Athena Force: Books 1-6

by Justine Davis, Amy J. Fetzer, Katherine Garbera, Meredith Fletcher, Catherine Mann

  The graded road roughened. She downshifted to third gear, her knuckles grazing his knee. Chaps warmed from his body heat launched a shower of tingles up her arm and straight to her breasts. And he didn’t even flinch, damn him.

  Work. Think work. “Once the active noise was addressed, we moved on to passive ways to decrease sound, such as making the engine vibrate less. Our main source of concern with the Predator has been modifying the propeller. It makes too much noise when the tips break mach. In this stage of the testing, we’re improving the flight propeller balancing….”

  The road evened out. She reached for the gearshift again, bracing herself for the feel of heated leather against her skin. Still he didn’t move.

  “Are you asleep?”

  Diego turned his head along the rest, lashes lifting to unveil eyes hotter than the leather against his skin. “Was I snoring?”

  “No.” Her hand clenched.

  “Then I wasn’t asleep.” Straightening, he pointed left to the narrow one-lane road. “Turn here.”

  She slowed, her car still undulating. The rearview mirror reflected nothing but a cloud of sandy dust kicking up behind them. Out of the pitch night, one of the old ranch-style homes appeared, dark wood scarred by wind and time. The sturdy, functional structure sprawled, surrounded by eucalyptus trees. Sweet perfume rode the wind along with a distant coyote howl.

  The front porch stirred with motion, two dogs leaping to life and bolting down the steps. A shaved retriever and a mutt of indeterminate origin scampered in a dangerous dance in front of her car, forcing her to slow.

  At a near-crawl pace, she pulled her shuddering Mustang closer to the deserted yard, past patchy brush, cacti, a crappy lawn chair beside what looked to be about an eight-hundred-dollar grill.

  She braked to a stop, engine still humming. Kangaroo rats scampered away from the headlights. “Here we are.”

  “Thanks for the ride.” His booted foot slid to the floorboards. “I owe you a new set of shocks and a car wash for this one.”

  “I might take you up on that, Morel,” she offered noncommittally. Safely.

  He seemed in no hurry to get out of her car now. The man never hurried, period. Even as that trait annoyed her, she couldn’t help but be intrigued by someone so unfettered by life. “How are you going to get back to base?”

  He gestured toward the prefabricated metal garage set back from the house. “I have a truck, too.”

  “And what about your Harley?”

  “You could stay over and give me a ride in the morning.”

  She blinked hard. Twice. Then covered with an overly polite smile. “I don’t think so.”

  “That no-sex-with-workmates rule of yours again?”

  Self-preservation was more like it, if just a simple brush against him could burn her. “Perhaps I’m not interested in going to bed with a drunk who snores.”

  His half smile tucked a dimple into one cheek. “I like you, Lockworth.”

  Whoa. Like? That was a whole different matter than just sexy leather chaps and lust. “Uh, thanks.”

  “Not that you’re particularly likable.”

  She scooped the puppy from the drink holder, something soft to ease the sting of echoing old taunts of Josephine the Tattletale Queen. “Charm doesn’t seem to be your strong suit, either.”

  A rusty laugh rolled out in a lomcevak tumble. “Exactly what I like about you.”

  “I’m not following.”

  “You don’t kiss my ass just because once upon a time I flew some pretty missions.”

  His answer made sense and confused her all at once. “I respect the work you accomplished.”

  “But not who I am now.”

  The scent of leather and eucalyptus swirled inside her. She needed to leave. Now. “Who you are doesn’t matter to me. How you work does. And I’ve yet to see any work accomplished to judge.”

  Draping his elbow on the back of his seat, he gripped the edge of hers with one hand while plucking the dog from her other. “Yeah, I like your take-no-shit attitude. And I like the fact that you’re straight up with me. Makes me trust you more and that’s a good thing. But honest to God, you need to wash some starch out of your spine.”

