Mike Rivers strode confidently into the offices of Red Star, whistling cheerfully as he went. Flight tests on the new chopper he'd been testing for Michael had gone like a dream, and while she wasn't Airwolf the Raven might prove every bit as deadly.
Grinning, he pounded up the stairs to Michael's office, finding the elevator too slow. Giving the door at the top of the stairs a hard shove, he strode into Michael's outer office.
He drew up short, realizing he was the only one here. Where was Lauren anyway? He wondered, scowling. Michael's office, maybe? Suddenly silent, he slipped across the carpeted floor, the sense something was wrong beating at him with wings of ever increasing strength.
Briefly, he debated the wisdom of checking Michael's office. Sneaking up on the spy was something he had no real desire to do, but the way things had been around here lately, he knew better than to just assume all was well. Carefully, he eased the double door open, jumping himself as it creaked.
Startled, Lauren sucked in an abrupt breath, grabbing for the papers that threatened to escape her grip. Startled violet eyes flew to the door as she clutched the file to her breast.
"Rivers!" she breathed, the sound relieved and irritated all at once.
Eyeing her, Mike quirked an eyebrow. "Where's Michael, Lauren?" he asked quietly.
"Not here," she said, hurriedly rising from her knees and slamming the file drawer shut behind her. She stepped in front of the cabinet like doing so would hide it from prying eyes.
His gaze narrowed on her appraisingly.
Stepping inside the office, he reached behind him and closed the door with a sharp click, his eyes never leaving her face. "Then suppose you tell me where he might be."
Impatiently, Saint John Hawke waited for Caitlin to pick him up. The release papers had been signed, his bags packed.
Jo hadn't been back after their fight. He'd had the devil's own time convincing Kylie not to report what had happened to the doctor. He still wasn't sure how he'd managed it, but he was aware of her sharp gaze on him as they waited for Caitlin to bring the car around.
It was obvious she was fighting her own curiosity - and losing.
"So,…she's your wife?" she asked, shifting awkwardly.
There really was no point in ducking the question. They both knew who she was talking about. He sighed. "Yeah."
"You don't sound very happy about that."
He scowled. Where the heck was Cait anyway? "It's complicated," he muttered.
Kylie winced. She'd seen cactuses not as prickly as he was this morning. "She come back?" she asked, the green eyes sympathetic.
"No," he replied tersely, ready to go hunt Caitlin down himself.
Kylie looked down, shifting her weight awkwardly. She knew he was hurting, didn't appreciate her prodding, but she couldn't leave it alone.
"Bella your daughter?"
Scowling, Saint John leveled angry hazel eyes on her. "I don't want to talk about this anymore," he declared, his tone bitter. A pregnant moment passed between them, as he fought with himself over the next question. "How'd you know?" he asked finally.
"Just guessing," she said quietly. "When you first came in, you talked a lot in your sleep. I was on night duty then. Everything was String and Bella. I've met String, but never Bella. You always seemed upset when you mentioned Bella. When Jo showed up, it wasn't much of a leap."
Saint John thought so, thinking perhaps the girl should be working for Michael with her powers of observation. Vaguely he recalled waking up in the beginning, far too many nights in far too much pain. More often than not before Jo returned, Kylie had been there at his bedside holding his hand and whispering soothing words of comfort when even String had been collapsed in the uncomfortable bedside chair. He'd once asked her about it and she'd merely shrugged, saying her break time was her own.
He sighed. She'd been a friend when he'd needed one and he knew it, whether he acknowledged it or not. Honesty demanded he did. He shifted awkwardly in the wheelchair, not looking at her.
"Yeah, Bella was my daughter," he said huskily. "She drowned last year. The marriage kinda fell apart after that," he said, his voice tight.
Kylie blinked back tears at the pain in his voice. She'd pretty much figured as much.
A gentle feminine hand came down on his shoulder, the move comforting. "She came back," she said quietly. "Surely that must count for something." She felt the muscles in his shoulder bunch as he shifted again, refusing to look at her.
"I thought so, too," he said quietly. "Looks like I was wrong." The pain in his voice was raw and fresh.
Kylie swallowed hard against the lump in her own throat. "Did you know I was married?" she asked brightly.
