LINDSAY McKENNA

"When it comes to action and romance, nobody does it better than Ms. McKenna."

—Romantic Times

A homeopathic educator, Lindsay teaches at the Desert Institute of Classical Homeopathy in Phoenix, Arizona. She feels love is the single greatest healer in the world and hopes that her books touch her readers' hearts. Coming from an eastern Cherokee medicine family, Lindsay was taught ceremony and healing ways from the time she was nine years old. She creates flower and gem essences in accordance with nature, and remains closely in touch with her Native American roots and upbringing.

TO LOVE AND PROTECT

Lindsay McKenna

* * *

This story is for the men and women of our armed forces. Thank you for your dedication and patriotism. We have freedom because of you.

Dear Reader,

I was thrilled with the opportunity to write a brand-new MORGAN'S MERCENARIES story for this collection featuring two other great writers of military fiction. I haven't written about the Coast Guard for a while, and so I felt this was the ideal time to do so! As many of you know, I write stories that are close to reality. I've been through volcano eruptions, earthquakes, hurricanes, tornadoes and just about any other kind of natural disaster you can think of. Having had the opportunity to work closely with the Coast Guard over the years-fly in their helicopters and Falcon jets, ply the Atlantic aboard their cruisers and go on SARs (search and rescue missions) with them—I feel honored to write about these brave men and women.

Too, I'm always thrilled to see Morgan in action. In this particular story I sent a man and a woman from Morgan's team to Hawaii, a place I've visited many times. I hope you enjoy this love story, which shows how life can sometimes offer us a second chance in the most unusual of ways.

Warmly,

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 1

Hell was one word in particular that Lieutenant Brie Phillips could appreciate more than most. Especially now, she thought as she sat on the wooden bench between the lockers of the women officers' ready room, her hands clasped between her thighs. Hanging her head, she stared at her long, thin hands, the blunt-cut nails, her mind and heart churning with turmoil, her stomach tightening. She had arrived at the U.S. Coast Guard station on Kauai, Hawaii, a month ago on a new assignment, not realizing her ex-husband, Lieutenant Niall Ward, was already on board. Up until now she'd managed to avoid seeing him. But she knew it would be inevitable that she'd be assigned to his flight duty roster. There were only so many pilots at the station, and they all flew with one another on a rotation system. Now her number was up and Brie was still reeling from the shock.

Yes, hell had a new and galvanizing meaning to her. Hell was the fact that starting tonight, for a twenty-four hour tour of duty, she'd have to be his copilot on a search and rescue helicopter. Hell was the fact that in about five minutes she'd have to leave the safety of the women's ready room and go out to the mission planning room where everyone was gathering. Hell was having to face Niall again, after all this time.

Looking at the Chase-Durer watch on her right wrist, a timepiece that many military aviators wore because it had many essential features a pilot needed, Brie tried to force out a full breath of air. When she got emotionally tense, she breathed shallowly and her gut tightened.

"Relax, will you?" she muttered to herself between thinned lips. Her eyes narrowed as she looked around at the gray metal lockers. The place was quiet. Painfully so. But then again, it was 1800 on a Sunday evening. No one stayed around the Coast Guard station unless they were scheduled for weekend duty. How she wished she was at her bungalow up near Princeville, on the northern coast of this beautiful, green paradise.

"It was paradise," Brie muttered. Until she'd found out that Niall was stationed here. In the two years since her divorce, Brie had lost touch with him after the first year—on purpose. Having contact with him had proved too painful to her heart. The last thing she wanted now was to be reminded of the awful, crushing agony she'd experienced with him and had barely survived. Yet, somehow, Brie knew, she was going to have to reach into the deepest parts of herself as a woman and bear this new burden.

At twenty-nine, Brie thought she'd been through everything. But this latest twist in her life was one that she could never have conceived: she never imagined she'd be stationed with her ex-husband. Now she would be forced to fly with him.

Worse, Brie had been told there was an emergency search and rescue to fly tonight in the face of a major hurricane that was bearing down on the island chain. The winds were already at fifty miles per hour, and at eighty, their helicopters would be grounded, unable to fly in such furious weather and rain.

Heart thrashing painfully in her chest, Brie unclasped her hands and rubbed the damp palms against the bright neon orange of the single-piece flight suit she wore.

"Get up, Phillips. You've got to act professional at this mission briefing." She wondered how he would handle their first meeting. Shutting her eyes, Brie felt shaky inside. She wanted to cry. Oh, how had her life become so tangled like this? Hadn't enough happened to her?

Fortunately, she had her Native American beliefs to give her strength. Though her father was an Anglo, her mother's side was Cherokee. Raised by her anthropologist father and her medicine woman mother, Brie had grown up in a matriarchal environment where women were encouraged to be anything they dreamed of being.

Right now, she needed to believe that the Grandparents, benefic spirit beings who worked directly with the Great Spirit, had her best interests at heart. Brie recognized her present predicament as a test. Even though she wasn't a medicine woman, she was the eldest daughter of one and would have been trained in those healing arts if she'd desired it. Instead, Brie had wanted to be a buzzard, a bird honored by her people, and spend her life flying gracefully on the unseen currents of Father Sky, far above his beloved Mother Earth. As a child, she would lie stretched out for hours on a grassy knoll in the mountains of North Carolina, where she was reared. Hands behind her head, she would watch through half-closed eyes as any number of buzzards, which flew in a family, spiraled high above her.

Well, she'd gotten her wish to fly; she was now a Coast Guard helicopter copilot. And one of the best. She was due to become a full pilot shortly. Because Niall was a full-fledged pilot, she would have to work with him. And she was worried that if he bore any anger toward her, which was possible, he could stop her from progressing. Would he do that?

"Get up," she commanded herself. Standing, she went through her usual perfunctory preparations. Opening her locker, she got out her life vest, put the knife into its sheath and double-checked to make sure all her gear, such as flashlight, food bars, whistle, emergency radio and beacon, were all there and working properly. It was time to go. It was time to be an SAR Coastie.

Brie quietly shut her locker, then turned and left the small room. The highly polished, white tile floor gleamed beneath the fluorescent lights above. The passageway was empty; the doors on either side were locked. Everyone was gone who could be gone on this miserable, rainy Sunday night. They were home making sure there were protective boards across their windows, and doing whatever else they could to prepare for Hurricane Eve, which was being forecasted as a level-five storm with lethal possibilities.

Tonight Brie was going on a top secret mission with her ex-husband, in the middle of one of the potentially most brutal hurricanes that Kauai had seen in the last ten years. How could her luck get any worse? And how was she going to handle being in the same room, much less the same cockpit, with Niall after not seeing or talking to him for two years?

Lieutenant Niall Ward tried to still his chafing anxiety. He sat in the mission briefing room, hands tense on the armrests of the chrome-and-wood chair as he wrestled with the idea of the coming confrontation with Brie. Just thinking of his ex-wife sent his heart pounding wildly in his chest. He lifted his hand and wiped at the sweat on his brow. How was Brie after all this time? he wondered. Was she well? He had a hundred questions about her. At war with his anxiety was his anger over the fact that Brie had abandoned him at the most critical moment in his life. He was reminded once again that he could not rely on anyone—not his family, not even the woman he had loved. Brie hadn't trusted him when things turned nightmarish for them. She had asked for a transfer to another station just when things got bad. He would never forgive her for that transgression, just as he could never forgive his real mother for putting him up for adoption. He could trust no one. Even the couple who had adopted him at age two had done nothing to build his faith in others. His adopted father was an alcoholic who'd divorced his wife three years after Niall came to live with them. Niall became a latchkey kid, living with his single adopted mother, who worked long hours to keep food on the table. His biological mother stepped back, briefly, into his life when he was seven years old. A year after that, his biological father had, too, showing up unexpectedly from time to time, like a painful shadow, until Niall had graduated from high school.

Niall did not look back on his childhood fondly, and as a matter of fact had gone off to college mostly to get away from the whole sordid scene at first opportunity. He'd found a far steadier and reliable family structure when he'd joined Coast Guard aviation at the college. Here he felt safe, cared for. People were attentive to his needs in a way he'd never really experienced before. It was better than what he'd started out with, at least, and he was planning on a thirty-year career with the Coast Guard as a result. Here, Niall fit in. He was wanted. He was praised. He was looked up to.

Niall had found out that Brie was being transferred to his station about a week before her actual arrival. He'd been in shock when he had first heard the news from someone over in the personnel department. And then his traitorous heart, which had never stopped loving her, sang with a joy that had brought unaccustomed tears to his eyes. Tears, of all things! Niall had cried when— He stopped himself. No, he didn't want to go there. Never again, if he could help it. The anguish was too great; the cross too heavy to bear, the guilt all-consuming. Shaking his head, he drummed his fingers nervously on the arm of the chair.

Need of her warred with his guilt. Wanting Brie was like wanting air to breathe for Niall. They were divorced, but his heart had never taken that legal piece of paper seriously. Just when he thought he was over her, that he could get on with his life and leave the tragedy of their divorce behind him, Brie had been assigned to his station. Now, the memory of her abandonment stung him once again. It was as if Brie were pouring more salt into the open wound of his life by coming here. A part of him was wary of working with her in the cockpit. He'd have to stay on top of things more than normal, because he couldn't trust her. He'd never flown with her before, either. Husbands and wives assigned to the same station never flew with one another.

Of course, Niall had no control over where Brie would be assigned; he was an SAR pilot, and at the end of each two-year tour of duty, search and rescue pilots were sent to another station. Kauai was one of them. Niall had never thought he'd see Brie again, because the Coast Guard had many stations across the U.S. More than enough to keep distance between them. Somewhere, though, the higher-ups in the Coast Guard had made the assignment without realizing they were a divorced couple. Working with Brie was going to play havoc on Niall as nothing else could.

Rubbing his eyes, he took a deep, ragged breath. Hearing footsteps, he felt his heart leap in his chest. Was it Brie? His fingers curled in anticipation on the arms of the chair. Licking his lower lip nervously, he sat up tensely and waited.

Two men entered the mission room. One Niall recognized as Lieutenant Rod Nichola, the OOD—officer of the day—who had responsibility for the twenty-four hour watch at the station. The other...Niall's face split with a sudden smile. Instantly, he was on his feet, his hand extended as Morgan Trayhern, the head of Perseus, the supersecret organization in the CIA, entered the room.

"Sir," Niall said with enthusiasm, "it's good to see you again."

Morgan turned and looked at the Coast Guard pilot. His serious features warmed immediately. Thrusting out his hand, he murmured, "Niall. How are you? I didn't know you were scheduled for this black ops. That's excellent news. We're in good hands, then."

Gripping Morgan's hand, Niall pumped it with sincerity. "I didn't know this was a black ops we were being called in for, sir." He released Morgan's hand. Niall had worked for Morgan shortly after his split with Brie. The special undercover assignment had taken him away for three months, and Niall had needed the bone-jarring, dangerous mission to wipe the agony and loss from his heart.

"Have a seat, Niall," Morgan invited. He turned. "Where's your copilot?"

"She'll be here shortly," Lieutenant Nichola told him as he went to the mission planning table, a square surface with maps spread across it.

Eyebrows raising, Morgan said, "She? A woman? Good."

It was known that Morgan liked to pair male and female pilots because of their complementary skills.

Just as Morgan turned toward the table, Niall saw Brie enter. She stood there, looking around uncertainly until their eyes met. And then she froze. Niall thought she looked even more beautiful than he could ever recall. Brie was already in the one-piece, neon-orange flight suit, her vest secured across her upper body. But he could see she still had that graceful, swimmer's figure as she stood before him, her red hair in a chignon at the nape of her neck and her normally ruddy complexion drained of color as she spotted him.

Unable to stop the emotions clamoring inside him, Niall could do nothing but stare into his ex-wife's large, expressive blue eyes, which reminded him of the pristine beauty of the glaciers he'd seen on his Alaska assignment. The beautiful turquoise-blue of her eyes seemed unearthly to Niall, almost mystical, and he had always been mesmerized by it. Maybe she was unearthly.

His heart surged with a keening cry of joy at seeing her once more. Yet the cold reality of her abandonment, the memory, as icy as a glacier, washed over him. His mouth thinned and hardened, and he glared back at her.

The shock of seeing Niall once again slammed into Brie like a mighty ocean roaring full speed into a stone jetty. Rocking slightly in reaction, she tried to ignore his narrowing gray eyes, which studied her with ruthless intensity. At thirty-two years old, Niall was even more handsome than she could recall. He came from Black Irish stock, and his hair, though military short, shone with blue highlights. Standing six feet tall, he had a powerful athletic body and broad, square shoulders. There was nothing defenseless or vulnerable about him as he stood there staring back at her, more like an enemy than a friend.

What else could she expect from him? Brie felt his anger and saw it in his gray, stormy eyes. He had a wonderful mouth made for kissing, one she had lost herself in so many times in the past. Now it was thinned with anger, telling her that she wasn't welcome here—not by him.

Tearing her gaze from Niall, Brie tried to shore herself up, and walked confidently over to the table. She introduced herself to the distinguished-looking man with silver at his temples who stood there, looking dapper in a gray pinstripe suit. But as he smiled warmly at her, shook her hand and introduced himself as Morgan Trayhern, she felt chilled, as if ice water was pouring over her.

She had never met Morgan Trayhern before. The only thing she knew about him was that he was the reason Niall had left her in her hour of need. In truth it was Niall who had volunteered to take the three-month black ops assignment for this man. But as she released Morgan's hand, she saw genuine gladness in his eyes that she was here, as a pilot, on this mission. Brie had to give him credit, at least, for not being prejudiced against women in the cockpit.

"Let's have a seat here, shall we?" Morgan said to the pilots, and gestured for them to sit down at the planning table.

Rod shut the door quietly and joined them.

Morgan stood and spread out a map after handing them the black ops mission manuals. "Here's what we have going down and why you were called in to help us," he said. Opening his own manual, he turned to the first page. "One of the mercenaries with my organization, Perseus, has gone undercover. Burke Or-mand is our operative and he's been posing as a crewman aboard a tuna boat by the name of Jellyfish. It's really a drag runner in disguise. Burke has been wearing a wire to tape evidence against the drug lord, Torres Rebaza, who owns this trawler, and his younger brother, who is the skipper. Rebaza owns ten tuna clippers that ply the Pacific waters. His real cargo is cocaine, which is dropped out at sea by long-range airplanes flying from Mexico. The coke is packed in buoyant, watertight bales, which are picked up by the trawlers and stowed below."

Morgan turned the page, to a colored photo of the mercenary. "We've found all this out because of Ormand. Once a tuna trawler gets the cocaine aboard, the crew continues to fish, putting the tuna in storage freezers where the coke's hidden. When they come in to the dock at Kauai to offload their tuna cargo, the cocaine stays—until after dark. Torres then sends his men in a van to pick it up under cover of night." Looking up at the pilots, he added, "The problem is, we've lost contact with Ormand. The boat was going to find shelter on a small island, Tortoise Isle, a hundred miles north of Kauai, and sit out this hurricane— at a place called Half Moon Bay. We know the Jellyfish made it to safe harbor at that part.

