January 6
Sky Lambert sat in the right seat of her Bell 212 helicopter after just landing it. The Cusco international and domestic parts of the sprawling, massive airport were ramping down for the evening. No flights took off after dusk because of the violent, chaotic winds that blew down off the Andes Mountains that ringed this city that sat in a bowl shaped valley. A night, hundred mile an hour winds would howl across the landmass. If a plane tried to fly in that kind of chaos, it would have its wings ripped off.
The sun was setting and she pulled off her white helmet, dropping it in the left hand seat. She pulled off the rubber band that kept her hair in a pony tail. Pushing her fingers through her shoulder length blond hair, she sat there feeling dizzy for a moment. Closing her eyes, she leaned back, just letting the tension slough off her shoulders. They felt so tight. But when didn’t they? Every day, Sky had to prove herself. She flew in twenty foot lengths of pipe in a special sling harness beneath her helo, plus bringing cargo, well supplies, food and medical supplies to inaccessible places where Quechua villagers eked out a living in the highlands of the Andes.
She’d contracted the mild asthma by this high altitude flying without an oxygen mask, making it harder to breath at nearly twelve thousand feet, where Cusco sat. Sky opened her eyes and unconsciously rubbed her chest. Two years ago, she’d been shot in the left upper arm at Camp Nichols. The nerves in her left hand, the last two fingers, had never returned. She could still fly as a civilian, which was her only happiness. The asthma was new, but a lot of people who hadn’t been born in Cusco, also acquired labored breathing issues, too. Some, like herself, developed irritating off and on asthma which was a pain in the ass, but not a giant killer. When she was in Lima, which sat at sea level near the Pacific Ocean, she never had asthmatic symptoms. It was just the high altitude and her body’s inability to adjust to it.
As usual, Sky thought, carelessly opening the harness and releasing it from around her hips and chest, that she was on her own. Nothing new. She’d been born alone. Abandoned by two drug parents who were Meth and cocaine dealers. The only respite she’d seen in her life were the years spent with Jack and Marielle Zimmerman, who took her in, gave her real love, care and nurturing. It was the first time in Sky’s life she’d understood just how much she’d missed when it came to living in a healthy family environment.
Muttering under her breath, she leaned down and pulled her helmet bag from behind her seat and set it in her lap. All water under the bridge. Her life had always been a nightmare of one sort or another. There were no happy endings for her. Ever. Hiding out in the Andes in Peru seemed like a good place to Sky and she leaped at the chance to become a pilot for the Helping Hands Charity organization after separating from the Army after her wound had healed.
Now…and she looked around at the huge airport, the hangars and the planes that were parked in the shadows of the coming dusk, everything would come to a halt at all the different facilities shortly. Nothing would move until seven a.m. tomorrow morning when the winds reversed direction, and the air became tamer and flyable. Only a fool with a death wish flew out of this airport during the night hours. Sky stuffed her helmet, Nomex gloves and knee board into her flight bag.
Opening the door, she emerged from the cockpit. January was still the rainy season, but by mid-March, it would turn to the dry season and then the heat of the Equator would drive the temperature higher. She could dodge rain showers, which were common in the wet season and still deliver life-giving pipe and supplies to the teams who worked at specific Quechua villages. At nearly twelve thousand feet, it was a humid coldness that chilled her and she pulled the green nylon Jacket more tightly around herself. The tan, one-piece flight suit she wore was too thin to take such weather.
Sky saw the lights on in the hangar where they rented space to park the charity-owned helicopter when it needed maintenance and repair. In her helmet bag were papers she had to fill out and hand in to the manager of the charity. Elizabeth Standsworth, her boss, had a small office inside the same hangar. The woman was amazing to Sky. She was the daughter of Senator Curt Standsworth and had devoted her life to creating this charity. Elizabeth wanted to bring fresh, clean water to villages. So many children died of dysentery because of fouled and polluted water. Wells, on the other hand, was clean and free of parasites, bacteria and fecal matter that killed so many babies and young children. Sky believed in Elizabeth’s mission. No child should suffer.
