She was cute and friendly, maybe just the thing to help him move on. When he strolled toward the line’s end, she walked with him, a good sign.
“I’m guessing by your outfit, you’re a pilot. You drop water on the fire?”
“Right. If necessary, I fly medevac.” With medics like Edie, who was not supposed to be on his mind today.
“So where’re you from?” Sally looked at him from under her lashes. She was definitely flirting.
“Tennessee, but I live in Brunswick.” He should step a little closer, signal his interest, but his feet kept going straight. She was bright and pretty. What was his problem?
They reached the end of the line, and Josh took his place there.
“I can’t stay but a minute,” she said. “If you have time later, I’d love to hear about some of your missions.”
“My schedule’s kind of unpredictable.” What? He should’ve told her yes, made a tentative plan. What the hell was wrong with him?
“You just let me know. I’ll be around.” Sally leaned a bit closer and squeezed his arm. “You watch yourself out there, Josh.”
“Thanks. Don’t work too hard.”
Sally walked away, past the big trash cans at the edge of the grass. Beside one, holding the remnants of breakfast, stood Edie. She stared at Josh with big, pained eyes.
Shit.
But there was no reason for guilt to sear his chest this way. Or for Edie to look so betrayed. They’d closed the book.
Less than fifteen feet separated them. He should smile, act casual. Except that he didn’t feel cheerful or casual. This was her damned fault. If she hadn’t rejected him to cling to her dangerous ambitions, they’d be together now.
Josh nodded to her and turned back to the line. When he looked again, she was gone. It was bad luck that she’d happened along then, but they weren’t going to see each other when this was over. He hadn’t done anything wrong.
Yet he found himself walking away from the line, toward the parking area. He could wish her a safe day. No harm in that, and it would smooth things over.
He jogged toward the loading trucks. “Seen the Three Pines Hotshots?” he asked a passing firefighter.
“They pulled out a minute ago,” the man replied.
Josh was too late. Maybe that was for the best.
* * *
Three hours later, Josh finished a series of water drops near the fire’s head. The soil here was more sand than peat, which should slow the fire’s advance toward Wayfarer, at least for a while. Last night, the blaze had jumped one of the canoe trails, and the wind was pushing it toward the town.
The radio hummed with chatter from those trying to contain the flames. Josh flew back to the canal for more water.
“Helicopter 892, this is Incident Command,” someone said. “Four hotshots are cut off and need pickup asap. Over.”
Josh thumbed the mike. “Incident Command, Helicopter 892 copies. Where are they? Over.” Edie, please, please, don’t be one of those in trouble. Whichever hotshot crew was trapped needed him, but there were several working the fire. These people didn’t have to be part of hers.
“Helicopter 892, they’re near Hooker Prairie, trying to protect a cluster of houses a half mile outside the refuge. Trees crowned, threw out debris, and then fire erupted in the peat. Flames crossed the access road and cut off their retreat. They’re by the canoe trail.” Incident Command relayed the coordinates.
“Roger. I’m there in three. Switching to their frequency. Over and out.”
“Hooker crew, this is Command,” the radio operator said, “Helicopter 892 is en route. ETA three. Over.”
“Hooker crew copies. Over.” Edie’s voice shattered Josh’s hope that she was safe. It sounded sharp and alert but not panicky. She would never panic, even with fire closing in.
Josh lowered the helicopter to dip the Bambi bucket in the water, then tweaked the controls so the bird rose with its load and swung toward the stranded firefighters.
He had to reach her in time. The image of her surrounded by blazing trees scalded his soul.
If she died, his life was over.
The realization stunned him. As Josh flew above the burning landscape, her words rang in his ears.
Whatever she is, would you rather enjoy whatever time you’re given with her or pass up the chance because you’re afraid?
I’m not afraid. I’m careful.
He was a fool.
Of course he wouldn’t dive into a bottle and abandon their kids if something happened to her. He’d been afraid to admit it, afraid to risk exactly what he was racing to prevent.