"The radio that Ormand is wearing is a special state-of-the-art model," Morgan told them. "This radio has a button on it that, if pressed, sends out a signal to us—meaning that Ormand has been found out. It's basically a cry for help. If we'd received that signal, we'd have mounted a rescue effort immediately."

"But you didn't get that signal?" Brie asked.

Niall looked up. Brie's voice was husky and confident. He recalled that alto voice sweeping through him, recalled hearing her cry out in ecstasy as he'd loved her and they'd spun on ever widening wings of pleasure in one another's arms. Stop it. Stop. You can't do this to yourself. Tearing his gaze from Brie's clean profile—her slightly curved nose, high cheekbones and oval face indicating her Native American heritage—he stared down, unseeing, at the manual in his hands. Niall had had no idea how hard it was going to be to remain immune to Brie. Anger flared through him. She might be a temptress to him, but she'd also abandoned him. He had to remember that fact.

"That's correct, Lieutenant Phillips. We received no signal."

"Is it possible they killed him and threw him overboard, and that would explain why you didn't get the signal?" Brie pressed.

Morgan nodded. "You're very astute, Lieutenant." He grinned wryly. "I like people with your kind of mind. You think ahead and look at the possibilities. Sure you wouldn't like to work for me instead of the Coast Guard?"

Managing a thin smile, she said, "No, sir. I'm happy here, thank you." Brie quelled the anger she irrationally felt toward Morgan Trayhern. Her anger should, by rights, be directed solely at Niall, she knew. Morgan hadn't ripped him out of her life; Niall had volunteered for the mission. He'd run again. It was a pattern with him: any time life got too dicey, too emotionally painful, Niall bailed out and ran. Just as he'd run out on her during the worst emotional crisis of their lives.

"Well, should you change your mind," Morgan teased lightly, "you just let me know."

"Yes, sir."

Turning his attention back to the mission, Morgan said, "Ormand is either already dead, or possibly, the device wasn't pressed and he's fine. The fact that we haven't received a signal could also be weather related."

"Or," Niall suggested, "the device malfunctioned? Plus if Ormand was discovered, he might not have had time to press it. That's another possibility."

"That's correct, Niall," Morgan affirmed. Paging through the manual, he said, "So here's what I need from you two. I need you to fly a fake SAR mission, which will be broadcast over the airwaves so your flight pattern doesn't raise suspicion. We're going to put the latitude and longitude about twenty miles away from Tortoise Isle. That's the point you'll fly to. The reason you'll do this is because we had a backup system built into Ormand's device. The second button has only a twenty-five mile range. A special radio device has been installed in the helicopter you'll be flying. You'll turn it on, fly around the island and see if you can pick up Ormand's second radio signal. If you don't, then he's probably all right. Or dead. If you do pick it up, then you will radio me back here, and we'll send out a special rescue unit from Perseus to pick Ormand up and blow the cover on the operation. You're not equipped to take on a ship load of drug runners by yourself. I don't want to raise suspicion by sending in a rescue team. Sending you in won't make them jump."

"So, our fly-by is just that," Brie said. "We don't have to affect a rescue if Ormand's beacon is signaling us?"

"That's correct," Lieutenant Nichola said. "Coast Guard doesn't normally get mixed up in a dangerous drug mission like this. Especially not tonight, because of the hurricane. The winds are increasing. You're going to have enough of a job just seeing if you pick up the signal. Even if all goes well, it's a hundred-mile flight to and from that isle on a nasty night and heavy winds and rain."

"Nice to know we aren't going to be shot at," Brie said dryly. She glanced at Niall and her heart clenched. He was studying her critically. What was the look in his eyes? Need? Desire? Anger? Brie couldn't be sure. Her hands shook slightly as she thumbed quickly through the rest of the manual. Above all, she couldn't allow her personal feelings to get in the cockpit with him. Two years had given her time to let her bitter feelings subside and a new maturity replace them. But her heart was thumping wildly in her chest. How badly she wanted to say to hell with everything and simply sit down and talk to Niall, at length. Snorting softly, she decided that was a lost cause. The biggest thorn in their marriage had been a lack of communication. Niall had simply run away when things got bad. He had come from a one-parent family, and his adopted mother was rarely around while he was growing up. He wasn't used to relying on others and so he closed up emotionally, like a proverbial clam. Brie had had three years of hell with him, trying to get him to open up and be emotionally accessible to her. Like a lot of men, Niall didn't know how to talk on a personal, intimate level. Just when things were getting good in their marriage, and he was starting to open up, disaster had struck—the worst kind.

"Questions?" Morgan asked as he twisted around and looked at each of them.

"I have none, sir," Brie said. "Looks pretty straightforward from here."

"No, sir," Niall told him. "This is probably going to be a long, boring flight fighting headwinds and gusts, getting thumped around out there."

Grinning, Morgan said, "I suspect you're right, Niall." His smile disappeared as he looked from one to the other. "I want you to know we're grateful you'll do this. Our mercenaries are our highest priority, and I don't want to lose a single man or woman on an assignment if we can help it. I'm deeply appreciative of your and the Coast Guard's help on this."

Niall stood. He smiled at Morgan. "We're glad to help, sir."

Brie closed the manual and made notes in her flight log. Her heart was beating hard now. Within minutes, she'd be in the cramped cockpit with Niall, elbow to elbow with him. The last place in the world she wanted to be.

Chapter 2

Niall's mouth was dry as they sat in the helicopter outside the well-lit hangar. Wind gusts shuddered against the fuselage, where they were dry and protected as the rain poured down around them. The atmosphere in the cockpit was tense, to say the least, as he ran through the preflight checklist with Brie in a clipped, professional tone. Her own voice was cool and detached sounding as she responded. Outside, in front of them in the rain, the crew chief waited to give them the signal to start the engine.

"We're set," Niall said gruffly, closing the checklist and stowing it in a nylon net pocket on the side of his seat.

"Yes." Brie winced inwardly. She didn't mean to sound robotic, but she couldn't help herself. Being this close to Niall, squeezed into a narrow cockpit with him, was tearing her up emotionally. As she tightened her harness and put on her fire-retardant Nomex gloves, her hand accidentally brushed against his just as he reached up to flip on a set of switches on the instrument panel. Instantly, Brie jerked her hand away, as if burned.

Hurt soared through Niall. And then anger. He reminded himself that Brie was no longer his wife. They were no longer intimate. She couldn't be trusted. She'd thrown away their marriage in one act of abandonment.

"I'm not going to bite you," he snapped with unconcealed irritation. Jerking the chin strap of his helmet so that it fit more tightly beneath his clenched jaw, he saw her look toward him. Her eyes were huge with shock.

"No?" Brie's voice became accusatory. "You did once before."

Rocking internally from the anger tightly throttled in her low-pitched, husky tone, Niall pressed his lips together. "Let's just get this show on the road, shall we? I don't like this any more than you obviously do." Liar. His heart ached. How many nights had he lain awake, tossing and turning and thinking of Brie, of what they'd had—and lost?

Stung, Brie tore her gaze from Niall's dark and shadowed features. How terribly handsome he was. His face was narrow, with a strong chin and high cheekbones. He was proud of his Irish heritage; it was the one thing that he'd managed to salvage from his lousy childhood. His birth mother, Fiona Ward, had visited him once, when he was seven years old, and told him his father was Irish. Brie also knew Niall's birth father was an alcoholic. Seamus Farrell had married Niall's mother to escape Ireland's poor economy, and then left her as soon as he found out she was pregnant. Seamus had been a dark, morbid cloud floating in and out of Niall's life from age eight onward. About the only thing he'd given Niall was his name and his dark good looks. When Seamus waltzed drunkenly back into Niall's young life, he'd torn him up, emotionally. Those short visits had been rare, explosive and heartrending.

She recalled how, one night, Niall had told her the story behind his name—how his father wanted him to have a name of an heroic Irish chieftain. Niall, in Celtic, meant "brave" or "chief." Seamus had wanted his son to amount to something, to be heroic, to do something important with his life because he himself hadn't. All Seamus Farrell could do was spin colorful and exciting yarns about hopes and dreams.

Brie knew that Seamus Farrell's affair with alcohol was his undoing, and that he'd placed all his hopes and dreams in Niall. That was so unfair. She had seen how Niall had ordered his life around his father's unrealistic expectations and pipe dreams. At age eighteen, Niall went to court to have his last name become Ward, after his mother. He wanted no trace of his father in his life—not even his last name. But Niall had inherited one of Seamus Farrell's worst faults: running when things got bad. Seamus didn't have the maturity or responsibility to see things through to the end, and neither did his son. Niall had forsaken Brie, just as Seamus had forsaken his mother—at a time when both women had needed their men the most. Yes, father and son were alike in that area, unfortunately. It had been the main reason for Brie's divorce from Niall.

Within moments, the blades of the orange-and-white helicopter began to turn, faster and faster. The trembling and shaking was soothing to Brie; her raw nerves settled down and grew calmer as she relaxed, snugly ensconced in her seat. As the pilot, Niall sat in the right-hand seat. Normally, they'd have a swimmer and a crew chief on board. Because this was not a standard search and rescue, they had neither. They were alone in a tight little space, and Brie's heart was pounding unrelentingly in her breast. Niall was so close! Her heart screamed out in anguish, in need of him. Brie fought the feeling.

Outside in the slashing rain, the crew chief gave the signal for them to taxi to the takeoff point. The Lihue Airport, which served civilian flights as well as Coast Guard aircraft, was well lit in the blackness as Niall notched up the power and the helo began to trundle slowly forward.

Just the movement of the helo soothed more of Brie's fractious state. She was busy monitoring the dials, her gaze sweeping from left to right across the console. Her job as copilot wouldn't be too demanding on this trip. It would be a pretty dull and boring flight in one respect. In a way, Brie was glad this was a black ops mission because she didn't want the pressure and stress of a rescue at sea on top of everything else she was presently experiencing.

Within minutes they were airborne and heading out over the inky darkness of the Pacific Ocean. Niall guided the helicopter to three thousand feet and leveled off. The aircraft rocked and jostled from the gusting fifty-mile-an-hour winds, which slammed into them repeatedly. His grip on the cyclic and collective was firm and steady. Rain slashed across the windshield. It was impossible to see very well and they were flying blind. Niall's constantly roving gaze never left the control panel in front of him. For now, they had to fly on instruments only. To try and fly visually in this deteriorating weather would be folly. Helicopters over water created a special visual illusion for pilots at the best of times, and if they relied on their eyes instead of their instruments, they could crash.

"Bad night," Brie muttered unhappily, trying to defrost the icy tension in the cockpit.

"Yeah, it is," Niall grumbled. In more ways than one. He yearned to say something neutral, something less acidic, but his anger was spiking, and hurt writhed within him like a wounded snake.

Frowning, Brie felt a chill go through her, despite the special one-piece suit she, like Niall, wore over her normal flight suit. It was highly insulated and waterproof, so that in case they crashed into the chilly ocean, they wouldn't die of hypothermia—at least not right away. Even though the Pacific currents were balmier around the Hawaiian Islands, the sea wasn't that warm and a person could die of exposure. The suit was bulky and ill fitting. Normally, Brie sweated in it, but the chill working its way up her spine caught her attention. As she moved the flight log aside and placed it behind her seat, she couldn't shake the bad feeling she had.

The pleasant green glow of light from the cockpit panel was the only illumination in the inky night surrounding them. Even though the helo shuddered and shook, the roar of the engines was muted to a degree by her helmet. Niall's profile was stern and tense looking. Flying in this weather was not easy. Every few seconds the helicopter would shimmy and shake, fighting the powerful up- and downdrafts created by the hurricane. Or it would slide sideways, to the right or left. Niall had his hands full trying to keep the, chopper on an even flight path.

Tucking her lower lip between her teeth, Brie wondered if she should offer to help fly the mission. Usually, pilot and copilot would trade off on long flights. Especially on nights like this, when battling the storm took all of the pilot's attention, creating high stress levels. Even the best of pilots could become fatigued, their senses dulled. Then it became dangerous for everyone on board.

To heck with it. She sighed and said, "If you want me to take over at any point, let me know."

Niall responded instantly to her low, husky tone. Brie had a voice he'd loved from the moment he'd met her, so long ago. It was like warm, melting honey flowing soothingly, like a balm, across his tense body. Hearing her voice always calmed his fractious state. A Type-A personality, Niall was always highstrung and often stressed out. Brie was a Type-B personality—low-key and easygoing. She seemed to be able to cope with demands in a completely different way.

"Maybe," he muttered. "I'll see how it goes."

Well, at least he was talking to her. Brie felt a little of her tension dissolve. His tone was less abrasive. Less accusatory. "Nasty night," she commented, hoping to tamp down the tension still lingering between them.

"Yeah, helluva night." Giving Brie a quick glance out the side of his eyes, Niall saw her face soften as he spoke to her. She was so damned attractive. All woman. He remembered holding her—how rounded and soft and velvety she felt in his arms. Stop it. Stop remembering. Niall fought himself. Fought the past, which was now glaring into his present world and life. He wanted to run, but there was no place to go, no place to hide from her or their unhealed past.

Spreading the map across her thighs, Brie studied it in the pale green light. Green was restful on the eyes, the best color for night work. To use a flashlight would destroy their night vision. On this flight, she was the navigator, and she gave Niall coordinates and told him to change course. "You ever been over Tortoise Isle?" she asked then.

Shaking his head, he said, "No. Closest I've come to it was an SAR about six months ago, roughly twenty miles south of it. A yacht got in trouble in heavy seas in that area, took on too much water and called in a mayday to us."

"You ended up rescuing the crew?"

"Yeah, parents and a kid."

She smiled slightly. "I'm sure they were glad to see you show up."

Nodding, Niall tried to keep focused on his flying, watching the instruments. He didn't want to engage Brie in conversation. A sudden, violent gust of wind slapped into the helicopter. Hissing a curse, he got the chopper back under control, but only after they'd dropped a good fifty feet. His stomach had lurched up into his throat. He'd heard Brie gasp. Did she question his ability to fly now, too? Anger riddled him.

"Stop acting like a greenhorn student pilot, will you? I don't need any jeers or cheers from my copilot."

Brie glared at him. His face was set like stone and she saw perspiration dotting his furrowed brow. A memory of how they had argued came back to her. Lips tightening, she withheld the angry salvo she was going to fire at him.

Brie knew this flight would be tough on any seasoned pilot. Looking down at the map, she continued to give him navigation information, as appropriate. Looking at her watch, she saw that in another thirty minutes they'd be at the twenty-mile mark they were heading for. On the console she saw a small black box that had been hooked into their electrical and electronic systems. Turning the dial to the specified position, Brie switched the machine on.

Their fuel was being eaten up rapidly by having to fight the massive headwind, but Brie knew Niall had calculated how much would be needed for the flight. Still, she thought, studying the gauge, the fuel was lowering rapidly. That worried her, but she said nothing. The heater was on in the cockpit and that, plus the all-weather suit she wore, kept her warm.

