Chapter 1
They were calling it the storm of the century, but as far as Cooper Reed was concerned, that was just so much media hype. He’d weathered a lot of storms in his thirtynine years—from Mother Nature as well as a few of his own making. And while the severe weather system that had moved over the state of California eight days ago and pelted coastal communities with raging winds and fierce rains had been bad, it wasn’t the worst he’d seen.
Still, the storm had managed to disrupt his life pretty good, not to mention the toll it had taken on his wellbeing. His helicopter flight service had ground to a dead stop, and he could count on one hand the number of hours of sleep he’d had since volunteering with the rescue efforts that had begun seventy-two hours ago. His chopper had been in the air almost constantly in the past three days, so to say he was exhausted was an understatement.
Coop stumbled into his small, cluttered office and collapsed in the squeaky chair behind the desk. As offices go, it wasn’t much, with its bare floors and cramped space, but that was okay. He wasn’t there much, anyway. He spent most of his time piloting his helicopter back and forth between the airport and the huge offshore oil platforms that dotted the waters off the Santa Barbara coast. On four scheduled flights each day, he would ferry people, equipment, supplies—and just about anything else anyone would pay him to deliver—over the turbulent waters of the Pacific.
He leaned back, resting his head against the slick green vinyl and gazing through the small, grimy window beside the desk. The main runway of Santa Barbara’s small airport was quiet now, but that hadn’t been the case seventy-two hours ago. The place had been abuzz with activity then, air ambulances and transport planes landing and taking off one after the other, and emergency vehicles screaming back and forth, sirens blasting. It had been crazy—but then, like everything else since the damn storm had hit.
Starting eight days ago with a light drizzle, the storm had intensified over the California coast. For four days the calm waters of the Pacific had turned into a teeming caldron of destruction and death. Swells offshore rose as high as sixty feet and created a tide that swallowed up beaches and brutally pounded cliffs.
The aftermath had been no less brutal—a harsh testament to the fury of Mother Nature’s hand. Injuries up and down the state had been bad, and some areas had experienced devastating destruction. Every pilot, seaman, heavy equipment operator, truck driver, search-and-rescue squad, law-enforcement agency, emergency medical team and able-bodied soul with two steady hands had pulled together to work the massive rescue campaign Coast Guard and Red Cross officials had organized.
Coop rubbed his scratchy eyes. He’d lost count of the number of trips he’d made between the airport and the offshore drilling platforms since the rescue began. With considerable storm damage to many of the platforms, and critical injuries, time had been of the essence in getting help to the stranded workers. He’d spent the past three days picking up and delivering injured workers to area hospitals, carrying supplies and equipment to repair damage, transporting work crews to storm-ravaged areas and assisting in search-and-rescue missions up and down the coast.
The wind shifted suddenly, sending a smattering of light rain against the windowpanes. It hit the glass with a crackling sound, a feeble reminder of the gale-force winds that had ripped through the area only days before. Coop gave his eyes another rub, stifling a yawn, and reached for the stack of mail Doris had dutifully left piled on his desk over a week ago.
Doris DeAngelo called herself his receptionist—probably because she sat behind the small counter out front—but to anyone who knew Coop and his aversion to anything resembling paperwork, she was the heart of Reed Helicopter Service. Coop might be the pilot and owner, but Doris was the reason the doors stayed open for business. She saw to it schedules were met, phones were answered and bills were paid on time.
Except the offices were empty now—they’d been empty all week. But even without the storm, Doris wouldn’t have been around at this time of day anyway. It was nearly six, and Doris never, never worked past two. The way she saw it, she didn’t need eight hours to get eight hours of work done. Besides, bridge games at the San Marcos Retirement Center began at three o’clock sharp, and Doris never missed a bridge game. Next to pushing him around, there was nothing the sixty-two-year-old woman liked more than playing bridge.
Coop smiled, leafing through the mound of mail. It was all junk, flyers and advertisements—nothing of importance. If there had been anything important, Doris never would have left it for him to take care of, anyway.
He glanced at the phone. At least his electronic voice mail service was his own. Doris wanted no part of it, thank God. As far as she was concerned, if it didn’t involve a pen and paper or her antiquated Royal typewriter, it was considered high tech, and Doris simply didn’t do high tech.
