“I have a feeling we’ll be going a long time tonight. We’ve got a couple of spare rooms and a lot of floor space, and we like overnight visitors. Come around when you’re ready.”

“Thanks.”

Linda patted Jett’s thigh. “I really hope you make it. See you later.”

“Right,” Jett said softly.

Linda disappeared and Jett was alone again. She thought about Tristan being jealous, and then of Tristan kneeling beside her in her on-call room, telling her to talk to Gail, telling her that Gail still held a piece of her heart. Maybe Tristan was right. Maybe that’s why Gail haunted her dreams and her waking moments. Jett didn’t know what she felt. She hadn’t really been able to think about Gail until now. About what had happened. About what she’d done to make Gail leave.

Jett slid down off the wall and sat on the rooftop, her legs outstretched. Tristan was gone, and she had let her go because of Gail.

She’d left the service because of Gail, and now she was running away from Tristan. Running away because of Gail and because of all the things she wanted and shouldn’t. She closed her eyes and made herself think about Gail because she couldn’t think about Tristan being gone.

She’d thought she’d loved Gail. She’d never had a woman in her life like Gail before, a woman who was constantly there for her—waiting for her to come back from a mission, taking care of her when she was tired and hurt, soothing her with her words and her touches. Her touches. Looking back, Jett replayed dozens of moments when Gail had touched her—casual caresses on her shoulders and arms, fingers running through her hair, breasts pressing against her back while standing in line for chow. Gail was always touching her. At the time,

Jett had been so beaten down by the constant stress, the unrelenting uncertainty, the ever-present threat of death, she hadn’t been able to see what was happening. She thought she had been the one who’d wanted too much, who’d asked for too much. But Gail had touched her.

Jett pushed herself up and strode across the tarmac to the stairwell.

Gail had kissed her. Gail had wanted her. Now she needed to see Gail.

Quinn knelt down next to Honor’s lounge chair. “I don’t think you should be doing that out in public. You’re likely to get a few people hot and bothered.”

“Who?” Honor laughed incredulously.

“Me, for starters.”

Honor looked down at her chest to make sure something hadn’t come undone that she hadn’t intended to be undone. All she saw was Jack’s fair hair and a small triangle of pale flesh. “Sweetheart, there’s nothing to see. You’re just imagining things.”

“That works pretty well for me too. The real thing’s better, though.”

“Will you be quiet,” Honor chided, nodding toward Jack. “He’ll hear you. If he takes after you, you will regret it when he’s thirteen.”

Quinn laughed and stroked Honor’s hair. “Baby, Arly takes after me. This one’s all yours.”

Honor grasped Quinn’s hand. “It’s true, you know. She wants to be just like you.” She rubbed Quinn’s fingers against her cheek. “And I can’t think of anyone better.”

“Well, from everything I hear, Terry was the real jock. So I think the credit has to be divided on that one.”

“Don’t make me cry.”

“I’m sorry,” Quinn whispered.

Honor shook her head. “No, sweetheart. Happy tears. These damn hormones are still not back to normal.”

“You sure?”

“Never more.” Jack started squirming and Honor handed him to Quinn. “Take him for a second while I get myself together. And no looking.”

“Tease,” Quinn muttered, settling Jack on her shoulder and patting his back.

“Patience, Maguire,” Honor said. “Remember when we get home how you’re going to be all restless and not able to sleep and I’m going to—”

“Let’s go now.”

Honor laughed and held out her arms for Jack. “Arly’s inside watching a movie with the other kids. When it’s over, we’ll go, okay?”

“All right. Can I get you anything?”

“No, but…” Honor pointed surreptitiously to a small group of people sitting on Linda’s back porch steps. “Maybe you should talk to Tristan. I’m not sure she’s doing real well.”

Quinn frowned and looked where Honor was pointing. Tristan leaned against the porch post. She was a little disheveled—her shirttail was hanging out of her jeans, which wasn’t like her—but she seemed okay otherwise. “What do you mean?”

“I noticed she’s drinking a lot, and that’s not usually her style. And she just looks…I don’t know, lost.”

“I’ll check on her on my way inside to collect our girl.”

“Don’t be long.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I won’t be.”