"We're going to arrive at Alpha in ten minutes," she told Niall as she looked at her watch. Alpha was the twenty-mile limit point. If there was no signal detected, it meant they could turn around and fly back to base.

"Okay," he grunted. The helicopter was wobbling and shaking in earnest from the constant beating of the hurricane's winds. "If I didn't know better, I'd say we're hitting seventy- or eighty-mile-an-hour gusts."

"Yes, I agree." At eighty miles an hour, a search and rescue was called off. "Want me to contact meteorology?" Brie knew that if she did, and they confirmed that the winds were at maximum, the mission would be canceled. They were almost on target, and to turn back now would be such a waste. But that was Niall's call to make, not hers.

Shaking his head, he said, "No. Just send a radio report of our position now."

"Roger." Brie picked up the radio and gave their position in latitude and longitude, then signed off.

As her gaze flicked across the panel, she saw the needle that indicated engine heat shooting into the red zone. If an engine overheated it could burst into flame or worse, the power of the hurricane was a terrible stress on the engine. "Niall..."

Before Brie could say anything more, there was an explosion, the sound like a cannon going off around them. Automatically ducking her head, Brie saw sparks and then fire shooting out above the cabin. Instantly, the helicopter began hurtling downward.

A curse ripped from Niall's lips. He grabbed the cyclic and collective hard and frantically worked the yaw pedals beneath his booted feet. "Call in a may-day!" he croaked. His mind whirled. A bad ball bearing could have caused this situation.

The engines stopped. The chopper's blades floundered, then waffled unsteadily in the gale-force winds.

They were going down. Down into the black, unseen ocean below.

Brie grabbed the mike on the radio and thumbed it on. She made the call.

The helicopter was sinking like a rock! They were at thirty-five hundred feet. She heard Niall grunt. Valiantly, he worked the yaw pedals to straighten out the flailing helicopter. Brie found herself jerked violently back and forth as he fought to gain the upper hand on the plummeting aircraft. They were going to crash! The thought was the last one Brie entertained. After making the call, her mind went into overdrive. The station had a last mayday fix on their location. They would send someone out to rescue them.

But first they had to survive the helicopter crashing into the ocean, and climb out before it sank and took them down with it. A helicopter didn't float. It was like a huge boulder in the sky, with four blades to keep it aloft.

Brie's mind flicked over egress procedures. Escape from a helo was via the sliding door on the starboard side of the fuselage. She would be responsible for getting out of her harness first, to make her way back to it before they sank and couldn't escape. Her other responsibility was to not only open the door, but retrieve the uninflated life raft hanging on the bulkhead opposite it.

Abruptly, the instruments went dead, because there was no electricity being generated by the spinning blades and engine. The cockpit went black. They were being slammed around. The harness straps bit deeply into Niall's tense shoulders as he tried valiantly to pull up the nose of the helicopter. They were sinking fast! He had no idea of their altitude or when they'd hit the water. He could see nothing out the windows. Rain slashed around them, preventing him from a visual. They were blind. Completely blind. And they were going to crash. Would they survive? Suddenly, in that second, all his anger toward Brie was ripped away. Niall didn't want her to die! She was too beautiful. Too kind. Too loving... In the next moment, he bitterly regretted how their marriage had turned out. If only... If only they'd had a second chance! But that was impossible now.

Brie sucked in a breath as the helicopter, nose up, slammed into the Pacific Ocean. The aircraft screeched and grated as it hit that massive and invisible wall of water. A second later, pain shot up her back and into her head from the crash.

"Get out!" Niall roared.

Instantly, Brie fumbled with her harness closures, trying to release them with her gloved fingers. Seconds dragged like hours. Come on! Come on! Lips pursed, she scrambled to find the openings.

The helicopter lurched and her hands flew away from her body. Slamming into the side panel, Brie gasped. Quickly, blindly, she sought the harness closure once more and tugged at it, trying to get it open. Yes! Unsnapping her harness, Brie twisted around and lurched between the seats toward the cargo area behind.

Landing hard on her hands and knees, she found saltwater splashing up around her. Gasping again, she struggled to stand. The aircraft was turning slowly, like a wounded whale. It was listing to port, groaning. She could hear the metal being torn by the fingers of the greedy, grasping ocean. Water sloshed ankle deep around her boots. Unable to see anything, Brie fumbled along the fuselage panel, hunting wildly for the door latch. There! Hands shaking, she pulled on it.

Jammed! It was jammed from the crash. "No!" Brie cried. "It's jammed! I can't open it, Niall! Help me! Help!" Her voice was swallowed up by the burping, gurgling sounds of water entering the wallowing helicopter, which listed even more as it bobbed in the waves.

Behind her, Brie heard Niall groping his way out of the cockpit in the unforgiving blackness. His hand hit her hip and he gripped her hard. The aircraft tipped more to port, almost upside down.

"The door!" Niall gasped. "Open it!"

"It's jammed!" Brie cried. "Help me!"

Fumbling, Niall held on to her, wrapping his left arm around her waist to stop them from being thrown against the side of the chopper. Thrusting out his right hand, he followed her arm to where she was holding on to the door, and slid his gloved fingers through the latch.

"Let go," he ordered, breathing raggedly.

Instantly, Brie pulled her hand away, and fell backward. Slamming into the port side of the helo, she practically had the wind knocked out of her before she fell to the deck.

Cold and numbing saltwater enveloped her. Briefly, she was underwater, but getting her feet under her, she surged upward. Coughing violently, eyes stinging, she tried to stay upright. If they didn't get out of here in a few seconds, they were going to drown. The helicopter was beginning to sink.

With a curse, Niall wrenched back with all his weight and strength. The door was starting to give. Again he jerked at it. Water was gushing in past him now, nearly sweeping him off his feet. One more pull...

The door finally screeched and slid open.

"Brie!" he screamed. "Where are you?" He turned and clung to the door opening as the helo rolled completely over on its port side.

"Here!" Brie scrambled upward, with the raft held tightly in her left hand. Somehow she'd managed to release it from the port fuselage. "The raft! Here's the life raft!" she yelled. "Take it! Take it!"

Niall grunted as his groping hand struck the tightly rolled pack that contained the dingy. Brie's hand was locked beneath the strap. He hauled both toward him in a feat of strength that would have been impossible without the adrenaline beating wildly through his bloodstream now.

Blindly, they leaped off the helicopter's lip and into the grasping, cold waters of the ocean. Niall had a firm grip on the shoulder of Brie's flight suit. He kicked out hard and fast to get away from the aircraft as it burbled and started to slide downward. The sucking, spinning whirlpool left in the wake of the sinking helicopter pulled powerfully at their heavy, waterlogged boots.

Water deluged Niall. He went under, his hand still tight on Erie's shoulder. No way was he going to let her go! But his flight boots were like concrete weights, pulling him down.

Instead of fighting to surface, he fumbled for the cord of his life vest. When he jerked on it, the vest instantly inflated. That alone helped pop him to the surface.

The roar of the ocean surrounded Niall as he shot above water. Air! He could breathe! Sobbing for air, he anxiously tugged at Brie again, hauling her upward. When she surfaced, he heard her cough violently.

"Inflate your vest!" he cried hoarsely. With it deployed, they wouldn't have to try and swim to keep their heads above water. He heard the hissing sound that told him it was inflating. Again Brie choked and coughed.

Niall's fingers ached from holding on to the shoulder of her weather suit. But never would he let her go. Never. Raising his other hand, he pulled Brie against him, so they were face-to-face, body-to-body. If for even a second, he let her go he knew he'd lose her in this storm. The violent surging of the waves would quickly separate them and they'd never find one another again.

"The raft!" Brie choked out. "We've got to inflate it!" And she fumbled for the releases.

Managing to get the flashlight attached to his vest flicked on, Niall did the most important thing next. There was a special hook and nylon cord, located on the front of each vest. He took his hook and fastened it securely to the front of Brie's vest, so that no matter what happened, they couldn't be separated by the angry ocean. With her attached to him, he trained his flashlight beam on the raft she was still holding on to with a death grip.

Releasing the straps, he found the valve that would initiate inflation. The moment he pulled it out, a loud hissing began. Within minutes the flotation device blew up into a yellow rubber raft.

Brie gave a cry of joy as the raft inflated fully. That meant it hadn't sustained any punctures or cuts during the crash or egress. It was a small, two-person raft with barely enough room for both of them, but with it, at least, they had a shot at survival.

"You first," Niall shouted above the roar of the ocean. Wind and rain splattered his tense face. He helped Brie clamber awkwardly into the raft. She floundered drunkenly, the weight of the suit pulling her downward, making each of her efforts seem to be in slow motion. Her flight boots were filled with water, making it hard to maneuver. Setting his hand beneath her buttocks as she threw her arms over the side of the raft, Niall pushed upward with all his strength. Brie slid unceremoniously into the raft, arms and legs akimbo. The three-foot lifeline went taut as she turned and reached out to help him climb on board.

"Give me your hand!" Brie cried, straining toward him. In the light of the flashlight tucked in Niall's vest she could see that his tense face was glistening with seawater. His eyes were hard and narrowed. Brie felt his large hand wrap around one of hers. In moments, he had hauled himself into the raft. Safe! They were safe!

Gulping unsteadily, Brie watched as Niall maneuvered his bulk to balance the raft so it wouldn't overturn. There was a special hook and tether line that could be attached to their life vest. Hands shaking badly, Brie got the device and snapped it to the front of her vest and then Niall's. That way, if they were washed overboard by a huge wave, they wouldn't lose their raft.

Niall saw Brie attach the raft tether to his vest. Her hands were shaking badly as she fastened the device. He saw the terror in her pale face, visible beneath her helmet. The weather was cold. The wind beat against them. It shrieked and moaned, sounding like a wounded animal in horrible pain. Niall knew by her expression that Brie wanted to cry. Without thinking, he shut off the flashlight and turned to settle down in the raft. Blackness engulfed them immediately. Then he blindly reached out to her.

"Come here," Niall urged gruffly, placing his arm around her shoulders and drawing her into his arms. Brie came without fighting. She didn't stiffen or try to pull away. To his surprise, Niall felt her arms slide around his torso. She rested her helmeted head against his and he heard her gasping.

"Go ahead," he said harshly against her cheek, "cry. We made it. We made it, Brie...." And Niall choked back a sob himself.

Darkness surrounded them. Niall clung to Brie as much as she clung to him. The wind was howling, sometimes a soul-shattering shriek. Rain slashed and cut at them. He turned his face toward hers, their helmets protecting their vulnerable flesh to a degree. It was cold. Much colder than he'd ever imagined. Glad to be wearing the Mustang Suit, Niall felt his pounding heart begin to slow over the next few minutes. Just having Brie in his arms was all he needed at this moment. She felt soft and curved in all the right places, just as he'd remembered from so long ago.

Brie let the tears come as she clung tightly to Niall. She needed his confidence and strength right now. They'd nearly died. If he hadn't gotten the door open, they'd have drowned already. The reality of their narrow escape from death avalanched through Brie. She felt Niall patting her shoulder awkwardly in an attempt to comfort her. Rainwater slashed relentlessly against her face, mingling with her tears. Crying was a relief valve for Brie. They were alive. Alive. And Niall was holding her. Even in the midst of this unfolding nightmare, his strength, his touch, soothed her shock and the fear of nearly dying. As she huddled against him, glad for the solidity of his strong, male body, Brie found herself wanting to let all the hurt from the past go. Why, oh why, couldn't they have talked it out? Why did he have to run away?

The raft surged upward and they both tensed. Brie felt Niall's hands tighten around her like steel bands, to protect her from the unseen threat. They were riding a huge wave skyward at a terrific rate of speed. And then the raft slowed.

Brie gave a cry of terror. She realized that the wave was probably twenty or thirty feet high, and the raft was riding it upward. If they didn't crest it, the wave would crash over them, hurtling them back into the sea. If that happened, they'd be flattened, like bugs under a flyswatter, by tons of water crushing down upon them. It would throw them out of the raft. They'd drink a lot of seawater. They might drown.

"Easy...easy..." Niall whispered harshly. He felt Brie tense. Felt her hands work frantically around his torso, as if to hold on even more tightly. They were riding a huge, vertical wave, and he knew the consequences. Would they crest it or not? Holding his breath, he felt the raft slow even more. They had to be near the top of the giant.

The roar around them heightened. It sounded as if they were standing in an echo chamber, with a jet engine screaming at them. For a moment, in the blackness, Niall felt as if he was in limbo, between two worlds. Without being able to see, he had no idea what was happening around them. Tightening his arms around Brie, he waited out the long, tortured seconds as the raft slowed to nearly a standstill.

The burbling, rushing whoosh of water foaming around them happened within moments. And then the raft took in gallons of water as the wave boiled and vomited around them. Niall didn't try to get rid of the water; he knew the raft would float even if it was full. Relief rushed through him. They'd crested the monster wave.

"It's okay," he whispered tautly to Brie. "We crested it. We're all right, sweetheart...."

Chagrin filled him as the endearment slipped out of his mouth. Niall wondered where the hell that had come from. Brie had been his sweetheart; it was his pet name for her. And now, in a moment of real crisis, it had come flying out of his mouth. What the hell.

There was too much going on, Niall decided as he eased his grip on her slightly. The raft was sliding gently now, down into the trough before the next wave. Not all waves were such monsters. But in a hurricane in the middle of an ocean, some could reach twenty or thirty feet with no problem at all. Sometimes even higher.

"Okay?" Niall asked, as she eased back slightly. He still kept his arms around her because, despite then-past, he wanted to protect her. Although he couldn't see her, he could feel her. Brie felt good to him. She felt like home.

Bitterly Niall reminded himself that he had no home. He never had. And now they had crash-landed and were drifting aimlessly in the largest ocean in the world. Had the Coast Guard station picked up their mayday before they crashed? Or would they die out here in each other's arms?

Chapter 3

"It's going to be all right...all right..."

The husky, emotion-laden reassurance drifted into Brie's awareness, easing her terror-stricken state. She lost track of the roller coaster movement of the raft. The roar of the ocean was overwhelming and constant. Salt spray whipped across her face, stinging, painful and cold. Most of the time she kept her eyes tightly shut. If she opened them, they filled with the salty water and burned—and with the salty tears streaming down her cheeks.

Oh, how Brie had dreamed of Niall holding her so tightly against him. This wasn't how she wanted it— not in a hurricane-driven ocean, where she wasn't sure if they were going to live or die. But just the act of clinging to him, feeling his strong, comforting arms around her, his sandpapery cheek pressed against hers as they were tossed wildly about in the blackened night, made her feel safe.

Brie knew they weren't safe. She knew Niall couldn't tell with any certainty that they'd be all right. Still, the husky sound of his voice was balm to her shocked soul. Never in all her life had she anticipated such an incident occurring. She was a pilot, sure, and she trained weekly for just such a crash, but somewhere in the back of her mind, Brie had felt it would never happen. Well, it had. And in the worst kind of weather situation.

