Kitabı oku: «Firstborn»

“This is a damn flight test, isn’t it?”

Jason’s words were thrown like a gauntlet.

“Yes, it is,” Annie replied, her voice cool and emotionless.

His stomach clenched. She was testing him like he was a damn rookie! What happened to the woman he’d met in the hangar? The woman he had found himself drawn to—rightly or wrongly.

“You’re out to flunk me, aren’t you?” he demanded now. “Orders from above?”

“Mr. Trayhern, you are paranoid. No one has it in for you here, except maybe yourself. Your past doesn’t count with me. Do you understand that?”

Jason closed his eyes. Her husky words flowed over him like a calming blanket. “Yeah, I hear you,” he replied. But could he trust her?

More importantly, could he trust himself with a woman he was so powerfully attracted to?

See why Romantic Times LOVES
LINDSAY MCKENNA

“Edge-of-the-seat romantic suspense…. Readers will be enthralled from the first page to the last.”

—on Valkyrie

“A truly remarkable love story of two courageous people.”

—on Morgan’s Marriage

“When it comes to action and romance, nobody does it better than McKenna.”

—on Destiny’s Woman

“McKenna weaves together enticing players, heart-stopping action and sparks aplenty to create a savory romantic concoction.”

—on Man with a Mission

“Full-bodied characters that shine amid a powerful backdrop of emotional change, desire and love.”

—on A Man Alone

“Talented Lindsay McKenna delivers excitement and romance in equal measure.”

—on Protecting His Own

“Another Lindsay McKenna romantic treasure.”

—on A Woman of Innocence

“Balanced characters, electrifying attraction, a smattering of military jargon and bracing danger. Readers can count this one a winner.”

—on Her Healing Touch

Firstborn
Lindsay McKenna

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 1

Trouble hunted him. And Chief Warrant Officer Jason Trayhern knew it had found him today. As he climbed the concrete steps of the Ops building at Fort Collins, Colorado, he began to sweat beneath his flight suit. Taking off his cap, he entered the swinging doors. As he did, he could hear the whapping sound of the Longknife Squadron Apache combat helicopters taking off and landing on the other side of the massive operations facility. How he wished he were up in the air now!

Mouth tightening, he nodded perfunctorily to the meteorology and air-control-desk personnel who stood on the other side of the tiled lobby. He knew both of them well. One didn’t fly without getting a meteorology report from the weather desk, or a flight plan from the air desk.

Locating Major Butler’s office, Jason girded himself internally for his meeting with his commanding officer. The passageway was clear of personnel for a moment, so he took a quick swipe at the perspiration on his brow before he entered the office. He didn’t want Major Butler to see him sweat. He wouldn’t give the bastard the satisfaction.

Jason knew the routine. This was the second time he’d been called in by his C.O. for the same damn reason. Mentally trying to barricade himself from his writhing feelings of fear, rage and frustration, Jason took a deep breath. Then he squared his shoulders, put his chin up and moved through the open door, displaying the cocky attitude he was known for.

Butler’s secretary, Mona Evans, a civilian in her fifties, looked up from her desk, her small, gold wire glasses halfway down her prominent Roman nose. “Ah, Chief Trayhern. Thank you for coming.”

Jason stood at attention in front of her desk. “Yes, ma’am. I’m here to see Major Butler, as ordered.” Of course this was an order. One didn’t just waltz into the C.O.’s office without a prior appointment.

“Right,” she murmured, putting her appointment book on the desk. “One moment…”

As he watched her get up, walk to Butler’s door, open it and disappear inside, his gut tightened. He’d rather be facing El Quaida, with a Stinger missile aimed at his Apache helicopter, than be here right now. What would his father think? Morgan Trayhern, USMC, was a living legend in the military. Everyone, no matter what their service affiliation, admired and respected him. Jason fought a surge of anger. He didn’t give a damn what his father thought. All his famous father cared about was his reputation—not his firstborn son. But his mother, Laura? Groaning inwardly, Jason momentarily closed his eyes and fought a wave of sadness at the thought of the disappointment she might feel to learn her oldest son had screwed up—again.

Jason loved his mother with his life. It hurt him every time he knew he’d disappointed her. What would she think now?

The door to Butler’s inner office opened.

Mona smiled gently and pushed her glasses back up her nose. “Major Butler will see you now, Chief Trayhern.” She stepped aside. “Go right in. He’s expecting you.”

