The Woman Was Stubborn As Well As Gorgeous, Dave Realized.

And not above pulling rank over him. Well, that pretty much fit in with what he’d heard about Lieutenant Commander Kate Hargrave.

The sexy hurricane hunter couldn’t know it but her ex-husband had had a few things to say to Dave about the woman who’d just dumped him, none of them particularly flattering. She was, according to the still-bitter aviator, ambitious as hell, fearless in the air, a tiger in bed and a real ball-buster out of it.

Dave figured three out of four was good enough for him.

Yes, sir, he thought, as he caught a last glimpse of turquoise spandex in the mirror. This assignment was looking better and better by the minute.

Dear Reader,

Welcome to another compelling month of powerful, passionate and provocative love stories from Silhouette Desire. You asked for it…you got it…more Dynasties! Our newest continuity, DYNASTIES: THE DANFORTHS, launches this month with Barbara McCauley’s The Cinderella Scandal. Set in Savannah, Georgia, and filled with plenty of family drama and sensuality, this new twelve-book series will thrill you for the entire year.

There is one sexy air force pilot to be found between the pages of the incomparable Merline Lovelace’s Full Throttle, part of her TO PROTECT AND DEFEND series. And the fabulous Justine Davis is back in Silhouette Desire with Midnight Seduction, a fiery tale in her REDSTONE, INCORPORATED series.

If it’s a whirlwind Vegas wedding you’re looking for (and who isn’t?) then be sure to pick up the third title in Katherine Garbera’s KING OF HEARTS miniseries, Let It Ride. The fabulous TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB: THE STOLEN BABY series continues this month with Kathie DeNosky’s tale of unforgettable passion, Remembering One Wild Night. And finally, welcome new author Amy Jo Cousins to the Desire lineup with her superhot contribution, At Your Service.

I hope all of the Silhouette Desire titles this month will fulfill your every fantasy.

Melissa Jeglinski

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

Full Throttle
Merline Lovelace

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MERLINE LOVELACE

spent twenty-three years in the air force, pulling tours in Vietnam, at the Pentagon and at bases all over the world. When she hung up her uniform, she decided to try her hand at writing. She’s since had more than fifty novels published, with over seven million copies of her work in print. She and her husband enjoy traveling and chasing little white balls around the fairways. Watch for the next book in the TO PROTECT AND DEFEND series, The Right Stuff, coming from Silhouette Intimate Moments in March 2004.

To my buds on the RomVets loop—

women who all served their country and are now

turning out great novels! Thanks for sharing your

expertise on aircraft malfunctions, explosive devices

and general all around fun stuff.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

One

Kate Hargrave was a good five miles into her morning jog when she spotted a plume of dust rising from the desert floor. Swiping at the sweat she’d worked up despite the nip September had brought to the high desert, she squinted through the shimmering New Mexico dawn at the vehicle churning up that long brown rooster tail.

A senior weather researcher with the National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Agency, Kate had logged hundreds of hours of flight time as one of NOAA’s famed Hurricane Hunters. The pilots she flew with all possessed a steady hand on the controls, nerves of steel and an unshakable belief in their ability to look death in the eye and stare it down. So when she gauged the speed of the pickup hurtling straight toward her, she had no doubt who was at its wheel.

USAF Captain Dave Scott—a seasoned test pilot with hundreds of hours in both rotary and fixed-wing aircraft. Scott had been yanked off an assignment with Special Operations to become the newest addition to the supersecret test cadre tucked away in this remote corner of southeastern New Mexico.

He was supposed to have arrived last night but had phoned Captain Westfall from somewhere along the road and indicated he’d check in first thing this morning. No explanations for the delay, or none the navy captain in charge of the supersecret Pegasus project had relayed to his crew, anyway.

That alone was enough to put a dent in Kate’s characteristically sunny good nature. She and the rest of the small, handpicked cadre had been here for weeks now. They’d been working almost around the clock to conduct final operational testing on the new all-weather, all-terrain attack-assault vehicle code-named Pegasus. The urgency of their mission had been burned into their brains from day one. That Captain Scott would delay his arrival—even by as little as eight hours of admittedly dead time—didn’t particularly sit well with Kate.

Then there was the fact that the air force had pegged Scott to replace Lieutenant Colonel Bill Thompson, the original air force representative to the project. Everyone on the team had liked and respected the easygoing and highly experienced test pilot. Unfortunately, Bill had suffered a heart attack after being infected by the vicious virus that attacked him and a number of other members of the test cadre some days ago.

Now Bill was off the Pegasus project and probably off flying status for the rest of his life. His abrupt departure had ripped a gaping hole in the tight, close team of officers and civilians plucked from all branches of the military to work on the project. Dave Scott would have to scramble to catch up with the rest of the test cadre and prove himself worthy to fill Bill Thompson’s boots.

“Sure hope you’re up to it, fella.”

With that fervent wish, Kate lengthened her stride. She’d just as soon not come face-to-face with her new associate out here in the desert. Her hair was a tangled mess and her turquoise spandex running suit sported damp patches of sweat. With luck and a little more oomph to her pace, she could veer off onto the dirt track that ringed the perimeter of the site before Scott hit the first checkpoint.

She should have known she couldn’t outrun a sky jock. The speeding pickup skidded to a stop at the checkpoint while Kate was still some distance from the perimeter trail.

The dazzling light shooting through the peaks of the Guadalupe Mountains off to the east illuminated the vehicle. The truck was battered. Dust streaked. An indeterminate color between blue and gray. She couldn’t see the driver, though. He was still too far away and the bright rays glinting off the windshield formed an impenetrable shield.

