When she saw the smoldering look in Gus’s eyes, Cam’s mouth grew dry.

The expression in his eyes was clearly readable. He wanted her. In all ways. Swallowing hard, Cam whispered unsteadily, “I—I wish I had the courage to take what you’re offering, Gus, but I don’t….”

Then she turned and walked away, more scared than she’d ever been. Even staring down a Black Shark combat helicopter paled in comparison to facing the desire in Gus’s eyes.

A desire she longed to surrender to. If only she could….

“Lindsay McKenna continues to leave her distinctive mark on the romance genre with…timeless tales about the healing powers of love.”

—Affaire de Coeur

An Honorable Woman
Lindsay McKenna

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Michele Burdet of Switzerland, friend, shaman,

healer and inspiration…. I cherish our friendship.

Dear Reader,

I’m proud to introduce Chief Warrant Officer Cam Anderson’s story to you! For those of you who are following the Black Jaguar Squadron, the all-female helicopter team featured in my series MORGAN’S MERCENARIES: DESTINY’S WOMEN, you’ll probably remember Cam from previous books. And even if you haven’t met her yet, I’m sure you will love reading about her adventures, her challenges and her growth as an individual and a woman.

Cam is a combat pilot and a very good one at that. She’s seen combat, had close calls, and, in her most harrowing mission, she crashed a helicopter after it was fired on and hit. She is still struggling to come to terms with this traumatic event when her commanding officer, Major Maya Stevenson, chooses her for an even more daunting mission: Maya asks Cam to become a commanding officer of a small contingent of Apache helicopters stationed in Mexico, just below the border with the U.S.

More than anything, Cam wants to impress her commanding officer—and she wants to atone for the mistakes she believes she made on her last mission. But she learns that it is one thing to be a combat helicopter pilot and completely another to be leader and manager of people—especially a squadron of male pilots, who don’t want to be “bossed around” by a woman. Cam has her work cut out for her and then some! Will she make the grade? She wonders about that—and whether she should give her heart to one of those pilots, Chief Warrant Officer Gus Morales. Gus is too intriguing and charismatic to resist, and Cam finds herself in a battle to maintain her command—and keep her heart safe from being hurt again. Will she be able to salvage her honor on both fronts? Read on and find out!

Warmly,

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 1

“Hey!” Wild Woman hissed as she stuck her head around the door of the ready room. “Have you heard yet, Cam?”

Cam halted her pacing and quit gnawing on her fingernails, which were almost nonexistent at this point. “Er, no…not yet.” Turning toward the door, she watched as Jessica Merrill, U.S. Army CWO2, otherwise known as Wild Woman, entered the room, dressed in her close-fitting black flight uniform. “You got the duty?”

Cam had had flight duty for the last twenty-four hours and was waiting to be relieved by another crew.

Wrinkling her nose, Wild Woman said, “Yeah. Me and Snake are taking over from you.” Hooking a thumb across her shoulder toward the door of the Quonset hut, which stood inside the massive cavern where the Black Jaguar Squadron had its base of operations, she added, “Snake’ll be along any second now.” Looking at her watch, she uttered darkly, “Geez, 0600 comes so early. What I’d give to have a day off and sleep in. No such thing as ‘beauty sleep’ around here, is there.” She patted her cheek. “I’m still good-looking despite that handicap.”

Chuckling, Cam nodded. Sitting down at the picnic table and picking up her cup of coffee, she said, “Yeah, I know what you mean. But you’re right—we’re such gorgeous girls we don’t need beauty sleep.”

Going to the coffee dispenser that sat on a dark green army-issue desk, Wild Woman laughed. “But isn’t that why you volunteered for this new mission coming up, Cam. So you’d get to sleep in?”

“Oh, sure!” Cam snorted. Running her fingers through her shoulder-length reddish-chestnut hair, she muttered, “I’m on pins and needles. I don’t think I’ll get it.”

“I saw Morgan Trayhern a few hours ago. He just flew in from Agua Caliente, piloted by Storm Queen.” Grabbing a chipped white cup, Wild Woman poured herself some of the strong coffee. “He looked serious.”

“Yeah,” Cam said unhappily, “I saw him. He’s with Major Stevenson and Major York, reviewing the short list of possible pilots for this mission.” Shrugging, Cam watched her colleague walk confidently to the table and sit down opposite her. Jessica had short blond hair with a bright red streak dyed in it. Major Maya Stevenson, commanding officer of the BJS, allowed Wild Woman this unique expression of herself. It went well with her pilot handle, Cam thought with an inward smile. And all you needed to do was take one look at Jessica’s square face and frosty blue eyes filled with feral intelligence to understand why she was one of the best Apache gunship pilots here at the squadron. She was competitive, rebellious, and never afraid to break rules and regulations over the skies of Peru or Bolivia when it came to stopping the drug trade.

“You’ll get it,” Wild Woman said confidently, sipping her coffee.

“I dunno,” Cam muttered worriedly. She gnawed again on her index finger.

“You don’t have any nails left, Cam.”

Chuckling, Cam looked at her fingers, then at her friend. “You’re right about that.”

“You always do that when you’re nervous—No Nails Tree Trimmer!” Jessica chortled.

“Tree Trimmer” was Cam’s nickname. Every pilot got one after graduating from flight school. She’d earned hers by dropping the Huey helicopter she’d been flying into the jungle in Peru. Of course, at the time she was being shot at by a Kamov Black Shark helicopter, piloted by a Russian mercenary hired by a drug lord to shoot her out of the sky.

Feeling heat rush into her cheeks, Cam grinned. “I look forward to the day when I can earn a new and better handle.”

Laughing huskily, Wild Woman turned her head as the creaky door to the ready room opened and closed. “Hey, Snake! My, don’t you look bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, girl.”

Snake glared at them as she entered the hut. Pushing her straight, dark brown hair off her shoulders, she headed for the coffee urn. “Shut up. I haven’t had my java yet,” she growled.

“And a dreary good morning to you, too,” Cam murmured, a grin crawling across her mouth. “Depriving Snake of her coffee is like stepping on the rattles of her tail….”

“Yeah, and she bites,” Jessica giggled. “Forget any hissing. This girl just sinks her fangs into you.”

Cam saw that Vickey Mabrey—Snake—was dressed into her combat uniform, too. She was all set for her twenty-four-stint duty with Wild Woman. The Velcro fastening of her uniform collar was open at her throat, exposing the dark green cotton T-shirt she wore beneath. The body-fitting uniform, made of special fire-retardent materials, hugged her tall, lean figure.

“Both of you can it. Gawd, I need my coffee.” And Vickey reached for the pot.

Cam grinned across the table at Wild Woman, who had a twisted, evil smile on her own face. “No one walking into this place could tell you two were the best of friends, could they?”

“Military friendships are like that—full of verve and content,” Wild Woman murmured sagely, sipping her coffee.

“Humph,” Snake said, pouring herself a mug of coffee.

“So, you’re worried about getting this assignment, Cam? You’re cut out for it, you know,” Wild Woman stated.

Shrugging, she muttered, “I don’t even know what the assignment is, so why am I sweating it?”

“Who’s in the running?” Snake asked as she sauntered over and sat down at the end of the table near her friends. Stirring creamer into her coffee, she breathed in the rich scent as she lifted the cup to her lips.

“Storm Queen and Pele,” Cam replied. She truly admired Pele—Lieutenant Mirella Gallardo, one of the first two women helicopter pilots in the Peruvian Army. Pele was the Hawaiian goddess of volcanoes, and Mirella had gotten the handle because of her hair-trigger temper and in-your-face attitude. Mirella was a take-no-prisoners kind of woman on the ground and in the air. She’d fought hard to become one of the first Peruvian women to fly helicopters and her competitiveness was legendary. Here at BJS, she was competent, aggressive and combative in the air—the exact qualities a gunship pilot needed in order to survive.

“Humph. You’ll get it, Cam,” Snake said, huddling possessively over the coffee, her long, thin fingers wrapped around the mug in a death grip.

“Yeah? Why?” Cam asked.

“Because it’s your turn for something good to happen to you.” A sly grin edged her full mouth. “I mean, there was nowhere to go but up after you gave that poor jungle a haircut with the runners of that Huey.”

Wild Woman burst out in raucous laughter and slapped her knee. “Snake, you have deadly humor at 0600.”

“Thanks, ladies,” Cam growled good-naturedly. She saw a glimmer of humor dancing in Snake’s narrowed green eyes. Vickey was half Navajo and half German—an unusual blend, Cam thought. She was quiet like her Indian father, and meticulous like her mother, a college professor of botany who hailed from Cologne. Snake’s skin was a golden color, hinting at her mixed heritage. Cam had seen a photo of her friend’s parents, and knew she favored her father physically. She had taken after him in many ways, from what Cam could tell. She was a good listener, but when she spoke, everyone stopped jabbering and paid attention.

In the air, Snake was a deadly gunship pilot. She was absolutely lethal and had no qualms about facing off with drug runners in a game of sky chicken, where whoever blinked first turned back. Snake never blinked. As she’d wisely pointed out one time, snakes don’t blink at all. She was proud of her handle and lived up to it daily.

“How long have Maya and Morgan been confabbing?” Jessica asked, heading to the coffeepot for her second cup of coffee.

“At least an hour,” Cam answered glumly.

“You don’t even know what this mission is and you want it?” Snake wrinkled her nose and then shook her head. “That’s why I didn’t volunteer to be interviewed. I want to know going in what I’m volunteering for. Not after the fact.”

Cam saw an evil grin spread across Snake’s oval face. “You know the major wouldn’t throw us to the wolves,” she retorted. “I figured it would be fun to get out of here for a while. Three years is a long time.”

“And leave us?” Wild Woman cried in a pitiful, dramatic voice as she poured more coffee into her cup. “I mean, we’re sisters! You love us, Cam. You know you do! Hell, we’ve spent three years of our lives down here, hangin’ out in this cave, chasin’ bad guys together. We’re bonded.”

“More like welded,” Snake added dryly.

“Yeah, that, too. Thanks, Snake, that says it better.” Wild Woman sat down and gave Cam a mock serious look. “You’d actually run out on us? Who says this new mission has any women on it? Look what Akiva got into,” she exclaimed, referring to one of their colleagues. “She got chosen for that Gulf of Mexico black ops with Joe Calhoun, along with three enlisted women from BJS.”

“That was a great mission,” Cam said fervently. “I’d have given my right arm to take part.”

“Well,” Snake counseled in a soft, husky tone, “Akiva and Joe are doing well out there…now. At first it was rocky for Akiva, until she settled into her job as a C.O. Big difference, being just a pilot versus commanding officer of an operation, you know?”

“But,” Wild Woman said, “she did it. She rose to the challenge.”

“Do you think that because Akiva and Joe made it a success, another mission like that might be on the table?” Cam wondered.

