He was headed through the mission planning area when one of the administrative troops from the front office escorted a civilian down the hall. Deke recognized both the man and his gray uniform. Taylor's chauffeur. The same driver who'd whisked Jo off in a mile-long limo a couple of weeks ago.
Deke's step slowed as Jo sailed out of the mission planning room to greet the driver with a warm smile.
"Patrick. What are you doing here?"
"Mr. Taylor asked me to deliver this to you."
He handed her what looked like a high-tech, ultra thin flip phone the size of a credit card.
"It's coded to ring only his private number," the chauffeur said helpfully. "You can reach him at any time, day or night."
As if realizing the interest that statement raised among the aircrew members milling around the area, Jo flushed.
"Mr. Taylor asked me to give you this, as well," the driver added, reaching inside his uniform jacket to extract a white envelope. "He indicated it was urgent."
Obviously expecting a note with news of Alex's grandfather, Jo's face clouded with sympathy and concern as she slid a finger under the flap and pulled out a fat document. Those emotions gave way to surprise as she unfolded several legal-sized, gold-bordered pages.
"What is this?"
"I believe it's the title and a copy of the registration for the Sikorsky, Captain West."
"I don't need to see a copy of the title and registration. I've already had the pleasure of flying aboard that baby. I know she's airworthy."
"Mr. Taylor was very specific. He felt you should have them in your possession before the flight to Bella Vista tomorrow afternoon."
Deke stiffened. As determined as he was to butt out of Jo's affairs, the knowledge she was joining Taylor in Richmond tomorrow ground glass in his gut. His jaw tight, he turned away.
"Mr. Taylor instructed me to tell you to contact his lawyers if you have any questions about the title transfer."
"Transfer?"
Deke stopped in his tracks and spun around in time to catch the sudden incredulity that flashed across Jo's face. He had an idea of what was coming even before she scanned through the pages, one after another.
She found what she was looking for on the last page. Disbelief widened her eyes. The papers rattled like dried leaves in her hands.
"He transferred the helicopter's title to me?"
The last word was a squeak, echoed by a long whistle from the crew dog who leaned over her shoulder to peer at the document.
"Holy shit! It's yours, West. All yours."
"This is a mistake."
"Hey, when you hang up your uniform and start piloting yourself and your boyfriend all across the country, think about hiring me on as your copilot. I could use one of those million-dollar bonuses Taylor hands out like candy."
"Shut up, Cassidy!"
Refolding the papers, she shoved them in the envelope and thrust them at the chauffeur. "I can't accept these."
His hands spread apologetically. "I'm just the messenger, Captain."
"Well, you can messenger these right back. He can't really be serious."
"You'll have to talk to Mr. Taylor about that."
The standoff continued for another second or two before Jo conceded defeat. "All right. I will."
Unzipping one of the pockets on her flight suit, she stuffed the envelope inside. When she straightened, her eyes caught Deke's. Lifting one brow, he sketched her a sardonic smile.
"Glad to see you've got both hands on the controls, West."
Chapter Twelve
Still in shock over Alex's transfer of the Sikorsky to her, Jo retreated to an empty office, slammed the door, and flipped open the thin phone. A message marched instantly across the digital display, informing her that a private, precoded number had been entered.
Alex answered within mere seconds. "Hello, darling. I see Patrick got hold of you."
"Yes, he did. I can't believe... I can't imagine..." She shoved her feathery bangs off her forehead, struggling for breath. "How could you think I would accept the Sikorsky as a gift?"
"I hope you'll accept it, just as I hope you'll accept everything else I want to give you."
"Alex—"
"I'm sorry, darling," he inserted before she could explode. "I can't discuss it with you right now. I'm with the doctors. I'll call you later, all right?"
A glance at the wall clock killed the notion she could straighten this out by phone. "I've got missions this afternoon and evening. I'm not sure when I'll be down."
"Then you call me."
