We’d landed back at the helipad and he was already out and waiting for me to come back to reality. At least my reality hadn’t involved airsickness.

I unhooked myself, stepped out and lifted the helmet off my head. Had to weigh a ton. Then I caught my reflection in the window. Geez. Ghost pale and helmet hair, and three hunks within inches.

That had to be the story of my life.

Sky stepped out and came closer. “So. How’d I do?”

I smiled, figuring he wasn’t talking to Jagger. “You did great, partner,” I said in a John Wayne cowboy accent. My attempt at Texas.

Jagger shook his head and walked toward the building.

I curled my lips at him, and then turned to Mario and Sky. “Really, it was fantastic. Do you work for TLC?”

Mario stepped closer. I felt like an Oreo. “We work for them, but since Hope Valley isn’t a budding metropolis, we cover nearby areas and transport to several of the big trauma centers in Hartford and New Haven if need be. Sometimes to New York City or Boston for private transportation. Cost a bundle in air miles.”

“Oh. I see.” I did see. TLC was making more money with this venture. Usually hospitals owned the helicopters, but in this case, it was privately owned. I couldn’t wait to meet the Sterling twins. Oh yeah, the TLC/Sterling twins.

Normally I’m not a mean-spirited person, but standing there glaring at the owners of TLC, I wanted to ask, “So which one of you is the female?”

The twins were identical. Well, identical was a misnomer, but they might have been clones and, when dressed (not that I saw the twins undressed), they were exactly alike right down to the short, cropped blonde hair, green eyes and smile that appeared painted on-kind of like a clown’s.

Since my thoughts were so uncharitable, I decided to stare at something else, but when I looked around Payne’s office, there was nothing I could look at with a serious face.

The place was like something out of the fifties, but in no way similar to my mom’s house. That at least had character. This office was a mismatch of old furniture-but brightly colored in oranges, reds and purples, as if the old psychedelic TV show Laugh-In had exploded all over Payne Sterling’s office.

But on one wall were all religious paintings (copies I assumed) that appeared to have been done by one Leonardo da Vinci.

Trying not to notice the place, I looked to my left where the door was open to the sister’s, Pansy’s, office.

Black and white. That was it. Apparently Payne had gotten the color gene. Well, at least décor was one thing they weren’t cloned in.

I heard, “Nice to meet you, Ms. Sokol,” and swung my head around. Pansy was holding her hand out to me. Short nails, more wrinkles than my Uncle Walt and bright white nail polish. I didn’t know they even made white nail polish. I mean, what was the point?

I shook her hand, thought of what a weak grip she had and said, “I’m thrilled to be working here,” hoping like hell that I sounded sincere. ’Cause looking at these two weirdos, I sure didn’t mean it.

“Since you are a registered nurse, Pauline, you’ll be assigned to our most experienced employee, who’s been here longer than us. We are a private company and may run things a little differently. Nurses are only needed on certain trips as it is expensive for the patients, but I’m sure you are aware that paramedics cannot give some medications or maybe do a treatment that is needed. When not flying, you’ll help with the ambulance runs.” The siblings looked at each other and smiled.

Ick.

Not that it was a sexual smile, but it sure was weird.

Like they cared about the patient’s wallet. The only thing these two cared about was money. I could just feel it in my intuitive brain, which had always served me well in my nursing. Often I could tell if a patient was going downhill and notified the docs ASAP. Now I was learning to trust that intuition.

“Welcome back, Jagger. You’ve been missed. The other paramedics are thrilled you’re here to help out,” Payne said.

Wait a minute! Jagger? Paramedic? Why was I not surprised? I knew he wouldn’t be pulling one of his chameleon charades at the expense of people’s lives and pretend to be an EMT or paramedic. Nope. Jagger really was a trained paramedic. Maybe from his past military days. I’d ask him later.

He wouldn’t tell me later or ever.

Pansy looked at Jagger (I think she winked at him!) and said, “Everyone around here calls the guy you’ll be with ER Dano.” She laughed. “It’s been so long, I’m not even sure what his real name is.”

Brother and sister broke out into hysterical laughter.

Jagger shook his head.

And without thinking, I said, “Dan?” then swallowed back anything else that might pop out of my mouth while I contemplated the two of these jokers committing fraud.

No way.

They obviously were too stupid.

Pansy’s eyes darkened. She stepped closer to me and in a deep, husky voice said, “No kidding.”

Gulp. Okay, I took it back. My intuition said: She could be lethal.

As if holding court, darling ER Dano sat in the only comfortable chair in the room, where he managed to garner everyone’s attention-except maybe Jagger’s.

I sat across the coffee table from ER, staring. We’d settled in the lounge area where the staff of EMT and paramedics waited for calls while-I’d learned earlier-some sat in satellite stations around the town and some in designated parking lots to be ready for 911 calls nearby.

The room had a somewhat homey atmosphere, if you liked royal blue and red, but also a dreary atmosphere that said the twins were not interior decorators, to be sure. Magazines were strewn across the glass top of the coffee table, the TV was attached to the wall (as if someone might want to take the old thing home) and there were decks of cards on the tables by the window along with a Mr. Coffee machine on the counter nearby.

And ER Dano sat there as nonchalant as could be while eager EMT newbies and experienced ones hung on his every word-which seemed to annoy him.

One of the newest (obviously because of his crisp new uniform) EMTs, whom ER called Buzz Lightyear-probably because the kid looked as if he’d just stepped out of a brand-new toy box-turned toward ER. “When do you think we’ll get our next call?”

Oh, boy. Suddenly I wanted to put my arms around the kid, whose name badge read Jeremy Buttman (poor thing).

Without looking around, or at Jeremy for that matter, ER said, “Eleven fifty-eight in the morning.”

“Really?” I think Jeremy bounced in his seat when he spoke.

“You think I’m a freaking clairvoyant?” ER asked.

Jeremy shook his head, and I wondered if he even knew what that meant.

“No, sir, it’s just…I’m anxious, is all.”

Yikes.

ER’s grip tightened on his mug. He didn’t look at Jeremy, but more at all of us-at the same time-and said, “It’s not about the lights and sirens…it’s not about drivin’ fast…and it has nothin’ to do with what you want or think you might know about medicine…”

Then, when he had all of our attention he leaned back, slowly took a sip of coffee and paused dramatically.

The room hushed.

My heart beat faster, and I wondered if everyone could hear it. Poor “Buzz” looked as if he’d pass out.

ER then took a long Barney Fife kind of sniff and said, “It’s about freaking savin’ lives.”

ER Dano sipped again at his steaming black coffee from a mug with an insignia of a red devil on it, and didn’t look as if the liquid burned his mouth in the least.

Somehow that didn’t surprise me. Intrigued? Yep. Surprised? Nope.

No one made a sound. I couldn’t help but stare at him.

The guy was tall. About an inch over Jagger. I could still tell by the way he lounged in the chair. Hair a bit shorter than Jagger’s and a deep brown. More slender than Jagger, but not too thin, and ER Dano definitely worked out. A lot.