Tailspin. Cara Summers
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glanced at his watch. In fifteen minutes she was going to walk through the door of his office for an interview. And he wanted her as much as he’d wanted her before, and more than he’d ever wanted any other woman.
And that was enough to give any sane man pause. He was no stranger to going with impulse. He enjoyed taking risks. That part of his nature was what made him a good pilot. But on a mission, he always weighed the consequences of various strategies before hand.
Eleven years ago, he hadn’t done that with Bianca. He’d been too blindsided by her. He’d rushed into a relationship with her with very little thought of the future—his, hers or theirs. And when they’d gotten around to a plan, it hadn’t worked out.
He threaded his fingers behind his head and leaned back in his chair. Hell, he knew a lot about battle strategies. First you had to have a goal. And he thought he had that. What he was feeling for her was not going to go away. He wanted to taste her again. He wanted her again.
He picked up a piece of paper and began folding it. There was no denying the fact that she was special to him. And it wasn’t just impulse or raging hormones driving him now. He was curious about the woman she’d become. Having read some of her work, he was even more intrigued.
What he needed was an effective strategy for reaching his goal. One that considered her as well as himself. The problem was, he wasn’t quite sure what that strategy was. He’d have to figure it out. He lifted the paper plane and flicked his wrist a few times. He’d weigh the data as it came in and adjust. With a grin, he aimed the airplane at his wastebasket and let it rip. Then he watched it ricochet off the edge and nose dive to the floor.
“I remember when your father used to make paper planes. I swear he’d make twenty or thirty of them before he flew each mission.”
Startled, Nash rose to greet General Winslow. “Come in, sir.”
“I can also remember the days when you called me Uncle Jimmy.”
“A long time ago.” Winslow was medium height with the compact build of a boxer. He’d roomed with Nash’s father when they’d gone through the Air Force Academy together, and they’d served together in the Gulf War. In the first year or two after his father had died, the general had visited his grandmother frequently. But until Nash had come back to the Air Force Academy to teach, he hadn’t seen Winslow in years. And it was the first time since he’d returned that the general had paid him a visit in his office.
“Was there something you wanted to talk to me about?” Nash asked.
Winslow studied him for a moment before he spoke. “I overheard you inviting Bianca Quinn here to your office this morning. How much do you know about her?”
The question surprised Nash, but he managed not to let it show. “She’s a writer and she wants to interview me because my grandmother has hired her to write a book about the Fortune family.”
The general nodded. “I’m sure that Maggie has checked her out and knows that she’s a journalist with a flair for digging up secrets.”
Nash smiled. “I think she’s looking forward to having some of the Fortune family’s secrets made public.”
Winslow smiled in response, but his eyes remained serious. For a moment, the silence stretched between them.
“Is there a problem?” Nash finally asked. There had to be something that had prompted the general’s visit. Was he worried about the book his grandmother had hired Bianca to write? Nash couldn’t imagine James Winslow playing a role in any of the dirty laundry that might be aired. He’d had a stellar career in the Air Force, and his association with Nash’s family stemmed from a close friendship with his father that had ended more than twenty years ago.
“I’m not sure. I didn’t want to say anything to your grandmother last night in the middle of her party. But I recognized Quinn’s name the instant I was introduced to her. Are you sure writing a biography of your family is all this Quinn woman has come here to do?”
“As far as I know. What do you know that I don’t?”
Winslow sighed. “A month ago, she called my office several times and she also bothered other members of the faculty. She wanted to set up interviews for a book she’s writing on the disappearance of Cadet Brian Silko. I had my administrative assistant turn her down and request that she stop calling.”
“Why?”
The general’s brows rose. “As superintendent, I have to look out for the best interests of the school. You must remember the Silko case and what a sensation it made in the press. You knew Brian Silko.”
“Not well. We were on the football team together freshman year. He was a kicker, a good one.”
“And you were an excellent quarterback. I caught one or two of your games when I visited family in the area. I was here in the spring when Silko went missing. I witnessed the press coverage.”
After rising, the general walked to the window and gazed out. “At 7:00 a.m. on February 2, Cadet Brian Silko stole the commandant’s privately owned Cessna from its hangar here on our flight field and disappeared with it. Never to be found. He left no note, no explanation. He’d talked to no one about his plans. There was no evidence that he’d been taken against his will. No ransom note had ever been delivered. He simply vanished. The Air Force and the Colorado Springs police conducted separate investigations, and they reached the same conclusion. He stole a plane and disappeared of his own free will.”
“And when he never surfaced, everyone assumed that he crashed the plane in some remote area,” Nash said. It had all happened during the spring semester when he and Bianca had fallen desperately in love. Of course, they’d read about the case and talked about it some, but they’d been so involved with each other.
“Exactly.” The general turned back to face him.
But neither the plane nor Cadet Silko had ever been found. Gradually, the story had faded from everyone’s memory. Nash hadn’t thought of it in years.
“And you’ve paid me this visit because you suspect that Bianca Quinn’s reason for coming to Denver might be to research Silko’s disappearance as well as my ancestors’ colorful pasts.”
“Exactly,” the general said again. “And the official position of the Air Force Academy is that the case is closed. We have no comment. If she presses you, I’d like your word to restate that position very clearly to Ms. Quinn.”
“You have it,” Nash said without hesitation. And when the general rose, he stood up and remained standing until the general left.
He’d have no trouble giving Bianca the official position of the Air Force Academy. But he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to comply with the subtext of the general’s wishes now that his curiosity had been well and truly stirred up. First of all, the general had used the phrase “digging up secrets” when he’d first talked about Bianca’s job. Were there some secrets surrounding the disappearance of Cadet Silko?
And what were Bianca’s secrets? What exactly was it that had piqued her interest in Silko’s disappearance after all these years? And why had she really come back to Denver?
Sitting back down at his desk, he glanced at his watch. Bianca wasn’t due for another five minutes or so. But he was certain of one thing. If Bianca wanted his help, he was going to give it to her. What better chance to get to know her better and collect data? And if that meant he was playing with fire? So much the better. He grinned. This time when he shot the plane, it accomplished its mission.
He wasn’t so sure where his plan would take him, or how often he’d have to modify his strategy, but as a pilot he’d learned long ago, the challenge was often more than half of the fun.
“CAPTAIN FORTUNE’S OFFICE is on the first floor,” the young cadet said. “Right inside the entrance, take the corridor to your left and follow it around to Room 115.”
“Thanks.”