She’d get a glimpse of him soon enough, Kate guessed wryly. From the bits and pieces of background information she’d gathered about Captain Dave Scott, she knew he wasn’t the type to cruise by a female in a tight jogging suit. Or one in support hose and black oxfords, for that matter. Rumor had it Scott was the love-’em-and-leave-’em type, with a string of satisfied lovers stretching from coast to coast.

Kate knew the breed.

All too well.

So she wasn’t surprised when the pickup cleared the checkpoint, roared into gear and kicked up dust for another quarter mile or so. Scant yards from Kate, it fishtailed to a halt once more.

Dust swirled. The truck’s engine idled with a low, throaty growl. The driver’s-side window whirred down. A well-muscled forearm appeared, followed by a rugged profile. With his creased straw cowboy hat and sun-weathered features, Scott might have been one of the locals who’d adapted so well to life here in the high desert. The hat shaded the upper portion of his face. The lower portion consisted of the tip of a nose, a mouth bracketed by laugh lines and a blunt, square chin. The rolled sleeve of his white cotton shirt showed a sprinkling of hair bleached to gold by the sun. Mirrored aviator sunglasses shielded his eyes, but the grin he flashed Kate was pure sex.

“Well, well.” The drawl was deep and rich and carried clearly on the morning air. “This assignment is looking better by the moment.”

Kate had heard variations of the same line a hundred or more times in her career. Her ready smile, flaming auburn hair and generous curves had attracted the attention of every male she’d ever worked with. She’d long ago learned to separate the merely goggling from the seriously annoying and handle both with breezy competence. Edging to the side of the dirt road, she jogged toward the idling vehicle. Her voice held only dry amusement as she offered a word of advice.

“Pull in your tongue and hit the gas pedal, flyboy. Captain Westfall’s expecting you.”

His chin dipped. Eyes a clear, startling blue peered over the rim of the sunglasses and locked with hers.

“The captain can wait,” he replied. “You, on the other hand…”

He didn’t finish. Or if he did, Kate didn’t hear him.

She’d kept her gaze engaged with his a half second too long and run right off the edge of the road.

Her well-worn Nikes came down not on hard-packed dirt, but empty air. With a smothered oath, she plunged into the shallow ditch beside the road. Her right leg hit with a jar that rattled every bone in her body before going out from under her. A moment later she landed smack on her rear atop a fat, prickly tumbleweed.

So much for breezy competence!

Scott was out of the pickup almost before Kate and the tumbleweed connected. His low-heeled boots scattered rock and dirt as he scrambled into the shallow depression. When he hunkered down beside her, she expected at least a minimal expression of concern. What she got was a swift, assessing glance followed by a waggle of his sun-streaked eyebrows.

“And here I woke up this morning thinking the next few weeks were going to be all work and no play.”

Kate cocked an eyebrow. Best to set him straight right here, right now. “You thought right, Captain.”

“I don’t know about that.” Dipping his chin, he gave her another once-over. “Things are lookin’ good from where I’m squatting. Very good.”

Kate sucked in a swift breath. Behind their screen of sun-bleached lashes, his eyes were electric blue. The little white lines at their corners disappeared when he smiled, which he did with devastating effect.

Thank heavens she’d been inoculated against Scott’s brand of lazy charm and cocky self-assurance. The inoculation had been painful, sure, but once administered was supposed to last a lifetime.

Unfortunately, she hadn’t been inoculated against the effects of sharp, stinging barbs to the backside. The prickly weed had penetrated right through her spandex running tights. Now that Kate had recovered from the initial shock of her fall, she felt its sharp, stinging bite.

“How about unsquatting,” she suggested dryly, “and helping me up?”

“My pleasure.”

Rising with the careless grace of an athlete, he reached for her hand. His palm felt tough and callused against her skin, his skin warm to the touch.

Of course Kate’s blasted ankle had to give out the moment she gained her feet. With a grunt, she fell right into his conveniently waiting arms. This time he had the decency to show some concern. At least that was the excuse he gave for swooping her up.

“You must have come down hard on that ankle.”

Hefting her not-inconsiderable weight, he cradled her against his chest. His very solid, very muscled chest, Kate couldn’t help noticing.

“I’d better get you to the base.”

He was already out of the ditch and striding around the back of the pickup before she could tell him she had a more pressing problem to worry about than her ankle. She tried to think of a subtle way to inform him of her dilemma. None came immediately to mind. Sighing, she stopped him just as he opened the passenger door and prepared to deposit her inside.

“Before you plop me down on that seat, I think you should know I’m sporting a collection of needle-sharp stickers. I landed on a tumbleweed,” she added when he flashed her a startled look. “I need to remove a few unwanted thistles from my posterior.”

“Damn!” His mouth took a wicked curve. “And I was just thinking my day couldn’t get any better.”

His leer was so exaggerated, she didn’t even try to hold back her sputter of laughter. “Let’s not make this any more embarrassing than it already is. Just put me down and I’ll, er, perform an emergency extraction.”

He set her on her feet and gave her a hopeful look. “I’ll be glad to assist in the operation.”

“I can manage.”

Making no effort to hide his disappointment, he watched with unabashed interest while Kate grabbed the door handle to steady herself and twisted around. It took some contorting to reach all the thorny stickers. One by one, she flicked them off into the ditch.

“You missed one,” Scott advised as she dusted the back of her thigh. “A little lower.”

