Chapter 1
“It’s time to check in with our early morning traffic reporter, the gorgeous Miss Charisse Carrington. Good morning, Charisse, anything exciting going on out there?” Dave Mattison asked. Dave was the host of Wake-Up Your Day with Dave, the first local morning programming on KICU-TV. He’d been there from the beginning and, truth be known, they’d be carrying him out the day he died. Dave was a seasoned newsman who’d worked his way up the ladder with several different stations. He’d pooled his money with several other investors and KICU was born. It was relatively new to the television market, having only been on the air for ten years, but since Dave was the primary investor, it was a no brainer that he be in charge of the morning program. Charisse Carrington, sporting a state of the art headset, took one last look out the windshield of the helicopter before pointing the portable camera on herself. She flashed a million dollar smile to her viewers. “Good morning, Dave. Beautiful beginning to the day, even if the sun isn’t up yet,” Charisse’s voice rang clear through the microphone. “So, any problems to report to our viewers yet?” “If you’re heading to work or home on Blevins Boulevard, you need to allow some extra time. Its road construction season, folks, and there are detours everywhere. The main arteries are clear of accidents at this time, but we’re still a couple hours away from the crazy morning commute. If anything breaks, you’ll be the first to know,” Charisse affirmed. Studio camera B focused on Dave as Charisse’s feed faded on the green screen behind him. “We’ll check in with Charisse again at the top of the hour. Now for today’s weather, Brent Anderson.” Brent began his report exploring weather from other areas of the country before settling on the local radar. The news team at KICU-TV worked well together. Not a novice in the bunch. Charisse remembered the day she came on board. It wasn’t easy breaking into television, especially being an independent woman with a pilot’s license, but she was no beginner either. Charisse Carrington had been a helicopter pilot for a number of years. Her career began with the police department. She’d transported many of the local drug enforcement officers to and from sting operations all over the county. She really wasn’t into the police drama, so when this traffic reporter job for the TV station came available, it seemed a great fit. That was two years ago. Charisse smiled. She loved working with Dave and Brent and affectionately referred to them as her morning men. They were kind and funny, and even flirty at times. It sure beat being around incognito officers busting drug pushers. Yet, it was difficult to leave the police department, too. As with all jobs, friendships form, and when it comes time to move on, sometimes it’s much harder than first thought. That’s what happened with the guys at the PD. One guy in particular. Charisse hadn’t thought of Mark Seymour since she left the department. They’d become fast friends. She knew things regarding the different missions they were on. She could reveal them to Mark without him questioning how she knew or why. “You’re on in five minutes, cookie,” Dave’s voice came through the headset. “No problem, I’m ready for you.” Charisse checked the instrument panel and noticed the chopper was running hot. She made a note of it and decided after this report to head back to base, just in case. Camera man B held up his hand signaling they’d be live in five seconds and silently counted down and pointed to Dave. “It’s time to check in with Charisse Carrington for our morning rush hour commute traffic update. Charisse, what’s happening out there?” “Good morning, Dave. Blevins is still tied up back to the 4th Street Bridge. If you’re driving in on the 803 there’s a multiple car pile-up near the Sawtooth Rim. Appears someone hit a guard rail and caused a chain reaction. Emergency vehicles are on their way.” Charisse pointed the camera down to the accident and gave a wide span of the action going on before turning the camera back on herself. “Other than that we’re having a pretty good start to this Monday, Dave. Remember, if you hear or see any traffic tie ups, let us know. We’ll be more than happy to do a fly over check. This is Charisse Carrington for KICU. Back to you, Dave.” Charisse turned off the camera and set her sight back to the instrument panel. Something just wasn’t right. She felt it. Although all but one of the gauges showed normal, her senses said otherwise. She still had a live feed to Dave’s ear piece. “Hey, Dave, Ms. Chopper’s running hot. I’m heading in to base. ETA is five minutes. Have the coffee…” “Charisse? Charisse? What’s going on?” When there was no response, Dave turned to studio camera B without missing a beat. “Folks, we have some technical difficulties here at the moment, so we’ll cut to commercial and be back with you soon.” *************** The police station was pretty quiet for a Monday, but it was early. Several officers sat in their cubicles doing paperwork, dispatch was quiet for now…maybe, just maybe this would be an uneventful day. Officer Mark Seymour set the thermal mug of coffee on the corner of his desk. He checked the clock. It