  She bristled, more Josephine-prickly than that cactus patch by his garage. Who the hell did he think he was? And she couldn’t afford to say squat back.

  He dropped the Beanie Baby back in the cup holder. “I know this mission is important to you, and I’m not diminishing what you do. But even with my feet nailed to the ground like they are, I could wade through your paperwork on this test halfway to snoring. Or half-drunk.”

  She couldn’t stop her Josephine sniff.

  “That’s right, Buttercup. I’m a rude, washed-up test pilot who drinks too much and doesn’t shave enough. And, yeah, I snore, since my eardrums and sinuses blew out on that last flight.” He stopped short, his hard weathered face freezing. “Ah, shit. Forget it. I’m outta here.”

  Diego reached for the door handle. Remorse, empathy and something else she didn’t want to examine stirred.

  “Wait!” She grabbed his arm.

  He could have shaken her off easily. But he stopped, staying in the seat.

  “I really didn’t mean to come off all judgmental. I haven’t walked in your shoes so I’ve got no room to—”

  Diego shushed her with a pointed look down at her hand on his arm.

  Her fingers slid away.

  He canted closer, hand returning to the back of her seat, a whisper away from her neck. “I meant it when I said I like your straight talk. You can feel free to tell me to go to hell when I get out of line and it won’t affect my report.”

  He grazed one knuckle along the vulnerable curve of her neck, slowly, deliberately, his skin every bit as hot as she’d imagined. “But don’t ever, ever flash that damn little pity look my way again. Because if you do, I guarantee I’ll be kissing it off your face so thoroughly you won’t be able to think about anything except getting naked together. Understand?”

  The fire in his skin and eyes dried her mouth until she could only nod.

  Silently, he backed away and out of the car. He slammed the door shut, holding on to the open window for one final shot. “And in case you were wondering, I was definitely hitting on you that time. Next move’s yours, Buttercup.”

  Chapter 5

  Josie slammed her condo door.

  She could allow herself that much emotional venting while no one was watching without worrying about negative reports and whispers of instability. Flicking on the light, she hooked her key ring on the rack by the door, a long silver mirror with a bin for mail and tiny hooks for keys and stray jewelry.

  Now to fill the remaining hours so she would be tired enough to sleep once she fell into bed. Alone. She should probably log on to her computer and see if Tory had e-mailed her back about Shannon’s feature.

  Josie ignored her reflection and walked deeper into her empty home, clicking on the television and popping in a DVD copy of videos of her mother’s old test flights. She had reviewed them all at least a couple dozen times each, and still she watched them over and over again like some people played their favorite albums. Her mother’s voice echoed from the speakers, calling directives from the ground to the pilot flying the test prototype. Cockpit views scrolled, mixed with other shots from the ground of the test in flight.

  While the voices continued, pictures stared down from the walls, a hodgepodge collection of steel-framed photographs from her Athena Academy days—riding, archery, group shots and individuals spanning years from her first day at thirteen all the way to twelfth grade.

  More pictures followed of college graduation, then her air force commissioning so long ago. Finishing college in three years had put her on a fast track in the air force that made for a solitary life now, creating boundaries with people her own age. At least at Athena, she’d been surrounded by overachievers like herself. Her classmate Alex had become a successful forensic scientist with the FBI. T
ory was one of the hottest reporters on TV, also working as an intelligence courier for the government. And even after going through a teenage pregnancy, Kayla was already a lieutenant on the police force.

  God, she missed her friends. Yet even if she had time to build new friendships, who could she be close to? People her own age worked below her. People at her career stage resented her for being younger.

  Diego’s invitation to stay the night whispered through her mind. Not wise, being tempted by him.

  Chewing orange-tryst gloss off her lips, Josie dropped into the curve of the white sectional sofa. She thumbed through the stacks of large green computer printouts from her mother’s testing days. She’d been going through the information after hours for months now—algorithms, configurations and data streams. There was so damned much of it, so many notes in her mother’s precise handwriting down the sides documenting every data drop, each sensor measurement. No one this meticulous screwed up, damn it.

