Tanner twisted in his chair. Looking. Finding. Her.

Kathleen stood silhouetted in the doorway.

His chair thudded to the barroom floor in a teeth-jarring landing. No flight suit for her tonight. She’d changed.

Man, how she’d changed.

Leather pants molded themselves to her every curve. They sealed over her trimly muscled calves, up her thighs, to cup that bottom he’d been trying not to watch all day. Her hair flowed in a fiery curtain around her face, brushing the collar of her satin shirt. Scorching his eyes from across the smoky room.

She leaned over the bar to place her drink order. Her blouse inched up, baring a thin stripe of skin along her back.

Twelve years.

Twelve years hadn’t dimmed the memory of how soft, how warm, that skin had felt beneath his hands….

Taking Cover
Catherine Mann

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CATHERINE MANN

began her career writing romance at twelve and recently uncovered that first effort while cleaning out her grandmother’s garage. After working for a small-town newspaper, teaching on the university level and serving as a theater school director, she has returned to her original dream of writing romance. Now an award-winning author, Catherine is especially pleased to add a nomination for the prestigious Maggie to her contest credits. Following her air force aviator husband around the United States with four children and a beagle in tow gives Catherine a wealth of experience from which to draw her plots. Catherine invites you to learn more about her work by visiting her Web site: http://catherinemann.com.

Endless thanks to my editor, Melissa Jeglinski, and my agent, Barbara Collins Rosenberg.

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

Epilogue

Chapter 1

Captain Tanner “Bronco” Bennett gripped the cargo plane’s stick and flew through hell, the underworld having risen to fire the night sky.

“Anything. Anywhere. Anytime,” he chanted the combat mantra through locked teeth.

His C-17 squadron motto had gone into overtime today.

Neon-green tracer rounds arced over the jet’s nose. Sweat sealed Tanner’s helmet to his head. Adrenaline burned over him with more heat than any missile. He plowed ahead, chanted. Prayed.

Antiaircraft fire exploded into puffs of black smoke that momentarily masked the moon. The haze dispersed, leaving lethal flak glinting in the inky air. Shrapnel sprinkled the plane, tink, tink, tinking like hail on a tin roof.

Still, he flew, making no move for evasion or defense.

“Steady. Steady.” He held his unwavering course, had to until the last paratrooper egressed out of the C-17 into the Eastern European forest below.

Off-loading those troopers into the drop zone was critical. Once they secured the nearby Sentavo airfield, supplies could be flown into the wartorn country by morning. Starving villagers burned out of their homes by renegade rebels needed relief. Now. The scattered uprisings of the prior summer had heated into an all-out civil war as the year’s end approached.

Anything. Anywhere. Anytime. Tanner embraced it as more than a squadron motto. Those villagers might be just a mass of faceless humanity to other pilots, but to him each scared, hungry refugee had the same face—the face of his sister.

A flaming ball whipped past his windscreen.

Reality intruded explosively a few feet away. Near miss. Closer than the last. Time to haul out.

“Tag—” Tanner called over the headset to the loadmaster “—step it up back there. We gotta maneuver out of this crap. In case you haven’t noticed, old man, they’re shooting at us.”

“Got it, Bronco,” the loadmaster growled. “Our guys are piling out of this flying coffin as fast as they can.”

“Start pushing. Just get ’em the hell off my airplane so we can maneuver.” Urgency pulsed through Tanner, buzzed through the cockpit.

His hand clenched around the stick. No steering yoke for this new sleek cargo plane. And it damned well needed to perform up to its state of the art standards today.

He darted a glance at the sweat-soaked aircraft commander beside him. “Hey, Lancelot, how’s it look left? Is there a way out on your side?”

Major Lance “Lancelot” Sinclair twisted in his seat toward the window, then pivoted back. A foreboding scowl creased the perspiration filming his too-perfect features. “Bronco, my man, we can’t go left. It’s a wall of flames. What’s it like on your side?”

Tanner leaned forward, peering at the stars beyond the side window for a hole in the sparking bursts. Bad. But not impossible. “Fairly clear over here. Scattered fire. Isolated pockets I can see to weave through.”

“Roger that, you’ve got the jet.”

“Roger, I have the jet.” He gave the stick a barely perceptible shake to indicate his control of the aircraft. Not that he’d ever lost control. Lance hadn’t been up to speed for weeks, a fact that left Tanner more often than not running the missions, regardless of his copilot status. “Tag, waiting for your all-clear call.”

“You got it, big guy.” Tag’s voice crackled over the headset. “Everybody’s off. The door’s closing…. Clear to turn.”

Anticipation cranked Tanner’s adrenaline up another notch. “Hold on to your flight pay, boys, we’re breaking right.”

He yanked the stick, simultaneously ramming the rudder pedal with his boot. The aircraft banked, hard and fast.

Gravity punched him. G-forces anchored him to his seat, pulled, strained, as he threaded the lumbering aircraft through exploding volleys in the starlit sky.

Pull back, adjust, weave right. Almost there.

A familiar numbing sensation melted down his back like an ice cube. Ignore it. Focus and fly.

Debris rattled, sliding sideways. His checklist thunked to the floor. Lance’s cookies, airmailed from his wife, skittered across the glowing control panel. Tanner dipped the nose, embers streaming past outside.

The chilling tingle in his back detonated into white-hot pain. His torso screamed for release from the five-point harness. The vise-like constraints had never been adequate to accommodate his height or bulk. Who would have thought a simple pinched nerve just below his shoulder could bring him down faster than a missile?

Doc O’Connell had even grounded him for it once before. He knew she would again in a heartbeat. If he let her.

Which he wouldn’t.

Tanner pulled a sharp turn left. The plane howled past a shower of light. He hurt like hell, but considered it a small price to pay. By tomorrow night, women and children would be fed because of his efforts, and he liked to think that was a worthwhile reason to risk his life.

Yeah, saving babies was a damn fine motivator for going to work every day. No way was he watching from the sidelines.

He accepted that none of it would bring his sister back. But each life saved, each wrong righted, soothed balm over a raw wound he knew would never completely heal.

Tanner’s hand twitched on the stick, and he jerked his thoughts back to the cockpit. He couldn’t think of his sister now. Distractions in combat were deadly.

He reined his thoughts in tight, instincts and training offering him forgetfulness until he flew out over the Adriatic Sea.

“Feet wet, crew.” Tanner announced their position over the water. “We’re in the clear all the way to land in Germany.”

He relaxed his grip on the stick, the rest of his body following suit. The blanket of adrenaline fell away, unveiling a pain ready to knife him with clean precision. Tanner swallowed back bile. “Take the jet, Lance.”

“Bronco, you okay?”

“Take the jet,” he barked. Fresh beads of sweat traced along his helmet.

Lance waggled the stick. “Roger, I have the aircraft.”

Tanner’s hand fell into his lap, his arm throbbing, nearly useless. He clicked through his options. He couldn’t avoid seeing a flight surgeon after they landed. But if he waited until morning and locked in an appointment with his pal Cutter, he would be fine. Doc Grayson “Cutter” Clark understood flyers.

No way was Tanner letting Dr. Kathleen O’Connell get her hands on him again—

He halted the thought in midair. Her hands on him? That was definitely an image he didn’t need.

Keep it PC, bud. Remember those soft hands are attached to a professional woman and a damned sharp officer.

All presented in a petite package with an iron will that matched her fiery red hair.

Forget reining in those thoughts. Tanner dumped them from his mind like an off-loaded trooper.

Lance pressed the radio call button on the throttle. “Control, this is COHO two zero. Negative known damage. Thirty point zero of gas. Requesting a flight surgeon to meet us when we land.”

“What the—” Tanner whipped sideways, wrenching up short as a spasm knocked him back in his seat. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Calling for a flight surgeon to meet us on the ground.”

In front of the crew? Tanner winced. “No need, Lance. I’ll be fine until I can get to the clinic.”

“Yeah, right.” Lance swiped his arm across his damp brow as he flew. “I’ve seen you like this before. You’ll be lucky to walk once we land. You need a flight surgeon waiting, man. I’m not backing off the call.”

“Listen, Lance—” Tanner wanted to argue, fully intended to bluster through, but the spasm kinked like an overwound child’s toy ready to snap.

He couldn’t afford to be grounded from flying again, not now. He only had six weeks left until he returned to the states to begin his rescheduled upgrade from copilot to aircraft commander. Not only could he lose his slot, but he would also lose six weeks of flying time, of making a difference.

Why the hell couldn’t he and O’Connell have pulled different rotations, leaving her back at Charleston Air Force Base with her perfectly annotated regulation book and haughty cat eyes?

The strain of ignoring the stabbing ache drizzled perspiration down Tanner’s spine, plastering his flight suit to his skin. Options dwindled with each pang.

“Fine.” Tanner bit out the word through his clenched teeth. What a time for Lance to resume control. “Just have them find Cutter to meet us. He’ll give me a break.”

Not like Doc O’Connell. She probably hadn’t colored outside the lines since kindergarten.

“And, Lance, tell Cutter to keep it low-key. Would ya? No big show.” Rules be damned, he wasn’t going to end a combat mission publicly whining about a backache. Cutter would understand. Tanner was counting on it.

If by-the-book O’Connell ran the show, he would be flying a desk by sunrise.

Waiting on the tarmac, Captain Kathleen O’Connell braced her boot on the ambulance bumper and tugged down the leg of her flight suit. Lights blinked in the distant night sky, announcing the approaching aircraft carrying her patient. Time to report for duty.

Snow glistened as it drifted past the stadium-style lights casting a bubble of illumination over the airfield. She shivered inside her leather jacket and longed for her sunny Charleston town house rather than the American airfield in Germany. White Christmases were highly overrated.

Of course, the holiday season hadn’t held much allure for her since her divorce.

