Читать книгу Pursued - Catherine Mann - Страница 9

Fifteen minutes later, Josie watched the dark blue military truck depart, Shannon Conner, her cameraman and personal agendas safely on their way off government property.

Time to turn her attention to whatever had brought her boss out to the flight line. Biker Boy had his back to her now as he faced her boss in deep conversation. What a contrast they made—Major Mike Bridges with his cropped brown hair and military precision next to the man with wild hair and dusty gear.

Bridges’s easygoing smile smoothed the edges of authority. He’d become a well-liked leader in the short time since he’d transferred to California and assumed command of the detachment at the military’s Palmdale testing facility. Josie didn’t need to see the other man’s face to know he was far removed from easygoing. The set to his shoulders, the tightly leashed energy in his loose-hipped stance all lent a dangerous air.

Not good.

Her ambush alert and jitters double-timed. As if the flight with Shannon hadn’t already shown her too well how easily unruly emotionalism could slither in to affect her actions. Unacceptable, especially now.

Over twenty years ago her mother had been a young captain in the air force, as well, a test engineer working to improve stealth on aircraft. Her dreams had tanked in a horrible crash that killed the pilot and resulted in an investigation resulting in the blame falling on Josie’s mother. Zoe Lockworth had resigned her commission and suffered a mental breakdown.

Josie was stronger than that, damn it. And thanks to an air force now more open to having female pilots, she would fly the riskier test missions for this project herself.

Shoulders squared with military precision, she approached her detachment commander beside the looming hangar. Bridges’s gaze zipped up from the conversation. Smoky eyes met hers with a steam quickly banked by professionalism.

Damn. She almost stumbled at the impact. She knew her boss was attracted to her—not that he’d ever made an overt move—and she wasn’t stupid enough to cross that line, either. No hoo-hah was worth risking her career, and apparently he concurred.

But if he wasn’t her superior? What if their paths crossed later, once she’d made major and moved on to another position? Maybe. There was much to respect about Bridges, his drive, his humor. She’d even been attracted to him the first time she’d seen him days before his command assignment had been announced.

All moot now because he was her superior and she did have a job to complete. Besides, she didn’t date guys she worked with. She’d seen firsthand with her parents’ dual military marriage how tough joint service relationships could be.

She would just continue to ignore his good looks—and the quickly disguised appreciation in his eyes. “Good afternoon, Major.”

“Captain Lockworth,” Major Bridges called, voice carrying on the tearing desert wind. “Come speak with us for a moment.”

“Yes, sir.” She closed the distance between herself and the pair.

The biker pivoted on his boot heel toward her and nailed her with brooding brown eyes that bordered on black. She didn’t stumble. She downright stopped for two seconds before regaining her balance and plowing forward.

All right, she was an adult woman with a normal sex drive, but she wouldn’t let it or anything else control her. She blinked away the haze and found the hard features in front of her niggled at her brain with familiarity.

Bridges nodded, no exchange of salutes required on the runway. “Good flight, Captain?”

“The reporter got her money’s worth.”

Chuckles rumbled from her boss. Brooding brown eyes from their guest even twinkled for a flash. Where had she seen him before?

She stared, trying to place…

He quirked a brow at her.

Josie willed away a blush too juvenile for a seasoned combat vet and thrust out her hand. “Captain Josie Lockworth.”

His hand enfolded hers in calluses and heat.

“Diego Morel. Pleasure to meet you.”

His husky drawl stirred the taste of Southern Comfort on her tongue. A strange notion for a woman who never risked the loss of control brought on by alcohol. And an unwelcome notion.

Realization clicked into a radar lock. Awe stilled her.

No wonder he seemed familiar. She’d seen him around from a distance since she’d begun working at Palmdale, even if their paths had never crossed for her projects. Diego Morel—or Cruiser, as he’d once been known—was considered a god in the testing community. A former military test pilot, he’d flown with dazzling grace, the plane such a part of him it seemed to respond to his mere thoughts.

He’d been expected to take his place in aviation history alongside Chuck Yeager, until a simple undetected sinus infection had caused his eardrums to rupture during a grueling mission that cost the life of his wingman. All was normal for him on the ground, but he suffered vertigo in the air.