Walking toward the opened hangar door, the lights turning the deepening dusk a little brighter, her breathing becoming more labored. On bad days, it made her dizzy at times, to live in Cusco. If she took good, slow deep breaths, it compensated for the loss of oxygenation, and the dizziness passed. She always carried her emergency asthma inhaler with her. The wind blew hard and mussed the strands of her flattened hair. Hurrying toward the hangar, she didn’t see a man approaching from her left.
“Sky?”
Sky jerked to a halt, hearing her name called. Turning on her booted heel, she saw a very tall man, shadowed by the dusk, coming toward her at a casual pace. Frowning, she her heart amped up. That voice…she knew it. From where? Her fine, thin brows drew down as she squinted, trying to see who it was in the deep shadows. She feared Vladimir Alexandrov finding her. Her Russian nemesis was six foot, five inches tall. And this man approaching her, whoever he was, was close to that height. A part of her wanted to flee mindlessly in fear. Sky felt the adrenaline tunneling through her bloodstream, making her hyper alert, getting ready to run. She always carried a .45 pistol on her, a sidearm she was never without. Her hand automatically moved toward the butt of it. She always left the safety off and a bullet in the chamber because if Vlad ever found her, Sky knew he’d kill her on the spot. Was this man sent by Vlad? Was he here to kill her?
Coming out of the shadows, Sky gasped. Her hand fell away from the .45 pistol, her eyes widening as she jerked to a halt. It was Cal Sinclair! Her lips parted and she felt a rush of so many conflicting emotions that it momentarily paralyzed her. He was free of his black beard she’d seen him with over in Afghanistan. But it was the same square face, those penetrating, narrowed gold-brown eyes of his, his broken nose and mouth, flat and hard looking. When she’d first met Cal, he’d scared the hell out of her because his body build that was almost identical to Vlad’s build. But Cal was nothing like her tormentor, but she’d never revealed it to him, either.
Gulping unsteadily, curling her hand more tightly around the leather handle of the helmet bag as Cal slowed his approach toward her, she released her breath. The well-worn brown leather bomber Jacket outlined his massive, proud shoulders. There was nothing forgiving or weak looking about Cal Sinclair. There never had been. He was a SEAL; one of the best trained black ops warriors in the world. And his walk, although casual and silent, belied the threat that always existed around him. He wore dark green cargo pants that were bloused into black leather combat boots. Even though these were civilian-like clothes, Sky knew they could not hide what Cal was: a warrior in every sense. Her heart raced, but it wasn’t from fear. It was sudden happiness flooding her heart, soothing her fractured soul.
“Cal…,” she whispered as he drew near and halted, his gaze only on her. Sky saw his thinned mouth relax. It was the only feature on this man’s hard face that told her he was capable of humanity; that he wasn’t a killer like Vlad Alexandrov. “W-what are you doing here?” Her voice sounded far away to her, stunned sounding, her words barely above a choked whisper.
Cal halted, his hands coming to rest on his hips as he studied Sky. She looked good. He felt his chest tighten, his pulse ratchet up and every cell in his body wanting to kiss her senseless right now. His gaze dropped to that luscious mouth of hers. Sky wore no make-up, but that didn’t matter. He reined in his desire and said gruffly, “I was looking for you.”
Sky faltered. “Me?” She had never forgotten their one kiss. It had melted her soul, and touched her abandoned heart. Her whole world focused on him. He’d kissed her so tenderly and it had surprised her because he was a warrior, a man of deadly action. Remembering their first meeting in Afghanistan, Sky had been drawn and repelled by him. When Cal had kissed her, she suddenly realized that as rugged looking as he appeared, he was nothing like Vlad. His mouth sliding with invitation lightly across her lips had shattered and melted her. And she’d never forgotten him. Never. He was the ONLY man who she’d ever dreamed about. Good, positive dreams. Vlad was always in her nightmares, but how Sky looked forward to dreams about Cal, cradling her, his mouth seeking, finding hers, filling her with his heat and his strength. Sky gulped, barely able to hold his intense gaze as he perused her in the thickening silence.
“I told you,” Cal said, lessening the gruffness in his low voice, “that I’d find you, Sky. Today is that day.” Searching her stunned looking blue gaze, those turquoise gems set with huge black pupils and a black ring around the outside of them, he softened his mouth. “There’s something good between us, Sky. And I wanted the right to find out if there is…if you aren’t already in a relationship.”