Thank God she had her job. She loved working flight medicine, but dreaded calls like this one. Familiar with Captain Bennett’s medical and personal history, she knew what to expect.

The tussle of a lifetime was only a short taxi away.

Why couldn’t he understand her job required keeping flyers healthy for future missions? Her mission demanded more than simply slapping a Band-Aid on a sucking chest wound so some jet jock could finish out the day with his ego intact.

Flyer egos.

Those required more technique in handling than a vasectomy in a cold room.

Maybe if she’d mastered the art of navigating aviator psyches earlier, her marriage might have lasted. Logic told her otherwise. Dual military careers were hell on even the most compatible of couples. She and Andrew hadn’t stood a chance.

At least her parents had restrained themselves from spouting a litany of I-told-you-so. No big family secret, she sucked at relationships. Had from the cradle. Give her a textbook anyday. The dependability of science, rules, regimen offered her a lifelong security blanket against being hurt, and she was smart enough never to bare herself to anyone again.

Snowflakes caught and lingered on her eyelashes while she watched the jet circle then land. As the cargo plane taxied closer, battle damage revealed itself. Runway lights glared on half-dollar-size chinks and dings under the wings and along the tail. Like the edges of a twisted soda can, the ragged metal gaped.

Kathleen shuddered inside her jacket. She knew it was rare for larger combat planes to land without holes. That didn’t lessen horrific images of the wreckage that one better-aimed scrap of flak could cause.

The C-17 taxied to a stop, parking beside a line of other planes, engines whining, silencing. Wind howled from the rolling hills, stirring a mist of snow from the evergreen forest surrounding the flight line.

With trained precision, crew chiefs swarmed the plane. A refueling truck squealed to halt. BDR—Battle Damage Repair—began their assessment and patching. All joined to prep the plane for its next mission while she patched the flyers.

The side hatch swung open, and Major Lance Sinclair bounded down the stairs to wait by the rail. Kathleen squinted, searching for her patient. What kind of shape would he be in? Did he need a stretcher?

The jet’s doorway filled, sealing closed with a body as Tanner Bennett eased into view. Halogen lights glinted off his golden-blond hair, shadowed the bold lines of his bronzed jaw, his square chin and a twice-broken nose that somehow added a boyish appeal. He ducked and angled sideways to clear the hatch, had to for his leather clad shoulders to fit. Slowly he tackled the steps, his gloved hand gripping the rail for support.

Her breath hitched, a glacial gasp of air freezing a path to her lungs. At the oddest times his incredible size caught her unaware. She knew his vitals. Six feet five inches. Honed 238 pounds. Good cholesterol and blood pressure as of his last physical recorded in his chart stowed inside the ambulance.

Chart stats didn’t come close to capturing the magnetism of the man.

He hadn’t lost one bit of his brawny charm that had so enchanted fans during his four years on the Air Force Academy football team. Then when he’d chosen service to country over a seven-figure NFL income with the Broncos—Even she had to admire him for that.

Not that it would garner him special treatment from her.

Kathleen inhaled a deeper breath of chilly air to banish a warm hum in her stomach that she wanted to attribute to sleep deprivation and too much coffee.

Tanner shuffled over to her, pain etched in the corners of his eyes, skin pulling tight around his bumpy nose. “Hey, Doc, what are you doing out so late?”

Sympathy pinched her right on her Hippocratic Oath. Poor guy had to be in agony. Of course, experience told her he wouldn’t admit it.

She pushed away from the ambulance and pulled herself upright, still no more than eye level with his chest. Strands of hair blew across her face, making Kathleen wish she’d had the time for her more professional braid. She tipped her face up and met Tanner’s sapphire eyes dead-on. “I’m taking care of flyers who won’t take care of themselves.”

He turned to look back at the plane, the twist stopping midway when he grimaced. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, instead. “Is somebody hurt in there and I missed it?”

Yeah, she had a tough one on her hands tonight. “Your wit has me in stitches.”

“I can tell.”

“Trust me, hotshot, I’m laughing. Just not with you.”

Getting him into the ambulance wouldn’t be an easy sell. The man was as stubborn as he’d been at the Academy his freshman year, making her junior year as his training officer a challenge from start to finish. Twelve years hadn’t changed them, only their jobs.

He began to turn. “Well, then, time for me to go—”

“Legal point of reference, my good Captain. Your body belongs to the United States Air Force. If you mistreat it, say you get sunburned—” a frigid gust of wind mocked her example, whipping her hair across her face “—if you can’t perform your duties because of that recklessness, that’s abuse of government property and grounds for a court martial.”

“Geez, Doc. Do you keep the Uniform Code of Military Justice in your bathroom?”

“I happen to have a UCMJ travel edition right here.” She patted her zippered thigh pocket over her wallet and comb. “They issued them to all the good officers. Didn’t you get yours?”

“I was probably stuck waiting in sick call that day.” He raised his hand with a barely disguised wince and flicked aside her strand of hair.

At his touch against her cheek, his eyes widened, then narrowed, colliding with hers. Her face warmed with the curse of a redhead’s blush, her skin firing even hotter on the exact spot his gloved fingers lingered. They’d never touched in any way except professionally since that one moment at the Academy….

His arm dropped to his side, and she exhaled a proverbial storm cloud into the cold air.

Kathleen backed up but not off. “Okay, hotshot, let’s cut the chitchat. I’m cold and I’m tired. I’ve got rounds at six and sick call at seven. If I’m lucky, I’ll manage three hours of sleep tonight. Let’s get you into the ambulance and evaluated.”

Tanner shifted right then left as if trying to look around the snow-dusted tarmac without turning. “Uh, where’s Cutter?”

Kathleen bristled even though she wasn’t in the least surprised. Tanner Bennett had been dodging appointments with her since she’d been stationed in Charleston a year ago. She wanted to attribute it to narrow-mindedness on his part about being treated by a female doctor, but she couldn’t. He never objected to seeing the other female flight surgeon when Cutter wasn’t available.

Only her. “Cutter’s not on call. You’ll have to make do with me. Now step up, and let’s take a look at that back.”

Ready to end the whole awkward incident, she reached to brace a hand between his shoulder blades. His muscles contracted beneath her fingers into a sheet of pure metal beneath leather.

He lurched away, flinched, then stared at her hand as if it were a torture device rather than an instrument for healing. Stepping aside, she gestured forward for him to precede her into the ambulance.

Tanner looked from her to the ambulance and back again. His eyes glittered like blue ice chips. “Not a chance.”

“Pardon me?”

He skated a glance toward the crew bus where Lancelot and Tag waited, then ducked his head toward her. “No way.” Tanner’s voice filled the space between them with a low rumble. “I’m not climbing up there in front of everyone.”

Each word puffed white to swirl between them, caressing their faces, linking them in an intimate haze.

Making her mad as hell.

“Am I supposed to pitch a tent in the middle of the tarmac and examine you out here? Or maybe you can haul yourself back inside the plane.” She jabbed the space between them for emphasis—and to disperse those damned distracting breathy clouds. “Zip your ego in your helmet bag, hotshot, and use your brain. You need to be in the hospital, not standing out here freezing your boots off arguing with me.”

He blanched. “The hospital?”

“If this is anything like last time—”

“Sorry, Doc. Not gonna happen.” He pivoted slowly on his boot heels and lumbered toward his aircraft commander. “Hold on, Lance. I’m outa here.”

Kathleen hooked her hands on her hips, a quiet rage simmering. “Bennett.”

He ignored her.

Forget simmer, she was seething. “Bennett!”

Tanner held his right hand up and kept walking, if his shuffle-swagger could be called that. Frustration fired within her until she could almost feel the snowflakes steaming off her. Of all the thick-headed, arrogant stunts he’d—

Reluctant remorse encroached on her anger as she watched him struggle to board the bus.

But what could she do? She couldn’t force him to seek treatment if he wouldn’t admit to a problem. If she were a gambler, she would bet he hadn’t even been the one to place the call for a flight surgeon in the first place.

Not that she was one to waste her money, time or energy on chance. Logic served better.

And more faithfully.

Kathleen clambered back inside the ambulance, her exasperation over his senseless testosterone dance igniting again. Logic told her Tanner Bennett wouldn’t be able to roll out of bed by morning, and she was the flight surgeon on call until noon.

She slammed the ambulance door shut. Hard. With any luck the big lug would oversleep and someone else could treat his wounded back and tender ego.

Too late, Kathleen recalled she’d never believed in luck any more than chance.

Chapter 2

Two hundred twenty-three. Two hundred twenty-four.

Tanner counted the tan cinderblocks in the wall for the eleventh time that morning. Not much else to do since he couldn’t move. His reach for the telephone fifteen minutes ago had left him cursing—and shaking.

He cut his gaze toward the clock, not risking more than half a head turn.

The time—8:30 a.m.—glowed from the clock in the dim room, the only other light slanting through a slight part in the curtains.

He sure hoped Cutter had gone on call at eight.

After waking and realizing he couldn’t haul his sorry butt out of bed, Tanner had shouted for Lance in the next VOQ—Visiting Officer’s Quarter. Their rooms, connected by a bath, were close enough that Lance would have heard had he been around. No luck. The telephone call to the clinic had been a last-ditch resort.

Where was Cutter? Didn’t the guy ever check his messages?

Tanner hiked the polyester bedspread over his bare chest. Even the small movement hurt like a son of a gun. How long before it let up? Lying around left him with too much time to think. He preferred action, needed to be back out on the flight line.

The flight line.

Images of Kathleen O’Connell looking mad enough to chew rivets blindsided Tanner when he didn’t have any chance or the physical capability of ducking.

Had he actually touched her?

Awash in postbattle adrenaline, he’d found her fire stirred his, as well. With a will of its own, his hand had swiped that silky strand of hair away from her face.