Removing the last twig, she leaned her weight on her ankle to test it. The pain was already subsiding, thank goodness. Pasting a smile on her face, she turned to her would-be rescuer.

“I’m Lieutenant Commander Kate Hargrave, by the way. I’m with the National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Agency.”

As a lieutenant commander in NOAA’s commissioned-officer corps, Kate outranked an air force captain. The fact that Scott had just watched a senior officer pluck thorns out of her bottom appeared to afford him no end of amusement. His eyes glinting between those ridiculously thick gold-tipped lashes, he introduced himself.

“Dave Scott. Airplane driver.”

To her profound disgust, Kate discovered her inoculation against handsome devils like this one wasn’t quite as effective as she’d thought. Or as permanent. Shivers danced along her skin as she gazed up at him. He was so close she could see the beginnings of a bristly gold beard. The way his cheeks creased when he smiled. The reflection of her sweat-sheened face in his mirrored glasses.

She got an up close whiff of him, too. Unlike Kate, he still carried a morning-shower scent, clean and shampooy, coated with only a faint tang of dust. No woodsy aftershave for Captain Dave Scott, she noted, then wondered why the heck she’d bothered to take such a detailed inventory.

This wasn’t smart, Kate thought as her heart thumped painfully against her ribs. Not smart at all. She’d learned the hard way not to trust too-handsome charmers like this one. If nothing else, her brief, disastrous marriage had taught her to go with her head and not her hormones where men were concerned.

Added to that was the fact that she and Scott would be working together for the next few weeks. In extremely close proximity. Despite her flamboyant looks and sensual figure, Kate was a professional to her toes. A woman didn’t acquire a long string of initials after her name and the title of senior weather research scientist at the National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Agency without playing the game by the rules.

“Do Not Fool Around With the Hired Help” ranked right up there as rule number two. Or maybe it was three. Within the top five, anyway.

Not that Kate was thinking about fooling around with Captain Dave Scott. Just the opposite! Still, goose bumps danced along her spine as he took her elbow to assist her into the pickup’s passenger seat. Once she was comfortably ensconced, he rounded the front end of the truck and climbed behind the wheel.

“So how long have you been on-site?” he asked, putting the vehicle into gear.

“From day one.”

When his boot hit the gas pedal, Kate braced herself for the thrust. Instead of jerking forward, however, the pickup seemed to coil its legs like some powerful, predatory beast and launched into a silent run. Obviously, Scott had installed one heck of an engine inside the truck’s less-than-impressive frame.

Interesting, she thought. The captain was a whole lot like his vehicle. All coiled muscle and heart-stopping blue eyes under a battered straw cowboy hat and rumpled white shirt.

“So what’s the skinny?” he asked. “Is Pegasus ready to fly?”

Instantly, Kate’s thoughts shifted from the man beside her to the machine housed in a special hangar constructed of materials designed to resist penetration by even the most sophisticated spy satellites.

“Almost,” she replied. “Bill Thompson had his heart attack just as we were finishing ground tests.”

“I never met Thompson, but I’ve heard of him. The AF lost a damned good pilot.”

“Yes, it did. So did Pegasus. You’ve got a lot of catching up to do,” she warned him, “and not much time to do it.”

“No problem.”

The careless reply set Kate’s jaw. She and the rest of the cadre had been hard at it for weeks now. If Scott thought he was going to waltz in and get up to speed on the top secret project in a few hours, he had one heck of a surprise waiting for him.

Unaware that he’d just scratched her exactly the wrong way, the captain seemed more interested in Kate than the project that would soon consume him.

“I saw your career brief in the package headquarters sent as part of my orientation package. Over a thousand hours in the P-3. That’s pretty impressive.”

It was, by Kate’s standards as well as Scott’s. Only the best of the best got to fly aboard NOAA’s specially configured fleet of aircraft, including the P–3 Orion. Flying into the eye of a howling hurricane took guts, determination and a cast-iron stomach. Honesty forced Kate to add a qualifier, though.

“Not all those hours were hurricane time. Occasionally we saw blue sky.”

“I went up once with the air force’s Hurricane Hunters based at Keesler.”

Kate stiffened. Her ex-husband was assigned to the Air Force Reserve unit at Keesler Air Force Base, on Mississippi’s Gulf Coast. That’s where she’d met John, during a conference that included all agencies involved in tracking and predicting the fury unleashed all too often on the Gulf by Ma Nature.

That’s also where she’d found the jerk with his tongue down the mouth of a nineteen-year-old bimbette. Kate had few fond memories of Keesler.

“So how was your flight?” she asked, shoving aside the reminder of her most serious lapse in judgment.

“Let’s just say once was enough.”

“Flying into a maelstrom of wind and rain isn’t for the faint of heart,” she agreed solemnly.

He cracked a grin at that. When he pulled his gaze from the road ahead, laughter shimmered in his blue eyes.

“No, ma’am. It surely isn’t.”

Kate didn’t reply, but she knew darn well Scott was anything but faint of heart. When the air force had identified him as Bill Thompson’s replacement, she’d activated her extensive network of friends and information sources to find out everything she could about the man. Her sources confirmed he’d packed a whole bunch of flying time into his ten years in the military.

Flying that included several hundred combat hours in both the Blackhawk helicopter and the AC–130H gunship. A highly modified version of the air force’s four-engine turboprop workhorse, the gunship provided surgically accurate firepower in support of both conventional and unconventional forces, day or night.

