Pursued. Catherine Mann

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СКАЧАТЬ her off the hook easily. She had to appreciate that they were back on even footing, playing the diplomacy game. She would bury him in paperwork, data and reports. God knows she was good at details.

      Starting now. “Which would you rather do first? A walk around the aircraft? Or should we head straight over to my office for a prelim brief on our progress to date?”

      “We can do that tomorrow. How about you bring me up to speed over a beer?”

      A beer? She didn’t drink and she rarely socialized. She didn’t have time to waste shooting the breeze in a bar, especially during duty hours. Probably why she’d never met this man face-to-face, if that’s how he preferred to spend his after-work hours.

      Bridges gave her a pointed look. Play the game.

      Fair enough. She understood the rules of this boys’ club and knew how to play them her own way on her own terms. “We can talk just as well over drinks as we can in the office. I’d be honored to hear a legend’s take on the merits of computer simulations replacing actual flight tests.”

      Legend, my butt.

      Grinding her teeth in frustration, Josie forced herself to lounge against the quarter panel of her Mustang outside the Wing and a Prayer Bar while she waited. And waited. And waited longer while Diego Morel took his sweet time parking his bike, stowing his helmet, making sure his Harley was parked just so under the security light.

      Holy crap, she’d be ready for retirement by the time they made it inside.

      He’d chosen the locale, deep in the California desert, a flyer hangout with an airplane tail sticking out of the roof. Music vibrated through the walls, rowdy voices swelling from the back porch and over. She would have preferred somewhere quieter where he could have his draft and she could order a grilled chicken salad while they talked. But he was calling the shots. And as long as they discussed business, she would be content.

      Finally he finished playing nursemaid to his Harley and started across the gravel lot toward the door without a glance in her direction.

      Hello? Did the guy not even remember she was here?

      Josie shoved away from the car. “Well sure, I’d love to join you. Right this way.”

      He shot a quick glance her way. “Did you say something, Buttercup?”

      Buttercup. She forced herself not to roll her eyes. “Nope. Just tagging along with you. You’re calling the shots tonight.”

      There, that sounded nice, didn’t it?

      “Hmm. Somehow I doubt that.” He swept open the door with a near-mocking flourish.

      Josie stepped into the doorway, pausing half in, half out to give herself time to adjust to the blasting cacophony of clanking glasses, blaring music and conversations shouted to rise over it all.

      “Great place, huh?” He drank in the atmosphere like a favored microbrew.

      “Great.” And entirely too packed.

      He crowded her space until she had to continue inside. At least now they would get down to business. She scanned the room. The din of voices blended with the never-ending blare of old military movies. Airplane parts loaded most of the walls. He ambled inside, his eyes gravitating to the back door leading to the porch. The wall out there sported hundreds of signatures from test pilots, hers included. She’d scrawled her “Jane” Hancock during the one and only other time she’d been here—a mandatory appearance to celebrate her first test flight.

      Through the press of bodies, she spotted a couple pushing back their chairs to leave. “Looks like there’s an empty table there in the corner—”

      Josie glanced over her shoulder. No Morel. Great. She searched and found him settling on a bar stool in front of one of the airplane “sticks” for drunks to “fly.” Talk about frequent flyer miles. This guy must have racked up more than his fair share, given how everyone knew him.

      Patience, she reminded herself. And no unruly emotions.

      By the time his beer and her water arrived, someone recognized him, which led to another beer with a couple of C-17 pilots in California on a TDY—temporary duty—from South Carolina. Three drinks later, he asked, “Want another water?”

      “No thanks. My eyeballs are floating.” Enough already. She could be polite while still drawing boundaries. “If you don’t want to talk about my project, that’s cool. But could you please let me know so I can return to work?”

      “No need to head back just yet.”

      “What does any of this have to do with my test?”

      “We’re building a working relationship. I’m watching how you operate, getting into your head. Understanding the way you see things will help me interpret your data.”

      “Sounds to me like an excuse to knock back beers with your pals. But however you want to play the game.”

      The duo of C-17 pilots stood with apologies and calls of “Catch ya later, dude, gotta find some food.”

      Morel sighed. “Listen up, Buttercup—”

      Josie propped a boot on the lowest rung of his bar stool in an aggressive move forward he couldn’t mistake. “That’s Captain Buttercup, thank you very much.”

      “To Captain Buttercup.” He toasted her with a pull off his bottle before slamming it back down on the scarred wood of the bar. “Those guys actually had some damned interesting insights on the Predator’s performance during a hostage rescue mission overseas. You might not be so pissed if you’d actually bothered to listen.”

      Damn it, he had a point. Her innate sense of justice was a real pain in the butt sometimes. “Score one for you. But in the interest of fair play—” and she was always fair “—it would help if you included me in these conversations, Major.”

      “For the record, I’m plain old mister these days. I’m not in the air force anymore.” His fist twitched around the flight stick mounted on the bar, thumb absently stroking.

      Contrition nipped. Hard. He was an ass, no question, but God, he’d lost so much. She couldn’t imagine having her feet nailed to the ground. Like her mother, he’d had his dream taken away. Her mother had gone mad. Had this man perhaps simply gotten mad? Her boot dropped back to the floor. “I’m sorry.”

      “Don’t be. I didn’t die. I’m still working tests, just from the other end. I’m lucky and I know it.” He motioned to the bartender for another round.

      “Okay then.” She hitched up onto the bar stool next to him. “I’m sorry for the air force’s loss of your flying talent.”

      His eyes narrowed as he lifted the new bottle toward his mouth. “Watch it Buttercup. That was damn near a compliment.”

      “Your skill in the air is a matter of record. I’ve made it more than clear how much I respect your work.” Her attention shifted to a crowd back by the pool table. “And speaking of work, finally—” She waved to one of her workmates striding toward the pool table and gestured him over. “Hey Craig, come meet the newest member of our team.”

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