HE LEFT HIS WOUNDED WIFE FOR HIS FIRST LOVE—SEVEN YEARS LATER, SHE HELD HIS FUTURE

For several seconds, I thought I had misheard her.

"Captain Rostova?"

Isla nodded.

"No."

The word came out automatically.

Captain Ava Rostova had been the woman shouting over helicopter rotors.

The woman who had warned us the weather was closing.

The woman who had given Kalin ten seconds.

The woman whose aircraft had carried him and Isla away.

"She was a rescue pilot."

"Before that."

Isla's voice was weak.

"She flew privately."

"For Richard?"

"Sometimes."

I pulled the visitor chair closer but remained standing.

"What does she have to do with my father?"

Isla looked at the IV tubing.

"Richard had relationships everywhere. Contractors. inspectors. lawyers. pilots. People who could move equipment or documents without creating paperwork."

"And Rostova?"

"She moved things."

"What things?"

"Cash. Records. People."

My skin crawled.

"You're telling me she was involved with Shaw Construction twenty years ago?"

"Not officially."

"How do you know?"

"Eric Valez told me."

"The dead procurement officer."

"Yes."

"Convenient."

She flinched.

"I know how it sounds."

"Then give me something that doesn't depend on dead men."

Isla looked directly at me.

"The helicopter."

I went still.

"What about it?"

"There were two seats."

I didn't understand.

Then I did.

"No."

"Aara."

"No."

"There were two available seats."

The room seemed to lose oxygen.

"I saw the manifest."

"The manifest listed capacity after medical equipment."

"Yes."

"That's not what I mean."

She swallowed.

"There was a removable equipment rack behind the medic station. Captain Rostova had already removed it on the flight up because Juniper had requested additional passenger capacity."

My heart hammered.

"How many?"

"Two."

I stared at her.

"Then why did she say one seat?"

"I don't know."

"You're lying."

"I wish I were."

I stepped backward.

Seven years.

Seven years of defining my marriage by one impossible choice.

One seat.

One decision.

One person left behind.

There had been two seats.

"Did Kalin know?"

"No."

"Did you?"

Isla started crying again.

"Not until we were already airborne."

Every muscle in my body tightened.

"Explain."

"After takeoff, one of the medics moved a bag and I saw the folded seat beneath it."

"And you said nothing."

"What could I say?"

"TURN AROUND."

My voice cracked through the room.

A nurse looked in through the glass.

I lowered my volume.

"You could have told them to turn around."

"The storm—"

"Don't."

She closed her eyes.

"Kalin did."

I froze.

"What?"

"He saw it too."

The world stopped.

"No."

"Aara, listen."

"You just said he didn't know."

"He didn't know before takeoff."

My voice disappeared.

"What happened?"

"About four minutes after we left, Kalin noticed the seat."

Isla wiped her face.

"He asked Captain Rostova why she had said there was only one."

"And?"

"She said the second restraint was damaged."

"Was it?"

"I don't know."

"What did Kalin do?"

"He told her to turn around."

My heart slammed.

"He what?"

"He shouted at her."

I sat down.

For seven years, I had remembered Kalin through the hospital phone call.

Through the fact that he remained with Isla.

Through the divorce.

I had never known what happened in the helicopter.

"Why didn't he tell me?"

"I don't know."

I did.

Because saying, I tried to come back, would have sounded like an excuse.

Because perhaps he finally understood that intention after the choice did not erase the choice.

"What happened next?"

"Rostova refused."

"Weather?"

"She said the ridge had closed behind us."

"Did Kalin believe her?"

"No."

Isla looked ashamed.

"He tried to make the medic radio the rescue coordinator."

"And?"

"The radio channel suddenly failed."

I felt cold.

"Failed."

"Yes."

"Convenient."

"Yes."

I stood again.

"Why would Rostova want me left on that mountain?"

Isla didn't answer.

I leaned closer.

"Why?"

"Because of what you found that morning."

I stared.

"What did I find?"

"The west support movement."

Memory flickered.

Hours before the collapse, I had noticed unusual separation at a temporary retaining structure.

I had photographed it.

Measured it.

I planned to compare readings after lunch.

Then everything fell.

"I didn't report it yet."

"Eric saw you taking measurements."

My pulse accelerated.

"He contacted Richard."

"Richard was in Boston."

"Yes."

"And Richard contacted Rostova?"

"I think so."

"Think?"

"I saw a message later."

"What message?"

"Eric had a screenshot."

I clenched my jaw.

"Isla, if you have evidence—"

"It's in my apartment."

Her voice dropped.

"Behind the bedroom outlet closest to the window."

I stared at her.