Surely the impulse was only combat aftermath, emotions running high. He didn’t think of her that way.

But he had before.

Tanner’s head dug back in his pillow as if he might somehow dodge memories he couldn’t suppress. His first day at the Air Force Academy, he’d seen Kathleen walking across the parade ground, vibrant, toned and radiating a confidence that had found an answer within him. Every hormone in his eighteen-year-old body had roared to life.

Until he’d noticed she wore a beret with her uniform, the distinguishing symbol of an upperclassman.

Relationships between upperclassmen and freshmen-doolies were forbidden. Grounds for expulsion. And he wasn’t throwing away his career for anyone.

Maybe later, he’d thought….

Later she’d become his training officer and his own personal ticket to hell. Training officers were universally resented by the doolies they hammered into Academy material.

Tanner had stuffed his hormones into his footlocker and concentrated on getting through his freshman year. Becoming a pilot meant everything to him, and he wouldn’t risk it.

Something that hadn’t changed in twelve years.

Footsteps echoed in the hall. Closer. With a light tread that launched a wave of foreboding in Tanner. Unless Cutter had lost about seventy pounds and developed a decided glide to his walk, those footsteps didn’t belong to him.

Two quick raps sounded on the door.

Foreboding death-spiraled into certainty. “Yeah. Come in.”

The door swung wide, revealing Kathleen O’Connell.

His libido crashed and burned. And damn, but it was one hell of a plunge.

She lounged against the door frame, wearing lime-green scrubs, instead of her regular forest-green flight suit. Cotton hugged gentle curves her bulky uniform usually disguised. Her leather flight jacket hung loose as she hooked a hand on one shapely hip. “Well, good morning, hotshot. How’s the back?”

Did she have to sound so chipper, look so hot? Small but fit, her tight body tugged his gaze into a slow glide he didn’t have the reserves to resist. She came by those taut muscles honestly. More than once over the past year, the two of them had pitted themselves against each other doing sit-ups during physical training.

A stethoscope dangled around her neck, nestling between breasts that were as understated and damned irresistible as the rest of her. Apparently, the attraction hadn’t left after all, only slipping out of formation while waiting to rejoin without warning.

Time to pull out the old footlocker and replace the padlock on his hormones.

A strange thought taunted. Could their arguments have been a way of rechanneling his lust? Damn it all. “Figures you would be a morning person.”

Kathleen’s wicked smile creased her blue cat eyes. “And with next to no sleep. Imagine that? Come on. Hop up and let’s go to breakfast. What? Having a little trouble moving are we? Hmmm.” She pressed a slim finger against her pursed lips. “Guess that’s to be expected when someone ignores his doctor’s advice. Word around the water cooler has it that you even skipped out on your last chiropractor appointment.”

Tanner tapped precious energy reserves to tuck his good arm behind his head casually. “What are you gonna do, bludgeon me with your pocket edition UCMJ manual?”

“My, we’re cranky today. Just think, you could have been languishing in a Demerol daze as we speak. But, nope. You had to play the tough guy.”

“Doc, your bedside manner sucks.”

Her smile tightened. “Chalk it up to sleep deprivation. Two house calls in less than twelve hours qualifies as more TLC than you’re issued, soldier. In the civilian world I could have financed a summer home with the overtime you’re demanding.”

He might as well have been a freshman again, pumping push-ups over some infraction. She wasn’t going to cut him any slack. “And you’ve opted to take it out of my hide, instead.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.” She smoothed her already immaculate hair. No sneaky strands slipping loose today, her red mane was swept back into her traditional French braid with the short tail secured under.

Tanner frowned. When had he started noticing how she styled her hair? She’d kept it cropped at the Academy, he remembered that much. Until he’d seen it loose on the flight line, he hadn’t given much thought to its longer length hidden inside that braid.

Now he couldn’t think of anything but wild red strands wind-whipped around her composed face.

Kathleen uncrossed her feet and flicked on the overhead light. “While the conversation is positively stimulating, I’ve got other patients to see. Ones who want to get well. Sit up and let’s take a look.”

“Might as well get it over with.” Contracting his stomach muscles toppled a domino effect to his back that left Tanner straining not to whimper like a kid. And now he couldn’t get his arm from behind his head.

“Bennett?” Compassion darkened her blue eyes. “You can’t sit up, can you?”

He offered silence and no movement as his answer, all the concession his pride would allow. As much as he wanted to snap at her, he couldn’t. His innate sense of fair play insisted he’d brought this on himself.

“Time to call for a stretcher.” She turned on her heel, her tennis shoes squeaking against the tile.

“No!” Tanner arched up. And promptly fell back, his hoarse groan echoing.

Kathleen closed the space to the bed in three quick steps. “Deep breaths. Look at me, Bennett. Focus and breathe until it passes. Try to relax or you’ll make it worse. No need to fight everything in this world, hotshot. There you go, in and out. Breathe.”

Her voice talked him down, like flying by instinct when the instruments were shot and he couldn’t see beyond the clouds. He locked on the timbre of her throaty voice and let it work through the fog of agony.

“Better?”

“Yes.” He offered the clipped word rather than risk even a nod.

She braced her hand on the headboard and sighed. “I’m not going to be able to talk you into a stretcher, am I?”

“No.”

“Even if I tell you walking out of here could delay your recovery?”

Man, she fought dirty. Lose air time or lose face. Hell or Hades. Same thing.

Almost.

He could grit his way through recovery. Regaining face…

Tanner opened his eyes, wasn’t sure when he’d closed them, and allowed himself to gaze straight up into her blue eyes, eyes as clear as an ocean sky. “I can’t roll out of here on a stretcher, Doc. I have to fly with these guys again. Trust in the air is everything, could make the difference in a split decision that costs somebody’s life.” Frustration snapped his restraint. “O’Connell, come on….”

“Okay.”

Shock immobilized him as much as his back. “What?”

“If we can haul you out of this bed, and if you can put one foot in front of the other, I’ll allow you to walk out of here under your own power. No doubt that flyer ego can manage more miracles than modern medicine.”

He searched for sarcasm in her words, in her eyes.

Better not look at her eyes.

Back to her voice. Not a note of sarcasm, just resigned logic.

“Thank you.” Gratitude mixed with respect. He understood how difficult backing down could be.

Then he realized he owed her, an uncomfortable thought at best. He would have shrugged it off if he could lift his shoulders. He joked instead, a safe barrier against free-falling into her eyes. “Do you think we could act like I’ve got some shrapnel in my butt? It would make for better stories around the Officer’s Club.”

Her laugh, low, throaty and her one unreserved trait, filled his senses. Like a drag of one hundred percent oxygen from his face mask, it invigorated him, left him slightly dizzy.

She chuckled again, dipping her head until he could see every tuck of her braid. Each perfectly spaced weave called to his fingers. He wanted to untwine that restrained fire until it poured over his hands.

Silken fire. He wanted it with a pulsing force that threatened stirrings within him farther south.

And he didn’t have anything more than a thin bedspread between his naked body and total exposure.

Kathleen gazed down at the 238 pounds of bare-chested man under the rose-colored spread and wondered if she would ever understand Tanner Bennett. Or her own reaction to him.

It went against every principle ingrained in her to let him walk out under his own compromised power. She told herself it was part of treating the ego as well as the man. Keeping the big picture in mind. A really big picture.

But she knew that wasn’t her real reason.

She kept remembering the Academy doolie. She’d given him hell as his training officer. No sports jock would warrant special treatment from her, just as she accepted no special treatment for being a woman.

He’d never caved.

Even if she didn’t agree with his tactics, she had to admire his warrior spirit. To crush that would be to the detriment of the Air Force.

So her decision was for the Air Force. Right? Not because he looked up at her with those sapphire eyes in which mingled determination and boyish charm.

She extended her hand. “Maybe you can try sitting now.”

“Sure.” He waved away her hand and inched up on his elbows, paling to match the bleached sheets.

“If you can.”

“Of course I can.”

More spirit than sense.

“Come on, Bennett. You need help getting up. There’s nothing wrong with admitting it’s too hard. Here, let me give you a hand.” She reached for his arm.

He pressed back into his pillow. “Doc!”

“What?”

Tanner imprisoned her wrist. “I don’t think you want to go there.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t have anything on.”

His bare chest suddenly looked all the more exposed, sporting nothing more than his dog tags and a medal nestled in a dusting of golden hair.

“Nothing?” Her wrist screamed with awareness of skin-to-skin contact.

“’Fraid not.”

Kathleen tugged her arm free and smoothed her braid, willing her composure to follow suit. “Oh. Well, I’m a doctor, your doctor. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before in your flight physical.”

“Not like this you haven’t.”

Her hand paused along the back of her head. “Pardon me?”

“Doc. I’m a man. It’s morning.”

She could feel the color drain from her face until she, as well, no doubt now matched the sheets. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

Kathleen looked at the television, the minifridge, the cinderblock walls, anything to keep her gaze from gravitating to where it had no business going. Finally she simply spun on her heel before gravity had its way and her gaze fell straight down.

“Okay, Bennett. Let’s find you some sweats.” She faced the dresser, rather than the man with a chest as broad as one. “Which drawer?”

“Top shelf of the closet.”

Kathleen yanked open the wardrobe door. The musky scent of leather and cedar wafted straight out and into her before she could untangle her thoughts enough to ignore it. His flight suit and jacket dangled from a hook inside the door like a ghostly shadow of the man. Her hand drifted to caress the butter-soft jacket, well-worn and carrying perhaps the slightest hint of his warmth.

What was it about Tanner Bennett? With any other flyer, she would have shrugged the whole thing off while helping him into his boxers.

Not with Bennett. All she could think about was his big, naked body under that blanket, and her lack of professionalism infuriated her.

She couldn’t have thoughts like this.

