One of the Boys (4 page)

“Gosh, this is really awesome.” Lisa sat on the edge of the bank beside Bea and skimmed through
the photocopied pamphlet. “Look, here's a pot with a design just like one of the pieces we found.”

“I know. And look here.” Maura thumbed through the pamphlet. “Here's another that's estimated to be more than two thousand years old. Wouldn't it be exciting to find a piece from that era?”

“Yeah, if we could keep it.”

“Well, the woman in Pensacola wasn't very specific. She said that they're only concerned if the piece has intrinsic value. She indicated the little bits we've found wouldn't have to be reported.”

In fact, the woman had been downright harried and less than helpful.

“Let's play it by ear,” Lisa suggested. “If we find something really neat, we can always ask about it.”

“Okay, but I hadn't planned to make this a full-time occupation.”

Maura smiled down at the girl to soften her words. She needn't have worried. When it came to her hobby, Lisa was as single-minded as any teenager.

“You can't quit now! Who knows what's out there waiting for us. I bet I can do a whole term paper on this when I get back to school. My teacher will be so overwhelmed, he'll recommend me for a scholarship to Harvard. You wouldn't want to deny me the chance to go to Harvard, would you?”

“Heavens, no.”

Laughing, Maura clambered to her feet and joined Lisa for another wade in the bay. Bea gave them a long, steady look, as if wondering why any crea
tures in full possession of their senses would go splashing around when they could stretch out in the sun. Slowly, majestically, she laid her head back down, rolled on her side and shut the capricious humans out.

Woman and girl shuffled happily through the shallow water for more than an hour. They didn't find any special pieces, only a couple of small nondescript shards, but the paucity of treasures didn't dim their high spirits.

“You're a lot of fun for a grown-up,” Lisa confided ingenuously when they collapsed, wet and sandy, on the bank.

Maura felt a little glow in her heart as she looked over at the smiling teenager.

“Almost as much fun as my dad.”

The glow dimmed a bit.

“Would you like to come over for a sandwich or pizza or something?”

“I don't think I'd better. Your father isn't expecting guests.”

“Dad's got a late flight tonight. He won't be down for hours.”

The loneliness behind the appeal tugged at her. Maura herself came from a large, loud, boisterous family that augmented its natural numbers with dogs, cats, turtles and the occasional rodent brought home by her brothers. She tried to imagine being an only child, especially one whose parents had separated. Lisa obviously adored her father and seemed happy
about her summers with him, but it had to be a lonely life for a child.

“Okay, but only for a quick sandwich. Come on, Bea.” She scooped the boneless, lolling animal up in her arms. “We're dining out tonight.”

 

Two hours later, Maura and Lisa sat cross-legged on the polished wood floor of Jake's living room, the remains of a large pizza and several soda cans scattered around them. Bea occupied a large leather recliner in solitary splendor, calmly licking anchovy from her mouth and paws.

“I'm stuffed,” Lisa groaned, slumping back against the leather couch.

“Me, too. Whose idea was it, anyway, to order a deluxe?”

“Yours,” the girl giggled.

“Yeah, well, it was a dumb idea. Next time it's a small, plain cheese.”

“I love pizza,” Lisa confided. “I never get to have it at home because Mom is always watching her weight, but Dad and I pig out during the summers.”

Wondering idly how many deluxes it would take to fill up Jake McAllister's tall frame, Maura sipped her soda slowly and glanced around his home. Her gaze lingered on polished wood surfaces, rich leather furniture and a high-tech entertainment center set precisely in the middle of one wall. The opposite wall was filled with windows and gave a glorious view of the sun sinking into the bay in bloodred splendor.

Everything was so neat, so orderly. A direct contrast to the boxes still piled up in Maura's rented cottage. She was musing over the differences when the rumble of the garage door brought Lisa's head around.

“That's dad.”

With a sense of inevitability, Maura folded the pizza carton and waited for Jake to make an appearance.

