A Question of Intent. Merline Lovelace
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Somehow Jill didn’t think the flamboyant redhead could ever qualify for invisible status.
“I checked him out for you,” Kate announced, giving her little toe a final dab before capping the polish bottle. “He lost his wife several years ago, and he’s currently uninvolved, so you wouldn’t be poaching. Although I understand there’s a media consultant back in Virginia who’d like nothing more than to sink her claws into the man.”
Cari looked amused. Jill was astounded. “You’ve only been on-site a little over eight hours. How did you find all that out?”
“I asked him. Not directly, of course, but he gave me sufficient information for my purposes.”
“Good grief! You’re in the wrong profession. You ought to be in counterintelligence.”
“When I get tired of being buffeted around the skies, I might consider it. So back to my original question, Bradshaw. What are your intentions regarding our hottie of a doc?”
She probed with such breezy cheerfulness that Jill couldn’t take offense. “Dr. Richardson and I met for the first time last night. I barely know the man.”
“Hmm. My considered opinion is the doc would like to change that situation. It’s only an opinion, mind you, but…” She let her voice trail off suggestively.
Enough was enough. Jill wasn’t about to admit Cody Richardson already occupied too big a chunk of her thoughts. Deliberately she changed the subject.
“I doubt any of us is going to have time for playing the kind of games you’re suggesting. I had a peek at the preliminary test schedule. The whole on-site cadre goes into 24/7 mode after Pegasus arrives tomorrow.”
As she’d anticipated, she snagged the others’ instant attention. Whatever their personal idiosyncrasies, they were each top-notch professionals in their respective fields. Kate dropped her cherry-tipped feet to the floor and leaned forward, folding her arms across her knees. Cari tossed her paperback aside.
“After I was cleared for this project, I read every report on Pegasus I could get my hands on,” the Coast Guard officer said. “The test vehicle took some severe hits going through the research and development phase.”
Kate nodded. “Congress tried to cut the program at every major milestone. The fact that two of the three initial prototypes crashed and burned didn’t help matters.”
“From what I hear, the president and the joint chiefs of staff are pinning all their hopes on us.” Cari’s small, heart-shaped face took on a grim cast. “If we don’t demonstrate that Pegasus can swim…”
“And fly,” Kate put in.
“And climb,” Jill said, thinking of the steep mountains in the northeastern corner of the test site.
“…the services will be out a state-of-the-art, all-weather, all-terrain attack/transport vehicle capable of hunting down and ferreting out terrorists wherever the bastards try to hide,” Cari finished.
Silence invaded the small living area as the three women felt the weight of their individual responsibilities.
“Well,” Kate said after a moment, “I think I’ll hit the rack. I want a clear head for the briefing tomorrow.”
Cari pushed out of her chair. “Me, too.”
She started for her bedroom, paused and turned back to Jill. “You never got a chance to tell us your likes or dislikes. Anything Kate and I should be aware of?”
“Nothing other than a propensity to receive alerts from my Control Center at any hour of the night and day.” Jill palmed the small communications device that acted as her link to her on-duty controllers. “If I get called out, I’ll try not to disturb you.”
The Coast Guard officer tipped her a grin. “Don’t worry about us. I’ve learned to snatch catnaps aboard ships plowing through gale-force seas. Kate, I imagine, has had to curl up in the back end of a plane and ignore the drone of four turbo-prop engines for hours on end.”
“More times than I can count,” the hurricane hunter drawled. “Neither one of us will break a snore if you get paged in the middle of the night.”
Jill hadn’t planned on testing her roommates’ ability to tune out disturbances that very night. Some hours later, however, her communicator pinged and dragged her from a deep, dreamless sleep. She jerked her head up, blinking away the cobwebs, and fumbled for her communicator.
“Major Bradshaw.”
“This is Rattler Control, ma’am.”
Jill raked a hand through her hair and squinted at the digital clock beside her bed. Two forty-five.
“Go ahead, Rattler control.”
“We have a report of an S-80.”
Oh, jeez! Snakebite.
If Jill were ever dumb enough to let herself get talked into a show like Fear Factor, all they’d have to do is wave a harmless little garter snake in her direction and she’d concede the game right then and there. Anything poisonous—like the diamondbacks that owned this corner of New Mexico—sent chills skittering down her arms. Gulping, she keyed her communicator.
“I copy, Control. Who took the hit?”
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