Yanking her hand away, she arched up on her toes to reach, searching by touch since she couldn’t see into the top shelf. She would pull it together, damn it, get him dressed and turn his case over to Cutter.

And if Cutter let Tanner slide?

Her hands hesitated in their quest. What if Tanner played the friendship card, enabling him to plow back out into combat before he was ready? Her fingers clutched a pair of sweatpants.

Flashes of the battle damage from Tanner’s aircraft flashed through her mind—twisted metal. Her medical as well as safety training had stockpiled too many graphic images of wreckage.

Her ex-husband had expected strings pulled. Being married to a flight surgeon entitled him to special treatment, didn’t it? Her ex had played that trump card with one of her workmates, and it had almost cost him his life. Thank God, he’d flown an ejection-seat aircraft.

Kathleen knew what she had to do. She understood her job, and no hormonal insanity on her part would interfere with performing her duty for the flyer entrusted into her care.

She yanked free a pair of oversize gray sweatpants and shook them out in front of her as she spun to face Tanner. “Okay, hotshot. Let’s get you suited up.”

One hundred forty-two.

There were one hundred forty-two ceiling tiles in his sparse infirmary room. Tanner squinted. Or were there a hundred forty-three? The walls wobbled through his mellow haze of drugs.

Not mellow enough to iron out his irritation.

Before, in his VOQ room, Kathleen O’Connell had shed her compassion like unwanted cargo. With cool professionalism she’d helped him dress beneath the privacy of the blanket. He might as well have been a eunuch for all the effect the awkward situation had on her.

Then she’d grounded his sorry, sweatpants-clad butt and parked him in the infirmary—indefinitely. If he had to watch one more minute of the Armed Forces Television Services, his head would explode.

He tried not to think about his crew flying without him. What if the next mission carried the golden BB, the missile that took them down when he wasn’t there? How the hell would he live with wondering if he could have prevented it? Not more than a couple of hours ago, the television had announced a C-17 crash out in California. If something like that could happen on a routine mission…

The television show changed to a service announcement full of holiday cheer. “Jingle Bells” or maybe “Silver Bells” swelled into the room. His twin sister had loved carols—

Tanner silenced the television with a thumb jab to the remote.

Definitely too much time to think.

Losing a family member sucked no matter what. Losing that person during the holidays carried an extra burden. The anniversary of her death never slid by without notice.

Tara had been Christmas shopping at the mall, for crying out loud. How could he ever forget that? They’d always gone gift hunting together in the past since his job had been to look out for her.

That Christmas he’d been at the Academy.

And some slime in search of a lone female had lurked, waiting in the back seat of Tara’s car. The bastard had kidnapped her. Beaten her. Raped her. Then thrown her unconscious body into a snowbank where she’d died. Alone.

Tanner flung aside the remote, welcoming the stab of pain from the violent gesture. Damn drugs had turned him morbid, lowered his defenses until he couldn’t halt the flood of memories.

The cops had found Tara’s car later, her packages still in the trunk. She’d bought her twin brother a St. Joseph’s medal.

Tanner gripped the silver disk around his neck and steadied his breathing. He’d learned a bitter lesson that Christmas—never, never leave your wingman.

A solid knock on the door pulled Tanner back to the present, and he embraced the distraction. He wouldn’t have even minded seeing his hard-hearted doctor. “Yeah. Come in.”

The door swung open and Major Grayson “Cutter” Clark strode through, wearing a flight suit and a cocky grin. “Hey, pal. Check out the nifty nightie they issued you.”

Tanner shifted in the cotton hospital gown. Damn thing didn’t fit right anyway. “About time you decided to drop in. Where were you when I needed you, bud?”

“Sorry, but I wasn’t on call. Only just now heard the news over at the clinic. I thought for sure O’Connell would have you in traction. Too bad. I had the big piñata joke all ready to go.”

Tanner snorted, then winced. He could always count on crew dog camaraderie to lighten his mood. “Don’t make me laugh.”

“Builds character.” Cutter snagged the clipboard from the foot of Tanner’s bed. He flipped pages. “Hmmm. Good stuff she’s got you on. Demerol, no less. You must have wrecked yourself to be hurting through all this.”

Tanner grunted. “A day off my feet and I’ll be fine.”

“Then you and O’Connell can tangle it up again.”

Thoughts of her dressing him slid right through that Demerol haze. “What do you mean?”

“Your set-to on the flight line last night is all the talk around the briefing room.”

“Great.”

Cutter sank into a chair, hooked his boot over one knee and dropped the chart to rest on his leg. “Don’t get your boxers in a twist. Nobody expected anything different from the two of you when O’Connell showed.”

“What do you mean?”

A brow shot right toward Cutter’s dark hairline. “You’re yanking my chain, right? Your arguments are legendary. Tag once suggested tying you two together, gladiator-style, and just tossing you into the arena to have it out. Two walk in. One walks out. Colonel Dawson giving that signature thumbs-up and thumbs-down of his.”

Laughter stirred in Tanner’s chest, begging to be set free even though he knew it would drop-kick him right between the shoulder blades.

“Stop! No more jokes.” A chuckle sneaked through anyway, punting his muscles as predicted until he groaned. “Did she send you in here to torture me so I would laugh myself into traction?”

“Sorry.” Cutter smirked as he resumed flipping chart pages.

Tanner sagged back on his pillow. The gladiator image began to take on an odd fantasy appeal in his drug-impaired mind. At least the drugs offered a convenient excuse. Damn, but Kathleen would have made a magnificent warrior goddess. That woman never needed anyone.

The ultimate loner. Tanner’s muscles tightened in response. That loner mind-set proved a threat to the crew mentality essential to his Air Force doctrine. The Air Force, the team spirit, was everything to him.

Never leave your wingman.

Tanner raised the bed higher, ignoring even thoughts of discomfort. “Can’t you do something about this? Get me outa here and back in action with my crew. Man, you’re one of us. You have to know how crazy this is making me.”

While all flight surgeons specialized in treating flyers and their families, a handful of those doctors were also flyers themselves. Cutter being one of the few. Tanner couldn’t help but hope that might nudge the scales in his favor. “Well?”

“Sorry. Can’t help you, my friend. I’ve seen your chart. I know your history. O’Connell’s dead-on with her diagnosis, and there’s no mistaking her notations.”

“Figures I lucked into the one doctor on the planet with perfect penmanship.” Time to invest in an Armed Forces Television schedule.

“Yeah, you are lucky. Lucky she didn’t string you up like a piñata. We flight docs don’t take well to having our orders disregarded. If I were you, pal, I would start thinking up an apology.”

“The piñata sounds less painful.” Deep down, he knew he owed her better than that. She’d kept him in the game years ago when he’d wanted to quit.

“Kick back, pal. Take care of yourself. You were only weeks away from leaving your crew, anyway. You should be up to speed in time to upgrade.”

Should be. The words didn’t comfort Tanner any more than the Demerol.

What if the grounding became permanent? What would he do without his wings? His mother swore his first word had been plane. While other kids drew puppies and trees, he’d already perfected his own depiction of Captain Happy Plane. “Six weeks is a long time in a war. If something happens and I’m not there…”

Cutter closed the chart. “I hear you, and I understand what you’re feeling. But there’s nothing I can do.”

Last down and his field goal had fallen short. Tanner scrambled to salvage what he could for the rest of his team. “Look out for Lance. Okay? Make sure he gets a solid copilot.”

Cutter stilled. “Is there something I should know about?”

“Nothing specific. He’s just not…up to speed. He and Julia are having trouble again. Deployments and stress messing with another Air Force marriage—” Tanner stopped short. Hell of a thing to say to a guy only weeks away from the altar. “Oh, hey, sorry, bud.”

“No sweat. Lori and I know what we’re up against. Nobody said Air Force life was easy on the family. It’s going to be work.” A full-out smile creased all the way to his eyes. “She’s worth it.”

Tanner gave his friend an answering smile. “Congratulations.”

Cutter nodded, then thunked the bed rail with Tanner’s chart. “Now get well. Lori’ll kill me if my best man falls on his face halfway through the ceremony. Look on the bright side. You won’t have to haul yourself across the Atlantic on a civilian flight to make the wedding. You can head back on the tanker with me next week.”

“Great. Nothing like sitting in the back seat.” Tanner’s hands already itched to be in control.

From the day he’d drawn that first airplane, he’d known he would be a pilot. Forget he was a poor kid working two after-school jobs to help support his single mom and twin sister. Course set, he’d achieved his goals, Air Force Academy, pilot. He’d never wavered in his focus. Except for the night he’d heard his sister died.

The night he’d kissed Kathleen O’Connell.

Chapter 3

Kathleen hovered in the doorway of Tanner’s hospital room, unable to draw her gaze away from the man who had filled her thoughts too often that morning. Flat on his back, he took up the whole bed. A dimple flashed in his unshaven jaw as he laughed with Cutter. Tanner’s exuberance for life hadn’t dimmed, even after a downing injury and a hefty shot of Demerol.

She watched the two men talk with their hands, typical flyer “talk,” their hands flying tandem aerial maneuvers.

Her guard perilously shaky of late, she envied them their camaraderie, the easy exchange apparent in most flyers. She knew better than to blame their exclusion on her being a woman. Years of growing up the misfit in her family had left her with the assurance she simply didn’t get it. Relationships. Her ex had confirmed the conclusion through his lawyer.

So she stood alone in the hospital doorway, feeling too damn much like the little girl who perched in trees with a book about bugs. All the while peering down at a blanket full of her sisters and their friends having a tea party picnic.

Tanner’s laughter rumbled out into the hall. Teams and partnerships bemused her. She understood in theory, but in practice…she couldn’t make it work. The flyers respected her yet didn’t include her. Her nickname—or lack of one—being a prime example.

