Love Me Before Dawn

by Lindsay McKenna

  She grimaced and shut the door. It didn’t matter how many times it happened, she would never get used to it. Driving back, she realized that for over a year she had worked on blueprints of the B-1. And in that period of time she had never doubted that it would fly. It had never occurred to her that she might have an emotional involvement with one of the men chosen to fly it for the first time. That put an entirely different light on the situation. What if the B-1 didn’t fly? She had heard horror stories of prototypes barely getting off the ground and then diving headlong into the earth, erupting into balls of flame.

  Tess shuddered, trying to block out the picture that hung stubbornly in the back of her mind. Shep was a good pilot; there was no doubt. He had made the landing of the ailing T-38 look simple—almost as if the plane had landed with two engines instead of one. What were his chances of getting chosen as the Air Force test pilot to accompany the two Rockwell test pilots on the B-1’s maiden flight? She made a mental note to find out. If she had her way, Shep wouldn’t fly. Frowning, Tess knew that the decision rested with the Air Force and not her. On Friday she would ask him more about his flying credentials and try to determine the odds of his getting that prestigious position. Blueprints, for the first time, had become more than just inanimate white lines on blue background. The man she loved might be flying that untested bomber in a few months. Was her life falling into a pattern? Was she destined to lose Shep to the bomber as she had lost Cy? A shiver of dread washed over her, and Tess tried to shake the feeling.

  Chapter 12

  ON FRIDAY, A LARGE GROUP OF ROCKWELL ENGINEERS, contractors and subcontractors milled around in the conference room waiting for the meeting to begin. A contingent of Air Force officers was also included in the crowd. Coffee and doughnuts were being passed around for the late morning meeting. Shep glanced over at Tom Cunningham who had walked in with him.

  “Knowing the usual course of things, I’ll have time to go see Tess before this starts. Be back in a few minutes.”

  Tom nodded, studying the civilians in the room. “Okay, buddy. Make your ETA about fifteen minutes. Looks like this group is serious about getting down to business.”

  “Roger.”

  He turned, nearly bumping into three men entering the room. Shep froze, eyes narrowed upon one face. Derek Barton’s black eyes lifted, meeting Shep’s. The thinness of Barton’s face became more pinched as he walked quickly past. Adrenaline pumped strongly through Shep, and he fought the urge to turn and grab the small man by the collar. There was an air about Barton that made Shep simply want to throw a punch into his smug face. Fighting the urge, Shep resolutely headed out the door. He’d always known he’d run into Barton some day. A grimace pulled at the corners of his mouth. Naturally it would be in a meeting like this where civility was a must. Shoving away the whole messy problem, Shep stepped into the nearest elevator.

  Tess looked up just as Shep entered her office. A pink blush spread beautifully across her face, giving her cheeks a rose hue. The week had dragged on as though Friday would never come. She had had time to think about the in-flight emergency and the possibility of losing Shep. He smiled, a lazy grin curving the corners of his mouth upward as he quietly entered her office.

  “Lady, you look beautiful,” he said, coming to a stop at the edge of the large oak desk.

  She had decided to wear her hair down today for the first time since joining Rockwell. The auburn strands lay across her shoulders like molten copper against the midnight blue of her dress. She had taken great pains to look as feminine as she felt. And it was all because of Shep. Earlier, as she had traversed the halls, more than one male employee had gawked or given her a second look. Normally she wore a conservative pants suit and her chignon as a symbol of authority. Not anymore.

  She smiled up at him. “Thank you,” she whispered. Her heart beat in heightened awareness of Shep. How did he manage to look so incredibly handsome? Was it the cleanly cut lines of the dark blue Air Force uniform? Or the intensity of his eyes as he devoured her with his full attention? She wasn’t sure. “At least you’re not giving me a shocked look,” she laughed.

  Shep made himself comfortable on the edge of her desk, taking in the overall effect. “Lady, you’re stunning. I am in shock. Just not showing it.” Her blue eyes were large and incredibly beautiful. He felt himself becoming lost within their azure-gold depths, his body tightening with need of her. How many times during the past week had he replayed the night they had made such passionate, wildly pleasurable love? He wanted to kiss her lips again, taste them, mold them against his mouth in hungry adoration. “Tonight can’t come too soon,” he murmured huskily.

