Читать книгу Call Sign Karma - Jamie Rae - Страница 10

It didn’t seem fair for the angel and the devil on my shoulders to gang up against me last night. I didn’t know whether to hug them or smack them. I squeezed my eyes closed and my pulse thumped loudly in my head. A low moan escaped my lips as I pulled my pillow over my face and rolled over. The rich spicy scent of his cologne lingered causing my heartbeat to quicken. I slowly peeked from under the pillow. Disappointment tugged at my belly.

Locke, my stranger, was gone, but a glass of water awaited me on the nightstand with two Tylenol, a first aid kit, and a paper airplane. It was just one night, I reminded myself. I picked it up and unfolded the note, to read:

I can’t believe I don’t know your name. Or did you tell me and I suffered from amnesia due to my head injuries? Either way you owe me a date to make up for the way you treated me last night. I’ll pick you up after work around 6:30.

Locke.

Okay, maybe two nights.

I popped the Tylenol into my mouth and downed the entire glass of water. After rereading the note, I folded it into its plane form and sailed it into the air. Ironic.

As I swung my legs out from under the sheets, I discovered an expertly dressed bandage on my foot and I wondered how he didn’t wake me. Especially since every time he touched me my body erupted like a volcano. My face lit fire as a satisfied grin tugged at my cheeks. I should hate this day. I had dreaded its arrival for so long, but I intended to enjoy this moment while it lasted.

For the first time in over a year, I felt alive. I hadn’t allowed anyone that close to me, but Locke felt different. Just the thought of him made my stomach bottom out. Feelings equaled pain and I promised myself that I would never allow my heart to be broken again after Colin’s death. I couldn’t risk losing someone that I loved ever again. Locke was danger. Serious danger.

I tugged the blankets over my head and rolled over. The sandalwood scent sent my heart into a flurrying panic.

After a shower and breakfast, I stepped into my flight suit and laced up my boots. The pain in my head was replaced by an ache in my foot. I pulled my hair back in to a ponytail, then wrapped it into a bun.

I took my phone from the plastic container. A text from Pink 1 wishing me luck again and a calendar alert that read ‘doomsday’ lit up the screen. I regretted saving the damned phone’s life.

I tossed a bottle of water into the passenger side of my jeep and climbed in. The sun was shining and it looked like the Karma gods had taken pity on me and given me enough time to drive through Starbucks.

As I pressed the cup’s lid to my lips the image of Locke entered my mind. Just the thought of him reignited the feelings from last night.

Warmth spread deeper in my belly as I replayed our extracurricular activities. His strong hands on my bare skin, his soft lips pressed against mine….

The concrete walls of the base flanked by the Forty-fourth wing’s blue and gold insignia smacked me into reality. An uncomfortable tingle started at my cheeks and shot through my body as I neared the barriers that staggered the entrance. I handed my identification card to the security guard and blinked several times waiting for my dream to end.

“Have a good day, ma’am,” the young airman at the gate said with a salute.

I sharply returned his salute and realized that doomsday had arrived, but maybe it wasn’t as bad as I anticipated.

Taking a deep breath, I donned my game face. A stupid sunny smile would not win me any points among the most fierce and competitive group of guys in the Air Force. I rolled my shoulders back and stood up straight with a brief pep talk. For the next eight hours, I was a woman on a mission.

* * * *

I ignored the slight shake in my hand and punched in the code to the squadron door. I walked in with a few minutes to spare. Our brief would begin on the hour so I didn’t have time to mingle with guys, who most likely didn’t want to gab with me anyway.

It didn’t matter how many of them I could take down with a single shot, I didn’t have a dick, which seemed to be required for membership. I wasn’t here to make friends or be in their club. I was focused on a single objective: clear my brother’s name.

A guy named Freak leaned against a wall. He was a senior at the academy during my freshman year and flew the A-10 Warthog after pilot training. He might have been decent to me at school, but this wasn’t the academy anymore. This was a completely new monster.

Another guy nodded as I walked by. I didn’t know him, but he obviously knew of me.

“Aw, look guys,” he said as he leaned back in his chair. “Tink just floated in with her magic pixie dust. Maybe she’ll sprinkle some around and we’ll all start to fly.”

He waved his hands in the air. If he was trying to pull off the look of a fairy he failed. He looked more like a deranged duck. I decided that he’d be the first one I’d crush in the air.

Freak playfully punched him in the chest. The chair clamped back against the floor.

“Knock it off, Mojo. She earned her spot just like the rest of us,” Freak said and crossed his arms.

I caught sight of the Weapon’s Officer patch on his arm, which spoke louder than his words. The patch wearers were in the top one percent of the Air Force. It signified that they were the best of the best. It was something we strived to become. And here I was, just a kid from pilot training. Big difference. Still, I took a mental note; Freak—cool; Mojo—ass.

I ignored the others’ stares and strode to my seat in the conference room. Thank God my phone worked. It was a lot easier to deal with the whispering and laughter with a phone to offer a distraction. I bit my lip as my blank stare reflected back at me.

