Sparks flew everywhere, starting spot fires that sprang up like measles across the forest. The thunderous roar of conflagration could be heard above the helicopter rotor noise, even with the ear protection her padded helmet afforded. Sweat rolled down her cheeks and dripped into her lap. Frankie craned her head forward. She watched, mesmerized, and waited. A malignant black cloud rolled out of a stand of birch to her right, propelled by forty-foot flames.
A fire-breathing dragon.
“Sis, you told me it was impossible to describe,” Frankie whispered. “I understand now.” Instinctively, she reached up for the reassuring touch of her lucky charm and found nothing. Frankie grimaced. “I hope you’re watching after me Dad, Jeri and anyone else who might be out there. We could really use some help right now to save these kids.” As an afterthought she added, “Sorry about losing your dog tags, Dad. I was kind of busy at the time.”
Reverberating thumps, felt through the hull, signaled an arrival. Frankie glanced behind her and was rewarded with the exuberant “thanks” of a freckled boy not much older than twenty. Next to him, a similarly ash-covered youngster gave her a crisp, mock salute. She smiled in return, but felt faintly sick to her stomach.
A deafening crash sounded from outside the helicopter. Frankie spun to the source. A huge ball of fire rose high above the trees at the edge of the field and sent flying coals hundreds of yards in all directions. Looking around, Frankie searched for Damon and found him at the rear of the scattered line. He and the squad leader were half-dragging the injured jumper. Sparks and flames licked at their heels. She keyed her radio and reported to the Attack Coordinator that the smokejumpers had been found and evacuation was in progress.
“Two apparent injuries,” she informed him. “Will update you on their condition once my medic has fully assessed them.”
“Copy that, Coast Guard. Appreciate your help. Two-Twenty clear.”
Thump.
Another smokejumper found sanctuary in Stella’s belly.
Thump.
The fourth tumbled in.
“Come on, come on. Move it, Damon,” she urged aloud, not realizing her microphone was still keyed open. “Come on, kid, run. The fire is right behind you.” Her fingers were damp and itched at the controls.
“Faster, Damon!”
Thump.
A fifth jumper arrived.
Frankie keyed the intercom. “This is your captain speaking,” she announced. “Welcome aboard. Please keep the aisles clear. Your flight attendant will be coming through the cabin with the meal service shortly. Remember, this is a non-smoking flight. All of our lavatories are equipped with smoke detection devices. If you are caught lighting up, stiff penalties will be assessed; up to and including physical ejection from the aircraft.”
Frankie could hear a few chuckles. She palmed the sweat from her eyes and glanced around. All eyes were on the men who were running for their lives.
Frankie reached over and keyed the public address system. “Move your ass, guys. This bird isn’t leaving without you.”
Damon was thirty yards away and moving steadily towards the helicopter. His grueling physical training was paying off. Frankie could tell that he was doing most of the work. Damon had shifted position, not only carrying the injured smokejumper but dragging the team leader along as well.
Glowing red embers, kicked up by the rotor wash, flew by the cockpit window. Frankie looked through her side window. A pillar of smoke lofted hundreds of feet overhead. She heard the rumble and roar of the approaching fire. She took a deep breath and stilled her trembling hands.
“Hurry up, kid,” she whispered. “My heart can’t take much more.”
A loud, shuffling disturbance sounded from the back, followed by a shout. Frankie turned her head to look. Damon’s breathless voice clipped an order.
“Get us out of here.”
“Gladly.”
She plied the controls. Stella rose slowly, straining to clear the ground, hampered by the extra weight and thin, superheated air. Frankie coaxed every ounce of power. Whoops of joy filtered into the cockpit.
“Take us to the closest trauma center,” Damon requested in a tone that was really a demand. “I’ve got an unstable patient with internal crush injuries.”
“Affirmative,” Frankie answered and angled towards Fairhaven.