“Don’t count on it,” Snake advised. “Maya isn’t known to duplicate operations. She keeps things hot and lively. That way—” she grinned “—we don’t grow bored around here.”

“No one from personnel gave a peep about this covert mission,” Jessica muttered with a frown, more to herself than to them. “I tried pumping Sergeant Prater the other day for info, but got nada. Nothing. She’s buttoned up tighter than a clam about it. She works directly for Major Stevenson, so she knows what it’s all about. But she ain’t sharin’.”

Chuckling, Snake stated, “Prater’s got more sense than you, then. She knows if she gossips about it to us, Maya will have her red head on a platter, pronto. She’s smart to keep her mouth shut in front of the likes of you while you’re nosin’ around like a curious coyote.”

Wild Woman grinned. “Hey, I gave it the ol’ college try, didn’t I? I wasn’t born to understand the word no.”

“I don’t think I’ll get it,” Cam muttered, running her fingertips across the roughened surface of the table. “Storm Queen and Pele are both wonderful pilots.”

“You’re always cutting yourself down, Cam. Don’t you see yourself as equal to those two gals?” Snake demanded, her voice hardening.

Shrugging, Cam said in a painful whisper, “I guess not. I mean…after I deserted Maya out there in the jungle and left her to be captured by the druggies…” She sighed.

“Quit chewin’ on that, will you?” Snake shook her head in disgust. Taking a rubber band out of the thigh pocket of her flight suit, she gathered up her straight hair and fastened it in a ponytail at the back of her head. “You made the right decision, Cam, not the wrong one. The Peruvian jungle is damned near impenetrable. You couldn’t have carried Maya, wounded and unconscious, anywhere. You had to escape.”

“Yeah,” Wild Woman interjected, “and if you hadn’t gone to get help, how would we have known what really happened? It was only when Major York found you and got you back here that we knew Maya had been captured.”

“Not that Maya needed any rescuing,” Snake chuckled darkly. “She took care of that drug lord dude right and proper. Buried the bastard in the Canyon of Death. Yeah, that was a right fine burial ground for the likes of him.”

“Well, we got there in the nick of time,” Wild Woman said.

Sighing, Cam slowly got up. “I need a third cup of coffee like a hole in my head,” she muttered unhappily, heading for the dispenser along the wall, “but I’m in dire need today….”

“After two cups we can’t scrape you off the ceiling,” Snake complained. “You’re maxing out at three.”

“High-wire act, Cam the Tree Trimmer.”

“Funny, girls. Very funny…”

The door to the Quonset hut opened. “Chief Anderson?”

Jumping as her name was called, Cam whirled around. Sergeant Prater, dressed in her dark green cammies, stood expectant in the doorway, a serious look on her freckled face.

“Yeah?”

“Major Stevenson wants to see you, ma’am.”

“Er, thanks…yeah, I’ll be right there, Sergeant. Thank you.”

Prater smiled and nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” The door closed.

“Ohh,” Wild Woman teased, “you’re gonna get this mission, I got that feelin’!”

Frowning, Cam set her empty cup on the counter. “Maybe, maybe not. Maybe the major is callin’ me in to tell me Pele or Storm Queen got it, instead.”

“You’re such a die-hard pessimist,” Snake groaned. “Gawd, gimme another cup of coffee….” Gracefully she unwound herself from the chair, a grin lurking at the corners of her mouth.

“You think?” Cam asked, heading for the door. “That I got it?”

Waving her hand, Wild Woman chortled. “Oh, honey, you’re such a widget at times! My gut says yes. What does yours say, Snake?”

“That I need another cup of java.”

Laughing, Cam headed out the door and waved goodbye to them. “I hope you two have a quiet shift.”

“Oh, yeah, right. That’s just what I want,” Snake growled.

“I’m bored already,” Wild Woman griped. “Don’t wish that on us, Cam!”

“Okay, ladies, may the Sharks come out and hunt your butts, then. See you later! I’ll let you know what happens!” Cam couldn’t keep the hope out of her voice. Closing the door, she turned to her right and hurried across the black lava floor of the cave. All around her, the noise of women’s voices as well as the clang of tools being used on the Apaches in the rear of the cave echoed and reechoed.

Wiping her mouth in a nervous gesture, Cam barely paid attention to the activity on the wide lip of the cave, their landing and takeoff point. At this time of morning the clouds were thick, hiding the cave entrance. The sun hadn’t come up yet so the fog hadn’t burned off. Hurrying across the mammoth cave complex to the two-story headquarters building on the other side, Cam felt her heart racing. Had she gotten the secret mission? Had Jenny Wright, the psychologist who worked for Perseus and who had interviewed her awhile back, chosen her to head this one up? Cam hoped so with all her heart and soul. Trying not to run, she hurried toward the steel grate stairs that wound up to the second floor of H.Q., where Major Maya Stevenson, her boss and commanding officer, had her office.

More than anything in the world, Cam wanted this mission. She had to prove to Maya that she was worthy, that she could be counted on not to run from a situation, as she’d run from the crash, leaving her superior behind to be captured.

Wiping her mouth again, she rapidly climbed the steps two at a time, her heavy black boots shaking the staircase in the process. She entered the door at the top, which led to a long passageway lined with open doors. The army personnel who ran the black ops base—those in charge of communications and planning—were all here. Cam hurried down the hall, nodding to various enlisted women as they came and went from their offices.

Cam headed to the last door on the right, Maya’s office. The C.O. was a woman of incredible ability and leadership. Many times Cam wished she had some of the confidence and wisdom her boss had. To Cam, Maya was a role model, someone she nearly worshipped. Though she’d been born in Brazil, Maya had been adopted by an American colonel and his wife early in her life, and had grown up in the United States. But rumor had it that Maya had a very mysterious background. Even her name suggested the mystery inherent in her birth, and pilots of the Black Jaguar Squadron were always whispering about her almost uncanny powers and abilities.

Maya had single-handedly fashioned this black ops out of nothing. She had been one of the first women to take Apache helicopter training at Fort Rucker, Alabama, getting badly burned by gender prejudice in the process. Afterward, she had contacted her father, a U.S. Army general by that time, and gotten him to help her set up the BJS base—a covert operation dedicated to stopping cocaine shipments from leaving Peru, one of the main producers of the drug. He’d agreed, and the rest was history. Now Maya was C.O. of the all-female Black Jaguar Squadron.

Cam had joined Maya when she’d graduated from the next class at Fort Rucker, volunteering to come down to the all-woman base. She’d never for a second regretted her decision.

Halting at Maya’s door, which was open as usual—part of her open-door policy so that anyone who needed to could see her—Cam nervously smoothed the fabric of her black uniform. Then she knocked briefly. “Major Stevenson? You sent for me?”

Maya lifted her head from her desk, which was covered with paperwork. “Yes, come in, Cam.”

Entering, Cam stood at attention. “Reporting as ordered, ma’am.”

“At ease, Cam. Have a seat.” Maya gestured toward a chair in front of the desk. “Oh…close the door?”

Feeling her heartbeat speed up, Cam gulped, did an about-face and closed it. Only rarely did Maya ask that her door be closed. It meant she was going to say something that she didn’t want to be overheard. Was she going to announce that Cam wasn’t getting the mission? Dying inwardly, Cam kept her expression carefully neutral and sat down gingerly in the chair. Placing her hands on her thighs, she waited, holding her breath as Maya placed a bunch of signed orders into her out basket for Sergeant Prater to distribute.

Smiling warmly, Maya set her pen aside and folded her hands in front of her. “I’m sure it hasn’t escaped your eyes or ears that Morgan Trayhern flew in this morning?”

Grinning a little and feeling like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar, Cam said, “No, ma’am, it hadn’t escaped me.”

“You know why he’s here?”

“I think so. The new mission is on the table?”

“Very good,” Maya murmured. “I’ve been in conference with Mr. Trayhern and Major York about it.”

Cam blinked. Maya’s large, emerald-green eyes glimmered with mirth. “Yes, ma’am?”

“You know,” she said, pulling a few files off a teetering stack to her right and placing them in front of her, “that three of you were interviewed by Jenny Wright, the Perseus psychologist, for this mission?”

“Yes, Storm Queen and Pele were interviewed, too.”

“Right.” Maya slowly opened Cam’s file, revealing a color photo of her stapled on the left side. “We’ve reviewed everything, Cam. I know none of you knew what the mission was about, and that was done on purpose. Ms. Wright knew the schematic on it, and conferred with Morgan and myself about the three of you. You were all good, strong candidates for the position.”

Heart sinking, Cam knotted her hands on her thighs. Maya was going to tell her she hadn’t gotten the mission. Straightening her spine, she tried to hide her disappointment. It was so important to her to have Maya look upon her as trustworthy once more. Since that horrific crash landing, Maya had never again flown with Cam. Which was unusual, because she routinely flew missions with all her pilots from time to time.

Lifting her head, she pinned Cam with her gaze and smiled. “We’ve chosen you to head up this mission, Cam. We felt you were the best qualified for it. Congratulations.” Maya rose and extended her hand.

Blinking, Cam stared at her superior. Then she leaped to her feet and thrust out her own hand.

“Thanks, Major! Thanks so much! You have no idea what this means to me,” she whispered, her voice raspy with sudden, unexpected tears. Cam quickly pushed them away by taking several gulping swallows. Pumping Maya’s hand rapidly, she continued, “You won’t regret your decision, ma’am. I promise you you won’t. Thanks for the chance…the opportunity…I won’t fail you this time. I swear I won’t….”

Easing her hand away, Maya stood there looking at Cam. The pilot’s face glowed with relief, with joy. Her green eyes swam with tears she was desperately trying to force back. Maya knew Cam needed to prove herself again.

“Listen to me, Cam,” she murmured gently, “this mission is not about you proving yourself to me or anyone else. If I didn’t think you had what it took in the first place, I’d have chosen someone else, so let’s get over that hurdle, okay?”

Choking back her tears, which she knew were not appropriate, Cam nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I understand.” Her heart was soaring. She felt giddy, almost dizzy, and so relieved. She saw respect in Maya’s eyes, sincerity in her expression, and Cam was so surprised and delighted she could barely sit still in the chair. Opening and closing her hands, she whispered, “Thanks for letting me do this. It means so much to me….”

“I know it does,” Maya said gently. Giving her a brief smile, she looked down at a red-and-white-striped folder labeled Top Secret. Picking it up, she handed the folder across the desk to Cam. “Here’s your mission. Everything you’ll need to know.”

Feeling like an exuberant puppy, Cam laid the file in her lap and opened it with trembling hands. Immediately the text blurred before her eyes, and she self-consciously wiped away the tears. She didn’t dare cry in front of Maya. Not now. Cam had to show her C.O. that she was up for this assignment, no matter what it entailed.

