Off the Map (Winter Rescue #2) by Tamara Morgan Page A

have an official headquarters, but they often met in this basement, which, though not well-ventilated or particularly cheery, was large enough to hold them all. “Is this about my clearance? You don’t have to worry. I haven’t officially had my license revoked yet, so until the notice from the FAA comes through, it’s perfectly legal for me to take the Falcon up.”
    Legal but probably not the smartest decision of her adult life. There were no rules preventing her from taking out the recently acquired SAR chopper—nicknamed the Falcon for its bright red color, easily visible in the snow—but she wasn’t devoid of common sense, either. She was basically sitting here, asking Newman to personally hammer the last nail in her career.
    Strange how much it felt as if she were asking him to personally hammer that nail into her stomach instead.
    She forced a laugh. “In fact, it’s probably a good idea for you to take advantage of this opportunity while you still can. In a few weeks, I’m probably going to be completely useless to you anyway. Clipped wings and all that. You might as well get one last run out of me before you have to kick me to the curb, right?”
    Newman didn’t seem compelled to stop her babbling, so she bit on her lip to keep anything else from spilling out. Excess liquid consumption and nervous prattle—it was all coming back to her now. She had several not-so-fond memories of standing before her father just like this, his silent disapproval sending her into a spiral of idle chatter and manic frenzy. Looking back, it was hard to tell if he’d done it on purpose—punished her adolescent transgressions with oppressive, absolute silence—but he couldn’t have come up with a more effective way to keep her in line. She’d have given anything for a temper tantrum and a slammed door.
    She wouldn’t mind either one of those things right now, but Newman remained firmly in place. It took about ten more seconds for understanding to hit, almost leveling her flat.
    “How stupid of me. You’re kicking me to the curb now, aren’t you? That’s why you wanted to see me before everyone else got here.”
    “No. That’s not it.”
    “Oh, thank God.” She hadn’t meant to give so much of herself away, but it was too late for soldierly restraint. That ship had sailed long ago—much to her father’s dismay. “Then what did you want to talk about?”
    Newman gestured toward one of the folding chairs and waited while she settled herself before taking his own seat. “You were fired from your job.”
    She nodded, even though he hadn’t phrased it as a question.
    “Can I ask why?”
    She stared at him, at his perfectly immobile mustache, wishing she could read this man as well as she could read Scott. Some women might prefer the tall, dark, and silent, but give her an accessible and explosive bastard any day. At least she never had to wonder what Scott was thinking.
    “You don’t know why I was fired? Did you forget that whole episode last month where I went rogue and almost totaled a highly sophisticated piece of medical flight equipment?”
    Newman gave a discreet cough. “I’m familiar with the report the medevac company headquarters filed with the FAA, and I’m aware of the obstacles you’re up against now. But what I’d like to hear is your version of events.”
    “My version of events?”
    “If you don’t mind.”
    “If I don’t mind?”
    He smiled in what she assumed was supposed to be some kind of assent and sat back in his chair, hands folded over his stomach. And then he waited. Watched. Stared.
    “I’m not sure I understand,” she said slowly. “You were there when they released me—you even talked directly to my boss. I took the helicopter out against corporate policy. The tail rotor failed on the way back. I had to make a running landing, and with the winds as strong as they were, it was less than perfectly executed.”
    She’d told the story so many times now she practically had