I flipped through the news and heat spread across my cheeks as I read that Manchester United had won last night.

Loud footsteps pulled my attention from the news, but I didn’t bother to look up. I sat quietly and kept my head down. It was my plan—head down, mouth shut, and fly the damn jet. A hand tapped on the table in from of me. I glanced up to a familiar face.

“Hey, Stitch,” I said with a genuine smile.

His family was friends with ours and he was a few years older than me. He was Colin’s best friend.

“Surprise!” he said and winked at me. “I got a last minute spot in the class. Maybe my dad can start talking to yours again.”

“Yeah, well he wasn’t the only one pissed at my dad when I was selected. We all know he played a hand in the selection, if not, I’d be sitting pretty learning how to fly a Viper,” I said with a sigh.

“You deserve to be here, Tink. Don’t ever doubt it.”

I pressed my lips into a soft smile. “At least now our dads can go back to fighting over their golf games,” I said with a shrug trying to lighten the mood.

Stitch chuckled and patted me on the arm before sitting down.

I felt better knowing Stitch was here. At least there was one, maybe two people who weren’t going to hate me.

The room was called to attention for the Wing Commander’s arrival. The sleeves of his flight suit were pushed past his elbows and his lips were drawn into a thin no-bullshit line. His long career to service with sacrifice were etched in the creases around his eyes and stamped in approval with three navy blue stars lined up across his shoulder.

“At ease!” he shouted and my heart leapt when he smacked his hands together.

I scanned the room as I sat. There were twelve of us and I couldn’t help but wonder who would be the first to go. I wanted to stand back up and volunteer, but I didn’t.

I needed to clear Colin’s name.

My father would lose his shit if he received the call that the entire fleet of F-35’s was grounded due to a faulty environmental system. The thought made me smile.

“Am I amusing you, Lieutenant?”

Shit. This was not the way to keep a low profile.

“No, sir,” I answered and pressed my hands on the table in front of me.

“Good, because there is nothing funny about any of this training you are beginning. You were each hand picked for a reason, don’t make us regret it.”

“Yes, sir,” I answered, folding my hands into my lap. I watched as the moist outlines of fingers faded from the table.

The room was called to attention again and as he left, the next commander came in to brief security. I wiped a drop of sweat from my brow. It was turning out to be a long morning. Learning about the base and safety briefs were as boring as watching the grass grow.

Where were the jet systems and air space briefs? Something flying related. I hadn’t been paying much attention and I was thankful we only had one more set of academics before lunch.

I twirled my pencil around on the desk and tried to keep from dozing off. My stomach growled desperately in need of food. My lack of sleep and too many beers was catching up with me. The pencil spun off the table and hit the floor. I bent down to pick it up when I noticed my boot string tied to the table. What were we in, kindergarten? Stupid fighter guys. They were all the same. I pulled on the lace, but it was knotted.

The door opened and two sets of boots came into the room. One was the Director of Operations, Major Rex, or T-Rex. I recognized his voice without looking up. His scruffy tone was one that a person wouldn’t forget. I’d spoken to him on the phone during the selection process.

I tugged on the knot, but it was too tight. I wiggled the tip of the pencil into the tangled mess. I didn’t want to cut the stupid lace. Freaking boys.

“The Joint Strike Fighter will not only be flown by our guys, but some Allied Forces are joining the fight as well. Flight Lieutenant Sinclair has flown over five hundred hours in the Eurofighter and two hundred hours in the F-35. He has flown in combat with RAF Corningsby and has an extraordinary record with the Brits,” T-Rex said as I continued to work on freeing my damn boot. “We are fortunate to have him here and look forward to his expertise. Flight Lieutenant Sinclair. Call sign, Duke.”

I tugged on my string almost freeing the knot so I could sit back up and see. I gave it another jerk.

“Thank you Major Rex. It’s awesome to be here,” said a male voice laced with a British accent.

A too familiar British accent. It couldn’t be the toe-curling, heart-flipping, cause-me-to-lose-all-good-sense, British freaking accent.

My heart skipped a beat or twenty.

“No,” I mouthed silently to myself as my eyes widened. It couldn’t be....

I lifted my head up to see if my ears had deceived me, prepared to drop and army crawl the hell out of here.

I sucked back a breath and instinctively jerked up. My head cracked on the bottom of the table. Shooting stars clouded my visions.

“Holy shit,” I muttered and grabbed for my head.

Through the haze, I could see well enough to recognize my perfect stranger standing in Flight Lieutenant Sinclair’s boots. All six-foot-two of him. Hot, gorgeous, and neatly packaged in a well-fitted flight suit.

I needed to get out of here. Now. He was staring directly at me, ghastly white and shell-shocked. I knew the feeling.

I gulped and jumped to my feet, forgetting that my foot was still tied to the table.

“Shit!” I cursed and fell backwards.

My head cracked against the ground. I lay flat on my back with my eyes closed, head pounding, foot tied to a desk and very vivid images of my instructor, naked in my bed. The calendar was right. It was doomsday.