I’ll bet he is…. “Yes, ma’am.” He kept his voice deep and unruffled, though he was anything but. He felt as if he had a hundred angry rattlesnakes writhing inside his gut.

Major Yancey Butler raised his head and pinned his narrowed gaze on Jason as he entered and snapped to attention.

“Shut the door,” Butler ordered, brusqueness in his tone.

“Yes, sir!” Jason turned and shut it, did an about-face and then snapped back to attention. Butler was lean as a hungry wolf, with short black hair and gray sideburns. His green eyes glittered, sending a frisson of terror through Jason. Butler wasn’t taking any prisoners today, judging from the thundercloud look on his face.

Sitting back in his burgundy leather chair, the man said, “At ease, Chief Trayhern.”

Jason swallowed, spreading his feet apart and placing his hands behind his back. His commanding officer’s pale face was speckled with copper freckles reminding Jason of a spotted Appaloosa horse. The thought made him want to laugh, though now was not the moment for humor. Today was not the day to flaunt cocky grins or shoot off smart remarks.

“Son, you’re like a cat,” Butler began silkily as he opened Jason’s service record in front of him.

“Sir?” Jason’s brow furrowed with confusion. Where was Butler going with this? Heart pounding in his chest, Jason felt his adrenaline surge as a bad feeling pervaded his system. He wanted out of here. Out of Butler’s office and out of the Longknife Apache squadron he’d been assigned to. It had been hell on him ever since he’d arrived at this base.

“You know a cat has nine lives, right?” Butler said finally.

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, Chief Trayhern, you’ve used up, by my count, eight of your nine lives thus far.” Grimly, the major folded his hands on the desk. “You got tossed out of the Naval Academy in your third year after a drug scandal. Though the charges didn’t stick, your reputation was tainted. Then you came begging the Army aviation people to give you one more chance. We decided, since your record was clear, to take that chance on you.”

Jason stood very still. He’d heard this litany before.

“After your officer training, you went to Fort Rucker, Alabama, and learned to fly the Apache Longbow combat helicopter. But there was a problem with you there. You were arrogant, Trayhern. Hard to get along with. You never saw yourself as a team member. The colonel of the flight school kicked you out of his squadron and put you in mine. You’ve been here six months, and I can’t say it’s been a positive experience for any of us. Two times now I’ve had seasoned combat pilots ask to transfer you out of their cockpit because you couldn’t get along with them. With you, it’s your way or no way, and that’s not what Army aviation is all about, son. The Army is about teamwork. But you don’t want to be part of a team. You want to lead, and listen to no one but yourself. This is not an Army of one, Mr. Trayhern. It’s an Army where everyone works together.”

Tapping his finger on the maple desk, Butler said slowly, “When Chief Doughtery requested another pilot to fly with, and he told me why, I saw the handwriting on the wall. I have given you more chances than you deserve, Trayhern. I’ve asked you to fit in, to be a part of our team. And for some reason, you fight it. You rebel against the status quo for no good reason.” Shaking his head, he muttered, “I gave you all these chances because I know your father, Morgan Trayhern. He’s a hero to all of us. He’s a man who did the right thing, fought back, made things better for everyone around him. He’s a helluva role model in my opinion.”

Unlike his son. Jason filled in the rest of Butler’s sentence. Bile curdled in his throat. “Sir, with all due respect—”

“Just stand there and listen,” the major growled.

“Yes, sir!”

Grabbing a set of orders, Butler scribbled his name across the authorization line with barely contained ferocity. “Mr. Trayhern, you’re down to your ninth life. I’ve been in touch with Colonel Red Dugan, who commands the 2-101 Aviation Regiment of Apaches at Fort Campbell, Kentucky. Presently, all squadrons there are undergoing qualification trials before they’re shipped overseas for duty in Afghanistan. He has agreed to put you into the Eagle Warrior Squadron under his command. If I didn’t have so much respect for your father’s name, I would be sending you to personnel to be processed out with a bad conduct discharge. Instead, you’re going to Screamin’ Eagle country, the 101st Airborne Division, air assault.”

Jason’s eyes widened slightly as shock slammed into him. His mouth dropped open. Quickly, he snapped it shut. Butler wanted to give him a BCD? Oh, God, no!

“That’s right, son. You heard me.” The major lifted his hand and held his thumb and index finger an inch apart. “You are this close to getting canned. Is that what you want?”

