“Fuck,” Tristan muttered. “I don’t know what I want. You know that old saying ‘be careful what you wish for’?”

Quinn nodded.

“I think I should listen to that.”

“Are you going to?”

“I don’t think so.”

Jett cradled the delicate inner workings of the hundred-year-old timepiece in the palm of her hand and studied the mainspring through her loupes. At some point someone had replaced the original mainspring with the current one, which was slightly wider and thicker. As a result, the barrel cap would not seat evenly and the watch could not function properly. Finding the appropriate mainspring might be a challenge, but she was patient.

She set the watch aside and straightened, grimacing at the cramps in her shoulders and lower back. When she glanced at the wall clock, she realized she’d been working for four hours. Four hours when she’d thought of nothing at all. She closed her eyes and sighed. Two more days until the next rotation would start. A little more than forty-eight hours to fill.

For the last four days she’d read and worked on her timepieces and taken long walks at night. Sometimes she’d slept. On one late-night stroll in a fine misty rain, with all the houses along her way dark for the night, she’d walked down Tristan’s street, her hands in the pocket of her jeans, her head bare and water streaming down her face. She’d stopped for a few seconds across the street and glanced up. Tristan’s apartment was dark like all the others. When she started to wonder if Tristan was alone, possibly awake like she was, she walked on, faster, until thoughts of Tristan fled.

When her doorbell buzzed, she almost didn’t recognize the sound.

It was the first time anyone had come to her door, at least while she was home. The apartment complex was equipped with an intercom system, and she flipped the switch on the speaker next to her door. “Yes?”

“Jett? It’s Mandy.”

Mandy. Forty-eight hours to fill and Mandy at her door. Jett glanced around her apartment—at the smooth white paper spread out on the table in the center of the room, covered with tiny watch workings, her screwdrivers and pin pusher and polishing bits arranged in a precise row. Her life was neat and orderly and controlled. Mandy was not.

Jett grabbed her keys off the small table by the door and punched the intercom button. “I’ll be right there.”

When she got downstairs, Jett opened the inside door and stepped into the foyer where Mandy waited by the rows of mailboxes. The overhead light was out and the small space was dense with shadows.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” Mandy smiled and looked her over in a way that told Jett she was thinking of them in bed. “Would you believe I was in the neighborhood?”

“No.”

“Okay.” Mandy hooked a finger over the waistband of Jett’s jeans and pulled her close. “Would you believe I’ve been thinking about you and I’m horny?”

Jett laughed. “Yes.”

“Do you have any suggestions?” Mandy tugged Jett’s T-shirt from her jeans and slid her hand underneath, swirling her fingertips over Jett’s stomach in slow circles. When Jett’s muscles tightened, she said, “Mmm. Nice.”

Jett’s clitoris grew stiffer by the second as Mandy toyed with her, but she had a firm rein on her body. Unlike the last time Mandy had taken her by surprise. That time she’d been primed—halfway there from Tristan’s touch. Now she was prepared. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Why not?” Mandy sounded unperturbed. She popped the snap on Jett’s fly with a practiced flick of her wrist and eased the zipper down. “I seem to remember there were a few things I wanted to do we never managed.”

“We managed fine.” Jett trapped Mandy’s hand flat against her stomach. “Sometimes one night is perfect. Let’s leave it that way.”

Mandy studied Jett for a long moment. “I’m not looking for a girlfriend.”

“Neither am I.”

“Then we’re perfect for one another. You’re great in bed and I like sex.” Mandy kissed her lightly. “You seriously fuck like a dream.”

“Thank you.”

“And you don’t quit.” Mandy laughed. “Most girls back off when it gets that intense. You don’t.”

Jett had lost it a little bit Saturday night. That hadn’t happened since Gail. Fortunately Mandy had driven to the party Saturday night, because Jett wouldn’t have been able to wait if they’d had to walk all the way to her apartment. She would have pulled Mandy into some dark alley before they’d gone six blocks. She often went months without sex and then spent two or three days doing nothing but exorcising the images of too much human misery with wild, relentless, continuous sex. She’d felt that way Saturday night, and Mandy had been the perfect partner, urging Jett to take her harder, harder, harder until both of them were too exhausted to move. In the morning, Jett had awakened in a tangle of sheets surrounded by the smell of sex and sweat and desperation, and when Mandy wanted more, again, baby, come on, she’d put Mandy off by saying she had to go to work. Then she’d walked Mandy down to her car and avoided promising to call. Because she knew she wasn’t going to.