“Hi, Daddy. You're back early.”

“We had to abort the flight because of a broken fuel pump,” he replied, his surprised glance taking in both his daughter and her guest. “What's up?”

“Maura and I went sharding this afternoon and I invited her back for supper. She didn't want to come, but I told her you wouldn't be home until late and I couldn't eat a whole pizza by myself. You owe her seven dollars for my half.”

Maura reddened slightly as she met Jake's amused gaze. Even if Lisa hadn't blurted it out, they both knew very well she wouldn't have set foot in the house if she had any idea he would be there.

“Any pizza left?” he asked, reaching down to ruffle his daughter's hair.

“Sorry, we didn't save any.”

“And it was my treat,” Maura put in, pushing to her feet. “I'd better be going before it gets too dark to find my way.”

“I'll drive you home,” Jake said. “Just give me a few minutes to change.”

He crossed the room, dragging the checkered scarf from around the neck of his flight suit. Maura had to admit there wasn't anything the least bit loose or baggy about the way the fire-retardant material clung to his wide shoulders and lean torso. Sternly repressing the memory of that lean torso mashed against hers, she swiped her hands on her shorts and reached for Bea.

“It's just a short way, and I really need the exercise after all that pizza.”

“It's too dark to walk back. Wait here.”

The brisk tone probably had lieutenants snapping to attention but produced the opposite effect in Maura. Lips pursed, she made a face at the broad back disappearing up the wide oak staircase.

“Yes, sir! Anything you say, sir!”

Lisa's giggles brought her head around.

“Does he order you around like that, too?” she asked the girl.

“Sometimes. But I keep my Discman on and pretend not to hear him when he gets too bossy.”

Jake came back downstairs just as Maura and Lisa finished cleaning up their impromptu supper. He had on a short-sleeved Air Force Academy sweatshirt and a pair of athletic shorts that made Maura's throat go dry. She couldn't remember when she'd seen quite that much male thigh before.

“I'll be right back,” he told his daughter.

Guiding Maura out through the kitchen, he led her past a low, gleaming sports car to an older Jeep Cherokee.

“Smart move,” she commented as she climbed into the cab. “You must have guessed what Bea's claws can do to leather seats.”

“I saw what they did to my ankle.”

A small silence settled between them as they drove through the winding streets of the exclusive development. Jake broke it with a glance in her direction.

“That was an excellent briefing this morning.”

“Thanks. I won't tell you how nervous I was.” Idly, she stroked Bea's fur. “Splashing around with Lisa in the bay this afternoon helped me recover. She's a great kid, Jake.”

“I think so, too. Did the two of you find any treasures?”

“A few small pieces. By the way, I did some checking up this afternoon. I'm fairly certain we won't go to jail if we keep what we've found so far. It becomes somewhat of a moral issue, though, if we turn up anything resembling a whole pot or bowl.”

“You think you'll have much time to go sharding with the Maverick project looming over you?”

Instantly, the barriers went up. “Don't worry, Colonel. I'll get your precious project done. What I do in my spare time is my business.”

Jake's breath hissed out. “I wasn't challenging your right to some free time. I just don't want Lisa to become a pest.”

“Sorry,” she murmured. “Don't worry about it. I like her, and she seems to have hooked me on this pottery business.”

He glanced over at her and hesitated. “At the risk of putting my foot in it again, I'd like to thank you for spending time with Lisa. She hasn't connected with any of her old friends down here this summer.”

“She told me she met one boy,” Maura ventured, thinking to help the cause of young love. “I think she said his name was Tony.”

“That kid's a hood, as far as I'm concerned. He wears an earring in one ear and drives a truck with tires two stories high.”

“I hate to be the one to break it to you, but an earring isn't an indelible mark of delinquency these days. Most of my nephews sport at least one stud. And I think the tires have something to do with puberty rites.”

“That's exactly what I'm afraid of,” Jake said dryly as he pulled into her driveway.

