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Sometimes love hides in plain sight.  You find it in the last place you look.

  When PJ Eric Cruz and pilot Kit Sheridan met, it was spontaneous combustion.  But the flame burned hot and fast and left behind only ruin: two people scorched and scarred.   And now, when one disaster after another forces them together, deadlocked in fear and calamity, they may be too wounded to realize that the same fire that lays you waste can light your way through the darkness.  
Maybe their story isn’t over.    
Sometimes love is hiding in plain sight.  
Sometimes you find it in the last place you look.

The Last Place You Look (Back Cover)

   Kit reached for the ringing phone as Rick stepped through the doorway into her office.
   "Pegasus Air."
   Kit circled her finger in the air even as she listened to the details. She grabbed a pen and scribbled as Colonel Scott rattled off all the pertinent information.
   They'd be flying to Paradise, California, a small town in the Northern Sierras. They'd land in a field behind the Paradise High School. The military birds would be flying out of an area just north of town, but all the command and control would be at the school.
   Air traffic control would be handled from Chico and a few other airports the further north you went. At the high school, Kit and her team would be reporting to the Butte County undersheriff, Lloyd Alvarez.
   "Your PJs," Colonel Scott said, "are on their way."
   Her PJs were on their way.
   Her PJs were on their way.
   There was absolutely no reason to suspect... and yet...
   When she glanced up at Rick, though, she knew. He shrugged. She glared. He turned and fled. She finished with Colonel Scott.
   "Thanks a lot, Mac," she hollered as she returned the phone to its cradle.
   "Not my fault, Red," he hollered back. "I wanted someone who'd worked out of our bird before and Gabe's on leave."
   That left Cruz. And Paradise.
   "Lovely," she muttered.
   Her PJ was on his way.
   The last few months--nearly nine to the day--had been peaceful, almost to the point of humdrum, without the constant turmoil that Cruz stirred effortlessly.
   Kit stabbed the pen at the paper that held their coordinates.
   "Apparently," she returned at the top of her lungs, standing and ripping the paper from the pad, "you think our history with Hollywood is worth more than I do."
   "Apparently," came the reply from the doorway. But it wasn't Mac.
   She looked up to see that her PJ had, indeed, arrived.