by Dani Pettrey
“Or what?” Lucas scoffed with a hair flip, his bangs swooshing out of his eyes.
Mason’s jaw tensed. “I guess we’ll find out.”
Lucas backed down as Mason anticipated he would. Lucas was rash and impulsive—qualities he’d possessed before coming to Christ himself. It didn’t necessarily indicate Lucas was being as cagey as he appeared, but he was hiding something. Mason could feel it. The question was what.
After squeezing in a catnap, Noah stopped at Belle’s Diner on the way into work. Two hours’ sleep wasn’t much, but he’d have a good meal, work his shift, and then go home and crash.
He took his usual seat, and Belle brought him coffee and cranberry juice without him even having to ask.
“Thanks, Belle.” He took a sip of the juice and then set the small glass down.
“You look tired.”
“Long night,” he said, switching to the much-needed coffee.
“Your usual?” she asked.
“Yes, please.”
“You got it, honey.” Belle headed to the counter separating the dining bar from the kitchen. “Noah’s usual.”
Billy, the best short-order cook in a hundred-mile radius, poked his head through the opening. “Hey, Noah.”
He waved. “Hey, Billy.”
“Your order will be right up.”
“Thanks.” He was famished.
A bell jangled, and Noah’s gaze tracked to the front door.
Brooke entered in civilian clothes—a dark pair of jeans, brown boots, and an emerald blouse.
Belle greeted her. “Hey, hon.”
Brooke headed for a table and stopped short at the sight of Noah.
“Hi, again,” he said.
“Hi.” She smiled. “I was just coming in for a bite.”
“You chose a good place.”
“Yeah. I come in pretty much daily.” She leaned in and lowered her voice. “I’m addicted to Billy’s chocolate chip pancakes, but don’t tell him. It’ll just go to his head.”
“Oh, really,” Billy said, behind her.
She straightened and turned. “Good morning, Billy.”
“Miss Kesler.”
“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Brooke?”
“Always at least once more.”
“Fine, but if you insist on calling me by my last name, then Medic Kesler is more accurate.”
“Medic Kesler. Hopefully it doesn’t go to your head.” He winked.
Noah chuckled.
Billy set Noah’s biscuits and gravy in front of him.
“Looks amazing, as always,” Noah said.
“Anything else I can get you?” Billy asked.
“I’m good, but thanks.”
“Chocolate chip pancakes for you?” Billy asked Brooke with a smirk.
“See this?” She pointed at Billy’s smug face. “I told you it’d go to his head.”
Noah laughed. “Looks like it.”
“Don’t mess with the person who makes your food,” Billy said. “Didn’t you ever learn that?”
Brooke tilted her head, clearly not buying the threat. “We both know you take too much pride in your work to make it less than perfect.”
“Oh.” Billy smiled. “So my work is perfect?”
Brooke rolled her eyes. “What have I done?”
As Billy strutted to his kitchen, Noah chuckled again and then looked at Brooke. “Would you like to join me?”
“Oh, I don’t want to put you out any more.”
“Please.” He gestured to the bench across from him.
“Okay.” She scooted in. “Thanks.”
“And you didn’t put me out.”
She smiled, then shifted her gaze to his plate. “That looks . . . curious.”
“It’s delicious.”
“Just never had it.”
“Never?”
“Nope.”
“Well, then we must rectify that.” He grabbed his spoon and scooped out a bite for her.
She hesitated.
A smile cracked on his lips. “It’s good, I promise.”
“Okay.” The hesitancy on her face didn’t fade, but she took the spoon from his hand and slid it into her mouth. She looked up with wide eyes. “Mmm. That is really good.”
He chuckled. “Don’t sound so surprised.”
“Sorry.” She lifted a napkin and swiped it across her mouth. “I suppose it’s like don’t judge a book by its cover. Don’t judge a dish by its appearance.”
He arched a brow. “I’m not sure if that was a compliment or an insult.”
She smiled. “I meant it as a compliment.”