“Oh, come on. Lisa's pretty levelheaded. Surely you don't think she'd be overwhelmed by a set of tires?”

“I don't
think
so.” His mouth curved. “But even in my day, a dude with a slick set of wheels could get lucky in the front seat occasionally.”

“I'll bet! But then, they made front seats a lot larger in the old days.”

“Back seats, too,” he agreed, switching off the ignition.

He slewed sideways, determined to stretch out their unexpected truce a little longer. When she turned to face him, her hair brushed the hand he'd
propped on her seat back. Idly, Jake burrowed his fingers in the soft, silky curtain. Not quite as idly, he stroked the soft, warm curve of her nape.

The sudden change in the atmosphere inside the Jeep caught Maura by surprise. One minute she was laughing and more relaxed with this man than she ever thought she could be. The next his fingertips were brushing the fine hairs on her nape and sending tiny shivers down her spine.

She knew she ought to pull away. Her hand groped blindly for the door handle. But she didn't pull on it, and Jake didn't stop.

“This isn't very smart, Colonel.”

“Probably not, but I tried to warn you how a hot set of wheels can make a male lose his common sense. Particularly when it contains an equally hot female.”

Despite the shivers racing along her spine, Maura had to grin. “Somehow I have difficulty believing the cool, composed Jake McAllister ever loses control
or
his common sense.”

His brows waggled in a ferocious mock scowl. “Are you questioning my manhood?”

“No, no, honestly!”

Her laughing protests did no good as slowly, inexorably, he tugged her toward him. Her neck bowed, but she held on to the door handle and refused to give way. Even that anchor was lost when his arm slid down to wrap around her waist. An indignant Bea was dumped to the floor of the cab as
he hauled Maura across the space between the seats and onto his lap.

For the second time in her tumultuous relationship with this man, Maura found herself in his arms. Half rueful, half aroused, she pushed against his ribs and managed to put some air between them. No easy feat with the steering wheel jabbing in her back.

“What is it with us, McAllister? We don't even like each other, yet we always seem to end up chest to chest.”

His lips twitched. “Maybe we need to work on the liking part.”

With one hand at the back of her head to hold her still, he lowered his lips until they nuzzled the edges of her mouth. He brushed them back and forth, over and over, until Maura gave a breathless murmur.

“What the hell.”

Eyes closed, she put herself into the kiss. Her teeth scraped along his lower lip. Her tongue tasted his.

Sucking in a sharp breath, he moved his mouth over hers to give her full access. Maura pulled her arms free of his loosened hold and slid her palms up his arms. The muscles bunched under her fingertips, the skin warm to her touch. Tentatively at first, then more aggressively, she explored him with eager hands and tongue.

Jake held himself back, letting her play, allowing her to set the pace. But when her hands slid under the
loose armholes of his sweatshirt to move across the bare skin of his back, his muscles twitched involuntarily.

All of them.

Including the one cradled against her soft, warm rear. When her eyes flew open in surprise, he grinned down at her wickedly.

“I told you, it's the hot wheels.”

Maura gaped at him a moment, then laughed and pushed herself quickly, if ungracefully, off his lap.

“If a Jeep does this to you, fly-boy, I'd hate to see you when you come down out of the sky after joyriding in one of your supersonic airplanes.”

“Why do you think the fire vehicles are always standing by to hose us down?”

“God,” she groaned, “you're sick.”

“Nope, just your average all-American horny test pilot,” he responded, opening his door to come around and help her down from the high cab.

Maura slid out of the truck, Bea held up to her chest as a shield. Despite the way her nerve endings still tingled, her rational mind questioned what her senses were feeling.

“Jake, I'm confused. I'm not real sure how this happened. I don't know if I want it to happen again.”

“Don't worry about it so much,” he told her gently. “Just be thankful Lisa is waiting at home or there'd be a lot more confusion to follow.”

He ran his knuckle down the slope of her nose,
then jerked his hand back quickly as a warning hiss filled the darkness.