The time they might have had since yesterday morning suddenly seemed priceless.
He couldn’t let her die. He loved her.
Of course he loved her. He’d been an idiot to fight it for so long.
Peering through the smoke, he found the stream below and, to the right of it, the hotshots. They stood at the water’s edge, Edie, another woman, and two guys.
Flames a foot high danced over the peaty soil thirty feet from them on the right, while the trees on sandy ground to their left and ahead of them blazed. Embers shot toward the firefighters but mysteriously, abruptly fell short. Edie had to be magically keeping back the flame and the lethal, superheated air it generated, but she couldn’t do that forever.
“Hooker hotshots, this is Helicopter 892. I see you. I’m dropping water to buy time.” And to ease the strain on Edie’s shield. “Over.”
“Hooker hotshots copy,” Edie’s voice said. “Over.”
A drop directly above them would injure them. He flew thirty yards inland before releasing the water. Three hundred gallons splashed down on the blazing trees and soil, then rolled toward the bank, washing up against Edie’s invisible barrier and pooling on the dry peat. The fire sputtered and died, at least on the surface.
There wasn’t room in the unburned area to land properly with the bucket. He maneuvered the Huey so the bucket fell into the canoe trail. At treetop level, his skin tingled with awareness of Edie’s magic. As he’d guessed, she’d shielded the group and now held back the still lethal, superheated air.
Josh grinned with relief and merged his magic with hers. Edie’s head jerked up when she felt the connection. He nodded at her through the windshield as he descended to hover half over the water and half over land.
The hotshots ducked under the rotor. Using the skid as a step, they plunged into the back of the hovering aircraft. As Josh lifted off, he and Edie released their shields.
They all leaned over the seat to thank him, but Edie retreated first. He couldn’t turn around to get a good look or touch her while flying the aircraft.
Best he could hear over the noise when no one wore a headset, they were talking about their narrow escape, discussing the miraculous way the fire had held back until he’d arrived.
Of course, it wasn’t miraculous, exactly. It was Edie’s magic.
The sandy road at the swamp’s edge came into sight, with firefighters digging line along it. Josh descended, letting the bucket and cables touch first and moving backward until he could set down without being on top of them. Several firefighters hurried forward to untangle the bucket lines so they’d function properly for the next drop.
As Edie moved toward the door, Josh called her name and pointed to the seat beside his.
She frowned and hopped out, sliding the rear door closed.
Well, hell.
The right cockpit door opened, and Edie climbed into the seat. “What is it?”
Josh’s heart jolted with love and hope. He handed her a headset so they wouldn’t have to shout. “I need to talk to you, and I don’t have time to shut off the rotors and then wait for the restart. I have to head back out there.”
Her face tightened. “If this is about this morning, it’s no big deal. You have a right to talk to whoever you want.”
“Yeah, there’s the problem. I want to talk to you.” He laid his gloved hand over hers. “I w
ant to be with you, Edie, as long as you’ll have me.”
Her eyes widened, but maybe the sudden color in her cheeks was a good sign.
“I’m not giving up flying,” he continued, “and you’re not giving up firefighting…unless you want to.” No matter how anxious saying that made him feel.
Edie regarded him skeptically. “You say that now, when we’ve just had a scare, but you’ll regret it tomorrow.”
“What I’d regret is losing you. If I hadn’t gotten there in time, I would’ve kicked myself for the rest of my life because of wasting yesterday and last night. I love you, Edie.”
Her lips parted in a dazed look, and then she grinned. “I love you, too, Josh.”
“So you’ll marry me, angel?”
“Moving pretty fast, aren’t you, flyboy?” Her grin spread, but her eyes were serious. “We have a lot to work out.”
“I know what I want, but I’ll give you whatever you need. Meanwhile, I can relocate to Colorado, or you can probably get a job at the Collegium during the off-season. Harper’s always looking for a good flight medic.”
“You’re very accommodating today.” Her brows rose, and she studied his face. “What if I want to be a combat medic?”
