Full Throttle. Merline Lovelace
The sexy Hurricane Hunter couldn’t know it but her ex-husband had piloted the mission Dave had flown with the reserve unit out of Keesler. The man had had a few things to say about the wife who’d just dumped him, none of them particularly flattering. She was, according to the still-bitter aviator, ambitious as hell, fearless in the air, a tiger in bed and a real ball-breaker out of it.
Dave figured three out of four was good enough for him.
Yes, sir, he thought as he caught a last glimpse of turquoise spandex in the mirror. This assignment was looking better and better by the minute.
Two
Showered, shaved and wrapped in the familiar comfort of his green Nomex flight suit, Dave tracked down the officer in command of the Pegasus project. He found Captain Westfall at the Test Operations Building.
“Captain Scott reporting for duty, sir.”
The tall, lean naval officer in khakis creased to blade-edged precision returned Dave’s salute, then offered his hand.
“Welcome aboard, Captain Scott.”
The man’s gravelly voice and iron grip matched his salt-and-pepper buzz cut. His skin was tanned to near leather, no doubt the result of years spent pacing a deck in sun, wind and salt spray. His piercing gray eyes took deliberate measure of the latest addition to his team. Dave didn’t exactly square his shoulders, but he found himself standing a little taller under Westfall’s intense scrutiny.
“Did you take care of that bit of personal business you mentioned when you called last night?”
“Yes, sir.”
Dave most certainly had. Fighting a grin, he thought of the waitress who’d all but wrapped herself around him when he’d stopped for a cheeseburger in Chorro. The cluster of sunbaked adobe buildings was the closest thing that passed for a town around these parts. The town might appear tired and dusty, but its residents were anything but. One particular resident, anyway.
Dave would carry fond memories of that particular stop for a long time.
Although…
All the while he’d soaped and scraped away the bristles and road dust, his thoughts had centered more on a certain redhead than on the waitress who’d delayed his arrival at the Pegasus site by a few hours. Kate Hargrave was still there, inside his head, teasing him with her fiery hair, her luscious curves and those green cat’s eyes.
As if reading his mind, Westfall folded his arms. “I understand you brought Lieutenant Commander Hargrave in this morning.”
Word sure got around fast. Dave had dropped off the gorgeous weather officer at the dispensary less than twenty minutes ago.
“Yes, sir. We bumped into each other on the road into the site. Have you had a report on her condition? How’s her ankle?”
“Doc Richardson says she’ll be fine. Only a slight muscle strain.” A flinty smile creased Westfall’s cheeks. “Knowing Commander Hargrave, she’ll work out the kinks and be back in fighting form within a few hours.”
“That’s good to hear.”
The smile disappeared. Westfall’s gray eyes drilled into his new subordinate. “Yes, it is. I can’t afford to lose another key member of my test cadre. You’ve got some catching up to do, Captain.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ve set up a series of briefings for you, starting at oh-nine-hundred. First, though, I want you to meet the rest of the team. And get a look at the craft you’ll be piloting.” He flicked a glance at his watch. “I’ve asked the senior officers and engineers to assemble in the hangar. They should be in place by now.”
The hangar was the cleanest Dave had ever seen. No oil spills smudged the gleaming, white-painted floor. No greasy equipment was shoved up against the wall. Just rack after rack of black boxes and the sleek white capsule that was Pegasus. It took everything Dave had to tear his gaze from the delta-winged craft and acknowledge the introductions Captain Westfall performed.
“Since Pegasus is intended for use by all branches of the military, we’ve pulled together representatives from each of the uniformed services. I understand you’ve already met Major Russ McIver.”
“Right.”
The square-jawed marine had just been exiting his trailer when Dave pulled up. They’d exchanged little more than a quick handshake before Dave hurried in to hit the showers and pull on his uniform. From the package headquarters had sent him, though, he knew McIver had proven himself in both Kosovo and Kabul. The marine’s function was to test Pegasus’s capability as a vehicle for inserting a fully armed strike team deep into enemy territory.
“This is Major Jill Bradshaw,” Westfall announced, “chief of security for the site.”
A brown-eyed blonde in desert fatigues and an armband with MP stenciled in big white letters, the major held out her hand. “Good to have you on board, Captain. Come by Rattlesnake Ops after the briefing and we’ll get you officially cleared in.”
“Will do.”
The petite brunette next to Bradshaw smiled a welcome. “Lieutenant Caroline Dunn, Coast Guard. Welcome to Project Pegasus, Captain Scott.”
“Thanks.”
Dave liked her on the spot. From what he’d read of the woman’s résumé, she’d racked up an impressive number of hours in command of a Coast Guard cutter. He appreciated both her experience and her warm smile.
“Dr. Cody Richardson,” Westfall said next, indicating a tall, black-haired officer in khakis. The silver oak leaf on Richardson’s left collar tab designated his rank. On the right tab was the insignia of the Public Health Service—an anchor with a chain fouling it.
A world-renowned expert in biological agents, Richardson held both an M.D. and a Ph.D. His mission was to test the nuclear, biological and chemical defense suite installed in Pegasus. He also served as on-site physician.
“Heard you provided ambulance service this morning,” the doc commented, taking Dave’s hand in a firm, no-nonsense grip.
“I did. How’s your patient?”
His patient answered for herself. Stepping forward, Lieutenant Commander Hargrave gave Dave a cool smile.
“Fit for duty and ready to get to work.”
He sure couldn’t argue with the “fit” part. Damned if he’d ever seen anyone fill out a flight suit the way Kate Hargrave did. She, too, wore fire-retardant Nomex, but hers was the NOAA version—sky blue instead of the military’s pea green. The zippered, one-piece bag sported an American flag on the left shoulder, a leather name patch above her left breast and NOAA’s patch above her right. A distinctive unit emblem was Velcroed to her right shoulder.
It featured a winged stallion on a classic shield-shaped device. The bottom two-thirds of the shield was red. The top third showed a blue field studded with seven silver stars. Captain Westfall saw Dave eyeing the patch and reached into his pocket.
“This is for you. I issued one to the entire test cadre when we first assembled. The winged steed speaks for itself. The stars represent each of the seven uniformed services.”
Dave’s glance swept the assembled group once more. They were all there, all seven. Army. Navy. Marine Corps. Air Force. Coast Guard. Public Health Service. And NOAA, as represented by the delectable Kate Hargrave. The four military branches. Three predominately civilian agencies with small cadres of uniformed officers.
Dave had been assigned to some joint and unified commands before, but never one with this diversity. Despite their variations in mission and uniform, though, each of these officers had sworn the same oath when they were commissioned. To protect and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies.
Dave