Determination lit her eyes, no irritation, just a thinning of her lips. "And it does what, exactly?"
"The pin-pull actuator releases the pins so they move in sync for an even glide down the tracks." Quinn traced the track path, his arm brushing her shoulder.
Tanner's muscles bunched under his flight suit, but he stayed quiet and let Kathleen ask her questions.
"So if one of the pins reacted sluggishly…"
"That would be a problem. But we ran repetition tests at the plant before the part was installed. No problems. These babies are a beauty." The subcontractor's eyes glided up her, lingering on her breasts. "Works just as advertised."
Tanner kept his boots firmly planted, when he wanted nothing more than to charge over and put his body between Kathleen and the "Not-So-Mighty" Quinn.
Tanner reminded himself she didn't want his help, was in fact handling the obnoxious ass on her own. She'd made it clear she found testosterone dances and jealousy about as welcome as lancing boils.
This time, though, he could honestly say it wasn't jealousy talking. Okay, maybe some jealousy, but with a hefty dose of anger mixed in. Kathleen deserved more respect than Quinn was giving her.
She was an officer in the United States Air Force, a doctor to boot, for crying out loud. Her questions were intelligent and warranted serious answers, rather than the condescending garbage Quinn was shoveling her way.
As if on cue, the subcontractor reached to help Kathleen into the plane, his hand on her back perilously close to being more of a grab at her bottom.
Forget worrying about making her mad. Kathleen would just have to accept she had a partner. Nobody messed with his wingman.
Tanner started forward just as a shadow shifted in his peripheral vision. Like a bandit out of the clouds, Crusty slid up beside him.
In the second that Tanner paused, Kathleen sidestepped Quinn deftly on her own.
Crusty nodded toward the plane. "Do you wanna take him out? Or should I?"
"Maybe we could tag team him," Tanner growled.
"Sounds like a plan. I'm with you all the way, just like the Academy days. Remember when we pushed the F-16 right in front of the chapel?"
A smile twitched. "Yeah. That was a good one."
Crusty chuckled. "Man, was O'Connell pissed. Could have fried an egg on her forehead." His laugh dwindled. He tossed his shoulders back, his wrinkled flight suit rippling. "Okay, Bronco, my man. Let's go. A few well-placed put-downs and we'll set that cretin in his place."
Then take cover before Kathleen exploded.
Tanner cricked his neck side to side twice, almost easing the kink. "I get your point. She can fight her own battles. Damn it, I just want to…"
He stared at his boots, frustration nothing new around Kathleen.
"I know. It's not fair, but that's the way she wants it. We'll only make it worse." Sighing, Crusty forked a hand through his rebellious hair. "Gotta admit, I wasn't much in the mood for fried eggs this morning. Still kind of hungover from last night."
Tanner kept his eyes trained on Kathleen. She'd handled the situation with a finesse she shouldn't even have to consider. He'd almost made it worse by embarrassing her. "Thanks for saving me from making an ass of myself."
"No problem. Just helping a friend."
God, he wanted back in the cockpit where the good guys and bad guys were clear. He turned to Crusty. "Let me help you, too. Tell me what really happened up there."
Daniel Baker didn't answer, but his eyes narrowed. Tanner wanted to believe the defensiveness was a natural reaction. All flyers hated—hell, feared—review boards. "Crusty? Think back. Replay the action tape in your head like we used to do with football videos in the old days. There could have been any number of externals in action. Even a pocket of turbulence might have caused a slight yaw to the side. Not your fault. Just one of those things."
"Nothing happened that wasn't supposed to."
Crusty's set jaw made it clear. He wasn't going to offer anything. The best Tanner could hope for was a slipup through more direct questioning. "Are you sure your wings were level?"
"Absolutely."
"Maybe you were descending out of a flock of birds?"
"No."
"Climbing?"
Crusty hesitated. "No."
Damn. "No?"
"No." His eyes glinted, camaraderie nowhere in sight. "Now drop it. I'm not going to tell you again, pal."
Crusty spun on his boot heel and joined the duo by the plane. No careless loping. His ramrod-straight back shouted his military training.
Duty warred with Tanner's sense of brotherhood. He'd always seen the two as synonymous. Not today.
His old friend was lying.
Tanner stared up into the rafters as the bird ducked and dove trying to escape. Was he much better than Crusty? He'd been lying to himself, trying to avoid the possibility that Crusty could be at fault, because he didn't want to accuse a friend.
And who was he to judge Quinn for not acknowledging Kathleen's intelligence? Too many times Tanner had ignored Kathleen's advice when he knew full well what a damned smart woman she was. Not to mention he'd spent the whole morning using their time together to work his way into her bed.
He couldn't ignore the obvious. Kathleen O'Connell deserved better from men like Quinn.
She deserved better from him.
Tanner looked down inside the plane and kissed goodbye his fantasy of tangling his body with Kathleen's in the cargo hold. Time to get his priorities in order and focus on the investigation. No more attempts to wear down her defenses. No more mating games.
He spared one last glance at Kathleen and remembered the glide of her hair, her satin shirt, her skin against his hands. Damn, but it would have been one hell of a ride.
