Pursued. Catherine Mann
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need to head back just yet.”
“What does any of this have to do with my test?”
“We’re building a working relationship. I’m watching how you operate, getting into your head. Understanding the way you see things will help me interpret your data.”
“Sounds to me like an excuse to knock back beers with your pals. But however you want to play the game.”
The duo of C-17 pilots stood with apologies and calls of “Catch ya later, dude, gotta find some food.”
Morel sighed. “Listen up, Buttercup—”
Josie propped a boot on the lowest rung of his bar stool in an aggressive move forward he couldn’t mistake. “That’s Captain Buttercup, thank you very much.”
“To Captain Buttercup.” He toasted her with a pull off his bottle before slamming it back down on the scarred wood of the bar. “Those guys actually had some damned interesting insights on the Predator’s performance during a hostage rescue mission overseas. You might not be so pissed if you’d actually bothered to listen.”
Damn it, he had a point. Her innate sense of justice was a real pain in the butt sometimes. “Score one for you. But in the interest of fair play—” and she was always fair “—it would help if you included me in these conversations, Major.”
“For the record, I’m plain old mister these days. I’m not in the air force anymore.” His fist twitched around the flight stick mounted on the bar, thumb absently stroking.
Contrition nipped. Hard. He was an ass, no question, but God, he’d lost so much. She couldn’t imagine having her feet nailed to the ground. Like her mother, he’d had his dream taken away. Her mother had gone mad. Had this man perhaps simply gotten mad? Her boot dropped back to the floor. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I didn’t die. I’m still working tests, just from the other end. I’m lucky and I know it.” He motioned to the bartender for another round.
“Okay then.” She hitched up onto the bar stool next to him. “I’m sorry for the air force’s loss of your flying talent.”
His eyes narrowed as he lifted the new bottle toward his mouth. “Watch it Buttercup. That was damn near a compliment.”
“Your skill in the air is a matter of record. I’ve made it more than clear how much I respect your work.” Her attention shifted to a crowd back by the pool table. “And speaking of work, finally—” She waved to one of her workmates striding toward the pool table and gestured him over. “Hey Craig, come meet the newest member of our team.”
The pilot loped closer, red hair, freckles and boyish even nearing thirty. Josie smiled a greeting. “Diego Morel, this is Craig Wagner. He’s one of the pilots assigned to my team and a great asset to the program.”
“A pleasure to meet you.” Wagner pumped the handshake. “While Josie and I were in test-pilot school together, instructors used your quick look reports as models, sir.”
“Thanks. But drop the sir. Diego’s fine. All this sir stuff is starting to make me feel ancient.”
Ancient? Josie studied Morel for the first time beyond just a threat to her program and considered him as a person. A man. Maybe ten years her senior, but still a hundred percent in his prime—even half drunk on his ass.
Craig saluted Morel with a lift of his beer. “You earned the sir label early.”
“Ah, you’re more diplomatic than your boss, Wagner.”
Wagner’s boss? Josie frowned. She didn’t really think of herself as his boss, although technically she was. He was just a guy whose work she respected. One of the best fliers out there and she needed that. Sure they were the same age and had gone through test training together, but they were friends, too. She hated that Morel was making her question if Craig might be harboring resentments.
Josie dunked another lemon in her water. “Morel is on loan to us from the subcontractor. He’ll be offering feedback on our procedures.” She would fill Craig in on the rest later.
“Excellent. I look forward to working with you.”
“Same here.”
Wagner pivoted on his boot heels toward Josie, creating a pseudo privacy wall blocking her from Diego. “See you for dinner after I get back from the Red Flag exercise?”
Morel’s eyes bored into her back. Was he taking notes even now? She couldn’t afford to discount his influence just because he’d knocked back a few drinks. “The Friday after you return, at seven, right? I may be a little late but I’ll be there.”
“Cool, I’ll have the grill fired up and ready.” Wagner pivoted back to Morel. “Great meeting you, sir. I look forward to working together.”
Sir.
Morel winced. “Same here.”
As Wagner threaded through the crowd back to his table, Morel motioned for another beer. “Do you and he have a thing going?”
Damn. She didn’t need this. “God, no. He’s a friend from test-pilot school. Besides, he’s married with a kid and another on the way.”
She was adamant about no relationships with fellow service members, a big part of why she’d decided to ignore the initial spark of attraction she’d felt for Bridges.
“You’re having dinner together.”
“At his house. With his wife and their daughter,” she paused, then rushed to add, “once they get back from visiting her mother, in case you’re wondering why he’s here without her on a Friday night.”
His skeptical snort did little to alleviate her concerns.
“Marriage doesn’t always stop some folks from hooking up, Buttercup.”
This guy was beyond jaded, which didn’t bode well for her. “Well, it most definitely stops me.”
“Good.” He didn’t bother halting his assessing smile.
She glanced down at his ring finger. Bare. No cheater lines. “With all due respect, are you hitting on me?”
“With all due respect, if I was hitting on you, you wouldn’t need to ask.”
“Fair enough.” She reached to loop her hair behind one ear, her hand pausing mid-motion at the flirty gesture. Subconscious no doubt, but enough to stir the air like raw fuel dumped on engines to kick a plane into afterburners.
Her hand jerked into motion again, completing the hair smoothing with a defiant sweep. “And if you were hitting on me, sleeping with someone in my chain of command isn’t allowed.”
Damn. Damn. Damn. Now he had her thinking about sex. Was he messing with her mind? Setting her up by seeing if she would take the bait?
“Technically, Captain Buttercup, I’m not in your chain of command. It might not be wise for us to screw around while we’re working together. But there’s no rule that says we can’t.” He held up his bottle to forestall her interruption. “Just to be clear on the technicalities.”
Either way, setup or not, time to put this guy in his professional place. “Thanks for the clarification. Not that it’s a problem here anyway since you aren’t hitting on me.”
“Of course. Because like I said, you would know.” He pulled another slow drag off his beer before thunking it down on the bar. “And for the record, don’t get your G-suit in a knot about whether or not I can do my job. I’ve got more time at the urinal in tests than you have in the air force.”
“Lovely,” she muttered. “What a hoo-hah.”
“Pardon me?”
“Uh, wah-hoo. Like a cheer. Or a toast.” She lifted her water