by Debbie Mason
Theia laughed. “The master of understatement. They hate the guy. Can you blame them? It sounds like once Daniel was done with the mother, he was done with the daughter.”
“Yeah, he’s not going to win Father of the Year. Which is why I suggested he tell Daphne and Penelope that he wants them to keep the estate in the family. Given how they feel about him, that should ensure they do the exact opposite. It works in our favor that they both could use an influx of cash. Penelope and her husband recently separated, and Daphne was on the losing end of her divorce settlement.”
Since Penelope was a marriage counselor and Daphne a divorce attorney, Theia could understand how their marital problems might affect their professional reputations and negatively impact their incomes. She imagined their careers of choice also added another layer of conflict to the sisters’ already difficult relationship. Still, she thought her boss might be forgetting one important detail.
“I hate to be a Debbie Downer, but you do realize that seven of Colleen Gallagher’s great-grandchildren are firmly in the Save Greystone Manor camp, right? And trust me, if you think the pushback from the Harmony Harbor Business Association to your Main Street development is tough, they have nothing on the Gallagher great-grandkids.”
“You hate to be a Debbie Downer?” Caine snorted a laugh. “T, you’re one of the most pessimistic people I know. But I appreciate you pointing out the possible snag. It’s one of the things I love most about you. Even when you don’t agree with me, you’re always looking out for my best interests. You’re the one person I can count on to tell me the truth.”
It hadn’t done her a lot of good in this instance. He had a blind spot when it came to the Gallaghers and the estate. He’d already found a loophole that would allow him to buy Penelope’s and Daphne’s shares. It was how he planned to get the other Gallaghers to sell that worried her.
Not my monkey, not my circus, she thought. Still, she couldn’t keep herself from saying, “Yeah, you can always count on me to tell you the truth. I just wish you’d listen to me now and again, especially when it comes to this. If you’re determined to go ahead with it, you have to handle every last detail. Big or small. You can’t allow your grandmother to get involved in any way. Look what happened two years ago.”
Theia had been new to Wicklow Developments and hadn’t been Caine’s trusted confidante at the time, but she’d heard what had happened when Emily had been running the show in Harmony Harbor. It was why Caine had asked Theia to go undercover at the manor last year.
“You don’t have to remind me. It’s not something I’m likely to forget.” Even if it wasn’t his fault, it was obvious Caine still felt guilty about not keeping a closer eye on what was going on in Harmony Harbor when a woman whom Emily had hired was murdered. Just not guilty enough to walk away from Greystone Manor. “It’s also the reason why—”
Whatever he was about to say was interrupted by chatter over the radio. They were in for a bumpy ride. Caine sighed and went to undo his seat belt. “You got this?”
“You’re kidding me, right?” It would take a lot more than a little turbulence and an incoming storm for her to require her co-pilot’s assistance.
“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” he said as he went to unfold his six-foot-four frame from the seat just as an alarm sounded. “What the—”
Theia scanned the panel for the problem, refusing to let the shrill beeping sound mess with her head. “Looks like our fearful flyer decided to calm her nerves with a cigarette. Better get her out of the bathroom before we hit turbulence.”
She wasn’t sure Caine heard her over the toddlers yelling fire and Penelope banging on what Theia assumed was the bathroom door. She didn’t bother giving her safety spiel over the comm. She’d let her flight attendant handle their passengers while she avoided the turbulence as best she could. She looked at the weather radar while talking to air traffic control, calculating their chances of making it to Harmony Harbor before the approaching storm.
Ten minutes later, they were through the worst of the turbulence. Better still, it sounded like Caine had calmed the nerves of all four Gallaghers.
She activated the comm, relaying to her passengers that they would be landing shortly and to please keep their seat belts fastened. She imagined Caine had already ensured that they did. Theia silently echoed Daphne’s cheer that they’d soon be landing. Not only would Theia be rid of her passengers shortly, but she was confident they’d beat the incoming storm. More important, according to the weather radar, the system would clear out before her departure time of five. She mouthed, Woo-hoo.