Two weeks later, Kathleen gripped the steering wheel and wondered when her job had become as stale as last year's fruitcake. Mile after mile of desert road whipped past—clumps of Joshua trees, an occasional crumbling adobe mission, seemingly all heading nowhere.
Like all their leads on the C-17 accident.
She should be thriving on the challenge. Instead, she couldn't stop obsessing over why Tanner didn't touch her anymore. Not that she wanted him to.
Liar.
The guy who was never at a loss for words now sat silently beside her, no smiles, no jokes. No touching.
Something had changed between them in the hangar two weeks ago. She'd gotten what she wanted. He'd quit eyeing her with competitive determination. Yet the simmer was still there.
She didn't doubt he wanted her, but they no longer did anything about it. Not even argue.
Everything had stalled, even the investigation. The team had shut down for the holidays and scheduled flights out on Christmas Eve. Not that she particularly cared about spending the holidays at home. She definitely wasn't looking forward to Christmas alone tomorrow in her town house.
But maybe the trip to Charleston would restore her balance. And she didn't want to miss Cutter's wedding the following weekend. Of course that meant more time with Tanner, since he was the best man.
One at a time, she swiped her sweaty palms down her crisp jeans. Driving down the monotonous stretch of road offered her too much freedom to sneak peeks at him. Tanner's hand twitched in his unconscious flying routine.
His feet pushed the floorboards like rudder pedals. Her gaze skirted up his deck shoes, bare ankles, over well-washed denim, so white she knew it would be soft to the touch. Smooth cotton encasing flexing steel.
Her stomach lurched. Or was it the car?
"Hey!" Tanner grabbed the steering wheel just before she drove into another rut. "Eyes on the road, Doc."
"Yeah, sorry." She changed the radio station to cover her lapse. The car shimmied and shuddered over another pocket in the narrow side road. "Are you sure this shortcut of Crusty's will get us there faster?"
"Too late to turn back now," clipped the man who'd once been deemed the chattiest guy on earth.
"Maybe you shouldn't trust everything Crusty says."
"I assume you have a point to that remark."
"Some of his answers don't add up and you know it. So let's talk through that, figure something out. I'm not convinced shutting down for the holidays was such a wise choice. We should work on Christmas if we have to."
He dipped his head and stared at her over the top of his sunglasses. "Which general do you plan to yank away from his Christmas turkey to convince that the decision to break for the holidays was unwise?"
"Well, I—"
"We don't have a choice. End of story." He nudged his sunglasses back up.
It was going to be a long ride into L.A. No discussions of Academy days or superstitions. Not even a token chat about military history.
No touching. No kissing.
She should be grateful. She liked order and peace. Right?
Except, her life was a mess. She could almost imagine Lt. Col. Dawson tsking on the sidelines over their definite "thumbs-down" couple of weeks.
Heaven knew, they were trying. Researching. Brainstorming. Pressing for answers until they were easily the least popular couple on base.
They'd put enough miles on the Ford Taurus to earn an Hertz Gold Card membership. She firmly intended to use the upgrade. The once roomy car had become decidedly smaller every day.
Tanner scanned through radio stations, his sunglasses in place and not showing signs of budging anytime soon. Aviator sunglasses reflected the sun, while hiding the man. His biceps rippled with each radio adjustment, straining against his navy cotton polo.
Definitely an SUV in their future.
Kathleen curled her toes inside her tennis shoes, cracking through the restless tension. Too bad she couldn't do that with the rest of her body. Okay, she was frustrated. Sexually frustrated. If she couldn't have sex with him, she was almost desperate enough to settle for her only option for relieving tension with Tanner.
Arguing.
Except the chattiest guy on earth wouldn't even talk to her, much less argue with her. Maybe he needed a push.
She reached for the radio, scanned, passed up an oldies channel, soft rock, country, waiting for something like…
Polka music.
With a satisfied sigh she settled back behind the wheel. Tanner scowled, but stayed silent. She had to give him credit. He endured three accordion stanzas before he nailed the scan button.
Oldies. A droning love ballad about keeping each other up all night.
She tapped scan.
Kathleen thought she heard a low rumble sound in Tanner's chest, but she couldn't be sure. Scan. Soft rock again. Scan. Hard rock. Scan. Country. Scan…
National Public Radio. Creating Christmas decorations for under a dollar.
Kathleen returned her hands to ten-two while radio waves filled the air.
"Don't waste your pennies on paper icicles and thready angel hair. Create your own snowy winter wonderland with dryer lint."
Tanner pinched the bridge of his nose.
"With all that holiday family company, you'll be running loads of fluffy white guest towels through the dryer. Put that extra lint to good use. For a candy cane effect, send your favorite red sweater for a tumble. And now for a holiday cheer break, here's the Little Reindeer Choir with—"
Tanner jammed the off button with the heel of his hand. Kathleen waited for him to say something. A minute ticked by, drifting into another one before she decided he would need more prodding.
She gripped the steering wheel and prepared for a steam-releasing battle. "It's not fair you get to be the god of radios as well as aviation."
"Life's not fair."
"Well, that's really mature."
"Like your radio game?"
"Only trying to fill the silence, hotshot."
"You want the dryer lint lady back? Fine." He punched the button.
