Night Call

by Radclyffe

Gail pushed Jett toward the cockpit after they lifted the injured soldier inside. “We have to go! There’s too many of them.”

  “Not yet!” Jett ran a few steps back toward the bodies still lying in the smoldering, twisted wreckage amidst mounds of rubble thrown up from the roadway when the transport vehicle had run over the IED.

  “They’re dead,” Gail shouted.

  Jett kept going until a hail of bullets stopped her. They’d just begun the evacuation when insurgents had poured out of several nearby buildings, opening fire on them. One of their medics had been hit, and for a heart-stopping moment she’d thought it had been Gail. They’d managed to get most of the wounded into the aircraft, but steady small arms fire made it impossible for them to get to the last few casualties.

  “Jett,” Gail screamed. “Go. We’ve got wounded on board. Go. Go.”

  Still, Jett hesitated. Her aircraft was filled with badly injured men and women, but leaving anyone behind, even the dead, violated everything she believed in. A bullet pinged off a nearby rock, and a shard of stone tore a hole in the shoulder of Jett’s flight jacket. Another few inches and it would have hit her in the neck. The sharp pain and warm gush of blood down her arm sharpened her focus. She twisted and dove into the pilot’s seat. Then she took the Black Hawk up and out of harm’s way.

  When Jett landed at the field hospital, Gail disappeared with the wounded and Jett staggered wearily to the showers. Almost too tired to think, she stripped and examined the gash in her shoulder in the wavy metal mirror above the sinks. It was long, but not deep. A little blood seeped from under the edges of the dark crust that had formed over it already. She turned the shower on as hot as it would go and stood under the water, her arms braced against the wall, her head down. She didn’t know how long she’d been there, but the water had begun to cool when she heard movement behind her. Then a hand grasped her uninjured shoulder and spun her around.

  “What the hell were you doing out there?” Gail shouted. She seemed oblivious to the fact that she was standing under the spray, still in her uniform, or that Jett was naked. “Were you trying to get killed?”

  “I didn’t want to leave them,” Jett yelled back.

  “Do you think I did?” Gail grabbed Jett’s shoulders and shook her. “Do you think I wanted to see you blown apart?”

  Jett winced and blood trickled down her shoulder.

  Gail’s eyes widened. “Oh my God. You’re hurt. Why didn’t you say something?”

  “I’m all right.”

  “No, you’re not.” Gail’s voice was tight. “I have to be able to trust you out there. I can’t worry about you when I’m—”

  Jett jerked away, heedless of the blood still seeping down her chest and over her breast. “Just worry about the wounded. I don’t need you to worry about me.”

  “I worry!” Gail skimmed her fingers over Jett’s chest and stared at the drops of blood on her fingers. “Don’t you understand?” She cradled the back of Jett’s neck with her other hand. “I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you.”

  Gail hadn’t touched her since the night of the aborted massage. Her fingers trembled over Jett’s skin, softly caressing her. The pain from Jett’s injury and the agony of leaving the wounded behind and the adrenaline coursing through her blood from the near-death experience stripped away the last of Jett’s restraint. With a groan, she grasped Gail’s arms and pushed her against the shower wall. Then she pinned her there with her body while she drove her hands into Gail’s hair and her tongue into her mouth.

  For an instant, Gail’s arms came around her and her tongue swept over hers, hot and demanding.

  A wave of hunger rose from Jett’s depths, so primal, so powerful, all she knew was need. Gail was warm and alive and hers.

  Jett came out of her half-doze with a start and looked around the lounge. Six forty-five a.m. She was alone, but the day shift would show up at any moment. She rubbed her face, stood, and shook the stiffness out of her shoulders. She hadn’t really been asleep, just drifting in that disengaged state where she was aware of her surroundings but her mind was free to wander. Unlike so many other times before when she’d traveled back to her time with Gail, she came back to herself neither aroused nor angry. If she had to put her finger on exactly what she was feeling, she would have named it resigned.

  She wandered over to the coffeepot, sniffed the few inches of black liquid in the pot, and grimaced. Then she emptied the dregs into the sink, rinsed the carafe, and poured a fresh pot of water into the coffeemaker. While she was digging around in the drawer for a packet of coffee, she heard footsteps behind her.