* * * *
Gage reached out, thumbed the volume on the scanner down a notch and eased back in the creaking chair. He sat in stunned silence. In disbelief. Scared shitless. Impotent, while Frankie and Damon risked their lives. He hadn’t dared twitch a muscle in over an hour. His chest hurt, he was drenched in sweat. His mangled nerves were zinging. Quinton tapped him lightly on the shoulder. Gage jumped, startled.
“You can let your breath out, mate.”
He looked up into the Aussie’s troubled blue eyes.
“What?”
“Relax,” Quinton spoke softly. “It’s over.”
“No,” he shook his head in a burst of insight. “It’s only begun.”
Quinton’s long fingers held his arm in a loose grip. “Do you want to tell me what happened between you and Frankie?”
Gage stared absently into space. He wasn’t entirely certain what had gone wrong between them or how to answer for it, so he started at the beginning and glossed over the details. “We spent the week together. Now she’s pretending it never happened.”
“Have you talked to her?”
“I tried.”
Quinton shook his head. “You were arguing, mate, not talking.”
Gage looked at him quizzically.
“The walls are thin,” Quinton said slowly. “We heard every word.”
Gage rose from the chair onto wobbly legs. He took a shaky breath and stuffed his hands deep into his pockets. “Are you telling me I blew it?”
Quinton released his hold on Gage’s arm and gave him a brotherly pat on the back. “I’m saying that you need to talk to her. Put your temper on hold and tell her how you feel. It’s as simple as that.”
Gage stared.
Simple? Nothing in his life had been simple.
Chapter 12
AN UNEXPECTED APPEARANCE
Stretched out in Stella’s cockpit, Frankie was half-asleep. She drifted along in a relaxing A-wave state and soaked up some vitamin D. Every so often her ear would pick up the low voices of Gage and Quinton. She calculated them to be somewhere near the northeast edge of the helipad. What they were discussing was anyone’s guess. At the moment, she had no desire to know.
Gage had pounced on her the moment she returned from delivering the smokejumpers to safety. They had argued heatedly about her decision to take Damon instead of him. Accusations swung back and forth like a tennis ball until they finally gave up, called it a stalemate and stayed as far away from one another as humanly possible for the remainder of the day.
She was tired of fighting, fed up with the need to justify her actions. Exhausted, all she wanted to do was take a nap. Gage had left her alone and that was good enough for now. Why were their conversations deteriorating into argument lately? Every single time! Ever since they’d started having sex!
Damon was even referring to the Air Station as Disharmony Bay. If the kid’s optimistic disposition was being affected, she knew the situation was bad.
“This is what happens when you shag your coworkers,” she whispered to herself. “You ruin everything.”
Yet, she craved Gage’s touch so sharply that her body was nearly humming whenever he came near. Even while he yelled she could scarcely focus, unable to adequately defend her actions when all her desperate lips wanted to do was mesh with his. Instead, she yelled back and wondered how long the terrible longing was going to last.
When the signature rumble of a Harley Davidson motorcycle cut through the stillness of the afternoon, she didn’t bother to raise her head. “Probably one of Damon’s buddies.” With the forest fire still raging, the crew was stuck at the Air Station indefinitely. If his frien
ds wanted to visit, they had to come calling and a steady stream of callers had besieged the station.
Frankie kept her eyes shut and daydreamed she was on a secluded beach in Nice doing some topless sunbathing while an agile Frenchman smoothed her in sunscreen from head to toe.
* * * *
Gage paused in his conversation with Quinton.
“Looks like we have another visitor.”
Quinton squinted against the sun. A darkly tanned jock in bulky leather chaps and black muscle-shirt was throttling his enormous motorcycle around the concrete sidewalk bordering the northern edge of the station. He stopped the bike a few feet from the garage door and used his booted feet to balance it upright. The shiny thoroughbred cycle gleamed in the sun.
Damon bounded out of the house.
The man on the cycle reached up and removed his black helmet. Extending a hand, he greeted Damon in a deep and distinctive voice.
“I’ll be nicked,” Quinton exclaimed. “I think that’s Vin Diesel.”
