He had unwittingly memorized the emergency address she left. He should just go down there and see how she was. Irrational. Stalker, much? Definitely losing it. He relaxed all his muscles and attempted to clear his mind so sleep would come. Just as he hit that place between sleeping and waking, an intense and insistent buzzer jerked him awake. Immediately alert, he grabbed his belt and helmet as he quickly but calmly entered the hallway.

“Base” was where the flight medics and pilot waited for cases to come their way. Daniel’s room was one of three in the house, with a bed, small desk and a chest of drawers. They had a fully stocked kitchen and three bathrooms. Shifts were twenty-four hours, so base was Daniel’s home a couple of days a week. His own apartment in Baltimore was simply a place for him to sleep between shifts on the helicopter and shifts in the ER.

“Gunshot wounds at a bar. EMTs are already there, but the patient needs to get to Hopkins.” Crista rolled her eyes as she donned her helmet. “When will they learn that alcohol and guns don’t mix?”

Daniel followed Crista outside to the helipad. The downwash had churned up fallen leaves, and Daniel squinted to avoid flying debris as he bent over at the waist and followed his partner onto the helicopter. Crista shivered in the unexpected fall chill despite the fact that they each had on an extra layer. When they’d gone up in the afternoon, it had been decidedly warm and muggy. More August than early September.

The pilot was already gearing up. Daniel sat with his back to the pilot and fastened his five-point harness. Crista took the seat that would be next to their patient. He plugged in his helmet so he could communicate with the pilot and donned his night-vision goggles just as the roar of the blades and engine reached a peak and the chopper lifted off.

Daniel cleared his mind, the intense vibrations of the chopper just part of his background. This wasn’t that different from being a nurse practitioner in the ER, in that you never knew what you were facing until you were facing it. Both jobs were intense in different ways, keeping his mind from wandering to painful things.

A few minutes into the flight, the pilot spoke to Daniel through his helmet. “Daniel?”

“Yes, sir?”

“I need an open field to land near 131 North Charles.”

Daniel knew these parts like the back of his hand. And he knew that address. His heart leaped. “Repeat that address?”

“It’s 131 North Charles.”

How the hell was Annika Mehta’s emergency address a bar? That made no sense. Why would she give a bar address as her emergency contact?

“Daniel!” The pilot was waiting on him. “Any ideas?”