Flight surgeons were sometimes given honorary call signs, like Grayson “Cutter” Clark or Monica “Hippocrates” Hyatt. Kathleen was just “Doc,” the generic appellation afforded any doctor who hadn’t received the distinction of a naming party.

Not that she wanted to change herself just to be a part of some flyers’ club. Flying solo offered fewer risks.

Before she’d helped Tanner into his clothes, she’d regained her objectivity, barely. She wouldn’t let her guard further crumble, regardless of how cute he looked in that incongruous hospital gown.

Kathleen rapped two knuckles on the door just beneath a miniature Christmas wreath. “Hello, boys.” She gestured to their flying palms. “Shooting down your watches with your hands again?”

Tanner started, looking up at Kathleen in the doorway. A painful twinge worked its way through the Demerol, but he resisted the urge to wince.

Her half smile, wry though it was, shook his focus. His hands stopped aerial maneuvers and landed on the bed. “Hi, Doc.”

Cutter glanced from one to the other, his brows pleating. “Did it just get chilly in here? Time for me to punch out.” He passed the chart to Kathleen on his way to the door. “I’ll check in with you both later.”

Her smile faded as Cutter left. Disappointment nipped Tanner. Too much.

He wanted to bring that smile back. What a crazy thought. Must be the drugs again. Regardless, Cutter was right. Kathleen—

Kathleen?

Tanner frowned, and refocused his thoughts. O’Connell deserved an apology. “I’m sorry about last night.”

“What?” Still no smile in sight, not a surprise since her face looked frozen with shock.

Tanner inched up. “I shouldn’t have given you hell on the flight line. It’s not your fault my back’s out. Are there some torturous tests you want to run so I can pay my penance?”

Her gaze skittered away, and she flipped through his chart, avoiding his eyes. “Just follow the recovery plan.”

“I intend to be a model patient.”

“Music to my ears.”

“The sooner this is over, the sooner I can get back on a crew. I don’t expect you to understand, Doc.”

Her head snapped up. The diamond glint in her eyes could have cut glass. “Why not, hotshot?”

“Hey, I’m trying to apologize here.” He raised his hands in mock surrender. What had he done this time? Not that either of them ever needed much of a reason to argue. “The least you could do is be gracious.”

Hugging the chart like a shield, she pulled a tight smile again. “Pardon me. Must be something else this ‘Doc’ didn’t learn in medical school. Apology accepted.”

“Great.”

“Thanks.”

“Fine!”

A cleared throat sounded from the hall just before Lt. Col. Zach Dawson knocked on the open door with exaggerated precision.

The Squadron Commander. The boss. Tanner wondered if a plague of locusts might be next, because his day couldn’t get much worse.

Lt. Col. Dawson ducked inside. “Hey, you two want to fire it up some more? I don’t think they heard you in Switzerland.”

Kathleen popped to attention. “Good afternoon, Colonel.”

Tanner sat as straight as he could, mentally cursing the hospital gown. “Colonel.”

“Captains.” The Squadron Commander nodded. His Texas twang echoed in the silent room as he ambled to a stop at the foot of Tanner’s bed. “So, Doc, when’re you going to cut my guy here loose?”

“Overnight in the infirmary should have him back on his feet, ready for desk duty within twenty-four hours. Two weeks on muscle relaxants. I’ll reevaluate then, but he’ll likely be on flying status again within four weeks. As long as he keeps up with his chiropractor appointments, there shouldn’t be a repeat.”

The commander shot her a thumbs-up. “That works.”

Tanner studied his boss for signs of impatience over the lost air time and found none. No gripes or pressure to get him into action? Unusual for Dawson. “Thanks for stopping by, sir.”

“Just checking on one of my men. And having O’Connell here saves me arranging a meeting later.” The commander plucked a metal chair from the corner and straddled it, his arms resting along the back. “Doc, how about pull up a seat and let’s chat.”

Eyes wary, Kathleen lowered herself to the recliner by Tanner’s bed. “Yes, sir?”

The commander scrubbed a hand along his close-shorn hair, taking his sweet Texas time. “See, I’ve got this morale problem in my squadron, and that concerns me.”

Tanner frowned, sweeping a hand over his face to clear away the Demerol fog. “Sir?”

“Morale is the glue that bonds a unit. And when there’s a problem in that department, say infighting among my officers, especially in front of my enlisted folks, it needs to be addressed.”

Their flight line incident. Cutter had said it was the story of the day, apparently for everyone. Icy prickles started up Tanner’s back that had nothing to do with pinched nerves.

The commander pinned Tanner with his deceptively easygoing stare. “Bennett, what’s the first thing I do when I’ve got dissenting fliers who need to establish camaraderie?”

Those icy prickles turned into a veritable shower. He knew where this was headed, and it didn’t bode well for either of them.

“Well, Captain?”

Tanner voiced the inevitable. “You send them TDY as a group.”

Dawson shot him a thumbs-up worthy of Caesar at gladiator games. “Exactly. A little temporary duty together is just the ticket.”

Kathleen’s light gasp tugged Tanner’s gaze. Every last drop of color drained from her already pale face until freckles he’d never noticed popped along her pert nose.

Lt. Col. Dawson continued as if Kathleen’s telling gasp hadn’t slipped free. “Get away from the rest of the squadron. Work together. Ride together. Eat together. Play together. Spend every waking hour with each other until things settle out.”

It wasn’t the waking hours that worried Tanner. “And what will be our official function during this TDY?”

“I’m sending you two to check out a C-17 accident. Put all that money spent sending you to safety school to good use.”

“Crash? I heard something about one on the news earlier. No details released though.” Tanner shed his own concerns, nothing in comparison to a crash in their small and tight flyer community. Any accident was personal. “Did anyone die?”

“No fatalities.”

Tanner swallowed a relief stronger than the meds pumping through him.

“It’s a test crew,” the commander continued. “Only minor injuries to the loadmaster. Baker’s crew, Daniel Baker.”

“Crusty’s crew?” Tanner exchanged a quick look with Kathleen.

The commander frowned. “Problem?”

Kathleen straightened. “We all attended the Academy together. But no, sir, that shouldn’t be a problem.”

Tanner wished he could be as certain. The last thing he wanted was to write up a fellow flyer—a friend.

Folding his arms over his chest, Tanner clenched his jaw shut before he said something reckless. Why couldn’t he have kept his mouth closed on the runway the night before?

The commander cleared his throat and resumed the brief. “It happened last night while you were airborne. The crew was running a test mission, dropping a two-pack of Humvees. The drop went bad and ripped the ramp right off the airplane. A lesser crew would have bought it.”

Or a crew that was off its stride from losing a team member.

Dawson canted forward. “So I’ve volunteered you two to head on over to the site and join the investigation team. See if you can figure out what went wrong. Perfect timing with Bennett being grounded for a month. You can even spend Christmas together. I call that downright serendipitous.”

Serendipity stunk. The flicker of horror on Kathleen’s face told him her feelings flew the same path.

But the deed was done. The best he could hope for was a good locale, one of the bases where they could lose themselves in recreation after hours. Away from each other. “And where was this test mission being flown?”

“At Edwards Air Force Base.”

In the middle of the California desert. Tanner slumped back on his pillow.

Lt. Col. Dawson pushed up from his chair and swung it back against the wall. A steely warning flashed in his silver eyes, belying his laid-back attitude. “Lighten up, Captains. This will make for great reading in your performance reports. If memory serves, and I believe it does, O’Connell’s got a major’s board coming up. Soon, right, O’Connell?”

Kathleen’s jaw flexed before she nodded.

“Thought so. This accident should be a snap to wrap up. Investigations can speed right along if the team’s working together.” Dawson’s head cocked to the side. “Or they can drag on for weeks. Hear that, Bennett? Weeks. I sure would hate to reschedule your upgrade slot. Again.”

Tanner pulled a weak smile. “Me, too, sir.”

“Good enough, then. I’ve already submitted the paperwork for your tickets back to the states. Be packed and ready by tomorrow night.” He dropped a hand on each of their shoulders. “Captains, consider yourselves tied to each others’ side for the next month.”

The commander nodded and loped out of the room, shooting them both a final thumbs-up just before the door eased closed. How appropriate, since Kathleen looked as if she wanted to feed him to the lions.

Two walk in. One walks out.

Diplomacy, diplomacy, diplomacy, Kathleen mentally chanted with each rapid stride through the Frankfurt airport, Tanner shadowing her. Less controversy translated into a speedier resolution to the accident investigation.

She wasn’t risking another embarrassing “conference” with Lt. Col. Dawson, especially so close to her major’s board. At least she could use this investigation to prove once and for all she could keep work separate from her personal life.

Focus on facts, not emotions. Her carry-on bag weighed heavily on her shoulder, packed full of faxed files for the case. Reviewing them on the plane would get her that much closer to finishing. And offer a good distraction from the insane attraction she couldn’t avoid any more than Tanner’s bobbing shadow, which was swallowing hers as they charged down the airport thoroughfare.

Kathleen wove through the international throng, foreign languages bombarding her from all sides. Turning sideways, she edged past a cluster of Goth teens with alabaster faces and black lips. Tanner’s arm shot ahead protectively as he put his body between Kathleen and the mass of opaque fabric and pierced body parts.

Her independent nature, combined with the inclination to argue, trickled whispers of irritation through her. She squelched the urge to bristle. In the interest of diplomacy and being polite, she angled a grateful glance over her shoulder. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” said her ever-present shadow.

Sure their travel plans were identical, but she hadn’t expected him to stick so close to her. Of course, an international airport wasn’t the safest place for military personnel, thus her decision to fly in civilian clothes. Not that anyone would mess with her personal bodyguard. He sidestepped a group of airline pilots and attendants, French perhaps, given their jumbled exchange.

