Pursued. Catherine Mann

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ Athena diploma. She could afford to be magnanimous. Adult.

      Easing back the stick, Josie skimmed a more scenic route along California’s desert valleys cut by the ridges of the Sierra Nevadas with the Kern River running through. She cranked an east turn away from the river valley, out of the Sierras back over flat land of dry lake beds and creosote bushes, closer to her Palmdale testing facility near Edwards AFB and closer to dropping off Shannon.

      Josie continued a tour-guide litany while her passenger stayed silent for once. Thank God.

      A road splitting the desert stretched straight and long ahead of her, marred only by the dust kicked up from a motorcycle bearing down toward the test facility. She lined up along the lone band of road, pacing, gaining ground on the rider. And why not? Everything in an aviator’s life was a chance for competition.

      Fringe rippled from the arms of the biker’s leather jacket giving off a Mad Max air that fit well with the scattered miners, desert rats in rusted trailers. Wild and untamed, like the old Josie who was no longer allowed free rein. The taboo element entranced her all the more for being forbidden. Even while she rambled her scenic explanations to Shannon, Josie couldn’t look away from a sight and yearning that held her attention beyond any hoo-hah.

      Her headset crackled with a cleared throat. Shannon’s interruption yanked Josie’s attention back to the cockpit.

      “Too bad you couldn’t get Tory to cover your dog-and-pony show. No doubt she would have televised anything you wanted. That loyalty among classmates is something else. You two even covered for a pregnant friend once—what happened to Kayla and her kid anyway? Did she ever find a man to marry her?”

      Okay, that ripped it. The old Josie still humming just below the surface kicked her adrenaline level up into a freaking aria. “For a smart woman, you sure do say some mighty unwise things at times.”

      She could put up with someone smacking at her. But her innate sense of justice, which had once earned her the label “Josephine, the Tattletale Queen,” really balked at letting an injustice go unavenged.

      Nobody messed with her friends.

      “You know, Shannon, I don’t think I’m lined up just right. We need to go around.” She clicked on the radio. “Palmdale Tower, Bat two-zero on the go.”

      Josie popped the jet into afterburners, dumping raw gas into the exhaust stream like a pilot light on a stove igniting, pumping up the speed. Thwump. The plane jolted from the swift kick in the ass. Exhilaration trilled within her like the final high note exploding free to reverberate through an auditorium.

      Her eyes flicked to the mirror. Shannon’s face had turned cucumber.

      “Ah, hell, Shannon—” she couldn’t quite suppress the sarcasm “—I probably should have told you I was going to do that.”

      Shannon grappled at the face mask. Her throat worked, then cranked down in a swallow. Impressive move, holding back the volcano of vomit that would have spewed up through the mask.

      Enough payback for one day. Point made. The last echoes of justice faded, leaving an emptiness inside her that grew increasingly difficult to ignore.

      Josie leveled off at five hundred feet above the runway. “Palmdale Tower, Bat two-zero requesting left closed.”

      “Left closed approved. Repeat base.”

      “Bat two-zero, left base with gear.”

      The control tower responded, “Bat two-zero, clear to land. No traffic.”

      Coming in. Landing. One hundred and fifty miles per hour at impact, the tires screeched in protest of the brakes. She kept the nose up to bleed off speed, as well until…poof, the plane’s nose tilted down and kissed asphalt. The plane taxied down the runway at a sedate pace.

      Hand easing back on the throttle, she slowed, pulling off onto the hammerhead toward Shannon’s waiting television cameraman. “Palmdale, Bat two-zero clear the active. Going to ground control.” She switched frequencies. “Palmdale ground, Bat two-zero. Clear the active. Request parking.”

      “Bat two-zero, taxi via Alpha,” ground control responded. “Back to spot sixteen. Caution construction. Right-hand side of Alpha at Bravo.”

      A blue pickup truck slid in front of her with a “follow me” sign in back to lead her onto the tarmac. The sun’s rays baked through the clear canopy, desert temps still notching in November. Her flight suit stuck to her back against the leather seat as she followed the truck past the guy waving wand flashlights toward the parking spot—

      And toward a uniformed man, the major, her boss, standing and waiting.

      Not good. The murky cloud over her day went opaque.

      Major Mike Bridges had no doubt made the trip out to the flight line to coincide with her landing for a reason. Since he stood by the hangar housing her two modified test models of the Predator unmanned spy drone, he must be here for her. A problem? If so, she needed scoop-hungry Shannon Conner out of the way before any discussion.

      Josie whipped off her helmet and deplaned. Wind tore across the treeless expanse, lifting her short hair, drying the sweat on her body with gritty gusts. Her combat boots smacked steamy asphalt three steps behind Shannon, who was staggering toward the nearest trash can. Shannon gripped the metal edges and leaned, her borrowed flight suit stretching across her heaving back. Wonder if the cameraman will document that part?

      Her boss frowned. Josie cringed, then braced. He’d only assumed command a month ago, so she still wasn’t sure where she stood in regard to his approval and respect. Still, she’d followed orders today—show the reporter around and pull out all the stops. Okay, so she’d worked in a little revenge for her friend along with it.

      And at a totally sucky time.

      She needed to lay low after the fallout from her helicopter diversionary stunt she’d pulled to help one of her Athena grad friends with a mission a few months ago. Another wrong she’d leaped in to avenge and damn the consequences. She’d never quite understood why being right wasn’t always the right thing.

      Regardless, her flight and fun were over.

      A rumble from behind the hangar interrupted her thoughts seconds before a Harley rolled into view. The same low-rider cruiser she’d seen from her plane roared up with the guy wearing black leather.

      The motorcycle jerked to a stop by the fence gate. The fringe on the man’s arms rippled. The growling engine shushed.

      One boot slammed the cement. A muscled thigh in faded blue jeans and black chaps swung over. The second boot pounded pavement. He tugged off the helmet, shaking free coal-dark hair longer than any military regs allowed. The thick mane hit his shoulders.

      Definitely not military.

      He smacked along his leather-clad thighs, dusting, the action and chaps drawing attention to a hoo-hah package that—

      Nope. Not gonna go there even in her mind. Too much talk of hoo-hahs must have her hormones on overload.

      Her P.C. call sign might have started out as a Josie and the Pussy Cats reference, but she’d quickly redirected it to Politically Correct. She had rights and wrongs down pat. Checking out a man’s hoo-hah was as СКАЧАТЬ