One of the Boys (6 page)

Lisa giggled at his ferocious scowl. Her giggles turned to peals of laughter when she and Maura took Jake on in a three-sided game of Pictionary.

Father and daughter departed an hour later. Clutching the glossy book, Lisa snuggled down in her seat.

“This is the best birthday I've ever had.”

Jake gave her a quick look in the darkness and felt his heart thump painfully in his chest. Whatever else he and Anne had done wrong, they'd somehow managed to produce a warm, bright, loving child. Reaching across the bucket seats, he gave Lisa's hand a squeeze.

“I'm glad, honey.”

“Isn't Maura fun? I really like her. You do, too, don't you?”

The question held a distinctly teasing tone. At fifteen, no, sixteen, Lisa probably had a good idea about those stops Jake made at Maura's after work. She must have guessed they weren't all strictly business.

“Yes, I do. I like her a lot.”

“How much? I mean, you spend a lot of time with her. Are you in love or something?”

Jake took a deep breath. Was he in love? He sure as hell was in lust.

“I don't know, honey,” he answered truthfully. “I guess it's ‘something' at this point.”

 

He struggled with the answer to Lisa's question over the next week. He needed some time to sit back and assess just what he felt for the woman who filled his mind and hardened his body at the oddest mo
ments. Unfortunately, the pace on the Stealth project picked up to such an intense, frenetic level that Jake had to settle for observing Maura across a conference table littered with drawings and computer runs and post-test analyses.

Twice he managed to get her alone for a cup of coffee, if sitting in the crowded cafeteria under the watchful eyes of half his staff could be considered alone. Each time he found himself more bemused than ever by her analytical engineer's mind and sensuous, laughing femininity.

The team racked up two spectacular successes. On the second test shot, the missile made a clean release and flew straight and sure to the target. Maura cheered with the crowd of onlookers when the concrete wall blossomed into a cloud of dust.

A third test of the modified missile, this time armed with a conventional warhead, was just as deadly. After that success, the entire team threw themselves into the next critical phase. Now that they understood the characteristics of the missile on the F-15, a known, stable platform, they planned to test it on the Stealth itself.

Sleek, black and shaped like a pointed boomerang, the Stealth flew into Eglin three days before the scheduled test. Working night and day, contractor and in-house personnel fit mounts in the fighter's internal weapons bay to hold the modified missile. To her surprise, Maura learned that Jake himself would fly the first Stealth test.

He was one of the few officers at Eglin qualified on the F-117 Nighthawk. She learned he'd commanded the first operational Stealth squadron. Jake had left that squadron to assume duties as deputy commander for operations at Eglin.

As the day of the test approached, she viewed it with a growing mixture of excited anticipation and nervousness. Somehow the knowledge that Jake was going to be in the cockpit made it seem less of an adventure. More than ever before, she began to appreciate the deadly serious aspect of the test business. A good number of the test pilots who'd pushed their machines to the edge of the performance envelope, and then beyond, had died in the attempt.

During all the years she'd spent in design, helping to produce the next generation of fighters, Maura had never felt the vulnerability of the man strapped into those supersonic designs as personally as she did now.

She was a bundle of raw nerves when she and Pete grabbed seats in the viewing area the day of the test.

“Don't worry,” he told her for the third time. “Jake knows this plane. He can handle anything the Stealth has to offer.”

They sat side by side in the darkened Central Control Facility, eyes glued to the screen. The chase plane's wing-mounted camera clearly displayed the F-117 to the assembled crowd. With its distinctive boomerang shape, flat undercarriage and black
radar-absorbing paint, the Nighthawk sat like a small thundercloud at the end of the runway. Its coated canopy windows reflected the sun's rays, hiding any sign of the single pilot from Maura's anxious eyes.

Her nails dug into her palms as both planes taxied down the runway, then lifted off into the blazing noonday sun. Every second seemed to last a lifetime. She followed each terse exchange between pilot and tower, between lead and chase, between test controller and drop pilot. A tense, expectant silence filled the small gallery until Jake's voice came over the speakers.

