“So they’ll let pilots die?”
She shook her head. “They’re conducting an investigation. Just keeping it under the public’s radar.”
“Keeping up appearances could get more pilots dead.”
“When are you scheduled to fly?” Wyatt asked.
“Thursday.”
“Don’t.” His voice was a stone.
Tracy got in his face nose-to-nose. “It’s my job, Wyatt. I’m not going to refuse to do it. I’ve worked too hard to give it all up now just to please you.”
“You don’t want Ma to start calling the head of the Air Force, or worse, the president of the United States asking for an explanation as to why her daughter is flying an unsafe aircraft.”
Tracy wasn’t falling for the guilt card. “Keep your big trap shut, and we won’t have to go down that road.”
“If you can,” I said, understanding that sometimes a girl had to take risks, “avoid turning on the HART.”
“If it’s part of the mission, I’ll have to.”
She’d been warned. She knew the odds. She knew how to load the bullets to stack them in her favor. Taking action—or not—was up to her. “How do we get our hands on those media passes?”
“I’ll leave your name on the press list.” Tracy’s gaze bounced between us. “I’ve got to get back to work.”
Wyatt caught Tracy’s elbow. “Be careful, okay?”
“Always.”
Wyatt and Tracy’s goodbyes were stiff. I was sorry for the tension I’d brought between brother and sister but sorrier still for the people who’d had to die unnecessarily. Wyatt and Tracy would patch their differences.
“There’s no point going home just to drive right back in tomorrow,” I said once we were back on the road. I had my computer and my notes. I could work anywhere. And a walk on the beach always helped clear my thinking. My sister-in-law’s family owned a vacation home near York Beach. After checking with Dana, I got the secret combination to open the door.
Too bad solving my problem wasn’t as easy.
Wyatt’s line of thought must have run along the same line. Temper scudding across his face, he scoped out the house as if it was a fortress full of holes.
Wyatt and I spent the evening working through possibilities, his rough-edged voice pushing for answers. All that got us was more questions. We finally gave up and climbed upstairs to separate bedrooms.
Sleep wouldn’t come. Not even the lull of the ocean or the bracing salt air outside my window could calm my whirling mind. Had someone killed Captain Lamphere deliberately? What had I missed?
Bedsprings creaked. Having Wyatt tossing and turning on the other side of the wall didn’t help with the relaxation factor. Not when it was all too easy to imagine the feel of his mouth on mine, how satisfying it would be to tangle the sheets with him. I rolled over, turning my back to him.
Sofia’s fretting, filling the air with restless static wasn’t helping, either.
Wyatt’s virtue is safe with me, Sofia. Stop worrying your ectoplasmic head about it. Now leave me alone and let me get some sleep.
Something had to change. If chasing the truth wasn’t working, maybe I could smoke it out.
Tuesday, April 25
The media circus was already in full swing by the time we arrived on base after lunch. I’d dug through the closet at the beach house and found a navy skirt that hit Dana at the knee and me midthigh and a light blue blouse that could pass as a reporter’s uniform once I rolled the sleeves up. Dana’s black pumps were a size too small and pinched my toes but I could endure the torture for a few hours. Wyatt, armed with one of my cameras, played my fictional small newspaper’s staff photographer.
“I feel like a jackass decked out like this,” he muttered, obviously not happy in his supporting role.
“The vest looks cute on you.” I’d outfitted one of Van’s fishing vests with some of my photography equipment.
“Cute?” he growled.
“Get used to it.”
“I’d rather not.”
“People won’t see cute as a threat.”
He shot me a withering look. “You stray too far and you’ll see how cute I can get.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m scared,” I said, leading him into the tangle of reporters.
“I’m serious, Sierra.”
“Let’s see if we can get close to one of the airplanes.”
News outlets from Maine, New Hampshire and Massachusetts, as well as all the national networks, jockeyed for prime space from which to report. Reporters and TV crews were given extraordinary access to the stealth fighter in its high-tech hangar protected by armed military police. Each reporter crew had an airman escort and the one airplane on display had several more keeping an eye on the crowd.
“Guess they trust us about as far as they can throw us,” I said to Wyatt.
“Make sure you don’t do anything to get us thrown out bodily.”
“Oh, you of little faith.”
I conducted fake interviews and let a hunky airman dressed in his snappy Class-A uniform help me climb into the cockpit. Wyatt, with his camera, was told to wait outside the hangar doors. He glowered at me from his post.
I wedged into the pilot’s seat and took in the intimidating array of instruments. Okay, Sofia, you’re on. What do you need to look at?
Turn on the electrical system.
Of course there was nothing labeled “Press Here.”
Static crisped around me as Sofia seemed to tear her hair out. Her utter silence as she studied the avionics display grated against the background buzz of the people milling around on the ground below the jet’s wings.
“So what do all these things do?” I asked my escort.
He obliged by squeezing in closer and pointing at each display in turn. He didn’t smell half as good as Wyatt. “This is the display control. Here’s our mission board. The radar, the EW—”
“EW?”
“Electronic warfare.” He continued his tour of the cockpit instruments. “Communications, navigations and identification. Infrared search and track. Diagnostics.”