Caine entered the cockpit looking worse than he had before.
“Not your usual love bite,” she said with a nod at the teeth marks on his tanned forearm.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“No, I—” She broke off, frowning when someone began yelling in the cabin, and it wasn’t the terrors. Not the little ones at least. “Is she saying ‘fire’?”
Caine turned and ran. In his hurry, he forgot to close the cockpit door. Theia caught a glimpse of Penelope on her hands and knees in the aisle.
“What were you thinking, giving them your purse? You should have taken out the lighter!” she yelled at her sister while patting the carpet under the seat.
Theia’s mouth went dry. The threat was real. She’d assumed Penelope was being dramatic.
“I didn’t give it to him! H-he must have…Mon Dieu, we’re going to die!”
“No one is going to die. Out of the way, Penelope, and get the boys buckled,” Caine said, taking her place on the floor. Seconds later, he shot to his feet, his eyes meeting Theia’s as he rushed toward the cockpit.
“How bad?” she asked, hoping her hat hid the perspiration beading along her hairline.
He had to raise his voice to be heard over the twins, who were hysterically crying. “Can’t be sure, but better to err on the side of caution and have the fire department meet us on the tarmac.”
A tremor ran through her, and she gave him a jerky nod. She activated her comm, relaying the situation to air traffic control. Caine reached for the Halon extinguisher to the right of the co-pilot’s seat.
She glanced back at Daphne, who began her We’re going to die chant again. Her face was frozen in terror, her hands clutching the armrests in a straight-armed death grip.
“Stop it. Stop saying that! You’re scaring the boys,” Penelope screamed at her sister. Which seemed to work, at least on Daphne. But the twins instantly picked up where their aunt had left off, and then Theia heard the pounding of little feet and one of those brothers screaming, “Help! Save us!”
Some of Theia’s tension eased when Caine, who’d been having trouble getting the extinguisher to release, stood with it in his hand. But no sooner had he turned to head for the cabin than the little boy screaming for help burst into the cockpit, hurling himself at Caine’s legs and throwing him off-balance. All six feet four inches and two hundred and twenty pounds of Caine landed on Theia, slamming her forward. Her face smashed into the instrument panel, while her hands jammed against the controls. The plane banked sharply to the right.
“Theia!” Caine shouted as the momentum threw him off her.
She pushed herself upright, her vision blurring as she absorbed the sights and sounds around her. Caine was now on the floor, his feet anchored against the backs of the seats to keep the g-force from throwing him and the crying little boy he protected with his body around the cockpit. The twin’s brother, mother, and aunt were hysterical in the cabin.
Theia wiped away the moisture dripping into her eyes, surprised when her hand came away bloody. There wasn’t time to worry about her injury. The Cessna’s nose was down. They were going into a death spiral. She’d been in one before. They didn’t both make it out alive. The faces of Caine, the Gallagher sisters, and the little boys filled her mind. Everything inside her froze at the thought that they’d die on her watch.
“It’s not the engine. You
’re good. You’ve got this.” Caine’s calm, confident voice penetrated the panic that held her in its icy grip, snapping her out of it.
She forced a grunt of agreement past her lips as she pulled the throttle back to idle and then brought the nose up. She squinted past the blood dripping into her eyes, trying to focus on the navigation equipment. A muffled cheer filled her ears, and then the voice of the air traffic controller. She flew the requested pattern with no problem, ensuring both she and the plane were fit to land.
Focused on proving that both she and the Cessna were good, Theia hadn’t noticed the quiet that had descended within the cabin. Caine must have gotten the little boy back to his seat the moment the plane leveled off. She glanced at the cockpit floor. There was no sign of blood, other than her own, but she needed to know everyone was okay, and whether the fire in the cabin was out. Instead of reminding her already traumatized passengers that they weren’t out of the woods yet, she activated and deactivated the seat belt sign a couple of times to get Caine’s attention. Hoping he’d be in a position to notice.
