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“No!” She stuck her bottom lip out like a toddler and shook her head, refusing to move.
Jordan shifted the basket of towels higher on her hip and put her arm around her mom’s shoulders. “It’s okay. You like riding the bus.”
“I want to go home,” Tammy wailed. She twisted out of Jordan’s grasp and headed at a brisk walk down the sidewalk.
“Mom!” Jordan dropped the clean clothes and went after her. Her mother shouted and cried for someone to help her as Jordan tried to reason with her.
Several people were staring, but that was the least of her worries. The last time Tammy had been this bad, it had taken a trip to the doctor’s office and a sedative to calm her down. Just getting her to the doctor had been a nightmare involving a 911 call.
The knowledge that her mother would require a special facility soon broke Jordan’s heart.
One day at a time. The saying had become her mantra. Sometimes it was the only thing that held the panic at bay and allowed her to keep going.
“Look, Mama.” Jordan pointed at the convenience store beside them. “They have slurpies. Can I have one?” Asking for her mom’s permission was an inspired tactic. Soon, Tammy had bought her little girl her favorite childhood treat and was happily back at the bus stop with their clean clothes, which by some miracle were still sitting where Jordan had dropped them. Crisis averted.
For today.
A LOUD BANGING jerked Cole off the bed into a crouch, his right hand scrambling for his weapon. It took a moment for desert terrain to fade and the lush hotel room to come into focus. His breath came in short, heavy spurts. He wasn’t in hostile territory, covered in sand and blood, making his painful way back to base.
Snapping his wrist up, he checked the time, wiped his temple on his shoulder, and stood. Eighteen hundred hours. Six o’clock. In the evening.
The hotel door banged again. McCabe yelled, “Jackson, you in there?”
Cole scrubbed his face and ran a hand through his hair, then moved to let his buddy in. “Geez, McCabe, what the hell’s with all the pounding?” Not waiting for an answer, he turned and headed for the john, leaving McCabe to make himself at home.
When he returned, McCabe was slouched in a corner wing chair, boots propped on the writing desk.
“You could have just called my cell,” Cole said, rummaging through his duffel.
“I did.”
Damn. Cole hadn’t heard his cell ring. He still hadn’t adjusted to not being a hundred percent. Like he wasn’t a whole man.
Maybe it was true.
“You look like crap, buddy. You been asleep all day?” McCabe asked.
“I’m on vacation.” After seeing Jordan safely on the bus, he’d come back to his room, but he hadn’t slept much. He’d had the nightmare again and then he’d lain awake thinking about his last mission, going over in his head what he could have done differently. If he hadn’t been such a damn hotshot.
Avoiding his thoughts, he’d headed for the Centrifuge downstairs—God love Vegas’s twenty-four-hour casinos—and nursed a couple of tequilas until soaps came on the television behind the bar. But he wasn’t about to admit any of this to McCabe.
McCabe leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head. “I got us tickets to the Bullring at the Motor Speedway tonight,” McCabe said. “Thought we’d head over to the all-you-can-eat lobster at the Mandalay first. Grady and Hughes are waiting downstairs.”
The thought of seafood made his stomach heave. “You guys go on.” He shot his buddy a cocky grin. “I’ve got a bet to win.” No way he could hold his head up around McCabe if he lost this wager. They’d been competitors since their first day of flight training.
McCabe shot off the chair. “Are you kidding me? These are front-row seats to Legends Cars. They got Thunder Roadsters, man. That Keno girl won’t end her shift until 2:00 a.m. You got plenty of time.”
He didn’t know which irritated him more. That McCabe called her ‘that Keno girl,’ or that he knew when her shift ended. “Her name’s Jordan.”
“Who?”
“The blonde from last night. Jordan Brenner.” He smiled remembering the way she’d introduced herself. “Mother of five.”
“What? She’s got kids?”
He looked at McCabe. “No, she—Never mind.”
“You okay, buddy?”
“I’m good. Thanks for the ticket, but I’m flying solo tonight.”
Cole headed to the bathroom, lathered up some shaving cream, and smeared it over his jaw.
“So, you’re going to sit around in the casino for eight hours and watch her work?”
“Watching a woman like that beats watching souped-up roadsters race around a track hands-down.”
“Fine. But it won’t make any difference with her.”