was 6 am. He rubbed his eyes. It was going to be a long day. “Morning, Brewster. Anything I have to worry about right away?” Mark asked of the younger officer just to his left. “So far so good, boss. Gonna wrap up some paperwork and head home.” “Sounds good.” Mark no more than got those words out of his mouth when all of the pagers went hot. “All officers, all officers, we have a chopper down in the median of the 803 just south of the Clover interchange. Repeat. Chopper down in the median of the 803.” Mark reached for the remote and tuned the TV to KICU. The only chopper that would be up at this hour would be the traffic copter. Charisse! “Damn!” Brewster walked back into the room as Mark swore aloud. “Guess I’m not going home.” Brewster secured his shoulder holster, grabbed his jacket, and made a bee line to the door. All Mark could do was stay put, stay glued to the TV. A drug deal gone bad resulted in Mark taking a bullet to the left knee, shattering his knee cap. His career as a field officer was over. He was now chained to a desk and investigative reporting. Mark’s stomach churned as he watched the video of the downed chopper. It was burned beyond recognition. He tried to see any identification that would tell him who owned the helicopter. He turned up the volume and walked back to his desk. Mark…Mark Mark heard a faint voice call his name. He turned around expecting to see someone standing behind him, but no one was there. He sipped his coffee. Mark… “What the hell? Get a grip Seymour.” Mark shook his head and opened one of the folders on his desk. The voice kept calling his name. It was a female voice, breathy, sporadic, almost like the person couldn’t breathe. Mark…help me…please. “Aw, Jesus, not again,” Mark replied aloud. The last time this happened was when Mark and Carrington worked the last mission. Somehow that woman could get under his radar and communicate with him in ways no one else could. They had a special bond. Communicating clairvoyantly was a huge part of their working relationship. Charisse knew when things were going to happen before they did and more times than not telepathically warned Mark before they got to the scene. Mark learned to rely on Charisse’s sixth sense when out in the field. He’d missed her after she moved on to do the traffic reporting. She was a lot of fun to be around, not to mention she was knowledgeable about the cases they worked on. The voice Mark heard now was Charisse’s. He knew that without question, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to help her except tune into what she was trying to tell him. No one was in Mark’s immediate range of sound, so he spoke aloud to the voice in his head. “Charisse, what is it? Are you okay? Where are you? How can I help?” There was a long pause before Mark heard the faint voice speak again. It seemed weaker, less cognizant. Mark…help…me…please. “How can I help you if I don’t know where you are? Charisse, where are you?” Mark…tail section…can’t move…help me. Mark ran into the dispatch room. “Connie, patch me in to whoever’s out there at the scene of that chopper crash.” “Okay, boss.” Within minutes Brewster responded to Connie’s words. “Brewster, check under the tail section for a survivor of the crash. Do you read me? No, I don’t have time for questions, damn it. Just check.” Mark knew he’d have some explaining to do if there was a body under the wreckage, but he didn’t have time to think of that now. His first responsibility was to make sure Charisse was okay. He’d do it for any member of the force, of his team. In a way, she was still a member of the team. KICU-TV worked closely with the local officers. Even though Charisse worked for the station now, she was still working for the department as well on some things. The last thing Mark wanted was to lose a member of his team. Mark… “Hold on, honey, help is coming.” Connie whipped around and looked quizzically at Mark. “Okay, boss?” she inquired. “Yeah, but Charisse might not be.” Connie rolled her eyes. She knew there was something between them, but she figured when Charisse left whatever was between her and Mark left as well. Evidently she was wrong. “Don’t give me that so-we’re-back-to-that-again look, Connie. Charisse’s life is in danger here. Just work with me, okay?” Connie turned back to the computer screen in front of her and continued typing conversational reports regarding this incident for official records. Mark…help…me “Goddamnit!” Mark exclaimed aloud. Mark ran a hand through his sandy colored hair and looked up at the ceiling fan. He hadn’t thought of Charisse in two years, well, not in the way he was thinking of her now. In the beginning there was never anything romantic between Mark and Charisse. Sure, there’d been a lot of flirting, a lot of bantering, but nothing physical. It was obvious they cared for one another as teammates, as friends. Still, there was this underlying connection between them that ran so much deeper than even they realized. When they finally did explore their physical connection, spontaneous combustion didn’t cover how they felt. Seymour, you damn moron, focus. Focus on what you’re hearing. Help this woman. Mark…
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