“This mission is going to be the hardest one you’ve ever said yes to,” Maya warned in a dark tone. “Let’s go to the briefing room. Morgan Trayhern is waiting to talk to you about it.”

Chapter 2

“Cam, I want you to meet Morgan Trayhern. He owns Perseus, a top secret company that interfaces with the CIA and many other agencies around the world.”

Cam smiled and gripped Morgan’s hand. “Mr. Trayhern, this is an honor,” she said, meeting his warm blue gaze and his smile. Morgan Trayhern was a living legend. He had been a marine captain in the closing days of the Vietnam War. Since then, he had risen to heady heights within the secret, black operations world by his success with his covert agency, which provided much-needed assistance to democratic countries all over the world. He had a knack for employing some of the best men and women from the military as mercenaries to help people in trouble. And now Cam was gripping his firm, powerful hand. She was giddy with excitement.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Cam,” Morgan said, releasing her hand. “And congratulations on being chosen for this mission. Have a seat.” He gestured toward a row of chairs that faced a blank white wall.

“Yes, sir.”

Maya sat next to Cam. She handed her a folder that had been sitting on the table in front of them. “You’ll need this, too. Morgan? You ready?”

“Yep.” Moving to one end of the table, he flipped open a laptop computer and pushed a button. The wall became a viewing screen for a slide presentation.

Cam’s heart raced with excitement. She had gotten the mission! She’d been chosen! Joy warred with anxiety within her chest. More than anything, she wanted to prove that she was worthy of her C.O.’s belief and trust in her. Compressing her lips, she listened as Morgan’s low, deep voice filled the small room.

“Major Stevenson has given you two files,” he said. “The first is an overview of the mission. The second has photos, biographies and fitness reports of the three Apache pilots you’re going to be responsible for training in interdiction in northern Mexico.”

“Mexico?” Cam said, looking at Maya.

“Yeah, northern Mexico,” she repeated with a smile. “Right on the border with California. Lucky you. Maybe when things iron out, you can head to San Diego and kick up your heels. Do a little partying in your spare time.” Maya knew that many of the BJS pilots longed to go back to the U.S. from time to time. Living in the humid Peruvian jungle year in and year out, in constant combat mode, took a heavy toll on each of them. Maya started to enforce a thirty-day vacation for her pilots each year so they wouldn’t get too homesick. Three years of duty with no downtime wasn’t good.

Looking at Cam’s face, lit up now with a glow of pleasure, Maya smiled. “And your home state of Oregon isn’t that far from there,” she added, reading her mind.

“I know!” Cam exclaimed happily. She gripped the open folder on her lap. “It’s real close!”

“Well, first things first. Congratulations, you’re going to be the commanding officer of this mission, so who knows? When things are quiet, you might put one of your other pilots—your executive officer probably—in charge, and you can take off for a weekend and visit your family in Oregon. Anything is possible once you get this mission on track.”

Morgan smiled. “Major Stevenson, who is used to commanding, makes this sound easy, Cam. Leading is the hardest work you’ll ever learn how to do.”

“Yes, sir,” Cam said, looking at him. Morgan was tall and broad-shouldered. He wore civilian clothes—charcoal-gray slacks, hiking boots, a red polo shirt. His black hair was cut military short, the silver at his temples lending his handsome face a frame for those lively blue eyes that didn’t miss a thing. She smiled at him as he cocked his head and gazed at her almost as if he were looking through her. Ordinarily, Cam would have felt invaded, uncomfortable, but she didn’t now. Maya had that same ability, and Cam never felt threatened by it, either. Maybe good leaders had that quality of being able to look into the heart and mind of their people in a nurturing way, to see what they were made of.

“You said ‘commanding officer’?” Cam asked in surprise.

“Yes, that’s you,” Morgan murmured with a smile. He pressed a button on the laptop. “You may recognize this place. It’s Tijuana, Mexico—a huge, sprawling city on the U.S. border, right across from San Diego. This is where you’re going.” He pressed the button again.

“There’s a small Mexican Air Force base just beyond the southern outskirts of Tijuana. Two Apache Longbow helicopters are going to be flown in from the States for your use. Your mission, Cam, is to be C.O. for a small contingent of Mexican helicopter pilots who are just now graduating from flight school at Fort Rucker.”

Her brows rose in surprise, but she tamped down her desire to ask questions.

“Two of the three pilots are Mexican nationals. The third—” Morgan pressed the button “—has dual citizenship, from the USA and Mexico. He’s Chief Warrant Officer Gustavo Phillipe Morales.”

Cam looked up as a color slide flashed across the wall. The man who stared back at her made her heart thump hard. About six feet tall, medium-boned and athletic, he was dressed in a dark green, one-piece army flight uniform. Looking deadly serious, he stood in front of an olive-green Apache helicopter, his helmet dangling loosely from his long, tanned fingers.

Gulping, Cam quickly perused the man’s photo. There was something arresting, beckoning and frightening about him, all at the same time. His face was square, his jaw set and his mouth thinned into a hard, single line. Thick, straight brows sat over his cinnamon-colored eyes. It was his eyes, with their huge black pupils, that drew Cam the most. The eyes of a predator. But then, she reminded herself, all gunship pilots had to have that “look.” If they didn’t, they weren’t going to cut it in combat. Morales’s eyes had that gleam of a hunter looking for its prey.

Her pulse raced momentarily. His black hair was cut short, with a few rebellious straight strands dipping over his broad, unwrinkled brow. With his high cheekbones and hawklike nose, he definitely had the face of an Indian, and he reminded Cam of an Incan god she had seen carved in stone on some ancient frieze somewhere. Gustavo Morales had sharp angles and rough edges, giving Cam the impression that he’d been around the block and taken a lot of beatings, but learned from each experience. She saw confidence and pride radiating from him. Just the way Morales stood, with one hand propped on his narrow hip, his helmet in the other, spoke of his certainty about himself and his abilities.

“Warrant Morales,” Morgan intoned, “is U.S. Army, Cam. Though his mother was Yaqui Indian, from northern Mexico, his father is a colonel in the U.S. Army, currently stationed in Afghanistan with a top secret contingent of Apache pilots working behind the lines to hunt down the Taliban.”

“They’re over there?”

Morgan nodded grimly. “Yes. But that piece of info goes nowhere.”

“Of course not, sir.”

“You should consider Morales as executive officer material, Cam. He’s twenty-five years old, and he’s been in the army for four years. He’s an ace helo pilot—he grew up flying with his dad. He speaks Spanish as fluently as you do. I believe, as does Major Stevenson, that he’ll be a key player in making this mission work, even though you’re in charge.”

“How so, sir?”

“Let’s put it delicately, Cam,” Morgan said, giving her a droll look. “The other two officers, both lieutenants with the Mexican Air Force, are…well, for lack of a better word, somewhat biased about women having a lead role. In the Mexican military, there are no women combat pilots.”

“These two Mexican pilots are supposed to be the cream of the crop,” Maya added. “At least, that’s what their general is telling us.”

Morgan pressed the button and their pictures were projected on the wall.

“Lieutenants Antonio Zaragoza and Luis Dominguez did okay at Fort Rucker and learned to fly the Apache,” Maya assured her.

“But,” Morgan warned, “these men come from a country where most women are still kept barefoot and pregnant. The only way they relate to females is as mothers and lovers.”

“Yeah,” Maya growled. “So you’ve got your work cut out for you, Cam. These two dudes are not going to want to accept you as C.O. or even listen to your wise counsel, no matter how much more experienced you are as a combat pilot.”

“I see….” Cam murmured. “And Warrant Morales? He’s been raised in a gender-neutral environment, where women are accepted in leadership roles?”

“Yes,” Morgan said. “Which is one of the many reasons Chief Morales was chosen for this duty. He isn’t aware of why he was chosen. He’ll find that out from you once you arrive at the base in Tijuana.”

“Yaqui Indians,” Maya told her, “have a matriarchal society, and women are considered equal to men. Morales has been steeped in a tradition where women are accepted as being just as strong, smart and effective as any male.”

“That’s good,” Cam said, relieved.

“You’re going to have your hands full,” Morgan warned her gravely. “These are green students who have just learned the basics of day and night flying techniques. They know nothing of interdiction duties, especially in the dark. That’s where you come in. We want you to build a schooling program around them, starting with day flights, and then working in night operations. We all know night flying is more dangerous, but unfortunately, the president of Mexico does not want Apaches flying around where people can see them. He’s afraid it will scare the populace.”

“So,” Maya said, pointing to the screen as a picture of high-desert terrain was shown, “during the day, you’re going to fly your boys into the hills along the Baja coastline and out over the Pacific. There’re plenty of mountains and hills for you to play hide ‘n seek in, to train them on the finer points of interdiction.”

“And then you’ll train them in on night interdiction, once they’ve got the basics and you’re confident of their skills,” Morgan said.

“So bottom line, I’m running an advanced interdiction flight school.”

“Yes,” Morgan said. “You’re going to create that template. And if you’re successful, we’ll take on other Mexican Air Force pilots, train them at Fort Rucker and then get them flying interdiction in their own country, instead of U.S. pilots always putting their lives on the line to do it.”

“Sounds like a good plan to me,” Cam said. She was in awe that they’d choose her for such a mission. Still, fear threaded through her. Could she do it? She would have to. Never had Cam wanted anything more than this. It was a plum—a huge one. And if she was successful, Maya would surely forgive her past error….

Her C.O. was watching her with an assessing expression on her face, Cam noted. “It’s a wonderful opportunity,” Maya said, “but I think this is going to be the roughest mission you’ve ever agreed to, Cam. Those Mexican pilots aren’t going to sit still for your mother hen ways.” She smiled slightly. “You’re a nester, a nurturer by nature, Cam—you appear so warm and easygoing, even though inside there’s a jaguar. You’re just as competitive and cool as any of the other women pilots who fly the Apache, but you come across as soft. You can’t let that happen on this mission. Those pilots see soft and they’ll eat you alive.”

Nodding, Cam gulped and said, “I understand.”

“Down here,” Maya said, “we love your mother hen ways. You’re the one who makes chicken soup if one of us gets a cold or the flu. You’re the one who sits down and listens when someone has a problem and needs to talk it out. You have a natural instinct for caring for others.”

“Those are all good attributes in a leader,” Morgan said quietly. “But you lack the management skills, the firmness and decisiveness setting required in a leader. But you can develop those abilities.”

Nodding, Cam said, “I understand, sir. I’ll do my best to learn to be tough.”

“Well,” Maya said, cocking an eyebrow, “you won’t have much time or space to do it in, Cam. I’m hoping Morales will like you, side with you and act as a natural buffer between you and those two dudes who are going to rain hell on your head every day.” Her mouth quirked. “I’ve experienced more than my fair share of those redneck, good-ole-boy attitudes in the past. I don’t look forward to you cutting your teeth on them, but under the circumstances, they are the cloth we have to work with. That’s the way it is.”