  Tess felt a wave of nervousness intertwined with expectation. She lowered her gaze, her long, thick lashes resting against her cheekbones. She groped for some flip reply to cover the sudden flutter in her heart. Gathering the few threads of sense still remaining to her, she murmured, “Did you bring civilian clothes?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He gave her a wink and straightened up, squaring his broad shoulders. “Well, that meeting ought to be starting by now. It promises to be a long one.”

  “Better you than me.”

  “Thanks.”

  Tess met his smiling gray gaze. “I’ve had four meetings this week. I’ve met my quota.”

  “See you sometime late this afternoon, honey.”

  She nodded, resting her chin against her folded hands. Her heart filled with happiness as she watched Shep leave as quietly as he had come. There was a cougarlike grace to his walk, a smoothness that belied the power that was coiled and waiting within his lean body. It was a loving, giving body, she thought.

  Tess had to force herself to return to work. Dan would be back early in the afternoon, which meant she could leave on time for once.

  *

  Derek Barton watched Major Ramsey’s progress into the meeting room. The secretary had finished distributing a thick folder in front of each man. He fingered the cover absently, never taking his eyes off the Air Force officer. The names of the men who would be taking the B-1 on its initial flights would be announced today.

  Derek Barton had an old grievance with one of those men—Major Shep Ramsey. It had been the major’s adamant contention after one test flight that the bearings his company manufactured were responsible for the fracture of the starboard wing. X rays were taken, revealing that the bearings were indeed the culprit. A coldness swept through Barton. The Hamilton woman was still checking performance test results on every damn bearing going into the B-1. Was it her way of taking vengeance on him for telling Cy Hamilton about her affair with Ramsey? He glared down at the rich walnut-colored table for a moment. He was going to have to apply more pressure to get her out of that office. He raised his head, staring directly across the table at Ramsey.

  Charlie Starling, the Rockwell representative, got up and lumbered toward the head of the long rectangular table. He placed the vinyl-covered notebook on a lectern that had been strategically placed before him.

  “We’ve got quite a bit to cover on today’s agenda,” he began in his rumbling voice. Cocking one graying eyebrow at the left side of the table, he said, “But first things first. I’m sure the test pilots would like to know who’s been assigned to the first flight test crew.” He pulled out a paper from his breast pocket, unfolding it with characteristic meticulousness. Spreading it out before him, he straightened the wire rim glasses that perpetually slid down his bulbous nose. “Okay, for Rockwell, we have Dave Faulkner as pilot and Pete Vosper as engineer.” He glanced over at the Air Force contingent. “And for copilot, Major Shepherd Ramsey. Congratulations to the three of you.” He allowed a hint of a smile. “This team will be responsible for the first flight, the gross weight tests, wing movement and supersonic tests. Providing all goes according to the schedules we’ve worked up, we’ll be feeding in the following test pilots or engineers: Major Tom Cunningham, Colonel Jim Munkasey, Brett McMorrison, and Taylor Holmes.”

  Barton squirmed uncomfo
rtably in his chair. That damn Ramsey. Again! The officer had eyes like a damned eagle. Barton rubbed his brow slowly, feeling an impending headache coming on. At the same time, a dark shadow began to take shape, a plan forming in his mind.

  “Ah, excuse me, Charlie,” Barton interrupted.

  Charlie’s brows fell downward. “Derek?”

  Barton rubbed his nonexistent chin in what he hoped looked like a thoughtful gesture. Then he gave a quick, cutting smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Yes, I was just wondering how you came up with the test pilot assignments.”

  The room fell into silence. Shep Ramsey’s face remained expressionless as he coolly watched Barton. “Without sounding terse about it, Derek,” Charlie responded, “Rockwell picked their people based upon past flight performance and skill. For instance, Dave, here, had over two thousand hours in B-52 bombers before leaving the Air Force and joining Rockwell as a test pilot. He’s got a lot of experience in that area.”