He practically burst through the cockpit door. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m good. How about you and the little guy?” She frowned at the expression on his face. “What is it? Is the kid not okay? The fire’s spread?” Her heart leaped to her throat.
“You’re hurt. You’re covered in blood. Dammit, T, this is on me. I should have shut the cockpit door. Made sure the kids were buckled in,” he said as he rooted around one-handed in the back pocket of the co-pilot’s seat. He must have found what he was looking for because he straightened, then leaned toward her.
“Caine, I’m good. I’m fine,” she said when he began gently cleaning the blood from her face.
Theia never let anyone know when she was hurting or scared. Even Caine, who was pretty much her closest friend in the world. She hadn’t told him about the almost incapacitating panic she’d dealt with when she first got back in the cockpit. After the accident, she thought she’d never fly again. If it weren’t for Caine, she probably wouldn’t have. But she’d never let on, never let her guard down, never let him see the crippling fear that would overtake her at the most unlikely of times.
Her uncle, the colonel, had taught Theia to never let anyone see her sweat or see her cry. To show any sign of vulnerability or weakness was to allow the enemy to see it too. Her male cousins had done a good job of beating the lessons into her, as had the navy. She’d learned to hide her emotions very, very well.
“The little guy, the fire, that’s what I’m concerned about.” She pushed his hand away. “Stop. I need to prepare for landing, and I need to know what we’re dealing with.”
He made a frustrated sound before he reached for his headset and took his place beside her. “Other than being terrified to leave his seat, the boy’s fine. I don’t think we have to worry about the rest of them either. I wish I could say the same about the fire. There’s no flame, but there is smoke. I can’t get the extinguisher to work. It must have gotten damaged when I dropped it. I soaked the area with water, but—”
“You think it’s under the floor.” She scanned the instrument panel, looking for signs they had an electrical fire onboard. She didn’t see anything so far. Although she did see signs of the incoming storm. The winds had started to pick up but not to a worrisome level. Visibility was still good. It wouldn’t be long before it wasn’t. She contacted the control tower while doing a quick prelanding check of the equipment. “Cessna Citation one three five, ready for landing.”
She didn’t have to state the runway. It was a municipal airport with only one runway, which could be tricky with crosswinds. She was okayed to land. Her heart pounded at the line of fire trucks and ambulances awaiting their arrival. She prayed they didn’t need them.
Her prayers were answered. As soon as they’d taxied to a stop, she unbuckled her seat belt and stood. She locked her shaky legs, fisted her trembling fingers, and gritted her teeth when a wave of dizziness washed over her.
“Get the Gallaghers off as quickly as possible and hold back the fire department. I want a chance to deal with this on my own.” The last thing she wanted was for them to tear her new baby apart for no reason.
“You need to get your head looked at. Let the professionals…All right.” Caine held up his hands and then grabbed his black uniform jacket off the back of the seat. Recovering his black hat from the floor, he fitted it on his head and pulled the brim low. “On this plane, you might be the boss, but I’m your boss on the ground. You’re getting checked out whether you like it or not.”
Theia rolled her eyes as she followed him out the cockpit door and then winced. Maybe she wouldn’t fight too hard when he demanded she let the paramedics look her over. She didn’t have to worry about him getting the Gallagher party off the plane immediately. They did that all on their own with murmured goodbyes.
No apologies or thanks for the ride, she noticed. Though she supposed she couldn’t blame them. She wasted less than a second thinking about the Gallaghers and moved to the seat where the little pyromaniac had been sitting. No sooner had Theia pulled back the carpet than she heard the clump of heavy boots in the aisle. She lifted her head to peek between the seats. A firefighter in full gear filled the space. She gave a panicked yelp at the sight of the hose in his hands and shot to her feet.
“It’s all right. I—” A blast of water knocked her on her butt.
Chapter Three
Close the discharge valve!” Marco yelled into his radio, pulling back against the force of the water blasting from the hose to aim the nozzle at the ceiling. Heads were going to roll for this, and not just his.