  “If you’re making coffee, I might have to marry you,” Linda said.

  “Is that legal in this state?”

  “What? Gay marriage?”

  Jett hesitated for a second, then laughed. It was getting easier to talk about what had always been forbidden. “I meant polygamy.”

  “No to both,” Linda sighed. “God, what a night.”

  “Did you get any sleep?”

  “No.” Linda searched through the cabinets above the sink and found a clean coffee cup that she didn’t think belonged to anyone. Even if it did, they probably wouldn’t mind if she used it. “I had my beeper, so I knew you could reach me if there was another flight request. I stayed in the OR with Tris and Quinn.”

  Jett poured them both coffee. She didn’t really have an excuse to go to the operating room, but she’d wanted to. She wanted to find out what happened to the patient, and she wanted to see Tristan. While she was flying, she couldn’t pay much attention to what was going on with the patient, but enough had come through to her for her to understand how difficult the situation had been and how much pressure Tristan had been under. Since she couldn’t go searching for her, she’d waited in the lounge, hoping for word.

  “How did it go?” Jett asked.

  Linda stared into her coffee cup as if the answer were somehow written inside it. “Sometimes no matter what you do, it’s not enough, you know?”

  Jett took a slow breath. “Yeah.”

  “The mortality rate for preemies that size is five times higher than a full-term baby. Add to that the multiple surgeries and the dead bowel and the bleeding…” Linda shook her head. “Just too much.”

  “I’m sorry.” Jett replayed the flight in her head. Maybe if she’d pushed harder, she could have bought a few more minutes. Given Tristan a few more minutes. “Do you think if we’d been able to divert to Cooper—”

  “I asked the same thing. Quinn didn’t think so. Neither did Harry Noone, the pediatric surgeon.”

  “I guess that’s something.”

  “It helps a little.” Linda set her coffee aside. “Tristan doesn’t believe it, though.”

  “Where is she?” Jett asked as casually as she could.

  “I think she left. She was pretty strung out over the whole thing.”

  “She blames herself?” Jett wasn’t surprised, not after listening to Tristan talk about the governor’s daughter-in-law and her feelings of responsibility. Tristan took a lot on herself.

  “I don’t think anyone was able to convince her that opening up the abdominal incision isn’t what tipped things over the edge.” Linda smiled ruefully. “The good ones like Tristan and Honor and Quinn always blame themselves.”

  “And like you,” Jett said gently. “But you shouldn’t. You and Tristan and the others—you’re good at your jobs, and you care. That’s what counts.”

  Linda brushed her fingers over Jett’s arm. “Thanks.” She glanced toward the clock. “Hey. We’re off duty. I’m going to go home and seduce my wife into making mad passionate love to me. Then I’m going to sleep for ten hours—or at least until the kids get home from day camp.”

  “I’ll see you this weekend.”

  “Do you want to come over for breakfast?”

  “Before or after you have sex?”

  Linda gave her a little shove. “I could wait for that.”

  Je
tt shook her head. “Thanks, but I think your first plan is probably a better one.”

  “All right, but if you change your mind, you probably have a twenty-minute window of opportunity. Need a ride?”

  “I’m good. I drove in.”

  “I’m out of here, then.”

  Linda disappeared into her on-call room and Jett headed for hers to collect her gear. When she pulled out of the hospital parking lot, she still hadn’t shed the sadness over the night’s events, and she could only imagine how Tristan must feel. Knowing Tristan hurt bothered her more than she wanted to admit.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Honor rolled over and listened for the sounds of her family. Jack slept peacefully beside the bed in his bassinet, his breathing gentle and sweet. Arly’s laughter and Phyllis’s mellifluous tones floated up to her through her open bedroom door. The shower ran in the adjoining bathroom. Quinn was home.

  She lay still for a few more moments, appreciating the joy in her life. Then, moving carefully so as not to wake the baby, she got out of bed, padded barefoot to the bedroom door, and closed and locked it. On her way to the bathroom, she lifted her nightgown over her head and draped it on a chair in passing. Through the steam and streaks of water on the glass shower door, she could make out Quinn’s form inside. Even the distortion of the glass and pounding water could not disguise the tight muscular shape of her athletic body. Honor slid the door open and stepped under the spray.

