Yet he knocked back another drink and listened to her colorful tale of airport police and smelly cop cars.

“Wait!” Glen held up his hand. “You two are the reason I had to circle Miami for almost an hour instead of landing?”

Dakota giggled when she drank, and the South blossomed in her voice. “Blame Blondie here. She’s the one who yelled bomb.”

Mary had a hard time containing her smile. “I didn’t yell.” She lowered her voice and tried again. “I didn’t yell, Glen. Just so happened a little ol’ lady overheard us at that very moment.”

“We were in the back of a squad car for over an hour. I thought they were going to strip-search us.”

“It wasn’t funny.” Mary was laughing. “It wasn’t.”

“It was kinda funny.” Dakota continued to laugh until everyone at the table joined her.

The band hit the stage, welcomed the room that had managed to fill in the hour it took them to set up. Their first song brought a few people to the small dance floor and drowned out most of the conversation.

Walt pushed his chair closer to Dakota’s, leaned in since conversation with everyone else wasn’t possible with the volume in the room.

“I hope drinks with friends is working for you.”

“Your friends seem like good people.” She looked behind her and they both noticed Mary laughing at something Glen said in her ear.

The band hit a higher note, and Monica and Trent moved from the table and joined the dance floor.

The song swiftly changed and Walt noticed Dakota tapping her foot. He nodded toward the floor, and she agreed with a smile.

Dakota liked to dance.

He loved the smile on her face. Loved the way she closed her eyes, felt the music, and embraced it.

For over two hours they drank, ate . . . danced. None of the dances were slow, which probably was for the best. The crowd didn’t seem the type to sway on the dance floor, though Walt would have loved an excuse to hold something other than Dakota’s hand.

Against his better judgment, he was about to order another round of drinks when the lights in the room flickered and the PA crapped out with a loud squeak.

The lights returned but it was obvious that some of the power wasn’t back up.

The lead singer onstage tapped the mike only to move away and raise his voice from the useless amplifier. “Looks like that tropical depression is a little closer than the weatherman said.”

Walt remembered the news saying a low pressure system was headed over the Gulf, but he didn’t think it was anywhere close to Miami.

When it became apparent the power wasn’t going to come back up, Monica suggested they return to their room.

The hotel didn’t appear to have any power problems, but it did seem the volume on the main floor had dulled to a low roar.

“Holy cow!” Mary hummed as she stepped into the suite. “This is your room?”

Monica tossed her purse on the coffee table and crossed to the kitchen. The main room was nearly a thousand square feet, complete with a kitchen, dining room for ten, living room, piano, and foyer. Three bedrooms splintered off from the space, giving full panoramic views of the city. The penthouse was built for a family. Glen took one of the two additional rooms in the top floor apartment. Walt’s room was down the hall and half the size. Still, a penthouse suite wasn’t something he would ever spring for and yet couldn’t say no to when talking with the Morrisons.

“I told my sister we didn’t need this,” Monica said with a sigh.

“It’s bigger than my condo,” Mary exclaimed.

Dakota adjusted quickly. “It’s very nice.”

Trent moved to the massive window and opened the blinds. Outside, rain started to spray against the glass. Trent shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels.

Walt moved to his friend’s side, looked at the ominous rain-filled clouds. “Looks bad.”

“I lived through my share of storms in Jamaica.”

“You think this is one of them?”

He shrugged. “The path of the storms don’t often veer off course by too many miles. They do pick up strength, however.”

“Honey?” Monica called from across the room.

Trent turned toward her.

“Want another drink?”

He waved her off. “I’m good.”

A denial of a drink this early in the evening made Walt pause. He’d taken care of many disasters after they’d happened, but hadn’t been a huge part of one while it was occurring. The second earthquake in Jamaica was as close as he came.

Walt was about to ask Trent if he thought the weather was going to get worse as a gust of wind and pelting rain slapped the window.

“Looks nasty out there.” Dakota walked up behind them.

“Weather like this seldom leaves behind anything good.”

“I suppose you’d know that better than most,” she told Walt. “How long have you volunteered with Borderless Doctors?”

“Little over five years.”

“You love it.” It wasn’t a question, simply an observation from someone he hardly knew.

“Restores my faith in humanity. There are people out there suffering and are willing to take any help they can get. People who’ve lost everything and want to help others simply because they have it better than the guy in the bed next to them. Those of us that go to do what we can, do it for the basic humanity of life.”

Dakota leaned against the large window and sighed. “And there are people like you willing to risk their own safety to help. That makes you a hero, Dr. Eddy.”