Taking Cover

"We have to get along for the next few weeks. We can't rip each other's head off whenever hormones kick in. If we're fighting all the time, we'll never figure out what went wrong with that plane."



Her mind churned through his words. Fighting all the time equaled turned on all the time.



He was turned on by her all the time? She definitely didn't need to know that. "All right. Truce."



"We'll start fresh."



She nodded. "Sounds good."



"No more snapping and firing up our hormones."



"Right."



His arms crossed over his chest. "I'll start by apologizing for whatever I did to make you pout."



Starch crept right back into her spine. "I don't pout."



"O'Connell, that counts as a snap." A dimple creased one cheek. "Breaking the rules already."



"Who says you get to decide all the rules, Captain Hotshot Pilot? I'm the rule expert. Remember?" His smile deepened, damn him, and she stomped her foot. "And I do not pout!"



Creases fanned from his eyes as a suspicious light twinkled. "Turning you on that much, am I?"



She almost shot into the car and drove off without the conceited lug. Then the twinkle turned so outrageously mischievous, her anger drained away. "You're teasing me."



He shrugged, but she recognized the playful Tanner from the airport, the lighthearted Tanner who made everyone smile. He was treating her like one of the guys.



Well, not exactly the way he would treat the guys, but he was joking with her in his own infuriating way.



A smile tugged at her cheeks, laughter tickling her mouth and finally bubbling free.



Tanner's low chuckles joined hers. "Time to lay down our arms and declare a cease-fire. I must say, Captain O'Connell, you've been a worthy adversary."



"You're a formidable opponent yourself, Captain Bennett."



"For a hotshot pilot."



She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle the next laugh. "Did I really stamp my foot?"



"Not that I saw."



"Very noble of you."



"All in the interest of no more snapping."



No more arguing. No more sparks. No more heat to suppress and try to ignore.



No chance of ever exploring it.



An odd melancholy stirred deep in her stomach. Her eyes met his across the door, held. Remnants of his low laugh still brushed the air, wrapping around her, dispelling a chill she'd had long before she stepped out into the dreary parking lot.



Apparently, he could upset her equilibrium without laying a finger on her.



Her smile faded. "It's a long drive in, and it'll be dark soon. We really should get going."



Tanner nodded, backing away before turning on his heel to store the luggage. He folded his body into the car while she tucked herself behind the steering wheel.



His leg pressed against hers.



Kathleen looked at the floorboards and couldn't find an extra inch for escape. Masculine heat and musk saturated her senses, just like on the plane.



The sooner she left, the sooner they would be through. She reached to release the parking break in the middle.



Her knuckles rubbed a long, very long, very torturous, path over Tanner's thigh. The cotton fabric of his pants rasped along her every heightened nerve.



Kathleen's foot twitched on the brake. "You know, Appendix 0, section C of the Joint Travel Regulations does indicate that if the car doesn't meet requirements we may be authorized a different-size vehicle appropriate to the mission. Given your size and medical history…"



Tanner was already reaching for his door. "Wouldn't want to land me back in the hospital from hours spent in this shoe box."



"Right." Kathleen ripped the keys from the ignition. "The midsize over there would save the Air Force money in the long run."



"See. We're already learning to agree."



"Absolutely."



"I'll get the luggage while you change the paperwork."



"Great." Kathleen threw open her door and sprinted through the rain for the Hertz desk. Even as she ran, she knew a minivan wouldn't offer enough space. She couldn't escape the memory of Tanner's warm laughter sweeping over her like a lover's caress, making her want more.



Not that it could ever matter. She might want him, but she would never need him, not like the women he seemed to prefer. Being vulnerable just wasn't worth the price.



The next morning Tanner slid on sunglasses to dim the piercing desert sun. Beside him, Kathleen sipped her coffee and drove, predictably five miles an hour under the speed limit on a highway where most people sped like demons.



He refused to let that cloud his mood. Face tipped into the gritty breeze whipping through the open window, he decided the wide-open skies offered a good omen for a new day. He and Kathleen had found a safe middle ground, and he intended to keep it.



Along with the help of a great big armrest console between them.



Tanner inhaled the chicory scent of his coffee to override the mint wafting from Kathleen. He drank his Jamaican breakfast blend and resolved to be productive.



Their ride into base the night before had been tease at first, then easier as they'd debated the merits of great historic generals. For once, their combative natures had found a positive outlet in a discussion on Alexander the Great, another good omen as they began their case.



The morning meeting with six other members of their investigation team from different bases had been spent divvying up interview subjects. Since Kathleen's toxicology reports weren't due in from the labs for another couple of days, she and Tanner were partnered for the day.



First on their agenda—check out the subcontractor who'd modified the electromechanical release device on the C-17's load ramp. Another whole day with Kathleen. Lt. Col. Dawson's plan was well underway. Tanner still couldn't decide if the idea was inspired leadership or reckless endangerment of their sanity.



Tanner focused on the landscape outside his window, rather than the too-tempting view just beside him behind the wheel. Rain from the day prior had coaxed color from barren cracks. Flowers now bloomed in a surprise splash of color. Clumps of Joshua trees and creosote brush seemed to stand taller.