“Two minutes to launch.”

Afterward, Maura would shudder every time she recalled the next terrifying sequence of events. One moment, Jake was counting off the seconds to launch. In the next, she and the entire control facility watched, horrified, as the launcher descended through the bay doors and the missile detached.

Lifting in a lethal arc, the modified Maverick slammed into the Stealth's black-painted aluminum fuselage, then somersaulted along the length of the plane toward the tail.

The watching crowd gave a collective gasp when a piece of the tail flew off into the blue sky. Maura felt her heart stop as the Stealth began to pitch and roll violently. The chase plane tried desperately to keep it in sight, but for long, terrifying seconds the TV screen showed only bright blue sky.

The speakers crackled, but Maura couldn't understand a word. Her ears filled with a jumble of
Jake's steady voice, the controller's rapid responses and the roar of her own pounding terror. She thought she heard Jake say he had the plane under control, that he was circling over the bay to empty his fuel tanks. In the background of the tower speaker, a steady Klaxon sounded.

Oh, God! The fire trucks and emergency-response vehicles were scrambling.

Maura waited, her throat closed with fear, her eyes on the screen. The center monitor switched from a view of the target to the camera mounted on Eglin's largest hangar. The camera zoomed in on a tiny black speck far off across the bay, streaking out of the clouds. The speck resolved itself into the Stealth's distinctive triangular shape.

“His wheels are down!” Pete shouted, thumping his fist on the chair arm. “He's coming in.”

Maura couldn't breathe, couldn't move. She sat frozen until the plane touched down and the crowd around her broke into unrestrained cheers. Rescue vehicles converged on the plane in a whir of flashing lights before it even came to a complete stop. Two heavily suited firemen plopped a ladder against the fuselage and opened the canopy.

When Jake climbed out of the cockpit, she gulped in her first full breath and fought the tears that burned in her eyes.

 

Knowing it would be hours before Jake finished debriefing the safety and operations people on the ac
cident, Maura let Pete drive her home. Her legs were still too shaky and her hands trembled too violently to manage her own car.

With a muted word of thanks, Maura let herself into the house, dropped her purse on a chair and scooped up a sleeping Bea. Holding the cat close, she wandered aimlessly through the house. Finally she went outside and settled on the lounger. Eyes closed, she relived those heart-stopping moments in the control facility.

She could hear Jake's voice, cool and steady, even a few seconds from possible death. Shuddering, she gave a silent prayer of thanks for his iron control, knowing full well only nerves of steel and flying skills honed by years of experience could have brought him down safely.

How could she have expected him, or wanted him, to be any different from the man his training and background had made him? And how could she have thought she couldn't love him just as he was?

Burying her face in Bea's fur, Maura tried to reconstruct just how and when she'd fallen for a man she cordially disliked only a few short weeks ago. She wasn't sure exactly when it happened, and at this point, she didn't really care.

“I knew it, Bea.”

She hugged the protesting cat tighter.

“I knew I wasn't sophisticated enough to separate emotion from physical involvement. The man disapproves of my lifestyle, raises those sexy eyebrows at
every piece of clothing I own, and he'd probably trade you in for a poodle if I let him. Am I crazy for loving him, or what?”

Bea squeezed herself out of Maura's grip and planted four heavy paws on her chest. She stared steadily at her agitated mistress, as if to indicate she couldn't care less for a mere male's opinion.

“I know, I know,” Maura wailed. “But I can't help it. I've fallen for the guy.”

With a disgusted flick of her tail, Bea circled once or twice, plopped back down and closed her eyes.

T
he debriefing room emptied slowly. Foam cups and scattered manuals littered the polished surface of the large rectangular table. Jake stayed in his seat long after the last uniformed officer left. He wanted to run the videotapes again.