Her arms were wrapped around Niall's torso. The raft wobbled and bobbed violently. Spray and white froth would rocket across them like icy bullets fired from an unseen enemy in the inky night They had initiated their individual radio beacons, small transmitters on their vests that would send out a mayday signal. However, the radius of the transmission was limited to a five-mile area. Any fixed-wing aircraft, such as the Coast Guard C-130 Hercules, a medium-size transport plane, would have to penetrate that zone in order for the instruments on board to pick up the mayday signal. That was their only chance for detection, their only chance for rescue from this watery hell. No other aircraft would be able to fly through eighty-mile-an-hour winds, through squalls and violent up-and downdrafts.

Niall shut his eyes and clung strongly to Brie. She felt so damn good to him, despite the terrifying circumstances. The worst moment for him had been when he thought he was going to lose her in the sinking helicopter. Relief pumped violently through his heart that she had survived and was here, in his arms, as he'd always wanted her to be once more.

Talking was impossible right now. Each time the raft slid upward, he knew it was climbing torturously toward the crest of some giant, unseen wave. In a way, Niall was glad it was night, because if he saw those monster waves during daylight hours, he knew he'd be scared to death. Never had he been in such a situation. If there was anything good about it, it was that Brie was here with him.

In another hour, dawn would come. Daylight would help them in many ways. As he keyed his hearing, Niall thought the howling screech of the wind might be lessening. He knew from their last plotted position that they'd been flying very close to the center of the gathering hurricane. If only they could get into the eye! That would mean no rain for a while, only smooth, quiet ocean and a good chance to be rescued. However, there was no guarantee they'd make it into the eye; they were totally at the whim of the ocean.

"Are you okay?" he asked, raising his voice near her left cheek. Erie's helmet covered her ears, and Niall knew he'd have to shout for her to hear him. He felt her arms loosen a little as the raft slid slowly down into an unseen trough.

"Y-yes...just scared."

He laughed bitterly. "Makes two of us..." He'd nearly said "sweetheart" again, but caught himself this time. Why did his traitorous heart want to gift her with that endearment?

"Are you okay, Niall?"

Shrugging, he said, "I think I am. I wrenched my shoulder opening that damned door."

"I'm sorry I couldn't get it open."

"I didn't think I would, either. It was really stuck. The crash jammed it." His lips came to rest against the cool firmness of her cheek. He wanted to touch her, wanted to kiss her, but fought the wild, spontaneous urge. Using their dire situation as an excuse, because they had to be close in order to hear one another, he said, "We're going to be okay."

"Liar."

He smiled a little. Then the raft bobbled, climbing another unseen wall of water. Niall held his breath. His arms automatically tightened around Brie. When the raft bobbled, and sea spray whipped across them, pummeling them like boxers, he knew they'd crested it. Breathing out in relief, he felt Brie sag in reaction, too. "I'm sorry I got you into this mess," he told her.

"This isn't your fault. I pulled the duty. You had nothing to do with the flight pilot roster."

"If I could, I'd have flown with someone else." He realized what he'd said. Before he could correct his mistake, he felt Brie stiffen in his arms.

"I'm sure you would have," she said, her voice sad.

Hearing the tears in her voice, Niall castigated himself. He was rattled by the crash. Adrenaline was still pumping strongly through his veins and he wasn't monitoring what he said. Knowing his words had hurt Brie, he scrambled to try and patch up the mistake.

"No...I didn't mean it that way, Brie. I really didn't."

"Considering that I haven't heard from you for two years, I think you did. No letters. No phone calls to see how I was doing..."

Anger seared him. "Well, you didn't exactly communicate, either."

"I did more than you did, Niall." Her voice quavered with anguish. "I sent you cards the first year. Six of them. They were all returned by you, unopened. At least I tried. And yeah, when you didn't respond, I did stop trying to talk with you. Blame me if you want."

Closing his eyes, Niall felt anger and sadness wind through him. "I—just couldn't, Brie. I was too hurt...."

"You ran, Niall," she charged, her voice brimming with escaping emotions. "You always run when life gets tough. That's how you survive. You run!"

Her voice was angry. Filled with grief. Niall felt Brie's words slice through his pounding heart. Another deluge of icy salt spray hit them, and they were soaked once again. Even now, they were arguing. "Look," he rasped, "you were the one who told me to leave after...well, after..."

"After I lost our baby," Brie sobbed. She couldn't help herself. The trauma of the crash had stripped her of her normally cool composure. Now, with Niall holding her, one leg wrapped tightly about hers so she wouldn't fly out of the life raft, his closeness had divested her of all the armor she had built around herself after the loss of their baby. Choking, Brie tried to recapture her escaping grief over the loss. Oh, how long had it been since she'd cried for her loss of the baby? Too long.

"You were the one who ran out on me. You abandoned me in my worst hour of need, Niall!" Her voice cracked. Brie opened her eyes. She could see nothing in the blackness, but she felt his cheek against hers. His chest heaved against her breasts, and she could feel the tension gather in him. "I had just lost the baby. I was in the hospital crying, and you volunteered for a black ops with Morgan Trayhern. You just up and left! You ran out on me just like your father ran out on your mother!"

Helplessly, Niall worked his mouth, but no sound came out. He couldn't protect himself from her torn words, the hoarseness of her voice. He felt Brie's hands opening and closing frantically against him. "I didn't run out on you," he said at last. "The assignment came up."

"So? Why did you take it, Niall? Why?" Her voice grew even hoarser. The raft wobbled dangerously as the sea swelled around them. Another wall of spray deluged them. Brie could feel the water slopping back and forth around their bodies in the bottom of the raft. There was no way to bail it out, and it didn't matter; the raft would continue to float anyway. Right now, all Brie wanted to do was escape Niall. Her rage strangled her, and she wanted to hurt him as badly as he'd hurt her by walking out on her that way.

"Because you didn't need me, that's why, Brie," he growled.

"I didn't need you?" Her voice rose, incredulous. Stunned at this revelation, Brie lay there against him, her spongy mind working over his admittance.

"Look," Niall said in a raspy voice, "we need to stop arguing. We're at risk right now. We could die any moment. Let's just conserve our energy for now, okay? We can talk more after we get rescued." He slid his hand upward, against the back of her helmet, and forced her head down on his chest. "Just lie here against me," he ordered thickly. "I'm not running now."

"You would if you could walk on water and get the hell out of this life raft right now, Niall. But you can't."

He laughed unsurely. "No, I can't walk on water. I'm too damned bad and dark."

Brie surrendered. She was too tired, too stressed and terrified of dying to continue righting with him. Death wasn't an option to her. Niall was right: they had to conserve themselves in every way. Rescue might come.. .or it might not. Or rescue might come too late, depending upon the hurricane's antics. They had enough food and water in their life vests to sustain them for forty-eight hours, and that was it.

Closing her eyes, Brie tried to stop feeling, tried to stop thinking of Niall's words and charges. He didn't think she cared about him? Of course, since he had run out while she was in the hospital recovering from the miscarriage, Brie had never had a chance to speak with him. When Niall had come back three months later, he was a walled-up warrior who refused to talk about their loss. Their marriage, at that point, had rapidly disintegrated into two strangers living under the same roof. The loss of the baby was too painful for either of them to bring up. Brie admitted now that it was probably due to the depth of their grief and loss that they hadn't been able to talk honestly and at length with one another.

She felt herself spiraling downward. Within minutes, she lapsed into a broken sleep in Niall's sheltering arms, feeling safe even though her world was being twisted apart.

Gray dawn light greeted Niall's sore, scratchy eyes as he slowly raised his head from his light sleep and looked around. Disoriented at first, he sat up from his prone position in the raft, sending the few inches of water in the bottom swilling around his legs. The growing light revealed many things. First he noticed that the ocean was calm, the swell of waves less than one or two feet in height. Secondly, though clouds were scudding by, he could see stars fading above him. They'd had the luck to enter the eye of the hurricane. He knew the hurricane was huge and they could not have drifted out of its grasp yet. Only in the eye could the weather have cleared and the waters calmed. He looked down at Brie. She was stirring, her eyes puffy, with dark smudges beneath them. Still, she was incredibly beautiful to him.

Leaning over, he helped her sit up. The three-foot nylon line still held them together and he unsnapped it from his vest. Her waterlogged green Nomex gloves were still on her hands and he watched as she shed them. With fingers white and wrinkled-looking from being in the water so long, she slowly rubbed her swollen eyes. She'd been crying. A lot. His conscience ate at him. How badly he wanted to reach out and touch her, to somehow atone for all the pain he'd caused her over the years.

Taking off his helmet, he let it roll aside on the bottom of the raft. The wind was warm, humid and soft. Breathing easier, Niall saw nothing but gray-green ocean surrounding them no matter what direction he looked in. Turning back to Brie, he saw her ease the helmet off her head. Her copper-colored hair was flattened against her skull, with fine, thin wisps plastered across her forehead. Brows dipping downward, he watched her do something that he'd loved to see her do before, when they were married: slide her long, slender fingers through her thick hair to fluff it up and into place. How much he missed that small gesture, Niall realized. Choking back a sudden lump in his throat, he absorbed Brie's every graceful motion like a man too long starved for touch himself. In that eloquent moment, Niall realized fully just how much he'd missed having Brie in his life.

Trying to balance his predatory hunger for her against what she'd done to him, he found it impossible to reconcile the two very different and divergent feelings within himself. Helplessly, Niall sat there and watched her drag those soft, long bangs across her broad forehead and gently nudge them into place. Despite the bulky flight suit she wore, Brie was feminine in every way. The softness of her lips, now parted, beckoned powerfully to him. Hours ago, after the crash, his lips and hers had been fractions of an inch apart....

Wiping his mouth with the back of his gloved hand, Niall tore his gaze from her. To watch Brie was to open up a wound in his heart that had never fully healed or recovered. Trying to think beyond the personal with her, Niall checked the water bottle in his vest. It was full and had survived the crash intact.

"Are you thirsty?" he asked her.

Brie looked up. In the gray dawn light Niall's narrow face was shadowed and strong looking. His gray eyes were keen and assessing. Feeling his warmth and care—something she'd craved so badly and had rarely found in the last months of their marriage—Brie absorbed his sincere concern now. Ruffling her hair, she lowered her hand and checked the bottle in her vest. "I am, but I want to save it."

Nodding, Niall said, "Yeah...no telling when they'll locate us." Or if they would, but he didn't voice his worry. He wasn't out to hurt Brie. Right now, Niall was trying to protect her the best he could.

"They'll be out looking for us." Brie stared at his clean profile, his strong nose and chin. There was so much good in Niall, if only he'd stop running.

Like father, like son. Hurting, Brie absorbed his features, the dark growth of beard making him look even more dangerous and appealing than before. His black hair was plastered to his skull, one rebellious short lock hanging over his furrowed brow. When he turned and their gazes locked, her heart flew open.

"Yes," he answered hesitantly.

"They will," she said stubbornly. "They got our last fix."

"We've been drifting for hours from that location." Niall looked around the raft as the light improved. It was awash with about six inches of water, with strands of seaweed floating on top. He threw it out and began bailing with his cupped hands. There was no sense sitting in water. The weather suits were supposedly waterproof, but some seawater had leaked beneath his collar, and he was chilled.

"Always the optimist," Brie muttered sarcastically. "You haven't changed much." She got on her hands and knees and began to bail with him. There was no room to turn or they would bump into one another. Brie wanted to move away from Niall, but it was impossible.

Stinging from her muttered rebuke, he continued bailing. "Neither have you." Liar. Brie looked thinner. And there was a sadness in her eyes. Could he blame her? She was probably still grieving over the loss of their baby. He knew he was. Trying to avoid another argument, he changed tactics.

"You got someone in your life who needs to be contacted?" He hoped not. It was a purely selfish thing to hope, he knew. Niall couldn't stand the thought that Brie might fall in love with someone other than him. Not that he'd been perfect; far from it. But they'd been so close, so wonderfully in love, and had suited one another so well. Holding his breath, he stopped cupping the water to see what effect his question had on her.

Brie froze momentarily. The water she'd scooped up in her palms dribbled back into the raft. The question, so very personal, and so unlike Niall, caught her off guard. Twisting her head in his direction, she raked him with a disgruntled glare. "No. Not that it's any of your business. Do you?" Her tone was scathing. Argumentative.

Shaking his head, he muttered, "No...no one."

"Your mother will be notified by the Coast Guard."

"She died a year ago...." Niall's voice faltered. The soft look that replaced Brie's anger felled him. Her lips parted in shock at the news. In his heart, Niall knew he should have contacted Brie and told her about his adopted mother's death, but he'd still been so angry at her that he hadn't. He saw pain reflected in Brie's features in that moment. How easily she absorbed his anguish. She always had been sensitive and empathetic toward others. That was one of the many qualities Niall had come to love fiercely about her— Brie's care for others.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Niall.... I—didn't know." She sat back on her heels, a confused look on her face. "Why didn't you tell me? I wish I'd known...."

Releasing a breath of air, Niall shook his head. He rested his hands on his thighs, the humid breeze caressing him. "Because I was still pissed off as hell at you."

"I was close to your adoptive mother." Brie sat there, feeling once again gutted by his coldness.

"I know... and I'm sorry. Looking back on it now," he muttered, "I should have told you. It would have been the right thing to do." He continued to scoop water because he couldn't stand the anguish in her blue eyes.

"Damn you, Niall." The words came out soft. Broken. Brie sat there, lulled by the slight waves that rocked the raft as gently as a mother would rock her baby. "I just didn't want to believe you were so heartless and immature. I tried to tell myself when I was in that hospital, alone, and in danger of losing our baby, that you'd come to be with me...hold me...help me...."

His mouth contorting, Niall felt every word like drops of fire scorching his naked flesh. Holding her accusing gaze, he snarled, "I'm many things, Brie. Immature at times? Yeah, no question. But I'm not heartless. I never have been. I was at the hangar when it happened. The petty officer who took the call from the hospital got sidetracked by an incoming SAR, and she forgot to give me the message. It was two hours later before she recalled it and gave it to me. That wasn't my fault." His nostrils quivered.

"I often wonder whether, if you had known, you would have come." There, it was out, once and for all. The worst problem in their marriage had been their lack of ability to talk to one another. Niall would stalk off anytime her questions got to be too personal, too intimate and searching. He didn't know how to handle intimacy with a woman. How could he? His mother had never been home to teach him that interaction, and he had really no father around to impress him with it, either. Consequently, Brie had known that there was a lot of work to do in this area of their marriage.

Hands balling into fists on his long, powerful thighs, Niall stared at her, stunned by the brazen question. "Of course I would have! And I did, the instant I got the message. The petty officer found me and told me. She was in tears over the mistake. I told you that, once I got to the hospital, but you were in no mood to hear it. All you could do was cry and accuse me of running away and not being there for you—as usual."

Brie searched the quiet ocean in desperation. The gentle lapping sounds soothed some of her anger, as well as the soaring pain in her chest as she turned and held his glare. Niall's cheeks were a ruddy color, indicating he was angry. "You were never there for me, Niall, when I needed you. And that's the truth. You were a latchkey child. You grew up alone. You never learned how to be a real partner in our marriage."