The winged god was now earthbound for life.

Sympathy whispered through her like clouds dusting her windscreen. His eyes hardened.

Damn. She needed to hide her emotions better. She’d hated those pitying looks after her mother’s problems came to light.

Josie withdrew the hand she hadn’t even realized was still clasped in his. “It’s an honor to meet you in person. I flew your full-hydraulic-failure, engine-control-only approach profile in test-pilot school. That was pioneering work you did back in the day.”

Would he accept her olive branch?

His weathered features smoothed into a smile. “Yeah, ‘back in the day’ this old Mississippi dog could hunt.”

Bridges cleared his throat. “I imagine you’re wondering why we’re here.”

Josie gathered her composure. “It crossed my mind, sir.”

“I wanted to be the first to tell you.”

“Tell me what?” And why was Morel on hand to hear it?

Curious eyes bored into her back. From whom? So many people populated the runway—maintenance, security, other pilots doing a walk-around check of a plane.

Bridges frowned at the activity, then waved toward the hangar door. “Let’s step inside where we can speak privately.”

Crap. This didn’t sound good. “Sure.”

She punched in the cipher lock code and pushed through the side door, leaving the two men to follow. Silence blanketed the metal cavern, disturbed as their footsteps bounced an echo up into the rafters and down again. Her pair of modified Predators sprawled immobile, the dimmed security lights high overhead casting a night-lamp glow on the white-and-gray sleeping crafts. Not overly large, each craft measured 320.4 inches long and 580.8 inches wide from tip to tip, or approximately twenty-six by forty-eight feet.

The UAV—unmanned aerial vehicles—were medium altitude, long range. Flown by a pilot from remote control, they could be guided from countries away, data transmitted instantly through a satellite. Test models were also equipped with an outboard seat for a pilot to ride along wearing a parachute. An override set of controls had been installed, as well, so that the ride-along pilot could assume command and save the craft if the remote control went to hell during testing. Since the Predator didn’t have a traditional cockpit, the pilot perched on a saddlelike seat with a high back, straddling the fuselage. With no clear canopy covering, such as on small jets, he or she flew out there in the open, as flyers had done in the old days.

Prior to entering test-pilot school, Josie had flown the U-2 Dragon Lady spy plane. She’d donned her space suit and popped above ninety-five percent of the earth’s atmosphere, penetrating enemy air space to gather intel. And while she would do it again in a heartbeat if called in defense of her country, the Predator’s intelligence-gathering methods didn’t risk lives.

Except the pretty baby was damn noisy. Actually only a whisper of propeller engines, but still enough to announce its arrival if the heat of battle didn’t mask the sound.

That flaw made it the perfect craft for continuing her mother’s theories, since her mother had been part of the early work on improving stealth for bomber aircraft. Other testers had taken another scientific path after the fatal failure, and a different form of improved stealth was added to the inventory.

Zoe Lockworth’s input was no longer needed in the bomber world. But here with the Predator, Josie could use a piece of her mother’s idea involving acoustic stealth. If proven, it would be invaluable to the nation’s defense.

Josie stroked a hand along the Predator’s sleek white side. Clearing her mother’s name wouldn’t give Zoe Lockworth back her ruined military career. It wouldn’t give her two daughters back the lost years with their mom as she’d drifted deeper into depression over the loss of her life’s dream.

But it was the only present Josie could offer a mama who’d been too medicated to enjoy the gift of a clay handprint from art class. Her mother had recovered her mind. Now Josie intended to give her back her pride.

Morel cast a threatening shadow across her Predator.

Josie stepped between him and the plane before turning to her boss. “Sir? What is it you want to tell me and why here?”

Bridges drew up alongside. “I thought if we’re going to have a scene, it’s better that we should have it in here, away from everyone else.”

She prepped herself for the worst. “There won’t be a scene, Major, but could we cut to the chase, please?”

“Your test program went under congressional oversight this week.”

Her program had not been scratched. Relief almost staggered her back a step. Then the subtle crosswinds of his words whipped over her along with suspicions. Her program was still in danger.