Although his hands were steady and his adrenaline had long since stopped surging, the near miss still occupied every corner of his mind. He was torn between exhilaration at having brought his aircraft back despite the odds, a wrenching disappointment that the test had failed and a nagging uncertainty over the cause of the failure.

He'd been in the business long enough to know the risks associated with every test of a modified
system. Still, after all they'd learned from the first attempts on the F-15, he'd been confident they'd get a clean release on the Stealth.

Pressing the hand control that governed the projectors, Jake brought the room lights down and ran the tapes again. He didn't move a muscle as he watched the missile take off part of his aircraft's tail rudder, but the blood began to drum in his ears.

He rewound the tape and played it again. This time the hand holding the controls began to shake. Sitting alone in the darkness, staring down at his hand as if it belonged to someone else, Jake felt a cold sweat break out on his body. The flickering scenes of sky and swirling black plane blurred in front of his staring eyes. Abruptly he punched the controls and cut off the tape. Driven by a deep, overwhelming need, he left the operations center and headed for Maura's cottage.

A lone shrimper bobbed far out on the bay when he found her. He stood in the open patio doors for a few moments, surveying the two females sprawled in the lounge. Maura was sound asleep, her head at an awkward angle. Her miserable excuse for a pet covered most of her lap, and even from across the small patio Jake could hear Bea's contented, deep-chested purr.

He must have made some sound, some movement, because Bea jerked awake. Her sudden hiss woke Maura. Blinking the sleep out of her eyes, she took in the man standing in the doorway.

“Jake! I didn't hear you come in.”

Abandoning both her pet and the lounge chair, she crossed the patio. Her anxious gaze searched his face.

“Are you all right?”

Now he was.

Almost.

“I smell like something your cat dug out of a trash can, my hands are shaking in delayed reaction, and I want you with an ache so fierce, it's doubling me over. Otherwise I'm fine.”

A slow, sweet smile spread across her face. “Come with me, Colonel. I think I can fix all three of your problems.”

Jake followed her through the cottage. Her tiny bathroom barely held the two of them. He stood still, absorbed by her frowning concentration as she knelt to unlace his boots, then loosened the Velcro tabs at his wrists and unzipped his flight suit.

Slowly, tenderly, she peeled back the green fabric. Her hands stroked his chest and arms, then his waist, each of his legs. Jake leaned back against the wall and savored the featherlight touch of her hands on his body. He watched as she stepped back to strip off her own clothes. The only light came from the small, translucent window set high in one wall. The soft glow outlined her body perfectly for his hungry eyes.

Jake feasted on high-tipped breasts, a narrow waist that gave way to generous, swelling hips. His
hands itched to touch her, but he waited, letting her set the pace this night.

Light tendrils of steam curled out from behind the glass shower stall when Maura took his hand and coaxed him in. Jake felt the heat envelop him, the steam seep into and cleanse his lungs. Needle-sharp pellets of water drummed on his head and shoulders. Welcoming the stinging sensation, Jake lifted his face to the pulsing stream. His muscles were just beginning to relax under the pressure of the water when Maura created a wholly different tension.

She washed and soothed and stroked him. The surface of his skin tingled every place she touched. In her caressing hands, the soap and washcloth became instruments of erotic stimulation. The nerves in Jake's chest and arms and legs were on fire before she finished with them.

He sucked in a sharp breath when her fingers slid into the thatch of hair at his groin, then cupped him in her hands. All the tension of the day surged up into a driving, savage need. An urge to plunge into Maura's warmth, to bury himself in her, shook him to the depths of his being.

Jake backed her against the tile wall, his fist in the wet silk of her hair, and tipped her face up for his kiss. Driven by a primal instinct, he thrust his tongue into her welcoming mouth. His hips ground her against the tile, his chest crushed her breasts. In a fever of need, Jake reached down to find her core.
She was hot and slick and ready for him. Cupping his hands under her rear, he lifted her against the tile wall.

