Chapter 2

This wasn't how she'd envisioned the night ending. And based on how much the wind had picked up — the amount of smoke and ash pouring out of the volcano — the situation would only get worse.

Blake Garrett placed the last box on the seat as her two passengers strapped themselves in. They'd obviously been in a helicopter before, though, being ex-military that wasn't a surprise.

The Teams…

That's what Kian had said. And with her father having dedicated his life to flying for the Navy right up until he was killed in action, she knew it meant they were ex-Special Forces. And while they hadn't specified which branch they'd served with, she bet her ass they'd been SEALs, just like Hawk. Especially if Gadsden had been their CO. Though, she supposed they could have been Delta Force, since it was one of the few teams that took recruits from other branches. Regardless, it meant they were hardcore. Had likely seen more action than all her former crew put together. Not that she'd been deployed into active combat the way they would have been, but she'd done several overseas tours as one of the Coast Guard's Tactical Law Enforcement Teams, or TACLET, and had more than a few harrowing flights under her belt.

She narrowed her gaze, eyeing the guy on the right. Waylen. The one with the same name as her friend, Presley Miles' catamaran. Which, in itself, was odd enough, but there was something about his eyes. The shape of his mouth. As if she'd seen him before.

She hadn't. At least, not that she remembered, and Blake prided herself in never forgetting a face — couldn't afford to when it might get her killed. And based on how handsome he was, she definitely would have remembered shaking his hand or even just seeing him across a room. Still, she couldn't quite shake the sense of deja-vu that prickled the hairs on the back of her neck.

Blake slid her attention to Kian. While she hadn't met him, either, he'd been following her movements, earlier. Just before the eruption. Not that he'd been conspicuous about it. More like idle curiosity. But she'd noticed. Had gotten an instant tightening in her gut that had put her on edge, like she did when anyone stared too long. Looked as if they were trying to place her. And she'd been left wondering if he was on the ranch for her and not Gadsden's retirement party. That maybe Henry Russo had finally tracked her down and sent a few hitmen her way. And based on how Kian and Waylen carried themselves — the fact their muscles had muscles — guns for hire was definitely a possibility. When they'd told her Hawk had sent them…

She'd had a moment of pure panic. Of wondering if maybe Hawk was part of the Russo crime syndicate, too. If he'd been playing her this entire time — some twisted version of a long con — waiting until she'd given him a hint of trust before sending Waylen and Kian to kill her. Which she realized was absurd, but after everything she'd been through over the past few years — having her career implode along with her life — a bit of increased paranoia was the least of her worries.

A byproduct, she supposed, of living in the shadows, never letting anyone get too close in case they were planning on putting a bullet between her eyes. Her lifelong penance for putting Henry Russo in maximum security and crippling the family's drug operation. What she'd needed in order to look at her own reflection without wanting to smash the mirror.

Kian must have felt her staring because he looked up — smiled. And just like that, all those butterflies in her stomach started fluttering for another reason because the man was striking. Dirty blonde hair, bright blue eyes, with the kind of massive physique that stretched the sleeves of his white button down. She hadn't missed the edge of some kind of tribal tattoo peeking out at his chest. What looked like a bear or maybe just some abstract design.

Either way, it made her want to see the rest. Trace the lines with the tips of her fingers. Maybe follow-up with her tongue.

Blake gave herself a mental shake, securing her helmet before sliding into her seat as she buckled her harness. Obviously, the years of celibacy were getting to her. Not that she was surprised, especially with how gorgeous the man was. But now wasn't the time to get any crazy ideas. Do something rash like falling for the sexy sailor sitting in the back of her helicopter. While she was fairly confident he wasn't a mafia hitman, it didn't mean he was safe.

Who was she kidding? Safe didn't exist in her world, anymore, and the sooner she remembered that, the better.

The thought cooled the heat slowly curling along her skin, and she managed to get the helicopter airborne without crashing into the trees or part of the ranch. Which was a definite possibility with the smoke and ash eating away the starlight and the moon nowhere close to rising, yet. Not that it would have helped, being nothing more than a silver. But any source of light would have been welcomed.

Blake switched to her night vision visor. It wasn't as precise as the kind of goggles she'd seen Hawk's men carry — the tech she'd used in the Coast Guard before her life had gone in the crapper — but it amplified the light enough she could navigate without relying solely on her instruments. Though, the infra-red forward looking radar and the high resolution terrain mapping units were a godsend. What might be the difference between reaching the volcano instead of crashing some place.

She keyed up the mic, giving her guests a quick glance. "You boys got your headsets on? Can you hear me?"

A rasp of static crackled through her comms. "Roger that. Coming through five by five."