Kate didn’t doubt Scott had provided just that surgically accurate support during recent tours in both Afghanistan and Iraq. After Iraq, he’d been sent to the 919th Special Operations Wing at Hurlburt Field, Florida, to fly the latest addition to the air force inventory—the tilt-wing CV–22 Osprey.

Since the Osprey combined the lift characteristics of a helicopter and the long-distance flight capability of a fixed-wing aircraft, Scott’s background made him a natural choice as short-notice replacement for Bill Thompson. If—when!—Pegasus completed its operational tests, it might well replace both the C–130 and the CV–122 as the workhorse of the battlefield.

Thinking of the tense weeks ahead, Kate chewed on her lower lip and said little until they’d passed through the second checkpoint and entered the compound housing the Pegasus test complex.

The entire complex had been sited and constructed in less than two months. Unfortunately, the builders had sacrificed aesthetics to exigency. The site had all the appeal of a prison camp. Rolls of concertina wire surrounded the clump of prefabricated modular buildings and trailers, all painted a uniformly dull tan to blend in with the desert landscape. White-painted rocks marked the roads and walkways between the buildings. Aside from a few picnic tables scattered among the trailers, everything was starkly functional.

Separate modular units housed test operations, the computer-communications center and a dispensary. The security center, nicknamed Rattlesnake Ops after the leather-tough, take-no-prisoners military police guarding the site, occupied another unit. A larger unit contained a fitness center and the dining hall, which also served as movie theater and briefing room when the site’s commanding officer wanted to address the entire cadre. The hangar that housed Pegasus loomed over the rest of the structures like a big, brooding mammoth.

Personnel were assigned to the trailers, two or three to a unit. Kate and the other two women officers on-site shared one unit. Scott would bunk down with Major Russ McIver, the senior Marine Corps rep. Kate directed him to the line of modular units unofficially dubbed Officers Row.

“You probably want to change into your uniform before checking in with Captain Westfall. Your trailer is the second one on the left. Westfall’s is the unit standing by itself at the end of the row.”

“First things first,” Scott countered, pulling up at the small dispensary. “Let’s get your ankle looked at.”

“I’ll take care of that. You’d best get changed and report in.”

“Special Ops would drum me out of the brotherhood if I left a lady to hobble around on a sore ankle.”

He meant it as a joke, but his careless attitude toward his new assignment was starting to seriously annoy Kate. Her mouth thinned as he came around the front of the pickup. Sliding out of the passenger seat, she stood firmly on both feet to address him.

“I don’t think you’ve grasped the urgency of our mission. I’ll manage here, Captain. You report in to the C.O.”

Her tone left no doubt. It was an order from a superior officer to a subordinate.

Scott cocked an eyebrow. For a moment, his eyes held something altogether different from the teasing laughter he’d treated her to up to this point.

The dangerous glint was gone almost as quickly as it had come. Tipping her a two-fingered salute, he replied in an easy, if somewhat exaggerated, drawl.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Dave took care not to spin out and leave Lieutenant Commander Hargrave in a swirl of dust. His eyes on the rearview mirror, he followed her careful progress up the clinic steps.

The woman was stubborn as well as gorgeous. And not above pulling rank on him. Well, that pretty well fit with what he’d heard about her.

The sexy Hurricane Hunter couldn’t know it but her ex-husband had piloted the mission Dave had flown with the reserve unit out of Keesler. The man had had a few things to say about the wife who’d just dumped him, none of them particularly flattering. She was, according to the still-bitter aviator, ambitious as hell, fearless in the air, a tiger in bed and a real ball-breaker out of it.

Dave figured three out of four was good enough for him.

Yes, sir, he thought as he caught a last glimpse of turquoise spandex in the mirror. This assignment was looking better and better by the minute.

Two

Showered, shaved and wrapped in the familiar comfort of his green Nomex flight suit, Dave tracked down the officer in command of the Pegasus project. He found Captain Westfall at the Test Operations Building.

“Captain Scott reporting for duty, sir.”

The tall, lean naval officer in khakis creased to blade-edged precision returned Dave’s salute, then offered his hand.

“Welcome aboard, Captain Scott.”

The man’s gravelly voice and iron grip matched his salt-and-pepper buzz cut. His skin was tanned to near leather, no doubt the result of years spent pacing a deck in sun, wind and salt spray. His piercing gray eyes took deliberate measure of the latest addition to his team. Dave didn’t exactly square his shoulders, but he found himself standing a little taller under Westfall’s intense scrutiny.

“Did you take care of that bit of personal business you mentioned when you called last night?”

“Yes, sir.”

Dave most certainly had. Fighting a grin, he thought of the waitress who’d all but wrapped herself around him when he’d stopped for a cheeseburger in Chorro. The cluster of sunbaked adobe buildings was the closest thing that passed for a town around these parts. The town might appear tired and dusty, but its residents were anything but. One particular resident, anyway.

Dave would carry fond memories of that particular stop for a long time.

Although…

All the while he’d soaped and scraped away the bristles and road dust, his thoughts had centered more on a certain redhead than on the waitress who’d delayed his arrival at the Pegasus site by a few hours. Kate Hargrave was still there, inside his head, teasing him with her fiery hair, her luscious curves and those green cat’s eyes.

As if reading his mind, Westfall folded his arms. “I understand you brought Lieutenant Commander Hargrave in this morning.”

Word sure got around fast. Dave had dropped off the gorgeous weather officer at the dispensary less than twenty minutes ago.

“Yes, sir. We bumped into each other on the road into the site. Have you had a report on her condition? How’s her ankle?”

