Her husband and Don West stirred, pushing themselves up to watch it pass.

John reached down, offering his hand to Don West, who was struggling to get to his feet.

So why did she still want to run her hands over Don West's shoulders, feel those strong, well-muscled arms slide around her back.

Across the bridge Don West echoed, "What the hell?"

Why couldn't he be big enough to use a gun and go with his father like Don West, facing the same dangers, protecting him.

She saw Don West, kneeling in the hellshine of the emergency lights far down the tunnel, firing back the way they had come.

She barely knew Don West, and she was no psychologist.

Someone else came onto the bridge; she turned in her seat to see Don West pause just inside the doorway.

John and Don West passed through another portal, following the tracker's lead toward the still-elusive fuel source.

John stood at the open hatchway with Don West, looking toward the engine room and the uncanny light radiating from it.