"I don't deserve your forgiveness, but thank you."
She didn't want his gratitude. She wasn't sure what she wanted—okay, she knew she'd always wanted Carson—but more than that she wanted to safeguard her heart so she wouldn't spend the next two decades mooning over a man as her mama had done.
"Thank you for your help today. I really need to go now. Goodbye."
She hung up fast, a clean break, as she should have done the first time Carson had smiled a hello at a squadron picnic years ago. Better yet, she turned away, back into her apartment. She wasn't a twenty-year-old hero worshipping the new guy on her father's crew anymore.
God, had she really had a thing for Carson for nearly three years?
Nikki angled through the half-open sliding door and dragged it closed, phone still clutched in her hand. Time to finally place that call to her mother. She punched in her parents' number and waited through ring, ring, ring.
"Hello?"
Chris. Her brother.
Her hands shook with adrenaline letdown along with the need to talk to somebody, and her brother was so the only person she could hang with right now. They'd forged a tight bond during all their family moves and their parents' marital troubles. She didn't care why Chris was back early from his New Year's road trip with college friends, but thank God he was.
She shouldn't drive anywhere because of the drug and nerves. Her brother could come over and pick her up. She couldn't stall telling her family any longer.
"Hey, runt. It's me. Could you come over? I've had a really crummy day."
* * *
His crappy day—hell, week—was finally about to end.
Carson gripped the stick on the C-17 and hurtled the craft through the sky closer to his home base. Only a couple more hours left until landing with the squadron representatives who'd flown out to Omaha for Owens's funeral.
He'd paid his respects to the family and worked like crazy not to think about the unanswered questions from the night the man had died. Still he couldn't help but wonder if Owens had been the one to drug Nikki's drink. And how had it happened at Beachcombers, the last place he would expect something like that to occur? Beachcombers wasn't some rave club, just a low-key seaside restaurant and bar where flyers hung out.
At least her brother was watching her and didn't seem to mind the occasional check-in call from Carson—under the guise of keeping tabs on J. T. Price's family while the man was deployed. He would continue checking in with Chris and with Special Agent Reis, while keeping his distance.
Game plan set, boots rocking the rudders, Carson lost himself in the sky as he soared the cargo plane through the clouds the way he escaped through hours spent skimming his thirty-one-foot Catalina sailboat over the waves.
Blue, blue and more blue...
He lived to fly, whether it was through the sky or along the ocean. That's all he'd ever wanted. He hadn't planned on a commander gig, but here he was, responsible for people like the crew around him.
Back in the cargo hold were loadmaster Picasso and inflight mechanic Mako.
Up front in the cockpit, new baby copilot Kevin Avery sat in the right seat and instructor pilot Nola Seabrook was strapped in a jump seat behind them.
God, when had he gotten to be the old guy? Except he wasn't that much older than these aviators. Somehow he'd landed on the fast track—he hoped because of his ability. Although he often wondered if his prestige-hungry parents had played some of their behind-the-scenes games in their high-power circles with congressmen who happened to be close buddies with a general here or there.
The military wasn't supposed to operate that way, but the whole thing had spiraled beyond his control. So he worked his ass off to be the best damn pilot, officer, leader possible in order to be worthy of his commission and whatever responsibilities came his way. Including checking on Nikki.
And did everything have to cycle back around to Nikki Price?
Jesus, he needed to start seeing other women. Except he didn't have the time or interest in anyone else. Work overload and stress maxed him out. He knew his limits and he recognized the danger signs if he pushed himself to the wall. He was trying to lose himself in the sky, and would have to find time to sail soon. All to fight the urge to take what he really wanted and could never have again.
A drink.
Too many people counted on him. He couldn't risk screwing up. Stats read that every alcoholic's drinking affected at least four other lives. Any mistake he made would ripple through the whole squadron.
In spite of Nikki accepting his apology, what he'd done was unforgivable. He'd been so damn arrogant that night, thinking he was holding it together. That he was somehow stronger than his parents because he'd battled and won against his addiction.
His fall had been swift.
Attending his friend's wedding should have been low stress. Sure, drinks would flow, but he resisted that temptation every time he partied with his crewdog pals. He'd even hung out with his wartime crew before Spike's wedding. Life had finally been good again, the hell of their shoot down and capture in the Middle East past. He'd been cleared in the initial mandatory pysch eval. He knew with his family history he needed to be careful.