"I tried," he growled. "Put yourself in my place. Imagine never being wanted by your parents. How would you feel?"

"Your adoptive mother loved you, Niall! With all her heart and soul, bless her. She was a single parent, trying her best to make ends meet. You know women get paid a helluva lot less than men. She was working two jobs, scrambling to feed you, clothe you and then pay for your college education. Irene loved you the best she could under the circumstances, so don't throw that old saw at me that you weren't ever loved. That's crap."

Brie sat there, breathing hard. Oh, why was she doing this? Why couldn't she be civil to Niall, as she'd been in their marriage? They'd never come to blows like this. No, it had been a silent union headed for disaster. Neither one had had the courage to speak out. In a way, Brie was glad that she'd had two years without Niall around. She'd grown, become more confident and more outspoken about her needs and setting strong, healthy boundaries for herself. Judging from the stunned look on his face, her changes weren't welcomed by him. Brie didn't care. It was time to come clean, once and for all. Maybe by getting all this anger and poison out of her system, she could finally get on with her life. Maybe.

"And I suppose you're Ms. Perfect? A full set of parents. A mother who spoiled you rotten because you were an only child? A father who loved you even though he wanted you to be a son, not a daughter?" Niall instantly regretted his angry words. Shadows flickered across her narrowing blue eyes. And then he saw anger explode within them.

"I might be Ms. Perfect in your eyes," Brie whispered, "but you're Mr. Abandonment. You say everyone keeps running out on you. I know your father left as soon as he heard your birth mother was pregnant with you, but he was an alcoholic and had serious responsibility problems. From where I'm sitting, you're probably lucky he didn't interfere that much in your life Growing up with an alcoholic parent is about as dysfunctional as it gets You don't even know how to count your blessings, Niall. You can't love your adoptive mother for what she's done right for you. You couldn't love me because you were afraid of getting intimate and personal with another human being. You were too scared and you ran. You ran just like your father runs every time things get dicey."

Sucking in a ragged breath of air, he held her challenging glare. "Two years has made you real vocal, hasn't it?"

"Our marriage was doomed from the start, Niall," Brie said, tiredness replacing her earlier emotional outburst. "You never trusted me enough to open up to me. You could never talk to me about day to day things, not to mention anything intimate. You held up that wall between us real well. You were consistent— I'll give you that." Her voice dropped. "And when I miscarried...well, you couldn't handle that, either."

"How could I?" His voice rose. "I got to the hospital and it was all over. You were in a room by yourself, crying." He opened his hands, his voice cracking. "What could I do? How could I fix it? Fix you? Fix the situation?"

"Dammit, Niall, I didn't need you to fix anything!" Fighting back sudden, unwanted tears, Brie held his glare. She saw the anguish in his eyes and heard the pain in his tone. "All I wanted...needed...was to be held. That was all. I was hurting so much. And yes, I was crying...crying for the loss of our baby. We had so many hopes and dreams for him. I can remember the nights we'd lay awake talking about if he'd like baseball, or hockey...or what school he'd go to for college...."

Shutting his eyes, Niall felt a sharp stab of grief at the loss of his son. The pain was so real that he lifted his hand and pressed it hard against his chest. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to be alive in this raw moment. Hanging his head, body bowed forward, he couldn't say anything. All he could do was grapple with the old, unresolved grief over his son's death.

Sniffing, Brie angrily wiped her eyes and looked out at the endless ocean. "You just stood there, helpless, by the bedside. I had wrapped my arms around myself. I was in so much pain, physically and emotionally, that I couldn't speak. And all you could do was stand there, staring down at me like I was some bug under a microscope. You couldn't even step forward, slide your arms around me and hold me." Her voice cracked. "All I needed from you, Niall, was to be held. Was that too much to ask? Don't bother answering. Obviously, it was."

Lifting his head, he stared at Brie. Tears were rolling down her taut, pale cheeks. She was shivering, her teeth chattering again. She was holding herself just as she had in the hospital bed, her arms wrapped around herself. The devastation in her eyes tore at him as nothing else ever had.

"I wanted to hold you, Brie. But I stood there not knowing how to fix the tragedy, for you...or me. I couldn't believe our son was gone. I mean.. .it was the sixth month of your pregnancy. And everything was fine. Fine! We'd just seen your doctor, seen the ultrasound that showed us you were carrying our..." Tears jammed into his eyes. "Damn...this is so hard to talk about, Brie."

"Maybe because we never did in the first place," she answered bitterly. How cold she was! Brie's teeth kept chattering and there was nothing she could do to stop them. The look on Niall's face stunned her. He was remalning open and accessible to her. The old Niall would have run. Brie reminded herself that he had nowhere to run now—not in the middle of an ocean. No, he was stuck here with her whether he liked it or not.

"You're right," Niall admitted hoarsely, "we never talked after...after it happened."

"After I lost the baby."

"Yes...that..."

"See? Even now you can't touch the subject, Niall. You walk around it. Why can't you say the word baby or my son or, God forbid, use the name we'd chosen for him—Killian?"

Frozen with anguish, Niall tried to speak. The words came out broken, as if torn directly from his heart. Lifting his head, he stared at Brie. "Because...because it hurts too much, that's why. If I...if I do, I'll cry." His mouth worked as he tried to suppress the barrage of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. "I've never cried so much in my life as that day. I—I didn't know what sobs were. I didn't know what those gut-wrenching sounds were all about until they came tearing out of me... After I left you I went out in the exit stairwell and sat down. I was reeling. I was crying for the loss...for you, for me...."

In shock, Brie stared at him. Wincing, she could only sit there and hold his wavering gray gaze shot with anguish and grief. "Y-you...cried?" She'd never seen it. "I never saw you cry. Not once after it happened."

"I figured my crying in front of you would be just one more brick on your load, Brie," he said, all the anger going out of him. "You were lying there, devastated. How badly I wanted to reach out to you, run my fingers over your hair and tell you it was going to be all right. But I knew it wasn't. It never would be, from that moment on. I knew how I was feeling about the loss of our...baby...and I couldn't even begin to imagine how you felt. I was shell-shocked, so numb. I kept trying to figure out how to fix things...and I couldn't...."

"Oh, hell," Brie cried softly, and she pressed her hands to her face and leaned forward in a ball of agony.

Niall sat there, dumbfounded. He heard Brie's sobs. Saw her shoulders shaking uncontrollably. What should he do? What could he do? There was nothing he could do to fix this, either. The hurtful words they'd thrown at one another like flaming spears had landed directly in their hearts. There was no dodging the ser-rating truth. His heart told him to reach out, slide his arm around her and hold her. Just hold her. His head said no, that she wouldn't want that from him now— after all this time. Would she?

Chapter 4

Brie couldn't stem the tears. During all these years that had passed since the death of their son, she had thought Niall had never shed one tear. Now, as her own hot tears leaked through her fingers, she realized he wasn't as cold-hearted as she'd imagined him to be. Consumed with new grief, she ached on a level that had never been touched before. He had cared. He had loved their child as much as she had. Why were men so damned uncommunicative? Why hadn't Niall shared his grief with her? Why?

Sniffing, she rubbed her eyes and blinked back the rest of her tears. Around them, the ocean was almost glassy smooth. Brie knew they had to be drifting toward the center of the hurricane's eye for that to occur. Above, a dulcet blue sky shone in stark contrast to the bank of white-and-gray clouds on the horizon.

As she lifted her lashes, which were beaded with the last of her tears, she saw Niall sitting with his head hung, his hands clasped in a death grip between his thighs. The suffering in his face tore at her. Swallowing hard, Brie asked in a choked tone, "Why didn't you tell me this at the time? Why couldn't you come clean with your feelings? I thought all these years you didn't care what happened."

Feeling wretched, he winced at the rawness in her husky tone. Unable to look at Brie, who had a helluva lot more courage in the emotional department than he ever had, he stared down hard at his clasped hands.

"I...don't know, Brie. When I got to the hospital and saw how devastated you were..." He shook his head mutely.

"I felt so guilty," Brie confided hollowly. "You stood looking at me like it was my fault." Shrugging painfully, she whispered, "Maybe it was. I don't know. I've asked myself that question so many times since then. Was it the stress of my SAR duty? Before the miscarriage, I'd had a week of search and rescues the likes I've never seen before or since." She gave Mm a sad look. "Maybe it was stress induced?"

"Don't take on that kind of guilt, Brie," he growled. "I did a lot of research after that, and miscarriages usually happen because the baby is malformed. The body knows it. Your body sensed there was something wrong, so it aborted the baby naturally. That's all there is to this. You didn't do anything 'wrong.'"

Staring at him as the raft bobbed gently from side to side, Brie felt some of her grief assuaged. "You did research? "

"Yeah." Niall sighed. He gave her a quick glance. Her hair was slightly curled from the high humidity, and it softened the angularity of her cheekbones. It was her eyes that Niall found mesmerizing. Even though they were red from crying, they were that incredible turquoise-blue, the pupils huge and black. Erie's eyes were literally a window through which he saw what she was feeling. And right now he didn't quite believe his own eyes. Maybe he was making it up. Her gaze was warm, burning with a sunny, golden hope. Opening his hands, he added huskily, "I was so shocked by what had happened. You know me, Brie— when things are emotionally traumatic, I go into this clipped, cold, hard mental construct so I can think clearly and get things done in an orderly fashion. You were in no shape to think about a funeral. Someone had to think through the hurt, the loss...."

Clearing her throat, she said, "Yes, you did do that before you left..."

"I was there with you at the funeral, too," he reminded her, his tone filled with hurt. "I didn't just run off and leave you after the miscarriage, Brie. I was there for you the best I could be at the time." Opening his hands in a helpless gesture, he said, "I was there for a week—to be with you, to handle the paperwork and legal stuff—before I volunteered for that black ops."

She sat back and rolled her eyes. "And from my perspective, you seemed so cold, inaccessible, like a robot on automatic. I wanted to talk to you. I need to talk when something bad happens, Niall. When I do, it's like opening an abscess. It cleans me out, allows me to heal."

"I was so overwhelmed emotionally, I couldn't hear you. Not then," he admitted slowly. Niall shifted around so that his back was resting against the rim of the raft, his feet near her right hip. Watching as she wiped her face again, he felt an ache filling him. How badly he wanted Brie. How badly he wanted to simply hold her against him and have her hold him in return. The last two years had made him feel like he was the only human left alive in a desert that had no end. He had no desire to strike up a relationship with another woman. It was as if he were a monk gone into a monastery. Maybe he was still grieving for the loss of Brie, the loss of their marriage, which had been so good before the loss of their baby son.

"We need to start drinking some of our water to stay hydrated," Niall told her. He took his bottle from the net closure on the right side of his vest, opened it and took a swig. Wiping his mouth, he capped it. Looking around the raft, he saw there were still some puddles in the bottom.

"You're right...." Brie took a drink from her own bottle, then twisted the cap back in place and settled it into the net casing on her vest. Inwardly, she felt less angry, less uncomfortable with Niall. They were beginning to talk about things that had never been broached, but should have been a long time ago.

"If we don't get rescued by the time we drift through this eye, we're gonna have to try and collect rainwater from the raft bottom."

"When the waves get high, they're going to splash into the raft and dilute any rainwater with salt, so it won't be drinkable," Brie noted unhappily.

Looking around at the quiet, soothing sea, now a deep marine blue, Niall said, "You're right. But we'll get the rain first before we start hitting high waves. We'll refill our bottles, and keep drinking from the bottom of this thing until that time."

Moving her stiff, cramped legs slowly, Brie murmured, "I'm cold. I can feel the warmth of the breeze, but I'm still freezing." She wrapped her arms around herself and began to rub her body energetically to produce more heat.

"You probably took a lot of water into the neck of your weather suit when we egressed," Niall said worriedly. He saw Brie trying to stop her teeth from chattering.

"How about you? Did you take in a lot of sea-water?"

Shaking his head, he said, "No, I didn't. I'm a little damp in the shoulder and chest, but basically, I'm dry."

"Good," Brie said, relieved. "I'm soaked head to toe."

That wasn't good, but Niall said nothing. Trying to shelve his worry, he said, "You want some help warming up? A long time ago, I was pretty good at massaging you."

Her mouth softened and she held his gaze. His gray eyes were large now, the pupils black and filled with warmth—toward her. Niall was offering to help her. With his touch... Inwardly, Brie groaned. She loved his touch; it was strong and yet incredibly gentle. Always, Brie had looked forward to Niall holding her. Often, after twenty-four hours of SAR duty, she'd come home to their apartment near the Coast Guard base where they were assigned in Port Angeles, Washington, and he would fill a tub full of hot water for her.

After she'd had a long, delicious soak to ease muscles tight from the stressful duty, he'd bring in a soft, thick towel and dry her. The best part for her was when he'd pick her up, carry her to their bed and lay her down, then slather her back and shoulders with fragrant, sensual almond oil. Oh, how Brie looked forward to those massages Niall gave her. Her stress would dissolve beneath the magic of his coaxing, knowing fingers. He knew how to chase away the tautness in her shoulders, tease away the tightness along her spine, and in no time, Brie would fall into a deep, exhausted sleep. Niall would then cover her and allow her to float in that healing darkness.

Mouth dry now, Brie said, "You sure you want to?" She saw his eyes glimmer and instantly recognized that look for what it was: desire—for her. How was that possible? Their marriage had exploded on them. The loss of their baby had torn them apart and they'd split up like two feathers at the mercy of the winds.

Brie longed for Niall's knowing touch more than she dared let herself acknowledge. When she saw his full mouth curve at the corners, a wild, spontaneous heat plunged from her heart to the center of her body. She recognized it for what it was, too, and it stunned her. The coals that glowed within her were those of yearning for Niall—all of him.

"Sure I want to do it," he told her. "You're my copilot. I don't want anything to happen to you that I can help prevent. You're going hypothermic, Brie, and maybe I can help you stop losing body heat."

Her heart plummeted. Oh. That was it. Niall was being a good pilot in command. She was his copilot, and therefore responsible for her. Trying to wrestle with her sudden disappointment, she muttered, "Sure...I can use all the help I can get. We don't know when or if we'll be picked up." And that worried her a lot. The hurricane was gathering force. Before they'd left, there were reports that it could be a level five, the most powerful and devastating type. A storm of that size would make a rescue difficult, maybe even impossible. They could potentially drift for days, maybe a week or more. Or worse, they could be deluged by a monster wave and drowned at sea. No, their lives were not guaranteed, Brie knew.

Moving slowly to his knees, Niall gave her a slight grin. "Don't look so worried, Brie. I'm not going to bite you." He wrapped his hands around her right arm, near the shoulder, and began to gently knead and massage her muscles. Hearing her groan with pleasure, he watched as she leaned back, her head pillowed against the side of the raft, her lashes closed.

"That feels so good..." she murmured gratefully. Brie had no idea how tense she was until Niall applied gentle but firm pressure to her arms, hands and cold, damp fingers.

