Taking Cover

The waning notes of "Silver Bells" faded, bleeding over into "I'll Be Home for Christmas."



Her ex had walked out on December twenty-third. Kathleen beat Tanner to the button by half a second. "Listen, Bennett. You've got to stop with the silent treatment."



"I'm staying out of your way."



"You're blowing the investigation."



"Me? You're the one buying into everything Quinn and Randy say."



"Not true at all." She gripped the shuddering wheel and maneuvered the car over another rut before accelerating. "I'm just trying to find answers. Everything about this investigation has been goat rope from day one. The whole team's like an episode of Keystone Cops at their worst. Toxicology reports disappearing. Erased crew tapes. Computer files suddenly plagued by viruses. Something's not right."



"No kidding, Sherlock. But there's nothing we can do about it for another week. Nada. Zip. We've been ordered home for the holidays. Your pocket UCMJ is very clear on following orders. We go home. Eat some pumpkin pie. Then get the investigation back on track afterward."



"Just how are we supposed to do that?"



"Forget it. I'm not going to argue with you." He turned the radio back on.



"Instead, you're just going to brood and sulk over heaven knows what." Her foot pressed more heavily on the accelerator. "Do you think Colonel Dawson won't notice when he comes to Cutter's wedding?"



"Kathleen—"



"Of course he will. This investigation is landing in the toilet, Bennett. If we don't save it soon, we can just flush our careers right along with it."



"O'Connell—"



"No upgrade slot for you, hotshot." With each word, she picked up steam while blowing it off. "You'll be the oldest living copilot in the Air Force. I'll get a promotion recommendation that won't be good for anything other than padding the bottom of the stack. Do you think you're the only one who's frustrated? God knows I don't want to want you, but we've just got to live with this, Bennett, and your silent treatment isn't making it any easier on either of us—"



"Kathleen! Hush!"



Well, she'd wanted him to talk. "What?"



"The car's not riding right."



"Huh?" The car shuddered, tugged to the left. Somehow in her anger she'd let the accelerator creep up to eighty. "It's this detour of Crusty's. I knew we should have stayed on the main road."



"Yeah, but— Damn!" Tanner grabbed the wheel just as a tire blew.



Chapter 10



Fishtailing, the car swerved right, then left. Tanner's hand fisted around the wheel as his body strained against the seat belt. The Taurus hurtled off the road.



Tanner's other arm shot in front of Kathleen to brace her. "Drive into the spin, O'Connell!"



"I know!" Her elbow nudged his arm away. "Let go!" The car pounded over dips and trenches. Damn, but he wished they'd been traveling the more sedate Kathleen speed on the smooth, paved highway.



A second tire blew.



"What the—" His hand reached again for Kathleen. Too late. She slammed against the door. Her head smacked the window.



Her limp body sagged from the seat belt. "Kathleen!" he shouted. Horror thumped him in the chest harder than the constricting shoulder harness.



The car pin-wheeled out of control into a dried-up lake



Forcing himself to block out distracting emotions, Tanner steered. Fly the jet. Don't think about Kathleen slumped beside him.



Damn near impossible.



Grinding metal sounded as rocks ripped at the undercarriage. Focus and fly. He manipulated the wheel by instinct, battling a flat in the front as well as the back. He combated ruts and rocks, tried not think of Kathleen's limp body swaying like a rag doll.



A small pyre of rocks loomed ahead. Unavoidable, but at least it would act as a brake from nature. The car plowed over the stones, jolting the vehicle more than a teeth-jarring landing.



Airbags inflated. Masked Kathleen.



The spin slowed, the car sliding sideways. Stopping.



Dust swirled beyond Tanner's side window. The radio crooned "Jingle Bell Rock" in the aftermath, everything else an echoing silence. Too quiet, as he listened to music and his own labored breathing.



No sounds from beside him.



The airbags began a hissing deflation, spurring Tanner into action. He punched the bag until he could unsnap his seat belt. "Kathleen!"



He flung aside the belt and leaned over the console. Too damned big console. "Answer me!"



She didn't respond. Not even a moan. He cupped her face, afraid to move her until he knew how badly she'd been hurt. "Kathleen, honey, wake up. Come on. Wake up."



He patted her cheeks. Her damp face.



His fingers came away with blood as red as her hair, crimson like the fear darkening his vision. With shaking hands, he examined the cut on her temple. Small, but bleeding like a son of a bitch. "Damn it, Kathleen! Open your eyes. Now! Wake up and yell at me for making you take the detour!"



Still no response. He hung his head, gasping in air to calm his thoughts as well as his heart rate.



Think. Breathe.



His nose twitched. Gasoline hung in the air. Stung his nose, his eyes. Rocks must have torn the undercarriage, causing a leak in the fuel tank.



His head shot up.



The car could blow.



He lunged for her seat belt. Forget waiting, he had to get Kathleen out now and just pray she hadn't broken anything.



Tanner jabbed her seat belt release. Nothing happened. Damn. He grabbed the strap. Mashed the button. Forced it. Still nothing.



For one interminable second, fear for Kathleen and the very real sense of her mortality bit him. Hard. He'd faced death too many times, very recently flying combat missions over Sentavo. All active duty military accepted the possibility of death on the job.



But it wasn't supposed to happen like this.