  “Was that the criterion? Time in bombers?” Barton asked, his dark eyes narrowing speculatively.

  “For Rockwell it was.”

  Barton turned to Colonel Preston, the man responsible for the Air Force contingent of test pilots. “And how much time does Major Ramsey have in bombers, Colonel?”

  “A little over a thousand hours.”

  Barton feigned surprise. “Only a thousand?”

  The colonel, a tall, spare man of forty-five, shrugged. “We felt the quality of Major Ramsey’s experience made him the strongest candidate in the B-1 program, Mr. Barton.”

  The subcontractor gave an eloquent shrug of his thin shoulders. “That’s only half the number of hours Mr. Faulkner has to his credit.”

  Shep slowly leaned forward on his elbows, pinning Barton with his gray eyes. “Are you implying that I’m less competent than the other pilots, Mr. Barton?” he asked, his voice almost friendly.

  The contractor gave a slight laugh. “Hardly, Major. I’m just curious about how the members were selected. That’s all.” He looked up at Starling. “But it would seem to me that if the press gets hold of this kind of information it might make the Air Force look bad. I mean, what if we do run into problems with the B-1 in flight? We all know the American public is jumpy about spending so much money on the program. What if there’s an emergency? The press might be inclined to question the selection criteria.” He shook his head. “None of us on the project want to encourage bad press.”

  Shep controlled his anger. He stared across the table at Barton. He knew exactly what the man was trying to do. “Tell me something,” Shep interrupted, breaking the brittle silence. “How much money would your company stand to lose if the project was cancelled?”

  Barton nervously met his gaze. “Seventy million. Not much when you consider that each plane costs sixty-one million.”

  Shep nodded, forcing a polite smile. “Correct me if my memory is wrong, Mr. Barton, but as I recall, the Air Force had trouble with your company’s ball bearings on another plane I tested. Isn’t that true?”

  Barton flushed to the roots of his black hair. “Aren’t we getting off the subject, Major?”

  Shep shrugged. “I don’t think so. If you’re questioning my hours in bombers, I suppose I can question the quality of the ball bearings made by your company. I’m curious about the nature of your concern for my being assigned to these first flights. Last time I flew a fighter that had your bearings installed, there was nothing but trouble.”

  The entire room buzzed with shocked murmurs. Charlie Starling shifted from one leg to the other, not quite sure what to say. Finally Colonel Preston spoke up.

  “Mr. Barton, what the hours fail to show is the quality of Major Ramsey’s flight experience. He had two tours of duty in South Vietnam and accrued a very impressive record. He flew one bird home with three engines out. Another time, three-quarters of his plane’s tail had been blown away by a SAM missile. On a third bomber flight, flak damage was so great that he had most of his crew bail out over the Gulf of Tonkin, He then used his considerable skills to bring that bomber back to Thailand and land it in one piece. We believe that no one has better hands-on experience with bombers in an emergency.”

  “We aren’t at war now,” Barton stated flatly. “There’s no tail missing, no holes in the fuselage, and no SAM missiles around, Colonel. No offense to Major Ramsey, but I just don’t think his war medals are going to instill confidence in the American public in his being selected as copilot for these initial tests.” Barton glanced around the table, realizing that he had blundered into a very delicate situation. But his own fears for his company coupled with his hatred of Tess Hamilton forced him to continue. “Look,” he laughed, “I’m just trying to view all sides of the situation. Rockwell has gotten a lot of bad publicity the last couple of months.” He glanced across the table at Ramsey, but directed his comments to Charlie Starling, seeking to gain an ally. “Poor Mrs. Hamilton has talked to the press and as a consequence, your whole company’s image has suffered.”

  Tom Cunningham looked sharply at Shep. He sensed his friend’s mounting anger. Glaring at Barton, Tom said between clenched teeth, “For someone who has only ball bearings to worry about, you’re sure interested in phases of this project that have very little to do with you directly.”

  Barton gave him a wolfish smile. “I’m merely a concerned team member, Major Cunningham. I have just as much right as any contractor at this table to speak my mind. After all, my business lives or dies by what Congress decides on the B-1. And I’m very interested in making sure the plane has a positive image.”