Concerned, Niall saw that her fingertips were almost bluish in color. That meant she had hypothermia. Quelling his worry, he carefully stroked her long, slender fingers. Just touching Brie was such a pleasure. Looking up, he studied her face—her closed eyes, her lips parted with a soft, beckoning smile. The urge to reach out, to stroke her pale cheek, was nearly his undoing. Frowning, he ordered himself to stick to what was necessary. He'd lied moments before when he'd told her he'd only offered to help because she was his copilot. If Brie really knew how he felt, she'd have rebuffed him for sure.

It was noon by Niall's watch. Worriedly, he watched as Brie continued to sleep. Since he'd massaged her arms and legs, she'd fallen into a deep, healing slumber, rocked by the gentle movements of the raft. Her lips, still possessing that pomegranate-red color even without lipstick, were slightly parted and still calling to him, begging him to caress and then crush them beneath his hungry, exploring mouth. But Niall would never awaken her, no matter how strong his desire. He realized Brie needed this sleep because of the trauma they'd survived last night in that hellish crash.

Rubbing the tense muscles at the back of his neck, he felt the gnawing hunger in his stomach. He was hungry in more ways than one. Right now, he was starving emotionally for Brie, the conciliation of souls that had begun between them. In a million years, Niall would never have thought their coming together again would have produced this...whatever it was. He was careful not to label what was occurring. But with that special warmth growing between them once more, it was almost like old times—before they had lost the baby. He had seen that look she gave him when he'd touched her arm earlier. Yes, there was gratitude in her eyes, but something else lingered there as well— something heated that Niall did not want to name.

Oh, it was a special hell, he admitted as he opened up a side pocket on his flight suit and pulled out a protein bar. Touching Brie earlier was like a dream come true after the nightmare of the past two years. She was just as rounded and soft as he remembered. Maybe more so, now. As he sat mere, quietly peeling the wrapper from the bar, he admitted to himself that he'd savored every stroke, every touch of her flesh. Brie hadn't stiffened or pulled away when he'd touched her. Just the opposite. Niall had seen such relief in her face, such joy deep in her turquoise eyes, that it had made his heart pound with happiness.

As he sat there munching on the bar, and enjoying every morsel of the grains that would feed his growling stomach, Niall had the undiluted pleasure of watching the woman he'd once loved with all his heart and soul, sleep the sleep of angels. In slumber, Brie looked defenseless. She seemed so at peace. The realization that they had both been grieving, suffering terribly after their loss, struck him deeply. Why hadn't he cried in front of Brie? Why hadn't he held her as she cried in that hospital bed? What the hell had he been thinking?

Scowling, Niall finished off the tasty protein bar and tucked the wrapper back into the long, large pocket on his left thigh. God knew, he'd wanted to go to Brie and hold her. To this day, he could hear the awful, tearing sounds coming from her contorted lips that day in the hospital. And he'd stood there like an idiot, frozen, feeling utterly helpless with the need to fix something that was unfixable.

With a sigh, Niall snuggled down into the raft, his body nearly touching Erie's. He had to sleep. There was no telling how long conditions would remain calm. The eye of a hurricane was usually around fifty miles in diameter. In the distance, black, thunderous-looking cumulus clouds gathered, warning him they'd probably hit the wall of the storm tonight. And then they'd be back in the same hell they'd known last night. This time, they really might drown. One of those waves might catch and flip them. So many things could happen—all of them potentially bad.

Feeling the urgency of wanting to survive, Niall quietly stretched out in the bottom of the raft, using the inflated portion as a pillow for his head. The gentle rocking motion soon spiraled him into sleep.

"We need to eat," Niall told Brie shortly after she had awakened. Dusk was upon them. That threatening wall of cloud was closer. Though Niall had tried to keep thoughts of the burgeoning danger at bay, he no longer could. Within the next four hours, they would once again be at the whim and mercy of the hurricane's strength and rage.

Brie's eyes were drowsy looking, and he had the urge to reach out, cup her cheek, and kiss that soft mouth of hers. Niall knew he couldn't do any of those things, so he settled for watching her as she pushed her fingers through her red hair and tried to tame it into place.

"I feel so much better," Brie told him. Looking up, she drowned in Niall's dark, stormy-looking gray eyes. He was watching her with an intentness that sent her heart skittering with need. Brie realized the raw hunger in his eyes was for her. Even after all this time and tragedy, he wanted her. That made her heart sing with a special joy. Yet as Brie looked up and studied the approaching wall of dark, massive-looking clouds her fear returned—fear of being at the mercy of the storm once more.

"Better tank up on protein," Niall told her in warning, hooking a thumb toward the darkening sky. "We're going back into hell shortly, and we're going to need our strength to survive it."

Brie nodded. Her stomach felt tight. She knew she must be hungry, but she couldn't feel it. Maybe because Niall was here. Just his presence made her feel safe. That was silly, of course, Brie admitted as she pulled out two protein bars from her vest. Niall couldn't do anything to protect her from the storm that was stalking them.

Fear made the bars tasteless to Brie. She saw the worry banked in Niall's eyes as he looked at the sky. The water was becoming choppy now, the waves two to three feet in height. Finishing off the food, Brie took a long drink of water. Above them, thin filaments of clouds were drifting across the hole of blue, like pale shrouds. Darkness was closing in on them again.

"You slept, too, didn't you?" she asked, tucking the bar wrappers into her vest.

"Yeah. I got about six hours. You've slept about ten. That's good." Scanning her from head to toe, Niall said, "Your teeth aren't chattering, either. Are you warmer?"

She smiled a little. "Yes, thanks to you." Following her heart, Brie reached out and slid her hand into his, which lay along his long, powerful thigh. "I've always loved your touch, Niall. You make me feel safe. Like nothing in the world could ever harm me again." Seeing surprise flare in his eyes, and then hunger, Brie squeezed his large-knuckled fingers. When they curved around hers in return, her heart leaped. "Thanks..." she whispered shakily.

Though he never wanted to let her go, Niall finally released her hand. The unexpected intimacy Brie had shown him sent his heart reeling with giddy hope. Yet his head warned him that she'd abandoned him once before. She'd demanded the divorce shortly after he'd returned from the black ops. Why? Swallowing hard, a frown on his face, Niall studied the approaching storm, then he turned back to Brie.

"You know our chances, don't you?" he said in a low, strained tone. "We could die out here tonight. We'll be strapped to one another with the life line, of course, and I'll hook the raft to my vest in case we get overturned by a wave. But that doesn't mean we'll survive. The dingy could fall on top of us, and we'd get dragged under and drown."

Wincing, Brie tucked her lower lip between her teeth. She clasped her hands in her lap. "Yes, I know that."

"This hurricane's upped the ante," he said, his brows dipping. "It's deepened—probably reaching a five by now. If that's so, no Coast Guard C-130 is going to risk flying through it to try and pick up our radio signals."

"I know...."

"That means our only hope—our only chance of surviving—is hanging on and hoping like hell we don't get overturned." After glaring at the clouds, he glanced back at Brie. "And judging from how dog ugly this wall is coming up, I don't know that we will survive it, Brie."

"I agree."

Niall stared at her in the dusky light. He saw the terror deep in her eyes, but he also saw her stubbornness and desire to survive, too. "I'm scared," he confessed.

"So am I, Niall."

"More scared than I've ever been, if you want the truth." He opened his hands in a frustrated gesture. "And there isn't one damn thing more I can do to fix this situation, either. I feel almost as helpless as I did when we lost our baby, Brie. There was nothing I could do then, either."

Her heart contracted with sadness. They could die. In fact, they probably would. That knowledge drove Brie to speak her mind. "Right now, Niall, I'd rather be with you in this situation than with anyone else." She saw hope burn momentarily in his eyes, saw his mouth soften as he stared at her in surprise. Brie could hear the roar of the approaching wall now, could feel the raft continue to rock and bounce. The waves were more choppy, with froth on them—a warning of what they'd face in a couple of hours.

"You're sure about that?" His voice was deep. Filled with question. With hope.

Nodding, Brie whispered, "Very sure. I want you holding me when we go through that wall. I want to be holding you. If I have to die, Niall, I want it to be in your arms. I'm scared. More scared than I've ever been in my whole life. I—I have an awful feeling we aren't going to make it. I don't want to die...." Brie choked up, pressing her hand against her throat as she stared at him.

Reaching out, Niall took her other hand and simply held it. Her fingers were cold again. "I feel the same, Brie. About everything you've said. I don't think we're going to survive this. The odds are stacked against us. This hurricane is too powerful..." Turning her hand over gently, he lifted it and pressed a soft kiss to her palm. He heard Brie's intake of breath. Lifting his lips from her cool flesh, he gazed deeply into her wide blue eyes.

"We're going to go through hell again in a few hours, sweetheart. I feel like we've been given a second chance to say all the things that we never said when we divorced—the good, the bad of it. I need to say a lot to you, Brie, because if I don't survive this and you do, then I want you to know the truth...."

Choking back a sob, Brie tightened her fingers around his hand. "Yes, let's use this time wisely. Let's not waste a precious minute of it, Niall. I've got a lot to say, too. I've been so afraid, too. At the hospital and after the funeral, you were so detached from what had happened, so far away from me, and I was hurting so much at the time that I wasn't thinking clearly. I needed you, darling. I needed you so much." Brie closed her eyes and gripped his hand hard. "What I'd have given if you had just taken me in your arms and held me. That's what I needed, Niall—just to be held. Held and told it was okay, that it wasn't my fault I'd lost our baby...."

Sadness avalanched through him. Holding her hand gently between his, Niall stroked the back of it. "And you looked so brave and self-assured at that time. I thought you were blaming me for the miscarriage. I didn't think you wanted me around. I hadn't been there for the loss...and I thought you were pissed off about that. You acted like you didn't need anyone, Brie. I guess..." his mouth flattened "...I guess I really misread all your signals, didn't I?"

"Yes," she breathed softly, the pain scalding her heart, "you did. How easy it would have been if you'd just opened up enough to trust me and talk to me about all this, Niall." Brie shook her head. "I've tried to figure out why you're so closed, why you won't communicate. It goes back to you being a latchkey kid, I'm sure. You had no one to go to and ask for help. From the time you were eight years old, you'd come home from school and fix dinner for your mother, do your homework, and be the responsible one, the man of the house. You didn't have anyone to talk with, to tell if you were scared, worried, anxious or happy. I know your mother didn't get home until around 9:00 p.m. on weeknights. And she was tired. That didn't leave much time for her to talk with you or vice versa."

"Yeah, my mother was exhausted when she came home," he admitted quietly. Smoothing his thumb across Brie's cool flesh, Niall added, "I felt bad for her. It was all she could do to sit down at ten o'clock and go over my homework with me. I could see how tired she was. It made me feel bad. I didn't want her to have to work so damned hard. I was angry at my father, who rarely came over. I never saw my stepfather, either. He left her and moved to another state. So I became a clam. I did what I could, but talking wasn't a big thing in my family."

"And I'm just the opposite of you," Brie said quietly as she looked up and studied the approaching wall of the storm. It looked ever more menacing the closer they got. The urgency to talk before they drifted into it made Brie come clean in a way she had never before. This was going to be the confession of her life to Niall. She realized she had never stopped loving him. And now then: lives, more than likely, would be taken on this approaching night. A bittersweet feeling filled her. It was now or never. Niall needed to know how she felt about him, no matter what the consequences to herself or her misplaced pride.

Chapter 5

Niall shifted so he sat in the center of the small raft. He hooked his lifeline to Bile's bright red-orange vest. Automatically, as the wind started to sweep chaotically around them, the froth lifting from the peaks of greenish-gray waves, he checked their radio beacons. Both were working, but he held out no hope that a C-130 was flying through that storm to try and track them down. A hurricane could tear a large plane apart. More than one hurricane-hunter aircraft had disintegrated in just such circumstances. The Coast Guard had patterns of search for each rescue mission. Niall knew that to fly this one would be hellish, the chance of failure high. It wasn't worth risking the lives on board to save their two necks. Such was the cold logic of the military. They had talked about the mere and if he was all right. Niall was sure Morgan was worried about all of them. No one had expected their bird to go down.

Brie came and sat next to him, her hip against his as they faced the looming wall of wind and rain, the lightning and thunder that were already beginning to rumble warningly. The first bluish-gray squall was approaching, a curtain of rain so heavy they could barely see through it.

Easing his arm around her, Niall smiled down at her. "Ready for our walk into hell together?"

She smiled bravely and tucked her arm around his waist. "We've already been to hell, Niall. This is nothing in comparison. I felt like I died the day our baby was lost." She searched his dark, hard face as he stared down at her. "I was afraid to see you again. Now my fears seem silly. But the night I learned we'd be flying this mission together, I felt scared. I wasn't sure how you'd react to me."

"I felt shaky, too," he admitted, trying his best to keep communicating with her. Niall was finding that opening up his feelings to Brie wasn't so hard, after all. But then, with hell bearing down on them, he had an added impetus to talk.

The wind slammed against them, strong and powerful. The raft spun drunkenly around. Froth filled the air momentarily, leaving white, foamy splotches all over their weather suits. The squall was approaching. They'd be pummeled with a deluge of rain within the next few minutes.

"When I got assigned to this station a month ago, I didn't know you were here," Brie admitted, resting her cheek against his shoulder. How good it was to be held by him once again! She felt his strong arm squeeze her gently and continue to hold her close. Sighing, she slid her other arm around his torso and closed her eyes.

"And when you did," he asked, humor in his husky voice, "what did you do? Ask for a transfer?"

She laughed shortly, the sound strained. The wind began tearing at them, riffling her short hair. The first drops splattered across them. In a few minutes, they'd have to put their helmets on once again. "I thought about it. I know the higher-ups in the Coast Guard didn't realize what they'd done. It was no one's fault."

"But you stayed," Niall said, moving his mouth very near her ear. He inhaled Brie's scent. It was always so clean and feminine to him, like a mysterious flower fragrance so evocative it never failed to arouse Mm. Strands of her copper hair pressed against his lower lip. They were just as silken as he recalled.

"Yes..." His warm breath trailed over her ear and cheek. Brie absorbed the sensation like a starving animal. The intimacy Niall established with her was natural and good. Her heart soared with unexpected joy. They were riding toward their death, and he was holding her.

The rain began in earnest, along with the whipping, pummeling wind. They put on their helmets. Niall drew Brie fully into his arms and snuggled closer. With their heads pressed together, they lay on the bottom of the raft, feeling the jerky up and down movements as they were sucked into the fearsome wall of the storm.

The wind rose. It howled and then ebbed away. And then it struck again, bringing horizontal chilling rain. Niall lifted his hand and placed it behind Brie's head. He wanted somehow to protect her from the icy, nee-dlelike droplets deluging them. The raft was rising and falling more quickly, bobbing like a cork. Waves were now four to six feet in height, rough and bullying.

"Why did you stay?" Niall placed his lips near her ear. "You could have asked for a transfer. They'd have given it to you under the circumstances, Brie?" His heart pounded as he anticipated her answer. He felt her arms momentarily tighten around his torso. He knew she was scared. So was he.