Tanner’s bout with a pinched nerve hadn’t slowed him one bit. He’d rejected all medication but a mild muscle relaxer. A dose of Flexeril and he’d bounded out of bed to report for duty.

He definitely looked fit now.

She would have expected civilian clothes to steal some of Tanner’s charisma. Her ex had seemed to diminish when he shed his flight suit, leaving something of himself behind and making her wonder how much of the man was real.

Not the case with Tanner. The man made the flight suit. Or the sports jacket in this case. His dark blue coat stretched over broad shoulders along with a white button-down left open at the collar. Neatly creased Dockers completed the conservative look. The clothes could have belonged to any number of traveling businessmen filing past in the crowded terminal.

The man, however, was one of a kind.

Kathleen plowed forward—smack into a group of boys. The wind knocked out of her, she gasped for breath as she righted her footing. Her vision cleared, and she assessed the wall of bodies, older teenagers, carrying oversize military issue bags and looking scared. New recruits from the states. “Sorry, soldiers.”

“No problem, ma’am,” one of the recruits answered.

Tanner gripped her shoulders, guiding her out of the traffic flow until she leaned back against a display window outside an airport gift shop. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

His brow furrowed. “You’re sure?”

“Yes! I’m sure! No need to make a big deal over getting the wind knocked out of me.” She smoothed her hands down simple blue cotton pants, suddenly feeling under-dressed.

Her hands hesitated midstroke. Why should she care about her appearance? Even if she were interested in impressing a man, it certainly wouldn’t be with her wardrobe. She left those ploys to her mother and her sisters. She felt confident in her femininity, so much so she didn’t need pumps and push-up bras to bolster her morale.

After years of trying to wrangle a spot in line with her perfect sisters, Kathleen had learned not to compete with their weapons. Better to make her own statement, in her own way, on her own terms.

Lights glistened off Tanner’s golden-blond hair, caressed his freshly shaven jaw as he gazed down at her, genuine concern in his eyes. Kathleen fidgeted with her pearl stud earring.

Okay, maybe she wouldn’t have minded a little lip gloss. She tried to scoot aside. “I’m fine. Really.”

Warm and heavy, his hands hesitated on her shoulders before sliding away in a tingling trail down her arms.

Distance. She needed a moment to recoup with him out of her personal space. “How about you go on ahead to our gate and I’ll meet you there later?”

“I’m not in any hurry.”

“No, really.” Why couldn’t she shake him? “I want to pick up some postcards for my family.”

“Go ahead. I’ll wait.”

“You’re kidding, right? Don’t men hate standing around while women shop?”

“Not this one.” Tanner’s muscled arms folded over his chest.

“Okay, Bennett, what’s up?”

“What do you mean?”

“You haven’t let me go anywhere alone except the bathroom since we stepped out of the cab.”

He shuffled, paused to look around, then faced her with narrowed eyes. “An international airport is a dangerous place for any military person. Might as well paint a bull’s-eye on our backs for terrorists.”

Reinforcing Tanner’s warning, cops lined the walls, nothing unusual for the airport, but it still gave Kathleen pause even understanding the risks. Armed police forces in green uniforms and jackboots carried machine guns over their shoulder. Guns with the paint worn off as if they’d been used. Often.

“You’ve been protecting me from unknown terrorists?” She couldn’t decide whether to be irritated, amused…or oddly touched.

He shrugged, almost masking a slight wince. The movement knocked his jacket askew, leaving his left lapel flipped up. She knew she should just tell him.

Should.

Instead, her hand crept up and smoothed the coarse, warm fabric. A slow swallow slid down his neck. “Kathleen…?”

“Your, uh, lapel.”

“Yeah, right. Thanks.”

She resented like hell the nervous twitters buzzing through her. “It’s just strange seeing you like this, I mean not in a flight suit.”

Tanner ran a finger along his shirt collar. “Gotta admit, I prefer the bag myself. But this is safer.”

“Safer? Ah, a businessman disguise. I guess I never thought about it in that much detail.”

“Too many deployments for me not to think about it. I can’t do much about the haircut, but I make changes where I can.” His palm fell to rest over her fingers that still gripped his jacket.

Heat crawled up Kathleen’s face. Oh, God. Had she really left her hand there all that time? “Thanks for worrying. But I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t move.

“I don’t need a baby-sitter.” She yanked her hand from beneath his, her wrist still tingling from a touch no longer there.

Tanner eyed a passing couple in trench coats. Muscles rippled with tension beneath his coat until the couple passed—a baby gurgling and waving from the man’s backpack kiddie seat. Kathleen sagged against the wall with relief, then stiffened.

Damn! Now he had her doing it.

Protectiveness was all well and good, but this guy was becoming downright smothering. Or was that because his large body closed off the rest of the world from view until she only saw miles of chest and eyes so blue they could hypnotize?

Snap out if it! she chastised herself. “Just because I don’t obsess doesn’t mean I’m clueless about airport security overseas. It’s not like I’m wearing my uniform.”

He snapped. “You might as well be.”

She snapped back. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“Those blue pants and shirt look almost identical to a uniform. Your hair’s even tucked up according to military regs.”

“Since when did you join the fashion police?”

“Cute, O’Connell. Real cute—” He hauled in a breath and held his hands up into a T. “Time out. Let’s not draw attention to ourselves by fighting.”

Of course he was right, but his comment about her clothes still stung. What had Lt. Col. Dawson been thinking with his crazy plan?

Diplomacy. Diplomacy. Dimple.

Dimple?

Tanner stared down at her with a half smile dimpling one cheek. “Come on.”

“Huh?”

Tanner’s smile spread until the second dimple tucked into his other cheek. “We’re going to get you a disguise.”

Kathleen followed, not that she had a choice since he wouldn’t let go of her hand. His playful grin had further rocked her balance. Sure Tanner joked with everyone else around the squadron, but he saved his irritation for her.

Not now. He turned that boyish charm on her, full power, as he dragged her toward the crowded gift shop. “Let’s start with the military bag. It’s got to go.”

“But I can’t—”

“Trust me. Hmmm.” He flicked through a rack of dangling tourist tote bags with expert shopping hands. No visual skimming the surface of the display for this man. “You need a big one. Got a color preference?”

Kathleen eyed the door, then resigned herself to the inevitable. “Why ask me? I’m a fashion fugitive, remember? Color coding is beyond me.”

“No preference.” He unhooked a fuchsia bag, logo blaring—I Did Germany Bavarian Style. His eyes glinted with mischief. “Since you don’t care, how about this one? Ah, so pink isn’t your color after all?”

A reluctant smile played with her lips. Her sisters had dragged her out like this before, but shopping hadn’t seemed half as entertaining with them. “Not my first choice, no.”

Although it had definite possibilities as a Christmas gift for her mom.

Her poor mother never had quite understood her G.I. Jane daughter. Holiday dinner talk inevitably turned to gift offers for a makeover or color coding—or invitations to join the family medical practice. Kathleen had learned to smile, nod and make her own choices once she walked out the door. She was just too different, a real changeling in their midst.

“How about this, then?” Tanner passed her a beige canvas tote with a big heart declaring I Love Germany. “Better, mein Wienerschnitzel?”

My veal cutlet? Kathleen groaned, then laughed as she swiped the bag from his hand.

He tugged the tag off and placed it on the counter by the cash register. A twirling jewelry stand towered beside her. Tanner reached past, bypassing the gold. He untangled a thong cord with a nutcracker charm hanging and draped it around Kathleen’s neck. Rocking back on his heels, he spread his hands.

“Oh, yeah, that does it.” He quirked a brow, grabbing a pair of matching earrings and dancing them in front of her face. “Want these, too? My treat.”

“Maybe next visit.”

Snagging a feathered cap, he plopped it on her head. “Or how about a hat. No?”

Tanner replaced it on the hook. Carefully crouching for a lower display, he began stacking items on the counter while the clerk rang them up. He pinned a Go Frankfurters button to the tote. A miniature beer stein key chain dangled from the handle. Three bars of Toblerone chocolate spiked from Kathleen’s bag.

An unknown imp sprang to life within her, and she pulled a pocket protector full of pens from the display wall. Tanner’s brow creased.

She dropped the plastic pen case on the counter. “Businessman garb for you.”

He rewarded her with another smile. “You learn fast, meine toaster strudel.”

That grin and a few words shouldn’t have the power to bring such a heady rush of pride. Geez, it wasn’t like she’d dug out a bullet under battlefield conditions. Still, she couldn’t stifle an answering smile when he slid his pen holder into his shirt pocket.

After adding a German phrase book and map sticking conspicuously in view, Tanner slid his wallet free.

“Hey, wait, Bennett. I can’t let you pay for all of this.”

“Of course you can. It was my idea.”

“No, really.” She reached into her new canvas tote. “I can—”

“O’Connell. Stop. I’ve got some German marks to use up.” He tossed down a stack of bills before he grasped her hand. “Consider it payback for those house calls. Not exactly a down payment on a summer home…”

His hand eclipsed hers just as the sensation of his touch enveloped her senses, completely, until she could only feel the warm rasp of his callused skin. Her hand twitched free, only to fidget with her nutcracker necklace. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

She laughed, the sound tighter than she’d intended. “Decking the uptight doc out like a tacky tourist? I’m sure it was.”

Genuine concern wiped away the laughter in his eyes. “Kathleen, I wasn’t making fun—”

“I know.” And that scared her more than if he had. Needing that distance, soon, she flicked a finger on his jacket over his pocket protector. “Now that I’ve got my own spy disguise, let’s find our gate.”

Kathleen spun on her heel and charged for the door, away from the temptation of this strangely enticing playful Tanner. Somehow this man posed an even greater threat to her peace of mind than the cranky patient and workmate.

Workmate. How could she have forgotten her number-one rule? No more relationships with flyers.