Coop picked up the receiver, hearing the rapid clicking sounding along with the dial tone that indicated he had taped messages waiting. He punched in his code and waited while the computer retrieved his calls, wondering just what he had missed in the frenzy of the past several days.
Coop listened to the perky voice of Barbara Reynolds, the insurance agent who’d taken over his account last year. Hearing that the premium on his copter was coming due wasn’t exactly news he was anxious to hear. Neither was Dale McCannon’s message that followed. Coop understood when a property manager started talking about renegotiating anything, it meant only one thing—his rent was going up.
As he listened, Coop picked up a pencil from the cup by the phone and doodled absently on the year-old calendar that lay among the clutter on top of his desk. He blackened a tooth of Miss January, who was clad in a teeny bikini and stocking cap made from the colorful labels of a popular brand of motor oil. He’d finished one front tooth and had just begun sketching a mustache across the top of her smiling lips when the next message began to play.
It took a moment for it to register what it was he was listening to, to identify the voice and understand the words being spoken. However, when recognition finally sunk in, the pencil slipped from his hand, landing on the cluttered desk and rolling into oblivion.
It had been two years, and yet Coop recognized his former father-in-law’s voice immediately. Morris Chandler had raised five kids on his own, and there wasn’t much that could get him upset—but he sounded upset now. In fact, he sounded terrified.
As he listened to Mo’s message, Coop felt a cold dampness settle over the room, a cold that seemed to seep into his bones and turn his blood to ice. Kelsey was in the hospital. Mo hadn’t said how or why—just that she was in the hospital and needed him. It seemed impossible.
Coop stared at the defaced calendar, but he wasn’t seeing the spoiled image of the model in the picture. He was seeing an image in his mind, seeing the face of the woman he had married, the face of the woman who had promised to love him forever. Only Kelsey had broken her promise—broken it and walked away. Two years ago she had decided their marriage was over, had decided what was broken couldn’t be fixed, what they once had was over forever.
It had been a bad time for both of them, a time when they should have pulled together, when they should have helped each other heal. Except there had been nothing she had wanted from him—not his comfort, not his support and certainly not his love.
His hand flexed nervously around the telephone receiver, and he closed his eyes. Mo was telling him she needed him now, she was in the hospital and needed him. How could that be?
He heard the beeping that signaled the end of one message and the start of another, and before he could think or react, Mo Chandler’s voice came on the line again. The second message was short and to the point, and the third shorter still, with Mo leaving the same cryptic message, the same succinct dispatch—Kelsey needed him. The only things different in each message was the tone of Mo’s voice. It grew more urgent and a little more desperate in each.
When the line finally went dead, Coop quickly punched in a code and replayed the messages. Except there was nothing else to hear, no further information to procure, no hidden message he’d missed the first time around. Coop hung up the phone and slowly rose to his feet.
He stood there for a moment, not sure what he should do—stand, sit, walk or run as far away as he could. He felt stunned, a little like he’d been caught in a wind shear and was heading toward the ground in a tailspin.
Glancing at the phone, he snatched it and punched in Mo Chandler’s number. He didn’t have to look up the number. Mo’s number, like everything else about Kelsey Chandler Reed, had been permanently burned into his memory a long time ago.
He felt a ripple of anxiety while he waited for the connection to go through. The blood rushed through his veins, and there was a bitter taste in his mouth he hadn’t experienced in a long time—not since his days with the Navy SEALS. He’d feared for his life back then, and for the lives of those depending on him, and the fear was no less real now. He wasn’t on a mission to save the world from disaster this time, but he did have to save himself from the past.
With a loud click, the call finally connected. Coop held his breath as the phone rang once, twice. His mind raced as he tried to decide what to say, practicing lines in his head. There were so many things he wanted to know, but he didn’t want to just start blurting out one question after another.
The phone rang for a fifth, then a sixth time. He thought of Mo’s words on the message. If there isn’t anyone at the house... But there had always been someone at Mo’s house, always one of Kelsey’s brothers or sisters or nieces or nephews.
Eight, nine—Coop felt the muscles in his stomach tighten. Where was everyone?
Finally, he accepted the inevitable and dropped the phone to the cradle. No one was going to answer. The air left his lungs in one long sigh. He wasn’t sure if he felt relieved or disappointed. What did he do now? Wait and try again? Go home?