Shutting her eyes, Brie felt the cold water begin to leak under the collar of her weather suit even though Niall was trying to protect her from the onslaught. Inwardly, she was shaking in fear. Fear of what would come to both of them: a wall of water and maybe then-death warrant.

"I...I stayed, Niall, because I hoped...oh, God, I hoped that somehow I could find the courage to come to you and talk. Just talk." There, it was out. Finally. It felt as if a huge weight had just lifted off her quaking shoulders. The wind was howling like a banshee now, the rain so thick she couldn't see anything beyond the bobbing raft.

"When I heard you were at the station, I got scared, too, Brie," Niall confided. Moving his hand, he cupped the collar of her weather suit to try and prevent more water from running down the opening. He didn't want Brie chilled because she couldn't take much more hypothermia. This time, if she got wet and damp inside the suit, he might not be able to warm her up. Ever.

"And then," he admitted, giving a short laugh filled with derision, "as the days went by, and there was no word from you, I figured you were going to ignore me. At first, I felt okay...relieved about that. But then..." His mouth flattened and he bowed his head as the rain slammed into him. Water dripped down his face, off his nose and chin. "I wanted to see you, Brie. You have no idea of the hell I went through daily after rinding out you were assigned here. Every morning I woke up thinking about you. My dreams at night...well, they were about the good times, the laughter, the joy we shared before our marriage soured. I'd wake up in the morning aching for you to be at my side. I wanted to roll over and find you sleeping on your left side, like you always did. I wanted to slide my arms around you and pull you near me...and love you. Show you how damn much I still loved you and needed you...."

Brie clung to Niall after hearing his low, emotional words. "Oh, Niall..."

"It's the truth, Brie. I swear to God it is. I was just trying to get up enough courage to go over to your bungalow in Princeville, knock on your door and ask if we could start over. If there was a chance for us again. But I was a coward. I blew it. And now..." He lifted his eyes and saw the squall moving in. Right behind it were black and grey bands of clouds moving quickly in a counterclockwise motion. The clouds resembled skeletal fingers—the hand of death? "Now it's too late.... Damn, I'm sorry, Brie. I ran from you...after losing our baby, because I didn't know what else to do. When that black ops mission from Perseus came up, I volunteered for it. Frankly, I was relieved to get the assignment." He squeezed her hard and pressed a kiss to her damp cheek. "I had to bury myself in something dangerous—something that would take my mind off you, off our loss...."

Choking, Brie looked up. Darkness was falling. She could barely see Niall's glistening, rain-soaked features. His eyes were burning with a fierce love as he looked down at her, however. The taut line of his mouth spoke of his suffering over the loss of her and their baby. Lifting her cold, wet hand, she slid her shaking fingers across his bearded cheek.

"Oh, Niall.. .I never stopped loving you, either, darling. Not ever. That's why I could never have a relationship with another man. Those two years I felt like a ghost wandering the land... alone and so terribly gutted with grief. I not only lost our baby, but I lost you, too. I wondered what I'd done to deserve all of this. I thought I'd loved you with all my heart, my soul, but it wasn't enough...."

Catching her hand, he pressed a hot, hungry kiss against her palm. The raft bobbed violently and spun around as the first really turbulent waves struck them. The rain was lessening again, but still stinging and cold against his flesh. Wind shrieked, then ebbed, then howled at them again, as if warning of what was to come.

But at that instant, Niall's heart was centered on the woman in his arms. As he lifted his lips from her wet palm, he clasped her fingers gently. Turning, he gazed deeply into her wide, tear-filled eyes. Brie's lips were parted, pulled down in torment and guilt. He leaned down, his mouth near her cheek.

"Listen to me, Brie. No matter what happens now, you need to know that my leaving had nothing to do with you. It was me. I ran. No matter how I tried to avoid it, I guess I was like my father, after all. He ran when my mother became pregnant with me. He ran from responsibility. He couldn't stay in the heat of the kitchen, the crisis, and take it like a mature, responsible human being." His voice became hoarse. "And I pulled the same thing on you. Only I did it because we lost a baby. I had so many hopes pinned on that child, Brie. I wanted to be the father my dad had never been to me. I had all these dreams about how I'd be a great father to our son. I dreamed about it almost every night. I was so happy. But I never shared any of that with you, Brie. None of it, and I'm sorry I didn't. I've learned a huge lesson out of this, but it's too late."

Niall closed his eyes and held her tighter as the raft began to heave and buck down. The waves were growing steadily worse. Froth slammed into them as the wind whipped it off the top of each crest. Already the bottom of the raft contalned inches of water. Niall took in a ragged, painful breath. "I realized too late that I should have come clean with you, Brie. I should have talked about my hopes, dreams and wishes for us, for our baby and his future. But I didn't. And after we lost him, through no fault of yours, I just fell apart. I was crazy with grief. I couldn't talk. I was afraid to say anything because I was so grief-stricken that I feared I'd burst into tears and start sobbing in front of you. I knew you didn't need your man crying like a wimp at that time."

"Oh, Niall...no!" Brie whispered brokenly. "We could have cried together, darling. We could have held one another and cried over our mutual loss. That would have comforted me. It could have helped you, too."

"You'd never seen me cry, Brie. Not ever. How could I do it then, at the worst time in our lives, just when you needed me the most?"

"You crazy fool," she sobbed, throwing her arms around his neck and holding him tightly, "you got this all wrong! If you had cried, I wouldn't have thought you weak or a wimp. Just the opposite! A real man can let down and cry, Niall. He can show his emotions when he needs to. No woman in her right mind is going to say you're weak for doing that. Oh, I hate what this society has done to men and women! I hate that it has branded you with the idea that you're not allowed to feel. That you can't cry. That it's somehow not manly or brave to show your feelings." Sobbing in anger, Brie said, "Niall, cry with me. Fight with me. Yell with me. Make up with me. Always show your feelings. Don't withhold them from me anymore. I can handle your emotions. What I can't handle is your silence. Your running away without telling me why."

"I understand now, sweetheart. I do...." But it was too late and Niall knew it. The raft was wobbling, riding up one wave, tippling for a moment, then sliding down into the next trough. The darkness was nearly complete. Lifting his head, he studied Brie's upturned face, branding the moment of it into his mind, heart and soul, because he feared it was going to be the last view he'd ever have of her. Her eyes were so wide and fraught with pain and love for him. He saw it all and reveled with joy over the unexpected gift that had come out of this tragedy. Stroking his hand awkwardly across her head, feeling her hair wet and thick beneath his shaking fingers, he tried to smile down at her.

"Whatever happens, darlin'," he told her, "I love you. Just remember that, okay?" He kept caressing her cheek. Kept smiling down at her because more than anything, Niall wanted Brie to know that she was and always had been the most important person in his life—ever.

Stunned by his huskily spoken words Brie drowned in his warm, stormy gray eyes. That cocky Irish smile of Niall's was her undoing. As his hand moved in trembling strokes across her head, as if to soothe and calm her, she managed a wobbly smile in return.

"I never stopped loving you, Niall." Her voice broke with unshed tears. "Not ever, darling...and when we drown out here tonight, I'll hold you until the last breath of air leaves my body. And when we find ourselves on the other side, we can reach out for one another. We can walk the Rainbow Bridge as one. We'll never be apart again...."

His heart aching with sadness, frustration and need, Niall absorbed every shaking word Brie spoke. How he'd loved her view of life, thanks to her Native American heritage. There was no hell in her belief system; only goodness and hope waited on the other side after one died. Easing his arms from around her, he framed her face, his mouth inches from hers.

With tears flooding his eyes, Niall whispered, "I've loved you with every cell of my being, Brie. I'll always love you, not matter what happens. You're mine, sweetheart. You always were and always will be, whether you knew it or not...." And he leaned down and pressed his mouth hotly against her parted lips.

Brie moaned as his mouth hungrily met hers. This was a kiss of greeting—and a kiss of farewell. It was a kiss to make up for those two painful years of separation. As his mouth rocked against hers, Brie tightened her arms around him and clung as tightly as she could. Her breasts pushed against his chest. Their hearts pounded together in a primal rhythm only lovers could feel and exult in.

Brie's lips were soft, inviting, the kiss haunting, breaking his heart, lifting his soul and plunging him into an abyss of regret over things that would never be. And yet, he reveled in the outrageous joy of finding her once again. The sweetness of her mouth, her punctuated breath against his cheek, the fervent welcome she gave him all lifted Niall's heart on sunlit wings.

As the storm raged around them, lifting the raft and slamming it down in ever deepening troughs, salty froth flew across them, like foam from a rabid dog's mouth. As Niall kissed her, he breathed his breath into her mouth and dragged hers into his body. Their lips were hungry, searching and needy. As he pressed his hand down her long, strong spine to capture her wide, flaring hips against him, the aching need to love her, to claim her once more, surged through Niall like a tidal wave. Truly loving her was impossible under the circumstances, and as he slowly, reluctantly released her soft, wet mouth and looked deeply into her half-closed eyes, which were burning with need for him, he was speechless. No words could express how he felt in this moment out of time. Only the anguish, joy and hope in Brie's eyes told him how she felt about him. He saw the regrets in her gaze. The hope for a future. And the realization that there was no future to hope for. What he saw most clearly, though, was her love for him. Brie loved him. She'd never stopped loving him. The horrible guilt and regrets of two years dissolved as he held her closely in his arms and absorbed her warm, loving gaze.

"If I had one wish," he told her huskily, his voice cracking, "it would be to take you in my arms, love you until you fainted with pleasure, and then know you carried our next child in your body."

Unable to talk, Brie smiled at him sadly. As night descended, Niall's shadowed face became almost invisible. The rain was beginning again. The roar of the wind was stronger, the movements of the raft more violent. "If I had one wish, darling," she whispered against his ear, her hands framing his wet face, "it would be to carry your child again. A child made from pure love. Our love..."

A sob wracked Niall. He didn't try to stop it this time. Whispering her name brokenly, he swept Brie into his arms and held her so tightly that he thought he might crack her ribs. Burying his helmeted head next to hers, his face pressed against that strong shoulder that had carried so many heavy burdens by herself, he cried. The sounds tearing out of him were feral, as if a wild animal had been released from deep within. Brie's womanly arms, warm and strong held him close. Held him with all her strength, caring and love.

There was no shame in crying, he discovered as he clung to her, the sobs coming from his dark, guilty soul over the loss of their baby, the loss of any future with Brie. The primitive animal sounds of his grief were torn from him as the hurricane raged unchecked around them.

The raft was filling with water. The tears streaming down his face mingled with the ocean's salt spray. And through it all, Brie held him, rocked him gently and eased his grief, his pain. And the awful two years of hell finally were given voice, and left him once and for all.

As his sobs lessened, Niall felt a sense of cleanness. He was amazed. There was a new strength, a new resolve, a new hope filling him now. His mind was so much mush, but the brilliant illumination of his heart, the inner glow of his untrammeled emotions, freed for the first time in his life, left him feeling stronger than ever before. As he sat there with Brie holding him, Niall began to understand, finally, that crying wasn't bad. In fact, he'd never felt better—lighter or happier. So this was what women had known all along that men had denied: that crying was an incredible freeing of feelings and pain. It was a natural purging and cleansing of what felt bad within him, and the release gave his heart and soul a new, brilliant life. It also gave Niall a fierce hope he'd never had before.

As he lifted his head, kissed her wet brow, he looked up. Was he seeing things? Light was shining through the storm.

"Brie? Do you see that?" he asked, pointing through the maelstrom. "Am I hallucinating?"

Brie twisted around, her gaze following where Niall was pointing. She saw a light flashing on and off. It came and went, because of the waves lifting them up and dropping them again.

"Oh, my God, Niall! That's a Coast Guard ship!"

Gasping, he stared into the night. When the raft slid down into a trough, the light disappeared. Would it be there when they were lifted upward again? His heart pounded with dread, with hope. He gripped Brie by the shoulders. Breath suspended, he felt her tense beside him. He couldn't be making this up. It had to be a Coast Guard cutter!

As the raft surged upward, Niall cried out, "It's them! It's an SAR vessel!" He quickly fumbled with his flashlight, turned it on and waved it frantically above their heads.

Brie sobbed. A cutter! The Coast Guard had sent a cutter into this horrible hurricane to hunt for them. The vessel probably had equipment on board to pick up the radio signals being beamed from their vests.

Sure enough, the light grew stronger. She pulled out her flashlight and began waving it, too. Joy surged through Brie. They were going to be rescued!

"Oh, Niall!" she cried. "We're saved!"

Laughing wildly, he gripped her shoulder as he waved the flashlight. "We are! Sweetheart, we're going to be fine. We're gonna live through this!" He looked at her in wonder. He could barely see Brie's expression in the dim illumination coming from their flashlights. But he could see that the hope was there. Her eyes were filled with joy.

Somehow, the universe had granted them a second chance. As he watched the light from the cutter growing stronger by the minute, he grasped the fact that rescue was coming. The crew had spotted them and had a solid fix on their position. It would be only a matter of time and they'd be safe. Safe!

More than anything, Niall wanted this rescue. When they got home, back to the station, he wanted time alone with Brie. Time to talk without the threat of dying. Time to try and mend the past and talk about a future that would include both of them.

As he knelt in the rubber dingy, one arm around Brie's shoulders, the other waving the flashlight to help the cutter hone in on their location, Niall felt trepidation, joy, anxiety and panic.

Was there a chance for them now? Or had the admissions they'd both made come under the duress of dying? Would Brie feel the same way tomorrow? Niall wasn't certain, but one thing he knew for sure now: he wasn't going to abandon her again. He wasn't going to run away this time. He was going to face Brie honestly, warts and all. She deserved that from him. No, he wasn't his father's son; he was going to prove that to Brie. This was one battle he wasn't running from. Niall was being given a second chance to prove he was a far better man than his father had ever struggled to be.

♥ Scanned by Coral ♥

Chapter 6

"Are you ready to go home?" Niall asked as he came and stood next to Brie, once the doctor had finished examining her. She sat on a gurney, dressed in tan slacks and a colorful short-sleeved blouse. Like him, she'd dressed in civilian clothes she kept in her station locker. As she lifted her head, her blue eyes shimmering with quiet joy, he managed a slight, sheepish grin. His heart bounded with unparalleled happiness.

"Your home or mine?"

Niall waited as the doctor finished filling out her report form and left. The door closed quietly behind her. They were alone. Finally. Reaching up, he grazed Brie's pink cheek with his fingers. "Mine." Where you belong. With me. Like it should have been all along. Her lips parted softly at his feathery touch. The look he thought he'd never see again, was in her eyes. It was a look of love—for him.

Sliding off the gurney, Brie retrieved her black uniform purse and hung it over her left shoulder. Her heart was beating hard with excitement and anticipation. "I'm ready. Let's go home...."

The words sounded wonderful. As if in a dream, Niall nodded and opened the door for her. They were at the Coast Guard station medical dispensary. After spending two days at sea aboard the Coast Guard cutter that had rescued them, they'd finally made it to shore.