  “Welcome home.” Honor wrapped her arms around Quinn’s waist and kissed her between the shoulder blades.

  “Did I wake you?” Quinn spoke without turning, her voice gruff, as if she’d been shouting for a long time and had gone hoarse.

  “You didn’t, but I wouldn’t care if you did.” Honor rested her cheek against Quinn’s back, one arm still around her waist. She ran her other hand over Quinn’s chest between her breasts, tracing her fingertips over the scar below Quinn’s collarbone where her defibrillator had been. “I missed you.”

  Quinn clasped Honor’s hand and leaned back against her. “Missed you too. Missed the kids. How are they?”

  “Everyone’s fine. Phyllis helped Arly give Jack a bottle yesterday afternoon when I went in to the ER for a few hours to do some paperwork. Arly hasn’t stopped talking about it yet.”

  “You didn’t work too hard, did you?”

  “I couldn’t if I’d wanted to. Everyone treated me like spun glass.” Honor shook her head, touched by everyone’s concern, but tired of being immobile and basically useless except for providing meals for Jack. As much as she loved everything about her children, she needed a little bit more than twenty-four-hours-a-day motherhood. She needed to work for her own sense of self, and she wanted the kids to grow up seeing that family meant helping everyone else realize their dreams.

  Keeping one arm around Quinn, Honor reached for the soap and began lathering Quinn’s back. “I scheduled myself for half days starting next week.”

  “You sure?”

  “Really, I’ll just supervise. I already talked to Phyllis, and she’s good with taking care of both kids. I don’t want to go back full time until Jack’s a little older anyhow. But I need to get out of the house.” She laughed and turned Quinn in the spray. “I need to remind the troops who’s in charge in the ER before certain surgeons I know take over.”

  “Like we’d forget.” Quinn smoothed her hands over Honor’s shoulders, then cupped her chin, scrutinizing her face. She brushed her thumb along the ridge beneath Honor’s eyes. “You’re still really pale.”

  Honor was about to dismiss Quinn’s concerns, but when she got a good look at Quinn’s face, she forgot all about the ER and working and what she needed. “God, baby, you look absolutely beat.” She brushed wet strands of hair back from Quinn’s forehead. “You didn’t get any sleep at all last night, did you?”

  “Not much,” Quinn said nonchalantly, averting her gaze.

  “Did you operate all night?”

  “Most of it.” Quinn reached for the shampoo. “Turn around. I’ll wash your hair.”

  Biding her time, waiting for Quinn to elaborate, Honor turned her back to Quinn and let the water soak her hair. “I’m getting spoiled with all this pampering.”

  “If you’re just now getting spoiled, I’ve been falling down on the job,” Quinn murmured as she worked her fingers through Honor’s hair.

  Honor moaned quietly with pleasure and settled her butt against Quinn’s crotch. “Believe me, you are doing just fine in the pampering department.”

  “Good.” Quinn disconnected the handheld portion of the showerhead and used it to rinse Honor’s hair. When she was done, she finger-combed the thick silky strands, then lightly clasped Honor’s shoulders, pulled her around, and kissed her. “All done.”

  Honor snaked her arms around Quinn’s waist. “Thank you. Now, tell me about last night.”

  Quinn’s grip on Honor’s shoulders tightened. “Later. Let’s go to bed.”

  There was something in the way Quinn looked, the way she sounded, as if she were keeping something painful at bay, that made Honor want to comfort her. Honor grasped Quinn’s hand, turned off the shower, and led her out. They quickly dried off, and after a few more seconds were on their way to bed.

  Quinn stopped next to Jack and watched him sleep. “He looks good. He’s good, right?”

  “He’s perfect.” Honor lifted the covers and slid under them, then held them up. “Come on. Come to bed, Quinn.”

  Quinn stretched out next to Honor and sighed. When she reached for Honor, Honor propped herself up on one elbow and stroked Quinn’s face. Then she kissed her. “You’re trying to pretend you’re relaxed, but I can tell you’re not. Your body is tight as a drum.”

  “Just tired.”

