“What’s your boss like?”

“Oh, he’s okay.” How can I tell Christian that Jack makes me uncomfortable? Christian turns and gazes at me.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Aside from the obvious, nothing.”

“The obvious?”

“Oh, Christian, you really are very obtuse sometimes.”

“Obtuse? Me? I’m not sure I appreciate your tone, Miss Steele.”

“Well, don’t then.”

His lips twitch into a smile. “I have missed your smart mouth.” I gasp and I want to shout, I’ve missed you—all of you—not just your mouth! But I keep quiet and gaze out the glass fishbowl that is Charlie Tango’s windshield as we continue south. The dusk is to our right, the sun low on the horizon—large, blazing fiery orange—

and I am Icarus again, flying far too close.

The dusk has followed us from Seattle, and the sky is awash with opal, pinks, and aquamarines woven seamlessly together as only Mother Nature knows how. It’s a clear, crisp evening, and the lights of Portland twinkle and wink, welcoming us as Christian sets the helicopter down on the helipad. We are on top of the strange brown brick building in Portland we left less than three weeks ago.

Jeez, it’s been hardly any time at all. Yet I feel like I’ve known Christian for a lifetime.

He powers down Charlie Tango, flipping various switches so the rotors stop, and eventually all I hear is my own breathing through the headphones. Hmm. Briefly it reminds me of the Thomas Tallis experience. I blanch. I so don’t want to go there right now.

Christian unbuckles his harness and leans across to undo mine.

“Good trip, Miss Steele?” he asks, his voice mild, his gray eyes glowing.

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Grey,” I reply politely.

“Well, let’s go see the boy’s photos.” He holds his hand out to me and taking it, I climb out of Charlie Tango.