He walked around the desk, stopped at the window and looked at the sky. It was dark, and the misty rain had made the runway wet. The landing lights reflected brightly off the slick surface, sending streaks of color in all directions. But Coop’s thoughts were too far away, his mind too distracted to see anything at all. All he really could think about was Kelsey.
What had happened? Why would she need to see him? Was she sick? Had there been an accident?
A bolt of fear traveled through him like lights streaking across the wet pavement. He should be doing something, something more than just standing there staring out a window. He needed to call Mo, call the hospital—call out the National Guard!
But, for the moment, all he could do was stand there and stare. It had taken him two years to pull his life together, to bury the memories deep enough so he could cope with the pain. He couldn’t afford to open up those wounds, couldn’t afford to start hurting all over again.
And yet Mo said she needed him. There had been no mistake. How could that be? They had been leading separate lives for two years. There had been no communication, no contact between them. What could have happened to make her want to see him again? What did she need from him after all this time?
Coop closed his eyes, thinking of his ex-wife, picturing her laughing blue eyes and honey-colored hair. Emotion swelled in his chest, pressing tight against his heart and making it difficult to breathe. It had been a long time since he’d allowed himself to think of her. He’d had to work hard to bury the memories, had to search long and hard to find a hole in his soul deep enough to bury them in. Otherwise, he never would have survived. He drew them out now, spreading them in his head and letting himself remember everything.
He remembered waking up after surgery in the recovery room of the ICU. Her beautiful face had been the first thing he’d seen, and he thought he must have fallen in love right then. Somehow he had just known she was the one, the woman for him. She’d been his nurse then, tending to his injuries and nurturing him to health, but by the time the bullet wound in his back had healed and the stitches from the surgery were out, he’d made her his wife.
Kelsey had been strong and independent—two things the wife of a Navy SEAL had to be. His missions had been dangerous and had often taken him away for months. at a time. Kelsey had worried, but she’d adjusted. She had handled the worry and the long separations like she handled everything in her life—smoothly and proficiently.
Coop opened his eyes, watching the moon peek through the thin cloud covering. He could still remember how it had felt to come home to her waiting arms after the long nights away. Nothing seemed to matter then—not the Navy, not even the commission he’d worked so hard to get. She’d meant everything to him, and even before she’d asked him, he’d begun to think about leaving the SEALs. He’d had enough of life on the edge. He’d wanted to settle down, lead a normal life—with kids and a house and Kelsey in his arms forever. When he’d resigned from the Navy and started Reed Helicopter four years ago, he’d thought he had everything he’d ever want.
Coop rubbed his tired eyes. Of course, that had been before it had all come crashing down, before anger and pain had eroded her love. Before Kelsey had demanded a divorce.
He turned from the window, went to the desk and picked up the phone again, then punched in the number for directory assistance. As he listened to the halting recorded voice on the line, he scribbled the number for Community General Hospital in Santa Ynez across the toothless smile of Miss January. Taking another deep breath, he punched the number into the dial, not wanting to stop for too long or give himself an opportunity to change his mind.
“Good evening, Community General. How may I direct your call?”
Coop hesitated, hearing the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. “Uh, I’m trying to get in touch with Morris Chandler.”
“Is he a patient?”
“Uh, no—I mean, I don’t think so.”
“I’m sorry, sir, I don’t understand.” The disembodied voice had a practiced patience. “Are you looking for a doctor?”
“No, actually, I got a message—” Coop stopped, feeling thick-tongued and stupid. “I think...I mean, Mr. Chandler is visiting a patient there.”
“What’s the patient’s name?”
“Kelsey. Kelsey Reed.”
He waited, recognizing the sound of fingers on a keyboard as the receptionist punched information into the computer. He heard the pounding of his heart become a roar.
“I’m sorry, sir, Mrs. Reed is allowed no visitors.”
A wave of nausea washed over him. He knew Mo had said something had happened, that Kelsey was in the hospital, but hearing it confirmed by the bland, dispassionate voice on the phone made it real.
“Could—” His voice failed, and he cleared his throat loudly. “Could you connect me to her room?”
There was more tapping of computer keys before the voice came on the line. “I’m sorry, sir, there are no calls allowed through, either.”
