The Color of a Promise (The Color of Heaven Series Book 11) (13 page)

“So are you.”

Joe was the last to exit the chopper. As he walked past us to return to the news truck, he tapped Jack on the shoulder. “I’ll see you at the hotel.”

“Yeah.” The car pulled up and Jack opened the door for me. “After you.”

I climbed into the back seat, and he slid in beside me. It was a luxurious vehicle with leather upholstery and a driver who wore a black blazer, shirt and tie.

Again, I was intensely aware of Jack’s physical presence, but most especially the way he watched me, as if he were equally fascinated. I wasn’t sure if I was imagining it—because he was so famous and charismatic—or if there truly was a spark between us. A chemistry like I’d never felt before. Not even with Kyle or Malcolm. And it wasn’t just physical attraction. It was something else. Something a bit more mysterious. It was almost like…

It was as if I recognized him and he recognized me, but neither of us could place the other.

Or maybe I was just starstruck.

Sleep deprived.

Imagining things.

The driver took us out of the parking lot and back to the main crash site, where we spent the next few hours combing through debris. Jack was at my side the entire time, asking smart questions about what I was learning when I kicked over a certain piece of metal or examined the charred fabric on an airline seat.

The whole situation was unusual. During my career thus far, I’d answered hundreds of reporters’ questions and I was always extremely careful not to say things that might lead them to speculate about what conclusions I was forming in my mind—because I was never forming any conclusions at this stage.

But with Jack, I trusted him to understand. I admired his patience, and I found myself letting down my guard. With total trust. For some reason I couldn’t quite fathom, I was confident that he wouldn’t disappoint me.

Chapter Twenty-two

I was just packing up my gear to hitch a ride to the hotel with Jack when my cell phone rang. I pulled it out of my pocket and checked the call display.

I glanced at Jack, who stood waiting, flipping through his own messages.

“It’s my brother,” I said. “I should take this.”

“No problem,” Jack replied. “I’ll wait for you at the car. Take your time.”

He strode across the debris field toward the parking lot, and I swiped the screen on my phone. “Hello?”

“Hey, sis,” Wayne said. “How are you doing out there?”

I glanced around at the giant burned-out wreck of a 747 beside me, the plethora of FBI workers, cops, and emergency vehicles, and was grateful to hear the calm sound of my brother’s loving voice.

“Well, you know how it is. It’s not exactly a happy place to be.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Are you taking care of yourself, Meg?”

“I’m trying,” I replied.

“Did you eat anything today?” He knew me too well, this big brother of mine, always looking out for me.

“I had a muffin on the flight, and one of the guys went out to get us some sandwiches awhile ago. But you know me. It’s kind of hard to eat on the first day.”

Wayne spoke with compassion. “I know, kid. Just make sure you get something in you, okay? And get some sleep. You can’t save the world from another plane crash in one day, and you certainly can’t do it if you end up back in the ER.”

I didn’t enjoy being reminded of that embarrassing incident. “That was nothing,” I said. “And it was a year ago.”

He scoffed into the phone. “You had chest pains, Meg. That’s not nothing.”

Holding the phone to my ear with my shoulder, I zipped up my gear bag. “It was just a bit of anxiety and they didn’t even admit me,” I argued. “It’s not like I was having a heart attack or anything.”

“But you thought you were. You gave me the fright of my life, and there was nothing I could do because you were halfway across the country, in a remote location on a mountain.”

I picked up my bag and started walking toward Jack’s car. “I know, I’m sorry, but I’m fine now, and I had a sandwich today, so you can relax. And I’m leaving the crash site now and heading to the hotel.” I paused, for effect. “With Jack Peterson, if you must know. In his car with his own personal driver. I’ve been with him for most of the day.”

There was a shocked silence on the other end of the line. “
The
Jack Peterson?”

“Yeah. Have you been watching CNN?”

“Of course,” Wayne replied. “Who hasn’t? Are you going to be on TV?”

I glanced toward the parking lot, where Jack was also talking on his cell phone, strolling around in small circles. “I don’t think so. He hasn’t been filming me. He just wants to learn so that he’ll have good information for his show tonight.”

Wayne was quiet for a few seconds. “So what’s he like in real life?”

I continued to watch Jack from a distance as I walked. “He’s very nice. Surprisingly down-to-earth. Very intelligent and genuine.” I chose not to mention the fact that he was also incredibly attractive and a terrible distraction.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Wayne said. “I’d be disappointed if it was all an act.”

“It’s not,” I assured him. “So how are you doing in the wake of all this? Are you flying today?”

“Yeah. Pretty soon, actually, and we were just told that we’ll be shuttling some of the family members to New York for a connection to Portland. They didn’t want to fly with Jaeger-Woodrow Airways.”

I looked down at my feet. “I can’t blame them. Be safe, okay?”

“Always,” Wayne replied. “And don’t worry about me, sis. You know what they say.”

“Safer than driving.” I stepped onto the pavement and approached Jack’s car. “I gotta go now. I’ll talk to you later.”

I met Jack’s gaze. He quickly finished his own call and slipped his phone into his pocket.

“Ready?” he asked as I reached him.

“Ready as ever.” He opened the car door for me, and I slid into the back seat where he joined me.

“Thanks for waiting,” I said, as we buckled our seatbelts.

“No problem. Was that the brother you mentioned was a pilot?”

“Yes. His name is Wayne. He was just calling to make sure I was doing okay.”

The driver started up the car and pulled out of the lot.

“I take it you and he are close?” Jack asked.

“Very. I can’t imagine life without him. Although he does give me a hard time, occasionally.”

“About what?” Jack asked with interest.

