The discovery was pulverizing to Cam, and he sat there, absorbing the fact of his reawakening emotions. He heard voices in the hall beside his office. Her voice. It was muted, so he couldn’t make out the exact conversation. Stymied, he shook his head. Cam was a test-pilot instructor; Molly would be assigned to First Lieutenant Vic Norton, the flight-engineer instructor.
“Lucky bastard,” Cam said to no one in particular, and looked back down at the work on his desk.
So what name would he give her? “Angel” was certainly appropriate: soft, gentle and serene. Molly floated, she didn’t walk; there was such grace in her movements. Muttering to himself, Cam grimaced. How had she stolen into his work? Okay, so he’d call her Angel. She’d never know it, and certainly no one else would.
Cam sighed. A sad smile shadowed his features. Angels wouldn’t make the grade at TPS. It would be a mere matter of weeks before pretty Molly Rutledge would be politely asked to leave. As Cam forced himself to mind his own business, his heart still twinged at the thought of the brutal demands that would be placed upon his angel.
Chapter Two
“So, you’re the woman we’ve all heard about.”
Molly turned on her heel at the grate of words flung in her direction. She stared up into the dark features of a tall Navy officer, his sandy hair cut short. Molly stepped back from his overpowering presence. He stood glaring down at her, his hands resting imperiously on his hips while he sized her up. In his flight uniform adorned with patches from his F-14 Tomcat fighter squadron, he was all warrior.
“Yes, I’m Molly Rutledge.”
“Ensign Rutledge,” he sneered, not offering his hand. “The name’s Martin. Lieutenant Chuck Martin. I’m a TPS candidate. When I got here yesterday and they told me a broad was going to try and make it through as a flight-test engineer, I thought they were joking.” His brows dipped. “Are you serious about this? A man could’ve had your slot.”
Molly stood in the hall, her books in hand. She’d just finished seeing the commandant and was on her way to the women’s locker room at the other end of the building. Martin was hovering over her like a furious eagle who’d had his territory threatened. She smiled coolly.
“I didn’t ‘take’ any man’s slot, Lieutenant. I earned it.”
With a snort, Martin said, “I wonder how.”
Molly had heard this kind of comment often enough to know he meant that she had slept her way to TPS. Her lips thinned. “Mr. Martin, I resent the implication.”
“What implication?” He grinned suddenly, feigning ignorance. Then his smile disappeared. “Let’s get one thing straight between us, Rutledge. I’ve got to fly with flight-engineer students. If I have to fly with you, my grades will be lower because you’re a woman. There’s no way in hell I’m getting kicked out of TPS because I have to fly with a woman.”
Bridling, Molly kept her voice low and neutral. “You’re out of line, Mr. Martin.”
“No, the Navy is—for allowing a woman here in the first place.”
Molly saw an office door on her left quietly open. A tall, lean pilot emerged, resting his shoulder against the doorjamb and idly watching them. Who was he? An instructor? Another student? Her attention was divided between Martin and the other pilot. The other man’s pale blue eyes held her captive—probing, merciless eyes that made Molly feel as if he saw within her to her most secret parts. Shifting her gaze back to Martin, she said, “My right to be here will be decided by how I conduct myself as a student. Grades will tell the full story, Mr. Martin.”
“Just stay out of my way, Ensign. You’d better hope like hell we don’t get assigned to work together. I don’t want my grades brought down because of you.”
“I’m responsible for my grades, not yours,” Molly shot back. Her gaze darted to the officer in the doorway. Why was he eavesdropping on their embarrassing conversation? Molly was sickened. TPS was going to be like Whiting Field all over again: she’d have to prove herself through hard work and long hours of study.
Martin grimaced, allowing his hands to drop from his hips. He settled the garrison cap on his head. “Later, Rutledge. Just stay away from me in class and hope you and I don’t get assigned to each other.”
Molly watched Martin swagger past her and out the doors of the building. When she turned around, the door to the office was closed, the officer gone. Disgruntled, feeling the pressure tripled within her, Molly continued down the hall toward the women’s locker room. Who was the mystery man in the office doorway?