Cole shot McCabe a parting hand gesture and then finished shaving, his thoughts centered on Jordan. His pulse revved up as he yanked the tags off a new shirt. Just thinking about her dusted all the morbid cobwebs from his mind.
With the thrill of the challenge coursing through his veins, and the thought of getting that gorgeous body beneath his, he went down to the casino.
“THIS IS all your fault, McCabe.” Hughes scowled at him, and then took a huge bite out of her hot dog.
Captain Mitch McCabe scooted along the hard metal bleacher and picked up a nacho. The Speedway was crowded tonight, the roadsters were amazing, and the hot dogs and beers were only a dollar. What was not to love? “What’d I do now?” He had to raise his voice over the roar of the stock cars revving up at the starting line.
“Making that bet with Jackson. Is nothing sacred? The man’s been in the hospital for two months, for Pete’s sake.”
“Why is it always for Pete’s sake? What’s Pete got that I don’t?”
Hughes glared at him and punched his arm.
“Ow!” He rubbed his arm. Good ol’ Hughes never had qualms about telling a person exactly how she felt. That’s what he liked about her. He gestured to Grady on his other side, sipping a bottle of water. “He was in on it, too. Why is it my fault?” Mitch blamed himself for a lot of things, but not the bet last night.
“You’re the one who challenged him to go after that poor girl. How do you think she would feel if she knew he was just trying to win a bet?”
“First of all—” Mitch swallowed a chip dripping with gooey cheese “—poor girl? The woman can take care of herself. She sure as hell shut me down.”
“And that’s why you really did this, isn’t it?” Hughes just wouldn’t let it go. “You’re infuriated that some woman actually turned you down.”
“Second—” he planned on ignoring that remark “—Jackson needed a challenge. Trust me, this is just the thing to take his mind off his situation.”
Grady grunted. “Permanently grounded.” He shook his head. “But the Air Force has reassigned pilots before.”
“If they don’t discharge him,” Hughes said.
“Did Jackson mention a reassignment request?” Mitch kind of hoped Jackson might get assigned here at Nellis.
Grady shook his head. “Not to me. And it could take weeks for his commanding officer to get the paperwork in order one way or the other. He’s just gonna have to wait it out. You know how it is. Hurry up and wait.”
When Mitch had first heard Jackson had been shot down and was MIA, guilt and worry had kept his insides churning. Then they’d heard Jackson had wandered into the Iraqi base camp after two days in the desert, looking more dead than alive. And he hadn’t looked much better when Mitch had visited him in Maryland at the hospital at Andrews AFB.
The memory burned like acid in his stomach. He should have been there, with his buddy, in Iraq, watching his back. And he would have been if he hadn’t made an ass of himself over Luanne.
Mitch’s hand hurt and he looked down. He opened his clenched fist and stretched the fingers until he could feel them again. The track came into focus and he realized he’d missed the first two laps of the race thinking about those dark days of his divorce.
He glanced over at Hughes and something eased inside him. She was leaning forward, elbows on knees, watching the race the same way she did everything: with intense interest. Her ball cap was turned backward, as usual. Her cheeks were bulging with the last of her hot dog, and she had a glob of mustard on the corner of her mouth.
He grinned, glad she was back after two years stationed at Langley. She was the kind of pal who stuck by you through hell and back and always told it like it was. He never had to guess what she was thinking and she never ever lied to him.
Either she was involved in watching the race, or she didn’t want to yell over the noise, but he knew she hadn’t dropped the subject.
And sure enough, as the tow trucks cleared the track of a messy crash, she turned to him. “It was a stupid thing to do, McCabe. Jackson may like the challenge, but what if that girl turns him down? Have you thought about how it might affect him? He’ll be worse off than before. And minus his treasured bottle of Scotch.”
Mitch shrugged. “We’ve always competed, always dared each other. And you know he wouldn’t want to be treated any different just because he’s been injured.”
Hughes stared at him with pursed lips, and then looked down at the beer she held between her legs. “I guess you’re right.”
It struck him suddenly that Hughes had changed since being at Langley. Something was different. He wondered if something had happened. Well, if she wanted to talk about it, she’d bring it up. “Hey, how about we hit Duffy’s after this? See if we can get lucky tonight.” He grinned at her.