“Good night, Maura. And go take a flying leap, cat.”

A
fter Jake left, Maura wandered aimlessly through her small cottage. Too restless to attack the full briefcase waiting beside her makeshift desk, she switched on the CD player. The soaring tenor of Placido Domingo performing a special collection of John Denver songs filled the night. But instead of soothing her as it usually did, the music only made her more restless.

With Bea padding at her heels, she opened the sliding glass doors to her small patio and settled on the lounger. The cat soon found her favorite spot on Maura's tummy.

Soft, starry night surrounded them. The sky was just darkening to deep blue velvet, and a glowing
three-quarter moon hung low over the black waters of the bay. Crickets chirped in the bushes dotting her sloping backyard, providing a light counterpoint to the occasional deep, throaty call of a frog.

Maura stretched out on the lounger and let the night wash over her, but her body refused to surrender to the music or the magic of the breeze rustling through the palmettos. She was too restless, too wound up. Too physically aroused, she admitted with rueful honesty. Jake's kiss had stirred more than her curiosity.

Another shiver rippled through her, this one of pleasure, and her hands tightened involuntarily on Bea's coat. The cat lifted its head and opened one eye to fix her with an accusing stare.

“Sorry!”

Stroking the animal back into its normal state of boneless relaxation, Maura tried to rationalize her reaction to Colonel Jake McAllister. Despite every warning her head sent out, her body refused to listen. She could still feel his lips on hers and the warmth of the arms that had circled her waist.

Okay. All right. These lingering sensations weren't that difficult to understand. She was a healthy female confronted with an attractive man. A
very
attractive man.

Maura gulped, remembering the long length of male thigh his jogging shorts had revealed. Not to mention the tight, iron-hard muscles displayed so enticingly by the sweatshirt. Her fingers tightened once more in Bea's rough coat.

The long-suffering animal didn't even open her eyes this time. She just used the tips of her very sharp claws.

Wincing, Maura gathered the cat on her chest. With Bea draped across her like a slightly used feather boa, she lay back on the lounger.

Her objective, analytical mind went to work dissecting the problem. She could admit now she was attracted to Jake. Had been since day one. Unfortunately, she wasn't skilled enough to separate her physical and emotional responses to a man. She'd learned that lesson the hard way in L.A.

Now this Stealth-modification project had been thrown into the mix. Maura could see only one solution. She'd have to nip physical attraction in the bud. Now, before business got all mixed up with pleasure.

She'd tell Jake that tomorrow.

Thoroughly depressed but determined, she unwrapped her fur tippet, turned her back on the low-hanging moon and went to bed.

 

Three weeks later, Jake McAllister sat in the Central Control Facility and watched the preparations for their first test shot. The modified missile would be launched from an F-15 Eagle first. If it separated without problem and the guidance system activated, they'd fly in a Stealth for the next test.

The three screens before Jake flickered with different views, adding to the unearthly glow permeat
ing the room. The left screen showed the target—a solid wall of concrete fifty feet high and ten feet thick, with two intersecting lines painted in luminescent black. The right screen showed a panoramic sweep of Eglin's runway from a camera mounted in the chase plane. When the chase plane was airborne, it would maneuver in below the F-15 Eagle carrying the modified missile and track the weapon during release.

The center screen showed only a hazy gray pattern. An hour from now, that small square would be the focus of fifty anxious pairs of eyes. It would show a view from a camera mounted in the missile's nose cone. Everyone in the room would watch, breath suspended, while the Maverick flew across miles of sparsely wooded terrain toward the concrete wall.

Jake sat quietly at the console and listened while the test engineers, range safety and telemetry people all ran through their checklists. Eglin employed some of the finest, most experienced test personnel in the world. The weapons they developed had proved themselves time and again. These were the men and women who'd fielded the systems that had put a two-thousand-pound bomb down a factory smokestack in Iraq while a hospital sat untouched just a block away. These people knew their job, and Jake let them do it.