“Doc Richardson says she’ll be fine. Only a slight muscle strain.” A flinty smile creased Westfall’s cheeks. “Knowing Commander Hargrave, she’ll work out the kinks and be back in fighting form within a few hours.”

“That’s good to hear.”

The smile disappeared. Westfall’s gray eyes drilled into his new subordinate. “Yes, it is. I can’t afford to lose another key member of my test cadre. You’ve got some catching up to do, Captain.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ve set up a series of briefings for you, starting at oh-nine-hundred. First, though, I want you to meet the rest of the team. And get a look at the craft you’ll be piloting.” He flicked a glance at his watch. “I’ve asked the senior officers and engineers to assemble in the hangar. They should be in place by now.”

The hangar was the cleanest Dave had ever seen. No oil spills smudged the gleaming, white-painted floor. No greasy equipment was shoved up against the wall. Just rack after rack of black boxes and the sleek white capsule that was Pegasus. It took everything Dave had to tear his gaze from the delta-winged craft and acknowledge the introductions Captain Westfall performed.

“Since Pegasus is intended for use by all branches of the military, we’ve pulled together representatives from each of the uniformed services. I understand you’ve already met Major Russ McIver.”

“Right.”

The square-jawed marine had just been exiting his trailer when Dave pulled up. They’d exchanged little more than a quick handshake before Dave hurried in to hit the showers and pull on his uniform. From the package headquarters had sent him, though, he knew McIver had proven himself in both Kosovo and Kabul. The marine’s function was to test Pegasus’s capability as a vehicle for inserting a fully armed strike team deep into enemy territory.

“This is Major Jill Bradshaw,” Westfall announced, “chief of security for the site.”

A brown-eyed blonde in desert fatigues and an armband with MP stenciled in big white letters, the major held out her hand. “Good to have you on board, Captain. Come by Rattlesnake Ops after the briefing and we’ll get you officially cleared in.”

“Will do.”

The petite brunette next to Bradshaw smiled a welcome. “Lieutenant Caroline Dunn, Coast Guard. Welcome to Project Pegasus, Captain Scott.”

“Thanks.”

Dave liked her on the spot. From what he’d read of the woman’s résumé, she’d racked up an impressive number of hours in command of a Coast Guard cutter. He appreciated both her experience and her warm smile.

“Dr. Cody Richardson,” Westfall said next, indicating a tall, black-haired officer in khakis. The silver oak leaf on Richardson’s left collar tab designated his rank. On the right tab was the insignia of the Public Health Service—an anchor with a chain fouling it.

A world-renowned expert in biological agents, Richardson held both an M.D. and a Ph.D. His mission was to test the nuclear, biological and chemical defense suite installed in Pegasus. He also served as on-site physician.

“Heard you provided ambulance service this morning,” the doc commented, taking Dave’s hand in a firm, no-nonsense grip.

“I did. How’s your patient?”

His patient answered for herself. Stepping forward, Lieutenant Commander Hargrave gave Dave a cool smile.

“Fit for duty and ready to get to work.”

He sure couldn’t argue with the “fit” part. Damned if he’d ever seen anyone fill out a flight suit the way Kate Hargrave did. She, too, wore fire-retardant Nomex, but hers was the NOAA version—sky blue instead of the military’s pea green. The zippered, one-piece bag sported an American flag on the left shoulder, a leather name patch above her left breast and NOAA’s patch above her right. A distinctive unit emblem was Velcroed to her right shoulder.

It featured a winged stallion on a classic shield-shaped device. The bottom two-thirds of the shield was red. The top third showed a blue field studded with seven silver stars. Captain Westfall saw Dave eyeing the patch and reached into his pocket.

“This is for you. I issued one to the entire test cadre when we first assembled. The winged steed speaks for itself. The stars represent each of the seven uniformed services.”

Dave’s glance swept the assembled group once more. They were all there, all seven. Army. Navy. Marine Corps. Air Force. Coast Guard. Public Health Service. And NOAA, as represented by the delectable Kate Hargrave. The four military branches. Three predominately civilian agencies with small cadres of uniformed officers.

Dave had been assigned to some joint and unified commands before, but never one with this diversity. Despite their variations in mission and uniform, though, each of these officers had sworn the same oath when they were commissioned. To protect and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies.

Dave might possess a laid-back attitude toward life in general, but he took that oath very seriously. No one who’d served in combat could do otherwise.

Captain Westfall took a few moments more to introduce the project’s senior civilian scientists and engineers. That done, he and the entire group walked Dave over to the vehicle they’d gathered to test and—hopefully!—clear for operational use.

Pegasus was as sweet up close as it had looked from across the hangar. Long, cigar-shaped, with a bubble canopy, a side hatch and fat, wide-tracked wheels. Designed to operate on land, in the air and in water. The gray-haired Captain Westfall stroked the gleaming white fuselage with the same air of proud propriety a horse breeder might give the winner of the Triple Crown.

“You’re seeing the craft in its swept-wing mode,” he intoned in his deep voice.

Dave nodded, noting the propellers were folded flat, the engines tilted to horizontal, and the wings tucked almost all the way into the belly of the craft.

“The wide-track wheels allow Pegasus to operate on land in this mode.”

“And damned well, too,” Dr. Richardson put in with a quick glance at the trim blond Major Bradshaw.

“We encountered some unexpected difficulties during the mountain phase of land operations,” she told Dave. “You know about the virus that hit the site and affected Bill Thompson’s heart. It hit me, too, while I was up in the mountains conducting a prerun check. Cody… Dr. Richardson and Major McIver rode Pegasus to the rescue.”

