Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
After three straight hours with Smitty, Ace’s head felt packed tight with noise. The guy knew how to dig into brains, now didn’t he? Ace sucked in a long breath of cool summer air.
He’d spent the morning doing odd jobs around town that he’d been ignoring, and his belly had been nicely full before he’d gone to see Smitty.
Now he wanted to puke.
The dock creaked under his boots. A breeze came off the river strong enough to slip through his jacket, but he didn’t feel the cold as he just stood at the end of the dock and let himself look at the plane.
She was beautiful.
The spring lines were set properly, snug but not straining. The aluminum struts connecting the floats to the fuselage were clean and free of corrosion. Fuel caps seated. No visible oil streaking showed along the cowling.
“Hey there.”
Ace turned.
Solomon Torrington made his way down the dock with careful, deliberate steps dressed in tan pants and a mint-green golf shirt. Sunglasses were perched on his head instead of over his eyes. The retired lawyer moved with natural grace, even though he had to be in his sixties.
“I got here as soon as I could,” Ace said. “Just came from a meeting.”
Torrington smiled. “You want to take her up?”
Ace’s stomach spasmed hard enough to make him swallow. The memory of spinning horizon and freezing water flashed without warning. “Sure,” he said. “Great.”
“I’ll pilot her first,” Torrington replied easily. “Then you can take over if you want.” He patted the side of the fuselage. “I’ll offer you a real good deal on her. I need to get to Arizona. My grandkids are growing up without me, and I can’t have that.”
“Uh-huh.” Ace kept his voice neutral. He stepped onto the float first, his boots thudding softly against aluminum. The plane shifted gently under his weight, rocking once before settling. The water lapped against the pontoons in a steady rhythm.
He moved automatically into preflight and ran his hand along the leading edge of the wing, feeling for nicks or dents.
The metal was cool under his palm. He checked the static ports along the fuselage and made sure they were clear.
The pitot tube was uncovered and unobstructed.
He crouched and inspected the float compartments, checking for leaks or water intrusion. The tiedown rings were secure.
The propeller blades were smooth, no chips along the edges. He looked into the engine intake and checked for foreign objects. The oil access panel was secure. He leaned down and peered at the fuel drains, reaching beneath to sample. Clear blue. No water separation. No sediment.
He moved toward the step and pulled himself up to the cabin door.
Inside, the Caravan smelled faintly of avgas, leather, and sun-warmed plastic.
It wasn’t a new airplane, but it was well cared for.
Six passenger seats were in the back, and the beige upholstery showed only slight wear along the armrests.
The cockpit seats were darker, reinforced, and built for hours of use.
He slid into the right seat first, passenger side, the way Torrington had suggested.
His butt hit the seat and his gut hit the floor. This was a mistake. No. He could do it. Maybe.
The cabin rocked again as the older man stepped onto the float behind him.
The door frame vibrated under the shifting weight.
Torrington released the ties, climbed into the left seat, and settled in with practiced familiarity.
The door shut with a firm metallic click, sealing them inside.
The cabin muffled immediately, outside sounds reduced to the slap of water and distant birds.
“Let’s get her loose,” Torrington said.
Ace slid his window open a few inches to let in air.
They ran through the checklist together, and then Torrington engaged the starter and brought in fuel.
The propeller began to turn, slow at first, then faster.
The PT6 spooled with a rising whine that deepened into a steady, controlled growl as combustion caught.
The entire airframe trembled lightly with power.
Sweat broke out on Ace’s brow. He clamped his hand on his thigh, taking deep breaths. He watched every lever.
“Clear,” Torrington called out his open window before bringing it back up. He advanced the throttle gently.
The floats responded, pushing against the water. The Caravan began to taxi, nose pointing upstream and away from the alcove. Water rippled outward from the pontoons, a widening V trailing behind them.
Bile rose in Ace’s throat. He couldn’t breathe. Why couldn’t he breathe?
Torrington used short bursts of power and rudder to steer through the narrow part. A slight crosswind pushed at the tail, but nothing dramatic. They eased into the main river, and he advanced the throttle smoothly to takeoff power.
The turboprop answered with a rising roar that vibrated through the airframe and into Ace’s bones. The Caravan surged forward, floats slicing across the surface. Spray kicked up along both sides, streaking the windows with river water.