In his normal capacity as deputy commander for operations, he was responsible for the aircraft and
crews that flew these dangerous test missions. With more than forty of the world's finest test pilots and a fleet of thirty of the most technologically advanced test aircraft to oversee, he had plenty to keep him busy. This particular test, however, added even more responsibility. This would be the first launch of the modified missile his special team had been working on night and day for the past three weeks.

Jake rested one arm on the console and let the low, muted voices drift around him. He knew the pretest routine by heart. Having been assigned to Eglin as a test pilot some years ago, he'd flown hundreds of similar missions. Since he'd returned as D.O., he'd planned and directed many more. There really wasn't any need for him to be here this early. But an uncharacteristic restlessness had led him to cancel a scheduled staff meeting and drove him to the control facility.

He knew his still face and relaxed posture gave no clue to his inner unrest. People responded to their leader's body signals, and Jake had learned to project calm even during the worst crises. That control had seen him through more than one dangerous test, and had saved his life during a nightmarish period on the ground in northern Iraq.

Still, projecting calm and feeling it were two very different matters, Jake acknowledged ruefully. His glance strayed to the woman seated among the folks crowded in the viewing area off to the right. In her fire-hydrant-red dress, she was hard to miss.

Silently, Jake admitted Dr. Maura Phillips was the source of a good part of the tension now wrapping its insidious coils around his body. Ever since she'd taken him aside and calmly informed him it wasn't smart to mix business and personal involvement, his physical frustration had grown. He hadn't been so tied up in knots since high school.

His assessing eyes watched while she reached up one hand to push a thick swatch of honey-brown hair behind her ear. Her movement clearly outlined small, high breasts against the red material.

Damn! The woman was making him ache in parts of his body he'd forgotten he owned. Shifting uncomfortably, he cursed under his breath.

Jake knew very well she was right, that neither of them had time for distractions right now. But he was also more used to directing events than being directed. Instead of turning him off, Maura's polite dismissal had only made him more and more aware of her during their enforced intimacy the past two weeks.

“Eglin three-six-four ready for takeoff.”

The scratchy voice of the pilot of the launch aircraft came over the speaker. Instantly, Jake tore his eyes and his thoughts from Maura.

“Eglin three-six-four, you're cleared for takeoff on runway one-nine.”

The pilot acknowledged the tower's clearance and the right screen switched from the chase plane's camera to one mounted on the roof of Eglin's main
hangar. A tense stillness descended over the control facility. Everyone watched the specially modified F-15 move into position at the end of the runway. The chase plane sat on the apron, waiting its turn.

The F-15 Eagle began its takeoff roll. Moving down the runway, it gathered speed and lifted into the air with a thrust of power and smooth grace that made Jake's hands itch to be on the throttle. The chase plane followed close behind, and both planes headed for the wide, blue waters of the bay. Their flight pattern would take them out to the Gulf, where they would turn and begin their run back over the vast test range.

“Test planes launched.”

“Launch acknowledged.”

The range safety officer, a senior civilian with twenty-five years' experience, took over. At this point, he was in charge. Although this missile didn't carry an explosive payload, the most detailed pre-planning and sophisticated computer systems in the world couldn't prevent a seagull from being sucked into a jet engine or a sudden updraft hitting just when a weapon was launched. If anything occurred to endanger the pilot, the mission or the surrounding communities, the safety engineer had full authority to abort the test or destroy the missile in flight.

Maura edged forward in her seat. The viewing area was separated from the main control console by a solid glass wall that gave her an unobstructed view of the action. The theater-style seats on either side
of her were filled with nervous contractors, tense engineers and sharp-eyed test pilots. The test center's commander, a tall, dignified major general, sat in the front row. Another half dozen or so team members stood behind the rows of seats.

Pete had his shoulders to the wall at the rear of the small room. Although not an official member of the team, he'd provided much of the basic information and had an interest in this first test. Judging by his white face and intense, fixed stare, he was as nervous as Maura.

