Dead On Arrival Read online

  Suddenly the pit of my stomach knotted. Yikes again.

  “What do you mean you are not flying?” Jagger asked, looking at me from his SUV. Well, not exactly “asked.” More like threatened, although I’ll never know how he could turn a question into a threat.

  Then again, I was talking Jagger here.

  I leaned closer to him before we got out of his Suburban. “I’ll do the ambulance runs, but I’m not setting foot on any helicopter. They’re not safe.”

  Until my dying day I’ll never really know if the look in Jagger’s eyes was pity for me (my best bet), fear that I’d get hurt or worse (okay, also a best bet) or accusing me of being a wuss (oh-so very Jaggerlike), but whatever intent he had, I was standing firm.

  “Come on, I’ll introduce you to the pilot you’ll be flying with.” With that he got out of the SUV, didn’t wait for me, and walked into the main building of the TLC property.

  Three gigantic garages bordered the place while ambulances and vans sported the TLC slogan, Ride in style and comfort, on the sides.

  I couldn’t help but wonder if accident victims even cared about comfort or style, and why the heck would an ambulance company advertise that? I was thinking more along the lines of “speedy delivery,” but the late Mr. Rogers only came to mind. I loved him!

  On the north side of the complex (and it was large enough to call it one) was the helipad with two copters sitting at the ready.

  I shivered.

  When I turned back, Jagger was staring.

  “I’m not riding in them,” I said and walked in front of him to the door marked entrance. The way my cases usually went, I was certain they were expecting me for my first day of duty-and that Jagger had all the kinks ironed out of the plans.

  At the door, I grabbed the handle but Jagger’s hand covered mine before I could yank. “What?” I said, turning. “Are you suddenly turning into a gentleman and opening doors for me?” I laughed. Sounded more like a snort. To ignore my burning complexion, (yeah, he still had the power to embarrass the hell out of me) I pulled my hand from beneath his, ignored the fact that I wanted to rub it, and stood there speechless but with my shoulders straightened to show it was my choice.

  He opened the door, walked inside and over his shoulder said, “If the case calls for it, you’ll fly on them or you’ll drive an ambulance if necessary.”

  Speechless was an understatement.

  I followed him inside, biting my tongue although I really had no snappy comment other than, “No I won’t,” but felt it would have come out sounding like a kid-and my foot would stomp all on its own.

  The room hummed with phones ringing and air-conditioning clicking on and off. Sunlight streamed in through bay windows that overlooked a fountain (of Cupid-geez) and the rest of the complex. All in all a nice office.

  They really must have been raking in the dough.

  Before I could turn to see whom Jagger was talking to, I heard, “ça suce!” The French-Canadian version of “That sucks!”

  I knew this just as I knew who’d said it, because Lilla Marcel was sitting directly before me-behind the reception desk.

  An obvious Jagger plant-probably working there illegally, since she was Canadian.

  I didn’t even want to go there, knowing Jagger had finagled something to get Lilla working on the inside for us. Her mother was Adele Girard, who was Fabio’s receptionist and an ex-con. I curled my lips at the thought. Adele was like a second mother to me-which would make my first one gasp if she saw the “hooker” attire that dear Adele wore. After getting her hands burned in prison (this after she’d committed fraud to get money for her mother who was dying of cancer), Adele always wore gloves. White ones. Looked great with her spiffy, usually black-and-white, skintight polka-dotted outfits. And very fifties.

  I loved Adele.

  And after recently meeting her daughter, Lilla, I had taken to her too. I pushed past Jagger. “Lilla! Great to see-”

  Before I could finish, I was yanked away toward the doorway. Jagger leaned into me and said, “Are you nuts, Pauline?”

  When he called me by my real name, Jagger was dead serious. Suddenly I realized he was correct though. I should have pretended not to know Lilla. Damn. Sometimes I sank back into Nurse Pauline instead of Investigator Pauline.

  I pulled free of Jagger and rubbed my arm as if it hurt. That always got a look of concern from him. “Sorry. I slipped. I’m human, ya know.”