Tristan carefully maneuvered her way through the throng of people congregated on the stairs and Linda’s porch. Inside the kitchen she sidled around more nurses and techs and doctors and other hospital personnel, everyone talking about what had happened. She found the scotch and poured another two inches into a small red plastic cup. The first half went down with a bit of a bite, the second was smooth and warm. She lifted the bottle but stopped in mid-pour when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Her heart leapt, and she spun around. Then she kept her smile in place through sheer force of will. Jett wasn’t here and she wasn’t coming. Fuck, no point thinking about where she was.

“Hey Quinn,” Tristan said heartily. “Rough one, huh?”

“Yeah, but we had some good saves too. That fireman you tubed is going to make it. That was good work.”

“Well, sometimes you get lucky.”

“That wasn’t luck.” Quinn put her arm around Tristan’s shoulder and said quietly, “You doing okay?”

“Peachy.”

“You look like shit. Why don’t you go home and go to bed.”

“I will, as soon as I find some company.”

“We’re all a little shaky—”

“Nope. Not me. I’m solid.”

“Uh-huh.” Quinn stared intently. “Is it work or something else? You don’t usually drink yourself under the table, and you’re about there.”

“I’m okay.” Tristan swayed and gripped the counter behind her. “I won’t drink any more. Word. Just tired.”

“Let me walk you home.”

Tristan shook her head. “You’ve got the family here. Not going far. I’ll make it.”

“I don’t think—” Quinn stopped as a truly gorgeous redhead came sailing up and about jumped on Tristan.

“Tristan, baby, I just got your message!” Darla slid up next to Tristan and smiled at Quinn. She looped her arm around Tristan’s waist and kissed her on the side of the mouth. “I would have been here sooner, but I was finishing an audit and didn’t check my voicemail until just a few minutes ago.”

“There you go.” Tristan grinned at Quinn. “I’ll be fine now.”

“Make sure she gets home all right, will you?” Quinn said to Darla.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of her.” Darla rubbed Tristan’s stomach and nuzzled her neck. “Come on, baby. Let’s find someplace to sit down for a while.”

“Sure, okay. Night, Quinn.” Tristan dropped her arm over Darla’s shoulders. She definitely needed to sit down for a few minutes and clear her head. She was having trouble getting her thoughts in order, and something about what was happening didn’t feel quite right. If she could just think for a minute, she knew she’d figure it out.

“Take care of yourself, Tristan,” Quinn said.

“Always do.”

Jett walked past Linda’s house three times before pushing through the gate and starting down the path to the back. She knew the impromptu party was still going on because she could hear it. She didn’t see Tristan’s car, and she looked for it. Tris probably wasn’t here. But her apartment had been dark when Jett had driven past. Maybe Tristan was already home and asleep. Even as she thought it, Jett doubted that was true. She knew what Tristan would be looking for right now, what she needed to chase the nightmares away.

The backyard was dark and it took her a few minutes to make her way around, checking out the people standing in groups or sitting at a picnic table and on the porch. She finally saw Linda curled up on an old-fashioned porch swing next to a woman in shorts and a T-shirt.

“Hi,” Jett said.

“Jett, you made it,” Linda exclaimed. “This is my partner, Robin. Robin, honey, this is Chief McNally.”

Jett extended her hand to the other woman on the swing. “Just Jett is fine.”

“Good to meet you, finally.”

“Same here.” Jett peered through the open door into the kitchen. She recognized some faces, but not the one she was looking for. “Have you seen Tristan?”

“She was here earlier,” Linda said. “I don’t think I’ve seen her for a while, though. There are quite a few people still inside.”

“Okay. Well.” Jett rocked on her heels.

“Go check and see,” Linda said gently.

“Right.” Jett nodded to Robin, smiled at Linda, and ducked into the kitchen.

Jett found them in a room on the first floor that might be a den, but she wasn’t taking inventory of the contents. The only light came in through the open door from the hallway, but she didn’t need much light to tell what was happening on the couch. Tristan was mostly upright, sprawled with her arms outstretched on the back of the sofa and her legs splayed. Darla lay half on top of her as they kissed. Darla’s hand rested in Tristan’s crotch, her fingers circling lazily. Neither of them knew or apparently cared if they had company.

Jett felt the same burst of adrenaline and anger and fear she experienced when someone on the ground opened fire on her aircraft.

She had learned through bitter experience that the only way to survive the firefight was to fly through it. When Darla’s hand crept up Tristan’s fly and opened the top button, Jett moved. She walked to within a foot of the couch and cleared her throat.