“Oh, God.” Coop dropped the phone. It landed with a thud across Miss January’s midriff. Somewhere in the back of his brain he heard the distant voice of the receptionist on the line and knew Doris would read him the riot act for leaving the phone off the hook, but he couldn’t be bothered with that now. He was already making his way to the door.
If he got the chopper fueled up and left right away, he could be in Santa Ynez in about a half hour. He’d been fooling himself thinking there was ever any question whether he would go. Of course he would go. Kelsey was in the hospital. She needed him, and that was all that mattered.
“Kelsey, come on. We’ve got to get out of here now!”
Okay, okay, she was coming. Couldn’t he see she was working as fast as she could? The bleeding had nearly stopped, and if she could get the bandage to hold just a little longer...
“Kelsey, there’s no time. Come on.” His voice echoed in her ears, and she could almost see his face. But who was he? Why didn’t he just leave her alone? She was hurrying, but she couldn’t leave until her job was done. There was still one kid. Couldn’t he see that there was one last kid?
“Kelsey, hurry.”
She could see his face now, could see the hand extended toward her. It was such a kind face, and there was a vague air of familiarity about him, and yet she didn’t know who he was. Why did he keep calling to her? Why did he look so frightened?
“Kelsey.”
She heard his voice, but it was growing faint. He was saying something else, mouthing wild, frantic words, and she had to strain to listen. Her head hurt so much, the pain throbbed at her temples and across her eyes. And the noise. There was so much noise.
She closed her eyes, seeing the pallid, ashen faces of the children. Oh, God, there had been so many children, and they’d all been hurt, all been crying. She had to get them out. The children. The children.
The pain in her head grew unbearable, and the noise was deafening. The noise and the pain—they were killing her. She was going to die, she knew it, could feel the life draining out of her. She was going to die, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
“Coop,” she screamed. It only seemed right that her husband’s name be the last on her lips—the husband she had disappointed, the husband she had lost. She’d sent him away, given up her claim and tried to deny her love, but the time for truth had come. “Cooper, I love you. I love you, Coop.”
“Kelsey.”
Suddenly, like a plug being pulled on a television set, everything went black. Images faded, and the roar died to a quiet hum. There was no more screaming, no more children crying. There was just the quiet sound of her name being called, and a terrible, painful throbbing in her head.
“Kelsey, come on, sweetheart. Wake up.”
“Coop?” Her voice sounded raw and coarse in her ears, and it pounded at her temples like an animal ramming the door of its cage.
“No, sweetheart, it’s me. It’s Dad.”
“Daddy,” she repeated breathlessly. Getting words from her brain to her mouth seemed like such a complicated procedure, and she felt drained of energy. “Daddy. Where’s Coop? Why isn’t he here?”
“Don’t worry, he’ll be here, don’t get upset. Your dinner tray is here. Wake up now—you need to eat something, need to build up your strength.”
Kelsey cracked her lids a fraction, but the shaft of light that darted in and crashed against her naked eyeball felt like an arrow.
Pain exploded in her head, sucking the air from her lungs and leaving her breathless and weak. She brought a hand up, rubbed her eyes and pushed the confused, disjointed remnants of the dream to the back of her brain where she didn’t have to think about them any longer.
“Daddy,” she whispered, bracing herself against the throbbing in her head. The dream was gone, but she couldn’t seem to clear the fog in her brain. “Did you talk to him—does he know? Did you tell Coop what’s happened?”
“Not yet,” he said, reaching to the controls along the side of the bed and slowing raising the head. “But I’m working on it. We all are.”
The aroma of food finally found its way to her olfactory nerves, and she cracked one lid again, bracing herself against the rush of light. It came and exploded inside her skull like a million tiny bits of lightning, but like fireworks in the sky, it quickly faded.
“Is your head bothering you tonight?”
“It hurts,” she said, gingerly turning her head on the pillow and looking at her father. The dark circles beneath his eyes and his somber, drawn expression made her uneasy. “But at least it stops me from thinking about the aching in my leg.”
Mo Chandler glanced at the molded vinyl cast on her leg and took his daughter’s hand in his, stroking the top of it. “I wish I could do something. I feel so darned helpless.”
Kelsey smiled, giving his hand a squeeze and slowly opening her other eye. “Don’t worry so much. I’m fine.”
