All the Right Moves - By Jo Leigh Page 0,1

lifted a hand without looking back.

In two weeks it could be a whole new ball game for him. He might be receiving new orders to test the latest in the F-35 series of jets, an assignment he’d wanted his entire career, or he could be shopping for a civilian wardrobe and learning everything there was to know about the Gulfstream 650. The worst of it was he didn’t know which fork he’d be taking. Not even a hint. His dependable decisiveness had gone AWOL. For maybe the first time in his life, he didn’t know what the hell he wanted to do.

He paid for his groceries, anxious to get behind the wheel of the ’Vette, not so anxious to be at the mercy of the desert heat. But when he stepped outside and heard the familiar roar of a Raptor overhead, there was nothing to do but stop, slip on his sunglasses and look up at the sky.

The Raptor was a thing of beauty, ascending into the clear blue heavens. Even after studying four years at the Air Force Academy and nearly eleven of active service he still got a rush watching a bird slicing through the sky. These days it was the most excitement he experienced on the ground.

Sitting in a cockpit was a different story. Strapped in and moving fast over the world he always felt alive and focused. It was when he came back to earth that things had gotten confusing. Something was...off. If he didn’t know better, he’d say that being a pilot wasn’t the end-all, be-all of his life. But of course it was. Everything he did, in or out of uniform, was preparation to take the controls. Everything.

He watched the contrail begin to dissipate, then moved toward his car. As soon as he pulled out of the parking lot he had the urge to press the accelerator, but that would have to wait. Too much traffic, and it would be slow going all the way to his condo near the Strip.

After an irritating twenty minutes of crawling behind a truck to his high-rise, John got his groceries put away in record time. Considered, then rejected, having a scotch while he checked email on his iPhone. The place smelled lemony, his cue that the housekeeper had been by. Couldn’t tell by the looks of things. He wasn’t home much. He didn’t get a lot of junk mail or magazines or papers. Mostly because all his mail went directly to his sister in Seattle. She paid his bills out of a joint checking account, which was a real lifesaver when he was overseas.

He flipped on the flat-screen TV hanging on the wall. The remote in one hand and his phone in the other, he moved to the massive glass window with a view of the Strip. At night it was very cool with all the lights and flash. This afternoon the brown tinges of smog hanging over the valley just depressed him.

With his focus on his phone screen, he aimed the remote at the TV behind him and flipped to ESPN. He had an email from Lauren, instructing him to deduct the cable bill she’d just paid, and letting him know his two nephews were nagging for a call or visit. That one was tough. He wasn’t anxious to talk to the family right now. He’d rather they didn’t know he was on leave or be reminded he was up for reenlistment.

They’d be appalled he was even considering ending his military career. Especially his father. John didn’t want to think about having that kind of discussion with the colonel. The old man would probably have a heart attack. But then his father had been damn lucky. During his thirty years of service he’d never lost a close buddy....

Hell, this wasn’t about Danny’s death. Or Sam being grounded, his career as an active duty F-16 pilot ripped away because of something beyond his control.

If the restlessness driving John crazy had anything to do with either of his friends, he’d admit it. No problem. He wasn’t trying to be the strong silent type. It was not knowing what was wrong that had him tied in knots. For all he knew, he’d wake up in a couple of months and everything would be A-OK. Trouble was, he didn’t have a couple of months. He needed to commit or get off the pot before this new downsized air force decided it could live without his services. Or before Tony Wagner,

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