Maura's tight channel slid down around him, sheathing him to the root. Her legs locked around his waist, she pulled him even deeper. Jake bent one knee, pulled out a few inches, then surged back. The force of his thrust lifted her, filled her. Water drummed on his shoulders, and steam shrouded them in a gray haze of passion and heat.

Feverishly Jake used his hands and his mouth and every ounce of his strength to bring himself and his woman to a shattering, explosive, life-renewing climax. His blood drummed in his ears, blanketing their muffled groans. But just before he slipped over the edge, Jake thought he heard her moan his name.

 

The insistent ring of the doorbell woke Maura the next morning. She pulled a pillow over her head, willing the noise to go away. After Jake's ferocious love-making the night before, all she wanted to do was sleep for the rest of the day. Maybe the rest of the weekend. She was sore and aching in places she never even knew existed. Considering the small shower stall's size, they had managed to make creative use of every cubic inch.

The ringing gave way to a determined pounding. Groaning, she dragged herself out of bed, tugged down her tangled sleep shirt and opened the door to glare at two grinning McAllisters. In the bright early
morning sun, they looked like two sleek, dark, very wide-awake purebreds.

Jake's clear gray eyes and tanned face didn't show any aftereffects—of either his near accident or his late night. Lisa's skin had tanned to the same deep color as her dad's, making her blue eyes stand out in sharp relief. Her short, feathery curls gleamed with the same blue-black shine. Maura felt her heart flip over in her chest just looking at the two of them.

“We've come to take you to the Mullet Festival,” Lisa announced.

“Who or what is a Mullet Festival?”

“Just the biggest social event of the year in this corner of the panhandle,” Jake answered with a grin. “In all the excitement yesterday, I almost forgot I promised to take Lisa there today.”

His private smile told Maura exactly what excitement he was referring to. She felt a little glow at the thought that she might register higher on his internal Richter scale than a near plane crash.

“I'll go change. You guys help yourselves to some coffee or juice or something.”

She took another quick glance at Jake and Lisa to make sure she knew the proper dress for this big event. Lisa wore loose, flowered shorts and a bright pink tank top that matched her sneakers. The shorts showed off her long, coltish legs, while the pink top hinted at the woman she would become.

But it was Jake who held Maura's eye and stopped her breath. Thin, faded jeans rode low on his hips and
hugged his thighs. A crisp blue-and-white-striped cotton shirt opened at the neck to reveal a dark thatch of hair. Maura ran her eyes appreciatively down his long, lean body. Even in jeans, the man managed to exude an air of cool male elegance.

“Move it, woman. We want to get there in time for the hose-laying competition.” His grin widened at her blank stare. “Eglin's got a good chance to win this year,” he told her solemnly.

“Ooo-kay.”

Shaking her head, Maura went to get dressed. The August sun would make the humidity unbearable, so she pulled on a sleeveless tank top in emerald green and paired it with a gauzy calf-length skirt in a swirling pattern of cool greens and blues. She tugged a brush through her hair, then caught it up in a wide plastic clip. Some cheerful bangle bracelets, hooped earrings and blue sandals completed her quick ensemble. A dab of lipstick, a few strokes of blusher, and she headed back down the hall.

“All set. Do I need a hat?”

“If you mean that monstrosity you wear when you and Lisa go wading, no, you don't need it. We'll get you a visor or something if the sun bothers you.”

“Honestly, Lisa, I don't think your father approves of my wardrobe.”

Slipping on some oversize sunglasses, she followed the two of them out into the dazzling sunshine. Lisa gave her bright, colorful plumage an admiring glance.

“I think you look great.”

“So do I,” Jake said to her as he backed out of the driveway. “I'm getting used to rainbow colors and feathers. I don't think I'd even recognize you if you showed up at work in a plain blue suit one day.”

“I don't own one, so you don't have to worry about it,” Maura told him grandly, then settled down beside Lisa to enjoy the drive.

