Her heartbeat double-timing, Sunny held up her hand. “No problem at all. I mentioned there might be an extra passenger and he made it after all.”
The pilot—Brett—just shrugged and turned back to the control panel. “Fair enough. Come on board.”
Wade dropped into the seat beside her. His huge backpack thudded to the floor with what had to be an eighty-pound thump.
“What are you doing here?” Her voice came out breathier than she’d intended, but she was so damn glad to have a bright spot in this horrible day, to have someone to lean on.
“I’m taking you home.” He snapped his seat belt over his lap and tightened the strap. “I thought since I’d compromised you and all, it’s time to meet your family.”
A laugh lodged in her throat. “Thank you.”
“Good luck getting rid of me.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
Maybe it was her imagination. Her emotions were in such a tangle. So much had changed so fast. Finding her dead friends, being shot at, leaving the mountain for the first time in fifteen years.
Then there was Wade. Here with her. Here for her.
The propellers spun, engines powering up louder just before the small plane lurched forward. She gripped her armrests nervously as the Cessna surged down the narrow runway, faster and faster until the nose lifted along with her stomach. She couldn’t help herself. She clutched Wade’s arm.
Warm awareness seeped in and tingled through her body. They were connected by her touch, by this journey. By the attraction that crackled between them even with layers of clothes between them.
And they were airborne.
The roar of engines eased as they flew out over the bay. How strange to be this afraid of a simple flight when she thought nothing of kayaking down icy rapids or hiking through a mountain blizzard. But those were familiar. Air travel? Not so much. During the helicopter ride, she’d been too stunned, too distracted, for nerves.
Now, it was just her and Wade, winging away from the rest of the world. “Are you okay with work, coming with me?”
“No worries. I took care of it before getting on the plane.” He shifted in his seat, the setting sun at his back so she could no longer read his face. “Did you email your family about your plans?”
“I tried. But email can be spotty around here, like cell phone service.”
He straightened, brow furrowing. “You sent an email letting them know you’re going to be out alone?”
“I had to let them know I was coming in order to get the money, and I had to be sure they had a heads-up to be careful. That’s reasonable. And I’m not alone now. I have you with me.”
“Thank God for that.” He scratched a hand over his close-sheared hair. “No use getting worked up over what’s already done. But could you try to keep a low profile from now on?”
Given the life she’d led for the past fifteen years, that should have been easy. Guilt tugged at her for bringing him into her problems. Life was moving so damn fast, with little time for second-guessing as she ran full out just to stay even a step ahead. “Were you able to get in touch with the people at work before you joined me? Major McCabe… Or was his name Major Walker?”
The plane cranked into a turn, streaming sunlight over Wade’s face. His eyes said he wanted to press her for more information about contacting her family, much as he had pushed in the truck. But then his gaze shifted to the pilot for a second before settling on her again.
He leaned forward in his seat to shrug out of his parka, revealing his camo uniform. “My team leader’s name is Major Liam McCabe, but his call sign is Walker.”
“Call sign?” She settled into her seat, realizing this was the first time in nearly a week when she’d actually had the luxury—the security—of doing nothing. She could indulge herself in simply getting to know Wade.
“Nicknames,” he said. “Like aviators have. Did you ever see the movie Top Gun?”
“Of course.” Hadn’t everyone? “I’m not that cut off from the world.”
“Call signs are used by military members other than aviators, like say, in a special ops unit.”
“And the PJs, pararescuemen like you, are special ops?”
“Yes, we are, about four hundred of us scattered around the globe at last count.” He nodded simply. “And when we’re in the field on a mission, call signs level the field. They keep ranks from getting in the way in a life-and-death decision moment.”
She’d shut out her memories of her brother’s time in the military so carefully in the need to make his new cover story a reality for her brain. But now, talking to Wade, a few old stories drifted up through that carefully constructed barrier. She hadn’t remembered anything about call signs from Phoenix. He’d spoken more about the loss of control over his day-to-day life. “I thought what the officer said was always the bottom line.”
“In essence that’s correct. But different career fields have different dynamics. In those extreme situations that are a part of a special ops duty, I need to feel free to give my input without stumbling over a multitude of protocols and chains of command. There just isn’t time when you’re tiptoeing through a minefield.”