Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 105868 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105868 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
“I’ll dig deeper into the ADA,” Stella said. “Everyone has pressure points. I just need to find hers. Also, I have a friend in Washington state who’s the best profiler I’ve ever met. She’s at least as smart as Damian, and that’s saying something.”
Hope flickered through May. “Do you think she’ll help?”
“Yes. Laurel will at least give me a profile on the killer of these blondes. If I ask, I think she and her man, Huck, will head up to Alaska. But let’s see what we can find out first, okay?”
That sounded good. “I’m glad you’re on my side, Stella.” It was still difficult not to think of her as Nixi.
“I’ll always be on your side.” Stella paused. “Have you seen Damian lately?”
“Yeah. I saw him earlier. He came barreling into the clinic asking where you were. He’s got scouts out in town, and one of them saw you come in,” May replied.
A soft exhale came through the line. “Yeah. I saw the scout when I left your clinic and barely slipped him.”
May perked up. “How did you do that?”
“That’s a story for another day. Did Damian look good?” Stella asked after a beat. “Is he healthy? Is he sleeping?”
May lifted an eyebrow even though Stella couldn’t see it. “Was that concern?”
“It might’ve been.”
May leaned back in her chair and considered it. “Damian always looks good. But he was definitely frustrated and angry.”
“Damn. Damian angry is never a good thing.”
“Why don’t you talk to him?” Curiosity pushed through May’s fatigue.
Stella laughed under her breath. “Are you kidding? I’m trying to save his ass right now. He’ll just get in the way.”
May straightened. “What in the world does that mean?”
“Sorry. Can’t tell you.” Stella’s tone shifted back to controlled and light. “For now, I’ll investigate Ace’s case. You relax. And you should probably tell Ace you love him. Don’t you think?”
“It’s not a bad idea,” May admitted. But was it? They’d known each other for months, but only recently had they stepped into something real. Saying it now felt enormous. Final. Would it scare him? Would he pull back? She wouldn’t blame him. It was fast. Everything about this had been fast. And yet there wasn’t a single doubt in her mind about what she felt. “I’ll think about it.”
“You do that,” Stella replied. “Call me if you need me.”
The line went dead.
May set her phone beside the keyboard and stared out the window again. Rain blurred the world beyond the glass. The trees swayed in slow arcs, steady and unaware.
She pressed her lips together and folded her hands on the desk. Should she tell him she loved him? Time felt thin, stretched too tight. Trouble was building beneath the surface, steady and inevitable. Every instinct she had told her that whatever was coming would hit hard.
And soon.
Chapter Thirty-One
Ace came awake for a moment, listening. May was making tea in the kitchen. Good. Her habit of working from three to four in the morning was cute, and he liked that she knew her best sleep started then.
His best sleep happened when he wasn’t dreaming.
The room was quiet except for rain tapping against the roof and the faint hum of May’s space heater down the hall. Her house held heat well. The mattress dipped slightly where she’d curled into him earlier, and he thought of carrying her right back in, but maybe she needed some space. He could understand that. The sheets were warm around his legs, so he stretched out.
He let himself drift back to sleep, and the mattress began to vibrate beneath him. Mattress? No. The feeling was low and mechanical, building fast. Shit.
The cockpit sealed around him.
The strike came from the left. He had to act and right now. A blinding white flash filled the canopy and then violence took over.
The Lightning bucked hard under him. Around him.
Warning lights strobed across the instrument panel in rapid red pulses. MASTER CAUTION. FLIGHT CONTROL FAULT. HYDRAULIC FAILURE. The artificial horizon tilted forty degrees right, then sixty. He pulled the stick and the aircraft fought him. Hard.
The nose dropped.
Altitude was unwinding fast in the lower left display. Five thousand feet. Four.
The cockpit filled with the sharp smell of scorched wiring and overheated electronics. Smoke curled faintly along the left side of the dash. The avionics screen flickered, stabilized, and then went black.
He switched to backup. His heart rate increased, and he breathed deep to slow it down. The Lightning shuddered again, wings rocking as if the air itself had turned unstable. “Come on,” he muttered, forcing steady pressure into the pedals. Was this how Tracker had gone down?
The aircraft rolled fully inverted.
Ocean filled his vision in a slate gray threat growing larger by the heartbeat.
Three thousand feet.
He pushed against the Gs as the jet spun, centrifugal force pressing him hard into the seat. His harness bit into his shoulders. Blood roared through his head, making his ears ring. His vision tightened at the edges.