Athena Force: Books 1-6

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

  Bridges waited at the foot of the steps, helmet tucked under his arm. Sweat plastered his dark hair to his head. “You okay, P.C.?”

  “Fine. Just fine.” Forcing shaky breaths in and out, she stifled down the vulnerability. “Real kick-ass flying up there today. Fun stuff.”

  “Well I’m glad you’re okay. Because I about pissed myself when I saw that bomber coming down on you.” Bridges’s exclamation offered generous and face-saving balm, reminding her of one of the reasons this guy was such a well-liked leader. “I thought you’d enjoy the break from test regimen, but I sure as shit didn’t mean for something like this to happen. You handled it well though. Did our unit proud.”

  He touched her.

  Just a clap on the back. Was it her imagination that it lingered a second too long? That his hand slid away rather than merely lifting off?

  God, she hated suspecting her own boss. The guy was seeing someone else, after all. Literally.

  She had nothing to go on but that feminine intuition at a time when her emotions were rattly at best. All the same, those shaky instincts said the guy had a radar lock on her. The same sense of attraction she got from Diego. Sheesh, where were the offers when she actually had time for a man in her life?

  The old Josie whispered inside her that she never made time. “Thank you, sir. I’m just glad to have landed in one piece.”

  If she made time, she was now a hundred percent certain it would never be with Bridges. Even if he wasn’t her detachment commander, she wasn’t much for the type who made lunch dates in a car with one woman and dinner dates with another.

  Helmet under his arm, Bridges strode alongside her toward the Suburban waiting to take them to Base Ops. “Hope you don’t mind a little advice from someone who’s been around the military block longer. Too much work gives you tunnel vision. It’s all about balance, recognizing when you’ve hit the point of diminishing returns and stepping back to air out your brain with some R and R. Speaking as your boss, and I hope a friend, as well, I’m telling you—you’re working too hard.”

  Her spine went rigid. “Is that an official order to take time off? Has my work been anything less than top-notch?”

  “Of course not. And we don’t want to let it happen. Just a little friendly advice for what it’s worth.” He nodded toward the Suburban. “But first, we’ve got one helluva debrief to get through.”

  “Of course.” She followed, working to lower her hackles.

  Yet was there merit to Bridges’s advice? Some redeeming value in pursuing something recreational outside of work?

  She wasn’t interested in a relationship with Mike Bridges. But what about Diego Morel? He certainly intrigued her. She was actually even starting to trust him. More than she trusted Bridges, oddly enough.

  Again she thought of her friend Rainy’s unexplained death, too young. Facing her own death made her dread that lonely condo all the more. And damn it, she did need to unwind before she snapped.

  Like her mother had snapped.

  Josie swallowed down a fear greater than any she’d faced in the air today. All right. She had a plan to keep her life better balanced. She would start by having a drink after hours with Diego once she returned. Shoot the breeze to discover more about his methodology. Job and fun combined to free up her thoughts. No great risk and it could pay off in a better working relationship.

  It wasn’t like she was looking for a flaming affair. Right?

  God, she had a flaming headache.

  Massaging her fingers along her pounding temple, Josie entered the flight-control area, the panel doubling as a simulator for her today. While the area wasn’t in use, she would practice recovery from emergencies, then rehearse an upcoming mission.

  Her turn in the saddle of the test model Predator the day before with the updated software had been flawless. A good thing, because she’d needed an airtight mission after that near miss at Red Flag.

  Thoughts of Red Flag brought her right back to Diego, and her hopes of letting off steam with him. She’d been trying to shoot the breeze more, but now he was all work. Sheesh. Sure she remembered he’d said the next move would be hers, but she could use a little reassurance.

  Her head throbbed. Where the hell was everyone?

  Technically no one else needed to be around. Personnel still occupied the building even though the workday was nearing an end. There just wasn’t anyone in this room. Except her. And Diego.