“I’ll handle it, Maya. I swear I will.”

“Oh,” Morgan said, chuckling, “you’ll be swearing, all right. Apache pilots aren’t the tamest people to begin with. They’re edgy, alert, tense and combative by nature. We’re all hoping that Chief Morales will be the great leveler here between you and the others.”

“Because,” Maya predicted grimly, “if he isn’t, it’s going to be three to one—them against you—and this mission could grind to a halt in a hurry.”

“I won’t let it happen,” Cam promised fervently. She gave them a grateful look. “I know it’s going to be a challenge. But I know I can do it. Just let me have the chance….”

“You’ve got the chance,” Morgan murmured. He flipped off the projection program and shut down the laptop. Walking to the other end of the table, he picked up an object and handed it to Cam.

“This is going to be your most precious possession, Cam. It’s an iridium satellite cell phone. There are sixteen satellites circling the globe, and this phone is hooked up to them. You can call from anywhere in the world and reach someone at the other end.”

Cam examined the slender but heavy device. “Okay…”

Maya got up. “The iridium is a very expensive toy, but one you’re going to need.”

Cam looked up in confusion as Maya came and stood in front of her, with Morgan at her shoulder. “Why?”

“Because if you need help, you can call Morgan or myself. We suspect you’re going to need advice from time to time, and with that phone you can reach us.”

“Good leaders ask for help when they get their backs to the wall,” Morgan told her. “Good leaders are forged in the fires of hell, they aren’t born. You’ve not had the privilege of college level management courses, Cam. We’re throwing you into this mission without any background education. Being a good pilot is one thing. Being a leader is a whole other ball game.”

Nodding, Cam murmured, “I realize that from talking to Akiva.”

Maya smiled. “Yes, Akiva became C.O. of a covert black ops base on the Gulf of Mexico, and she found out about it the hard way, too.”

“She did it, though,” Cam said firmly. “And so will I.” She held up the phone and said, “I’ll be calling often.”

Grinning, Morgan patted Cam’s shoulder. “Excellent. That’s what we want to hear. No one knows everything. If I don’t miss my guess, Morales will be your ace in the hole. Use his knowledge and listen to him, too. Take what he says under consideration.”

“Cam’s a good listener. She always has been,” Maya murmured.

“We’re throwing you to the wolves,” Morgan said worriedly. “You’re a helluva good Apache pilot, Cam. You’re the best. The Black Jaguar Squadron has more time in grade in drug interdiction efforts than any other aviation group in history. That’s why you’re being chosen to run this mission—because of your three years of hard-earned experience.”

“She’s still alive. That says it all.”

Cam grinned up at Maya. “Yes, ma’am, you taught us well.”

“Take that training up north, Cam, and use it to help educate these pilots.”

“I will,” she promised, a catch in her voice.

“I only hope,” Morgan said, “that when you meet these macho Mexican pilots, they don’t think you’re breakfast, to be eaten alive.”

Rising, Cam grinned. “Mr. Trayhern, I may look like a cream puff, but in here—” she pointed to her heart “—I’m a black jaguar. They just don’t know it yet.”

Chapter 3

“I can’t believe they’re sending a woman to teach us,” Lieutenant Antonio Zaragoza muttered, his long legs stretched out in front of the door to the barracks room where they waited for their C.O. to arrive.

Gus Morales, who stood at the window, peering through the venetian blinds, glanced over his shoulder at his schoolmate, who sulked like a petulant child. Zaragoza was five foot nine inches tall, only average height for a helo pilot. He made up for his lack of stature by being arrogant and brazen. Lifting his mouth in the ghost of a smile, Gus said, “I think it’s ironic.”

Lieutenant Luis Dominguez, who sat at the table smoking a cigarette, twisted to look in Morales’s direction. “I think it stinks.” He flipped ashes into the ashtray in front of him.

Chuckling, Gus looked at the two Mexican Air Force pilots, who, like him, were dressed in dark green, single-piece flight uniforms. Each of them had the Mexican flag sewn onto his right shoulder. On his own uniform, Gus had the American flag, reflecting the fact that he was in the U.S. Army.

“They want us to fail,” Zaragoza said flatly, his black brows dipping, his arms wrapped across his chest in defiance. Staring down at his highly polished black flight boots, which blocked the entranceway, he glowered. “Women have nothing to teach men!”

“Sí,” Luis agreed. “Their place is in bed, with us.”

“Yes, they are good for pleasure,” Antonio stated darkly. “But not as Apache instructor pilots, teaching us the finer points of drug flight interdiction.”

“Where I come from,” Gus told them lightly, a cockeyed grin on his face, “women are not only teachers, but equals. I guess you two need to square away your attitudes on that one. Otherwise, you won’t learn a thing from Chief Anderson.”

Snorting vehemently, Luis took a deep drag of his cigarette, then blew the smoke out—an eloquent, if silent, reply.

Gus turned and looked out the window again. He and the others were on the second floor of the barracks, waiting for their new commanding officer, C.R. Anderson. They’d been informed she was an Apache gunship pilot who had been on duty in Peru for three years, flying drug interdiction on a black ops combat mission. That’s all they knew. He was curious. And anxious to learn what she knew. At Fort Rucker, they were given basic Apache training, but time did not allow for them to learn the finer points of certain types of missions, such as drug interdiction.

Outside, the air base was quiet. It was small in comparison to other Mexican military bases. Gus saw two dark green Boeing Apache Longbow helicopters, their blades tethered, sitting in the revetment area, waiting like they were. Hungry to get in the air again, to feel the power and surge of the world’s most lethal and deadly gunship, Gus shifted position. He was eager to get this show on the road.

“I don’t see why our presidente would allow us to be taught by a mere woman,” Antonio drawled in frustration. “This is mano a mano—hand to hand fighting in the air. No woman can fly a combat helicopter.”

“Women in the U.S. Navy and Air Force fly fighter jets all the time,” Gus reminded him. “And they’re just as good, some of them better, than their male counterparts. I don’t see the difference.”

Luis glared at him. “You wouldn’t. You’re still tied to your mamacita’s apron strings, amigo.” He chuckled indulgently.

Gus allowed the insult to slide off his broad shoulders. He knew both pilots well enough from their time at Fort Rucker. Both used to bluster and fluff their feathers like bantam roosters when the flight instructors at Fort Rucker challenged them on their lazy attitudes toward flying. In Gus’s opinion, neither one really had the competitiveness needed, that primal urge, to hunt down sky predators. Both pilots came from rich families. Zaragoza came from new money, his father being quite a phenomenon in the computer world. Dominguez’s father, from old money, was mayor of Placido, a suburb of Mexico City.

His colleagues’ condescending attitude throughout flight school had been amazing to Gus. And instead of making them buckle down and do the work, the U.S. Army instructors had let these two pilots slide, not pushing them to work to their potential. Morales figured it had to do with politics and the fact that they were “foreign exchange” pilots that they didn’t get their chops busted like the rest of the class did.

Looking down at his watch, he saw that it was nearly 1400, or 2:00 p.m. Chief Anderson was due to arrive at their newly designated H.Q.—this small room on the second floor of the only barracks at the base—momentarily. None of them knew how she would arrive. Smiling to himself, Gus wondered obliquely if she’d ride in on an Apache in a thunderous display of her power and skill. Probably not. The president of Mexico didn’t want the Apaches seen by the local people, for fear it would frighten them. The helos were lethal looking monsters, for sure, decked out with an awesome array of weapons that included rockets, a cannon and missiles.

His mind wandered back to C.R. Anderson. What did she look like? How old was she? If she’d been flying drug interdiction in an Apache for three years, and was a CWO2, she was most likely around twenty-five or twenty-six, like himself. Was she married? Did she have children? What was her husband like? What events in her life had shaped her, to make her what she was today?

Gus laughed at himself, and at his curiosity, which often got him into trouble. He enjoyed people, enjoyed figuring out how and why they worked the way they did. He glanced at his cohorts, who thought they were the best Apache pilots in the world—despite the fact that they’d just graduated from school, at the bottom of their class with barely passing grades. Gus thought the instructors must have padded their grades to pass them, so as not to embarrass the Mexican military. It would have been better if two far more hungry, less rich applicants had been selected. Hunger made a person want to prove himself in the eyes of his peers. These two had everything money could buy and wore their considerable egos like royal coats to make up for what they didn’t have internally.

Sooner or later, Gus felt, they would be exposed. During training, neither had had that competitive zeal that characterized the other Apache gunship students. When he sat in the seat of an Apache, he felt like a hungry jaguar on the prowl looking for his quarry. That was the way it should be. Gus found himself wondering if Chief Anderson was the same.

The door to the rear of the barracks, just down the hall, opened and closed.

Gus looked at his watch. He gazed at the other two pilots, who lifted their heads to listen. “Fourteen hundred hours, guys. That’s her. Our new C.O., Chief Anderson.”

“Humph,” Luis snorted, “no woman is ever on time.”

“Not the ones you know,” Gus said, barely able to hold back a smile. He pinned his gaze on the olive-green-painted door. Any second now she would come through it.

“It’s just a soldier entering the barracks,” Antonio said in a bored tone, waving his hand languidly.

The door opened.

Gus immediately came to attention, his arms at his side—standard procedure when a C.O. entered. He saw with shock that neither of his fellow pilots moved.

Cam Anderson stood in the doorway. The first thing she saw was a thick, choking cloud of cigarette smoke. The second thing that struck her was the malevolent stares of the two pilots sitting before her. Heart pounding, she kept her face carefully arranged. Determined to learn how to be a good leader, Cam had decided to let Maya Stevenson, her C.O., be her role model. Maya never looked harried, pressed or anxious. She walked with a confident, quiet and commanding presence that automatically demanded respect. She never raised her voice, but no one mistook that as a sign that she didn’t mean exactly what she said. At all costs, Cam was going to try to be like Maya and not melt into her usual warm, motherly self.

Her gaze snapped from the pilot whose legs barred her way to the one smoking at the table, his dark brown eyes alive with distaste—for her. Lastly, Cam looked across the room. The man standing at attention at the window wore an American flag on the right sleeve of his flight uniform. That was Chief Morales. He knew that when a C.O. entered, one came to attention until told otherwise.

Realizing with a sinking heart that her career as a leader could be over right now depending on how she handled this insubordination by the Mexican pilots, Cam allowed the anger she felt to flow through her.

“Lieutenant—” she peered down at the pilot whose feet barred her path “—Zaragoza. I know the Mexican military has different protocols, but I do believe one of them requires that you stand at attention when your commanding officer enters the room. Get off your butt and on your feet, mister. Right now.”

Gus choked back a laugh as Zaragoza’s head snapped toward the woman. Gus saw the firm, quiet look on her oval face. Even though her thick, shoulder-length chestnut red hair gave her the look of an angel, he saw the devil in her narrowed green eyes which were now focused like a laser on the hapless pilot.