She couldn’t shake the memory of his eyes: light blue with huge black pupils that seemed able to pierce her heart and look directly into her soul. Dark brown brows lay slightly arched across his assessing, critical eyes. His square-jawed face was spare looking, and had been emotionless. Martin’s attack hadn’t rattled her half as much as that officer’s sudden and unexpected appearance had.
In the locker room, Molly stowed her helmet and oxygen mask above the gray metal cabinet. She hung one of her olive-green flight uniforms and her flight boots in the locker itself—soon she would be flying at least once a week. Her equipment stored, she knew she had until 0900, when the candidates would meet to be briefed on what would be expected from them. Her hands damp, her heart beating in fear, Molly forced herself to leave the safety of the small locker room and head directly to the classroom on the second floor where the meeting was scheduled to take place.
Molly knew from long practice to walk in on an all-male class as if she owned the place. She was grateful for the four years of experience Annapolis had provided, because as she opened the door, fourteen male stares met her. A blond-haired lieutenant nearest her smiled and thrust out his hand.
“You’ve gotta be Molly Rutledge. I’m Leland Bard, hoping to become a flight engineer, too.”
Bard’s infectious smile was just what she needed, and Molly shifted her load of books to her left arm to shake his hand. “Hi, Leland.”
“My friends call me Lee.”
“Great. Call me Molly.”
He gestured toward two desks. “Have a seat. I guess the festivities will be getting underway shortly.”
Relief was sweet for Molly. She had a friend already, and it helped break the ice. Before, Dana and Maggie had been like bookends, protecting her. There was something to be said for the Sisterhood, if only for providing companionship in very exclusive all-male surroundings.
Lee sat down, stretching out his short legs in front of him. “You weren’t what I expected.”
Molly slid into the desk next to him and neatly stacked her books under it. “Oh?” She opened her notebook, her pen ready. Soon the commandant and instructors would file in and be introduced. Then the students would be assigned to them.
“I was expecting some hard-charging, gung-ho ring knocker to make an entrance.”
She grinned, noticing the volume of conversation in the room was getting back to what it had been before she entered. She saw Martin on the other side of the room with a small, tightly knit group of what she was sure were pilots. His scowl had deepened upon her arrival. Devoting her attention to Bard, who appeared to be in his late twenties, Molly said, “I’m hard on myself, not others.”
“In this place, that’ll count. I understand there are eight flight-engineer students and eight test-pilot candidates. You realize only four from each group will make the grade?”
“Makes me nervous.”
With a sigh, Lee nodded. “I got here a couple of days ago. My wife found an apartment in Lexington Park for me and our two kids. Housing’s at a premium around here.”
Molly agreed. Without her considerable monthly allowance from her father, she couldn’t have afforded the apartment she’d rented. “It’s rough.”
“Gonna get rougher.” Lee leaned toward her, his head cocked but his gaze roving around the bantering student groups. “I think we’re lucky.”
“Why?”
“There’s a Marine Corps captain here by the name of Cam Sinclair—a TPS instructor. Th
ey call him ‘the Glacier.’ I guess he’s been here two years and is a hard-nosed bastard, failing sixty-five percent of the pilots he instructs.”
“Sounds like Lieutenant Griff Turcotte,” Molly said, thinking of Dana’s flight instructor at Whiting Field. She explained her comment to Lee.
“Well—” Lee chuckled after hearing about Turcotte “—we can thank our lucky stars we don’t have Sinclair. They say his face is made of granite. He never smiles, cracks a joke or does much of anything except stare you down. Ice in his veins in the cockpit and ice on the ground. Guess that’s why he’s a Marine—they drain the blood out of them during their swearing-in ceremony. Then they inject them with Marine Corps juice or something. At least, that’s what I’ve heard,” he said with a smile.
Molly smiled in return, and the image of the officer leaning against his doorjamb came to mind. His face had been utterly devoid of expression. Even Griff Turcotte, as much of a bastard as he’d been to Dana, was human, his feelings readable on his face. “I’m finding in this business that jet jocks hide a lot under that mask they wear.”
