by Cheryl Biggs
Hart nodded, while his stomach plunged to the floor. “Thank you, sir.” He was running out of time.
Lewis stared at him. “For what?” he asked gruffly. “If I were in your shoes, I sure wouldn’t be thanking someone for sending my file to Washington.”
Five minutes later Hart stood before Roubechard’s desk, anger and more than a little alarm and fear niggling at his nerves. “Do whatever you have to do to get it done, Private, but I want Suzanne Cassidy’s phone tapped, and I want it done now. I also want another background check on her, and this time I want to know everything there is to know about the lady. Go all the way back to the very second she was born if you have to. Whatever.”
Hart stalked into his office, then immediately turned around and walked back out. “Roubechard, track down everyone who had even the remotest connection to the corps last year. Put special emphasis on anyone and anything connected to the Jaguar Loop mission. Get detailed personnel reports on all of them. And get the autopsy report on Rick Cassidy.” He slammed the door and walked to his desk. If the FBI suspected him, Rick and Suzanne of treason, then he knew they weren’t looking any further. Which meant if he didn’t want to end up wearing leg irons and looking at the world through barred windows for the rest of his life, he had to.
He glanced at the clock on his desk. It was barely 9:00 a.m. If he hurried, maybe he could get to her place before she had breakfast.
“Sir?” Roubechard said, as Hart stormed past him toward the exit door.
“What?” he growled, stopping.
“I, uh, just wanted to remind you, sir, that the base’s annual open house starts in two hours, and you’re due on the field.”
“Today?”
“Yes, sir.”
Hart cursed under his breath. He’d forgotten, which meant he didn’t have time to take Suzanne to breakfast, but he would have to go to his apartment and pick up a dress uniform. Maybe he’d have time to swing by her place and invite her to the open house.
His life was mired in disaster, and he was supposed to smile and give a flight exhibition.
Hart climbed from his chopper and, after talking to a few children at the edge of the tarmac, walked toward the hangar, where he’d arranged to meet Suzanne.
The second batch of background checks he’d ordered were being held up—red tape, a clerk in Personnel had said. Hart couldn’t get past the suspicion that just maybe someone was purposely holding things up. And getting a copy of Rick’s autopsy report was beginning to look even less promising. The request had been flat-out denied. That had stirred his curiosity, to say nothing of his suspicions, and made him want to look at it all the more. So he’d called Major Lewis and, saying only that Rick’s wife wanted to see it and he didn’t really know why, asked him to request a copy.
He still hadn’t heard back from the senator, and when he’d called again, just before coming out to the field, the secretary had explained that the senator was “out of town and couldn’t be reached.”
Hart was starting to wonder if the man was avoiding him. A dispiriting thought.
He spotted Suzanne right away standing near one of the huge hangars that housed the Cobra Corps choppers. Her dark hair glistened richly beneath the hot afternoon sun, like dark strands of silk touched by flame, contrasting starkly with the sleeveless white blouse she wore tucked into a pair of cutoffs. The outfit was simple, and one he’d seen on hundreds of other women, but on her it was a seductive draping of cloth that drew his eyes to the tantalizing curves of her body, down the length of her long, bare, perfectly shaped legs, and nearly took his breath away.
For a brief moment, as their gazes locked across the tarmac, it was as if they’d never met. As if all the pain and tragedy in their combined pasts didn’t exist and they were strangers, meeting for the first time, attracted to each other, with no reason to think the other was anything more or less than what they seemed.
But they weren’t strangers, he reminded himself. The pain and tragedy of their pasts was all too real. And all too ugly, if his and the FBI’s suspicions were right.
Secret plans had been stolen, and Rick was dead. Cold, hard facts Hart couldn’t deny.
Suzanne smiled and waved to him.
Welcome to my web, said the spider to the fly. The thought instantly flashed through his mind. He tried to push it aside, but it remained, dark and ugly. He knew he couldn’t let his guard down; he had to be wary of her.
He walked toward her, smiling, and was halfway across the tarmac when Chief Carger appeared from within the hangar and approached Suzanne from behind.
“Mrs. Cassidy, nice to see you again.”
Suzanne turned. The uneasiness she’d once felt around him swept over her again as she looked into his eyes. “Oh, hello, Chief.”
He glanced toward Hart and frowned. “You being careful, Mrs. Cassidy?” he said.
She followed his gaze, instantly put off by the implication in his words. “I’m fine, Chief,” she said coolly. “Please don’t worry yourself over me.”
Carger nodded. “Don’t mean to interfere where I’m not wanted, but one thing a lady like you ought to remember…” He glanced back at Hart. “The captain’s a warrior. Always will be.” He shoved a cigarette between his lips. “Man like that likes the danger of putting his life on the line, day in, day out.”
She frowned. Why was he telling her this?
“You should stay away from him,” the chief said, as if reading her mind. “You deserve better.”
“We’re friends, Chief, that’s all,” Suzanne said, then wondered why she’d felt the need to explain anything to the man. It was none of his business if she and Hart were friends, enemies or passionate lovers.