Noah laid his napkin across his lap. “I’m going to thank God for my food. Would you like to pray with me?”
“Sure.”
Maybe she was a Christian. He didn’t know, though. He’d seen her at his church a time or two over the last few months, but he had no idea where she was in her walk. Had she come out of curiosity or as a strong Christian looking for a new church home? Only time would tell.
She reached out her hands to hold his.
He typically put his hands together when he prayed, but if she preferred to hold hands, as many folks did, he’d oblige.
Her hands were soft and warm.
Clearing his throat, he bowed his head.
“Father, thank you for this meal. Thank you that you spared Rissi and Mason. Thank you that Brooke wasn’t harmed by her intruder, that she wasn’t home at the time. Please let the talk I had with Brodie keep him away. I pray Gabby and Finn’s flight is going well, and that you’ll keep us all under your provisional care. In Jesus’ name, I pray. Amen.”
Brooke looked up at him, her expression soft . . . kind. “Thanks for praying for me. I appreciate it.”
“Of course.” He prayed for every case he worked, for every person who was in danger. It’d take some time to know if his talk with Brodie made a difference, or if Brooke was still in danger, but he prayed the former. He didn’t know Brooke well, but he certainly didn’t want anything to happen to her. Oddly, he felt more connected to her than he’d anticipated. It was nice but . . . unsettling.
TWENTY-THREE
Within an hour of Lucas’s interview, the Coast Guard helicopter that would transport them and Greg Barnes’s body back to land was on approach.
Rissi waited with Mason and Ed behind the red safety line of the helipad. It’d been a long night, and she was happy to be headed back to land—just not excited about their mode of transportation. But it looked like Maddie Price was at the controls, and Rissi knew she couldn’t ask for a better pilot.
After loading Greg Barnes’s body into the copter, Rissi and Mason climbed in, carefully avoiding the body bag situated between them and the front seats.
Ed leaned into the copter’s open bay. “I appreciate you both coming out. I’ll get Joel’s report to you as soon as it’s done.”
“Thanks,” Rissi said.
“And definitely let us know what your guys find when they are done taking the compressor and gas line apart,” Mason said.
“Absolutely. Will do.”
Maddie flipped the switches, bringing the bird to life.
“Take care,” Ed said as the blades began to whir. He stepped back to the edge of the helipad, the wind from the blades whipping everything within its reach.
Rissi leaned forward to greet Maddie. “Maddie Price, this is Mason Rogers, the newest member of our team. Mason, Maddie.”
“Nice to meet you,” Maddie said, glancing over her shoulder.
Mason smiled. “You too.”
“You guys ready?” Maddie took another look at Mason.
Mason gave a thumbs-up, and Rissi nodded, but apprehension warred heavy in her gut. She did not want to be on this bird. On any bird. Not so soon.
Her pulse quickened as they rose up and out over the sea.
“Don’t worry,” Maddie said. “I’ll get you safely home.”
Rissi prayed Maddie was right. She�
��d never been afraid to fly, and she wasn’t going to start now, but her queasy stomach refused to agree.
The whoosh of the blades thwacked through her already-ringing ears.
Mason rested his hand over her balled-up fist. He didn’t say a word, just reassured her with his presence. She inhaled the strength and calmness his small gesture filled her with.
This was soooo embarrassing. She never freaked out in the air. Never. But now she was, and worse still, it was in front of Mason. Though he never showed it, he must have thought her so weak when she used to cower in front of Hank.
She’d grown up since those days, boxed every morning now. No one would ever hurt her like Hank had. She was tough, or so she’d thought as her heart rate sped up, pattering in her chest. Pitty-pat. Pitty-pat.
She took a soothing breath and controlled her focus.
Please, Father, help me to know you are in control—always. That I don’t have to worry about what is happening under your watchful eye.
Slowly her spiked pulse eased, the tension riddling her limbs loosened. She looked out the window at the sun climbing in the sky. Focused her attention on its orange hue dancing along the seafoam green ocean waves and her pulse settled more . . . then she spotted them.