Oh God. He had to get out of there. Ace bit his lip hard enough to taste blood.
At first the floats stayed firmly in the water, plowing. Then, as speed built, the drag lessened. The nose lifted slightly. The plane climbed onto the step, riding the surface instead of pushing through it.
The vibration shifted and smoothed.
“Sixty,” Torrington said, eyes forward.
Ace gagged. His hands were slick with sweat now, leaving damp prints on his jeans.
Torrington eased back on the yoke.
The floats skipped once, twice.
The water fell away beneath them, dark and rippling. The engine note steadied at climb power. The Caravan lifted cleanly into the mountain air, climbing out over the rushing water, wings steady against the light wind.
Ace panicked. “No.” He shoved open the door.
“Ace!” Torrington yelled.
Fuck this. Ace leaped out, head first, and fell fast. Just a few yards. He hit the water, and it swallowed him, the current strong. Cold burst all around him.
He popped up, his head ringing. Panic threatened to take him under again, and he fought it. He was here in the river. Not the ocean. His breath evened out and he took a good look around. Now he had to swim for it. He eyed the shoreline.
Man, it was far away.
After working a long day, May found Ace in her shower, his back to her, his hand braced on the tile, and his head down.
She could see him through her glass door.
While his shower had rocks for walls, hers was a very pretty blue tile.
Water sluiced across his shoulders and trailed his spine, leading to his very fine butt.
Wet clothing had been tossed into her sink with his long jeans spilling over the counter. “Ace?”
“Yeah.” He didn’t move.
The bathroom smelled like river water and mud. “Did you fall in the river?”
“Yeah.”
Warning ticked through her and she hesitated. “You okay?” If he said ‘yeah’ again, she was going to turn on the faucet or flush the toilet.
“I jumped out of a plane and dropped into the Dalika River.”
She stopped moving. “Wait a minute. What?”
He just let the water beat over him. Steam rose all round, cocooning them.
“How high was the plane?” she asked.
“Not so high,” he said.
She steadied herself before she spoke. “Are you experiencing any lightheadedness?”
He didn’t turn. “No.”
Her eyes tracked his body automatically as a doctor this time and not a lover. His posture was solid. His breathing looked even, his ribs rising steadily. “How about dizziness?”
“No.”
She stepped closer to the shower. The floor tile was warm under her bare feet. “Tunnel vision? Nausea?”
“No.”
The stream shifted as he adjusted slightly, letting it hit the back of his neck. Steam thickened around him.
“Did your heart rate spike?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“How high?”
“Don’t know exactly. It jumped.”
She moved closer to the glass enclosure, one hand resting lightly against it. Condensation dampened her fingertips. “Did you dissociate at all?” she asked. “Feel detached? Not fully in your body?”
“No.” Finally, he turned. “I don’t need a doctor.”
“What do you need?” she whispered.
He pushed out, grabbed a towel and rubbed it through his hair. She forgot all about being his doctor. His chest was smooth and broad. The osprey tattoo over his shoulder looked ready to strike. His green gaze darkened on her as he scrubbed the towel through his thick hair. “You.”
Her heart stuttered. Even so, she studied his eyes. Clear and focused. Good. His penis was rock hard, and she didn’t need to be his doctor at the moment. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah.” He reached for her, lifting her against his still damp body.
She slid her arms around his wet neck and tangled her fingers in his hair. “Tell me you weren’t the pilot.”
His quick grin reassured her instantly. It was all Ace. “No. I was the passenger.”
It wasn’t funny. She snorted. “I bet you freaked out the pilot.”
The smile widened. “Yeah. Poor Torrington. The guy circled around and landed as soon as he could, but I was already halfway to the riverbank by then.” Ace walked easily out of the bathroom toward the bedroom, his steps unhurried and his body warming hers. “Poor guy.”
“I’m impressed.” She bit into his earlobe.
He jerked. “Impressed? I jumped out, Doc.”
“Yeah.” She leaned back and took him in. “You got into a plane and let it take off first, though. A month ago, that would’ve never happened.” She had to give it all to him. “But if you decide to never fly again, that’s okay, Ace.”
He blinked, water still on his long eyelashes. “Nobody else has said that to me. Not once.”