  Josie dropped the stack back on the glass coffee table. She swung a boot up on the edge and worked free the long black laces. A dog tag winked up from the right boot, a duplicate of the ID around her neck. The second was attached to the nearly indestructible combat boot so if her plane exploded, she could still be quickly identified amid the ashes.

  Setting her boots on the floor one thud at a time, she peeled off her socks and wriggled her toes, pink toenails winking up at her. Her mind’s eye too easily conjured visions of Diego Morel once lacing and unlacing the same boots, not knowing what life held for him after the mission.

  The hunger in his eyes when he’d talked about flying had almost leveled her. The profoundness of his feelings of loss made her question the depth of her calling to the sky.

  She’d spent so long focused on clearing her mother’s name, she’d never considered life after. Was this what she wanted to do with her remaining years in the air force? Did she even want to stay in, or had she only joined to follow her parents’ legacy, since it offered the easiest way to right wrongs for Zoe Lockworth?

  Josie sagged back on the sofa. Damn it, and damn Diego Morel. She couldn’t afford to doubt herself now. She was an excellent test pilot. She enjoyed the challenge of her job and the honor of wearing the uniform. And she wouldn’t allow some man with his hungry eyes to shake her resolve just because maybe she was feeling a little vulnerable tonight.

  She unzipped her thigh pocket, reached in, brought out the tiny basset hound Beanie Baby. Craig’s daughter would receive the match already wrapped and ready, but this one, the toy Diego had tossed, was for her. Shoving up from the sofa’s embrace, she crossed to the wall of shelves. She placed the squishy dog inside the jammed nooks housing her Beanie collection, which kept her company along with the stereo and television.

  Popping in a new DVD of tests, she watched static morph into flight images. Backing away, her bare feet padding along the carpet, she assessed the dog’s place between a birthday unicorn and camouflage bear her mother had given her. The thought of failing shook her more than any lomcevak maneuver ever could.

  She had work to do.

  Josie scooped up the closest stack of printouts, the familiar sight of her mother’s handwriting more than enough motivation to forgo half the night’s sleep.

  “Hey fella,” she called over her shoulder to the basset hound addition on the way to the kitchen. “How about we celebrate your homecoming with some mac and cheese while I check over flight configurations from a couple of decades ago?”

  Five days later, Josie cleared security to enter the remote control flight area, two leather seats in front of panels of screens, buttons, dials and checklists. She would fly the aircraft from the pilot’s seat, while beside her the sensor operator manned the cameras. A seasoned master sergeant with a mono-brow and over two thousand UAV hours, Don Zeljak had been handpicked. Zeljak now worked over in the scheduling office when he wasn’t flying, which made things wonderfully easy for slotting him on her missions.

  “Hey, Captain.” Zeljak paused beside her, offering a double-size pack of wintergreen gum while he smacked a piece of his own. “Want some gum?”

  Josie started to say no, then reached to take a stick after all. “Thanks, Sergeant. I think I will.”

  She could use a little nerve soothing with a congressional spy/baby-sitter shadowing her. Diego strutted behind her, biker boots thudding against thin industrial carpet. She didn’t have to see him to envision his relaxed tread that screamed of slow, confident sex.

  Josie chomped her gum harder.

  They’d spent the past days reviewing the old data from her coffee table, tackling it in half the time. True to his word, he hadn’t made another move on her. And he’d kept pace with helping her sift through the flight configurations for each of the early missions her mother had overseen. Once she finished up here, she could dig deeper into cross-checking that correct software versions coordinated with the hard drives.

  Perhaps he actually could do the job with his eyes half-closed. Apparently, the problem was hers and she needed to get the hell over herself—or over him—pronto. Kinda tough to do with him breathing down her neck 24/7.

  Not for the first time, she wondered, could he be testing her? Could he have been trying to set her up? Even though an affair wouldn’t be an ethical breach, it might make a positive report of his seem suspect. She really did need to call her sister back to find out what Diana had uncovered about Diego’s past. But part of her regretted asking, almost wanting to hear it from him.