She’d corrected her slip into informality quickly, but not before Dave caught the glance she and the doc exchanged. Well, well. So it wasn’t all work and no play on the site after all.

“Glad to hear Pegasus can run,” Dave commented. “The real test will be to see if he can fly.”

He saw at once he’d put his foot in it. Backs stiffened. Eyes went cool. Even Caroline Dunn, the friendly Coast Guard officer, arched an eyebrow.

“Pegasus is designed as a multiservice, all-weather, all-terrain assault vehicle,” Captain Westfall reminded him. “Our job is to make sure it operates equally well on land, on water and in the air.”

There was only one answer to that. Dave gave it.

“Yes, sir.”

He recovered a little as the walk-around continued and the talk turned to the specifics of the craft’s power, torque, engine thrust and instrumentation. Dave had done his homework, knew exactly what was required to launch Pegasus into the air. By the end of the briefing, his hands were itching to wrap around the throttles.

The rest of the day was taken up with the administrivia necessary in any new assignment. Major Bradshaw gave Dave a security briefing and issued a high-tech ID that not only cleared him into the site but also tracked his every movement. Doc Richardson conducted an intake interview and medical assessment. The senior test engineers presented detailed briefings of Pegasus’s performance during the land tests.

By the time 7:00 p.m. rolled around, Dave’s stomach was issuing noisy feed-me demands. The sandwich he and the briefers had grabbed for lunch had long since ceased to satisfy the needs of his six-two frame. He caught the tail end of the line at the dining hall and joined a table of troops in desert fatigues.

Like the officer cadre, enlisted personnel at the site came from every branch of the service. Army MPs provided security. Navy personnel operated most of the support facilities. Air force troops maintained the site’s extensive communications and computer networks. The marine contingent was small, Dave learned, only about ten noncoms whose expertise was essential in testing Pegasus’s performance as a troop transport and forward-insertion vehicle.

He scarfed down a surprisingly delicious concoction of steak and enchiladas, then returned to the unit he shared with Russ McIver to unpack and stow his gear. McIver wasn’t in residence and the unpacking didn’t take long. All Dave had brought with him was an extra flight suit, a set of blues on the off chance he’d have to attend some official function away from the site, workout sweats, jeans, some comfortable shirts and one pair of dress slacks. His golf shoes and clubs he left in the truck. With any luck, he’d get Pegasus soaring the first time up and have time to hit some of New Mexico’s golf courses before heading back to his home base in Florida.

Changing out of his uniform into jeans and a gray USAF sweatshirt with the arms ripped out, he stashed his carryall under his bed and explored the rest of the two-bedroom unit. It was similar to a dozen others he’d occupied at forward bases and a whole lot more comfortable than his quarters in Afghanistan.

A passing glance showed Russ McIver’s room was spartan in its neat orderliness. As was the front room. Carpeted in an uninspiring green, the area served as a combination eating, dining and living room. The furniture was new and looked comfortable, if not particularly elegant. The fridge was stocked with two boxes of high-nutrition health bars and four six-packs of Coors Light.

“That’s what I admire most about marines,” Dave announced to the empty trailer. “They take only the absolute necessities into the field with them.”

Helping himself, he popped a top and prepared to attack the stack of briefing books and technical manuals he’d plopped down on the kitchenette counter. The rise and fall of voices just outside the unit drew him to the door.

When he stepped out into the early-evening dusk, the first thing that hit him was the explosion of color to the west. Like a smack to the face, it grabbed his instant attention. Reds, golds, blacks, pinks, oranges and blues, all swirling together in a deep purple sky. The gaudy combination reminded Dave of the paintings he’d seen in every truck stop and roadside gift shop on the drive out. Black velvet and bright slashes of color. But this painting was for real, and it was awesome.

The second thing that hit him was the silence his appearance had generated among the officers clustered around a metal picnic table. It was as if an outsider had crashed an exclusive, members-only party. Which he had, Dave thought wryly.

His new roommate broke the small silence. Lifting an arm, McIver waved him over. “Hey, Scott. Bring your beer and join us.”

“Thanks.” Puffs of sand swirled under Dave’s feet as he crossed to the table. “It’s your beer, by the way. I’ll contribute to the fund or restock the refrigerator as necessary.”

“No problem.”

The others shifted to make room for him. Like Dave, they’d shed their uniforms. Most wore cutoffs or jeans. Kate Hargrave, he noted with a suddenly dry throat, was in spandex again. Biker shorts this time. Black. Showing lots of slim, tanned thigh.

Damn!

“We were just talking about you,” she said as he claimed a corner of the metal bench.

No kidding. He hadn’t been hit with a silence like that since the last time he’d walked in on his brother and sister-in-law in the middle of one of the fierce arguments they pretended never happened. As always, Jacqueline had clammed up tight in the presence of a third party. Ryan had just looked angry and miserable. As always.

Jaci was a lot like Kate Hargrave, Dave decided. Not as beautiful. Certainly not as well educated. But just as tough and very good at putting a man in his place. Or trying to.

“Must have been a boring conversation,” he returned, stretching his legs out under the table. “I’m not much to talk about.”

“We were speculating how long it’s going to take you to get up to speed.”

“I’ll be ready to fly when Pegasus is.”

Kate arched a delicately penciled auburn eyebrow. “The first flight was originally scheduled for next week. After Bill’s heart attack, Captain Westfall put it on hold.”

“I talked to him late this afternoon. He’s going to put the flight back on as scheduled.”

