Page 6

Chapter Two

“Dad? Do you still copy?”

Mackenzie “Mac” Parker stared down at the guy standing beside her father’s truck, wondering what the hell was going on. If maybe the storm had crapped out their radios because there was nothing but an eerie silence over the comms.

A few more moments of absolute silence, then her dad’s gruff voice. “Send down the basket. Just do me a favor and land both back on the road if possible.”

Mac glanced at Charlie, wondering if she’d imagined her father saying to land everyone back on the road instead of hoisting them up and heading straight to the clinic, but the man merely shrugged. “Say, again?”

“You heard me. Drop them back off if it’s safe.”

“Roger.”

She wasn’t sure what that was about — if there was some form of danger she was unaware of — but she’d do her best. “Okay, Charlie. Mission’s a go.”

The gusting wind buffeted the chopper as she moved into position, holding it steady as Charlie opened the doors then lowered the basket.

Rain blew in through the open space, chilling the cabin as the temperature dropped.

She clenched her jaw, adjusting the controls as the guy hooked himself up to the harness then gave her a twirl of his finger.

She moved, lifting him several feet above ground level before easing the helicopter sideways. Battling the fierce drafts cutting across the embankment until she was over the person lying motionless on the rocks.

The basket swung, the mixture of the rotors’ downwash and the wind spinning it dangerously close to the shoreline. She countered, moving with it until the whole unit finally settled, staying just right of their patient.

The guy glanced up then reached for the cliff side, grabbing ahold when she shuffled over enough for him to wrap his hands around a large rock. The weight beneath her shifted, then eased as he put some slack in the line, climbing along the slippery surface before going to his knees.

She kept the bird steady, working her hands and feet in an effort not to yank him over or drag him across the shoreline.

Rain pummeled the bubble, a flash of lightning rattling the cabin as it shot across the sky, far too close for her liking.

She looked down, mentally willing the guy to move his ass when Charlie’s voice sounded in her helmet.

“Um, Mac. Please tell me that’s not what I think it is?”

She frowned, focusing out the left window. A twisting funnel of frothy white water zigzagged across the surface, gaining speed and volume as it headed their way. “Crap.”

Mac keyed up her mic. “Hey, buddy.”

An exasperated huff rasped over the comms. “Kinda busy here.”

“Yeah, well, you might want to speed things along. We’ve got a bit of a situation forming and time isn’t on our side.”

The comms went dead followed by a harsh curse. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The line pulled tight for a moment, the weight shuffling from side to side as the funnel drew closer, spraying water across the ocean as it intensified, quickly doubling in size.

She held firm, aware she had no other option but to hope he gave her the green light before it reached them when her comms clicked.

His voice rasped over the static, followed by a harsh, “Go.”

She moved, quickly gaining altitude as she banked away from the cliff. What she hoped would prevent the basket from crashing into the rocks if the wind caught it before she got them clear.

The line pulled tight, tugging against the chopper as the top few feet of the funnel snared the basket, spinning if for a few horrifying seconds, water shooting out in all directions.

She stopped short, maintaining just enough tension on the line it wouldn’t slingshot the guy sideways when they finally broke free.

Pressure built through the controls, some of the gauges edging toward the red, when the spout passed, crashing into the cliff in a stunning display of wind and rain.

The line went slack as the basket dropped a few feet, finally settling beneath the chopper, again.

She shoved the cyclic forward, getting them clear of the cliff before banking it over and paralleling the shoreline. Any hope of dropping them off beside her father’s truck fading into the thick fog curling up the base and across that road.

Charlie nodded when she gave him the thumbs up, activating the hoist and reeling in the line. The chopper rocked with the shifting center of gravity until the constant whining of the hoist stopped followed by the clatter of the basket skidding across the rear cabin.

Her comms chirped then her dad’s voice sounded over the radio. “You all okay?”

She clicked the button. “Fine, dad. But we’ll have to head for the hanger. Can you call dispatch and get an ambulance headed our way? I’ll never make it over the hills to Providence in this weather.”

“Already done. They’ll pick up your patient then head on to the clinic. I’ll see you later. And Mac, we’re not done talking about this.”

She chuckled. If only her father knew some of the missions she’d flown while in the Coast Guard. Though, he probably did but was choosing to selectively forget anything that didn’t jive with his line of thinking. That she was still his little girl.