Saint John frowned at the sudden change of subject, clearly at a loss. Quite frankly, he'd been so wrapped up in his own pain and loss he'd given little thought to anyone else. "No," he muttered finally.
The slender red-head came around front and knelt in front of him, the green eyes locking with his. She reached for his hand and wrapped her fingers tightly around his. Saint John let her, feeling a little awkward about it. Silently, she looked away for a moment and when her gaze met his again, this time her eyes were filled with tears.
"I know you're mad at Jo, Saint John and I can't blame you. You got a raw deal, but you need to understand so did she."
Scowling, Saint John started to protest, to drag his hand away.
Kylie tightened her grip on his and her voice hardened. "I mean it, Saint John Hawke," she said, refusing to let go. "I've been where you both are."
He froze in mid-move, pinioned by her words.
Looking away, she continued. "I was married five years ago. Yeah, I'm older than I look," she continued ruefully, catching his startled gaze. We'd been trying to get pregnant for what seemed like forever. And then suddenly we had this beautiful, perfect, baby boy.
Man, I was over the moon," she whispered huskily, rubbing her thumb across his knuckles. A sad smile teased at her lips, as tears tracked down her cheeks.
She drew a shaking breath, forcing her eyes up to meet his. "I was coming home from work one night, it was late. I'd picked him up from the sitters. Car crossed over the center line, hit us head on."
A sick feeling of what was to come soaked through Saint John, but he couldn't move, couldn't speak. Captured by her words, he just sat there, frozen, listening, feeling the growing lump in his own throat.
"Sam was killed on impact," she said, her voice tear-choked. "I walked away with a concussion and a couple broken ribs. The other driver didn't even get that. Didn't seem hardly fair, you know. How could I still be here, and he be gone?"
She looked down, searching for strength to go on. "I was so damn angry. It had to be my fault - I was driving. Why hadn't I swerved in time, been earlier, been later…been anywhere else? Mark, my husband tried. The other driver was drunk. I couldn't have done anything different, the list goes on."
The tears were streaming down her face now. "Ultimately, it didn't much matter, I guess. I blamed myself too much to listen and finally, in the end he gave up and left."
Saint John just stared at her, his own hazel eyes filled with tears. "So, what'd you do?" he asked, his own voice husky. Suddenly, her answer was of earth shattering importance to him.
"Finally realized the truth," she said tightly. "He was right. There was nothing I could do to save Sam. Unfortunately, it took me losing my husband to realize that."
She swallowed, her green eyes earnest as she looked him in the face. "Unless I miss my guess, Saint John, Jo feels much the same as I did. So guilty she can't believe you could ever forgive her. She hates herself, and she thinks you ought to hate her too."
"It was an accident," he muttered thickly.
"Did you ever tell her that?"
"No," he murmured softly, looking away. "It just hurt too bad after she died, and then Jo was gone. I just couldn't reach her no matter what I said."
Kylie looked at him. "Tell her again, Saint John. Don't make the same mistake I did."
A dark blue jeep pulled up easing around the loop and Cait hopped out. "Hey Sinj, sorry 'bout that," she exclaimed. "Traffic was a nightmare. I thought I'd never get here."
Saint John nodded. "Not a problem," he said absently, his eyes never leaving Kylie's.
Stunned, Cait stared. A Hawke not chomping at the bit to be out of the hospital? She couldn't believe her ears.
Giving Saint John a small smile, Kylie leaned over and offered him her arm as he rose stiffly from the wheelchair. "You remember what I said," she said quietly.
Turning his head, he gave pulled her close and gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek. "I will," he promised, the hazel eyes intent as he face her. "And Kylie?"
"Yeah?" she asked.
"Thanks."
"Anytime," she whispered, brushing her hand across his cheek with a tremulous smile. "Anytime."
Handing his bag to Cait, the nurse turned and pushed the wheelchair back towards the hospital, tossing up a hand in farewell.
Frowning, Caitlin looked from her brother-in-law to the nurse and back again. Just what exactly had she missed? "Anything I should know?" she asked archly, raising an eyebrow.
"Nope," Saint John said, shooting her a sudden grin and acting more like his old self. "Not a thing," he rejoined as he clambered into the jeep. " Now drive, woman. Drive!" he ordered with a glint in his eye.
Shaking her head, Cait hopped into the jeep and hit the accelerator, pulling out.