“Hang on. I’ll be with you in a second,” he called out to the woman struggling to her feet. “Don’t try to stand.”
He gave his head a frustrated shake when her chin jutted at a stubborn angle and she ignored his directive. Teeth gritted, she grabbed the armrest of the chair in front of her, hauling herself upright. Two seconds later, she was back where she started—on her butt in a puddle of water. Exactly what he’d anticipated would happen and why he’d warned her to stay put.
It wasn’t just the amount of water causing her to slip. They’d gone with a mixture of foam and water because they’d been told there was an electrical fire. An electrical fire that would soon cause the plane to explode if they didn’t get it under control immediately. He’d also been told the plane had been evacuated, so he’d gone in water and foam blasting.
Movement caught his eye, pulling him from his inner tirade at the guy in the tower who’d relayed the misinformation. Once again the woman was pulling herself to her feet.
God save me from stubborn women.
“Ma’am, do me a favor and don’t move,” he said at the same time his pipe man yelled in his ear that the valve was stuck. Marco swore in Italian at the situation and the woman, who’d ignored him again and had gone down for a second time. With her chin-length dark hair plastered to her pale, red-streaked face, she looked like she belonged in a horror movie.
He tamped down his frustration and began moving toward the exit door. “Just stay where you are until I get back, ma’am. I promise, I won’t be long.”
Blood streamed from the open wound on her forehead, her eyes narrowing as she once again hauled herself to her feet. “No. No way. Just go. I don’t want to see you and your hose near my plane again.”
Marco’s gaze shot to her mouth. He didn’t care that those bright blue eyes were shooting daggers at him or that it sounded like she thought he was an idiot and pretty much hated his guts; he needed to hear that voice again. Smoky and sultry, his body responded as if they were tangled in the sheets on a warm summer night instead of in a standoff over six inches of dirty water in a sweltering metal coffin.
“If you so much as put one boot back on this plane, I swear to God I will…” Her eyes went wide as her feet once again shot out from under her. Only this time she ended up flat on her back, the water rolling over her before
she got her mouth closed. She jolted upright, choking and sputtering.
Concern for the woman managed to distract him from his crazy fascination with her voice. He called for backup. Most of the crew were nearby treating the passengers and captain. Liam bounded up the metal stairs, and Marco met him at the exit door.
His best friend stuck his helmeted head in the cabin. “What’s going—whoa, there was someone still onboard?”
“Not another one,” the woman on the floor groaned. She sounded like she was going to lie back in the water but then thought better of it.
Instead of yelling Sit your ass down before you break something, like he wanted to, Marco fought with the hose to hand it off to Liam. “Take this,” he said, and then turned to stride to the woman’s side.
He reached her just as she staggered to her feet. Since she’d done exactly the opposite of what he suggested every single time, he decided to take matters into his own hands. After all, there was a possibility she was in shock. He would have been, given the terrifying ordeal she’d just endured.
They’d been responding to the call at the airfield when one of the crew pointed to the sky and they watched the plane spiral toward the earth at a sickening speed. He’d nearly lost his lunch, and he was pretty sure his knees had gone weak.
“Hang on. I’ve got you.” He bent down, positioning his shoulder against the dripping white shirt plastered to her stomach, and put her in a fireman’s hold.
“Don’t even think about it, buddy.” She pushed forcibly on his head.
He staggered a little, surprised at her ability to move him, at the strength in her slender arms. She was about five six to his six two and a good hundred pounds lighter. Her willowy frame was deceiving. Her attitude, not so much.
He took off his helmet and set it on one of the seats, pushing his fingers through his damp hair while silently counting to ten as he reminded himself what she’d been through. He gave her a reassuring and (go, him) patient smile. “Look, I have a grandmother and a sister who are just like you. They’re strong, independent women, and the last thing they’d want is to be carried out of here.” He didn’t add Just as pig-headed too. “But as you’ve found out, like, three times, your shoes aren’t onboard with your plan.”