Maybe I shouldn’t have felt so comfortable with a CNN reporter, but all my filters seemed to fall away whenever he asked me a question.

“Oh,” I said dismissively, “he just thinks I work too hard. But he’s probably right. I do. He’s always after me to take time off and get away from it all.”

Again, Jack simply watched my face, seeming fascinated by every word I spoke. I couldn’t help but start to ramble again.

“I guess I am a
bit
of a workaholic. But it’s not just work to me. It’s my passion.” I turned slightly on the seat to face him more directly. “You must work a lot too. Especially when you’re on location, covering something like this.”

“For sure,” he said with a nod. “Sometimes I think the same thing—that I’m a workaholic—because I rarely feel the need to take a vacation. It makes me think of that saying…if you love what you do, you’ll never work a day in your life.”

I thought about that. “Hmm. I believe that’s true for most people, but for me… I can’t really say that I
love
what I do. Of course, I’m very passionate about it and driven to get the job done—and done
well
—but it’s hard to love the hours you spend in a place where people have died. And it’s not fun to explain to families the details about why their loved ones aren’t with them anymore. It’s stressful and painful, and sometimes I wish my passion were something different, because there’s a price to pay.”

“What price?”

I shrugged. “Besides the stress and anxiety on a crash site, which can be overwhelming sometimes, I don’t have a normal life. I’m too busy. I can’t imagine how I could ever be a mother in this line of work, because it’s all-consuming. Which is kind of disappointing, in a way, now that I think about it. I always imagined I’d get married someday and have kids. Now suddenly, I’m thirty. How did that happen? But
God
, I don’t have time to date anyone.”

“I thought you said you were still with your boyfriend from college. What was his name?”

“Malcolm,” I quickly replied. “And yes, I’m with him, but it’s not a new relationship, so it doesn’t require that we
date
. Not after nine years. You know how that is… It’s just…easy and comfortable.”

I gazed out the window at the trees as we increased speed on the main road to Portland, and realized my life must sound kind of pathetic. I kept saying how passionate I was about my work,
but personally
? I was describing my boyfriend like he was an old shoe. And I kept saying the word “date” like it was something I was allergic to.

I turned my attention back to Jack, who was still watching me.

“My brother’s always after me to find balance,” I added. “He tells me to go to a movie or take a dance class. He’s right, or course. I do need to get out and do other things, because the way I live… It just isn’t healthy.”

I stopped talking, and Jack and I simply stared at each other. He was nodding his head.

I felt self-conscious all of a sudden. “I can’t believe I just said all that to you. I’m so sorry.”

Jack’s eyebrows lifted. “Don’t apologize. I get it, totally. I’m the same way. I can be obsessed with my job, too. Although I do take vacations, and I was very insistent about getting seven weeks a year written into my most recent contract.”

“Seven weeks. Wow, that’s great. What do you do with all that time?”

He smiled at me, and I felt a rush of warmth spread through my body. “I travel, I come here and spend time with my parents. I lie on beaches, go skiing, sailing, hiking, sightseeing. With no cameras or interviews required.”

I smiled, and realized it was the first time I had smiled since my arrival in Maine. “I should take notes.”

“Yes, young lady, you definitely should,” he said. “I can put it in an email for you later, if you like.”

I chuckled. “No, I think I got it. So who do you go on all these adventure vacations with? Do you have a girlfriend?”

Seriously, Meg? Filters!

I pressed my open hand to my mouth. “I’m sorry again. That’s none of my business.”

The corner of Jack’s lips curled into a small grin which I found incredibly sexy. It was exciting and invigorating, and all the little hairs on my arms and neck started to rise and tingle.

Be careful, Meg. You’re not here for this.

But what was this, exactly? What was happening here?

Clearly, Jack found me entertaining. “It’s fine,” he said with a small chuckle. “And no, I don’t have a girlfriend, but not for lack of trying.”

I gave him a look. “Oh, please. You’re Jack Peterson. You must have beautiful women propositioning you all the time.”

His expression was friendly and open as he shrugged slightly. “I’ve never been terribly interested in the kinds of women who proposition me. Not these days. Or maybe I’ve just given up on romance. Too many disappointments.”

“I hear you on that count. I’ve never had much luck in the romance department either.”

“Says the woman who’s been in a relationship for nine years.”

I bit my lower lip and regarded him with a hint of chagrin. “That was an odd thing for me to say, wasn’t it?”

He shrugged again. “I’m not judging.”

I realized in that moment that I still hadn’t talked to Malcolm since I’d left the message on his phone the night before, and he hadn’t called me either. Of course, he knew how busy I would be today, and he always respected the space I needed in order to do my job. He was probably just waiting for me to call him when I had a free moment. Or maybe he was in the OR.

Jack and I drove on in silence for a while as I pondered my relationship with Malcolm. Had it really been nine years? It was hard to believe.

I turned to Jack again. “How long will you stay in Maine for all this? Or will you head back to New York right away?”

“I don’t know yet,” he replied. “We’ll be taking it day by day, but I suspect I’ll be here the whole week. What about you?”

“It’s really hard to say. It depends what we find in the next few days. If we end up having to reconstruct the plane, it could be a long time.”

He considered that. “Well, if you need some downtime this week, give me a call. We could get a drink or something.”

Was Jack Peterson asking me out?

No…he knew I was in a relationship. He probably just wanted to stay informed about the crash.

“That would be nice,” I replied. “But I always work until pretty late.”

“So do I. Here. Take my number. Text me at any hour. I might be up.”

“Okay.” I pulled out my cell phone and he told me his number. I added it to my list of contacts, which felt very surreal, to have Jack Peterson’s personal cell phone number in my phone.