Boots scuffed the floor off to her right, and she chanced a quick glance behind her.

The guy was splayed across the floor, water pooling beneath him as he fumbled with the carabiner.

Charlie shuffled over and released the clip, thanking the guy before focusing on the other person bundled in the basket.

The man scanned the chopper, eyes wide. His mouth pinched tight. He met her gaze, his nostrils flaring as he seemed to take short, choppy breaths.

She sighed, talking loud enough he’d hear her over the wind still howling through the open doors. “Sorry, but between the spout and the fog, I couldn’t access the road, again.”

He frowned but nodded, still looking around as if he expected the entire machine to either crumble around him or swallow him whole.

She motioned to the vacant spot beside her. “There’s a seat up here, if you’d like.”

He glanced at the empty chair, shuddered, then stood, making his way between the bulkhead before stopping. Looking as if he might pass out.

Mac frowned, staring into the darkness. At least the lighthouse was working, each flash of light guiding her back to base. Not that she couldn’t distinguish the shoreline but between the pouring rain and the encroaching fog, it was getting sketchy, even for her.

A minute passed before she looked up, motioning to the spot, again. “Either sit there or grab a seat in the back. Just do something before some turbulence tosses your ass across the cabin.”

He muttered something under his breath then shuffled over, leaning his hip against the chair. Not standing but definitely not fully sitting. More of a modified squat. As if he planned on diving across the cockpit at a moment’s notice.

She shook her head, secretly wondering how her father always seemed to find the crazy ones, when he picked up the spare headset and slipped it on.

He clicked on the mic, looking over at her. “In all the rush, I didn’t get your name.”

The fact he hadn’t introduced himself first, seemed a bit odd. But then she’d just been commenting on the fact she already thought he was nuts.

She smiled, absently noting how stunning his eyes were. Some enchanting combination of blue and green, that sparkled with every pass of the lighthouse beacon. “Mackenzie. But everyone just calls me Mac.”

Those gorgeous eyes widened, and he mumbled something resembling, fucking Atticus , before he huffed. “Mackenzie. As in Parker. Atticus’ daughter.”

“You know my dad?”

The guy chuckled. “You could say that. I flew missions under him in a number of JSOC operations. Nothing long term, but you get to know the people commanding you pretty quick.”

“You flew…”

Well, damn. She gave him a more thorough once-over.

The guy was tall, well over six feet and had the kind of physique that came from hours in the gym.

His hair was long — more of a Winter Soldier vibe than the clean-cut Steve Rogers look she’d imagined — and he had a few days’ worth of growth on his jaw.

Not a full beard but well past a five o’clock shadow.

He was handsome, she supposed, if she pushed aside all her preconceived notions about the guy.

She dodged the chopper around a pocket of thicker fog, noting the way his breathing kicked up as he fisted his hand. “You’re Beckett .”

Foster Beckett. Major. Retired. And part of the reason she’d finally decided to give up the Coast Guard to help her father.

Though, to hear him talk about the man, Beckett was more legend than mortal.

Had received a shoebox full of metals for various acts of bravery while under fire.

She’d come to refer to him as the ghost .

Always there but never seen. Her dad had been trying to get the guy to join Raven’s Watch for the past six weeks, but all he’d gotten was the same three words. That Beckett wasn’t interested.

Beckett’s mouth twitched. “I see you share your father’s current opinion of me.”

She snorted, angling the machine toward the shore in the hope of beating the advancing fog bank.

“All I know is that my dad finds something wrong with every pilot I send his way because in the end, none of them are you. Which means, I’m now stuck working double duty while my father tries to woo you. ”

Beckett stared at her, his eyes narrowed as he constantly shook out his right hand. As if it had gone numb and still hadn’t come back to life. “Woo me?”

“Something wrong with my choice of words, Major?”

“Only in the sense that Atticus Parker doesn’t woo anyone. Threaten? Sure. Bully? Definitely. Hell, he might even resort to asking somewhat nicely if the stars are in alignment. But he’d never woo .”

“Maybe you don’t know him as well as you think?”

“Or maybe you’re projecting your own feelings into the matter.”

“My feelings? I don’t even know you.”