The Tortured Rebel Read Free Page A

brooding silence. How the tension was ratcheting upwards.
    It was ten years ago! It hadn’t been his fault, any more than it had been Max’s or Rick’s. They’d blamed themselves, of course. Especially him, because he’d been the one to have the hunch that Matt’s headache wasn’t just a hangover hanging on too long. He’d been the one to earn an ED consultant’s wrath, arguing that a CT was justified despite the lack of any real symptoms. They had been such junior doctors then—already branded as being brilliant but maverick. None of them had been able to juggle rosters to keep an eye on Matt when he’d decided he’d go to an on-call room and sleep it off.
    And it had been Jet who’d gone to try and rouse him, hours later. Nobody had argued about the CT beingneeded after that. The horror of finding him and learning that a brain aneurysm had ruptured as he slept would never go away completely. Or the pain of being shut out for the next few days as Matt’s parents tried to cope with his grief-stricken sister and make agonising decisions about organ donation and turning off the life support.
    They’d gone over and over it so many times. They’d made peace with it. He shouldn’t have to go through it all again. Shouldn’t have to be even thinking about it. It was Becca’s fault. For being here. For still hating him.
    How much longer was this ride going to last? Jet reached to touch the GPS screen and get an update on what distance had been covered.
    ‘Hands off,’ Becca growled. ‘I’m the only person who touches the controls in here.’
    ‘Whoa …’ Jet drawled, his hand now in a ‘stop’ signal of mock surrender.
    Another minute of an even more tense atmosphere. He sighed inwardly and then flipped his microphone into place as he slid a sideways glance at Becca.
    ‘What if you pass out or something? You expect me to hurtle to my doom even when I’m perfectly capable of handling a BK117?’
    Becca was staring straight ahead, as though she was driving a car and needed to keep her eyes on the road. A jerk of her head said that the notion was too farfetched to be worth commenting on.
    ‘You want information, you ask,’ she said. ‘My bird. My rules.’
    Man, she sounded tough. Jet would normally find that worthy of respect but this was
Becca
and the image she was presenting jarred with what he remembered of her. Especially the last time he’d seen her, a few weeksbefore her brother’s death, at a party hosted by the four of them in the old house they’d rented together. Becca had just arrived in the city to start her nursing degree.
    An eighteen-year-old, glowing with the excitement of launching herself into the adult world. She’d been all dressed up and ready to party with rings on her fingers and killer heels on her toes. Her hair had been a wild cascade of curls that bounced on her bare shoulders and she had even smelled.
amazing.
    The effect of witnessing this butterfly girl emerging into womanhood had been absolutely riveting. Matt hadn’t missed the way Jet’s jaw had dropped.
    ‘Don’t even go there in your
head,’
his mate had growled. ‘You’re the prime example of the kind of guy I intend to keep my kid sister well away from.’
    The warning had been tempered with a good-natured grin and a friendly punch on the shoulder but it had been serious enough to cause a flash of fear later that night. When Matt had almost walked in on what had happened in the kitchen …
    Oh … man. Did
that
memory have to surface again now, as well?
    Of course it did. It had never been buried all that well, had it?
    Jet had to break this train of thought. He sent a sideways glare at the cause of this mental turbulence. Becca was still staring resolutely straight ahead, seemingly confident of being in control. He couldn’t even see that much of her head with that helmet on and it was helpful to remember that she was nothing like the way she was in that memory of that party night.
    Now her hair was as