Please, no. But he nodded. “I’ll live with it.”
“Then I’ll see if the good doctor will take me on.”
Josh’s heart soared. He leaned over to kiss her, ignoring the whistles and shouts from outside the helo, audible even over the rotor noise. “I could have lost you, Edie. I’ve been an ass.”
She tugged off one fire-resistant glove and pressed her palm to his cheek. “It’s amazing what a brush with death will clarify. I really thought we were going to die out there, Josh. I was so pissed that the last time I saw you would be while you were flirting with another woman.”
“I didn’t enjoy it.”
“Good.” She grinned again.
“I’m off tonight. I’ll find us a place where we can talk.” He would make sure it was a very private place, so they wouldn’t be limited to talking.
Edie rested her forehead against his. “I’m not off duty until late.”
“We’ll manage. I love you, Edie.”
“I love you, Josh.” The kiss this time was long and sweet but not nearly as unrestrained as he wanted.
Edie’s eyes reflected his frustration. “Tonight,” she said, opening the door. “You know which tent is mine.”
“I do, and you won’t wake up alone in the morning.”
The look between them held for a long moment before Edie climbed out, to tremendous applause from the onlookers. Her cheeks turned crimson, but she waved as he took off again.
Josh smiled. Tonight couldn’t come soon enough.
About the Author
Nancy Northcott’s childhood ambition was to grow up and become Wonder Woman. Around fourth grade, she realized it was too late to acquire Amazon genes, but she still loved comic books, science fiction, fantasy, and YA romance. As a history major at Davidson College, she spent a summer studying Tudor and Stuart England at Oxford University.
Nancy became an attorney but eventually realized her internal superheroine needed more room to play. She left the legal profession to teach at the college level and to write freelance articles and novels, most recently blending her extensive knowledge of fantasy into her own stories. A sucker for fast action and wrenching emotion, Nancy combines the romance and high stakes she loves in her new contemporary mage series.
Married since 1987, she considers herself lucky to have found a man who not only enjoys a good adventure story but doesn’t mind carrying home a suitcase full of research books. Nancy and her husband have one son, a bossy dog, and a house full of books.
She is a three-time Golden Heart finalist.
You can learn more at:
http://www.nancynorthcott.com/
Twitter: @NancyNorthcott
Facebook.com/NancyNorthcottAuthor
Nancy has available 4" x 6" postcards of the Protector and Renegade book covers, signed on the back. For details, you can visit Nancy’s website: http://www.nancynorthcott.com/for-e-book-readers/.
FBI agent Camellia “Mel” Wray is a straight by-the-book investigator who doesn’t believe in magic.
But a supernatural murder case forces her to confront a gorgeous doctor who is secretly a mage—and the one man she vowed she must never love again…
See the next page for a preview of
Guardian
Chapter 1
Wayfarer, Georgia
Present Day
T oo late, too late, too late.
The refrain pounded through Special Agent Camellia “Mel” Wray’s brain. Each repetition slammed into her heart. She took a slow, deep breath that didn’t ease her pain or her guilt.
She should’ve been here, should’ve come when Cinda first asked her, not let work get in the way. Sick in the depths of her soul, she hitched up the knees of her gray slacks and knelt in the grass by her music teacher’s crumpled body.
On Cinda Baldwin’s other side, the medical examiner, Dr. Harry Milledge, also knelt. The thin, gray-haired man watched Mel over his glasses but said nothing, giving her time to process. Somewhere behind her, the sheriff and two of his deputies waited.
Headlights from the sheriff’s department cruisers cast harsh shadows over Cinda’s face, and the blue flashers gave her contorted features an eerie tint. Her agonized expression eliminated any hope she’d had an easy death. Mel brushed a strand of white hair off Cinda’s cold forehead.
“You all right, ma’am?” A stocky deputy who looked to be in his midtwenties crouched beside Mel. Hastily, he corrected, “I mean, Special Agent.”