  As I turned to go back to “meet” Lilla I heard him mumble, “Don’t I know it.”

  Of course that could be what I imagined I heard, but I was going with it. See, with Jagger, I had to sometimes take leeway with interpreting things-to sway them in my favor.

  The guy was a veritable closed book.

  I walked up to the reception desk and tried to ignore Lilla’s beauty (sometimes that could be very intimidating) and the fact that she wore some kind of Victoria’s Secret outfit all in black (which, in fact, was even more intimidating).

  Jagger too, usually wore black.

  It dawned on me that Lilla was a bit of a female Jagger-but when we’d first met, I immediately liked her.

  “Hi, I’m Pauline Sokol.” I held my hand out to her. “And you are?”

  “Lilla,” she said.

  I noticed her nails, the length of some heroin-addicted Asian warlords’, as she shook my hand and, without a beat, pretended not to know me.

  “Nice to meet you, Pauline.” She held up a clipboard with several sheets of paper on it. In her thick French-Canadian accent, she said, “Please to fill these out.”

  I smiled, winked and took the paperwork. New hire. Eeks. I wanted to shake my head and run. How the hell was I getting back into nursing again?

  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Jagger approaching-with another fantastically gorgeous guy in tow.

  Perhaps I’d died on the way to work here and this was heaven-where males outpopulated the females two to one. Wait-surely there couldn’t be that many men in heaven.

  Where Jagger’s hair was jet-black, this other guy’s was light sunshine-and nearly shoulder length. All right, it fell below his eyes and had some fantastic waves that any woman would envy. Deep brown eyes matched Jagger’s, but where Jag’s were mysterious, this guy’s were friendlier. Sparkling. He stood about six foot two.

  I swallowed hard and told myself to cool off or I’d never make it on this case. I said a silent prayer to my favorite saint, Theresa, that this guy was not going to be working here with me.

  “Sky Palmer, Pauline, the pilot of one of the choppers,” Jagger said, his voice sounding as if in a dream.

  I was hung up on the closeness of the two hunks, my hands shaking, my knees knocking and my hormones on speed dial (with a busy signal).

  I had to get…you know…soon.

  Slowly I held out my hand, since the guy next to Jagger had his in front of me. I felt a nudge on my left arm and heard a “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  Jagger had pulled me back to reality. Delicious reality.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t get your name?” Proud that I’d managed a logical sentence as our hands were still touching, I smiled like a fool.

  “Sky. Sky Palmer,” he said in a Texas drawl that had me nearly drooling, as if I’d just bitten into a juicy rib eye. He let go of my hand.

  I tucked mine into my pants pocket and was about to reply when Jagger cut me off: “And don’t go joking about Sky being a pilot. He’s heard it all. Sky is his real name.”

  I bit back the joke I’d had ready, turned to Jagger and mouthed, “No kidding,” and then looked at Sky. Who the hell named a bouncing baby Sky? “Great to meet you. Texas? Huh?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He winked and smiled-I think at the same time, which had me nearly in a pile of liquid like the melted Wicked Witch in Oz.

  “Oh, no need for the ‘ma’am.’ Just call me Pauline. I’m so looking forward to flying with you, Sky.” Quickly I turned to Jagger and mouthed, “Shut up.”
<
br />   Three

  Thank goodness Jagger didn’t argue with me, I thought as I sat on the chair near Lilla’s desk. She fiddled with the paperwork, and I also thought anyone who’d survived four husbands, two of whom were abusive, sure fit into this investigative job pretty well. She looked as if she knew exactly what she was doing.

  I, on the other hand, sat there thinking of Sky, Jagger, Sky and Jagger, until my mind was nearly mush. Damn. Why couldn’t I get a job with less-attractive guys around me? Way less attractive. Something about that Texas drawl had piqued my interest.

  Then it hit me that I’d openly agreed to fly on a helicopter.

  I rested my head in my hands and thought for a few seconds, and then I prayed the rest of the time that I wouldn’t get assigned any helicopter runs. After all, I wasn’t an EMT or a trained nurse in airovac.

  “Pauline. Pauline.”