“O’Connell!” Tanner called. “One more thing.”

Kathleen stopped, braced her shoulders and her resolve before turning, only to find Tanner a single step away. Heat curled through her despite Tanner’s co-worker status.

“What?” She was powerless to move as she watched his big hands ease toward her, hypnotized by the thought of him reaching for her.

“Your hair.” His hand snaked behind her neck and gently tugged two pins. The short tail fell free. His movements deliberate, he untwined the rubber band, fingers combing through one notch at a time.

The man bombarded her senses, when her defenses were shaky at best. His methodical attention to her hair dried all the moisture from her mouth.

Staring up at him with unblinking eyes, she found herself studying his face with a new perspective, personal rather than professional. Her fingers yearned to explore that bump in his nose, the crook having been set ever so imperfectly.

How long did it take to unbraid hair, for crying out loud? His torturously slow progress, those hands whispering against her scalp, sent shivers prickling down her spine.

The craziness had to be a by-product of abstinence. She didn’t miss her ex-husband, but she certainly missed regular sex. That had to be the reason her body responded to a man she respected but wasn’t quite sure she even liked.

Her mind taunted her with how much she’d enjoyed his impromptu shopping spree through the gift shop. And she couldn’t recall ever being so turned on by a guy simply playing with her hair.

His fingers massaged her scalp as he swirled her hair forward. She barely managed to bite back a moan. His pupils widened in response.

Enough.

Forget camaraderie. This had to stop. Kathleen stepped back.

“Thanks. I can finish.” She combed her shaking hands through her hair, the strands suddenly unbearably sensual caressing her neck. “Okay now?”

“Perfect.”

His tone, low and intimate, sent a fresh wash of shivers all the way to her toes. Tanner’s chest rose and fell, faster, each speedier respiration telling Kathleen more than she could handle about how much she affected him, as well.

She wanted her uniform back, with all the protection and distance its familiarity offered.

The loudspeaker crackled, announcing flights, theirs ending the list. Christmas carols replaced the droning voice. Tanner’s head cocked up to the sound, his face hardening with an intensity that nudged concern past her own needs.

She couldn’t stop herself from asking, “You okay?”

He looked down as if he’d forgotten her. Not very complimentary since her every tingling nerve still remembered his touch.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Tanner palmed the small of her back. “Come on, Mata Hari. Let’s make tracks.”

She shielded her senses against the heat of his hand. Why turn sappy just because they’d actually laughed together and he’d bought her a few tourist tokens? It wasn’t like they had anything between them except a common alma mater, years of bickering…

And one unforgettable kiss.

A kiss she prayed Tanner had forgotten. If not, they had larger problems than unraveling the crash of an aircraft worth $125 million.

Chapter 4

Tanner shifted, turned, shifted again but still couldn’t manage to wedge himself comfortably in the microscopic airline seat. He would have better luck stuffing the drink cart through the tiny window beside Kathleen.

Flipping another page in his paperback, he tried to ignore his grumbling stomach. In the past five hours, he’d only eaten a cardboard croissant sandwich, five tiny bags of pretzels and two of Kathleen’s Toblerone bars. He stared across the aisle with envy at the kid snoozing the flight away.

Tanner’s hand itched to grip the stick of his C-17, to fly, instead of being chauffeured around in a civilian air taxi. He second-guessed every whine and drone of the humming engines.

Being a passenger stunk for him on a good day. This wasn’t a good day. His back hurt, his stomach was snacking on itself. And Kathleen looked so hot he couldn’t even enjoy the latest techno-thriller novel.

Tanner gave up trying to read or get comfortable and studied Kathleen, instead. She fitted in that confined space, no problem, working her way through a stack of files on the seat between them. He sometimes forgot how small she was, probably not more than five foot four.

Dwindling light filtered through the oval window, glinting off the thin wire frames of her reading glasses. They gave her a schoolmarmish air that proved curiously sexy, like her standard tight braid.

Her hair.

Tanner slammed his book shut and rubbed his palms together as if that might dispel the lingering sensation of her hair sliding between his fingers. The lingering scent of her minty shampoo on his hands. Caving to the temptation to untangle her braid had been insane. But she’d looked so cute in her tourist getup. So unusually approachable.

Like now.

The window light sparked off her free-flowing hair. Threads of gold shimmered through the auburn. Kathleen retrieved another file from the stack, the nutcracker necklace swaying between her breasts. Settling back, she compared the columns of figures on one page with another.

She’d always been the studious type, a real curve buster who set a high bar for others to match, and heaven knew he enjoyed competition. Other than those glasses and the longer hair, she didn’t look much different from the Academy cadet who’d hunched over textbooks in the library.

The woman he’d kissed until they both couldn’t breathe.

Did she remember? The thought that she might have forgotten jolted a dangerous frustration through him.

Suddenly he had to know. He had to have an acknowledgmentof that moment, even if they never intended to repeat it. Maybe then they could defuse the attraction lurking between them.

“Do you ever think about Academy days?” The question fell from his mouth, and he didn’t have the slightest desire to recall it.

She didn’t answer, didn’t even twitch or move to acknowledge she’d heard him. But her gaze stopped scanning from side to side along the page. Slowly she slid her glasses off and turned to him, her eyes wary. “Sure.”

His stomach took another large bite out of itself. “Really?”

“Of course. I spent four years of my life there.”

“Yeah.” Not what he was looking for in the way of a response, but then O’Connell had never been easy. “I remember sharing a couple of them with you.”

“Uh-huh.” Cool professionalism plastered itself right over the wariness. Kathleen shoved her glasses back on her nose. She whipped a file from the bottom of the stack and dropped it in his lap. “Check out the crew’s training reports while I review their seventy-two-hour histories prior to the crash.”

“Okay.” He opened the file and thumbed through the pages. Determination kindled within him, fueling the same competitiveness that had carried him across the goal line more than once.

It was only the first down. Be patient. Hang tough. Wait for the opening.

He read through the contents of the thin manila folder, then thumped the stack of papers in front of him. “Training reports look good. The copilot busted a check ride two years ago, only hooked the test on something minor, though, nothing reckless enough to wave a major red flag about.”

“Isn’t the copilot kind of young?”

“Compared to me? Yeah. But I pulled time as a C-130 navigator first.” Which made him all the more anxious to speed through the upgrade from right-seat copilot to aircraft commander flying left seat. He had to establish an uncomplicated working relationship with her to prove his professionalism to the Squadron Commander.

Tanner stacked the training reports and slid them inside their folder. Time for his next play, a surprise sweep around to her blind side. “It’ll be good to see ol’ Crusty again once we get to California. Remember how he used to catch hell from you about his sloppy uniform?”

“Uh-huh.” She plopped another file in his lap. “Take a look at the pilot’s seventy-two-hour history. It says here Crusty only ate burgers and dill pickles for two days before the flight. That seems odd, like he’s forgotten something. Who eats nothing but burgers and pickles?”

Second down. Stopped short of the ten-yard gain. Damn it, he would make all the time in the world for the case, after he got one thing settled.

With her head bowed over the file on the seat between them, he could see a third color threading through her hair. A deeper shade of copper mixed in with the red and gold. She glanced up. Her blue eyes shone as clear as the sky whipping past that tiny window, taunting him with a small peek when he wanted the wide open expanse.

“Bennett? Burgers and pickles?”

He regained his footing before he lost critical yardage. “Oh, uh, yeah. Crusty’s a bachelor. That probably explains it.”

“If you say so.” She scribbled a note on the top corner and flipped the page as a mother and toddler eased out of the seat in front of them.

Tanner shifted his legs from the aisle to let a woman hurry her child toward the bathroom. Minimal privacy established, he stretched his legs again. “Back at the Academy, whenever Crusty saw you coming, he would untuck his shirt or scuff his shoes, anything to catch your attention. Sure enough, you would stop and chew him out. He really had a thing for you.”

“Apparently, he got over it.”

Time to press. “He had to get over it. The whole doolie-upperclassman taboo.”

Her hands faltered. The paper shuffling stopped, and he thought he had her. Finally she would say something about the night that should have gotten them both kicked out of school.

She glanced toward him, and it was all there for him to see. The memory of that kiss scorched her mind as much as it singed his. She stared back at him, drawing him into her sky-blue eyes filled with memories. Filled with hunger. With fire.

Twelve years ago the two of them had been brimming with need and seriously lacking in sense as they’d fed on each other. Mouths meeting, hands almost as frantic as her breathy moans, sweet sounds that had eased the roar of pain in his head.

Tanner canted forward, his hand reaching. Still he remembered the glide of her hair against his skin. He couldn’t resist her healing warmth now any more than he could then. “Kathleen—”

Her eyes shuttered like clouds in front of his windscreen blocking the sky. Without a word she returned to the open file on her knees.

But her eyes weren’t scanning. Her spine couldn’t have been any straighter if she’d snapped to attention.

He slumped back against his unforgiving cement-slab seat. The woman had defensive moves that would garner serious bucks in the big leagues. He wasn’t going to get anything out of her this way.

She’d obviously done a better job at putting aside the past than he had. As if he could ever forget any of it. Of course, that night had been…beyond hell, and she’d been there for him.

Forget a touchdown. Punt the ball and salvage what he could. “About that night. I never had a chance to say—”

She slapped her file closed. “Bennett.”

“What?”

“Save the apology.”

He stared at her blasé face, her tight jaw. He hadn’t planned to apologize at all. He owed her a big fat thanks for dragging him through the worst night of his life. “Kathleen—”

“It was one kiss twelve years ago.” She flung half the stack in his lap. “We’ve got work to do. Look over these maintenance records.”

Her bland expression didn’t fool him for a minute. The slight tremble of her hands told him so much, an understated sign that screamed a clear message coming from this restrained woman.