He would not let her check out because of a flat tire gone way wrong. He had always told himself he could have made a difference for his sister when she'd needed him. Well, he was here for Kathleen now and wouldn't let her die, damn it.



Determination and a hefty dose of adrenaline fired through him. He gripped the seat belt and ripped it from the buckle, his growling shout filling the car. He ignored the raw sting across his palm.



A cloud billowed from the hood. Smoldered.



No time. Worry about injuries later because, damn it, Kathleen would have a later.



He scooped her from the seat, backed out of the car, and ran like bell. With Kathleen limp and tucked against his chest, he sprinted across the packed sand.



Wind howled, wafting smoke with each gust. A small crackle, then another sounded behind him. He willed his feet to move faster. Farther. He kept his eye on the end zone, praying he'd cross a line of safety before—



An explosion thundered across the desert.



The percussion blast slammed his back. Launched him forward. He twisted just in time to cushion Kathleen's fall with his body.



Damn, but the desert floor was harder than AstroTurf. Stunned from the fall, he struggled to clear the fog.



Kathleen.



Her body sprawled across his. Her soft br**sts pressed against him with her every steady, reassuring breath.



She was alive, warm and breathing against him. His arms twitched around her. He cupped the back of her head and gave himself two seconds just to hold her, breathe in the scent of her to chase away the stench of smoke and fear of her dying.



The flames swelled and popped with a secondary explosion. Tanner's fingers tangled in Kathleen's hair, sand and blood mixing in the loose strands shielding her face.



Gently he rolled her from him onto her back. Her ashen face leeched relief from him.



"Kathleen? Kathleen!" He patted her cheeks, snapped his fingers in front of her face. "Wake up, honey. Come on. Don't scare me like this. Wake up or I'm gonna have to carry you all the way out of this desert and it'll screw up my back. Do you hear that? I'll end up in the infirmary, and you can be sure I'll blow off half your instructions."



She stirred under his touch, a small but damned welcome sign be grasped with both hands.



"That's right. Come on, honey. Please wake up."



"Tanner?" she mumbled, her eyes still closed.



"Yeah, it's me." Relief almost knocked him on his butt, but he channeled his thoughts toward her. "Don't move. Lie still until we figure out if you've broken anything. Does it hurt anywhere besides your head? Help me out here, Doc. What should I be checking?"



Her lashes fluttered open, revealing cloudy, unfocused eyes. "Don't wanna be Doc."



Kathleen's cranky grumble brought him laughter along with all that relief. "Not much choice, Doc. We're pretty short on options."



"Hate being Doc. Doc, Sneezy, Grumpy, so Sleepy…" Her head lolled.



Relief took a fast flight out. "Kathleen!"



She blinked up at him. "I want a real name. And a keg party. Like the others."



What the hell was she talking about? But at least she was talking. "Okay, hon. You got it. One keg party coming up."



"Thank you." Her lashes drifted closed.



"Kathleen! Damn it, O'Connell, wake up!" Tanner shouted the hoarse order. He leaned his face inches from hers. "No way! You're not checking out on me now."



His forehead fell to rest on hers. "You don't have to be Doc. Just wake up, Sleeping Beauty, and tell me where it hurts."



He couldn't stop himself from brushing a kiss just beside the purpling bruise. Her lashes flickered open, and he stifled the urge to cheer for good ol' Grimm's fairy tales.



Of course he wasn't much of a prince for this warrior goddess. At the moment he was shaking in his deck shoes and he didn't like the feeling at all. Emotions never got the better of him, at least not since his sister's death. He prided himself on his steady hands in the air and reliable laugh on the ground.



Except he couldn't dodge the notion that he could have done something. He'd let his guard down, surrendered control, and that could have cost a crucial second. Hell, if he'd been the one driving…



He wanted his objectivity back. He did not want this roaring in his ears every time he thought about Kathleen bleeding. And by God, he would shut it down before he let it distract him again.



Keep it light. Keep it simple. Above all, stay in control.



Kathleen looked up at the looming double shadows swaying above her. Tanner crouched over her, his chest a large blue blur in the polo shirt.



Her head pounded with what had to be a hangover headache of mammoth proportions, and she hadn't even enjoyed the party. She winced, blinked fast, her vision becoming blessedly clearer. "Tanner?"



The hard planes of his face sharpened. His eyes stared down at her as intently as when reading any mission chart. "Yeah. Talk to me, O'Connell. Are you all right?"



"I think so." She flexed her fingers, her feet, warily elbowing up. A small groan slipped between her gritted teeth. Dust powdered the inside of her mouth, a minor inconvenience compared to her throbbing temples. "Except for a killer headache."



He palmed her back. "Okay, easy now."



She forced herself to sit upright without his help. Resting her elbows on her knees, she swallowed down nausea. "What happened?"



"A flat tire, remember? You hit your head when the second tire blew."



"Oh, yeah." She forced herself to breathe evenly. Slow and steady so she wouldn't hurl all over Tanner's big shoes in front of her.



He stroked the back of her neck. God, it felt so good, so soothing. She allowed herself to accept that much comfort, her eyes drifting closed as the pain abated. "Why are we out here, though?"



A breeze wafted past, carrying the acrid odor of smoke and gasoline their way. She sniffed. Her eyes snapped open. She jerked to look behind her and found their car burning steadily fifty yards away.