  She was starting to like him. And yes, like was far more dangerous than lust. She could and would harness her emotions. Work provided the perfect distraction. The challenge, her goal to clear her mother’s name, drove her relentlessly.

  Josie snagged a tissue and spit out her gum. She wouldn’t need any nerve crutches once she slid into the pilot’s seat.

  The Predator was flown from a remote control cockpit, much like a simulator setup. A pilot manned the controls in one of the seats with the sensor operator beside working the cameras, or the sensor suite, as it was called. But unlike normal Predator flights, the test versions required that another pilot be strapped to the vehicle with a modified second set of controls for override in an emergency if things went to hell.

  Things would not go wrong. Especially not with Craig strapped on. She’d planned carefully. Conservatively. Because no way would she accept anything but a win.

  Each test pushed the craft a little further. First, she’d fired up the engine and taxied the modified Predator along the runway. Next flight, taxi faster and test the brakes, and so on. Today’s flight would be the second quick loop in the air around the airfield.

  Diego lounged against the partition beside her, every squeak of his leather as he moved reminding her he watched. Waiting for her to screw up?

  “So why’s Wagner the one strapped on the Predator today and not you?”

  Was he an idiot or just checking to see if she was? “As the head tester, sometimes I have to step back. I take turns with Wagner and the other four pilots assigned to my team. I know the craft too well. I’m not the average crew member anymore.”

  “Good answer.” He waved her to her seat. “Don’t mind me. I’ll just fade into the scenery here.”

  He stood a better chance at winning the lottery.

  She forced her attention back on work while she and the sensor operator ran through preflight data. Today’s was a simple circle with the camera running, minimal chance of anything going wrong. DT—developmental test—followed such a scripted plan she could have simply passed over the paperwork with the camera footage and he would have been able to assess the mission. But he studied her through hooded eyes, checking her test discipline and methodology.

  She knew how to follow a plan, damn it.

  Josie keyed up the radio to talk to Wagner. Flying the modified Predator by remote was a snap—except when somebody was in the saddle. Even though he could counteract any of her control inputs, she still carried a lump in her
throat thicker than her father’s sticky mac and cheese every time she piloted one of these flights. She’d rather strap her own tush to the rocket any day of the week than have someone else in danger. “Well partner,” she called over the radio to Wagner. “You ready to ride this bronco?”

  “I would prefer that it not buck me off if you don’t mind,” Wagner chided through her headset. “But I am checklist complete and ready to go.”

  Josie ran through her instruments one last time before the countdown. “Ten seconds to throttle up.”

  “Copy ten,” the saddled-up Wagner shot back.

  Josie checked her stopwatch and began counting down. “Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Going throttle up now.”

  She eased the throttle forward. Since she sat in the remote control seat, there was no kick in the ass like in a T-38 or a U-2 to let her know the engine was running to full power. Wagner would get that punt. Only her instruments showed a steady climb as power increased. “Ready for brake release in three, two, one. Brakes released.”

  Wagner’s laughter rocked through her headset. “Yippee ki yay, mo-fo.”

  Josie suppressed a laugh of her own, if not her smile. He blasted that corny shout every time, even back in test-pilot school. He was an unabashed goober. And one helluva pilot.

  Concentrating on the camera looking out the nose of the Predator, she kept the aircraft on the runway centerline with small inputs to the rudder pedals. “Rotating now.”

  She eased the stick aft and watched the camera view change from runway and creosote bushes to blue sky. Leveling the Predator off at eight thousand feet, she checked her mission data to ensure the craft steered its simple “circle the patch” profile set for this mission. “Everything looks normal down here. How’s it look from there?”

  “No problems up here, ma’am.” Roaring engines and feedback competed with the hokey accent he always donned for flight. “Thanks kindly for asking.”

  “Are we going to do the John Wayne imitation every time you ride that thing?”