“Yeah, but Sinclair’s reputation is awesome. I mean, what happened to the guy to make him like that? Frankly, I’m glad we don’t have to interface with him much.” Lee grinned. “We just have to contend with these jet jocks who think they’re the greatest.”
“From what I hear,” Molly said, “we’re the power behind the scenes. The tests we design are the ones that make or break the whole thing. All those jocks do is drive the bus.”
Tittering, Lee replied, “Don’t let those boys overhear that comment, Molly…. Heads up—here come the instructors. Time to get this dog-and-pony show on the road.”
The small groups of students quickly took seats, and silence fell over the room as six officers dressed in flight suits filed in, somber expressions on their faces. In the second row, Molly was close enough to read the black leather patches sewn above the left breast pocket of each flight suit. Each instructor’s name was stenciled there in gold lettering.
The last man to enter was the one she recognized from earlier. There was a tight, coiled explosiveness to the way the officer walked; an internal tension was reflected in each of his brisk movements. Curiosity ate at Molly, and she quickly scanned the instructors’ name tags.
Her heart thudded once, underscoring her intuition. The last pilot was Cameron Sinclair, “the Glacier.” Those ruthless, roving, light blue eyes looked over the crop of students almost with disdain, she thought. Lee was right: the instructor’s face was absolutely expressionless.
But she would rely on her own internal radar, a special intuitive ability she’d had since birth, to make her final decision about Sinclair. She thought of Maggie’s contention that all women had this ability—something special passed on to them in their genes. If Molly ignored the obvious and allowed herself to experience the energy that surrounded Sinclair, she felt no fear of him, only compassion. Why? Her left brain, that portion of her that used only logic, was stymied.
The instructors sat down in chairs facing the students. As the commandant got up to speak at the podium and introduce each instructor, Molly zeroed in on Sinclair. Once he’d perused the group, his eyes became unfocused, looking above the group at the wall behind them, as if he had mentally checked out, wasn’t really here at all, Molly noted. She sensed sadness around him. It wasn’t anything more specific than that. His eyes were opaque, hiding any feelings he might be experiencing. His generous mouth was flexed into a tight line, the corners drawn in, as if he were in pain.
Pain? Confused, Molly knew Sinclair had to be in top physical shape or he’d never be here at TPS. It couldn’t be physical pain. Her heartbeat suspended itself when Sinclair slowly turned his head and pinned his gaze directly on her. Heat swept up Molly’s face, and she quickly averted her eyes, nervous as she’d never been before. Had he sensed her perusal of him? He must have! Sinclair might be stone-faced, but his own intuition was very much up and functioning to feel her inspection of him so immediately.
Cam scowled, his focus remaining fixed on Molly Rutledge. Somehow he’d felt her gaze on him. When he’d shifted his eyes from the wall to where she sat, a sweet ribbon of discovery had flowed through him when he realized she had the most beautiful green eyes he’d ever seen. They were distinctly green and gold, like summer leaves kissed by sunlight. How intelligent and compassionate she appeared to be, he reflected, as her eyes widened when he caught her staring.
Disgruntled by his own thoughts, Cam wondered how he could really “know” that about Molly. Molly… Now he was calling her by her first name. Snorting softly, Cam pulled his gaze away from her. She had looked down quickly to avoid his stare, and Cam couldn’t resist looking at her one more time. Her cheeks were stained a flaming pink, her delicious mouth was compressed. There was such softness and openness to Molly that Cam continued to stare at her like a starving man. What the hell had gotten into him? Other women officers worked at TPS in various billets. He didn’t stare at them like a slavering wolf on the prowl.
When she licked her lower lip with her tongue, Cam groaned inwardly. It was such a sensual motion. Did she do it on purpose, knowing somehow that he was still watching her? No, Cam decided sourly; Molly Rutledge didn’t possess that kind of guile. Besides, Martin’s accusation that she’d slept her way into TPS was sheer stupidity on the student’s part. No one got to TPS without damn good grades and top qualifications.