“You were amazing,” Jett said, because it was true and she was going to disappoint her. “But you’re not going to fuck me again, are you?” Before Jett could answer, Mandy pressed her fingers to Jett’s mouth. “No, don’t answer that. Then you won’t have to take it back when you get hungry again. Because you will. You can’t keep that inside of you forever.” She slid her fingers deeper into Jett’s jeans until she brushed the base of Jett’s clitoris. “Say no now.”

“No.”

Mandy laughed easily and removed her hand. “God, I really hope I’m around when you get the urge next time.” She kissed Jett and backed away. “Still remember my number?”

Jett nodded.

“Use it when you can’t wait any more. ’Night.”

“Good night,” Jett said softly as Mandy let herself out. She waited a minute or two for her breathing to settle, wondering why she hadn’t just taken Mandy to bed. Mandy understood her in a lot of ways—and wasn’t frightened or put off by her needs.

Jett slowly climbed the stairs to her apartment. She returned alone because it wasn’t about what she needed, it was about what she wanted.

And she didn’t want Mandy.

She hadn’t wanted anyone, in any way, for a long time. She stood in her quiet apartment and refused to lie to herself. She had wanted to kiss Tristan. She’d wanted a lot more than that.

When the phone rang, she almost didn’t answer, thinking it might be Mandy. Then she realized it wouldn’t be. Mandy would wait for her to call, because if Jett gave in and called, Mandy would be calling all the rest of the shots. Jett grabbed the phone on the fifth ring.

“McNally.”

“Oh good,” Linda said. “I was afraid for a minute you weren’t there. Mike just went home sick with some kind of stomach bug. Can you take his shif—”

“I’ll be there. Give me twenty minutes.”

Jett hung up and hurried to shower. Twelve hours of work ahead. Then there would only be thirty-six until she was up again. As she stepped under the hot spray, she wondered who else might be on call tonight.

Chapter Thirteen

The first person Jett saw when she walked into the flight crew lounge was Tristan, leaning against the counter next to the refrigerator, laughing at something Linda had just said. She had a cup of coffee in her hand, and her maroon scrubs signaled she was on call.

To a casual observer Tristan probably appeared totally relaxed, but Jett picked up the wariness in her gaze when their eyes met.

“Hi,” Jett said.

“How you doing.” Tristan’s eyes drifted down the length of Jett’s body and back again.

“Hey, Chief,” Linda said. “I’m glad you could come in. Without a pilot we’d all be sitting here listening to Tristan’s bad jokes for hours.”

“No problem. Anything happening?” Jett walked to the rack against the far wall and grabbed one of the clipboards holding the preflight checklists. She was probably imagining that Tristan watched her as she moved. Probably. She’d worn black cargo pants and a dark gray T-shirt, and the way Tristan looked at her wasn’t all that much different from the way Mandy had earlier—like she was sizing her up for bed. But this time, heat skittered along her skin. Of course, she probably imagined that look too.

“We were just about to go out on a call to pick up a preemie from Atlantic City Hospital. Necrotizing enterocolitis.” Linda dropped into one of the seventies-style blocky tan vinyl-covered chairs, kicked off her clogs, and curled her legs under her. “The baby’s pretty rocky and they requested a physician on board, which is how we lucked out and got Tristan. Then Mike got sick and we’ve been holding for you.”

“Let me take a look at the aircraft,” Jett said. “You can put us back on active status now.”

“Okay.”

“Mind if I tag along?” Tristan fell into step with Jett as she headed for the stairwell to the roof.

“No. Come on up.”

Once outside, Jett walked to the waist-high concrete wall on the far side of the aircraft and breathed in the night. The air lay motionless, a heavy blanket of deep August heat beneath thick, unbroken clouds.

“Feels like a swamp out here,” Tristan said from beside her.

“Rain’s coming.”

“You can tell?”

Jett hunched a shoulder. “You get a feel for it after a while.”

“No wind.” Tristan braced her arms on the wall and leaned out, craning her neck to see the river and the ribbon of cars that flowed along beside it like pearls on a string. “Funny how everything looks so much more beautiful at night.”

Not everything, Jett thought to herself, studying Tristan’s profile in the muted moonlight. Her dark hair blended with the sky, the slivers of pale light etching her features against the black backdrop in delicate relief. She was beautiful, hauntingly so. But Jett had seen her in bright sunlight too, and knew the shades of blue that swirled in her eyes. Just remembering, she experienced the same dizzying sensation as flying above crystal-clear water, drowning in the splendor.