preparation for simulated combat. Mitch loved seeing the endless expanse of unpopulated desert from this altitude. It seemed like a giant sandbox in which he got to play king of the world.
Suddenly he caught sight of Hughes’s Falcon racing toward him. But it wasn’t his buddy, Hughes, he pictured manning the cockpit. It was the woman in that dress last night.
I’m not going to sleep with you. Not now. Not in three weeks. Not ever.
Before he realized it, he’d missed his first turn, and then made it worse by overcompensating. That had never happened to him before. Not even as a rookie.
Hughes was forced to go off maneuver to avoid a crash. She bit off an expletive through the com. “What’s the matter, Casanova? Keeping it in your pants short-circuit your brain?”
Suddenly, Mitch hated his call sign. “You’d know more about that than me, Tex.” He turned starboard to get back into position. “Let’s try that again.”
“That’s what your last girlfriend said,” Hughes taunted.
Mitch grinned. Good ol’ Hughes. “Yeah, she couldn’t get enough of me.”
“Not much to get from what I’ve heard.”
Like hell! He’d show her he was more than adequate in the size department. Just wait until— Damn it. Since when did he let Hughes psych him out like that?
“No comeback, Casanova?” He heard her malevolent chuckle through his headset.
Mitch cursed under his breath. Everyone on the com could hear their exchange. “I was just trying to protect your rep, Tex.”
“Oh, yeah? How’s that?”
“Didn’t think you wanted everyone to know you were interested in my…uh, dimensions.”
Ah, the sweet sound of silence.
“Get it right this time, Casanova.” She was headed straight for him again. He concentrated on the maneuver, making the first turn with the precision he was known for. Then he “scissored” back and forth, crisscrossing paths with Hughes. Their wing tips passed within feet of each other. No question about it, she was good.
“Hey, Tex?” he called to her over the com as they got into position for their second demonstration. “What?”
“Eat my contrail.” He buzzed past her, flipped over and headed for the stratosphere.
“MCCABE! IN MY office. Now.” Commander Westland stood just inside the hangar, his arms folded, and his usually stern expression even grimmer. At least he’d dismissed the trainees before calling Mitch in for a dressing-down.
Marching in from the tarmac, Mitch kept ahead of Hughes, but she caught up to him at the hangar door.
“McCabe, you idiot! You could have been killed,” she hissed.
Was he imagining it, or was that a quiver of concern in her voice?
Hands trembling, he gave one glance back to his Falcon. It was true. He’d screwed up. Bad.
Once in Colonel Westland’s office, Mitch saluted and stood at attention.
“What happened out there this morning?” Westland never raised his voice. He didn’t have to. His menacing tone could make the most hardened gang member cringe.
“Sir, I have no excuse,” Mitch said. “I allowed myself to become distracted.”
The colonel folded his arms, raised an eyebrow, and stared at Mitch. “You want to screw around, Captain McCabe, do it on your own time, and with your own hundred-and-thirty-million-dollar aircraft, you got that?”
“Sir, I—” But what could he say? I can’t stop picturing Hughes in a red bra and panties, so I can’t fly with her anymore? Yeah, how fast could he say dishonorable discharge?
“Captain McCabe, I’m only going to ask this once. Do you have a personal relationship with Captain Hughes?” Westland asked.
“No, sir. We’re friends, sir. That’s all.”
Westland leaned against his desk and stared Mitch down. “All right.” The colonel narrowed his eyes. “Whatever’s going on with you, get over it. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir,” Mitch said.
Westland pointed at the door. “Dismissed.”
Mitch blinked, saluted, then pivoted on his heels.
No way Westland believed him. Had the commander heard the rumor of their kiss? Was Hughes getting a dressing-down from Grady? That could ruin her chances for further promotion. Mitch couldn’t let her take the fall. He’d make sure he talked to Grady before he left the base tonight.
After changing out of his flight suit, he met up with Hughes at the double doors of the mess hall. Mitch glanced at Hughes. She peeked at him.
“About the screwup today—”
“I told Grady it was my fault.”
Mitch blinked. “And he bought that?”
Slowly, a grin spread across her mouth. “Partly.”
Why had Hughes come to his rescue? Twenty-four hours ago, Mitch wouldn’t have questioned her motives, but today, well, he saw her differently. She was…a woman. And he didn’t need a woman doing him any favors. Women