The Tortured Rebel. Alison RobertsЧитать онлайн книгу.
she didn’t want to remember or was it because she didn’t want him thinking of her as someone’s kid sister any more?
The tight feeling in her chest increased until it was painful to suck in a breath. She wasn’t anyone’s kid sister any more, was she? And it was his fault.
And she really, really didn’t want to spend the next couple of hours or so thinking about what life had been like back then and how much she still missed her big brother. It would have been bad enough simply seeing Jet from a distance. Being this close to him and only him, miles from anywhere, was almost unbearable. It was opening an old wound that had been too huge to ever heal over completely and the opening process was a threat. There were soft things underneath that scar that had to be protected at all costs.
Memories.
Feelings.
Hopes and dreams.
Her heart.
Maybe he was right to make fun of her being in charge and trying to sound tough.
Maybe it was all a sham.
The patch of turbulence was great. Becca could feel every tiny nuance of the buffeting and hear the changes in engine noise as though her chopper was talking to her. She became absorbed in her flying and found the thrill creeping back. Being so connected that she became a part of the machine. Or maybe it was an extension of her body. Whatever. They were aloft. She could see the patchy moonlight catching the whitecaps on the ocean below and they were speeding into the night. The turbulence added just enough to the adrenaline rush of it all and by the time they were back into calm air, Becca had found an inner equilibrium, as well.
It didn’t matter what Jet remembered or what he thought of her now. She was in charge. Of this chopper and who touched its controls. Of what communication, if any, took place between the people involved in this mission.
Flipping channels, Becca checked in with flight control and with her base. Richard was close to the radio.
‘Any update on patient status?’ she queried.
‘No further communication,’ Richard responded. ‘The link was patchy and we think we might have lost it.’
‘Roger that. Any update from the met office?’
‘Aftershocks being recorded. Nothing major.’
‘Roger. I’ll get back to you when we’re closer to target.’
Closing off her outward channel to the mainland, Becca left the internal link open. Just in case she felt like talking to Jet.
Which she didn’t.
They had nothing in common other than this mission. If it had been anyone else with her, she’d be practically grilling him about what it was like to be part of an elite group like the SAS. What kind of training they got and where they’d been. She would have soaked up every story she could extract and revelled in vicarious dangers. But to ask anything would be opening a Pandora’s box with Jet. She’d end up getting filled in on what he’d been doing for the past ten years. She’d probably hear about Max and Rick, as well, and she had to stay away from those connections to the past.
She didn’t want to hear about how close they would still be with each other. That whole ‘bad boy’ vibe that had been a secret pact and bond that she’d been so in awe of. Good grief, she’d actually taken up nursing simply to stay in their orbit. All of them had been special but Matt and Jet had stood out, of course. So different from each other but way too much alike in the power they’d had over her.
The power to be the centre of the universe. Trustworthy and indestructible.
Yes. She had to stay away from it to protect herself. Because she knew now that it wasn’t true. That it was just an illusion.
She had to focus on the present. That fact that she and Jet had nothing in common but this mission. She would take him to the island, drop him off and then fly out of his life and probably never see him again.
Her salvation lay in that, she realised. Or was it a bad idea to break the silence that had filled in such a good chunk of time now? She could be professional but distant. Discussing the mission might be vastly preferable to sitting in a verbal desert for hours and fighting the pull into the past.
‘How much do you know about Tokolamu island?’ The question came out abruptly, almost an accusation of ignorance. No wonder Jet’s eyebrow rose.
‘As much as I need to know.’ The tone was laid back enough to be a drawl. ‘It’s the tip of a volcano that could erupt at any time. There are people on top of it who need to get off.’
His voice was right in her ears. As dark and deep as everything else about this man. That mix of being offhand and supremely confident was him all over, too. A lot of people would find that insufferable rather than attractive.
Maybe she was one of them.
‘Some of those people are hurt,’ Jet continued. ‘It’s my job to look after them. Your job is to get me there.’
Yep. She was one of them. Arrogance, that’s what it boiled down to.
‘Tokolamu’s more than just the tip of a volcano,’ she informed him. ‘It’s a significant nature reserve. It’s got about seventy species of birds on or around it and that includes a successful breeding programme for endangered kiwi.’
The grunting sound indicated minimal interest but the conversation was working for Becca. Impersonal. Safe.
‘There’s weka there, too. And even kakapo. Did you know they’re the world’s heaviest parrot?’
‘Can’t say I did.’
‘They’re also the only flightless and nocturnal parrot in existence.’
‘Flightless, huh?’
‘Yep.’
‘They’d be mates with the kiwis, then?’
It was Becca’s turn to make a vaguely disparaging sound. Was he putting her down again?
‘Well, I reckon the other sixty-eight or so species of bird must think they’re a bit inferior.’ There was something more alive in Jet’s tone now. ‘When did you decide you wanted to fly, Becca?’
Becca. Nobody called her that these days. She was Rebecca to people who didn’t know her well and Bec to her closer associates. A short, firm kind of name. No frills. Just the way she liked it.
So why did he make it sound like that was her real name? As though everyone else, including herself, had been using the wrong one all these years? She shook the disturbing notion away and latched on to his query with relief.
‘Ages ago. When I left nursing I went into the ambulance service. They needed an extra crew member on a chopper one night and I got picked. I’d only been up in the air for ten minutes when I realised I didn’t want to be sitting in the back. I wanted the driver’s seat.’
Oh … help. This was exactly what she hadn’t wanted to be doing. Raking over the past. Divulging far more about herself than she’d intended to. Opening doors that had to remain shut or they would both be sucked into the worst space of all.
Jet’s chuckle was so unexpected, her head swung to face him. The sound was more than one of amusement. It signalled sympathy. It said he understood. That he would have felt exactly the same way.
And that was when Becca remembered how he’d got his nickname. Not because his hair was jet black but because he’d had a passion for fast things. Motorbikes and cars. Aircraft. Even his women had to be sleek and ready to speed into his bed.
Hadn’t part of his attraction been that he’d had the aura of the kind of things associated with flying? Things like turbulence and danger. The thrill of feeling weightless and able to move with a freedom that could be pure bliss. Maybe the rush she got from flying was the best substitute she had ever been able to discover