"You hid it?"

"For years."

"Why?"

"Because Richard knew I had copied things."

"Did he threaten you?"

She laughed bitterly.

"He didn't have to."

I thought about the fire.

The men at the cabin.

"Who burned Winthrop?"

"I don't know."

"Who followed your attorney?"

"I don't know."

"Then why did you overdose?"

Her expression changed.

"I didn't."

The room went silent.

"What?"

"I took one sleeping pill."

She held up her wrist.

"The hospital found enough sedative in my system to kill me."

My blood went cold.

"Someone drugged you."

She nodded.

"At the Juniper office."

"Who?"

"I don't remember."

"Isla."

"The last thing I remember is drinking coffee before a board meeting."

I immediately pulled out my phone and called Lena.

"Get security to Isla Mercer's apartment."

"Why?"

"Evidence. And call police first."

I ended the call.

Isla watched me.

"You still hate me."

"Yes."

The honesty surprised both of us.

I continued.

"But I don't want you dead."

Her face crumpled.

"I was horrible to you."

"You were."

"I loved him."

"I know."

"I thought history meant something."

"It did."

"Just not what I wanted."

I said nothing.

She looked away.

"He loved you differently."

"Don't."

"No. You should know."

"I don't need romantic archaeology."

A broken laugh escaped her.

"Still sharp."

"Sharper."

Silence settled between us.

Then she whispered, "I knew about the medical clearance."

"I know."

"I should have told him before he picked me up."

"Yes."

"I should have said you were more injured."

"Yes."

"I didn't."

"No."

"I wanted to know if he would choose me."

There it was.

The ugliest truth.

I had suspected it.

Still, hearing it hurt.

"And when he did?"

"I felt happy for maybe two seconds."

Her tears returned.

"Then I saw you through the window."

I looked away.

"I've hated myself for that moment ever since."

"That doesn't make us friends."

"I know."

"It doesn't make what happened okay."

"I know."

"And I may never forgive you."

"I know."

For once, Isla didn't ask me to comfort her.

That mattered.

My phone rang.

Lena.

"We got into the apartment with police."

"And?"

"There's a flash drive behind the outlet."

I closed my eyes.

"Bring it to federal investigators."

"Aara."

"What?"

"There's something else."

Her tone changed.

"A photograph taped beside the drive."

"Of what?"

"Kalin."

My heart tightened.

"What kind of photograph?"

"Taken through a telephoto lens."

"Where?"

"Outside Northline."

I looked toward the door.

Kalin was waiting down the hall.

"Recent?"

"Yesterday."

"Anything written on it?"

Lena was silent.

"Lena?"

"On the back."

"What does it say?"

Her voice dropped.

NEXT TIME, PICK THE RIGHT WOMAN.

I looked through the glass at Kalin.

Seven years ago, someone had turned a rescue into a choice.

Now somebody was referencing that choice again.

Which meant the fire, Isla's poisoning, the forged reports, and my father's death might not be separate pieces of history.

They might all lead to the same living person.

I walked out of Isla's room.

Kalin stood.

"What happened?"

I looked at him.

"Did you know there were two seats on the helicopter?"

His face went completely still.

That was answer enough.

My anger returned so quickly it almost blinded me.

"You knew."

"After takeoff."

"And you never told me."

"I tried to get them to turn around."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because it wouldn't have changed what I did."

"You let me spend seven years believing—"

"Believing what?"

"That you sat there peacefully while I was dying."

His voice sharpened for the first time.

"I was not peaceful."

"Then where were you?"

"I was trying to get back to you!"

People turned in the corridor.

He lowered his voice.

"I tried to commandeer a truck from the hospital."

"What?"

"The road authority stopped me."

"You stayed with Isla."

"For ninety minutes."

"Six hours."

"I stayed at the hospital for six hours because they wouldn't let anyone leave."

I stared at him.

"What?"

"The landslide closed both roads."

"The report said you remained voluntarily."

"That was wrong."

"Why didn't you correct it?"

His face twisted.

"Because by the time I saw the report, you had filed for divorce."

"That's not an answer."

"No."

He stepped closer, stopping well outside touching distance.

"The answer is that I was ashamed."

My throat tightened.

"I still chose her first."

His voice broke.

"Even if Rostova lied. Even if Isla withheld her clearance. Even if there were two seats. I looked at my injured wife and believed she would survive because she was strong."

He shook his head.

"I was not going to build my defense out of technicalities."

Silence.

"I deserved what you thought of me."

"No."

I hated that word.

"What?"

"You deserved responsibility for what you did."

I looked directly at him.

"But not responsibility for things you didn't."

Something passed through his face.

Hope.