  Josie took her place in the overlarge seat while Diego ambled past and dropped into the vacant sensor operator’s chair. Faded jeans stretched tight over black boots and thick muscles. His onyx button-down shirt paid token homage to business wear, sleeves rolled up to reveal arms sprinkled with dark hair.

  Damn but leather smelled good on him. “Are you sure you want to sit through this? I’m just running some EPs.”

  Chicken.

  “I got no place else to go, the chair’s comfy and the company’s…if not pleasant, at least interesting. I think I’ll stick around. Hell, I could use the overtime pay. The Harley needs a tune-up.”

  Yeah, right. He took better care of that bike than most people did their houses. Of course, she’d spent an hour washing and detailing her Mustang the day after dropping him off at his place. Maybe they could shoot the breeze over a can of TurtleWax instead.

  “Fine. Just keep yourself over there.”

  “Yes, ma’am, Captain Buttercup.”

  “Jerk,” she muttered, flattening a traitorous grin as she began to run through the setup routine to convert the control station that flew the Predator into a simulator for practicing procedures.

  The controls and displays powered up and froze to a predetermined point in flight. Setting the simulation into motion, she worked her way through emergency after emergency—engine failure, engine fire, sensor overheat, fuel leak.

  As each presented, warning lights flashed. Josie recited aloud the necessary recovery actions while her hands flew across the controls. She didn’t need to speak the lists, but every recitation imprinted the procedures deeper into her subconscious for that critical moment when she wouldn’t have time to think.

  Emergency procedures continued to unroll, one after the other. Power surged through her. No hesitation. No mistakes. She was dead-on.

  Out-freaking-standing! Take that, Diego “Cruiser” Morel, flight god with a killer bod.

  She transitioned to her mission rehearsal and guided the simulated Predator onto the end of the runway, launching a dry run of a flight slated for next week. She clicked through take off actions, lifted the Predator into the air, climbed to nine thousand feet.

  Diego angled closer. God he smelled good.

  A bold callused hand thrust over her controls.

  “Hey!” Frustration fired.

  He fiddled with the simulator panel.

  “Damn it, Morel!” Frustration upgraded to anger. “What the—”

  The visuals on her screen rolled, inverted, started to spin. Anger increased as fast as airspeed on her control panel, but she didn’t have time to chew out Diego. Yet. Her hands and feet whipped into action, lowering the nose, applying opposite rudder to control the spin.

  Order restored. The landscape leveled. And now she could level Diego Morel, too, for messing with her rehearsal.

  She glued her eyes on the screen, hand on the stick. “I don’t know what the hell you thought you were doing, but keep your damn hands off my control panel. Next time, I’ll break a finger. Got it?”

  His silence hung heavy.

  “Don’t play games with me. And if you were trying to make me screw up, you failed. I recovered from your induced spin. Now back off and let me finish my flight plan.”

  His eyes seared into her like hot black coals.

  “I did recover.” So why wasn’t he smiling or congratulating her or even taunting her. “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Bull. What are you thinking?”

  He leaned back, stretching out one booted foot. “
Have you considered that there would be a person in the wide-open air straddling the Predator when you recovered from the spin?”

  “Of course I have. I think about every pilot I put out there with every flight. I hope like hell the spin doesn’t happen, but if it does, he’s strapped on and wearing a parachute. He’s protected.”

  Diego nodded, didn’t say anything.

  And damn but she could still hear his unspoken censure. “What?”

  “It’s your flight. Run the show however you want.”

  “Damn it, Morel, say whatever it is you’re bottling up.”

  “You executed a perfect spin recovery.”

  “Thank you.” Warmth swelled over a silly little compliment.

  He hitched a booted foot up on one threadbare knee. “It was picture-perfect for a conventional aircraft or even an operational Predator. But that pilot strapped to the craft sort of changes things. The book answer may not be what you need.”

  Prissy Josephine couldn’t resist snapping back. “Well, the book answer’s there because it’s right.”

  He went silent again.