“Get up, Lieutenant. And if you can’t make it to your feet, then crawl out of here and get out of my sight forever. Because that tells me you really aren’t serious about training for drug interdiction.”

Cam swallowed hard. She’d never been so brazen before, but her career depended upon it. Would Maya have said the same thing? Would she have handled this situation differently? Cam wavered inwardly, but refused to show her fear and indecision.

Zaragoza slowly retracted his legs and stood up in a semblance of attention, his eyes ahead, staring at the light green wall opposite.

Cam fixed her gaze on the second pilot, who was grinning down at the table, cigarette in hand. He had a lean, narrow face, short black hair, thick brows and a smirk across his full lips.

“And you…Lieutenant—” she peered at the leather patch sewn above the left pocket of his flight suit “—Dominguez. This is a nonsmoking zone. It will always be a nonsmoking zone, from here on out. Put out the butt, mister, and come to attention.”

Lazily, Luis smashed out his cigarette in the glass ashtray. The smirk never left his features as he pushed back the chair and got to his feet.

They thought this was a game, Cam realized with a sinking feeling. The only pilot here who had shown respect was the U.S. Army chief.

“With your permission, ma’am,” Gus said, “I’ll open the window to let in fresh air?”

“Good idea, Chief Morales. At ease.” Cam looked at the two Mexican pilots. “Sit down at the table, gentlemen. We have business to take care of.”

Turning, Gus drew up the venetian blind and forced open the heavily painted window sash. He saw that Chief Anderson had left the door open on purpose, to create enough of a draft to get the heavy smoke out of the room. Walking to the green metal table, he sat at her right elbow.

Cam forced herself not to appear nervous. She told herself to slow down, to take her time. Never mind that she had jet lag, or that she hadn’t slept in the last twenty-four hours because she was so anxious about this assignment. Never mind that two of the pilots obviously resented her and were barely giving her the respect the situation demanded. Opening her briefcase, she set several folders and a notepad on the table.

She noticed that Chief Morales took a pad from the right pocket of his flight suit and pulled out a pen from his left breast pocket. The other two pilots sat back, arms crossed, watching her with obvious distaste. Cam swallowed hard. Her throat felt dry, as if it was going to close up. She had to continue this charade and make them think she was in charge.

Taking a pen from her own flight suit pocket, Cam opened the top file. “First order of business is to ask each of you about your flight experience,” she told them.

“You’ve got our personnel jacket,” Luis drawled, his voice condescending. “Haven’t you read it?”

Antonio snickered.

Cam glared at them. “Lieutenant Dominguez, tell me the extent of your flight experience with helicopters.”

Shrugging nonchalantly, he said in a bored tone, “I joined the Mexican Air Force because it is a tradition in my family. I went through flight school and was assigned to helicopters.”

“How many hours have you flown?”

“Two hundred.”

Cam turned to the other pilot. “And you, mister?”

Chuckling, Zaragoza said, “Only two hundred hours, Luis?” He shook his head mockingly.

“Forget him,” Cam ordered tightly. “I’m interested in your hours, mister.”

“Four hundred.” Antonio nearly spat the words.

“And how did you earn them?” Cam asked, jotting down the information on her yellow legal pad.

“I started flying helos when I was seventeen years old.”

“And why did you join the Mexican Air Force?”

Glowering at her, Antonio said, “Not that it’s any of your business, Señorita or Señora, but I like to fly.”

“Mister, you will address me as either Chief Anderson or ma’am. Got it?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

Antonio’s jaw clenched. He held Cam’s narrowed gaze.

“If you can’t say it, mister, get out of this room and don’t bother coming back.”

His eyes flared with surprise. “You cannot threaten me—”

Cam leaned forward, her elbows on the table. “It’s not a threat, mister. It’s a promise. Now, you make up your mind here and now. Either go by strict military protocol from this moment forward or get up and get out of here. Comprende?”

Anger surged through Luis. How dare this slut of a woman make such a threat to him? “This—this is an insult! Do you know who I am?”

Cam gave him an icy smile. “Yeah, a pilot in a helluva lotta trouble with me and his superiors if he doesn’t square away right now.”

Silence fell in the room. Luis slanted a glance toward Gus, who was sitting there relaxed, hands on the table. He had a poker face, but Luis could see the laughter in his cinnamon-colored eyes. He knew Morales was laughing at him. That stung even more. Nostrils flaring, he jerked his gaze back to the woman who sat across from him.

“Your call,” Cam told him quietly. “Do it right or get the hell out of my sight, Mr. Dominguez. I don’t think your father will be very proud to learn that you can’t carry out simple military protocol, do you?”

Cam’s heart was thundering in her chest. She knew this was high-stakes poker. And she knew she held the cards to Luis’s career. If, indeed, he was in the Mexican Air Force to fulfill a family obligation, the last thing he would want was a dark blot on the family record by being thrown out of the U.S. Army’s Apache program—by a woman, no less. That would be an insult he would never live down, and she knew it. Cam was prepared to do just that, however. She’d get rid of any pilot who didn’t want to play by strict military rules.

Grinding his teeth, Luis looked for help from his friend, Antonio. The unhappy grimace on his friend’s face, the anger banked in his dark eyes, indicated he felt similarly. Yet he obviously didn’t want to be kicked out of the program, either.

“You do not have that authority over me!” Luis snarled.

Cam reached down into her briefcase, located another file and opened it before her. Lifting out some papers, she turned them around so that Luis could read the top.

“I’m sure you recognize this, Mr. Dominguez. It’s a set of orders. All I have to do to reassign you is fill in this blank—” she pointed to the page “—and sign my name down here, at the bottom. Now, I’ll be more than happy to do that for you. There’s a lot of good pilots who didn’t get this mission, and who want it a lot more than you do, apparently. So which is it? You want me to fill you out a new set of orders, sending you back to your superior? Or do you want to stay with us? Your call, mister. Just make it in a hurry, because I don’t have time to play games here.”

“You cannot do this!” Luis shouted, balling his hands into fists beneath the table.

“Try me. I’d love to sign you off, mister. I don’t need sulky little boys on my team. I need mature men who are ready to be responsible, who are hungry to fly and who want to go after the real bad guys. You want to target someone in your gun sights, you aim at them, not me. Is that understood?”

Wiping his wrinkled brow, Luis cast a desperate glance toward Antonio. His friend stared straight ahead and refused to look at him. Jerking a look at Morales, Luis saw the same hint of laughter in the warrant’s eyes. He thought this was funny! Angrily, Luis swung his gaze back to the C.O.

“I’m staying.”

“No, mister, you will say ‘Chief Anderson, I’d like to stay with the team. Please?’”

Breathing hard, Luis repeated the words through gritted teeth. He watched with relief as Anderson put the order back in the file and the file back in the briefcase.

“Very good, Mr. Dominguez. Thank you for the information on your flight background.”

Cam turned to the last pilot. Her heart speeded up, but not out of fear. It was something else—some other feeling that emerged so quickly under the tense circumstances that Cam couldn’t name it. As she looked into his warm, cinnamon-colored eyes and saw the slightest hint of a smile on his full, well-shaped mouth, she struggled to keep her voice low and firm. “Chief Morales?”

“Ma’am, I was born in a helicopter.”

She looked at him and blinked once. “Excuse me?”

Gus grinned and opened his hands. “My mother was in labor with me. She’s Yaqui Indian, from northern Mexico. She was visiting her family when she went into labor with me. My father, who is a U.S. Army helicopter pilot, had flown her to the desolate area where her parents lived, and flew her out again when her water broke. He was hoping to get to Nogales, and then across the border into Texas, to get her to the hospital on time.”

Cam smiled. “Don’t tell me! You were actually born in the helo?”

He liked her smile. There wasn’t anything not to like about their new C.O., Gus decided. That pale sprinkling of freckles across her broad cheekbones, the way her hair glinted with red-gold highlights beneath the washed-out fluorescent light above them…Chief Anderson suddenly looked a lot less threatening than she had earlier.

“Yes, ma’am. By the time my father landed the helo on the hospital roof, she’d given birth to me.” Gus’s smile widened. “The attendants who came out were kinda surprised.”

“That’s a great story, Chief Morales. So, did the helicopter ride stay in your blood?” Cam liked the way his eyes crinkled and dimples flashed as he smiled fully.

“Yes, ma’am, it did. My father flew civilian helicopters for the Civil Air Patrol in his free time. I got my helo license when I was thirteen years old, when my legs were long enough to reach the pedals.”

“I see,” Cam said, trying not to sound impressed. But she was. The natural warmth and openness of Morales compared to the other two pilots was like night and day. Cam realized instantly that he didn’t have a problem with his C.O. being a woman, as the other two did. Jotting down the info, she asked lightly, “And I suppose you have over a thousand hours built up in helos?”

“Yes, ma’am. I got fifteen hundred in civilian types. When I joined the army air program, I acquired six hundred more hours.”

“And in the Apache?”

He shrugged. “Not enough.”

Cam grinned. “Don’t worry, you’re going to be getting plenty of hours shortly. We’ll make up for it.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Hours in the Apache?”

“A hundred and fifty.”

Cam knew that the school gave each student seventy hours of flight time. She frowned and looked at Morales’s personnel jacket. “Where did you get eighty more?”

“Oh…” Gus opened his hands and had the good grace to flush beneath her sharp gaze. “Well, I volunteered for a special class on drug interdiction tactics before I went through Apache school.”

Frowning, Cam studied him. “How is that possible, Chief?”

Slightly embarrassed, Gus said, “My father’s influence, if you want the truth, ma’am. He’s head of an Apache squadron. He wanted me to learn the drill. At the time, I was flying another type of helo. Within his squadron, he had set up a unique program of flight interdiction tactics, so he wrote orders for me to attend it.”

“I see family nepotism at work,” Cam murmured. “Well…that’s good.”

“Yes, ma’am. I loved it.”

“And that’s what got you into Apache school, officially?” Cam knew there were hundreds of applicants for each seat in the training program, and it was the most highly prized aviation school in the army. Morales had the good grace to look humble when he owned up to the nepotism that had gotten him that far.

“I got in because I passed all the tests and qualifications,” he told her seriously. “Not because of my father.”

“I understand, Chief.” Cam brightened and sat back. She looked at all three pilots. “We’re officially a squadron, according to the U.S. Army, as well as a black ops branch of the Mexican Air Force. We’re Black Jaguar Squadron 2, a spinoff, as it were, of my squadron down in Peru.” Cam pulled three patches from her briefcase and carefully laid them out on the table.