I laughed. “Do they feed you ginkgo biloba along with your breakfast so you can remember all that?”
His smile gleamed. “It comes naturally after a while, ma’am.”
“So this radar thing is pretty important, huh?”
“Our whole mission is to go somewhere and not be seen.”
“I don’t see a place for a key. How do you start this thing?”
He chuckled. “No, ma’am. It’s all done with switches.”
My hand moved of its own accord toward the instrument board.
“Like this one?” I asked and toggled it. Nothing happened.
“Sorry, ma’am, no juice.”
I exaggerated a pout. “You guys are no fun.”
“Some aspects are classified.”
I quirked an eyebrow. “Like the HART.”
His politeness vanished like a UFO. “There are others waiting for a turn, ma’am. And the press conference is going to start in a minute.”
I gave the airman my best smile and accepted his hand as I extricated myself from the cockpit. What now?
“Get anything?” Wyatt asked when I found him in the crowd. “Or were you too busy flirting with Mr. Crew Cut?”
“Ha, you’re jea-lous.” Warm pleasure steamed into my bones at seeing him rattled.
He scowled.
“The power was turned off,” I said. “You get anything?”
His jaw tightened. “There’s an industry trade show later this week in Fort Worth. Sounds like the HART’s going to be on display.”
“That’ll be our fall-back plan.” But damn, I wanted this to be over. Today. I didn’t want to go back to Fort Worth. Now that the P.I. fire was racing through my veins again, I just wanted to get back to my life.
It wasn’t so much the case that bugged me. It was not having a choice. It was her in my brain when I didn’t even know if she was real. Of cour
se, if she wasn’t, I was in serious trouble.
Wyatt jerked his chin toward the television cameras set up at a safe distance from the runway. “The show’s about to start.”
We found a spot near the front of the circus ring. Brigadier General Green stood beneath one of the odd-shaped airplanes. I could see why he’d been picked to handle the public forum. Put Santa Claus in an Air Force uniform and you have a picture of the brigadier general. You could take someone like that on faith.
“I’m here to assure all of you that our stealth fleet is combat ready,” Brigadier General Green said. “News media likes sensation and they’ve exaggerated the stealth fighter’s problems. It’s already had to fight off the image of being a fair-weather weapon and problems with its radar-absorbing materials.”
The general droned on enumerating the aircraft’s successes.
“Are the seal joints and seams still coming apart during flight?” one reporter asked when the Q & A session started.
“No, we’ve made some great improvements in that department. See for yourself.” Brigadier General Green introduced the show-and-tell portion of the program. A stealth fighter did some touch-and-goes on the 12,000-foot runway.
When the question period resumed, I jumped in. “Is there a connection between all the recent crashes?”
“There’s no apparent connection between the incidents,” the brigadier general assured me. I got the feeling that if I’d been close enough, he would’ve patted me on the head. “They involved several different types of aircrafts.”
Man, I hated being patronized. “What about the HART?” I pressed. “According to a source, it’s the reason the airplanes are crashing.”
The brigadier general reddened. “No, absolutely not. Your so-called source is misinformed.”
“Isn’t the installation of the system recent?”
His grip on the lectern turned white. “The HART has undergone considerable testing. We would never allow a faulty system to be installed on an aircraft. That would be stupid and costly.”
With each stealth fighter topping one hundred million dollars a copy, that was an understatement. “I’m sure the dead pilots would agree their life wasn’t worth risking over faulty equipment. If it’s not the HART, what do you think is causing the crashes?”
“We’re still investigating. It’s unfortunate all four accidents happened so close together. Often we find pilot error is the cause. But I can’t comment on the inquiries until the investigation is finished.”
Yeah, that’s it, blame it on the dead guys.
The brigadier general deliberately turned away from me and answered questions from journalists on the other side of the gathering. We stayed until the end but didn’t learn anything new.
“That was a waste of time,” Wyatt said as we hiked back to drop off our passes.
“At least now the possibility that the HART is at fault is in the air. They won’t be able to ignore it.”
“But it doesn’t solve the problem. Tracy’s still at risk. And I’ll be damned if I let her become one of their statistics.”
“We still got some public attention for the problem with the HART, and that’s the last thing the military or Allied Defense wants. They’ll have to prove the HART works.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of. Tracy could be the next pilot they’re willing to sacrifice.”
“Then we just keep digging for more information. Captain Lamphere’s death is still in the news. If my hunch is right, he had a little help in crossing over—just like Sofia.”
Wyatt shook his head. “A hunch isn’t a fact, and it won’t ground those planes.”
“In my line of business there’s no such thing as a coincidence.” I dug out my keys and unlocked Betsy’s doors.
“Then it’s time to change business.”
“Is that an offer?” Looking at him over Betsy’s hood, I loosed the question to make him feel awkward, and he turned the tables on me.
“Could be.”
I hated it when he looked at me like that. Made me want to do reckless things. I got in the driver’s seat. “I’m not Sofia. I don’t need rescuing.”
He slammed his door. “Maybe I’m the one in need of rescue.”
“Yeah? From what?”
He puffed air into his cheeks and let it out. “From myself.”
