Ethan’s response was instantaneous. Why not?
Because he needed to fix the damage Alex’s snide comment had done to his relationsh—his whatever-it-was with Vivienne.
“I’m back,” Joel said, reclaiming the stool next to Deacon. His damp hands left streaks on his jeans. “What were we talking about?”
“Vivienne.”
“That’s right.” The ice cubes in Joel’s gin clinked against his glass as he tilted it from side to side. “No one’s ever been ready this early, Dash.”
“If you don’t agree with me, that’s fine. It’s your area of expertise. But I’m telling you, Vivienne’s better at falling and flying than most three-year recruits in the field.”
Joel set the glass on the bar and wiped at the condensation forming on the outside. A halo of blue neon light illuminated his frown. “What’s the rush?”
Deacon rolled his shoulders and took a drink of scotch before setting it back on the cardboard coaster. Instead of telling Joel the real reason, he said, “I’m finishing up soon, and the last two classes produced only one recruiter. Emily and Max aren’t interested in recruiting, and we could use someone else in the field.”
“Why doesn’t she enroll in the recruiter training in conjunction with Aviation? She’s nearly finished her high school curriculum, and she’ll have a lot of downtime on her hands soon enough.”
“You know the rules, Joel. Recruiters have to pass your class before starting their field training.” Deacon tapped his thumb against the bar. The PAN and their bloody rules.
“Good point.”
“I’m asking you to consider it. If you think she’s ready now, another four or five months won’t make a heap of difference.” Deacon abandoned his argument there, content with the seeds he had planted. “Would you like another drink?”
“Tomorrow’s Saturday.” Joel handed Deacon his now-empty glass. “Why not?”
Vivienne received a text from Joel asking her to come to class early and meet him on the roof. When she reached the door at the top, she pushed it open and walked to the railing to wait.
“Hey!”
Her eyes darted to the stranger standing in the corner near the door.
“What do you think you’re doing up here?” the tall, slender man asked. The dark coat he wore reached his calves. His graying hair was out of place on campus.
“I came up for some fresh air,” she lied, gripping the rail at her back.
She needed to get out of here . . . but it was too bright. He would see her fly.
He took two steps in her direction and stopped. “You need to come with me.”
Yeah, that wasn’t happening. “I’m staying right here.”
“I think,” he drawled, pushing the bottom of his coat aside to reveal a sidearm in a holster at his hip, “you should reconsider.”
She tensed, poised for escape. When she didn’t immediately take off, her body didn’t seem to know what to do with the excess of adrenaline, and she started trembling.
“Tell you what, how about I escort you to where you’re headed?” The stranger extended his hand in her direction.
“I’m gonna pass,” she said, slowly ducking beneath the railing.
Fall. She needed to fall.
The door to the Aviary was fitted with an automatic lock, so unless she gave him the code, he was stuck on the roof.
The man drew his firearm at the same time Vivienne’s heels collided with the lip of the ledge. He lifted the handgun and aimed at her chest, and the weapon discharged just as she fell from the roof.
Gravity wrapped its steely arms around her waist and dragged her toward the ground.
Fly. She needed to fly.
She had too much adrenaline, and her internal spark refused to light, and she was falling too fast; she watched helplessly as the treetops turned into trunks and she closed her eyes against the inevitable crash—
The impact was jolting but embracing and warm at the same time. Soft breath tickled her neck, accompanied by a swirl of expensive cologne. “What the hell, Vivienne?”
“Deacon?” What was he doing there?
His grip tightened. “What happened? Why didn’t you stop yourself?”
Deacon was bringing her to the roof.
The man was going to kill him. Kill them both.
She writhed and bucked, but still Deacon didn’t let go.
“Stop moving,” he growled, struggling to keep hold of her, “or I’m going to drop you.”
“There’s a man up there with a gun. He shot at—”
“I know,” he snapped.
She stiffened, and every fiber of her being wanted to revolt. He knew. Deacon knew. “What do you mean, you know?”
Sure enough, the older man was waiting for them. Instead of greeting them with gunfire, the stranger nodded.
Vivienne wriggled free and stumbled toward the door. “What’s going on?”
“I made a mistake,” he muttered, wiping his hands across his face. “You’ve been doing so well…I thought you were ready.”
“Ready for someone to shoot at me?”
“Don’t be daft.” He pointed to her would-be assailant. “This was your final exam.”
“Exam? You mean this was a test?”
A nod.
Joel burst through the door. “I’m so sorry,” he rushed. “I told Dash no one could be ready this early, but he insisted.”
“Deacon wanted you to get some creep to try and kill me?” Her nerves tingled with adrenaline and her fire returned. Only instead of happy memories, her need for flight was fueled by fury.
“Stop being dramatic.” Deacon stomped to the man’s holster and drew the weapon. Without taking his eyes from hers, he let off two rounds into the sky. “They’re blanks.”
She may not have been bleeding, but she felt mortally wounded. “How was I supposed to know that?”
“You weren’t,” Joel groaned, taking the gun off Deacon and returning it to its owner. “Before a student passes Aviation, he or she has to take off and land while under intense pressure. We send a personalized alert to the student’s phone, then Mel here poses as a HOOK agent.”
The older man nodded toward her and holstered his weapon for the second time.
“Now I’m afraid we’ve lost the element of surprise…” Joel muttered, pacing between them. “It’ll be impossible to prove you can operate safely in such circumstances.”
Vivienne stalked to the door and took out her anger and frustration on the keypad. As she reached for the latch, Deacon put his hand over hers.
“Don’t you dare touch me.” She shoved him away and ran inside.
“Vivienne, listen to me!” he shouted, clamoring down the stairs behind her.
“What, Deacon?” She whirled around, her hands clenched into fists. “What could you possibly have to say to me right now?”
“I’m sorry, all right.” He braced himself against the handrail. “When I saw you falling, I panicked and—”
“I would’ve been fine,” she seethed.
He took a hesitant step toward her. “You were three feet from the—”