The nonchalant announcement produced another startled silence. Cody Richardson broke it this time.

“Are you sure you can complete your simulator training and conduct the necessary preflight test runs by next week, Scott?”

Dave started to reply that he intended to give it the ole college try. Just in time, he bit back the laconic quip. It didn’t take a genius to see that this gathering under the stars was some kind of nightly ritual. And that Dave was still the odd man out. He’d remain out until he proved himself. Problem was, he’d long ago passed the point of either wanting or needing to prove anything. His record spoke for him.

“Yeah,” he answered the doc instead. “I’m sure.”

The talk turned to the machine then, the one that had brought them all to this corner of the desert. Dave said little, preferring to listen and add to his first impressions of the group.

There were definitely some personalities at work here, he decided after a few moments of lively discussion. Caroline Dunn, the Coast Guard officer, looked as if a stiff wind could blow her away, but her small form housed a sharp mind and an iron will. That became evident when Russ McIver made the mistake of suggesting some modifications to the sea trials. Dunn cut his feet right out from under him.

Then there was the site’s top cop, Army Major Jill Bradshaw. Out of uniform, she lost some of her cool, don’t-mess-with-me aura. Particularly around the doc, Dave noted with interest. Yep, those two most certainly had something cooking.

Which left Kissable Kate. Dave would be a long time getting to sleep tonight. The weather scientist did things to spandex that made a man ache to peel off every inch of the slick, rubbery fabric. Slowly. Inch by delicious inch.

So he didn’t exactly rush off when the small gathering broke up and the others drifted away, leaving him and Kate and a sky full of stars. Dave retained his comfortable slouch while she played with her diet-drink can and eyed him thoughtfully across the dented metal tabletop.

Light from the high-intensity spots mounted around the compound gave her hair a dark copper tint. She’d caught it back with a plastic clip, but enough loose tendrils escaped for Dave to weave an erotic fantasy or two before she shoved her drink can aside.

“Look, we may have gotten off to a wrong start this morning.”

“Can’t agree with you on that one,” he countered. “Scooping a beautiful woman into my arms ten seconds after laying eyes on her constitutes one heck of a good start in my mind.”

“That’s exactly what I mean. I don’t want you to make the mistake of thinking you’ll be scooping me up again.”

“Why not?”

The lazy amusement in his voice put an edge in hers.

“I made a few calls. Talked to some people who know you. Does the name Denise Hazleton strike a bell?”

“Should it?”

“No, I guess not. Denise said you never quite got around to last names and probably wouldn’t remember her first. She’s a lieutenant stationed at Luke Air Force Base, in Arizona. You were hitting on her girlfriend the night the two of you hooked up.”

“Hmm. Hooking up with one woman while hitting on another. Not good, huh?”

“Not in my book.”

Kate hadn’t really expected him to show remorse or guilt. She wouldn’t have believed him if he had. But neither was she prepared for the hopeful gleam that sprang into his eyes.

“Did I get lucky with either?”

Well, at least he was honest. The man didn’t make any attempt to disguise his nature. He was what he was. “Yes, you did,” she answered. “Which is why…”

“What else did she say?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Denise. What else did she tell you?”

A bunch! Interspersed with long, breathy sighs and a fervent hope that Captain Dave Scott would find his way back to Luke soon.

“Let’s just say you left her with a smile on her face.”

“We aim to please,” Scott said solemnly, even as the glint in his blue eyes deepened. Too late, Kate realized he’d been stringing her along.

“The point is,” she said firmly, “I was married to a man a lot like you. A helluva pilot, but too handsome for his own—or anyone else’s—good. It didn’t work for us and I want you to know right up-front I’ve sworn off the type.”

One sun-bleached eyebrow hooked. He studied Kate for long moments. “That flight I told you about? The one I took a year or so ago with the air force Hurricane Hunters out of Keesler?”

“Yes?”

“Your ex-husband was the pilot.”

Kate’s mouth twisted. Obviously she wasn’t the only one who got an earful. “You don’t have to tell me. I’ll just assume John implied I didn’t leave him with a smile on his face.”

“Something along those lines.”

She cocked her head, curious now about the workings of this man’s mind. “And that didn’t scare you off?”

His grin came back, swift and slashing and all male. “No, ma’am.”

“It should have. As I said, it didn’t work out between John and me. Just as it wouldn’t work between the two of us.”

“Well, I’m not looking for a deep, meaningful relationship, you understand….”

“Somehow I didn’t think you were,” Kate drawled.

“But that’s not to say we couldn’t test the waters.”

“No, thanks.”

She scooted off the end of the bench and rose. She’d said what needed saying. The conversation was finished.

Evidently Scott didn’t agree. Uncoiling his long frame from the opposite bench, he came around to her side of the table.

“You’re a scientist. You tote a Ph.D. after your name. I would think you’d want to conduct a series of empirical tests and collect some irrefutable data before you write us off.”

“I’ve collected all the data I need.”

“Denise might not agree.”

There it was again. That glint of wicked laughter.

“I’m sure she wouldn’t,” Kate agreed.

“Then I’d say you owe it to yourself to perform at least one definitive test.”

His hand came up, curled under her chin, tipped her face. Kate knew she could stop this with a single word. She hadn’t reached the rank of lieutenant commander in NOAA’s small commissioned-officer corps without learning how to handle herself in just about any situation.

She could only blame curiosity—and the determination to show Dave Scott she meant business—for the way she stood passive and allowed him to conduct the experiment.

Three

He knew how to kiss. Kate would give him that.