 

The Boggy Bayou Mullet Festival turned out to be a combination of country fair and arts and crafts show. Held each year on a large, cleared area of the Eglin reservation just north of the main base, it attracted thousands of people from all along the coast and from Alabama and Georgia, as well. A long line of cars was backed up, waiting for parking.

Eventually Jake, Maura and Lisa joined the throng of people meandering past crafts booths and food stands. Organizations from the base and surrounding towns all hawked their wares, filling the air with sizzling scents and humorous incentives to try their products. Loudspeakers announced the ongoing entertainment at the pavilion. High school bands and glee clubs performed at intervals, adding to the cheerful din.

After a couple of hours spent admiring the local crafts, including an astonishingly professional series of seascapes and delicate gulls carved from drift-wood, they'd worked up an appetite. Maura sampled the barbecued shrimp and a spicy steak on a stick.
Lisa opted for a slice of pizza and a sticky sweet German crumb cake.

“Save room for the pièce de résistance,” Jake warned, herding them toward a crowded booth.

“Aha!” Maura guessed. “The ubiquitous mullet.”

“Right. And if you've ever tasted anything as scrumptious as this before, I'll eat your straw hat.”

When they finally worked their way to the front of the line, an aproned Pete dished up heaping platters of fish, fries and hush puppies.

“Here you go. The Shriners always serve the best mullet. We have a secret-batter recipe. It's more tightly guarded than the Stealth!”

“I didn't know you were working here today,” Jake commented as he passed plates to Maura and Lisa.

“You don't think I'd miss this big event. And the chance to see all the pretty girls.”

Winking at Lisa, Pete teased her unmercifully about how much she'd grown in just one summer. With the line pressing them from behind and platters of hot food in either hand, they exchanged a few more words and settled at one of the scattered picnic tables.

“The hat's safe,” Maura declared a short time later, licking her fingers. Although the fish tasted a little gritty at first, its succulent, tender flesh was deep-fried in a seasoned batter and melted in her mouth. Replete, she sat back to enjoy the noisy throng and the country music from a local trio com
ing over the loudspeakers. Some moments later, a tall, sandy-haired youth appeared beside their table.

“Hi, Lisa.”

A blush crept up Lisa's cheeks. “Hi, Tony. Um, you know my dad, don't you? And this is my friend, Maura Phillips.”

“Yeah, hi, Colonel McAllister. Ms. Phillips.”

The boy gave them each a polite nod, and Maura caught the flash of a small metal stud in one ear.

Uh-oh. The hood.

But despite the earring, Tony gave the appearance of a neat, gregarious young man. And he certainly had his eye on Lisa.

“Niceville High School has a booth with some of the students' artwork on display. I've got a couple of pieces there. Would you like to go see them with me?”

“Well…” She looked at Jake uncertainly.

“Didn't you mention something about a hose-laying contest?” Maura asked him casually. “I'd like to watch it, but I doubt Lisa is all that interested. Why don't she and Tony meet us later?”

Jake gave her a dry look, but acquiesced with good grace. After setting a time to join them, the teenagers disappeared into the throng.

“I wonder if any father ever thinks a boy is good enough for his daughter,” Maura teased as a slight scowl settled over Jake's face.

“It's just that Tony's hormones seem to do dou
ble time whenever he gets in Lisa's vicinity. Didn't you see the look in his eye?”

“Yes, and I don't think you have anything to worry about. She's a smart girl. She can handle Tony and his hormones.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. Just stop worrying! That's an order, Colonel.”

Jake gave her a mock salute and unfolded his long frame from the picnic table. “Yes, ma'am. Whatever you say! Let me help you up.”

“Why? It's comfortable here in the shade.”

“As I recall, you expressed an overwhelming desire to see the hose-laying. We'd better head over there or we'll miss it.”

“Just what
is
this contest, anyway?”

“You'll see.”

It turned out to be a friendly test of skills between the various fire departments in the local area. Eglin had two teams entered. With three active airfields and more than five hundred square miles of wooded terrain to protect, the base had one of the largest fire-protection branches in the air force. And one of the best trained.