Jo could hear the worry pulling at him. Sighing, she let him off the hook. "We can talk when I get there tomorrow."
Flipping the phone shut, she slumped against a desk. Outside, the aircraft prepped for the afternoon's sorties were lined up on the ramp. The noonday sun glistened on their blue and white paint scheme, but instead of the solid, dependable Hueys, Jo saw only the sleek little tan and white S-76.
She couldn't believe Alex had deeded the helo to her! The gesture overwhelmed her. Mortified her. What in the world had she done or said that would make him think she would accept such a gift?
Well, for starters, her conscience pinged, she'd accepted the diamond pin. Then there was that million-dollar grant to the American Spinal Cord Foundation. And let's not forget about rolling around in front of the fire, getting next to naked with the guy.
A bitter taste rose in the back of Jo's throat. She'd known Alex less than a month and here she was, raking in the prizes like a greedy game show contestant. The picture she painted in her own mind didn't flatter her. She could imagine how it must look to outsiders, even to her friends and coworkers.
Like Deke.
The scorn in his eyes a few minutes ago had stung. All right, it still stung. Her jaw set, Jo crossed her arms and glared at the waiting Hueys. Dammit, she didn't owe Deke any explanations. Didn't owe anyone explanations, even if she had them, which she didn't.
The truth of the matter was that her relationship with Alex confused the heck out of her. She liked him.
More than liked him. His insistence on showering her with gifts embarrassed her, however, and his fixation with Katherine had shaken her... almost as much as those shivery moments before the fire, when he'd pinned her to the cushions.
That experience more than anything else made her suspect that Alex had never learned to relinquish or even share control. His wealth and privileged background had laid the foundation for the power he wielded like an autocratic potentate. Now he wanted to exercise that control over her. Any one of Jo's brothers could have told him that nothing raised her fur faster.
Looking back, she realized she'd been kidding herself to even imagine she could juggle her work and his demands on her time and attention, much less find some intermediate plane between her world and his. More to the point, she had no desire to play the submissive sexual role he seemed to want from her.
Tomorrow. She'd tell him so tomorrow afternoon, when she returned the diamond pin, the cell phone, and the registration papers for the Sikorsky.
She pushed off the desk, relieved that she felt so right about the decision. This was one fairy-tale romance that wouldn't have a happy ending.
The sense of rightness stayed with Jo for the rest of the day, but took a hit from the message Alex left on her answering machine that evening. He couldn't wait to see her. Couldn't wait to hold her. He needed her, more than she'd ever know.
Guilt tugged at her, but she knew she had to break it off before they got in any deeper. With that thought in mind, she got up early to wash her hair. The award ceremony was scheduled for 8:00 a.m. in the rotunda of the Wing Headquarters building. Jo would have preferred a less ostentatious setting, but no one had seen fit to consult her in the matter.
Getting ready for the ceremony took longer than expected. Not only did she lose track of time while she mentally rehearsed what she wanted to say to Alex this afternoon, drying her hair proved a real challenge. She'd let the
thick, honey-colored mass get too long, she realized after a good twenty minutes wielding the dryer. Twisting it into a smooth knot at the back of her head, she applied her makeup with a quick hand.
Luckily, she kept her service uniform set up and ready in her closet. Laying the dark blue coat and skirt on the bed, she checked the accoutrements. Her captains bars gleamed on the shoulder epaulets. The silver U.S. insignias were perfectly angled on the lapels. A quick adjustment aligned her shiny silver wings over her two rows of colorful ribbons.
Pushing aside her standard black cotton sports bras and briefs, she fished out some panty hose and ecru undies trimmed in lace. The slide of silk against her skin felt wonderful for a change. Another quick glance at the clock had her shoving her feet into black leather pumps.
Since she wouldn't have time to drive back down to her Fort Washington house to change before meeting Alex's pilot at the helipad, Jo fished a pair of black slacks and a red turtleneck sweater from the closet. Draping a red and black plaid Pendleton wool blazer over the hanger, she grabbed her purse and her flight cap and raced through the kitchen for the door.