A heat rushed through her as her last thought brought an image of Hart to her mind, of his body pressed to hers, his arms crushing her to him, his lips ravaging hers, stirring her passions, routing her senses.
She turned away from the chief and looked back at Hart. The heat instantly intensified, an avalanche of fire, consuming her and sending a hot shiver dancing over her skin. Her reactions to Hart were insane and irresponsible, but she couldn’t help them. She watched him close the distance between them, saw the coldness in his eyes as they settled on the chief and wondered at it. Was there a problem between the two men? Or was it exactly the opposite? Was the chief Hart’s accomplice?
Was it possible that rather than just running into her, the chief was really watching her?
The chief saluted Hart. “You’re needed on the far runway,” Hart said. “Rand thinks his chopper has an oil leak.” It wasn’t true, but he didn’t care. He just wanted the man to leave.
Hart watched the chief walk away, wondering at his own actions. Why did he feel such anger toward Carger? What did he care if the man talked to Suzanne, unless it was more than just casual or even flirtatious conversation? Could Carger be her contact? Her accomplice?
The man had been on the Jaguar Loop mission.
“You were wonderful up there,” Suzanne said, referring to the flight exercise his squad had just performed for the open-house audience and interrupting Hart’s suspicious speculation.
For months after Rick’s death she’d never wanted to see another helicopter for as long as she lived. But she’d finally come to realize that, as unfortunate as it was, Rick had died doing what he loved.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come.” The moment he heard his own words, Hart wished he hadn’t said them. Whether she’d come or not shouldn’t have mattered to him, and he didn’t want her to think it did.
“I wouldn’t have missed it,” she said softly. She glanced past him at the Cobras sitting on the far runway. “Would you take me up sometime?”
Hart stared at her. None of the women he’d dated had ever asked to be taken up in his Cobra. Even if someone had, the answer would have been no. But now the question coming from Suzanne pulled at something in him, made him want to say yes, and made him want her more desperately than ever.
The ques
tion surprised Suzanne as much as it obviously did him. Why had she asked that? She’d never wanted to go up in one of the things before—especially after Rick’s death. But now the thought of being in a helicopter with Hart—just the two of them—alone together—in the clouds—
Her gaze met his and she felt her breath slip quietly but quickly from her lungs. The look of longing she saw in his eyes was so intense, so dark and alluring, it was a shock to her entire system.
“Whenever you want,” he said, the unique drawl of his deep voice wrapping around her like a velvet cloak, brushing her skin and caressing her senses. A slow smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and the beckoning call of his eyes intensified, pulling at her.
The masculine force of him was like nothing she’d ever felt, an aura of strength and purpose that seemed nearly tangible.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way between them. It wasn’t why she’d come back. Her mind told her heart to turn away from him, ignore him, beware of him, and her heart refused to listen. Caution had deserted her.
Suzanne’s gaze moved over him, searching, yet she didn’t really know what it was she was searching for.
The sun shone golden off each wave of his hair, played within the deep blue of his eyes and created shadows about the rugged lines of his face.
She wanted to reach out and touch him, feel the smoothness of his cheek beneath her hand, trace her fingertips along the line of that strong, granitelike jaw, press them to the slash of lips that had proved to have the gentlest touch she’d ever felt.
Hart was all too aware of the fine line he was walking and that his control was on the very edge, carefully balanced and not at all infallible. But at the moment, that concern wasn’t a high priority.
Suzanne’s breath stalled in her throat. She knew what he was going to do, knew it was wrong, that she should turn away…and knew it was too late. She had neither the will nor the strength. Maybe she never had.
She watched his hand move toward her, felt it touch her neck, like a searing brand she would never forget, never cease to feel, then slip to her nape. He slowly drew her to him, his eyes boring into hers as his head lowered toward her.
Every nerve in her body was tense with anticipation, and at the same time, she was calmer than she’d ever been in her life. The scent of his aftershave, a light, airy redolence, surrounded Suzanne and reminded her of blue skies and white clouds, of cool wind and summer rain.
His breath touched her cheek, a gentle caress that sent a shiver coursing through her.
She leaned into his touch.
Desire darkened his eyes.
His lips brushed over hers, lightly, lingering for just a second—yet it seemed the most erotic, most intense kiss she’d ever experienced. Her body felt as if it had melted, the strength in her bones, in her muscles, having disappeared. All thought of caution and fear left her, and all the barriers she’d tried to erect around her heart began to crumble and fall aside.
“Hart,” she said, struggling to pull air into her lungs, to speak over the deafening beat of her heart. “We really shouldn’t…I mean…” Her body was tingling with want of him. “This isn’t a good idea.”
“I know.” His mouth captured hers, this kiss deeper, more demanding. She felt his arms wrap around her, draw her to him, crush her body to his.
It felt so good. So right.
The crowds of people on the tarmac, only a short distance away, were forgotten. The only reality left to Suzanne was Hart, his lips stirring her passion, his body arousing her desire, his arms holding her tight, safe, home.
She had waited so long.
Suddenly Hart’s beeper sounded.