The sun glinted off a shallow sheen of water on a dried-up lake bed. Plastic shark fins dotted the expanse, bringing a welcome smile to Tanner's face at the tradition he'd often viewed during countless TDY's to the base. Squadrons at Edwards AFB kept those fins ready to use after every rain.



Military folks worked hard, but they also played hard as a safeguard against the stress. Joking offered a pressure valve for the grim realities of their world, combat missions and even the ever-present risk of a crash on any flight.



Like the one they were investigating.



It could have been worse. Twisted metal. A burned-out hull. Nothing left to identify the crew but the extra set of dog tags inside boots.



The cause couldn't remain a mystery, otherwise, it could happen again. To him. To his friends.



Tanner shrugged off the depressing image and allowed himself an unreserved glance at Kathleen for distraction. Her tourist getup a thing of the past, she wore her flight suit, those fire-red strands tucked away in her regular braid.



An image of her in the airport sneaked into his thoughts as she did too often lately. His mind's eye remembered her tentative smile when she'd passed him the pocket protector full of pens.



She didn't smile often, something he hadn't noticed before. How did she blow off the steam that accompanied her high-pressure job? She needed to smile more often.



Tanner knocked back the dregs of his coffee, then smiled, lifting his empty cup. "A good omen."



"What?" She replaced her disposable cup, before readjusting her hands on the steering wheel. Positioning at precisely ten o'clock and two o'clock, of course.



He suppressed a grin at her manual-perfect driving. He understood her better now, and understanding the opponent gave him an edge. "We both like coffee. The sun's shining. All omens that it's going to be a kick-butt day."



"Omens." She gave a decidedly unladylike snort. "I'm more of a make-your-own-luck kind of person."



Of course she was, being a scientist. It made sense. Maybe he needed to help her understand more about the flyer mind-set as well. The sun seemed to wink in agreement. Or could that be a mocking gleam?



"Flyers are superstitious. We hang on to good luck charms, perform all sorts of rituals before we fly. Rabbits' feet, lucky coins, a bar coaster. Our pockets rattle with the stuff. One guy I know is convinced if he eats sardines and crackers for breakfast before a flight he won't get air sick."



She shot him a wry smile. "Alert the AMA." The wind snagged at her hair, finally freeing a lone strand. "And his reasoning behind this?"



"On his first training flight he was the only one in his class not to hurl. Now he's certain it was because of the sardines he ate that morning. It's become a mental thing. You can be sure that if he doesn't eat those sardines, he'll be puking his guts out by air-to-air refueling."



She winced, laughing softly. "Lovely."



The stray lock streamed across her face, catching on her mouth.



Tanner trained his eyes on a cactus so he wouldn't surrender to the temptation to smooth back her hair. "Don't diss the mojo, lady. We've seen it go bad for no reason too often not to hang with those traditions."



"Okay, so you know a few superstitious guys. You find superstitious people in any walk of life." She hooked the strand behind her ear.



Tanner relaxed in his seat, temptation safely tucked away for the moment. "Not this many. Have you noticed we always get into the plane on the left? Even if there's also a door on the right side, we still only use the left one. Fighter planes have the ladder rolled up to their left."



"There has to be a logical reason."



Figures his scientist partner would say that. "We think it's a carryover from cavalry days since you always mount a horse from the left, but we're not certain. Not a chance will anyone test it by breaking the tradition. Those rituals offer reassurance. Confidence in the air is everything."



Her eyes distant, Kathleen scrunched her nose, those few freckles more apparent in the morning sun. "Funny, I watched Andrew climb into that fighter at least a hundred times, and I never gave the left-side thing a thought."



Jealousy launched an ambush, downing Tanner when he least expected it. "Andrew?"



Kathleen's knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. "My ex-husband."



Ex-husband? So much for omens and knowing his opponent, good signs and a great day. Tanner could have sworn his mojo rode the morning breeze right out the window. "You were married?"



Kathleen drained her coffee to give herself time to phrase a response. How could she have let Andrew's name slip? It had to be all the research and paperwork on crashes that brought Andrew to mind. With her emotions stirred into an uncontrollable swirl, she'd slipped.



She didn't hide the fact that she'd been married. However, once she'd reclaimed her maiden name, her colossal mistake wasn't something she enjoyed discussing. She'd allowed herself to relax her guard and enjoy the Tanner Bennett everyone else knew. Big mistake. One she planned to rectify. "A lot of people have been married."



"Not me."



An opening for a subject change and she intended to leap all over it. "How come?"



"Uh-uh. You first." His feet braced against the floorboards as if driving the car—or flying a plane. "You were married to a fighter pilot?"



Given the thrust of Tanner's determined jaw, Kathleen knew there wasn't a chance she could dodge his questions. Even in the passenger side, he drove in theory. This guy didn't give up control with ease or grace.



Better to keep her answers simple and factual, then move on to safer discussions like leadership traits in Alexander the Great. "Yes. For two years."