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Josie’s hands fisted tighter. She should just get over it. Besides, she had the Athena diploma. She could afford to be magnanimous. Adult.
Easing back the stick, Josie skimmed a more scenic route along California’s desert valleys cut by the ridges of the Sierra Nevadas with the Kern River running through. She cranked an east turn away from the river valley, out of the Sierras back over flat land of dry lake beds and creosote bushes, closer to her Palmdale testing facility near Edwards AFB and closer to dropping off Shannon.
Josie continued a tour-guide litany while her passenger stayed silent for once. Thank God.
A road splitting the desert stretched straight and long ahead of her, marred only by the dust kicked up from a motorcycle bearing down toward the test facility. She lined up along the lone band of road, pacing, gaining ground on the rider. And why not? Everything in an aviator’s life was a chance for competition.
Fringe rippled from the arms of the biker’s leather jacket giving off a Mad Max air that fit well with the scattered miners, desert rats in rusted trailers. Wild and untamed, like the old Josie who was no longer allowed free rein. The taboo element entranced her all the more for being forbidden. Even while she rambled her scenic explanations to Shannon, Josie couldn’t look away from a sight and yearning that held her attention beyond any hoo-hah.
Her headset crackled with a cleared throat. Shannon’s interruption yanked Josie’s attention back to the cockpit.
“Too bad you couldn’t get Tory to cover your dog-and-pony show. No doubt she would have televised anything you wanted. That loyalty among classmates is something else. You two even covered for a pregnant friend once—what happened to Kayla and her kid anyway? Did she ever find a man to marry her?”
Okay, that ripped it. The old Josie still humming just below the surface kicked her adrenaline level up into a freaking aria. “For a smart woman, you sure do say some mighty unwise things at times.”
She could put up with someone smacking at her. But her innate sense of justice, which had once earned her the label “Josephine, the Tattletale Queen,” really balked at letting an injustice go unavenged.
Nobody messed with her friends.
“You know, Shannon, I don’t think I’m lined up just right. We need to go around.” She clicked on the radio. “Palmdale Tower, Bat two-zero on the go.”
Josie popped the jet into afterburners, dumping raw gas into the exhaust stream like a pilot light on a stove igniting, pumping up the speed. Thwump. The plane jolted from the swift kick in the ass. Exhilaration trilled within her like the final high note exploding free to reverberate through an auditorium.
Her eyes flicked to the mirror. Shannon’s face had turned cucumber.
“Ah, hell, Shannon—” she couldn’t quite suppress the sarcasm “—I probably should have told you I was going to do that.”
Shannon grappled at the face mask. Her throat worked, then cranked down in a swallow. Impressive move, holding back the volcano of vomit that would have spewed up through the mask.
Enough payback for one day. Point made. The last echoes of justice faded, leaving an emptiness inside her that grew increasingly difficult to ignore.
Josie leveled off at five hundred feet above the runway. “Palmdale Tower, Bat two-zero requesting left closed.”
“Left closed approved. Repeat base.”
“Bat two-zero, left base with gear.”
The control tower responded, “Bat two-zero, clear to land. No traffic.”
Coming in. Landing. One hundred and fifty miles per hour at impact, the tires screeched in protest of the brakes. She kept the nose up to bleed off speed, as well until…poof, the plane’s nose tilted down and kissed asphalt. The plane taxied down the runway at a sedate pace.
Hand easing back on the throttle, she slowed, pulling off onto the hammerhead toward Shannon’s waiting television cameraman. “Palmdale, Bat two-zero clear the active. Going to ground control.” She switched frequencies. “Palmdale ground, Bat two-zero. Clear the active. Request parking.”
“Bat two-zero, taxi via Alpha,” ground control responded. “Back to spot sixteen. Caution construction. Right-hand side of Alpha at Bravo.”