  “That’s part of it.” Honor brushed her hand over Quinn’s breasts and Quinn jerked, vibrating at the touch. Her eyes were the deep, deep blue they became when she was troubled or aroused, or both. Quinn didn’t want to talk, Honor knew that, and she wouldn’t push her. Quinn would tell her what was troubling her when she was ready. In the meantime, Honor would give her what she could. “Close your eyes and let me put you to sleep.”

  “Honor,” Quinn said, her voice dropping low. “It’s too soon.”

  “Not for everything.” Honor kissed her. “Close your eyes.”

  Quinn hesitated for a second longer, and then as if the decision had been made, she circled Honor’s shoulders with one arm and pulled her closer. She pressed her mouth to Honor’s ear. “I want you. I love you.”

  “I love you, baby,” Honor whispered, cleaving to Quinn’s body as she caressed Quinn’s face, her neck, her chest, her abdomen. She kept stroking her as she followed the same path with her mouth, bestowing soft kisses across the hard muscles and silky skin. Even though Quinn’s breathing quickly grew shallow and uneven, Quinn held Honor ever so carefully, trying not to squeeze too tightly, not to move too much, not to do anything that might hurt her. Honor wanted to break that restraint, but she knew Quinn needed it. Quinn needed not to worry about her right now.

  “I’m going to make you come,” Honor whispered, her mouth against Quinn’s neck. She slipped her fingers between Quinn’s legs and continued her caresses, slowly at first, increasing the pressure and speed until Quinn’s hips lifted beneath her hand and Quinn groaned, shuddering in her arms.

  “That’s right, baby,” Honor whispered. “Everything is all right.”

  When Quinn turned her face into Honor’s breasts, Honor cradled her head and smoothed her fingers through Quinn’s hair. Honor held her until her breathing gentled, easing into the same quiet rhythm as that of their baby sleeping nearby. When she was certain that Quinn was safe from whatever demons had followed her home, Honor closed her eyes and slept.

  *

  Tristan poured an inch of scotch into a glass tumbler and swirled the honey-colored liquid until small eddies climbed up the inside of the glass. It might be seven thirty in the morning, but she’d been working for
the last twenty-four hours, and it had been a hell of a night. She walked to the door leading out to her small porch and thought about sitting outside, but she was too restless to sit. She sipped the scotch. The burn was familiar as it made its way down. Otherwise, it was tasteless. A waste of good scotch, but safer than some of the other potential remedies for a hyped-up nervous system and the waking nightmares that were guaranteed to follow her into sleep. A morning, better yet, a day of sex might put her right, but she couldn’t keep dragging Darla away from work, and now that she thought of it, she hadn’t connected with any of her other usual dates for a few weeks. She could hardly invite them over out of the blue to service her needs. She poured another inch of scotch. Thinking about sex made her aware of the edgy energy that thrummed at her center. She remembered coming in Darla’s mouth, but as she looked down in her mind’s eye into Darla’s face, she saw Jett looking up at her. Her body twitched and the pressure between her legs surged.

  “Jesus,” she muttered. When she lifted her glass, she was surprised to find it empty. With another soft curse, she set the glass aside and strode toward her door. Her head was fuzzy but she still wasn’t tired. She needed to do something to unwind, and drinking wasn’t going to do it and there was no sex on the horizon. Walking. Maybe walking would wear her out enough so she could sleep without dreaming. She yanked open the door and stared. Maybe she’d had more scotch than she thought. The thrum low in her belly became a drum roll.

  “Uh…” Tristan said.

  “I owe you breakfast,” Jett said, indicating a Dunkin’ Donuts bag in her hand. “I wasn’t sure what you like. I’m a chocolate glazed myself.”

  “Apple fritter, but I can do chocolate in a pinch,” Tristan said, feeling anything but tired now. Jett still wore her black cargo pants and charcoal T-shirt from the night before. Her sandy hair was darker at her temples, damp with sweat and a little bit mussed. Windblown, or maybe disheveled from the helmet she’d worn in the helicopter. Tristan didn’t want to think about the helicopter, or the hellacious ride back from Atlantic City, or her futile battle to save the infant. She’d much rather think of how good Jett looked right now, and of how glad she was to see her, and of how very much she’d like to finish their almost-kiss. God, the timing sucked. “I’m not very good company right now. In fact, I think I’m half drunk.”