Why? This project wasn’t near big enough to be under congressional oversight, a safeguard usually reserved for programs budgeted over one point three billion dollars. Her project ranked more in the twenty-five-million range.

That her little budget had landed on congressional radar didn’t bode well. “And Morel’s reason for being included in this meeting?”

“You may or may not know that Morel consults for contractors and the government. He’s been tapped to report back to a congressional committee on how the program is really going without any sugarcoating by the air force. Nothing will change in how you do business. You’ll just have someone walking behind you while you do it.”

“A contractor spy.” She softened her words with a smile. No scene, but even an idiot would know this sort of news would piss off any tester. These two men weren’t idiots.

“That’s not the label I would choose,” Bridges quibbled.

“A baby-sitter then?”

Her boss shrugged, his classically handsome face neutral. “Whichever label makes you less uncomfortable.”

Both sucked.

Although “spy” seemed more appropriate, since she’d never had a baby-sitter who looked like that.

Morel lounged against a support beam. “Listen, little lady—”

“Little lady?” She struggled to keep her voice steady and soft. “I’m the program manager for this test, not some Powerpuff Girl.”

He studied her with hooded eyes before a slow grin creased his face. “Lockworth, you might want to be careful about selling short those Powerpuff Girls. If I understand my Powerpuff lore correctly, Blossom’s a commander with a bright future and Buttercup is one helluva fighter, like you.”

What a hoo-hah. “Well, I’m still not a Buttercup.”

His smile turned as hard as his eyes. “And I’m not a spy. Furthermore, I’m sure as hell not the baby-sitter sort. I’m just here to help out where I can and tell it like it is. A test program that fails before it gets off the ground is still a success because it means a faulty program wasn’t launched for somebody to die in the air. Remember that.”

Damn. Already he was talking about nixing her program, not to mention the veiled reference to her mother.

Josie pressed her lips together to hold back a torrent of frustrated words. This man held her future in his hands. More important, he held her mother’s past. “Of course. My apologies for the spy comment. I was just caught off guard. I’m sure you understand the frustrations of this side of the testing fence. Scheduling is tight enough without extra paperwork. But we’ll just plug in an extra coffeepot.”

“Coffee? Lifeblood in a flying community.” Morel cranked his lazy smile up a notch. “We’re gonna get along just fine, Buttercup.”

Buttercup? She cringed.

He might be an ass, but at least he’d let her off the hook easily. She had to appreciate that they were back on even footing, playing the diplomacy game. She would bury him in paperwork, data and reports. God knows she was good at details.

Starting now. “Which would you rather do first? A walk around the aircraft? Or should we head straight over to my office for a prelim brief on our progress to date?”

“We can do that tomorrow. How about you bring me up to speed over a beer?”

A beer? She didn’t drink and she rarely socialized. She didn’t have time to waste shooting the breeze in a bar, especially during duty hours. Probably why she’d never met this man face-to-face, if that’s how he preferred to spend his after-work hours.

Bridges gave her a pointed look. Play the game.

Fair enough. She understood the rules of this boys’ club and knew how to play them her own way on her own terms. “We can talk just as well over drinks as we can in the office. I’d be honored to hear a legend’s take on the merits of computer simulations replacing actual flight tests.”

Legend, my butt.

Grinding her teeth in frustration, Josie forced herself to lounge against the quarter panel of her Mustang outside the Wing and a Prayer Bar while she waited. And waited. And waited longer while Diego Morel took his sweet time parking his bike, stowing his helmet, making sure his Harley was parked just so under the security light.

Holy crap, she’d be ready for retirement by the time they made it inside.

He’d chosen the locale, deep in the California desert, a flyer hangout with an airplane tail sticking out of the roof. Music vibrated through the walls, rowdy voices swelling from the back porch and over. She would have preferred somewhere quieter where he could have his draft and she could order a grilled chicken salad while they talked. But he was calling the shots. And as long as they discussed business, she would be content.

Finally he finished playing nursemaid to his Harley and started across the gravel lot toward the door without a glance in her direction.

Hello? Did the guy not even remember she was here?

Josie shoved away from the car. “Well sure, I’d love to join you. Right this way.”

He shot a quick glance her way. “Did you say something, Buttercup?”