The welcome at the station had been nothing short of overwhelming. Morgan Trayhern had embraced them, tears in his eyes, he was so glad that they were safe. Best of all, his mercenary, Burke Ormand, had contacted him, and his cover was still intact and he was fine. After receiving a lot of handshakes, claps to the back, hugs and tears of relief that they were safe, Brie and Niall had been hustled off to the dispensary for the obligatory medical checkup that any pilots went through after a crash. When they were aboard the cutter, they'd filled out individual reports on the crash, and now administration was looking at their paperwork.

Moving out into the passageway of the highly polished white tile, Brie looked over at Niall as he walked at her side. As officers of equal rank, they could have a personal relationship. However, they were on a military base and no hand-holding or any show of affection was allowed. Brie itched to reach out and slide her hand into Niall's, but she stopped herself.

Outside, the weather was clearing. Miraculously the hurricane had suddenly veered away from Kauai, so the rough ride on the ship had become smoother as they approached the island. Niall was grateful, because he'd been seasick from the moment they'd been picked up out of that cold, black sea. The two days aboard the cutter they'd spent sleeping, eating and getting themselves together emotionally once more. There hadn't been a lot of time to speak intimately with one another. Both had been put into the hospital dispensary, where they had remained for the voyage home. With medical technicians always hovering around, or the doctor, Niall found it impossible to speak privately with Brie. He had so much to say, so much he wanted to tell her. Now, they would have a chance.

Brie entered the small bungalow Niall had. It was a cozy place filled with bamboo furniture, a red-yel-low-and-olive-green Oriental rug on the floor, and photos of bright hibiscus flowers hanging on the beige walls. Her heart jumped with shock when she spotted a small bamboo table near one wall that held a number of photos in silver and gold frames. As Niall closed the door to his home, she went over and looked at them.

To her surprise she saw that many were photos of their wedding ceremony. Her heart squeezed as she saw a color photo of herself standing in profile, her belly growing big with their baby. She was smiling toward Niall, who had taken that proud photo. Poignantly, Brie remembered that day. She'd been standing outside their home, the wind playing with her hair, which fell to her shoulders. Her eyes were burning with joy, her hands caressed her swelling belly, and a look of love filled her face—love for Niall.

Niall moved quietly to her side and slipped his hand gently across her shoulders as she stared down at the photos. "Good memories," he told her in a husky tone.

His touch was warming. Brie twisted to look up at him. His face was no longer tense with strain. She still saw remnants of the trauma in his features, the darkness beneath his eyes. They'd nearly died. But in a near-death experience, they'd found one another again, too. Her voice was low. "Yes...good memories. The best, Niall."

His fingers closed across her shoulder and he turned her to face him. Erie's hand went around his waist and she rested her head against his shoulder. "We can have them again, Brie," he murmured. "I know we can. We just have to work at it differently this time." Niall's heart squeezed with terror. Would she want to try and get back together again with him? He wasn't sure. Just because she'd said she loved him out there on that storm-tossed ocean didn't mean she wanted to marry him, or live with him, again. He gazed down at her soft profile. When she looked up at him, he saw tears swimming in her turquoise eyes. Her lashes were thick and framed her shimmering eyes. Brie was incredibly beautiful to him, from the freckles that ranged across her nose and cheeks, to her straight red hair, which made her eyes her most prominent feature. She looked like a beauty from an old Renaissance painting to him.

"I meant what I said out there in that raft, Niall."

"That you never stopped loving me?"

Swallowing, Brie nodded. "I tried to stop loving you after I asked for a divorce." Shaking her head, she reached out and touched the last photograph. "But I couldn't. You weren't a bad person. Just...mixed up and confused. I knew the score, and I knew why you were the way you were. I knew it going into our marriage, but I believed that with time, you'd change and grow, and we'd open up those channels between us."

Nodding sadly, Niall whispered, "I was pretty stupid, darling."

"No, just scared and unsure. You had to learn to trust me with yourself, Niall." Brie searched his saddened face. "And you have. Out there in that ocean, after the crash. That's where we learned to trust one another for the first time in our lives."

"Yes," he whispered. "I trust you now as never before. And I'm not going to be afraid to tell you what's on my mind or what's in my heart."

She smiled gently and eased her arms around his broad, capable shoulders. Their hips met and melted against one another. "Here's what's in my heart, sweetheart," she whispered.

Niall cocked his head. Her eyes glimmered with mischief and joy. "Tell me...and it's yours...." he murmured.

"I want you. I want to lie in your arms. Make love with you. Reacquaint myself with you in all ways." Brie slid her hand across his recently shaved face. "What's in your heart?"

Smiling unevenly, Niall whispered, "You. I want you so badly I can taste you. I want to love you until you faint with pleasure, Brie. I want to make you happy. I want to see that smile I used to see after we'd made love. I want to kiss your luscious, sweet mouth...."

"Can we bring the past to life again?"

"Yes," he answered, his voice deepening, "we can...."

The queen-size bed with the bamboo head- and footboard was covered with a cream-colored duvet decorated with emerald green bamboo stalks. The window was made of stained glass, the weak rays of sunlight filtering through it casting a rainbow of colors across the bed. There was a bamboo dresser and a bedstand with a pale green lamp on it. The floor was a gleaming teakwood, Brie noted, as she eased off her shoes.

Standing near Niall, she began to slowly undress him, one item of clothing at a time. He was wearing that mysterious smile that had haunted her dreams. The look in his eyes as he slowly unbuttoned her blouse, one button at a time, sent heat flowing from her heart to her lower body. Brie melted beneath his hooded gray gaze as he eased the blouse from her shoulders. She never wore a bra because of her small breasts, only a white silk camisole, which he divested her of.

Sliding his finger provocatively across her waist to the band of her slacks, Niall gently eased it open. The garment fell to the floor around her bare feet.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered, as his hands moved to her silken briefs.

Closing her eyes, Brie felt him run his large, water-roughened hands across her hips to divest her of the last of her lingerie. Unable to think coherently, she managed to loosen his jeans with her trembling fingers. Heart pounding, she closed her eyes, her hands gripping his waist. Niall's fingers moved tantalizingly up across her flared rib cage, then upward to cup and hold her breasts in his hands. Prickles of heat and longing exploded through her. Feeling dizzy, Brie rocked forward, wanting more of his touch. Wanting him.

"It's time," he whispered in a husky tone against her ear. Removing his jeans and briefs, he drew her to the bed and guided her down upon the soft, feathery duvet. As Niall eased next to her, naked, their hips and legs brushing together, he smiled. Brie's eyes were half-closed. He saw the sunlight in their depths, the longing, the need of him as she lay there facing him. Sliding his arm beneath her neck he brought her fully against him. When her breasts brushed tantaliz-ingly against his chest, he groaned. The sensation was so fiercely hot that he felt himself harden instantly. As her trembling fingers slid from his arm to his neck and then on to trace the line of his cheek, he leaned down and captured her tempting, smiling mouth.

A moan of pleasure rippled through Brie as his mouth took hers, with a commanding strength that sent a message straight to her heart: she was his. All his. And he was claiming her; like a man claimed his woman. His breath was ragged and moist against her cheek as he continued his silken assault upon her lips. Hungrily, Brie responded in kind, unable to get enough of Niall, of his taste, his wonderful male fragrance or the rough texture of his skin as he rubbed seductively against her.

When he gripped her hip, pulling her hard against him, letting her know he was more than ready to take her, claim her, she cried out softly.

"Enter me," she whispered raggedly against his mouth. "Take me! I need you so badly, Niall...now... please! Now..." And she thrust her hips against him.

As she looked up into his glittering, silvery eyes— eyes narrowed like those of a predator—she moaned. This was the man she loved. The man she'd waited so long for, and thought she'd lost forever. Now he was hot, sleek and powerful as he moved above her to claim her. Never had Brie thought they'd be in one another's arms again. The moment had sweetness, hope and such a palpable beauty that her heart mushroomed with joy. Her breath hitched in anticipation as his knee moved her thighs even farther apart.

Just as the sunlight broke through the ragged clouds to strike the rainbow colors of the stained glass, Niall entered her aching, tense body. He flowed into her like all the colors of the rainbow. Like sunlight to her heart, she welcomed him, all of him, into herself. Arms closing around his shoulders, tight shoulders, she arched against him with a husky cry of pleasure.

Every movement, every thrust and equally joyful response flowed through Brie until she was breathless, riding on a wave of such pleasure that her world spun out of control. Absorbing his male odor, she reveled in the way their bodies fused and glided together. He fit her so perfectly, melded with her in such a glorious golden cloud of happiness, that all Brie could do was surrender to her wildly beating heart.

Niall was her life. She was a part of him, and he a part of her. Two halves that made a whole. He made her feel complete, and strong, and beautiful. His breathing was ragged against her ear, his breath hot, his growl deep as he claimed her and made her his. The violent explosion of heat, light and love that occurred deep within her being tore the breath from her. She arched and climaxed, spinning off into a kaleidoscope of rainbow colors.

And when Niall stiffened, his hands gripping her shoulders, fingers digging in, she knew he was gifting her with his life, his love, in that wildly spinning moment torn out of time.

For the next few minutes, all Brie could do was feel the aftershocks riffling through her body, one after another. The pleasure was so intense, she truly did feel faint. All sounds ceased except Niall's breathing near her cheek, his wet kisses against her brow, nose and, finally, her smiling mouth. His hands ranged knowingly along her length, as if reacquainting himself with her in every possible, intimate way. She loved his exploration of her afterward, the gentle touch of his trembling fingers caressing her taut breasts, the way he suckled her and made her moan with want of him all over again.

Time had no meaning to Brie as she languished in Niall's arms, a prisoner of pleasure. How wonderful it was to kiss him in return, to see the joy in his stormy gray eyes, that feral look as he rose above her, that crooked smile of triumph in his handsome face. His dark hair was plastered against his brow, perspiration gleaming on his taut body in the aftermath. Brie watched, mesmerized, as light streamed through the stained glass window, sending color flowing across them.

"The colors of life," she told him, her voice husky, "are flowing across us again."

Niall lay against Brie, propped up on the one elbow, his arm beneath her head. "Yes..." he agreed, watching the gold, crimson and emerald colors move in graceful asymmetry across her hips, torso and breasts. How much he loved her. Looking down at her, he ached to love her again, to show her once more, how much she meant to him. Running his fingers across her damp red hair, he whispered, "You're my life, darlin'. I was a ghost walking the land without you. Now—" he lifted his head and looked at the brilliant, sunlit window "—you've given me back my life. Now I'm not walking in a land of black, white or gray. You complete me. You give my life color, meaning, a reason for being. A reason to wake up in the morning full of hope, of happiness..."

Tears drifted down the sides of Brie's face as she reached up and gently stroked his cheek. "You're no less to me, Niall." She saw his eyes flare with surprise. "It's so wonderful to hear how you feel... I love it. I love hearing how you feel about me...about us."

Capturing her hand against his cheek, he rasped, "I'm sorry I never shared this part of me with you, Brie. I will now...if you'll give us a second chance?"

How could she say no? Brie smiled and nodded. "Yes, I want that second chance with you, Niall. I'm willing if you are...."

A sigh of relief flowed through him. Placing her hand against his heart, he said brokenly, "When you gave me back the wedding band and engagement ring, I kept them. I never threw them away or sold them. I've kept them in the same red velvet case they were in when I gave them to you the day I asked you to marry me."

Touched, Brie felt hot tears falling across her cheeks, blurring Niall's features. "Oh, Niall...I didn't know...."

Shrugging sheepishly, he wrapped his fingers around her hand. "When you left, I set up that table with those photos. In the drawer are the wedding bands."

"You never quit hoping, did you?" she choked out.

"I guess not. I didn't want our marriage to be over, Brie, but I didn't know what else to do, or how to get you back."

"Because you were in as much pain over the loss as I was." Brie shook her head and slowly sat up. "I was just as blinded and grieving as you were, Niall. I didn't realize all this about you."

"Listen," he whispered, pulling her back into his arms as he lay against the headboard, "we lost our baby. How else could you feel? You were wild with grief. With shock. I understood that later. But not at the time. I was too wrapped up in my past, the abandonment... and I ran just like my father did." Mouth turning down, Niall held her in his arms and pressed a kiss against her furrowed brow, "I promise you, Brie, that will never happen again. I've learned my lesson. I want this second chance with you. And it doesn't matter if you ever get pregnant again. I'll accept whatever the future has in store for us. As long as we're together...."

Sighing, Brie snuggled deeper into his warm, strong arms, her cheek resting against his darkly haired chest. She could hear his heart pounding. "I want babies, Niall. Even now, I hope that our making love has created one. If it has, I'll be overjoyed. And I'll be scared, too. I'll be afraid of losing this second one as I lost the first."

Hearing the carefully concealed anxiety in her voice, Niall placed his finger beneath Brie's chin and forced her to look up at him. "Listen to me, darlin'. We'll take this one day at a time. If you get pregnant, we won't jump the gun like we did last time. We'll be talking to one another this time, and that will help a helluva lot. In my heart, I don't feel you'll lose the next baby. Things happen for a reason. But we have grown and matured in the last two years, so that this time around it'll be different. Better." And he gave her a devastatingly charming smile.

Niall's dazzling male smile could always coax Brie out of her deepest worry or despondency. That was his priceless Irish legacy—that smile that made rainy days in her life dissolve in the sunlight.

Pressing a kiss to his shoulder, she lifted her head and smiled up at him. "I'm game if you are."

Nodding, Niall sighed. "That's a roger, my beautiful lady."

"I don't want to live with you, Niall."

His heart plunged and he gave her a look of shock. But when he saw her lips curve in a smile, her eyes widen with happiness, he realized what she meant.

"Think we ought to call the station chaplain and tell him what's in our minds and hearts?"

"Yes, and soon," Brie said archly. "And I think you'd better get those rings out, clean them up and get down on your bended knee and ask me to marry you."

Chuckling, Niall ruffled her hair. This was the Brie he loved so much. She was part child, part adult, and someone who loved him unequivocally. Best of all, she'd forgiven him. And now he could forgive himself and move on to a better, happier life with her. Oh, Niall didn't fool himself; he knew they'd have rough times again, unhappy times. But life had taught him many good lessons that he was going to use as positive tools now to make this second chance with Brie a success.

"You know what?" Niall said, his voice an intimate growl as he cupped her cheek and looked at her, their noses touching. "I'm going to get them right now. And when I ask you this second time to be my life partner, it's going to be forever."

Brie smiled softly through her tears. "Yes...forever, darling. No matter what life throws at us, we'll be there for each other, to protect, support and love one another. I'm not afraid, Niall. Not now. Not with you standing at my side. I love you so much! I always have and I always will...forever...."

* * * * *

Available from Silhouette Intimate Moments:

PROTECTING HIS OWN

by Lindsay McKenna—

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MORGAN'S MERCENARIES:

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ISBN 0-373-48466-6

THE HEART'S COMMAND

Copyright © 2002 by Harlequin Books S.A.

The publisher acknowledges the copyright holders of the individual works as follows:

TO LOVE AND PROTECT

Copyright © 2002 by Lindsay McKenna

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