  “Hmm?” I looked up to see Lilla looking at me. “Sorry. Did you say something?”

  “I have some paperwork-release forms, chéri-for you to sign so you can do a ride along.”

  “Ride along?” I figured that meant a test drive in an ambulance, since Jagger and I were obviously going to do our investigative work as if on orientation. Surely we weren’t going out alone? I laughed at the stupid thought.

  “With Monsieur Sky.” She leaned back in her seat with the paperwork in her hand.

  I got stuck on Monsieur Sky until it hit me-the ride along was a fly along!

  “No way!” flew out of my mouth just as Sky and Jagger approached from the office behind Lilla.

  “No way what?” Sky asked.

  Lilla started to say, “Pauline does not-”

  Damn that drawl. “Thanks, Lilla. I’ll explain.” I chuckled to fill in the gaping hole in the conversation and to buy myself time to make up a lie. I stunk at lying. When I looked at Jagger, I saw that he knew very well that I was trying to come up with a fib.

  And damn it all, but he just stood there-silently.

  I decided to wave my hands, as if that would erase everyone’s current memory and said, “So, this should be fun. A ride along, I mean,” as I got up, pushed past traitor Jagger and stood next to Sky. “You are going to be careful, aren’t you?” I did my best hooker eyelash fluttering and turned back in time to see Jagger shaking his head. Once. Thank the good Lord; however, once was bad enough.

  I couldn’t help but glare at the metal container I was about to enter and wondered if there was more than one bolt that held on the blades sticking out of the top. I’d heard there wasn’t.

  Sky and his buddy pilot, who’d been introduced as Mario Fortunato, were doing some kind of preflight check of the chopper. I held my breath and prayed they wouldn’t miss a loose bolt or the loose bolt, but since Jagger sat inside as if nothing bothered him (and it didn’t), I didn’t want to sound girly scared.

  “It’s a go,” Mario said and winked at me.

  I laughed. “Tell me, Fortunato, are you going to bring good luck our way?”

  He laughed. “None needed with Sky at the controls.”

  I let out the breath I’d been holding since signing my life away on Lilla’s release form and let Mario guide me toward the open door of the helicopter, which sat so innocently on the helipad.

  Jagger had obviously set this up. The guy pulled more strings than a marionette operator.

  I ignored the bright red color of the helicopter (originally thinking blood here), telling myself it would be easier for other aircraft to see us in the sky. On top were the blades. Two blades-actually it looked like one really long one. I’d have felt better with about six instead, and again prayed that more than one bolt held them on.

  The chopper was much shorter than I’d imagined and had what looked like three tails (one could only hope three tails offset one blade). All in all, not exactly a menacing figure-until I thought about getting inside.

  As I readied to turn and run, Mario reached inside and pulled out a helmet, which he handed to me without even asking my size, then ran through instructions like walking low so the blades wouldn’t…you know…and that there were earphones and a microphone inside the helmet to communicate with the pilots.

  Great. I’m sure my soft, shaking voice would come out loud and clear over the roar of the swirling blades.

  Then again, at least with the microphone off they might not hear me screaming.

  Before I knew it, I was strapped into a seat next to Jagger (good if we had to evacuate) and with my eyes shut (figuring he couldn’t see because of the helmet) we were above the ground.

  Above the ground.

  And, not on a smooth direct flight path. Oh no. Sky, obviously living up to his birth name, was maneuvering through Hope Valley as if in a video game and we were the targets.

  Today’s breakfast rose up my throat.

  I grabbed Jagger’s arm. Then let go as quickly as the idea flashed into my head that I seemed like a real “girl” doing that. Wouldn’t set right with him.

  I blinked, thinking that might help and knowing it wouldn’t do shit, until I took several long, slow, deep breaths-and reminded myself that vomiting next to these three hunks would not be in my best interest professionally or sexually.

  Sitting much straighter, I refused myself any more feelings of nausea (as if that were some mental luxury) and took several deep breaths. The phrase I am a professional became my mantra. I heard some static and that soothing, sexy Texas drawl. “So, ma’am, how you doing?”