The fact she recognized Kian's voice was proof she needed to get her head checked because she didn't do romance. Couldn't afford to let anyone in with the never-ending threat of retaliation hanging over her head from the fallout of the trial. Becoming friends with Presley had been risky enough. Not that she didn't trust the other woman. She did. Presley Miles was as solid as they came. Would drop everything if Blake ever needed her. While she didn't know Blake's history — couldn't without putting a bullseye on her back, too — Presley knew Blake was running from something. That it was dangerous for her to have her photo taken or associate with too many people. And Presley respected that. Went out of her way to help Blake stay in the shadows.

Blake had tried to warn Presley — had told her she was radioactive and could go critical at any moment, taking Presley with her. But Presley wasn't the kind of person to shy away from danger. And after walking away from everyone Blake had ever known —the career she'd spent a lifetime crafting — she wasn't ashamed to admit, she'd needed the friendship.

More static, then Kian's voice, again, and it was just as sexy as before. A series of goosebumps cascaded down her skin. "Now that we're up here, I didn't realize there were so few light sources. You still okay with this?"

Blake laughed, then hit the intercom. "It's a bit late to worry about that. And I have a night vision visor and instruments that help me navigate. Not quite military spec, but they do the job."

More than did the job, if she was being honest. In fact, it was as close as she could get to her old Coast Guard configuration without actually having a search and rescue helicopter. Broadcasting to everyone she wasn't what she claimed to be.

"I guess that explains the helmet and the impressive setup you have. Much more than other tour companies I've seen. Though, I guess it comes in handy whenever you're helping out Hawk and his men. The guy said he throws some pretty hardcore jobs your way."

He'd been wondering about her helmet? Why her helicopter wasn't standard fare?

True, not many pilots wore helmets other than military or police, but she couldn't chance anyone catching a glimpse of her. Which meant donning the bucket unless she was certain she wouldn't be around other people.

Taking it off at Gadsden's party had been a rash decision, but with Kilauea putting on a show, she'd hoped everyone would be too focused on the volcano to notice her. And after flying all day, she'd needed to feel a bit of cool air across her face.

Of course, she would have worn the helmet in this situation, regardless, especially with the real possibility the trip could end poorly. Mother Nature was unpredictable, and the fact Kilauea had erupted when everyone had thought it would be weeks or months before they saw any concrete activity from any of the volcanos, case and point. She just hoped the ash and smoke stayed high enough she could sneak in beneath it — get that footage the guys needed. What could spell life or death for the people living in the impact zone. And with Kilauea not following her usual pattern…

"He's been very generous and kept me pretty busy. Hang tight. We've got a system moving in quicker than they predicted. It might get a bit bumpy before we even reach Kilauea."

She banked right, heading for the coast. If she followed the shoreline, her passengers could get footage of all the small towns in Kilauea's usual path before she snaked her way inland. They'd catch the rest on the trip south then west toward the resorts.

At least Presley should be fine out on the water. While the smoke and ash could play havoc with the weather patterns, her friend was a seasoned captain. And Blake had no doubts she'd be mooring the boat someplace safe if the fallout ramped up the storm system moving in.

Blake made a mental note to check-in before she shut down for the night — do a flyby if necessary — as she reached the water and started the sweeping pattern over toward the volcano. Waylen and Kian were talking in the back, just the occasional murmur reaching her. They'd obviously twisted their microphones away so they wouldn't activate automatically, and she couldn't help but wonder what the exchange was about. More of that paranoia she'd been thinking about earlier. If they really were there to kill her and had used Hawk's name as part of their ruse.

Of course, if they shot her while she was flying, they'd die, too, so…

And this was why Presley was her only friend. Blake couldn't stop obsessing long enough to let anyone else in. Sure, being suspicious kept her alive, but she'd taken it to a whole new level. One where it lived and breathed right there beside her. Some twisted voice in her head preventing her from ever truly moving on.

She snorted. Like she'd ever be able to move on before Henry Russo was dead. And the likelihood of that happening anytime soon was as bleak as her love life. Even behind bars, the man was seemingly untouchable.

Another reason to focus on her work. Flying had always been her passion, and she'd be damned if she let Russo take that away from her. Not when he'd taken everything else.

She lowered the aircraft, focusing on the shoreline before banking it right, again, and heading inland — following the road for a while. The guys must have finished their conversation because they were snapping photos and taking videos when she glanced over her shoulder at them. Completely immersed in their task.

Noting how sexy Kian looked as he twisted to get a better shot — a gap in his shirt giving her a better look at that gorgeous tattoo inked on the thick band of muscles across his chest — showcased that she really did need more sleep. Or more tequila. Because she knew better than to get distracted, and she had no doubts he'd be an incredible distraction.

A mental pep talk to remind herself she came with one hell of a warning label, and she had her head back in the game. Was weaving her way along the network of roads circling Kilauea. A number of subdivisions had popped up along the edge of the volcano, most of which would be at risk if she continued to erupt in the current direction.