“Ten minutes to launch.”

The camera mounted in the chase plane captured the image of the F-15 tearing through a brilliant blue sky. Maura tore her gaze from the spectacular imagery to dart a quick look at Jake. He was sitting straight and tall in his green flight suit, his eyes on the screen, showing no signs of the excitement rippling through the rest of the team members. Marveling at his control, she gripped the armrests, sure she would bounce out of her seat in her nervousness.

“Two minutes to launch.”

“Launch systems on,” the pilot confirmed.

The chase plane's camera zoomed in closer to show the missile mounted under the F-15's wing. It was long and sleek and white, its clean lines belying the deadly power of its normal payload. The missile fluttered on its modified mounting, buffeted by winds as the fighter streaked across the Florida sky at Mach one speed.

Two seemingly endless minutes later, the pilot's voice crackled over the loudspeakers. “Missile away.”

The central screen lost its fuzzy blur. All eyes riveted on it as the camera in the missile's nose activated and began to record the short flight.

“The guidance system won't activate.”

The already thick tension in the control facility kicked into overdrive. Maura watched, breath suspended, as the missile's downward trajectory sharpened. The pilot tried again, and then again, to activate the Maverick's internal guidance controls, without success.

A collective groan swept the control facility when the missile flew into a stand of trees fifteen miles short of the scheduled impact point.

The central screen went blank, and Maura's gaze whipped back to Jake. Amazingly, his lean face showed none of the raging disappointment she knew must be coursing through his veins. She shook her head at his iron control and glanced back at the blank screen. Heaven only knew how much of the missile had survived the impact.

Slowly the crowd filed out of the control facility. They'd get together tomorrow to go over the data from the pilot's debriefing and the recovered missile. Maura lingered as the room emptied, her eyes straying once again to Jake. He stood and spoke briefly with the general, who nodded once or twice, then left.

“I guess it's back to the drawing board,” she said when Jake joined her.

“That's what the test business is all about,” he responded with a roll of his shoulders. “Trial and error. A miss, followed by a hit. You can't expect to field a modified system without getting out all the bugs. We'll find out what went wrong and fix it.”

“If there's enough left of our missile to even try again.”

“If not, we'll modify another.”

Maura groaned, thinking of the backbreaking hours spent over their computers to come up with the original design.

“We should get most of this one back,” Jake said, obviously trying to reassure her. “The missile most likely cut through the trees and plowed into sandy earth. That's one of the reasons Eglin is such a good test bed. We recover most of what we have to drop.”

He hesitated, his glance roaming over her face. “I'm going out to see what the recovery team digs up. Want to come?”

“Yes, I do! I've been out on the range a couple of times for orientation, but never to see the results of an actual shot. The remains of an actual shot,” she amended with another groan.

 

They took the range vehicle assigned to Jake. A modified jeep, it was designed to take the narrow, unimproved dirt trails that crisscrossed Eglin's vast reservation.

Some of Maura's crushing disappointment lifted as they left the main base and headed north. Tall pine trees towered above them on either side, thrusting out of the thick scrub brush that thrived in northern Florida's sandy soil. Late afternoon sunlight flickered through pine branches and dappled the road in a shifting pattern of light and shade.

Jake kept in contact with the range patrol via his handheld radio. Following their instructions, he turned twice onto smaller, numbered side roads. Within a half hour, they picked up the flashing lights of the response team that had sealed off the impact area.

A security policewoman inspected both Jake and Maura's badges closely before passing them through the initial checkpoint. A mile or so farther down the road, they pulled up behind a cluster of official vehicles.

Even though this test involved an unarmed weapon, there was always the danger of a small explosion or fire on impact. Fire trucks, range safety vehicles, police cars and ordnance-disposal trucks cluttered the road. While Jake went to talk to the officer in charge, Maura unbuckled her seat belt and slipped out the passenger door, only to teeter precariously when her high heels sank into the soft soil.