“Look,” she said, resting her hand on the window. “That must be the NTSB investigators down there.”
Mason leaned toward her to look out the window. How did he smell so good after a helicopter crash, two plunges into the ocean, and hours aboard an oil production platform? But smell good he did.
She once again harnessed her attention and cast it down to the boats. The largest vessel had a crane anchored northeast of a large area cordoned off by buoys. The red-and-white markers bobbed in the wake of a second boat with a long, flat back that reminded her of an enormous barge.
“They must have found the copter,” Mason said.
Had they also found poor Max’s body? And what had gone wrong?
“So, Mason,” Maddie said after the boats passed out of sight. “Where’d you transfer from?”
“Kodiak, Alaska.”
“Wow. We’ve definitely got nicer weather than Kodiak. Moving here must have really been a culture shock.”
“I’m from Boston, so I’m used to different areas.”
“If you need someone to show you around, I’m happy to.” When Mason didn’t respond, she continued. “Let me give you my number. You can put it in your phone.”
“Thanks, but my phone is at the bottom of the ocean.”
“Right. That must have been terrifying for you both.” Maddie shifted her gaze off Mason and onto Rissi. “You doing okay?”
“Yep.”
“So . . .” Maddie said, fixing her gaze back on Mason. “Brad and Jason say you are the hero type.”
“They exaggerate.”
“Risking your life to save others. That’s hero stuff, Mason. You’re my kind of guy.”
Rissi’s muscles tightened. My kind of guy? Talk about not being subtle.
Flirting wasn’t Rissi’s thing, but she didn’t usually get annoyed by flirty women. Why was it bothering her so much now?
She knew perfectly well why. Because Maddie was flirting with Mason.
But as much as she wanted him to care for her the way she did for him, she had no claims on him. And that realization stole her breath away.
TWENTY-FOUR
Rissi said a prayer of thanks as Maddie set the copter down. She’d survived the flight, but being anxious like that needed to end. She wouldn’t let fear stop her.
Stepping to the open bay door, Mason offered his hand.
She took hold, tingles shooting through her at his touch. Because their time together as teens had been forged in trauma, in the intensity of their surroundings and emotions, the bond between them remained. At least she still felt it.
The way he smiled made her think it was a possibility he did, too, but while they shared that past, it had never been romantic. He’d taken care of her when Hank hurt her and held her hand when she was sad. In her sixteen-year-old way, she’d loved him, and part of her heart would always be his, but he’d never verbally expressed feelings beyond friendship.
The thought of having romantic feelings for Mason and him not returning them was painful, but she’d adapt. She always did.
Looking up, she caught sight of Ethan Hadley ambling across the tarmac toward them. Alongside him, Kent, his medical assistant, rolled the stretcher for Greg Barnes’s body. A loose wheel on the right wobbled, click-clacking its way across the tarmac.
Maddie climbed out of the copter and strode around to Mason. “Here,” she said, handing him a slip of paper. “My number. Give me a call if you’d like that tour of Wilmington.”
“Thanks,” he said, tucking it in his pocket.
Rissi swallowed. Maybe that was the answer to her wondering.
“Hey, Miss Rissi,” Hadley said, tipping the brim of his straw hat. He wore his usual tan Dockers, a light blue button-down shirt, and polished Edward Greens.
“Hi, Hadley, Kent.”
Hadley looked at Mason. “I don’t believe I’ve met this young man.”
“Oh, right. This is Mason Rogers, our new investigator. Mason,” she said, turning to him, “this is Ethan Hadley. The best ME . . . well, anywhere.”
Mason extended his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, sir.”
“Likewise, young man.”
“And this is Kent, his assistant.”
“Nice to meet you,” Mason said.
After the exchange of pleasantries, Mason helped Kent lift Greg’s body onto the stretcher.