He watched from the hangar, just out of their sight, yet within full view of everyone else. Damn Hart Branson. Everything had been going so well until he’d entered the picture. But that was her fault. Hers and the fault of that damned FBI agent who wouldn’t let it go. Cross every t, dot every i. That was his type. And now he had this situation to contend with. Branson was getting too close and was going to ruin everything if they didn’t stop him.
Several people walked by, laughing, talking about the exhibits, the aerial maneuvers, the pilots. A teenager stopped to ask a question. He answered it, affably, but he never took his eyes off Hart and Suzanne.
Tension ate at his nerves, and that fueled his anger. He’d been right, but then he’d known he was. He had guessed she would come back here, would plead with Branson to help her. But the others had argued that Suzanne would never come back to Three Hills. And they’d been wrong.
DeBraggo walked casually around one of the exhibition Cobras, all the while keeping Suzanne, the major and the other man watching them within his sight. He pulled on one end of the fake mustache he’d pasted to his upper lip, yanked down on the brim of his baseball cap, and repositioned his dark glasses on his nose.
There were too many players entering the game, and at the moment he wasn’t sure who was watching who.
Suzanne paced the length of her living room, stared out the glass doors at the night-shrouded desert, then turned and paced toward the opposite side of the room.
It was too late now. He wasn’t going to call. But it didn’t matter. It was good that he hadn’t called. What had happened between them, what was happening between them, was a mistake. Maybe a dangerous one for her.
For probably the hundredth time since he’d left her by the hangar to answer a page, she called herself a fool. Coming to Hart for help had been the wrong thing to do. Whatever she felt for him, and it obviously wasn’t fear or even wariness, her traitorous emotions could cloud her judgment. If that happened, she just might pay for it with her life.
She fixed herself another cup of coffee, stood at the sliding glass door that led to the patio and stared out at the night.
Why didn’t he call?
She ate a half-dozen chocolate-chip cookies, drank another cup of coffee and paced the length of the room.
Where was he? She ate more cookies and drank another cup of coffee. Finally she told herself she was being foolish. It was time to get some sleep, stop thinking about Hart Branson and stop imagining everyone was out to get her.
Suzanne turned off the living-room lights, checked the doors to make certain they were locked and walked into her bedroom. A good night’s sleep would calm her nerves and maybe give her a fresh perspective on things. She opened the armoire to get her negligee and her heart nearly burst from her chest. A shriek of dismay ripped from her throat.
Several of her garments lay on the floor.
Someone had been in the bungalow.
She stared at a pale yellow silk blouse she’d carefully hung up when she’d unpacked several days ago. Its breast pocket was turned inside out.
Suzanne spun around, her gaze darting about the room. Everything had seemed okay when she’d come in here earlier, but then she really hadn’t been paying attention—she’d only stayed in the bedroom long enough to toss her bag and jacket on the bed. Now, as she looked closer, she realized things were slightly askew, as if someone had methodically searched through everything and tried to leave things exactly as they’d found them.
But they hadn’t. She grabbed a silver-plated hand mirror from the dresser and, clutching it tightly in her fist, held it up to use as a weapon, if need be.
Silence surrounded her, except for the soft sounds of the desert drifting in through the open window, which hadn’t been open earlier.
Had she interrupted their search when she’d returned? Had they slipped out the back door as she’d entered the front?
Her gaze darted around the room again. Someone could be under the bed. Behind the bathroom door. “Oh, God,” she whimpered, too scared to even move.
No sound responded.
No, they were gone. Most likely whoever it had been had left through the window when they’d heard her enter the house. A thread of relief offered itself to her. Who would have done this? Her mind raced in search of an answer. It couldn’t have been Hart
, because she’d been with him.
But not all day, a little voice in the back of her mind whispered. He’d had to leave—remember?
After he’d been paged she had stayed at the base for another two hours, enjoying the exhibits and talking to some of the other pilots, the mechanics, even a recruiter. She knew Hart had flown another exercise for the open house and had spent some time answering questions for some of the visitors. But then he’d disappeared.
She was reading something into nothing.
Or was she?
She ran to the phone, grabbed the receiver from its cradle, then instantly slammed it down again.
It might not have been Hart, but it could have been an accomplice. One who’d come here while Hart was at the base, one who’d searched through her things while Hart had pulled her into his arms and kissed her until all she’d been able to think about was how much she wanted him.
By the time Hart got back to his apartment, the sun had long ago disappeared beyond the horizon, and he was bone weary and exhausted. The day had been full, and had gotten even fuller after General Walthorp had paged him. The general’s own squad captain had taken suddenly ill, so the general had brusquely ordered Hart to head a flight exercise of Blackhawks for the open house.
Chief Carger had been the gunner on the Blackhawk Hart flew. That had grated on his nerves, and he didn’t know why. He’d always gotten along well with the chief in the past.
Hart remembered seeing him with Suzanne and feeling angry, but he knew that was caused by suspicion, nothing more. Someone connected with the corps, whether he liked it or not, was guilty of treason and betrayal, and the chief was just as good a possibility as anyone else.