The look she gave him was…weird. Like she pitied him or something. Yeah—even though they’d kept in touch, sending text messages and e-mails—Hughes was different. Used to be she’d flip him off after falling for his latest practical joke. Then she’d shoot him an evil grin and plot her revenge.
But lately, she just seemed testy.
First, Jackson’s risk of being discharged. Now, whatever was bugging Hughes…These guys were the only buddies he had. Mitch felt his world was changing. And damn, he hated change.
COLE HAD CONVINCED himself Jordan couldn’t be as beautiful as he’d remembered.
But she was.
Seeing her tonight hit him hard all over again. He watched her for a half hour, studying her smile and gestures, the swing of her butt and the sensuous shift of her breasts when she moved. She looked at him a couple of times, meeting him stare for stare. He considered smiling and waving, but the mood didn’t seem to warrant it. Her mouth would tighten and she’d break eye contact.
His mission tonight was to make discreet inquiries of her coworkers. He hit pay dirt with a redheaded Keno girl who seemed to relish playing matchmaker.
He learned Jordan had worked at The Grand almost six years and that she attended the University of Nevada at Las Vegas weekday mornings. The redhead said she’d been seeing a banker several months ago, but no one since. Cole already knew she had a soft spot for homeless bums. And one other thing he’d picked up last night: when he’d told her he’d wait with her until her bus came, the look on her face had left him…aroused.
Unfortunately, tonight that shocked and vulnerable look was nowhere to be seen. As soon as Jordan spotted him waiting for her in the parking lot behind the bus stop, she called out to him.
“I don’t need a bodyguard, Major. Really, it’s fine.”
Cole raised a brow, shoved the kickstand down and got off his Harley. “Maybe.” He closed the distance between them. “Maybe not.”
Damned if she didn’t look sexier in her civilian clothes. Her teased hair and showgirl makeup seemed out of place with the faded jeans, denim jacket and worn sneakers.
She crinkled her brow, and then checked the street. “I wait here every night. I’m perfectly safe.”
“Would anyone stop to help if you got mugged?” He grunted. “Maybe, maybe not.”
A withering sigh escaped her as she turned back to stare at him. “So, is this what you do? Ride around all night patrolling the strip looking for damsels in distress?”
“Used to patrol the Baghdad strip, does that count?” A smile tugged one side of his mouth. “Look. Maybe we could just talk until your bus gets here.”
“At two in the morning, you want to have a stimulating conversation about…?”
“About you.”
“Why?”
“You interest me. Is that so hard to believe?” Unbelievably, it was true. She was fascinating. He wanted to know everything about her.
“Yes.” She glanced along the street again, as if willing the bus to hurry. Damn, that was rough on a guy’s ego.
“You think you know me, or my type.” It wasn’t a question, but he wanted to see what she’d say. He stepped closer, and she instinctively took a step back. He cocked his head. “Are you afraid of me?”
“No. I just don’t trust you.”
He didn’t blame her. “Fair enough. In your line of work, you’ve probably dealt with your share of jerks. You think I’m only after sex?” Wasn’t he?
“Aren’t you?”
“I could get that anywhere in this town.”
“Then go for it.”
The challenge flamed in his chest. “I don’t want anyone else.”
“So, you admit you want to get laid.”
He blinked. She was no shrinking violet, was she? But there was no reason not to be honest with each other. “What red-blooded man doesn’t?” he said with a shrug. “I never claimed to be celibate.” He folded his arms. “Look, I won’t deny the minute I saw you, I was attracted to you. And it’d be great if we got together. But you’re…interesting. I haven’t asked you up to my hotel room, or tried to put my hands all over you. I just thought I’d get to know you.”
She frowned, and something about the look in her eyes made him think she might be wavering.
“Here’s the deal,” he said. “You ask me something about me, and then I get to ask you a question.”
“You assume I want to know you.”
“Fine. We’ll stand here avoiding each other in awkward silence until your bus comes.”
She surprised him by letting out a frustrated half growl, half groan. “All right, Major. You’ve seen combat?”
“Call me Cole. And yeah. Served one tour in Afghanistan and two in Iraq.”
“And you’re going back when your leave is over?”
Back into combat? Not likely. The thought of a desk job, or—even worse—a medical discharge, made his throat close up. And knowing he’d never fly again was a physical pain in his chest. But he couldn’t talk about it.
“My turn.” He studied her intensely for a second. What did he most want to know? “What’s your favorite time of day?”
