Lately he worried about the stress load sending him over the edge, something he was always on guard against and a part of why he kept his personal life as uncomplicated as possible. He dated, but low-key. He'd even dated Nola Seabrook three years ago, back when they were both Captains, when he was senior only in years and not her supervisor in any way. She was far more suited for him than Nikki, closer in age, they both understood the pressures of military life, combat, even captivity since Nola had been snatched during a mission in South America.
Jesus.
Surely the crappy-luck odds were about played out for them?
Of course now with his new promotion in the squadron, a relationship was out of the question even if he was interested. Which he wasn't, because the chemistry wasn't there in spite of her bombshell-blonde looks...and he couldn't shake a certain leggy brunette from his brain.
He definitely needed to keep his personal life simple for at least as long as the squadron stayed under his command. Lives depended on it.
Thank God the runway neared. Time to pull his attention back on landing this lumbering beast of a plane. An instant before he could thumb the radio button to contact the control tower, the headset squawked in his ears.
"Major Hunt, there's a message for you at the command post from Special Agent Reis. Something about an accident over at Nikki Price's place, a loose balcony railing."
His muscles clenched as tight as the knot of dread in his gut. Screw having someone else check on her and keeping his distance. The second this plane touched down, he'd be out the hatch and on his way to Nikki's side. Where he intended to stay.
Chapter 4
Enough already.
Nikki considered herself a tough person overall, but had somebody painted a bull's-eye on her back while she wasn't looking?
She toed off the water faucet in her steaming bathtub that hadn't come close to easing the kinks and cold from her tumble off her balcony into the pool. At least she'd been able to control her fall enough to land in the water when the wooden railing gave way. Thank God for all those gymnastics classes her parents had paid for when she was a kid.
Her stomach still lurched just thinking about those horrifying seconds in midair. She rested her head back and wished she'd thought to turn on her stereo before she sank into the bubble bath. She could use all the help relaxing that she could scavenge.
Three stories was a helluva long way to fall and hope that the dive angle you'd taken would land you in the pool rather than smack you onto the cement instead. She'd no doubt made a record breaking cannonball splash. EMS techs called by her neighbor declared her unharmed, although she would be black-and-blue by morning.
What happened to her nice boring life? She was a junior high teacher whose biggest concern should have been whether or not her students made it to regionals for the history fair.
Her doorbell echoed.
Peace over.
She hauled herself out of the water and grabbed for her jogging shorts and T-shirt resting on the edge of the vanity.
The doorbell pealed again. Her mother, no doubt, since the gossipy little old man next door had called her family's house two seconds after phoning EMS. She really could have used a beach towel from him instead. It was darn cold in that pool in January, even in South Carolina.
When she'd told her mother about Gary's death, her mom had—no surprise—freaked. Nikki had calmed her down by tapping into her mother's training for suggestions on regaining her memory. Keeping a dream journal and making an appointment with a hypnotherapist didn't feel like much, but at least she was taking action, already unearthing snippets of memories.
When she wasn't busy diving off a third-floor balcony.
The doorbell stuttered while she tugged her clothes onto her damp body. "Hold on, hold on, Mom." She hopped, one leg at a time into shorts. "I'm coming and I'm gonna chew you out for not putting up your feet like the doctor—"a building sneeze tingled through her sinuses, down her nose "—aaaachoo!"
She snitched Carson's freshly washed and folded handkerchief from the stack of laundry on her sofa and tried to ignore the teacher voice inside of her that insisted tissues were more sanitary than a cloth holding germs. And was this stuffy nose cosmic justice for lying to her mom about having a cold last week?
She tugged the door open. Rather than "concerned Mama," she found "pissed-off hunky flyboy." Her fingers fisted around the handkerchief, tucking her thumb to hide the telltale corner peeking out.
Carson gripped the door frame, his sensuous lower lip pulling tight. "You're okay."
"You don't have to sound so mad about it."
His hand slid from the frame and before she could blink— or head back into her apartment away from temptation—he hauled her to his chest. "Jesus, Nikki, you could have died. I damn near had a heart attack when command post patched through an inflight call about this."
Hunky, awesome-smelling flyboy, who'd raced straight over after a flight just for her. Muscle, leather and all that concern made for a heady sensory combination, especially when she was already susceptible to this man. Her body obviously wasn't near as smart as her mind.
But her will was stronger. She edged her shoulders free, stepping back without meeting his eyes. "I landed in the pool." What was she doing staring at her bare feet beside his boots? She forced her gaze up to meet his full on, no flinching.
His hand gravitated to her damp hair. "How long ago did it happen if your hair's wet?"