My stomach jittered but I kept a fierce expression in place as I started Betsy. She purred on the first try.
I had Sofia’s take on him, but he had nothing to go on but a psycho P.I. who claimed to channel his dead wife. Still, Sofia’s feelings for Wyatt were soft and gushy. This was…primal.
Shaking my head, I pointed Betsy toward the highway and drove south, back to Nashua. A slice of moon hooked a glitter-studded sky. On a Tuesday night, I-95 was fast, and I gave Betsy her head.
“You said there was an industry trade show in Fort Worth.” My mind-wheels were spinning, planning, but I didn’t like the direction they were pointing. On the other hand, sticking with hard facts and data was easier than dealing with the messy emotional stuff. “If Allied Defense is smart, they’ll have some sort of demo to prove that the millions invested in the HART program weren’t wasted.”
Wyatt studied me for a long time. “We’re going back to Fort Worth.”
“Yeah.” I couldn’t help the sigh. Leaving home again. Van would have a fit.
“Maybe you should stay here,” Wyatt said. “I can keep digging on my own.”
“And make yourself into a target? I don’t think so. I take a case. I close that case.” In that way we were alike. A matter of obligation for him; pride for me. The results were the same. The job got done.
“I figured.” He smirked. “Admit it. You can’t let me go, because you haven’t slept with me yet.”
“Dream on, cowboy.”
Wednesday, April 26
As we rushed to catch our flight back to DFW, a news story flashing on the television screens suspended from the ceiling caught my attention. I grabbed Wyatt’s arm and forced him to stop.
“Defense Secretary Walter Sturgis has ordered a militarywide halt to training flights this afternoon,” the television reporter said, her voice grave with import. “Although officials have detected no common thread in the accidents, Secretary Sturgis ordered all the services to ground their training flights for twenty-four hours. The stand-downs will be staggered over the week, starting on Thursday.
“‘Perfection is impossible but that is our goal for aviation safety,’ Secretary Sturgis is quoted as saying in taking the action.
“Secretary Sturgis’s grounding affects training but not operational flights. Special missions in the national security interests of our country will continue without interruptions.”
Which put the pilots most likely to use the HART in the gravest danger.
Tracy had earned a reprieve. For now. But time was running out.
Hand in hand, we hurried to our gate.
I had the smoke. Now to trace it back to the fire.
Chapter 12
Thursday, April 27
The Tarrant County Convention Center was shaped like a giant flying saucer and took up fourteen city blocks between Houston and Commerce in downtown Fort Worth. Noelle, my assistant, had secured me a couple of passes to the industry trade show being held there over the next three days.
While Wyatt had attended to neglected ranch duties, I’d spent most of yesterday learning the layout of the booths in the 150,000 square feet of convention space and memorizing every possible escape route.
Stealing government property made me claustrophobic. I had no desire to spend the rest of my life locked up in a cell with Sofia telling me, “I told you so.”
As we crossed the street, I shot Wyatt a sideways glance. I didn’t want him to know what I was up to until the last possible moment. Given our mutual goal and our ongoing differing ideas on how to get there, the less time I gave him to index the reasons why my plan was such a bad idea, the better chance of success f
or my mission.
Colorful flags flapped from lampposts in time to my ragged pulse. Our shoes clacked on the brick walkways that fit around the flying-saucer-like spokes. Those decorative bushes would definitely slow us down if we had to make a quick getaway.
Once Wyatt was cornered, I knew he’d do the right thing. I liked that about him. He could fight me each step of the way, but when it counted, he was there like a partner I could depend on.
Not that this was a permanent arrangement. I worked alone. And he already was Sofia’s partner. Her husband. It didn’t matter that she was dead, especially since she spent so much time in my head, reminding me how deep their bond was. Wyatt had a life here in Texas, and I couldn’t imagine myself being a part of it.
As we neared the entrance, he fingered the knot of his tie as if it were a noose that was too tight, and his discomfort pinched at my conscience. I couldn’t put off telling him my plan any longer. “We need to borrow one of the chips Sofia worked on.”
Door in hand, Wyatt lurched but regained control as fast as he’d lost it. “You’re talking about committing treason,” he said between clenched teeth, eyes darting to make sure no one had overheard me.
“Look, I’m not asking. I’m only telling you what I need to do.” Afraid of the answer as to why I even cared what he thought, I didn’t look too deeply. My shrink would have a field day sorting through the mess I’d jumped into. “You can drive on home and leave everything to me.”
He shook his head. “No way. No cotton-pickin’ way are we stealing a chip. Are you insane?”
As a matter of fact, yes, I nearly bit out. Your wife talks to me. “No one asked you to take any risks.” I could snag the chip myself if he wasn’t willing to do it. I’d just have to nab the whole device—as long as it fit in my tote—and figure out which part was which later.
Wyatt bore down on me. “Excuse me? You’re the one who showed up at my ranch. You got me involved in your investigation the second you told me Sofia was murdered. That’s what you wanted from the get-go.”
“Getting involved was your choice.” I really hated that he was right. But I didn’t have time to argue. “Don’t sweat it. I know a good lawyer.”
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