“This is our squadron patch, gentlemen. As you can see, it is square, with a red and blue border around it. In the center is a black jaguar with gold eyes on a white background, and our squadron name is embroidered at the bottom in gold.” Cam pointed to the patches. “You’re going to earn them the hard way—through a lot of work and elbow grease, consistent one hundred and ten percent effort on your part. I have it in my power as C.O. to release you from the obligation to learn drug flight interdiction at any time, if you fail to jump over the bar I hold up for you. Where I come from, you earn every hour you spend in the seat of an Apache. It’s not a given that you deserve to sit there.”

Gus saw Anderson’s expression grow even more serious as she perused the three of them, her hands folded on the table. On the right shoulder of her uniform he saw the identical patch, on the other shoulder an American flag.

“If you thought Apache school was tough, just wait. This is where we separate the women from the girls…” Cam smiled slightly “…or in this case, the men from the boys. If you’ve got what it takes, at the end of an eight-week period you’ll be awarded this patch. If not, I’ll be calling you in, writing you up a new set of orders and you’re out of here. Do you understand?”

“Yes ma’am,” the men murmured in a subdued chorus.

“Good,” Cam said, relief flowing through her. She gathered up the patches and placed them back in her briefcase. “Now, I need an X.O.—executive officer.” She looked at Morales. “You’re it, Chief Morales.”

“Me?” Gus hooked a thumb toward his chest, surprised. He saw a hint of approval in Chief Anderson’s green eyes.

“Why not you? You’ve got more hours in helos. You’ve had advanced drug flight interdiction training. From this moment on, you’re my X.O., which means you get a lot more duty and a lot less free time to party in Tijuana. Are you up for it, Chief Morales?”

Straightening in his chair, Gus took a deep breath. If he carried out his duties well, he just might go from a CWO2 to another pay grade. He could barely conceal his excitement. “Yes, ma’am, I’ll take it. Thank you. I hope I won’t let you down.”

Cam smiled thinly. “The only way you fail, Chief, is by not trying.” She looked at the other two pilots, whose sulky expressions indicated their current mood.

“Okay, let’s roll,” she told them. “Get on your feet, gentlemen, and let’s go out and meet our ladies.”

Chapter 4

Gus could hardly wait to get his turn in the Apache with Chief Anderson. The rest of the day was spent studying special manuals of flight interdiction operations back in their tiny H.Q. office while she took each of them for an introductory flight. Gus was still champing at the bit when he saw Luis Dominguez come back from his hour-long stint. The Mexican was looking disgusted. His brow was beaded with sweat and the underarms of his flight uniform were dark with perspiration. Chief Anderson escorted him to the office and ordered Zaragoza to come with her next.

The moment Dominguez was alone with Gus, he started bitching. “That woman is loco! Crazy!”

“Why?” Gus asked, placing his hand across his manual to keep his place. Luis’s face was dark with frustration. He started to reach for the pack of cigarettes he kept in the left thigh pocket of his flight suit and then thought better of it, remembering the orders that this area was now off-limits to smoking. Cursing, he glared around the simple but clean facility.

“She put me through a flight test of maneuvers I’ve never done before!” he fumed, crossing his arms and glaring down at his unopened flight manual.

“Isn’t that what the introductory flight’s about? To find out what areas we’re weak or strong in?” Gus asked Luis mildly.

“Bah! The witch had me trying to do things I wasn’t taught in school. I failed miserably. She sat in the back seat with that clipboard across her knees, rating me on every damn movement I made in the Apache.”

“Did she say you failed?”

Luis blew out a long breath. “She let me know every time I did something wrong! I heard her voice in my helmet every minute of that damned flight!”

Gus shrugged. “School doesn’t fully prepare us for what we have to do out here, Luis. No matter what squadron we got sent to, we’d have a lot to learn. It’s called advance training, amigo.”

“Oh,” Luis sneered, lifting his upper lip, his canine teeth showing, “and I suppose you’re looking forward to getting graded on every flight maneuver out there?”

“It’s inevitable. It’s part of our learning curve. How can Chief Anderson develop a proper training program for us if she’s not familiar with our abilities and skills?”

Getting up, Luis shoved the chair away in disgust. Pacing the room, he growled, “I can hardly wait until she flies with all three of us. It will be like the Spanish Inquisition. She’ll peel off our hides, one at a time. It’s shaming. It’s cruel. At least the inspector pilots back at Fort Rucker did it on a one-to-one basis. She’ll enjoy shaming us.”

Grinning, Gus said, “Luis, you never had this reaction to any of your instructors at Fort Rucker.”

“None of them were women, that’s why!” Standing, he glared out the window and tapped his boot on the floor.

Gus smiled to himself. He knew Chief Anderson was going to put him through his paces and then some. However, he wasn’t worried, because he felt intuitively that she would be fair.

“This wasn’t a flight test to see if you get to stay or not,” Gus reminded him. “If you screwed up out there, look at it this way—you have only one way to go. Up.”

“Bah! I need a smoke.” With a snort, Luis headed out the door and down the hall to the back door.

Sitting there, Gus closed his eyes and pictured Anderson in his mind. She was tall and womanly, curved deliciously in all the right places even though she wore that drab and loose-fitting flight uniform. He liked her face, liked the sprinkling of freckles that made her look younger than she probably was. Her face was oval, with huge green eyes that he could easily read, although Gus wasn’t sure she realized how much her emotions were revealed in them. Oh, Anderson tried to keep a poker face, but Gus felt he had an edge because he could see her feelings clearly in those evergreen eyes of hers.

He liked the fact that although she worked in a man’s world, she kept her reddish-colored hair long, wearing it parted in the middle. He liked the way it curled slightly around her attractive face. He longed to ask her personal questions. Maybe he’d get the chance on the flight, but he didn’t think so. She was all-business.

Gently closing the manual, after marking his place with a piece of paper, Gus got to his feet. Glancing at his watch, he realized it would be another forty minutes before Chief Anderson came back and asked him to sit in that cockpit and fly the Apache. A thrill raced through him. He loved flying that helicopter. And he sensed that Anderson was one helluva pilot at the controls of that combat machine. Gus could barely rein in his eagerness to learn the finer techniques of flying from her.

After pouring himself another cup of coffee, he stood at the window and pondered another reaction he was having to Anderson. She was a woman. Not just any woman, but a very unique one in the highly skilled role of combat helicopter pilot. That excited him. Enthralled him. Made him very curious about her. Who was she really? Where had she been born? What had happened to her as she was growing up to push her into this line of work? Was flying a passion with her or just a job?

So many questions and no answers. At least, not yet, he thought, grinning a little as he lifted the cup to his lips.

As he stood there eyeing the small, sun-baked military airfield and the many red roofs in the distance that showed where the sprawling city of Tijuana began, Gus felt a twinge in his heart. Frowning, he wondered where it had come from. Unsure, he turned and went back to his manual. The more he read, the more he would be prepared for what Chief Anderson would put him through. He didn’t want to fail her. He wanted to at least scrape by with a shred of her respect for him intact. After all, she’d chosen him as X.O., and he didn’t want to start off by having her questioning her choice.

Cam’s heart wouldn’t settle down as Chief Morales flawlessly took the Apache off the ground and rose to an altitude of five thousand feet, heading in the direction of San Diego.

The shaking and shuddering of the Apache always soothed her fractiousness when she felt uptight or nervous. Now, as she sat in the piggyback seat above and behind the pilot’s cockpit, with the late afternoon sun shining through the Plexiglas and the cooling air-conditioning sweeping around her, Cam smiled for the first time. She settled the clipboard on her lap, the pen in her gloved hand shaking with the vibration of the aircraft.

“Memorize this route, Chief,” she told him over the cabin intercom, moving the mike a little closer to her lips. Pulling down the dark green visor that shielded the upper half of her face from the invasive sunlight, Cam kept her attention on the two HUDS—heads-up displays—in front of her.

“The U.S. and Mexico have authorized us to use one specific air corridor along the border for takeoffs and landings during our training phase. Because the president of Mexico doesn’t want the civilian population to get overly concerned about military gunships in the vicinity, we have to fly in restricted airspace.”

“I understand, Ms. Anderson,” he replied.

“It was in your new flight manual.”

“Yes, ma’am, it was, and I’d already read that part of it.”

Cam chuckled. “You’re probably the only one who’s cracked the manual.”

Gus grinned. He liked the feel of the Apache around him. She was a deadly machine—board ugly, but dangerous and efficient. His right hand on the cyclic between his legs, his left hand around the collective, he said, “I’ll bet they’re both looking at it in detail now.”

How badly Cam wanted to break down the all-business facade with Morales. She liked his easygoing nature. Earlier, when he’d walked around the gunship as part of the ground check, she’d seen his eye for detail. He missed nothing. How friendly a C.O. could be with her X.O. was something Cam hadn’t a clue about. Was an executive officer like a best friend? Someone she could confide in? Or should she trust her X.O. only up to a certain point and try to keep an emotional distance from him? Cam wished she could talk to Maya about this. And she would, tonight, after she went to her barracks room. In the meantime, she would simply enjoy Gus’s warm, low laugh, which sent tingles through her for no explainable reason.

“Once you hit the San Diego vector at Imperial Beach, make a ninety degree left turn and head out to sea for fifteen miles, Chief Morales.”

Below her, Cam saw the sagebrush-covered hills of Mexico disappear as they moved into U.S. airspace. She pressed a button in the cockpit, which sent out an automatic signal to the radar scanners that swept the border area, showing who they were. Cam had no wish to be intercepted as a possible unfriendly aircraft.

Below them the dry hills were covered with twelve-lane freeways and housing estates. San Diego was a beautiful large city on the Pacific Coast. Ahead she could see the graceful sweep of the Coronado Bridge, connecting the island of the same name, with its naval air station, to the city.

Morales, so far, had a light, silken touch with the Apache. When he made the requested turn out toward the deep blue, sparkling ocean, Cam smiled.

“Your hours are showing, Chief,” she murmured, marking down a grade on her sheet regarding his flight skills.

“Oh?” Gus watched the light green of the ocean turn to a marine blue, indicating deeper water, as they flew quickly away from the coast. The western sun was shining straight into his eyes and he was glad for his visor.

“You have a nice touch with her.”

“I love this woman.”

Chuckling, Cam said, “You see the Apache as a ‘she’?”

“Always did. Always will.”

Luis and Antonio didn’t. To them, it was merely a machine to be wrestled around in the air. “That’s good,” she stated.

“Every helicopter has its own personality. I’m sure you’ve noticed that?”

Pleased that he’d speak with her as an equal, Cam said, “Oh, yes. We have names for each of our ladies down at the squadron.”

“Any hangar queens?” These were helicopters that broke down frequently and spent more time in the hangar than flying on missions.

Laughing, Cam said, “No. The Apache has a pretty low breakdown record. No hangar queens, thank goodness. The way we push them, they’ve stood up when they shouldn’t have over the years even in high humidity. An Apache’s a tough machine.”