They watched in disgust as Damon crowded the bike, a stupid grin on his face.
“Isn’t that just great,” Gage muttered. “Now we’ve got two Diesel groupies on the team.”
“Let’s go pay our respects,” Quinton answered.
It wasn’t often that a celebrity came calling and it wouldn’t take long for word of the visit to spread, especially with Damon’s connections. By evening, half the phone directory would know.
“Good afternoon,” Vin greeted the two Guardsmen.
Quick introductions were made. Vin held out his massive hand and gave Quinton’s a firm shake. Gage crossed his arms over his chest and kept them there. Vin paused a moment and cleared his throat. His mellow voice boomed across the air space between the house and helipad.
“A friend told me what you did for him and his wife.”
“Bergmann,” Damon affirmed.
“That’s right.”
“A nice old couple,” Quinton responded. “They were shaken up pretty badly.”
Diesel arched a prominent brow. “They were terrified. You saved their lives. Ira was so impressed he’s decided to become a co-producer on a new boat wreck survival reality show.”
Diesel stopped talking and grinned. Quinton let out a little chuckle.
“Seriously though, Ira told me it was a comfort having the Coast Guard there to talk them through it.”
Gage started to say something and stopped himself. From the corner of his eye, he caught an incredible sight. Frankie was on her haunches, contorted at a bizarre angle in order to catch her reflection in the glass of the control panel. She finger-brushed her hair, licked her lips, and swiped a grease smudge from her cheek.
Gage felt his blood pressure spike.
“Ira said your lady pilot had a fondness for me. Uh, my movies, that is. I thought I’d drop by since I was in the area and thank her personally, thank all of you, for being there when he and Lonnie needed your help.”
“Are you on a road trip?”
Diesel’s bald head turned toward Damon and nodded. “Bought it last week. I’ve got some free time before my next project starts. Thought I’d go on a test run up the coast.”
“Where are you headed?”
Damon’s whiskey colored eyes roved over each nuance of the special-edition motorcycle.
“Victoria,” Diesel answered.
Frankie emerged from the helicopter. Behind her, Stella glinted in the afternoon light. Good thing he was wearing sunglasses, Gage scolded himself. It wouldn’t do to have everyone see his eyes pop out of his head.
With her flight suit unzipped to the waist and thick hair in curly disarray, she gave the appearance she’d just crawled out of bed after a vigorous romp.
Gage swallowed hard.
His blood pressure eked up another ten points when she walked straight up to their guest and extended her slender hand.
“Hello, I’m Captain Moriarty. Welcome to Air Station Harmony Bay.”
Her voice smacked of drowsy seduction. Diesel’s eyes never wavered from her. He took the offered hand and pressed her knuckles to his lips.
“Pleased to meet you. I’m Vin Diesel.”
Gage felt every muscle in his body go tense.
Damon coughed.
Quinton saw trouble brewing and took action. He cleared his throat and asked in a booming voice, “When did you lay your bike down?” He pointed to a small scrape on the back fender.
Diesel jerked like he’d been struck. He twisted his head down and around, dark eyes narrowed. Frankie’s hand slid out of his grasp.
“I didn’t lay it down.”
“No?” Quinton replied distractedly. “Hmmmmm. A real shame, mate.”
Diesel’s rough hand smoothed over a nearly invisible scratch before he turned back to Frankie. She gave him a wily grin and shook her head. He glanced from Frankie to Gage and back to Frankie. A big smile spread across his face. “Wanna go for a ride?” he asked her.
Gage almost bit his tongue in half. “We’re on fire alert,” he reminded, the veins in his forehead protruded to the point of rupture. His anger was a tsunami, gathering force.
“Just around the block,” Diesel spoke up. “I won’t keep her more than five minutes.”
Everyone turned to stare at Frankie.
She sidestepped and swung her leg up and over the bike in one graceful swoop. “The fire has laid down considerably,” she turned to stare up at Gage. “I’ll be back momentarily.”
