Don’t worry about me. See to the team I was transporting. Did I crash? The image of a helicopter in the shape of an Easter Egg floating in a harbor comes to mind.
“Landy?” Another guy, this one closer, calls out my name.
He’s the same handsome jerk who embarrassed me in a hotel room in Seattle. My face heats. I don’t want to be here, so I succumb to the beckoning void. My next thought is how I hate the antiseptic smell of hospitals.
I wiggle my fingers and toes and heave out a sigh. I guess I didn’t lose any limbs but what about the troops? Faces flip through my brain’s indexing, but nothing makes sense. I’m pretty sure I was honorably discharged over a year ago.
The rate of the beeping increases as scenes ofthe incidentflash like a horror movie in my mind’s eye.
“Landy?” A warm breath heats my nose and strikes a chord at my clit.
What the fuck? Who is he? Something is extremely wrong. My lashes part.I recognize him, but how? “My team. Did they make it?”
“We’re in an emergency room in New York City. The helicopter you were piloting crashed. Everyone is fine.” His fingertip slips across my cheek and tucks a lock of hair behind my ear in an act so intimate, I wonder if we’re lovers.Why can’t I remember?
A brown guy in green scrubs and a stethoscope walks into my room and flashes a smile. “Hi, I’m Doctor Geeta.”
“Can I see your degree? Nothing personal, but my intern needs to have graduated from high school before I’ll let him treat me.”
He chuckles. “I hear that a lot. How are we feeling?”
“I can’t speak for you, doc, but I feel like shit. Can we cut the crap? Where are my passengers?”
The medic frowns “Do you know what day it is?”
“Sure, I do. It’s… ah…Tues-nes-day?”
“Hmm, close but no cigar. Do you know where you are?”
“The Inquisition?”
“Sorry luv, no comfy chair.” Another Monty Python fan, the sexy Brit beside my bed snickers and leans in. “Remember me?”
“You’re not the Tinman or Toto and I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.” An image of him flashes in my mind. He has me pinned against a wall with his insistent lips pressed to mine.
I squeeze my legs together.Have we had sex? If we did, it would seem like something worth recalling.“What the fuck is going on? What did they give me? What happened?”
The good news is the enemy won’t learn shit because my memory is shot to hell.
A new commotion starts up behind the curtain. Expecting the wizard, everyone turns, except me. Sure, I’m curious, but twisting my neck causes searing pain.
“NYPD. We need to talk to her about the crash.” The authoritarian voice sends a chill down my back.
Huh. Well, I’m not in Oz. More memories flood my brain. I’m a marine pilot, I’ve never been in a hot air balloon and haven’t been deployed for over a year.
Mr. Brit is pulled from my side by a brown man in police blues while his partner moves aside his chair to squat on his heels. “Ms. Manuel? I’m Sargent Lourdes. If you’re up for it, I’d like to ask you a couple of questions.”
“Only if I can ask you a few first.” A niggling sense I should ask for a lawyer rattles around my fucked up gray cells, but I need to find out if any of my passengers survived.
“Fair enough.” He stands where I can’t see him.
Rolling over, I point to the foot of the bed. “Ah… would you mind moving over there?”
The man who may or may not be my lover, shouts out from the hallway, “Anything she says won’t be admissible in court. She’s out of it.”
If they gave me painkillers, why does my head hurt so bad? Someone screwed up big time.
“Are you Ms. Lanita Manuel?” The cop’s tone tells me I’m in trouble, but I don’t give a flying fuck. I’m tired of assholes bossing me around.