Ma’am. So familiar and, in the South, so automatic. Cinda had been ma’am until Mel grew up enough to become a friend and not just a student. She’d been the only person outside the family who still called Mel by her old, more girlish nickname of Cami.
Mel sucked air into her tight chest. If only the night weren’t so muggy. But what could you expect in Georgia in September, a few miles from the vast, wet expanse of the Okefenokee Swamp?
“I’m fine, thank you.” Guiltier than homemade sin, as people back home would’ve said, but not about to hurl. This wasn’t the first murder scene she’d attended, just the first involving a friend. Why the hell hadn’t she driven the four-plus hours from Atlanta sooner? Her team had cracked the human trafficking ring’s code at midday, but Mel had waited for the busts, for the feel-good moment when the first of the teenaged victims was reunited with her family.
If Mel had left sooner, arrived here before Cinda’s assailant, Cinda might still be alive.
Mel locked the guilt away. Later for that. “I confirm this is Lucinda Baldwin, the owner of this property.”
At least this cottage in the woods was far enough out from the town to avoid curious onlookers. Only Mel’s silver Toyota Camry, the sheriff’s two cruisers, and an ambulance sat in the drive. The yellow crime scene tape ringing the front yard seemed unnecessary.
“How well did you know her?” The deputy had his notebook out now, and a pen.
“We’re from the same town, Essex, up in eastern North Carolina. She was my music teacher for ten years.” She was also the only person who’d encouraged Mel to pursue playing her flute even though her dad scorned it as impractical. “We kept in touch, visited once or twice a year.”
“What brings you here tonight?”
“A visit, as I said earlier. I’d planned to spend several days with her.” Mel hesitated. Saying Cinda wanted an FBI agent to check out some weird things wouldn’t win points with the locals, but they should know she had been nervous. “She said she’d seen some strange things, odd-looking people, eerie lights back in the woods at the full moon. Did she ever report any of that?”
“Not so’s I know, but I’ll check.” He pursed his lips. “Lights mighta been the local Wiccans, especially at the full moon, but you never know. Lots of strange things been seen in
the swamp for centuries. Right many Indian legends about it.”
Wiccans and swamp hoodoo. Mel swallowed a sigh. No wonder the town of Wayfarer, Georgia, had a New Age weirdo reputation.
She glanced at Dr. Milledge. “What can you tell me?”
“Officially, nothing.” He waited for her nod of acknowledgment before he added, “Seeing as how you carry that federal badge, though, I don’t mind saying she has strange wounds.” He opened Cinda’s blouse to reveal four deep punctures on the right shoulder.
Mel’s head went light. She took a deep breath and forced herself to focus on the punctures and not the fact this was Cinda. “Not much blood for wounds like that.”
“No. There’s a fifth on the back of the shoulder, as though from a grip. Five more at the base of the spine with what might’ve been the thumb dead center, by eyeball estimate, on the lumbosacral plexus.”
The description, the reference to that nerve junction in the lower back, jiggled something deep in Mel’s brain, but she couldn’t bring it forward.
“Shoulder wounds are just about over the brachial plexus,” he continued, indicating the nerve junction at the right shoulder. He unbuttoned the checked cotton the rest of the way and gently folded the right side back. With one finger, he traced a deep, short abdominal cut. “Under here’s the liver.”
“The killer meant to cut out her liver?” Mel jerked her eyes aside and swallowed hard against a sick taste in her mouth. Focus, damn it. She hadn’t survived in the FBI by being squeamish.
Then again, a murdered friend could never be just another case. The guilt and the loss and the bone-deep outrage over what Cinda had suffered threatened to choke her. She shut her eyes to stem angry tears. Later for that, too.
Blowing out a hard breath, she looked back at the doctor. The kindness in his eyes deepened her guilt because she didn’t deserve it. If only she’d left Atlanta sooner.
“I couldn’t say what was intended,” he replied, “not from this wound alone. It’s odd, though.”
Protector Page 12