“Maybe I could talk to the doctor. See if there’s something he could give you—for the pain, I mean. Maybe an aspirin, or—”
“No, Dad, please, it’s all right,” Kelsey said, stopping him with another squeeze of the hand. She concentrated on keeping her voice low, her words deliberate. That way the throbbing didn’t hurt so much. “I’m okay, really. And head injuries aren’t given medication, not—” She stopped, wincing and rubbing her temple with her free hand. She was feeling a little better. The fog was lifting and the world was beginning to make sense again. “Not right away, anyway. The doctor will prescribe something when he can.”
Mo drew in a tired breath, giving her hand another pat. “I guess you’d know, sweetheart.” He turned and pulled the tray between them, slipping the lids off the plates.
“I’m worried about you,” she said, watching him as he prepared her tray. “You look so tired.”
He looked at her and breathed a small laugh. “I am tired. You practically scared the life out of me, in case you don’t know it.”
Kelsey felt a stinging in her eyes, and she blinked it quickly away. She reached a hand out. “Why don’t you go on home and get some rest. I’ll be fine here.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Mo said in a voice that made it clear the subject wasn’t up for debate. “And you’re going to eat your dinner.”
Kelsey knew better than to argue with him. Besides, she felt too weak and too tired to try.
She glanced at the tray in front of her. The food on the plates looked like usual hospital fare—lukewarm meat loaf and hard mashed potatoes. It probably would have looked more appetizing had she an appetite, but she didn’t. Still, she knew she had to eat. She didn’t like the heavy fatigue that seemed to settle over her at the slightest strain.
“Did you talk to Doris?” she asked, spearing a cube of meat and popping it into her mouth.
Mo looked up, trying to picture the woman Kelsey had introduced to him years before. “Uh, no. No, she wasn’t in.”
“Doris wasn’t at the office?” Kelsey scooped up a forkful of mashed potatoes. “That doesn’t sound right.”
“You’re forgetting about the storm,” he said pointedly, shifting uneasily on the bed. “It’s thrown everyone off.”
“That’s right, the storm,” Kelsey mumbled, setting her fork on the tray. “I guess I did forget.” She pushed the table away, struggling to sit up, but the effort sent a shootingpain down her leg. “He’s...he’s all right, though, isn’t he? Coop, I mean. He’s all right?”
“He’s fine,” Mo insisted, trying to sound optimistic. “Just fine. Just not easy to get a hold of. You know pilots are always the first needed during rescues—and the last ones finished.”
She sank against the pillows, the heavy fatigue settling over her again. “Yeah, and of course Coop would be the first to volunteer, the first to want to help. I’m sure he must have told me. I must have...” Her words trailed off, and she shook her head. It was that fog again—clouding her brain and making everything seem surreal. “I guess I must have forgotten.”
“Sweetheart,” Mo said, reaching across the table and taking her hand again. “Remember what the doctors said. You need to give yourself a chance to get better, to heal.” He gave her hand a little shake. “The memories will come back then. You’ll see.”
“Right,” Kelsey mumbled, turning her head away. She felt like crying, felt like climbing out of bed and running away, trying to get as far away from the fog and the confusion as she could.
Only she couldn’t run and she couldn’t cry. The heavy cast on her leg was like an anchor, weighing her down, and tears were not something she’d ever allowed herself to give in to. Ever since she was eight years old and her mother had died, leaving her to be the “little Mommy” to her younger brothers and sisters, she’d been the strong one in the family, the one everyone looked to for advice and support, the one who could handle anything. Except it was different this time. This time she was scared. This time she wasn’t sure she could handle it alone.
“And remember,” Mo said quickly, troubled by the strain on her face. “The doctors said what you didn’t need was to get upset about anything. You just need a little rest and relaxation.”
“And Coop,” she whispered.
Mo’s frown deepened. “Well, yes, of course, and Coop.”
“I just wish he’d get here,” she murmured, staring through the miniblinds to the dark sky outside.
Despite how independent she’d always been, despite how strong, she needed Coop—she always had. Coop had a way of making everything better, and she knew he would make this better, too. She knew when he got here she’d feel right again, and the blanks in her past wouldn’t frighten her so.
“Coop,” she murmured, watching the light of a plane making its way across the night sky. “I can always depend on him—I always have.”