It was probably because everyone knew how much he liked to fly.
She didn’t know him back then, and she’d never seen that joy in him.
Maybe the pressure was just too much. “You’re still you, even if you’re not flying.
” It felt like he needed to hear that. “You don’t have to fly. You don’t have to do anything.”
He inhaled, his eyes lightening. Perhaps he’d never considered releasing himself of that expectation. “Then what do I do?”
“Whatever you want.” She chose her words carefully as they reached her bedroom. “What else interests you?”
A line appeared between his brows. “I have no idea. From the time I could walk, I wanted to fly.” He stood there in the room, just holding her aloft, no strain on his face. The guy had some serious strength.
She wanted to see him smile again. “The elementary school kids need a new baseball coach.”
His expression cleared. No smile yet, though.
She tried again. “Um, we could use a wedding planner in town.” There it was.
His lips tipped. “Yeah, that’s it. We’re having a tough time getting ready for Amka and Christian’s wedding.
Who knows, if you do it right, Knife’s Edge could become a wedding destination.
” Her eyes widened. “You could create a reality television show. You could call it ‘Love on the Edge.’”
“Smart ass.” He kissed her, his lips wandering over hers with barely a hint of the strength in him. Soft and seeking, kind of sweet.
Desire spiraled slowly through her, making her limbs heavy.
Her fingers slid up his chest, tracing the warmth of his skin, the beat of his heart steady beneath her palm.
He deepened the kiss gradually, not taking, just exploring, as if he had all the time in the world.
The contrast of him—so controlled, so careful—undid her more than anything rough ever could.
He released her mouth to let her breathe. “I need to tell you, I have a hearing tomorrow.”
“I know.” She kissed down his jugular, inhaling his masculine scent.
“Besides the preliminary hearing, I guess the ADA filed a motion to have bail revoked because I’m a flight risk with the fighter pilot situation.” He sighed. “Guess I got lucky with the assistant last time. Now some new shark is on the case.”
Because of Kyle Mercer. A U.S. senator shouldn’t throw his weight around like that. Her heart thumped. “That’s my fault.”
“No, it isn’t. But I want you prepared in case I’m locked up. I don’t want you staying alone.”
She bit into the skin where his neck met his shoulder, happy to leave a love bite on him. He sucked in air, and she smiled. “Where do you want me to stay?” This was her home, and nobody was going to drive her from it.
“With one of my brothers. You should be more comfortable with Brock and Ophelia, and they have room.”
So he’d already arranged this? That was sweet. “I’m not going anywhere.” Her mind spun. How could she get Kyle to back off? Maybe it was time to go public with whatever she could.
Ace drew back only slightly, his mouth brushing the corner of hers. “You overthinking again?” he murmured.
“Probably,” she admitted softly.
His thumb traced a slow line along her jaw. “Don’t.” He kissed her again, full Ace Osprey style this time. Deep and firm, taking her out of her brain. Her body flushed wide awake and ready for him.
He levered back. “Thought I should tell you. I love you.”
She blinked, the world narrowing to the space between them. For a second she thought she’d imagined the words, but his green eyes were intense on hers. “You…” Her throat went dry. Of all the moments she’d rehearsed in her head, this wasn’t one of them.
His gaze didn’t waver. “Yeah. I know it’s quick, but I have to get it out there. Just in case.”
Her heart kicked hard against her ribs. “I love you,” she said, and this time her voice didn’t shake.
Something shifted in his expression then. Not surprise. Relief. “Good.”
She pressed her forehead to his. Wow. They’d jumped right into this, now hadn’t they?
His lips took hers, his arms flexing. Desire heated up inside her again, and she kissed him back.
Her phone buzzed. She pulled back, sighing, and managed to twist her body so she could pull her phone free from her pocket. “Dr. Smirnov,” she answered, heat flowing through her from the look in Ace’s eyes. She listened and then sighed. “I’ll be right there.”
He kissed her quick and hard. “What’s up?”
“Truck of teenagers crashed into the river. Everyone is talking and walking, but their parents want them checked out. I’ll be back as soon as I can to finish what we just started.”
His cheek creased. “It’s not a you thing any more, Doc. It’s a you and me. Let me get dressed real quick, and I’ll drive you.”
You and me. Yeah, she could live with that.