  She sighed. “Okay, what’s the other answer?”

  “You need to feel the plane.”

  She snorted. “You’re kidding, aren’t you?”

  He stared back without speaking, confidence, experience and patronizing patience stamped on his rugged face.

  Fine. No need to get her G-suit in a twist, as he would say. She would be a fool not to tap into his knowledge base because of pride. She might not agree with that spooky bullshit “feel the plane” mind-set, but it would be awesome to see this man fly.

  “Show me.”

  He hesitated. Hunger simmered so hot in his eyes she almost jerked back to avoid being singed. Just as fast, he doused the look. He gave her a curt nod. She paused the program and swapped places with him in the sensor operator’s seat. Diego sank into the pilot’s position. His fingers wrapped around the stick.

  He reset the aircraft to level flight and punched in the same malfunction code to cause the spin. She scrutinized the nose camera where the world began to tilt, flip, swirl.

  His hand gravitated off the stick.

  The air damn near hummed around him.

  He applied one pump to the opposite rudder before both feet came up off the rudders. The spinning image in the nose camera slowed. The world steadied again.

  Diego took back the stick and gently raised the nose to resume normal flight.

  Josie struggled to comprehend what her brain told her shouldn’t have happened. “What the hell was that?”

  “Didn’t you ever take up a single-engine prop plane when you were learning to fly?”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “The Predator is a lot like the Cessna or a Beech Trainer. They aren’t made to be manhandled like military airplanes. In fragile aircraft such as those, less is better. Sure you can jerk around the Predator if you’re in a crunch. It’s tougher than the civilian craft. But why force it if you don’t have to? Plus, I’m fairly certain that if your butt was in that saddle, you wouldn’t want the nose pointed toward the earth.”

  She shook her head. “But the regs say—”

  “Screw the regs. Sometimes when your ass is up there, in order to know the spin-and-recovery characteristics, you just have to let it go and see what happens.”

  She was smart. A fact. And a truly smart person knew when to recognize times others knew more. This was one of those times.

  Diego Morel had a rare gift. A deep sadness permeated her. How could she not grieve over what the air force had lost? Even more heartbreaking, what this man had lost.

  “Swap seats with me and we can run it again—” He dragged his gaze away from the screen to glance at her.

  His eyes read her unguarded thoughts in a heartbeat. Then his gaze heated to metallic black. “Hell, Buttercup, I warned you about the consequences if you threw your damn pity my way again.”

  His eyes went hard and hungry all at once as he leaned toward her.

  Her wait for reassurance was definitely over.

  Chapter 7

  Stunned stock-still, Josie watched Diego cant closer. She’d looked for reassurance he still wanted to blow off steam together.

  But this was more, faster than she’d expected.

  Then he stopped short of actually kissing her, his nose so near hers she could feel his warm exhales of coffee-scented breath. Spots danced in front of her eyes much like the light-headedness from pulling Gs.

  Oh. Yeah. She should be breathing.

  She released pent-up air. “Diego?”

  He continued to hold her with his eyes if not his arms. “Did you have fun out there with Bridges at Red Flag?”

  His question blindsided her, a rare feat since nothing surprised her anymore, thanks to her careful planning.

  Awareness burned over her, inflamed by abstinence. No. Wait. Somehow she knew that even if she’d experienced five incredible orgasms yesterday—ha, she should be so lucky—she would still be turned on by this man.

  She swallowed but held her ground. “Lots of hairy flying goes on at Red Flag, but then I imagine you already know the sorts of tight midair situations that can happen there.”

  He nodded slowly, still close enough for the intimacy of shared body heat that contradicted dry tech talk. “Yeah, I remember those days mighty well.”

  “A training exercise like that is good though.” Her breasts tightened under her sports bra. “It helps me remember what all of this is about, you know?”

  “Sure do, Buttercup.”

  His eyes devoured her lips until she fought the urge to lick them. Lick him. Would he like the taste of orange tryst? “What does this have to do with our simulator flight?”