“I’d like to know more about your squadron, any time you have a free moment to fill me in.”

Hearing the excitement in his voice, Cam said dryly, “Chief, it’s a black ops, so I can’t say much about it.”

“That’s what I thought. Well, you can’t blame me for asking, can you?”

“No. Nice try. Okay, once you hit the five-mile mark, I want you to turn ninety degrees south.”

“Yes, ma’am.” On the mark, he brought the Apache over in a quick, banking turn. From this elevation, he could still see the rim of land to his left and the mighty Pacific spreading out to the south and west.

“Good. You’re going to fly southward exactly twenty miles. We’re going to parallel the Baja Peninsula, as you well know. At the twenty-mile mark, you will execute another ninety degree left turn, moving due east. That will take us into our authorized military flight test area.”

“That’s all mountains and hills, with very little population,” Gus said.

“That’s right, Chief. Our playground for the next eight weeks.”

“I used to hike in those mountains,” Gus said.

“Really?” Cam was hungry to know something about Morales on a personal level. “How old were you?”

“I told you my mom is Yaqui Indian?”

“Right, you did.” With his golden skin and the hint of a tilt at the corners of his large eyes, Morales reminded her of a lean, golden jaguar. There was a strength to him as well—quiet, powerful and yet steady. Cam could feel it. There was something so solid and grounded about him that it made her want to trust him. The man was terribly good-looking, in her opinion. One moment he’d appear serious and mature, and the next he’d give her that unexpected, little-boy grin of delight. She liked him more than she should, Cam realized.

“My father was an attaché to the U.S. Ambassador to Mexico when I was a kid, and he used to take me over here to go hiking. My dad is a great outdoorsman to this day.”

“A hunter?”

“No, a hiker.”

“Did your mom go along?”

“No. My dad has a great love of the land, and he would show me animal tracks and interesting plants. We’d take a camera along and shoot the birds and animals we saw. I have scrapbooks at home filled with pictures we took.”

“Better to shoot them with a camera than a gun,” Cam said.

“Right on.”

“And yet you’re an Apache pilot. A combat pilot who will have to pull the trigger someday, and possibly kill someone. How does that set with you, Chief Morales?”

Making the turn at the twenty-mile mark, Gus pushed the Apache toward the brown-and-green looming mountains in the distance. “I don’t know. All my targets have been wooden, with no human involvement.”

It was a good answer.

Cam got down to business. “All right, Chief, I’m going to give you a series of flight maneuvers. When I give the orders, I want them executed immediately. Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Gus felt his heart speed up a little. Below, the ocean was an aquamarine color, indicating it was becoming shallow. Up ahead rose mountains that were anywhere from two to six thousand feet in height. The bumpy foothills in front of them were lined with green valleys filled with brush and short trees; the sloping sides were dotted with sagebrush and cactus. Beyond them the tops of the mountains were bare and brown.

Gus tightened his hands around the controls as he anticipated the series of flight commands Chief Anderson would put him through.

“Climb to twenty thousand.”

Instantly, Gus followed her orders. The engines howled. The Apache strained. Nose up, the helicopter clawed for the blue sky, which was dotted with white cottony clouds. The gravity pushed Gus back in the pilot’s seat. It was always a good feeling to him. This was what he loved best—flying this powerful, responsive machine.

The moment he hit the targeted altitude, he heard Anderson snap, “I want an inside loop.”

Gus was surprised, but didn’t hesitate. Immediately he sent the aircraft nose down in a sharp descent toward the green-and-brown earth. The Apache was the only helicopter in the world that could do an inside loop. Because gravity would drain the fuel from the lines on other machines, none but the Apache could attempt this maneuver. Boeing engineers had figured out how to keep the fuel pumping to an Apache’s engines to keep it from dropping out of the sky.

Cam was pinned back in her seat as gravity built during the loop maneuver. She felt the sureness and confidence in Morales’s handling of the Apache as he executed the required moves. They had eaten up ten thousand feet of airspace in the process, and now, as he brought the shrieking Apache into the lower part of the loop, gravity tried to pull them to the earth.

Cam had had to take the controls from the two other pilots at this point because they were awkward and lacked the confidence to get the screaming helicopter up and out of the dive. Morales, she knew, would finish the loop without her intervention.

As Gus brought the Apache back to its original altitude, he felt a thrill of joy arc through him, and he laughed. It was a sound of triumph. When he heard Chief Anderson laugh with him, his heart opened with an incredible sense of happiness. She understood his joy. Knew how he loved riding this fearless machine, which could do nearly anything that was asked of it.

“That’s incredible!” he said, emotion in his voice.

“Vertical dive to ten thousand.”

“Yes, ma’am!” And he plunged the Apache straight downward, the rotors thumping hard and sending battering waves of vibration through his body.

Pleasure surged through Cam as, for the next twenty minutes, she put Morales through his paces. He was nearly flawless in his command of the Apache. It was a relief to her. At least one of the three pilots on her team had the goods to do interdiction work. Concerned about the other two, Cam wasn’t sure what to do. Putting that worry aside, she ordered Morales back out to sea to follow their designated corridor back to the air base.

Over the Pacific, Gus began to relax. He knew he’d done well on the flight test. “Are you sorry yet that you asked me to be your X.O.?”

Cam lifted her head and stared down out of her cockpit. Below, she could see the green helmet Morales wore, but not his face. “Not at all.”

“Then,” he suggested, “when we’re alone, could we be on a more friendly footing with one another? Could you call me Gus?”

Cam smiled slightly. “So long as the other pilots don’t overhear us, that’s fine. You can call me Cam.”

“Cam? Now, that’s an interesting name.”

“Short for Camelia. My mother had three daughters, and she named us after her favorite flowers—camelias, iris and dahlias.”

“Very nice,” Gus murmured. “I’m an only child—an army brat. My mother had me and said that’s it. One kid born in a helo and no more dramatics.” He chuckled indulgently. Below, the dark blue of the Pacific blazed with gold highlights as the sun sank closer to the western horizon.

“So, you were a handful, eh?”

Shrugging, Gus swept his gaze from the instruments to the ocean below, then to the sky above. It was a habit and a necessary part of flying. “I was a good kid.”

“You seem like you would have been.”

“Oh?” He was very curious about how Cam saw him.

Laughing a little, she said, “You strike me as someone who is very serious about work, but also knows how to play and be a big kid at times, too.”

“Very perceptive,” he murmured. “But that’s why you’re the C.O. You have this radar vision to see straight through your personnel and know what and who they are.”

“Oh, don’t give me that kind of credit,” Cam protested, frowning. “This is my first time at it. I’m learning as I go. The hunt and peck method, with a lot of mistakes along the way.”

“I’d say you’re doing real good so far.”

Mouth flexing, Cam looked up, enjoying the view of the sparkling ocean beneath them. With Gus, she could relax. He made it easy for her to banter with him. “Well,” she muttered, “I’m not so sure of that. At least not yet.”

“I’d say you’ve done a credible job of handling those two jay birds.”

Smiling, Cam said, “Thanks.”

“They threw the kitchen sink at you. I was shocked. I watched you deal with their insubordination and turn it against them. I know a lot of C.O.’s who would have strung them up on court-martial charges. You did it differently than a man would, but I think your way may give them a chance to grow instead of being canned. You were patient and firm with them. You let them know what their choices were, and then left them to hang themselves if that’s what they wanted to do. I found your method very instructive.”

Savoring his praise, Cam felt more relief flow through her. Folding her gloved hands on the board in her lap, she muttered, “I wasn’t expecting that kind of reception, to tell you the truth.”

“Yeah,” Gus said. “I wasn’t, either. Those two do a lot of bluffing, but this time they were serious.” He smiled and sheepishly admitted, “I wanted to speak up and defend you.”

“I’m glad you didn’t. It would have eroded my authority.”

Gus chuckled. “I still have some old officer-and-gentleman habits ingrained in me from my dad. Women are still goddesses to be worshipped on a pedestal, not hung out to dry.”

Unable to help herself, Cam laughed with him. “You’re good for my soul, Gus. Thanks for being here.”

“Believe me, it’s my pleasure.”

The sincerity in his baritone voice moved through Cam like a lover’s caress. She sat there assimilating the sensation. She’d heard the huskiness, the emotion, behind his words. Knowing that Gus meant them, Cam felt a little more confident in how she’d handled the two rebellious pilots.

“What, exactly, am I to do to help you as X.O.?” Gus asked. He saw they had five miles to go before he initiated the turn to fly over San Diego. He wished he could slow time down, but knew he couldn’t. The only thing missing in this private and personal conversation was being able to see Cam’s facial expressions, her reactions to what he said. Some of it he could hear in her soft, low voice.

“Not protect me when I’m toe-to-toe with either of those pilots in future, that’s for sure.”

He heard the derisive tone in her voice. Frowning, Gus murmured, “They shouldn’t have gone after you like that. They did it because they don’t respect women in general, not just you.”

“They’re not used to working around military women,” Cam agreed quietly.

“Part of it is the Mexican culture,” Gus said.

“I know. I was warned of it before I took this mission.”

Brightening, Gus made the turn. San Diego spread out for miles along the coastline, and the windows of the tall skyscrapers in the downtown area glimmered golden, reflecting the setting sun. “Well,” he drawled “at least one of your team isn’t prejudiced against women.”

“You. I think it’s because you’re part Indian. My C.O. comes from Indian and Brazilian heritage, and she’s from a matriarchal culture like yourself. That’s probably why.”

Nodding, Gus paid strict attention to flight protocol at this point. “My mother drilled into me at an early age that women are just as strong, smart and capable as men. She was right.” He really didn’t want this flight to end, because he was enjoying talking to Cam so much. Making the next turn, they began heading over the border toward Tijuana.

Moistening her lips, which were dry due to the desert environment, Cam gazed down at the landscape. Tijuana was a major border city, a city of haves and have-nots. The poor lived up on the hillsides, sometimes in shacks made of cardboard, with pieces of corrugated tin for roofs. It was a heart-wrenching sight to her. No one should live in that kind of poverty.

As Gus brought the Apache in for a perfect three-wheel landing, Cam felt sad. He had been the only positive part of her day. She gritted her teeth, girding herself for her next duty, which was to talk individually to each pilot about what she saw as his weaknesses and strengths. The task was not going to be fun at all.

Cam missed the camaraderie of her sisters, as well as her fellow pilots at the BJS base in Peru. Akiva had been right; when one assumed a leadership role, the fun of being a pilot went out the window—pronto. Having no one to talk to on a personal level weighed heavily on Cam.

She gazed out the windshield as the rotors stopped turning. Below, a U.S. Army crew tethered the rotors and the chief of the ground crew gave the signal that it was safe to open their individual cockpit covers. Until Mexican Army crews could be trained to take over these jobs, the U.S. Army would supply ground crews to Mexico.