She glanced at the men, again, keying up the comms. "You gents getting everything you need? I could get lower."

Kian looked at her, coughed, as if he'd forgotten how to swallow. "Call me crazy, but if you get any lower, we'll be skimming along the lava."

Blake managed not to laugh, but the look on his face — half wonder, half terror. He definitely wasn't impressed with his assignment. "First time with an erupting volcano?"

He laughed, though even she could tell it was forced. "That obvious?"

"An educated guess. You're not going to puke or anything, are you?"

He glared at Waylen when the guy chuckled, giving him a sharp elbow in his ribs. "I'm fine. Just not a fan of fire-breathing mountains."

"You and me, both. Give me an ocean rescue, any day."

Kian arched a brow a moment before she realized what she'd said. That the words had popped out before she'd had the sense to crush them. More proof that she needed to get her head out of her ass because she never let personal information like that slip.

Thankfully, he didn't call her on it or ask for details, electing to focus on taking more photos. Whispering something to Waylen.

She let the awkward silence suffocate the cabin, doing her best to cover as much area as she could before the fumes and heat started taking a toll. She was just about to key up the mic when it chirped in her head.

"Not to add to your already questionable opinion of me, but is everything still good? I can't help but notice it's getting hotter in here, not to mention bumpier."

Kian, and she didn't miss the slight waver in his voice. Not that he would back down. She had no doubts he'd die in a fiery blaze before he gave into fear or admitted defeat. But it was refreshing to think that beneath the training and never-say-die attitude she associated with most ex-special forces soldiers, Kian might have a softer side.

"The conditions aren't too bad, yet. And I really don't want to have to come back out if we don't get enough footage."

Kian snorted, clearly conveying that it would take biblical intervention in order for him to venture back out. Not that she blamed him. It was hotter and bumpier, and if she wasn't careful, they could all suffer from hypoxia or other breathing problems if the oxygen levels got low from the carbon and sulfur dioxides.

Though, compared to some of the water rescues she'd performed over the years — the helicopter bombarded by wind and spray, the cresting waves making it nearly impossible to hold the chopper level — this wasn't as challenging. A fact that could change at any moment if the heat and gases created swirling drafts that threw ash and smoke her way.

She'd give it another ten minutes then swing south — head for the shore.

A sudden burst of static over her auxiliary radio caught her attention, and she turned up the volume against the intermittent call.

"Mayday, mayday, may... This is the Waylen, Waylen, Waylen. Call number bravo victor nin?—"

Blake smacked the radio as it cut out, the ash most likely messing with the signal.

"Waylen. I've got an injured passenger who needs… hospital… dead in the water."

The message continued, half the words lost to the static, but Blake was already inputting the coordinates as she dialed in the beacon's frequency. From what she'd caught of Presley's message, the closest Coast Guard vessel was a good thirty minutes out, and Blake doubted there were any boats in the vicinity that could get to the distressed catamaran before more casualties piled up. Not with her friend's vessel unable to maneuver in the punishing waves.

Blake banked the chopper over — hard — dropping it lower as she pegged the speedometer to the max. She made a blanket call across the radio, broadcasting her intentions — that she was responding to the distress call — then did a mental check of her supplies. This wasn't a sightseeing tour or info-gathering mission, any longer. This was a full-scale rescue op and with her best friend's life on the line, she was determined to push the chopper to its limits.

The comms buzzed. "Blake? Everything okay? Are we in danger?" Kian, though he sounded far calmer than when he'd been talking about the volcano.

Blake activated the comms. "Everything's fine but there's a slight change in plans."

"What kind of change?"

"Before I go into any details, I need to know what you boys did in the service. And I'm really hoping it involved rescue swimming, otherwise this is going to be very awkward."

Kian snorted. "We're ex-SEALs, so I think we've got a bit of experience under our belts."

She knew she'd been right. "Finally, a surprise I can get behind. I just received a mayday call from a boat that's dead in the water with at least one injured passenger onboard who requires airlifting to the nearest hospital. We're five minutes out. I'm going to need one of you in the water, and the other to stay with me to man the hoist. In case you hadn't noticed, I've got a rescue ladder and a collapsible basket under the middle front seat."

Sounds rose from the back as the men dragged out the supplies. She wasn't sure which one of them would be jumping, too focused on making it to the blip on her screen.

Under five minutes, and she was closing in on the Waylen off her left side — was keying up the mic, again. "I've got the boat in my sights. Once one of you is onboard, switch to channel twenty-four so we can communicate. You can open the doors, now. The wind's going to really kick us around, especially once you're hanging below. It'll be easier to jump using the ladder. Whoever's staying with me can let me know when your partner's fifteen feet off the water so I can hold her steady, but this isn't going to be pretty. Get ready, and whatever you do, don't drown."