Under Fire. Lindsay McKenna

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ can improve and become better combat pilots.

      “On the ground at debrief, we go over every dogfight sequence. Nine times out of ten, I win my confrontations in the air with these guys. They don’t like it because they’re getting beaten by a woman, and women aren’t supposed to be able to fly half as well as they can. My stats can’t be argued with, Bishop. That’s why Commander Parkinson chose me to head up the Navy Red Flag team. I need an RIO who wants to win just as badly as I do. I’m competitive, but not with anyone but myself. I don’t expect anything more of you than I do of myself. I’m not a screamer in the cockpit. I’d hope we can work smoothly in an adult way. I can’t stand childish pouting or games being played when everything’s on the line.”

      Wes sat there for a long moment, digesting Maggie’s impassioned words. The waitress came and delivered her salad and his hamburger. He thanked her and worked at putting mustard and catsup on the burger. Maggie glanced up at him from time to time, running her fork disinterestedly around in the shrimp salad.

      “I don’t have a problem with what you said.” Wes took a huge bite of his hamburger, watching Maggie’s instantaneous reaction. Her eyes widened enormously, and he tucked his smile away. He knew she’d thought he would challenge her brass-knuckled delivery of her expectations. “Matter of fact,” he added, picking up a french fry, “I totally agree with you.”

      Her nostrils flared and she pushed the salad aside, zeroing in on him. “Okay, what do you expect out of this?”

      Her intensity pleased him. A damn good combat pilot had the ability to focus sharply on what was ahead of him—or her, in this case—blocking out everything else. “I kinda like the idea of working with a woman. Never have before, and that intrigues me.”

      Her heart banged violently against her ribs. Was he honestly drawn to her? No. Every other male she’d worked with over the years had been all business, regarding her not as a woman, but as a pilot—a genderless person who sat in the front seat flying the plane. Wes’s hooded look in her direction unstrung Maggie. “Look, if you’re talking—”

      “Whoa, let me finish.” He held up his hand. Then, teasingly, he asked, “Do you always interrupt people?”

      Chastised, Maggie nodded. “Yeah, one of my bad habits. Go ahead.”

      “I like that: you can admit your faults.”

      “I didn’t apologize, Bishop.”

      “I didn’t expect you to. But most male pilots wouldn’t have admitted anything, either.”

      “So?” Maggie challenged.

      “So, I like your ability to be a human being, not a tin god in the cockpit like those boys think they are.”

      Her smile was rueful. Most fighter pilots were in their early or middle twenties. With Wes being an “old man” at twenty-nine, she imagined they did look like boys to him. “I like your maturity already.”

      “Good.” He pushed the plate of french fries toward her. “Here, have some.”

      Wrinkling her nose, Maggie said, “No, thanks. They’re pure grease.”

      “Wouldn’t hurt you to put on a little weight, you know.”

      His personal comment shook her. Bishop had the unnerving ability to get her trust, and when she gave it to him, even something as innocent and caring as his observation about her lack of weight made her defensive. Maggie didn’t have time to ask herself why she reacted so strongly.

      “Let’s stick to the conversation at hand,” she told him. “What do you expect from me?”

      “What I’m getting right now—your honesty and how you see things going down. I don’t sit in the back seat with a jerk for a pilot, either. My life’s in your hands. I don’t have a second set of controls in case you screw up. All I can do is sit back there and pray you can get us out of trouble flight-wise.”

      “I’ve never lost a plane.”

      “Not even close?”

      “No.”

      “You been in any flat spins?”

      “Yeah.”

      “How many?”

      Maggie knew flat spins were the most dangerous flight situation a plane could find itself in. Fifty percent of the time, the aircraft was lost because the pilot was unable to pull it out of the flat spin. She held Bishop’s unrelenting gaze, liking his clear, crystalline blue eyes. “In training, six times. In combat practice, three times because jet-wash compression stalled my engines. I was lucky to be at high enough altitudes to pull it out and not have to eject.”

      Bishop nodded. “Truthful to a fault, aren’t you? Not many pilots would tell me about those last three.”

      “Honesty is something I live my life by.”

      “Good,” Wes praised. He was starting to really like Maggie Donovan.

      “Look, I’ve had my trial by fire. I’ve had instructors who wanted to wash me out from the time I stepped foot into naval aviation. Not only did I learn how to fly, but I had to outfly them just to pass the course. I had to fly twenty times better than any male candidate.” She held up her long, slim hands. “I’ve got ‘hands,’ Bishop. Flying’s in my blood. I breathe, eat and sleep it. It’s my life. I don’t ever want anything other than what I’ve got now. I like where I’m at, and I like myself. I respect what I’ve got, and yes, I’m always pushing the envelope on myself.”

      “Nothing else interests you?” Wes asked suddenly, changing tactics.

      “What else is there except flying?” Maggie asked in surprise, a defensive tone in her voice.

      “I don’t know,” Wes murmured, chewing on another french fry. “How about a homelife? A husband? Maybe some kids down the line?’

      She scowled.

      “That wasn’t a chauvinistic comment.”

      “Sounded like it.”

      “That’s negative. So, what else interests you in life, Maggie Donovan?” Had she deliberately sidestepped her marital status? There was no wedding ring on her left hand, but pilots weren’t allowed to wear jewelry when they flew, anyway. He smiled slightly when he saw her cheeks flush a bright pink. Despite her focus and assuredness about what she wanted out of life, Maggie still was very much a human being with obvious weaknesses and strengths. That made her endearing. His heart squeezed in his chest as he thought about reaching over and caressing that fiery cheek with his hand.

      Shifting uncomfortably in her chair, Maggie shrugged. “I don’t know.” Part of her was pleased that he showed personal interest in her—at the same time, it was unsettling as hell.

      “Come on, you can do better than that.”

      She crossed her arms over her breasts and studied her feet, which she shoved out beside the table. Her flight boots were like polished ebony mirrors. No, Wes was just good with people, Maggie decided. If she thought for a second that he was genuinely interested in her as a woman, she might have opened up on a more СКАЧАТЬ