Pushing up the canopy, Cam unharnessed herself, trying to tuck all her fears away. Somehow she had to look confident and authoritative, as if she knew what she was doing when she talked to Antonio and Luis. It wasn’t going to be pleasant.

On the ground, she saw Gus take off his helmet. He quickly ran his long fingers through his short, thick black hair, taming it back into place. When she looked at him, he grinned at her like an excited little boy. In that moment, all her consternation dissolved beneath the warmth and joy in his eyes as he held her gaze. Taking off her own helmet, Cam set it on the fuselage of the Apache as the ground crew rapidly worked around them. She had her hair in a ponytail, and reaching up, she loosened it so that it flowed down around her face and shoulders once again.

Unexpected hunger sizzled through Gus as Cam’s hair flowed like a chestnut cape around her proud shoulders. The sunlight caressed her as she picked up her helmet and tucked it beneath her left elbow, then picked up her clipboard. The breeze lifted some strands, highlighting the gold-red tones. She was incredibly beautiful to him in that moment. The world seemed to stop turning for Gus as Cam looked up at him from only a few feet away. The voices of the ground crew, the calls of the seagulls wheeling above them, the noise of a diesel fuel truck coming toward them, all dissolved. He was aware only of her. That oval face dotted with girlish freckles, those thoughtful but worried green eyes of hers and her very soft, parted lips all conspired against him.

As their gazes locked and held for an instant, Gus felt the armor he’d placed around his heart crack. He literally felt and heard it, and the sensation was startling. Frightening. Euphoric. He stood there staring at her, and really looked at Cam for the first time, man to woman.

Swallowing hard, he forced himself to tear his gaze from hers a second later. But not before he saw her cheeks turn a distinct rose color. Had he seen her eyes change? Had they really become a velvet green with flecks of sunlight in them as she’d stared back at him? Trying to shake off the sensation, because it wasn’t appropriate under the circumstances, Gus turned away. But he remembered her eyes. They were like dark, placid green pools he’d seen in the jungles of the Yucatan peninsula that he’d visited with his parents as they taught him about his ancient Mayan heritage. If she met her, his mother would whisper that Cam had “jaguar eyes.” Eyes that now held Gus frozen, a captive—but what an eager one he was! To his consternation and shock, he realized that he could have fallen helplessly into Cam’s gaze, a willing prisoner.

Turning, he fell into step with her as they headed back to the barracks. Cam kept a casual distance between them, and glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, Gus wondered if she’d felt anything toward him in that crazy moment out of time. Her cheeks were still a high pink color, and she was looking down at the ground, her brows drawn downward. Realizing abruptly that she probably hadn’t, Gus found himself in an unexpected quandary.

He liked Cam. Liked everything about her, probably more than he should, given their professional relationship. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he took off his flight gloves and jammed them into the left pocket of his flight suit. Within moments they would be at the two-story barracks, climbing the outside wooden stairs to the second floor, where their H.Q. was located. Time. He needed some quiet time to think about what had just occurred. Tonight, when he went to his assigned cubical on the first floor, and the lights were out, he’d feel his way through it all. Maybe then he’d get some answers.

Chapter 5

Exhausted, Cam walked down to her small room on the first floor of the barracks—her “home” until she could find an apartment near the base. Darkness had fallen. After spending so much energy talking individually to the two arrogant Mexican pilots, she was emotionally whipped. Gus had been a dream in comparison. He’d hung on every word of her critique of his flight performance, asked good questions on how to become better the next time around. Gus was her only bright spot in the whole day.

Heart heavy, Cam realized she wasn’t even hungry. It was 1900 and she knew she should eat, but she was too upset. Being a leader was harder than she’d ever envisioned. Gaining a new respect for her own C.O., Major Stevenson, Cam unlocked the door to her room. Stepping in, she turned on the overhead light. Earlier in the day, when she’d arrived at the base via commercial airline, she’d thrown her two pieces of luggage into the room, shed her civilian clothes and quickly donned the dark green flight suit worn by U.S. Army aviators.

Looking around as she quietly closed the door, Cam decided that even though this was a spare room, it was posh in comparison to her digs at the cave in Peru where the squadron was based. Here she had a double bed, a wooden dresser with a mirror, and two large metal lockers to store her few clothes in. A television, DVD player and radio were all unexpected bonuses to her. At BJS, no one had these things, though one building on the other side of the mountain—the mining operation that was a front for their black ops—had a satellite dish where off-duty personnel could go watch television and find out what was happening in the rest of the world. It was a treat to have time to do that.

Cam’s new room had a small desk and a phone, and she’d brought her Mac titanium G4 laptop, which she’d use to communicate with her colleagues. Next to it she placed the very expensive iridium satellite phone.

Cam reached for the Velcro closing at the top of her flight suit and tugged it open. Pulling out the white silk scarf she always wore around her neck in order to stop the uniform from chafing her skin as she scanned the skies, Cam sat down. She needed someone to talk to. Someone whose advice could help her get through this messy situation. Picking up the satellite phone, she dialed a number.

“Stevenson here.”

“Maya? This is Cam. I hope it’s not too late?”

Chuckling, Maya said, “I figured I’d hear from you. And late? When I’m known to stay up half the night and then crash for a few hours on the bunk in my office? I don’t think so.”

“It’s great to hear a friendly voice,” Cam said, meaning it. She gripped the phone anxiously.

“So, you hit a brick wall with your pilots?”

Sighing, she nodded. “Yeah, two out of the three are challenges. Only one, Chief Gus Morales, is the material we’re looking for.”

“So, give me the down and dirty on all of them. Let’s talk.”

Relieved, Cam quickly related the day’s events. Her heart was beating hard in her chest because she didn’t want to disappoint Maya. She didn’t want her to think she wasn’t up to the job before her. Right now, Cam felt like a loser.

“Let me do some more background snooping on Dominguez and Zaragoza, okay? If they’re that bad, why the hell did the army allow them to pass? That’s my first question. Secondly, I know that the Mexican military have been putting only two students per rotation through Apache school. Why should these two get it, instead of guys who really want the training?”

Rubbing her aching head, Cam muttered, “I don’t know. There’s nothing in their personnel jackets to indicate why.”

Chuckling darkly, Maya said, “Personnel jackets are sanitized versions of reality, and tell you little. Don’t worry, I’ll get to Morgan and have him do some looking into the real records at the flight school at Fort Rucker, to find out what you need to know.”

“I feel inept, Maya.”

Laughing, she said, “Welcome to the real world of being a leader. Crappy, isn’t it?”

“No kidding. I sure have a new respect for you…for what you must go through every day down there, while all we do is climb into the cockpit and fly.”

“Well, Cam, you pilots put your lives on the line. I don’t. I fly a desk most of the time. I take other slings and arrows—glares, silent name-calling and outbursts of anger from time to time with my people, but that’s not often. And you’re in another league on this. With an all-woman squadron down here, we have a natural tendency toward teamwork and helping one another. Whereas with men, at least most macho ones, there’s nothing but rivalry. Some guys just don’t like to work together. They like to show off—strut their stuff and show you what they know as an individual, not a team member.”

Laughing softly, Cam nodded. “Well, the one bright spot, like I said, is Gus Morales. He’s a dream, really.”

“Yeah?”

Cam filled her in on the Mexican-American pilot.

“He was a good choice as X.O.,” Maya affirmed.

“Maya, I’m going to ask a stupid question.”

“No question is stupid, Cam. Only the one that goes unasked. What is it?”

Relieved that Maya didn’t mind holding her hand as she learned how to become a leader, Cam felt the courage to go on. She shifted in the chair and crossed her legs.

“I see the closeness and confidence you have with Dallas Klein, your X.O.—the confidence you have in her. I was wondering…well, do I want to create that same situation with Gus?”

Chuckling, Maya said, “X.O.’s are people, Cam. Sometimes you get lucky, like I did with Lieutenant Klein, who became an immediate friend. She’s someone I can blow off steam to, cry in front of, talk and laugh with. And whatever I say to her stays with her. She knows how to keep a confidence. She’s not a gossiper. As a leader, you can’t cry in front of your people. You have to look confident, strong and sure of yourself even if your gut feels like jelly and you’re questioning yourself every step of the way. The right X.O. can give you a safe harbor to vent your anger and frustration, share your humor over dumb things, mistakes, talk about your personnel, and in general, help you run the command. You want an X.O. who is perceptive, who can give you feedback and who isn’t afraid of you just because you’re the boss. You don’t want a boot licker.”

“Gus isn’t that.”

“Good. Is he reliable, you think?”

“In my gut, he’s like Dallas, I feel.”

“Trustworthy?”

“Yes, but I haven’t had time to really verify that. It’s just an instinct thing.”

“Well,” Maya drawled, humor in her husky tone, “you know how much we work on gut instinct around here. And you know how accurate it is. Often, it saves our lives when a Black Shark is lurking around and our Apache is unable to pick up its identification signal. The only thing keeping us from getting blasted out of the sky sometimes is our intuition. If Morales feels right to you, feels like he’s trustworthy, I’m sure he is, whether he’s proved it yet or not.”

“You’re right,” Cam murmured. “You’d like him, Maya. He’s enthusiastic, he’s smart and he catches on fast.”

“Well, at least one of the three is a winner, Cam. What you have to do as a leader is figure out how to bring these other two dudes not only into line, but also up to scratch with their air skills.”

“I’m going to work out a mission plan when I get off the phone with you. I’d like to discuss it with you tomorrow night, if that’s okay with you?”

“Sure.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Heck no! I’d be worried if you weren’t calling me, Cam. Good leaders aren’t born, they’re made one grueling day at a time.”

“Gosh, that’s true,” Cam whispered, wrinkling her brow. “I’ve got to learn not to get emotionally involved when dealing with those two pilots.”

“That’s right. They’ll teach you what I call the Zen-like art of detachment,” Maya chuckled. “You’ve got to change your attitude, Cam. Down here at BJS, everyone likes everyone else. We all get along. We’re one big team. We’re like a bunch of sisters out on this wild and crazy adventure together. From what you’ve said, Zaragoza and Dominguez want to set you up to fail, to embarrass you, to show your faults instead of reflecting on their own skills and weaknesses. It’s a game, and you’ve got to learn the game in a hurry and turn it back on them.”

“I have to be tough in ways I never wanted to be, Maya. The only way I got through today was to act like our Inspector Pilots back at Fort Rucker.”

“Yeah—lean, mean mother machines,” she said derisively.

“And mother wasn’t used as a nice word, either,” Cam said, smiling a little.

“Right on. So be a mean mother. Don’t give an inch. And don’t let them know they’ve taken a pound of flesh out of you. Keep them off balance. That means you have to be thinking way ahead of them. You have to know them so well, their individual personalities, that you know what their action or reaction is going to be before they initiate a response.”

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