  Fred Berger, who headed the public relations department, finally spoke up. “Frankly Mr. Barton, I don’t think your insinuation about Mrs. Hamilton is in the least bit correct. She’s done one hell of a job. It wasn’t her fault the press was encouraged to print only half of what was said. If it hadn’t been for her help recently, we’d have another problem on our hands about the B-1 polluting the environment. This past weekend she single-handedly helped me field reporters’ questions on the subject. And she did it very well.”

  Shep toyed with a pencil, listening to the conversation. The urge to physically injure Barton was hard to ignore, but in a meeting of this type only the most professional type of behavior would be tolerated. He lifted his head, staring blackly at Barton.

  “Mr. Barton,” Colonel Preston said, “I personally approved the Air Force selection. It is my professional judgement that Major Ramsey is—”

  “Gentlemen!” Charlie Starling’s authoritative voice boomed out. “I’m afraid this is not on the agenda for discussion.” His brows dipped downward as he glared at Barton. “If you wish to continue this discussion further, may I suggest that you do so during our lunch break or, if necessary, that we schedule an appropriate meeting on it.”

  It was during the first break that Shep made a point of cornering Barton. “I hope,” he said with finality, getting Barton’s full attention, “that when we start testing the B-1, your company’s small part in the construction stands up to specifications, Mr. Barton.”

  “I’m sure it will, Major.”

  Shep gave him a cutting smile, his gray eyes glittering with anger. “Like it did in the last fighter?” he asked softly.

  Barton glared at him. “Look, dammit, our lab made an error in one spec reading!”

  “I understood the problem was more serious than that. It damn near cost me my life as well as a twenty-million-dollar fighter. You can bet I’ll have more than just a passing interest in how your ball bearings hold up in the B-1.” His eyes narrowed dangerously. “And I know for a fact that the chief engineer’s office is vitally concerned as to how they perform. Don’t be so quick to make your ‘all for the team’ speech unless you’re fulfilling your part of the bargain.”

  Charlie Starling cleared his throat, shuffling nervously from one foot to the other. “Okay, gentlemen, let’s get back to the meeting.”

  Shep returned to the table, his lips a thin line. Barton had tri
ed to smear his name as well as Tess’s credibility. Shep’s knuckles whitened around the pencil he held in his right hand.

  By four thirty, the meeting broke up. The Air Force contingent was the last to leave. Finally, when the room was cleared, Colonel Preston turned to Shep.

  “What’s eating Barton?”

  “A couple of things,” Shep explained, placing the last of the papers in his leather briefcase.

  Preston raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

  “Part of it is personal. But last time I flew that new fighter it was his company’s ball bearings that fractured and caused me to almost lose the plane. He’s worried that I’m going to pay particular attention to the ball bearings his company has installed in the B-1.” He snapped the case closed with finality. “He’s right. I am.”

  Cunningham put a hand on Shep’s shoulder. “Barton’s a first-class moron.”

  Shep smiled grimly, picking up the case. “I’m going to enjoy watching him sweat out every test flight briefing. He’ll pay for it.” Leaving the room, he headed down the busy corridor. Taking a short cut down a minor hallway, he walked toward the area that held the elevators, nearly colliding with Derek Barton. Shep stopped, looking down at the contractor, his face becoming dangerously unreadable.

  “What do you know,” Shep said softly, turning and facing him. “It must be fate, running into you like this.”

  Barton took a step away from the Air Force officer, aware of the tightly held anger in him. He had been in the process of congratulating himself on being able to get both Ramsey and Hamilton in one grand play. Although he was not totally pleased with the results of the confrontation, at least his words had put doubts in the minds of his fellow contractors. “I don’t believe in fate,” Barton growled, taking a better grip on his briefcase.

  Shep lowered his attach6 case to the polished floor and straightened back up, advancing within inches of Barton. “I do.” His voice became low, menacing. “Understand one thing; you won’t get away with a thing on this project because I’ll be watching your every move.”