  “So, you and Bridges had a fine ol’ time then.”

  And in a flash, she understood the direction of his question. Even as it surprised her, angered her, too, she couldn’t deny the surge of desire, because he would only ask for one reason. “There’s nothing going on between Bridges and me.”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  A swell of feminine power smoked through her. “Yes, you did.”

  Three lazy blinks later, he angled away, a low laugh rumbling an echoing bounce through the small chamber. “There you go again, cutting me no slack.”

  She sagged back into the leather embrace of her seat. There would be no kiss after all. “You said you like that about me.”

  “I do.”

  Here it was. Her chance to blow off steam with Diego. “I need to pack up soon. I have that dinner with Craig’s family.”

  “Of course. You go on ahead. I’ll finish things here.”

  That was it? He was going to let her walk out?

  Decision moment. Launch or not? She opened her mouth, half certain she would walk away from temptation in spite of his encouraging move. “How about you come with me to Craig’s?”

  Apparently the old impulsive Josie was alive and dancing under her controlled exterior. The more cautious Josephine backpedaled to justify. “The whole test team will be there along with other folks from the base. You’ll have a chance to evaluate people in a relaxed setting. Craig’s got beer, and his wife always makes enough to feed an army anyhow.”

  Boots crossed at the ankles, he lounged. “You don’t want me in here alone with your precious data.”

  “Not particularly. But I was also thinking perhaps you didn’t want to be alone. And maybe a home-cooked meal might dilute the crankiness in your system.”

  No flickered through his eyes as he battled her controlling their path. Then faded. “Sure. Sounds like a fine idea. I can get to know Wagner better and eat some real food for a change instead of my own cooking. A good deal all the way around.”

  “Excellent. Give me a few minutes to run over to the gym and change, then I’ll be ready.” She leaned to scoop up her flight bag. When she rose, Diego stood, too.

  “Hey, Buttercup?” He stared down at her with
deep brown eyes full of promise. “I haven’t forgotten about that look of yours. You owe me once we’re through at Wagner’s.”

  This was more than she’d bargained for, but she reminded herself of the recent midair near miss that all logic said never should have happened. She needed to balance her life before she fell off the edge like her mother.

  Josie stared right back. “I’m counting on that.”

  Anticipation fired through her much like before the pilot pumped his arm for a launch sequence in Red Flag for a kick-ass flight.

  A flight that at any minute could turn deadly wrong.

  “Damn, Wagner, your wife sure puts out a killer spread of food.” Diego hitched up to sit on the deck rail by the tapped pony keg of beer. Outdoor stereo speakers throbbed with Jimmy Buffett in Concert for the packed backyard in military housing. “Thanks for letting me crash the party.”

  “No problem,” Wagner called from a few feet away. Wearing a ten-gallon hat, he pushed his toddler on the sprawling wooden swing set. “You’re part of our team for a while at least.”

  “Seems so.” Diego nursed his lone mug of beer for the night, determined to keep a clear head. He had plans for Josie Lockworth and he had the distinct feeling he would need full control of his wits to take on that woman.

  And damned if he wanted the sensation diluted in any way.

  Floodlights flickered on with the setting sun, illuminating the small patch of fenced sandy grass. Josie stood in a cluster of aviators flying their hands through the air. A short jean skirt hung low on her hips, wide black belt resting just above her butt. He figured they’d crossed a line now that made it okay for him to check out her ass, then her long legs all the way down to flip-flops that somehow looked elegant on this woman.

  Of course she transformed even combat boots into runway-model material.

  Yeah, he sure enjoyed looking at her. She wore a couple of shirts, gray and white layered, both stretchy fabric that clung to her like a second and third skin, stopping shy of the top of her belt. He liked the hint of lace along her scooped neckline and rimming the hem, too. When he kissed her—soon, now that he’d finally gotten the okay from her—he would have easy access to the small of her back, then around front to the flat expanse of her stomach.