Buttercup. She forced herself not to roll her eyes. “Nope. Just tagging along with you. You’re calling the shots tonight.”

There, that sounded nice, didn’t it?

“Hmm. Somehow I doubt that.” He swept open the door with a near-mocking flourish.

Josie stepped into the doorway, pausing half in, half out to give herself time to adjust to the blasting cacophony of clanking glasses, blaring music and conversations shouted to rise over it all.

“Great place, huh?” He drank in the atmosphere like a favored microbrew.

“Great.” And entirely too packed.

He crowded her space until she had to continue inside. At least now they would get down to business. She scanned the room. The din of voices blended with the never-ending blare of old military movies. Airplane parts loaded most of the walls. He ambled inside, his eyes gravitating to the back door leading to the porch. The wall out there sported hundreds of signatures from test pilots, hers included. She’d scrawled her “Jane” Hancock during the one and only other time she’d been here—a mandatory appearance to celebrate her first test flight.

Through the press of bodies, she spotted a couple pushing back their chairs to leave. “Looks like there’s an empty table there in the corner—”

Josie glanced over her shoulder. No Morel. Great. She searched and found him settling on a bar stool in front of one of the airplane “sticks” for drunks to “fly.” Talk about frequent flyer miles. This guy must have racked up more than his fair share, given how everyone knew him.

Patience, she reminded herself. And no unruly emotions.

By the time his beer and her water arrived, someone recognized him, which led to another beer with a couple of C-17 pilots in California on a TDY—temporary duty—from South Carolina. Three drinks later, he asked, “Want another water?”

“No thanks. My eyeballs are floating.” Enough already. She could be polite while still drawing boundaries. “If you don’t want to talk about my project, that’s cool. But could you please let me know so I can return to work?”

“No need to head back just yet.”

“What does any of this have to do with my test?”

“We’re building a working relationship. I’m watching how you operate, getting into your head. Understanding the way you see things will help me interpret your data.”

“Sounds to me like an excuse to knock back beers with your pals. But however you want to play the game.”

The duo of C-17 pilots stood with apologies and calls of “Catch ya later, dude, gotta find some food.”

Morel sighed. “Listen up, Buttercup—”

Josie propped a boot on the lowest rung of his bar stool in an aggressive move forward he couldn’t mistake. “That’s Captain Buttercup, thank you very much.”

“To Captain Buttercup.” He toasted her with a pull off his bottle before slamming it back down on the scarred wood of the bar. “Those guys actually had some damned interesting insights on the Predator’s performance during a hostage rescue mission overseas. You might not be so pissed if you’d actually bothered to listen.”

Damn it, he had a point. Her innate sense of justice was a real pain in the butt sometimes. “Score one for you. But in the interest of fair play—” and she was always fair “—it would help if you included me in these conversations, Major.”

“For the record, I’m plain old mister these days. I’m not in the air force anymore.” His fist twitched around the flight stick mounted on the bar, thumb absently stroking.

Contrition nipped. Hard. He was an ass, no question, but God, he’d lost so much. She couldn’t imagine having her feet nailed to the ground. Like her mother, he’d had his dream taken away. Her mother had gone mad. Had this man perhaps simply gotten mad? Her boot dropped back to the floor. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I didn’t die. I’m still working tests, just from the other end. I’m lucky and I know it.” He motioned to the bartender for another round.

“Okay then.” She hitched up onto the bar stool next to him. “I’m sorry for the air force’s loss of your flying talent.”

His eyes narrowed as he lifted the new bottle toward his mouth. “Watch it Buttercup. That was damn near a compliment.”

“Your skill in the air is a matter of record. I’ve made it more than clear how much I respect your work.” Her attention shifted to a crowd back by the pool table. “And speaking of work, finally—” She waved to one of her workmates striding toward the pool table and gestured him over. “Hey Craig, come meet the newest member of our team.”

The pilot loped closer, red hair, freckles and boyish even nearing thirty. Josie smiled a greeting. “Diego Morel, this is Craig Wagner. He’s one of the pilots assigned to my team and a great asset to the program.”

“A pleasure to meet you.” Wagner pumped the handshake. “While Josie and I were in test-pilot school together, instructors used your quick look reports as models, sir.”

