about you and Jac being together?”

“Motive,” Mallory murmured. “That’s it, isn’t it?” Really, who would care? No one she worked with. She had no exes, no one with a grudge or a score to settle. Not unless… The queasy feeling in her stomach sharpened into an agonizing blade to her heart. “Maybe a friend of Phil or Danny? Someone who blames me for their deaths?”

“Oh, honey, I can’t believe anyone who worked on the line, or loved anyone who did, would do something like this. What happened last year wasn’t your fault, and the only one who blames you is you.”

Mallory heard the words, and for the first time, started to believe them. “Why else would someone try to make it look like we were intimate?”

“Maybe the message wasn’t for you. Maybe this is about Jac.”