  “I love flying!” I shouted, and then promptly bit my lip. Really. What the hell was I talking about? I looked out the window and the ground was a gazillion miles away. I held so tightly onto the handlebar next to me, my fingers went numb as we zoomed around.

  I caught a look at Jagger out of the corner of my eye-not easy to do with the damn helmet on-and there he sat, eyes closed and, I think, snoring.

  Nothing bothered the damn guy!

  I sucked in some air and sat straighter, all the while telling myself that I could do this without vomiting, screaming or passing out. In other words, I had to be professional, both as a nurse and investigator. After all, I’d be transporting patients and had to devote my attention to them and not myself.

  What seemed like hours flew by (pun intended since I couldn’t ignore that I didn’t have any feet on the ground) and before I knew it, Jagger was standing next to me.

  Standing?

  We’d landed back at the helipad and he was already out and waiting for me to come back to reality. At least my reality hadn’t involved airsickness.

  I unhooked myself, stepped out and lifted the helmet off my head. Had to weigh a ton. Then I caught my reflection in the window. Geez. Ghost pale and helmet hair, and three hunks within inches.

  That had to be the story of my life.

  Sky stepped out and came closer. “So. How’d I do?”

  I smiled, figuring he wasn’t talking to Jagger. “You did great, partner,” I said in a John Wayne cowboy accent. My attempt at Texas.

  Jagger shook his head and walked toward the building.

  I curled my lips at him, and then turned to Mario and Sky. “Really, it was fantastic. Do you work for TLC?”

  Mario stepped closer. I felt like an Oreo. “We work for them, but since Hope Valley isn’t a budding metropolis, we cover nearby areas and transport to several of the big trauma centers in Hartford and New Haven if need be. Sometimes to New York City or Boston for private transportation. Cost a bundle in air miles.”

  “Oh. I see.” I did see. TLC was making more money with this venture. Usually hospitals owned the helicopters, but in this case, it was privately owned. I couldn’t wait to meet the Sterling twins. Oh yeah, the TLC/Sterling twins.

  Normally I’m not a mean-spirited person, but standing there glaring at the owners of TLC, I wanted to ask, “So which one of you is the female?”

  The twins were identical. Well, identical was a misnomer, but they might have been clones and, when dressed (not that I saw the twins und
ressed), they were exactly alike right down to the short, cropped blonde hair, green eyes and smile that appeared painted on-kind of like a clown’s.

  Since my thoughts were so uncharitable, I decided to stare at something else, but when I looked around Payne’s office, there was nothing I could look at with a serious face.

  The place was like something out of the fifties, but in no way similar to my mom’s house. That at least had character. This office was a mismatch of old furniture-but brightly colored in oranges, reds and purples, as if the old psychedelic TV show Laugh-In had exploded all over Payne Sterling’s office.

  But on one wall were all religious paintings (copies I assumed) that appeared to have been done by one Leonardo da Vinci.

  Trying not to notice the place, I looked to my left where the door was open to the sister’s, Pansy’s, office.

  Black and white. That was it. Apparently Payne had gotten the color gene. Well, at least décor was one thing they weren’t cloned in.

  I heard, “Nice to meet you, Ms. Sokol,” and swung my head around. Pansy was holding her hand out to me. Short nails, more wrinkles than my Uncle Walt and bright white nail polish. I didn’t know they even made white nail polish. I mean, what was the point?

  I shook her hand, thought of what a weak grip she had and said, “I’m thrilled to be working here,” hoping like hell that I sounded sincere. ’Cause looking at these two weirdos, I sure didn’t mean it.

  “Since you are a registered nurse, Pauline, you’ll be assigned to our most experienced employee, who’s been here longer than us. We are a private company and may run things a little differently. Nurses are only needed on certain trips as it is expensive for the patients, but I’m sure you are aware that paramedics cannot give some medications or maybe do a treatment that is needed. When not flying, you’ll help with the ambulance runs.” The siblings looked at each other and smiled.

  Ick.

  Not that it was a sexual smile, but it sure was weird.