“Thanks. But drop the sir. Diego’s fine. All this sir stuff is starting to make me feel ancient.”

Ancient? Josie studied Morel for the first time beyond just a threat to her program and considered him as a person. A man. Maybe ten years her senior, but still a hundred percent in his prime—even half drunk on his ass.

Craig saluted Morel with a lift of his beer. “You earned the sir label early.”

“Ah, you’re more diplomatic than your boss, Wagner.”

Wagner’s boss? Josie frowned. She didn’t really think of herself as his boss, although technically she was. He was just a guy whose work she respected. One of the best fliers out there and she needed that. Sure they were the same age and had gone through test training together, but they were friends, too. She hated that Morel was making her question if Craig might be harboring resentments.

Josie dunked another lemon in her water. “Morel is on loan to us from the subcontractor. He’ll be offering feedback on our procedures.” She would fill Craig in on the rest later.

“Excellent. I look forward to working with you.”

“Same here.”

Wagner pivoted on his boot heels toward Josie, creating a pseudo privacy wall blocking her from Diego. “See you for dinner after I get back from the Red Flag exercise?”

Morel’s eyes bored into her back. Was he taking notes even now? She couldn’t afford to discount his influence just because he’d knocked back a few drinks. “The Friday after you return, at seven, right? I may be a little late but I’ll be there.”

“Cool, I’ll have the grill fired up and ready.” Wagner pivoted back to Morel. “Great meeting you, sir. I look forward to working together.”

Sir.

Morel winced. “Same here.”

As Wagner threaded through the crowd back to his table, Morel motioned for another beer. “Do you and he have a thing going?”

Damn. She didn’t need this. “God, no. He’s a friend from test-pilot school. Besides, he’s married with a kid and another on the way.”

She was adamant about no relationships with fellow service members, a big part of why she’d decided to ignore the initial spark of attraction she’d felt for Bridges.

“You’re having dinner together.”

“At his house. With his wife and their daughter,” she paused, then rushed to add, “once they get back from visiting her mother, in case you’re wondering why he’s here without her on a Friday night.”

His skeptical snort did little to alleviate her concerns.

“Marriage doesn’t always stop some folks from hooking up, Buttercup.”

This guy was beyond jaded, which didn’t bode well for her. “Well, it most definitely stops me.”

“Good.” He didn’t bother halting his assessing smile.

She glanced down at his ring finger. Bare. No cheater lines. “With all due respect, are you hitting on me?”

“With all due respect, if I was hitting on you, you wouldn’t need to ask.”

“Fair enough.” She reached to loop her hair behind one ear, her hand pausing mid-motion at the flirty gesture. Subconscious no doubt, but enough to stir the air like raw fuel dumped on engines to kick a plane into afterburners.

Her hand jerked into motion again, completing the hair smoothing with a defiant sweep. “And if you were hitting on me, sleeping with someone in my chain of command isn’t allowed.”

Damn. Damn. Damn. Now he had her thinking about sex. Was he messing with her mind? Setting her up by seeing if she would take the bait?

“Technically, Captain Buttercup, I’m not in your chain of command. It might not be wise for us to screw around while we’re working together. But there’s no rule that says we can’t.” He held up his bottle to forestall her interruption. “Just to be clear on the technicalities.”

Either way, setup or not, time to put this guy in his professional place. “Thanks for the clarification. Not that it’s a problem here anyway since you aren’t hitting on me.”

“Of course. Because like I said, you would know.” He pulled another slow drag off his beer before thunking it down on the bar. “And for the record, don’t get your G-suit in a knot about whether or not I can do my job. I’ve got more time at the urinal in tests than you have in the air force.”

“Lovely,” she muttered. “What a hoo-hah.”

“Pardon me?”

“Uh, wah-hoo. Like a cheer. Or a toast.” She lifted her water glass. “Here’s to the success of my test project and all the, uh, experience you’re bringing to table. Wah-hoo.”

Josie clinked her glass to his bottle. The guy’s losses might tug at the sympathy strings, and she understood full well she had to be patient and play nice. But if his incompetence threatened her program, she wouldn’t hesitate to bring him down.