Hadley unzipped the bag and glanced inside. “Tsk . . . tsk. Poor man.” He zipped it up and with a shake of his head turned his attention to Rissi and Mason. “I’m thankful neither of you came back in a body bag.”
Rissi had thought herself immune to the reality of death, but in that moment, her own mortality and the brevity of life hit home with a thwack. She looked at Mason. What would she have done, felt, if he’d died in the crash? She’d just gotten him back in her life. She couldn’t picture losing him again. But he could easily transfer stations again, could start dating Maddie . . . So many thoughts and scenarios crashed through her mind, dizzying her.
She’d been in a state of disbelief and elation at his being back, and she hadn’t stopped long enough to think beyond the joy of seeing him again.
She wasn’t sixteen anymore, and he wasn’t her savior. He was her teammate, and when she got past the newness of his return maybe her distracted mind would settle.
They still had so much to catch up on. What had he been doing during the last decade? Why had he joined the Coast Guard when he’d planned to join the Marines?
Where had he been stationed, besides Alaska? Had he traveled extensively? At least she knew the most important fact—he was a Christian.
Mason and Kent lifted the stretcher with Greg’s body into the back of the ME van.
“I thank you, sir,” Hadley said, tipping his hat at Mason.
“Anytime, sir.”
It tickled her every time she witnessed Mason’s formality, his manners. This from the rough-around-the-edges teen who’d worn combat boots, a black Carhartt jacket over his waffle-knit Henley, and faded jeans. He’d had tousled hair and a five-o’clock shadow. He was always getting in fights with Hank, though she’d never seen him start a fight outside of the home. The few other fights of his she’d witnessed came as a result of him standing up for the little guy when they were being bullied. Mason always put himself in the line of fire for those kids, and they’d adored him—as she did.
———
As Hadley and Kent drove away, a tall man with dark hair and dark shades strode toward them. “Mason Rogers and Rissi Dawson?” he asked.
“Yes,” Mason said. “And you are?”
“Jeremy Brandt, National Transportation Safety Board.” He flashed his badge. “I need to ask you both a few questions. Would you be able to talk now?”
“Sure,” Mason said, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand.
“Why don’t we talk in the hangar? We’ve set up temporary operations there as we process evidence from prior to the crash.”
Smart. There could be signs of a mechanical problem in the copter’s hangar—leaking oil, for instance.
Jeremy led them inside, where a CSI team was working the hangar. He walked over to a small circle of chairs at the edge of the hangar, removed his navy blazer, and draped it across the back of his chair. “Please, take a seat.”
Mason held out a chair for Rissi and sat next to her.
“Let’s start at the beginning,” Jeremy said, pulling out a recorder. “Ready?”
“Sure,” Mason said.
“Yep,” Rissi added.
Jeremy pressed the Record button and set the slim black device on the empty chair beside him. “Agent Jeremy Brandt, interviewing special agent . . .” He dipped his head toward Rissi.
“CGIS Agent Rissi Dawson.”
“And . . . ?” He shifted in Mason’s direction.
“CGIS Agent Mason Rogers.”
“Thank you,” Jeremy said. “Now, to the best of your recollections, what brought you to ride on Textra Oil’s helicopter NF871 last night?”
“We received a call,” Rissi began. “Actually, the special agent in charge of our regional station, Noah Rowley, received a call that there’d been a fatal event aboard oil platform Dauntless.”
Mason continued, “Noah then sent Agent Dawson and me to meet several Textra Oil employees here at Textra’s helipad at approximately 2100 hours, and we were directed to the helicopter in question.”
“Which Textra Oil employees did you meet?”
“Head of Dauntless operations, Bob Stanton; commercial diver Chase Calhoun; and safety engineer Joel Waters.”
“And the pilot was Max . . .” Rissi looked at Mason. “I don’t believe we heard his last name.”
“No, we didn’t,” Mason said.
“Had you ever met any of these men before?”
“No, sir,” Rissi said.
“His name was Maxwell Schaffer, just for the record,” Jeremy said.