A blue pickup truck slid in front of her with a “follow me” sign in back to lead her onto the tarmac. The sun’s rays baked through the clear canopy, desert temps still notching in November. Her flight suit stuck to her back against the leather seat as she followed the truck past the guy waving wand flashlights toward the parking spot—
And toward a uniformed man, the major, her boss, standing and waiting.
Not good. The murky cloud over her day went opaque.
Major Mike Bridges had no doubt made the trip out to the flight line to coincide with her landing for a reason. Since he stood by the hangar housing her two modified test models of the Predator unmanned spy drone, he must be here for her. A problem? If so, she needed scoop-hungry Shannon Conner out of the way before any discussion.
Josie whipped off her helmet and deplaned. Wind tore across the treeless expanse, lifting her short hair, drying the sweat on her body with gritty gusts. Her combat boots smacked steamy asphalt three steps behind Shannon, who was staggering toward the nearest trash can. Shannon gripped the metal edges and leaned, her borrowed flight suit stretching across her heaving back. Wonder if the cameraman will document that part?
Her boss frowned. Josie cringed, then braced. He’d only assumed command a month ago, so she still wasn’t sure where she stood in regard to his approval and respect. Still, she’d followed orders today—show the reporter around and pull out all the stops. Okay, so she’d worked in a little revenge for her friend along with it.
And at a totally sucky time.
She needed to lay low after the fallout from her helicopter diversionary stunt she’d pulled to help one of her Athena grad friends with a mission a few months ago. Another wrong she’d leaped in to avenge and damn the consequences. She’d never quite understood why being right wasn’t always the right thing.
Regardless, her flight and fun were over.
A rumble from behind the hangar interrupted her thoughts seconds before a Harley rolled into view. The same low-rider cruiser she’d seen from her plane roared up with the guy wearing black leather.
The motorcycle jerked to a stop by the fence gate. The fringe on the man’s arms rippled. The growling engine shushed.
One boot slammed the cement. A muscled thigh in faded blue jeans and black chaps swung over. The second boot pounded pavement. He tugged off the helmet, shaking free coal-dark hair longer than any military regs allowed. The thick mane hit his shoulders.
Definitely not military.
He smacked along his leather-clad thighs, dusting, the action and chaps drawing attention to a hoo-hah package that—
Nope. Not gonna go there even in her mind. Too much talk of hoo-hahs must have her hormones on overload.
Her P.C. call sign might have started out as a Josie and the Pussy Cats reference, but she’d quickly redirected it to Politically Correct. She had rights and wrongs down pat. Checking out a man’s hoo-hah was as disrespectful as an ass-check from him.
Even if this guy didn’t have a problem with women who flew jets and shot the big guns like other men she’d seen outside the workplace, she didn’t have time for a relationship. Hell, she barely had time to do her laundry.
Once she cleared her mother’s name, her life would be different. Then she could shake off the ghosts of her past and not worry so much about the repercussions of letting the occasional emotion slip free.
She turned her attention back to the upchucking reporter, reaching into her thigh pocket for a pack of tissues and a peppermint. Silently she passed Shannon the candy and tissues.
Blond hair straggling forward, Shannon snatched the offerings and started restoring order for a camera appearance. “My feature about you is going to suck, you know.”
“We both know it was going to anyway.” Josie popped a peppermint into her mouth, as well, and clicked it to the side against her teeth.
Life might not always be right or fair, but people were predictable for the most part. There was something comforting about that, even when it brought negative garbage her way. At least she could see it coming and strategize.
After her mother’s breakdown and discharge from the air force, Josie had submerged all impulsiveness, clinging to clear-cut reason and stability. Except for a brief lapse today with shaking up Shannon, she’d stuck to her plan. Emotionalism, injustice, any upset in the cosmos launched jitters in Josie’s tummy that left her HOTAS.
Her wayward eyes skipped right over to the biker making his way toward her commander. What the hell were the two of them plotting? Her instincts screamed ambush ahead.
Chapter 2
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.”
