He should just lose himself in work, order a deep-dish pizza and dig in for another 2:00 a.m. punch-out. Given the time change over in the Middle East, pulling a few extra hours at night worked well for speaking with the deployed squadron commander about routine business. Sure he could ask the new boss for advice on the whole mess, but the guy was swamped with duties overseas. Their old commander, Quade, had left two months ago and moved his family to the Pentagon for his next assignment, so he wasn't on hand to ask for advice, either.
Mentors were in short supply to help him out with this one. He was on his own in a job he hadn't asked for, wasn't even sure he was ready for yet. But the position had come to him anyway and he refused to screw it up.
The phone rang in his hand—again. He tucked the headset piece in his ear. "Major Hunt."
"Captain Lebowski from scheduling." The Chicago area accent cut through the earpiece. "We've got a problem I know you're going to find hard to believe, but when Reach 2-1-3-1 landed in Hawaii, the plane broke."
A broken plane and a crew in search of a tan. Great. Just what he needed today. "Yeah, amazing how that always happens on flights to Hawaii and never in Thule, Greenland. Let me guess on the ETTC—" estimated time to completion for a return home "—is a week right?"
"Of course it's a week. Who can get a decent tan in under a week?"
"All right, what's broken? Where's the part gotta come from? Do we need to ship maintenance guys out?"
Carson listened while continuing to scour the parking lot for—what? Something. Anything he could find that might be off and account for the mess of the past twelve hours. Because if he could find the cause, he could fix it like that broken plane.
He should drop his sorry butt into his truck and leave. He'd done more for her today than required, and the attention would not go unnoticed in his small community of aviators once word leaked of the incident.
So go.
And he would.
But he wouldn't stay gone, just checking from a distance. He owed Nikki for how he'd treated her. She'd been there for him at one of the lowest points of his life and he had taken without giving a thing back.
He understood all about the importance of making amends except when those amends might harm someone. He'd stayed away for seven months because being close to her again would only risk hurting her more.
Well, now staying away wasn't an option.
"And that's it, sir," Lebowski wrapped up his summary, "I'll give you a SITREP at the end of business."
A situation report to add to the list of work, but at least his people were on top of things.
"Roger and out."
He thumbed the off button, relieved it wasn't another major crisis. The ADO—assistant director of operations—directly below him in the chain of command could have handled this one, but the old commander Quade had been such a micro-manager that the personnel around him hadn't broken the habit of calling about every nitnoid detail, which made the job more time-consuming than need be.
Quade was a helluva flyer, had been a dedicated commander, and no doubt cared about his people, even if his gruff demeanor implied otherwise on more than one occasion. But Carson had often wondered what would have happened to the squadron if Quade died while in charge.
Delegation was important. Sure there were times he could do the job better than someone less experienced, but if someone else could do the job well enough, that was okay, too. Otherwise how did anyone learn if they never had a chance to stretch their wings?
But what did he know? He was too damn young to be in this job anyway. Even with delegating, he was working his ass off so much he was lucky to get breakfast.
Or lunch.
He tucked the phone back in his thigh pocket and stared up at the balcony marking Nikki's place, her UNC alma mater flag waving beside her sliding doors. His chest went tight again as he thought about finding her this morning, her spine so straight while she sat wrapped in that blanket. He would do anything to wipe away this horror for her. Any-damn-thing. Nothing would slip his attention in this investigation. And hell, suddenly he understood Quade's position a little better.
Because Nikki's safety was one responsibility he couldn't bring himself to delegate.
* * *
Nikki brushed her hand over the stack of sixth grade reports on farming techniques of ancient Egypt calling to her for grades, but she resisted. Her students deserved her complete attention and a fully functioning brain.
She needed air, space, sun, all in short supply on this rainy day. But at least her balcony would be less claustrophobic than the tiny apartment that had seemed so big when she first moved in last fall.
Nikki snagged her cordless phone from the cradle and slid open the balcony door. She really craved a long run on the beach but her aching body probably wouldn't hold up for any length of time. Too bad the pool was closed for the winter. The water, chilly though it might be, invited from below.
Dropping into a lounger, she started to dial her mother's number when the phone rang in her hand before she could punch the first number.
She checked caller ID and found "Caller Unknown."