She settled into position behind Diesel, wrapped her bare arms around his sturdy waist and leaned her breasts against his back. The actor kicked the engine over, revved it a few times for effect, and gently eased out onto the street.
“Take care of her, you son-of-a-bitch,” Gage cursed under his breath and stormed inside.
* * * *
Ten minutes later Frankie found all three of her crew gathered in the garage. By the solemn looks on their handsome faces, a funeral was in order. She hoped it wasn’t hers. Right now she was filled with excitement that was impossible to contain. She wasn’t about to let their grimness spoil her buzz.
Looking around at her team, she asked in a practiced, smart-assed voice, “So, who died?”
Quinton, nearer to her than the others, bent down and whispered low in her ear, “Tone it down, sister. He’s about to go ballistic.”
Frankie puckered her lips. Her flushed cheeks reddened even more.
“No problem.”
She swept past the three pretty boys in a jazzed rush. Moments later, from somewhere deep within the bowels of the house, they could hear her celebratory whoops of joy.
Damon scratched his head. “She sure is giddy,” he said. “I wonder if they compared tattoos?”
“Damon?”
“Yeah, LC?”
“Go clean the head in the workout shed.”
“What?”
“You heard me,” Gage barked.
“It’s not my day to clean that stinking bathroom.”
“It is now.”
Damon opened his mouth to protest again.
“That’s an order. Go!”
* * * *
It was night. He’d run the beach for hours while his anger simmered. Despite fatigue, sleep was not on the menu for Lieutenant Commander Gage Adams. He had a raging, painful erection. He hadn’t touched Frankie for what seemed like months and according to Quinton, if he ever expected to do so again, he had some serious work to do on his communication techniques. If her infatuation with Vin Diesel was any indication, the big Aussie was right. Memories of abandonment flew up to plague him. He pushed them back down. Gage bit back a snarl and jumped from his disheveled bed. He slipped from his room and moved without a sound, down the dark corridor and wide stairs.
The door to her quarters was open, the room cool and quiet, with curtains pulled tight. A pulsing green light from the computer cast an eerie glow along the walls. Frankie was on her side, curled into a crescent.
He listened to her sof
t, rhythmic breathing for a moment before he moved forward. Without a sound he lay down behind her, molding her body with his own. He covered her mouth with his hand.
She awoke on a startled gasp. He held her still, bound by his powerful arms and legs. Gage whispered, “It’s me.”
She relaxed slightly. He kept his hand over her mouth and began to ease up her shirt. He bared her breast and cupped it with his hand. His fingers ran over her nipple, circling with a light, insistent touch. Her breath hitched. He felt her heart speed up.
“Make a sound and I stop.”
Frankie nodded her head.
“Do you want me?”
She nodded again.
Gage ground his pelvis against her sweet, soft bottom. She stiffened. Hot moisture pooled between her thighs. He lightly pinched her taut nipple. Frankie arched, shuddered a moan. Gage pulled away.
“I told you,” he silkily murmured. “No noise.”
Frankie tensed. A wicked smile came to his lips. His hand moved across her abdomen, circling her belly button. He draped a leg over her torso and nibbled her earlobe. His tongue slid across her shoulder and found the exact spot on her neck that drove her wild. He bit.
Frankie gasped.
“Sshhh. Do you want me to stop?”
She shook her head no.
His hand moved lower, tracing the juncture of her thighs. Frankie pushed against it in urgency. He could feel her entire body trembling.
“Be still.”
Her curls were wet. His fingertips grazed her hot center. Using a leg to wedge her thighs apart, he splayed her wide.
“Not a sound,” was all the warning he gave.
His finger sank home deep inside her, stretched, claimed her. Frankie convulsed around him, head thrashing from side to side.
“Too easy, I’m not done with you yet. Spread your legs wider.”
Frankie exhaled a pleading mewl. Gage clamped his hand down hard over her mouth and pulled away.
“I told you, make a sound and I stop.”
Guarding the Coast Page 14
