Max followed directions to the reception area outside the flight surgeon's office. And found...
Instincts were a pain in the ass and dead-on.
Max stalked into the clinic waiting room. Darcy and her crew sprawled throughout the grouping of stark government-issue office furniture as they filled out seventy-two-hour histories for the accident review board. Tag was nowhere in sight, probably already giving lab samples and receiving an exam. Crusty leaned with his back against the wall, loose, relaxed, nipping through the stack of papers.
Too much so.
Max knew the attitude well—studied disconnection from the event until it could be analyzed from a safer, less emotional distance.
Bronco sat at the table, scrawling on a clipboard, face set, fist resting beside the papers. A fist clenched around a key chain Max knew held a mother/daughter photo.
Bronco glanced up. "Hey, Doc. You must have twisted some heavy duty arms to get in here."
Max shrugged—a damned good cover for working the Darcy-induced kink out of his neck. "What are a few rules here or there anyhow?''
A half smile pulled at Bronco's mouth. He jerked a thumb toward the window where Darcy stood with her back to him. Her fingers parted the blinds to expose the smoke rising in a cloud over the base.
"Wren deserves major kudos. Her quick thinking and air sense saved our asses today. If we'd been farther out over the Pacific..." Bronco's knuckles whitened around the key chain.
Max answered with a tight nod. Anger and something else he didn't want to think about at the moment twisted inside him. He'd worked a helluva lot of ops over the years, had almost bitten it more than once. But he'd kept himself detached from it all, like Crusty over there.
For a damned good reason, especially since Eva.
Detachment gave objectivity. And right now he was feeling anything but objective as he looked at this crew he'd come to know and admire over the past weeks.
At this woman he'd come to know, still didn't understand but had to touch.
Max strode across the room and took her by the shoulders. Just stood, absorbed the warmth of her shoulders, vibrant under his hands, as they both stared out the window.
Max's hands curved around her arms. "Are you okay?''
She nodded, still facing away.
"What happened out there?"
"Fuel leak, so we turned back. Plane caught on fire once we opened the wheel well to lower the gear. Air rushed in, feeding the spilled gas and heat," she answered without turning, her overly controlled tones drifting back. "We landed, ran fast, so it wasn't a problem."
His mind filled in the blanks from her understated account too well.
He leaned closer to her ear and lowered his voice. "You aren't hurt and hiding it, are you?" he asked softly, knowing full well she wouldn't admit anything if she thought her crew could overhear. "You're only a few days out of the hospital."
She tensed under his hands. "I'm fine. No need just to take my word for it. Cutter will have to check us all out, anyway. You can relax. Military airplanes catch on fire more often than you would think. Crusty over there's probably got the seventy-two-hour history form memorized. Just a coincidence that it happened now."
"Do you really believe that, Darcy?"
Her shoulders trembled under his grip, and he wanted to get her the hell out of here where he could hold her. Finally she turned to face him. Soot streaked along one tanned cheek.
It had been that close. The bastard responsible was that desperate.
His hold tightened on her shoulders as if he could keep her grounded and safe through his sheer force of will. A temporary measure. Even though he damned well knew this accident was linked to his case, she still faced similar hazards daily—an unsettling notion he hadn't considered before.
He understood the call to service and the risks involved for her. But had never thought beyond the island. Beyond this case.
Now he had to consider more, didn't have a choice anymore around this woman. Even if he said goodbye to her tomorrow or the day after, he would always wonder and worry. And if, God forbid, something happened to her, it would level him.
He wanted the old days back when he could sit against a wall like Crusty and thumb through paperwork until the world returned to order again. Instead he could only think of the woman in front of him and the fact that he'd almost lost her. Could well lose her in ways that had nothing to do with his profession.
He forced his breathing to slow and reminded himself she was alive. Alive and pissed.