Call Sign Karma. Jamie Rae

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ

      I slowed and drove the twenty-five mile an hour speed limit. The way my blood pumped, I could have gotten out and ran faster than I drove. I heard the motorbike’s buzz before I saw it. Locke was behind me. I wanted to slam on my brakes and see how far I could launch him into the air. He’d need his own jet to get down.

      Once I got off the military base, I threw it in fifth. The motorbike had no problem keeping up with me. I pulled into my driveway, cut the engine, jumped over the door, and stormed to my walkway. He was off his bike and at my side before I made it to the porch.

      “Wait!”

      I ignored him and trotted up the first few stairs to the porch. His footsteps followed.

      “We need to talk.”

      My key sank into the lock.

      “Tinklee,” he said with a thickened accent.

      I swung around, resisting the urge to push his ass off my property.

      “So you do realize I have an actual name.”

      “What did you want me to do?” he asked with a deep-set crease between his brows. He was visibly upset. “You shocked the bloody hell out of me. Why didn’t you tell me you were a JSF student?”

      “I don’t know, why didn’t you tell me you were a JSF instructor?” I questioned and threw my hands in the air.

      “You didn’t tell me your name, which by the way, might have been good to know. I read the student roster. That would have saved us both from this mistake.”

      I jerked my head like his words slapped me across the face. It was too late. It was out there. I knew it was a mistake, but saying it out loud cut deep.

      I turned back toward the door.

      “That was a daft thing to say,” he said in a gentle, caring voice. “I didn’t mean it like that. Listen, last night was incredible.”

      “Just go,” I replied. I turned the key and I tried to swallow the lump wedged in my throat.

      He grabbed my hand and sparked that fire that made me want to forget who he was and what it meant. My perfect stranger was back with all his tenderness. I wanted to kiss him, hold him, and not have any of the rules matter. But I knew it was impossible. He knew it, too.

      “Tinklee, please. I understand now. The pain, the hurt in your eyes.” He paused. “I read the report about your brother’s accident today. I know what you weren’t saying last night.”

      “You need to go,” I said and pulled my hand away.

      I couldn’t do this with him. He was my instructor. If he knew how messed up I truly was, he could end me.

      “We need to talk,” he said.

      “You’re my instructor. I think that says it all,” I whispered as I stared into his eyes.

      The muscles around his jaw tensed and I watched in silence as he walked down the stairs. He sat on his Harley, revved the engine, and held his helmet by its strap. He made me feel like my old self last night. It was something I thought would never be possible.

      Locke pulled out of my driveway and turned into the drive next door. He shut off his bike and got off. What was he doing?

      With a glance in my direction, he strode to the front of the house. He unlocked the door and went inside.

      Oh. Hell. No.

      Locke Sinclair was my neighbor?

      Freaking Karma.

      Chapter 7

      I wouldn’t be borrowing a cup of sugar anytime soon.

      The only thing worse than my new neighbor was the gauntlet of work the training squadron forced on us. At least it kept my mind off Locke. There was no room in my head for him. My brain overflowed with so many systems, instruments and advanced handling characteristics that it would malfunction if I tried to add any personal drama into it.

      I shoved my air-to-air binder into my backpack and grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator. I twisted open the cap and chugged it. This course was more intense than I ever imagined. Several guys had already washed out of the program, setting all of us on edge. But I held my own. I wouldn’t accept failure.

      I tightened my bootstraps and grabbed a banana from the counter before jogging down the front stairs to my jeep. I was tired from the hours training in the simulators, exams, and being drilled by our instructor pilots.

      There was one more simulator ride before it was go-time. No more practice; it would be the real deal.

      Just thinking about it freaked me out. It was easier to face your demons in a simulator than in the actual jet. In the simulator your heart flies into your throat and you drip in sweat, but it wasn’t giving me the answers that I needed. Neither were the endless hours of studying. I needed to climb into the cockpit to discover the truth about Colin’s accident.

      I pulled out my tablet and tapped the videos. I wondered how many times I could watch this footage before it or I self-destructed. I scribbled down more notes about the times, sounds, even movements of objects in the distance.

      Everything was normal about the flight. The sound of his voice created tightening in my stomach. Air-to-air fighting. He was engaged—winning. I stared at the screen and watched him break free from the other jets and listened to the sound of his breathing.

      Soft, shallow breaths. Then the airwaves were filled with the warning system. I could mouth the words along at the same time.

      “Altitude! Altitude!”

      “Pull up! Pull up!”

      “Pull up! Pull up!”

      “Altitude! Altitude!”

      “Pull up! Pull up!”

      “Pull up! Pull up!”

      Giant green arrow. Full explosion, then darkness.

      I pushed out a long breath. Don’t doubt the jet. It wasn’t just on the syllabus; it was practically tattooed onto your skin. But the jets were dangerous. The JSF’s malfunction killed my brother. The thought of climbing into its cockpit made me ill.

      * * * *

      Cold, sterile, and impersonal. The simulator’s building matched my mood. The large concrete building smelled of electrical wiring and was shockingly chilly, a stark contrast to the muggy dampness that persisted this time of year. The machine itself was tucked away in a secluded room. Not that it mattered. The simulator did a damn good job at making you feel alone. Just you, the machine…and Mr. Gumpbert, the retired F-16 instructor pilot who ran the program.

      “So it’s just you and me today,” he said in his thick southern drawl. He was so lanky that he reminded me of a daddy longlegs when he moved.

      His call sign was Forrest, for obvious СКАЧАТЬ