She had one hand on the knob, ready to twist, when the memory of her charge out the front door, baseball bat at the ready, to confront a battery of TV cameras and reporters hit her. Jo snatched her hand back, a hitch in her chest.
Just as quickly, she gave herself a mental kick. Her stubborn refusal to issue anything but the one formal statement through Public Affairs about the rescue had just about killed the media's interest in her. Besides, the most persistent of Alex's stalkers was dead.
Still, she sucked in a deep breath before she stepped outside. A quick scan of the fields around the house, awash with early-morning mist, revealed no uninvited visitors or parked vans.
She wouldn't have to worry about reporters or photographers after word leaked that she and Alex weren't seeing each other anymore, she thought on a spurt of guilty relief. In its own small way, that cemented another layer of brick in her decision to end things between them.
An idle comment by the Secretary of State an hour or so later added another layer.
Mrs. Adair personified graciousness as she presided over the award ceremony. With only a half hour to spare before she boarded the aircraft that would carry her and her entourage to Africa in a last-ditch effort to curb the excesses of a murderous dictator, she took the time to describe in her own words Jo's actions the day of the accident.
"Captain West exercised extraordinary heroism in the face of overwhelming odds."
The loudspeaker built into the podium magnified Beth Adair's soft voice and gave it the authoritative ring that had become so well known throughout the world's hot spots.
"Not only did she risk her own life to save another's, but she did so without losing sight of her responsibilities to her passengers and crew."
Standing at rigid attention in front of a bank of flags, Jo kept her eyes trained over the heads of the wing staff and 1st Helo Squadron members who'd gathered for the ceremony. She knew darn well the chief of Mrs. Adair's security detail disagreed with that last statement. He'd said so, in writing. Luckily, DeMotto had weighed his statement against Mrs. Adair's own concurrence and written account of the situation.
Jo almost missed thanking the Secretary for that endorsement. After pinning a gold medal suspended from a blue and gold striped ribbon to Jo's uniform, Mrs. Adair shook her hand, then stepped aside to allow her squadron mates to congratulate her. Along with their congratulations, she also received a good number of suggestions on how to keep from incinerating herself should she ever decide to try something so stupid again.
She shook the last hand and edged around the crowd just in time to catch the Secretary of State at the front entrance to the headquarters building. "Mrs. Adair!"
The Secretary paused just inside the glass doors. Jo hurried across the inlaid marble foyer.
"I wanted to thank you for the letter you wrote, as well as for the recommendation for this medal."
"You're more than welcome. I fully concurred with your decision to take the chopper down, and wanted to make sure the inquiry officer knew that."
She pushed open the door and started down the steps, the morning light flaming her hair into a coppery nimbus.
"By the way, tell Alex I appreciated his call. I wouldn't have even known that you were facing an inquiry if he hadn't notified me."
"He called you?"
"Yes, right after you two attended some function at the White House. He mentioned he'd hoped to catch me there, but I was in Japan at the time."
After the White House function?
Jo managed a smile and a friendly, noncommittal response, but inside she'd gone tight. Dammit, he'd promised! That night, in the limo on the way to the White House, Alex had promised he wouldn't interfere or make any more calls. Yet the very next day, he'd contacted the Secretary of State and solicited a personal letter on Jo's behalf.
Frustration piled on top of her anger. Toe tapping in her black leather pump, she eyed the flags lining the wide boulevard. Did it make sense to feel this stinging irritation with a man who'd used his powerful connections to her benefit? The same man who'd transferred a brand new helicopter into her name?
Yes, it did. Jo didn't appreciate behind-the-scenes manipulation any more than the next person. More to the point, she was fast coming to the conclusion she couldn't trust Alex to keep his promises when they conflicted with his own agenda.
