The Tortured Rebel. Alison Roberts
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unwillingly the next day when she had joined them in the swimming pool in her bikini and more than just his brain had taken note that she was no longer a child.
Holy cow! That particular memory had been buried with enough shame to ensure it never escaped. What was happening to him? Jet’s scowl deepened as he slumped into his harness, letting minute after minute tick past. Given the roar of engine noise, it was amazing how the atmosphere in this cockpit was starting to feel like a brooding silence. How the tension was ratcheting upwards.
It was ten years ago! It hadn’t been his fault, any more than it had been Max’s or Rick’s. They’d blamed themselves, of course. Especially him, because he’d been the one to have the hunch that Matt’s headache wasn’t just a hangover hanging on too long. He’d been the one to earn an ED consultant’s wrath, arguing that a CT was justified despite the lack of any real symptoms. They had been such junior doctors then—already branded as being brilliant but maverick. None of them had been able to juggle rosters to keep an eye on Matt when he’d decided he’d go to an on-call room and sleep it off.
And it had been Jet who’d gone to try and rouse him, hours later. Nobody had argued about the CT being needed after that. The horror of finding him and learning that a brain aneurysm had ruptured as he slept would never go away completely. Or the pain of being shut out for the next few days as Matt’s parents tried to cope with his grief-stricken sister and make agonising decisions about organ donation and turning off the life support.
They’d gone over and over it so many times. They’d made peace with it. He shouldn’t have to go through it all again. Shouldn’t have to be even thinking about it. It was Becca’s fault. For being here. For still hating him.
How much longer was this ride going to last? Jet reached to touch the GPS screen and get an update on what distance had been covered.
‘Hands off,’ Becca growled. ‘I’m the only person who touches the controls in here.’
‘Whoa …’ Jet drawled, his hand now in a ‘stop’ signal of mock surrender.
Another minute of an even more tense atmosphere. He sighed inwardly and then flipped his microphone into place as he slid a sideways glance at Becca.
‘What if you pass out or something? You expect me to hurtle to my doom even when I’m perfectly capable of handling a BK117?’
Becca was staring straight ahead, as though she was driving a car and needed to keep her eyes on the road. A jerk of her head said that the notion was too farfetched to be worth commenting on.
‘You want information, you ask,’ she said. ‘My bird. My rules.’
Man, she sounded tough. Jet would normally find that worthy of respect but this was Becca and the image she was presenting jarred with what he remembered of her. Especially the last time he’d seen her, a few weeks before her brother’s death, at a party hosted by the four of them in the old house they’d rented together. Becca had just arrived in the city to start her nursing degree.
An eighteen-year-old, glowing with the excitement of launching herself into the adult world. She’d been all dressed up and ready to party with rings on her fingers and killer heels on her toes. Her hair had been a wild cascade of curls that bounced on her bare shoulders and she had even smelled. amazing.
The effect of witnessing this butterfly girl emerging into womanhood had been absolutely riveting. Matt hadn’t missed the way Jet’s jaw had dropped.
‘Don’t even go there in your head,’ his mate had growled. ‘You’re the prime example of the kind of guy I intend to keep my kid sister well away from.’
The warning had been tempered with a good-natured grin and a friendly punch on the shoulder but it had been serious enough to cause a flash of fear later that night. When Matt had almost walked in on what had happened in the kitchen …
Oh … man. Did that memory have to surface again now, as well?
Of course it did. It had never been buried all that well, had it?
Jet had to break this train of thought. He sent a sideways glare at the cause of this mental turbulence. Becca was still staring resolutely straight ahead, seemingly confident of being in control. He couldn’t even see that much of her head with that helmet on and it was helpful to remember that she was nothing like the way she was in that memory of that party night.
Now her hair was as short as a boy’s and, as far as he could tell, she was wearing neither jewellery nor make-up. And what had her boss called her?
Bec.
The shortest, sharpest diminutive of her name possible.
What was wrong with her old nickname? Was Becca too feminine now? Too soft?
What had happened to that girl?
Jet had to swallow hard. As if he didn’t know.
And he didn’t want to remember, anyway, did he? He hadn’t seen this woman in a decade. They were strangers now. Besides, maybe it wasn’t so out of character, now that he came to think of it. Jet felt a corner of his mouth lifting. He couldn’t help it. He actually snorted with amusement.
‘What?’ Becca turned towards him. The helmet seemed too big for her and it made her look younger. Her eyes were narrowed and her lips almost pursed with annoyance. ‘You have a problem with something? Like the fact that I’m in charge here?’
‘Not at all.’
‘What’s so damn funny, then?’
‘It just reminded me of something.’
‘What?’
‘You. Cheating at Snakes and Ladders.’
‘I didn’t cheat.’
‘No. You just made up your own rules. What was it? Throw an odd number and you got to go up the snakes instead of down?’
‘I was eight years old. A lifetime ago.’ Her tone was a warning. ‘Keep your memories to yourself, OK?’
‘My game, my rules,’ Jet murmured.
It was probably coincidence that they happened to hit some turbulence at that precise moment but he glared suspiciously at his pilot anyway. He might have no choice about her being in charge right now but he didn’t have to like it, did he?
Damn it!
She’d just begun to think that this wasn’t going to be so bad after all.
Jet had always been the brooding type. An intrinsic part of the group but inclined to listen more than speak. To be there. Often leading the action, in fact, but fully informed and able to watch everyone else’s back at the same time.
Powerful. With an edge of darkness that had intrigued her from the word go. She’d been scared of him on that first meeting, as any eight-year-old kid would have been, but then she’d finally seen him smile and chasing down that rare occurrence had become her mission. Learning that she could tease and coax him, as easily as her big brother, into doing exactly what she wanted—like playing Snakes and Ladders her way—had been a bonus.
Becca was checking every single dial and switch on her control panel. Altitude and power. Fuel supply and speed. RPMs of the main and tail rotors. Checks that were only necessary right now due to her desperate attempt to focus on nothing more than the job in hand.
Yeah. It had been going fine while her passenger had been sitting there quietly. She’d been a bit too aware of him, of course. His size and the sheer … maleness he had always emanated. The tension had been noticeable but manageable, as well. Becca was only too happy to put up with a silent, sulky passenger in this particular instance.
But then he’d tried to mess with her controls! He’d almost smiled. Made fun of the fact that she was in charge here. He’d even brought up a somewhat embarrassing reminder of her past and taken her back a little too clearly. Good grief, she’d actually felt