Monica was in the open space of hangar bay 3 going over a helo when she heard Scott’s voice, a single clipped syllable. “Hey.” She pulled her head out of the engine. One look confirmed what she’d heard in his voice: he was furious.
“Somewhere we can talk?” He practically spat the words.
She nodded in the direction of the stern, then walked aft through the hangar bay and into the empty jet engine shop. She pulled up a stool, turned to face him, and sat. “Hey?”
Scott took his time pulling over a stool and sitting before he looked at her. “So,” he said after a brittle pause. “I just came from a brief chat with your flight surgeon. Who just came from having a brief chat with Alan Rickards.”
Monica closed her eyes. Shit.
“Monica. Just what the fuck were you thinking?”
“Hang on a sec—”
“Are you actively trying to torpedo your fucking career? Can you even imagine what kind of hell your life would be if Alan had gone straight to Papadakis instead of your flight doc? Who by the way deserves a fucking Albert Schweitzer humanitarian award for keeping this between us and not taking it to CAG!”
Monica felt her face flush—shame? fury? maybe both? “Listen, I’m sorry this blew back on you—”
“You’re sorry? Christ, Monica, this was way, way over the top—”
Monica raised her voice to speak over his. “I’m sorry this blew back on you and I’m grateful for their discretion—” Scott wasn’t listening to a word, just shaking his head “—but all I was doing was asking—”
“Monica, you’ve got to stop this—”
“All I was doing was asking about a rumor I’d heard!”
They both stopped and glared at each other.
“A credible rumor,” she added.
Scott closed his eyes and kept them closed as he spoke, low and measured. “Listen. I know how much this whole thing hurts. She was your friend. I get it. But you’ve got to leave it alone. Besides,” he lowered his voice even more, “Papadakis is not a credible suspect.”
“Well who is?”
“Jesus, Monica, I can’t tell you that, and you shouldn’t be asking!” He paused. “No one is. There are no suspects, not at this point. It’s just a theory, and a damn shaky one. The more we look for hard evidence, the more there’s none there.”
“No you don’t, goddammit.” Now it was Monica’s turn to shake her head. “You don’t drop this ten-megaton bomb on me and then come back twenty-four hours later and try to take it back!”
“I’m not—” He stopped, took a breath, and lowered his voice again. “I’m not trying to take anything back. I’m just—Christ, I shouldn’t have said anything.” He sat back on his stool. “I couldn’t stand to see you sitting around blaming yourself. But I’m not kidding, the whole idea is no more than a sketchy hypothesis based on evidence that’s about as strong as a piece of wet Kleenex. There’s nothing there.”
“No.” She shook her head again. “I don’t care what evidence you have or don’t have. I’ve been thinking about this for the past twenty-four hours, and it’s the only thing that makes sense. Swallowing a handful of pills, that I can see her doing. Putting the barrel of a sidearm in her mouth and pulling the trigger—”
“Jesus, Monica—”
“No, listen to me, dammit! I can see those or a dozen other scenarios. But jumping overboard? Intentionally committing herself to the water? Kris?” She started poking him in the chest to punctuate the words. “No. No way. She would have been too terrified.”
“Didn’t seem to me like she was afraid of anything.”
“You didn’t know her!”
Scott put up both hands. “Hey.”
“Sorry.” She realized how loud she’d gotten and lowered her voice to a hush. “I’m sorry. But you didn’t know her, Scott.” Her eyes welled up.
Scott put his hands on her shoulders. “Hey,” he said softly. “Listen. We’ll figure out what happened to Kris. Trust me. But the most important thing right now is securing your HAC. Right? And not doing anything that jeopardizes that. Okay?”
Scott leaned in closer, gripping her arms.
And kissed her.
Monica was so caught off guard she didn’t react, or even know how to react.
The kiss went on, and it went deeper, his tongue exploring the inside of her mouth, the warmth of his lips intoxicating, the smell of his skin filling her nostrils. His hands were behind her now, pressing into her back, his arms encircling her, and she felt herself dissolve into the inexpressible comfort of being held. A part of her longed to let go altogether and be wholly consumed. She couldn’t breathe. She didn’t want to breathe.
She placed both hands on his chest and gave a push.
Scott backed away, putting his palms up in that Hey I surrender gesture again. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
It was the apology that did it.
And that gesture—all innocence and plausible deniability.
He was sorry? What, he momentarily lost control? No—anyone else, maybe, but not Scott. She knew him well enough to know that “Oops, I didn’t mean to” was not a gear in his drive shaft.
It was the first thing he’d ever said to her that rang false, and it hit her like a slap in the face. He was placating her again. Trying to get her to back down.
Not a gear in her drive shaft.
All at once that messy tangle of feelings fell away, all sorted and clear now.
She was not about to flirt with disaster by slipping into some kind of onboard romance. She couldn’t afford the distraction. She liked Scott, liked him a lot. But she needed to stay focused and on task.
Someone had killed her friend, goddammit. And if Scott wouldn’t help her nail the bastard, she’d find someone who would.
“Scott,” she said, her voice husky with emotion. “You’re a wonderful man, and a good friend. But…back off.”