Molly wasn’t the “type” to be at TPS, Cam decided finally. He knew that someday a woman would succeed at the male-dominated bastion that was TPS. Brutally honest with himself, as he’d always been, he admitted he’d expected a more assertive type of woman to beat down the door, not this angel face. How Molly would survive here was beyond Cam. And the way she’d handled the confrontation with Martin had been all wrong. She should have nailed him right between the running lights with equally harsh words, so Martin would respect her and back off. As it was, Molly was inviting another attack.
Well, she would have to learn to protect herself. Flight testing was a world that involved brash egos, keen intelligence and plenty of macho hustle. If she indeed had what it took, then that soft exterior was either a lie hiding a shark beneath it, or a facade to throw everyone off about her true strengths. Still, as Cam sat there waiting to be introduced and give his five-minute spiel, he wondered what Molly Rutledge really was made of. It wouldn’t take long to find out—TPS began in earnest tomorrow morning. From that point on, every student was in a life-or-death struggle to come out on top of the stack. Second place would never do.
Refusing to look up at the instructors, Molly could feel Sinclair’s cool, continuous appraisal of her. He was the last to speak, and she felt it safe to lift her chin and look at him then. His carriage was proud, his spine ramrod straight, his shoulders thrown back, shouting a justifiable self-confidence. As he wrapped his long fingers around the lectern and shifted his weight to one booted foot, Molly had her first opportunity to fearlessly study Sinclair.
She didn’t listen to his words as much as their inflection, the emotion behind them. There wasn’t much of that, she admitted. As Lee had said, he appeared to be a machine with no heart. Molly didn’t want to believe that about anyone. Still, Sinclair never cracked a joke, as the other instructors had, to put the students at ease. Nor did he smile. He was the only Marine Corps pilot up there; the rest were U.S. Navy personnel. Maybe it had something to do with interservice rivalry among the branches. The Marine Corps was a branch of the Navy and paid by the Navy. Molly smiled. No self-respecting Marine wanted to admit it; they were far too independent and arrogant to acknowledge that fact.
After the welcome-aboard speeches, it was time to meet her instructor. Molly liked First Lieutenant Vic Norton. One of two flight-engineer instructors, he was short and compact, with curly black hair and a round face that was sober looking, yet friendly.
As Molly prepared to leave the room after a round of introductions with her fellow flight-en
gineer students, she felt an odd sensation. Turning her head, she saw Sinclair’s blue gaze locked on her, even though he was standing with a group of aspiring test pilots clear across the room. Sudden heat threaded through her, shakiness following in its wake. No man had ever had such a hpowerful effect on her.
Turning, she bumped into Lee. Her books went flying. All conversation in the room halted. Molly died inwardly.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered to Lee, and crouched down to retrieve her books. When feeling particularly vulnerable, Molly had a terrible tendency to become clumsy.
She flushed with embarrassment as Lee bent over to help. “My fault, Molly.”
“No, it was me,” she murmured. All eyes were on her, and Molly tried to blot them out. What must Sinclair think of her? Did he realize how much he’d shaken her up? He probably thought she was a brainless idiot. And why did she care what he thought anyway?
Lee restacked the books into her arms and Molly quietly thanked him. Gradually the noise level in the room returned to normal, and she retreated as quickly as possible. The library was on the second floor, and that was where she wanted to be—alone. Lieutenant Norton had given them a huge reading assignment to prepare them for tomorrow morning’s class, and she wanted to take advantage of the extra time. The library would be a perfect place to read. At least there, she could escape Sinclair’s scathing blue gaze.
* * *
“Hey, Cam, take a look at this.” Vic Norton handed him a thick file marked Rutledge, M.
Cam took the folder, gesturing for Vic to have a seat in his office. The flight engineer shut the door. “What’s this?”
“The lady’s file. Man, it knocked my socks off. Now I know why she got assigned to TPS. Take a look.”
It was normal procedure for Cam to acquaint himself with all the students’ files. He tried to tell himself he hadn’t particularly been looking forward to reading up on Molly. Opening the file, he quickly scanned the important data. His brows rose.
The Gauntlet Page 2