He’d won. She’d admitted she remembered, and it had dogged her as much as it did him. Now they should be able to jettison all the sparks arcing between them.

Except he still wanted her. A woman who played by the rules scorned rule breakers like him and wouldn’t pass up the chance to ground his butt permanently if he misstepped.

Maybe Kathleen had the right idea. Reviewing pages of maintenance reports was a hell of a lot less frustrating than acknowledging those memory missiles lobbing between them.

Yet his gut told him otherwise, and flyers learned to follow their instincts. If he and Kathleen didn’t figure out a way to face the attraction and move on, it would keep tracking them, waiting until their defenses were lowered.

Then it would blast them both right out of the sky.

The Fasten Seat Belts light switched off with a ding. Kathleen slid the folders into her I Love Germany bag and readied to disembark. Ready? She was beyond ready to end the transcontinental journey and Tanner’s persistent questions about their good old Academy days.

Eleven hours total in the air, broken by a three-hour lay-over in New York, had wasted her resistance, and they still had a ninety-minute drive to Edwards ahead of them. Their flight from New York to California had been packed. They no longer had the neutral zone of an extra seat between them.

Exhausted and more than a little irritable, she’d spent the past four hours with her body molded from shoulder to ankle against Tanner. Masculine heat and musk saturated right into her. His every muscle-rippling move, and he shifted way too often for her comfort level, left her swallowing a case of sodas from the drink cart.

Not that it helped moisten her dry mouth. She didn’t bother deluding herself that it had anything to do with cabin pressure.

He moved in his seat again, stuffing the doll-size pillow behind his head before his snores resumed. Poor guy. That tiny airline seat had to have made a mess of his back. At least he’d finally acknowledged his mortal status a few hours ago and downed a couple of muscle relaxers.

Kathleen studied the big lug sprawled asleep in his seat, his broad chest clearly outlined even under the drape of an airline throw blanket. The man had a great body, always had. She would have to be blind not to notice. And she would be crazy to do anything about it—other than occasionally admire the view.

One muscled leg extended out in the aisle, with the other knee wedged against the seat in front of him. Figures he’s a sprawler.

Probably a bed hog, too.

Whoa, girl! Those kind of thoughts could just hike right on back into her subconscious, because she had no intention of exploring them further. She had a case to solve and a promotion to secure. No way would she let another hotshot flyboy interfere with her career.

Especially one with such damned distracting dimples.

Kathleen started to reach for his shoulder and he shifted, flinging his arm across her lap. His hand rested, palm up, searing her leg through her cotton slacks.

She forced her breathing to regulate.

Just a normal hand, five fingers and his Academy ring. Except that hand flew planes with the same finesse he’d used to scramble her brains back in the airport with a few caresses to her head.

What would those callused fingers feel like exploring her bare skin? Her heart rate kicked up a notch.

Scooting her leg from under his hand, Kathleen gently nudged his foot with hers. “Rise and shine, hotshot. We’re here.”

He jackknifed upright, eyes wide as he woke without hesitation. At the sharp movement he paled, and a curse slipped free with enough force to make her wince.

“Are you okay?”

“Take off your stethoscope, Doc. I’m fine. Just slept crooked and moved too fast.” He shoved aside the pillow and blanket and stood, stretching. His arms arced over his head in a muscle-rippling reach.

She tore her attention from his chest.

Couldn’t she display a little sympathy without him turning defensive? Given the thrust of his jaw, apparently not. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” He hefted his bag from the overhead storage.

“Fair enough. I’ll put away the MD.” Kathleen shoved aside her hurt feelings and shrugged her bag onto her shoulder.

She wedged into the crowded aisle behind Tanner as he turned sideways to fit through the narrow passageway. Did his slow swagger hide genuine pain? He needed bed rest, not an eleven-hour flight in a cramped airline seat.

Had he been home in Charleston, one of his girlfriends would have been pampering him, plying him with eggnog and TLC. Who was he seeing now? Tiffani, Brandi or some other woman with a name ending in an I with a heart over it.

Kathleen inched forward, mentally kicking herself for thoughts that bordered on petty. Tanner wasn’t a bar hound collecting a different bimbo every week like some crew dogs, such as her ex-husband or Lance Sinclair before he married. Gossip and her own observations revealed Tanner had a relationship pattern.

She didn’t want to ponder overlong on why she’d bothered to listen to gossip about his love life.

All stories ran the same path. He held steady for six months to a year. Then one of them broke it off for any number of lame reasons.

Another common thread ran through it all. The Brandi, Tansi, Candi types were all needi—needy. And no doubt about it, Tanner was a man who thrived on watching out for people. His protectiveness in the German airport had only been a sampling.

Kathleen had been born taking care of herself. She’d never needed rescuing, except for two brief moments. Once when she’d fallen out of a tree as a kid and sprained her wrist, and later in a rock climbing accident that had left her with a broken ankle. Both times the helplessness had been hell.

Much like Tanner must have felt in the infirmary.

The thought blindsided her, tangling her feet for a startled moment. Who would have expected she could find a common bond with Tanner Bennett?

They approached the cheery flight attendant by the cock-pit. The woman bestowed an extra bright smile with her “bye-bye” for Tanner.

He ducked to clear the airplane doorway, barely disguising his wince. Kathleen resisted the urge to stroke a comforting hand over his broad back. He would likely accuse her of plotting another hospital stay.

So what if her name didn’t end with a sweet and softening i? That didn’t mean she couldn’t offer a little compassion when someone deserved it.

Her bedside manner did not suck, damn it.

She winced. All right, maybe she wasn’t the soft and cuddly type like her mom and sisters. She’d learned long ago to stick with what she knew and did best, then no one would be disappointed.

Kathleen locked away her conciliatory remarks. For this trip she wasn’t Tanner’s doctor. She wasn’t his Academy bud. And she wasn’t the woman who would tend to his aching back. She was nothing more than his workmate.

Her hand skimmed down the nutcracker necklace that weighted like a ten-ton reminder of Tanner’s hundred-watt smile.

Tanner crossed his arms over his chest and braced his feet as the shuttle bus plowed around a corner toward the rental car building. The ever-present L.A. smog battled with misting rain to haze out visibility. Drizzle streaked the windows, the overcast sky mirroring his mood.

Kathleen hadn’t released her grip on the seat in front of them. There wasn’t a chance the bus driver’s haphazard speedster techniques would fling her against him. The stubborn set of her jaw and white knuckles told Tanner she wouldn’t budge if they hurtled into a three-car pileup.

He’d made her mad, not unusual, except he had no idea what he’d done this time. The comments about their Academy days? Maybe. But she’d handled it, stopping him dead with a chilling stare. He couldn’t dodge the notion that he’d hurt her feelings somehow.

That bothered him more than any of their bickering.

The shuttle bus squealed to a shuddering stop in front of the rental car building, puddles sluicing up onto the sidewalk. Tanner followed Kathleen’s stiff back and trim, too-enticing hips all the way inside.

Wasn’t she going to talk to him? They couldn’t resolve anything if she wouldn’t speak. That woman had the silent treatment down pat.

He would wait her out.

Not that he’d ever been the patient type.

Just hang tough. The ninety-minute drive to base would likely stretch into a couple of hours, thanks to rush hour traffic.

Oddly, he missed sparring with her. Mental boxing matches were something he shared with Kathleen alone. The women he dated had always been more agreeable, yet something about Kathleen’s bristly manner put him at ease and fired him up all at once. One of their lively exchanges would spark up a dreary day.

Kathleen advanced in the line to the garland-strewn counter. One of the twenty androgynous agents droned, “Driver’s license, proof of insurance and credit card, please.”

Tanner reached for his wallet.

So did Kathleen.

Uh-oh.

He sensed her silent treatment was about to come to an abrupt end. Anticipation churned inside him as it did during those last sixty seconds before take off.

His hand twitched on his wallet. “I always drive on TDYs.”

“So do I.” Kathleen flung her canvas tote onto the counter and began digging for her wallet in earnest.

“And I’m going to look like a real chauvinist if I say I want to drive, anyway.” Tanner tried to keep his tone light, a smile in place, but suspected the annoying tic in one eye might give him away.

She planted a hand on the counter and perched her other hand on her hip. “I’ll make this easy on us. Who has the rental car on their travel orders? Military joint travel regs state that’s who is responsible for the car. Need me to cite the reg?”

“Ah. The regs.”

“They’re there for a reason, Bennett.” Kathleen pivoted on her heel and fished out a file just as Tanner yanked his orders from his carry-on. She opened the file.

The small flash of victory in her tired eyes said it all.

Damn. More right-seat copiloting for him. Stepping back, he raised his hands in surrender. “Chauffeur away.”

At least Kathleen didn’t gloat over her win, merely passed her driver’s license and military travel orders to the impatient clerk.

Outside, Tanner frowned at the overcast sky. Sixty degrees and drizzling, the weather would make for a miserable ride out. They wouldn’t even reach base before dark.

Keys jingling with her brisk walk, Kathleen wove between lines of cars. Tanner kept his eyes off her backside this time. The last thing he needed were thoughts of those slim hips taunting him for the next two hours in the car. As long as he kept his distance until she cooled off and started talking again, he would be fine.

Then he saw “it” in a deserted corner of the lot.

Their car. If it could be called that.

How could he have forgotten? The government always opted for econo-class compacts. If he managed to wedge himself inside, there wouldn’t be an inch to spare between them.

Kathleen unlocked her door, tossed her luggage on the back seat, then paused halfway in, staring over the roof at Tanner. “What now?”

He looked back and tried not to notice the mist dampening her shirt. “I wonder if they have anything smaller.”

Her brow furrowed as she glanced around the lot, cars starting and departing at a regular pace. “I don’t think so.”

“No, really. They must have a scooter back there. It would probably be more comfortable.”

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