She carried that thought with her through the rest of the morning and out to the civilian helipad early that afternoon.
She'd changed into her civilian clothes at the squadron. Her uniform she'd leave in the car. Tucking the envelope with the Sikorsky title and Alex's cell phone into her purse, she climbed out of the MG. A stiff breeze whipped at her hair and blazer as she crossed to the flightline.
Alex's chief pilot, Doug Brakeman, had the Sikorsky preflighted and ready to go. Jo's heart thumped at the sight of the sleek tan and white bird. For a moment, maybe two, her determination to refuse the extraordinary gift dissolved in a puddle of want.
She could keep it, a little devil whispered in her ear. She should keep it. Alex's life was certainly worth the price of a helicopter.
But hers wasn't, Jo thought on a sigh. She couldn't allow Alexander Taylor to seduce her with extravagant gifts and promises he had no intention of keeping. Nor could she afford to maintain something like the S-76—which she suspected Alex had factored into the equation.
Brakeman met her at the side of the aircraft, a cheerful grin creasing his weathered features. "Congratulations, Captain. I understand you're the new owner of this little lady."
"For the moment, anyway."
"Mr. Taylor told me to send the paperwork into the
FAA to change the registration from GenCorp to you."
"GenCorp?"
"It's one of Mr. Taylor's subsidiaries. Deals mostly in international oil leases, I think. I waited to fill out the paperwork, in case you want to change the tail number."
"Hold off on sending in any paperwork, would you? I've got to talk to Mr. Taylor about this first."
He threw her a considering glance, but was too much of a professional to pry into his employer's affairs. "Are your bags in the car, Captain? I'll have one of the ground crew load them."
"It's Jo," she told him, "and I didn't bring any bags."
His brow wrinkled. "I was under the impression you were going to RON at Bella Vista."
Jo had planned to RON—remain overnight, in military parlance. Her plans had changed drastically with the delivery of the deed to the Sikorsky.
"I'll be returning tonight," she told Brakeman. "I'm not sure what time. You'd better call ahead to arrange for refueling and turn-around clearance."
"Can do easy, Captain—Jo. Hang loose while I check tonight's weather and give my crew at Bella-Vista a heads-up."
They lifted off twenty minutes later with Jo in the pilot's seat and Brakeman riding shotgun. Despite her m
ixed emotions about her coming meeting with Alex, she thoroughly enjoyed her first and last flight as owner/operator of the S-76.
The Virginia countryside rolled by below, already browning in patches where the leaves had fallen and the grass had felt the first bite of winter. For the most part, their route followed I-95 as it cut south. Eight lanes wide for a good distance, it narrowed to six and then four past Richmond.
J. T. Taylor's mansion was nestled in the hills halfway between Richmond and Fredericksburg. The original antebellum plantation home had been completely destroyed during the Civil War, Brakeman informed her as they swooped in from the north and circled the Taylor property. But the former president's family had restored it to its former glory.
"And then some," Jo breathed as she caught sight of the pale gray stone castle.
That was the only way to describe it... a castle, richly ornamented, multistoried, and capped with a pitched slate roof. An arched gateway led into a central yard surrounded on three sides by the house itself. What looked like fifty chimneys sprouted from the various wings.
"President Taylor's grandparents pulled out all the stops when they rebuilt the old place in the 1880s," Brakeman related with a grin. "It has more than a hundred rooms, fifteen of them bathrooms, although I have to admit I've never tried to make an actual count. Pretty impressive, isn't it?"
"You got that right."
Jo had seen pictures of the estate in magazines, of course, and vaguely remembered a televised tour of the interior during J. T. Taylor's presidency. No photo or retransmitted image could compare to viewing the actual splendor of the stone masterpiece from the air, however. Awestruck, she banked the Sikorsky into a slow turn.
"Frederick Law Olmsted designed a series of gardens that could be seen from all the rooms," Brake-man informed her.
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