He didn’t swoop. Didn’t zero in hard and fast. He took things slow, easy, his mouth playing with hers, his breath a warm wash against her lips. Just tantalizing enough to stir small flickers of pleasure under her skin. Just teasing enough to make her want more.

Sternly, Kate resisted the urge to tilt her head and make her mouth more accessible. Not that Scott required her assistance. His thumb traced a slow circle on the underside of her chin and gently nudged it to a more convenient angle for his greater height. By the time the experiment ended, Kate was forced to admit the truth.

“That was nice.”

“Nice, huh?”

“Very nice,” she conceded. “But it didn’t light any fires.”

Not major ones, anyway. Just those irritating little flickers still zapping along her nerve endings.

“That was only an engine check.” His thumb made another lazy circle on the underside of her chin. “Next time, we’ll rev up to full throttle.”

It wouldn’t do any good to state bluntly there wouldn’t be a next time. Dave Scott would only take that as another personal challenge.

“Tell you what.” Deliberately, she eased away from his touch. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready to rev my engines. Until then, we focus only on our mission while on-site. Agreed?”

“If that’s what you want.”

She leveled a steady look at him. Ignored the little crinkle of laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. Disregarded the way the deepening shadows cast his face into intriguing planes and angles.

“That’s what I want.”

Kate had almost as much trouble convincing her roommates she wanted to stick strictly to business as she had convincing Dave Scott.

Cari and Jill were both waiting when she returned to the modular unit that served as their quarters. The unit was functional at best—three cracker box–size bedrooms, an even smaller kitchen and a living area equipped with furniture more designed for utility than for comfort. The three women had added a few personal touches. Kate had tacked up some posters showing the earth’s weather in all its infinite variety. Cloudbursts over the Grand Canyon. Snow dusting the peaks of the Andes. The sun blazing down on a Swiss alpine meadow. Cari had added a shelf crammed with the whodunits and thrillers she devoured like candy. Jill stuck to her army roots and had draped a green flag depicting the crossed dueling pistols of the Military Police over one bare wall. The result wouldn’t win any house-beautiful awards, but the three officers had grown used to it.

They’d also grown used to each other’s idiosyncrasies. No small feat for women accustomed to being on their own and in charge. Still, their close quarters made for few secrets—as Cari proceeded to demonstrate. Curled in her favorite chair, the Coast Guard officer propped the thick technical manual she’d been studying on her chest and demanded an account.

“Okay, Hargrave, re-port. What’s with you and the latest addition to our merry band?”

“Other than the fact he drove me into the compound after my tumble this morning, nothing.”

Polite disbelief skipped across Cari’s heart-shaped face. Jill Bradshaw was more direct.

“Ha! Some weather officer you are. We all heard the thunder rumbling around you and Scott. You sure lightning isn’t about to strike?”

“I should be so lucky.”

Kate plopped down beside her on the sofa and yanked the clip out of her hair. Raking her fingers through the heavy mass, she gave the cop a rueful smile.

“I’ll tell you this much. Dave isn’t like Cody, Jill. You struck gold there.”

“Yeah, right,” the blonde snorted. “I had to put him on his face in the dirt before either of us got around to recognizing that fact. Not to mention almost arresting him for suspected sabotage.”

Kate’s smile dimmed at the memory of those tense days when a mysterious virus had attacked one team member after another. As chief of security, Jill’s investigation had centered on the Public Service officer—who just happened to be one of the country’s foremost experts in biological agents.

“Besides which,” Jill continued with a shrug, “Cody and I are doing our best to play things cool until we wind up the Pegasus project.”

It was Kate’s turn to snort. “The temperature goes up a good twenty degrees Celsius whenever you two are in the same vicinity.”

Loftily, her roommate ignored the interruption. “From where we sit,” Jill said, including Cari in the general assessment, “your Captain Scott doesn’t look like he knows how to cool his jets.”

“First, he’s not my Captain Scott. Second, we conducted a little experiment a few moments ago, the nature of which is highly classified,” she added firmly when both women flashed interested looks. “Bottom line, the captain and I agreed to focus solely on Pegasus while on-site. As the three of us should be doing right now.”

Jill took the hint and stopped probing. An intensely private person herself, she hadn’t looked forward to sharing cramped quarters with two other women. After weeks with the gregarious Kate and friendly Caroline, she’d learned to open up a bit. Falling head over heels for the handsome doc assigned to the project had certainly aided in her metamorphosis.

“Speaking of Pegasus,” Cari said, patting the thick three-ring binder propped on her stomach. “Captain Westfall sent over a revised test plan while you were out, uh, experimenting with Dave Scott. Our air force flyboy starts simulator training tomorrow morning.”

“Yikes!” Kate’s feet hit the floor with a thud. “I’d better get to work. I want to input a different weather-sequence pattern into the simulator program. Talk to you guys later.”

Heading for her bedroom, she settled at the small desk wedged in a corner and flipped up the lid of a slim, titanium-cased notebook computer. The communications wizards assigned to the Pegasus project had rigged wireless high-speed satellite links for the PCs on-site. Kate could access the National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Agency databases from just about anywhere in the compound.

The databases were treasure troves containing information collected over several centuries. Kate took pride in the fact that NOAA could trace its roots back to 1807, when President Thomas Jefferson created the U.S. Coast and Geodetic Survey, the oldest scientific agency in the federal government. Congress got involved in 1890 when it created a Weather Bureau, the forerunner of the current National Weather Service. In 1970 President Nixon combined weather and coastal surveys, along with many other departments to create NOAA.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.