Full Throttle

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.