“No, sir!” Gulping, Jason wondered if his C.O. could hear his heart hammering against his ribs. It had been humiliating enough to be kicked out of Annapolis. Now he was in danger of a BCD. His head spun with questions. What had he done so wrong?

“I want you to know one thing,” Butler growled as he handed Jason his new orders. “Colonel Dugan is a friend of your father’s. I called him and talked over the fact that you’re a real problem for the Army. I asked if he thought he could straighten you out and avoid a BCD.” The officer nailed Jason with his gaze. “Son, you’d better hear this loud and clear. Colonel Dugan is your last chance. You screw up there, like you have with me and my squadrons, and you’re out, famous father or not. We don’t want to make headlines for Morgan. He doesn’t deserve this. And the press would have a field day with it. Your attitude could give the Army a black eye if you don’t shape up. You understand? You have one last chance to vindicate yourself, get your head screwed on straight and learn to work as a team member, not a rebellious loner.”

“Yes, sir. I understand, sir.”

Butler nodded. “One more thing, Chief Trayhern. Colonel Dugan is a warrior of the first order. He won’t take any shit from you. You got that? You had better head to the Eagle Warrior Squadron with a new attitude, because this time your father’s name is not going to save you….”

At 0530 the sun was starting to rise above the trees at Fort Campbell, Kentucky. The 2nd Battalion, 101st Aviation Regiment of AH-64D Longbow combat helicopters were surrounded by tall, stately maples, oaks, elms and ash trees, and Annie Dazen loved the sight. The deciduous trees reminded her of her home in the mountains at the White River Apache Reservation in Arizona, where scrub oak and slender ash trees mingled with thick stands of mighty Douglas firs. The military base stood at five hundred feet above sea level in the rolling countryside near the Tennessee state line. There were over ninety-three thousand acres of softly undulating Appalachian Mountains and valleys to fly over while she sharpened her skills as a combat pilot. The landscape was the only thing she liked about the base’s environment, though. Kentucky was a hot, sultry place during the summer and she preferred the dry desert climate of her home over the humid atmosphere of the base. No, she’d take the mountainous terrain of the reservation over the high humidity and tropical temperatures of Kentucky any day.

Every morning Annie went out in back of the hangar where her Apache helicopter was kept, her medicine necklace in her hands, to send a prayer to the rising sun. She was Apache, and in her tradition prayers were said at sunrise and sunset, the most powerful times of the day.

She stood alone in the morning quiet, an unusual state for the sprawling base of fifteen thousand people. At 0600, when helos from the various squadrons wound up for takeoff on another day of training, the place became a beehive of activity. Annie missed the great yawning silence of the reservation. There, one could hear the winds singing and sighing in the pines—the voices of the Tree Nation.

As she stepped away from the huge hangar and stood on the red clay, facing east, Annie gazed down fondly at the necklace in her hands. It had been in her family for hundreds of years, passed down to the eldest daughter of each successive generation. It was a medicine necklace, one with mysterious power, beauty and healing qualities.

Stringing the necklace between her hands, she lifted it breast high and closed her eyes. Annie grounded herself by imagining dark tree roots encircling her ankles and going down through her black leather flight boots deep into Mother Earth. Taking a deep breath, she whispered, “Father Sun, I honor you on this new day. Please guide me, help me to follow my heart and bless Mother Earth. Aho.”

The necklace in her hands grew very warm. Annie was used to feeling her fingers tingle as she recited the ancient prayer. The heat soon increased and she felt the energy flow gently up her arms. A familiar calming sensation moved into her chest and remained there, like a warm, fuzzy blanket from childhood, one her mother had tucked around her at night.

High above, Annie heard the shriek of a red-tailed hawk. Opening her eyes, she gazed into the pale blue sky, which was misted over by the high humidity of the July morning, and saw a mature red-tail circling. Its wings were outstretched and its rust-red tail fanned as it floated on an up-draft of warm air. Lips lifting into a smile, Annie called, “Ho, little brother, what message do you bring me?”

She knew that when an animal showed up after her morning prayer, it was a message from the Great Spirit. What exactly it meant, she didn’t know, but she always paid attention and tried to figure it out. Closing her eyes, she pictured the hawk in her third eye, located in the middle of her brow. An unsettling sensation blanketed her. Frowning, Annie opened her eyes. When she looked up again, the hawk was gone.

Odd. Annie didn’t like the feeling cloaking her. Was that the message the hawk had come to tell her? That she should be unsettled? Unsure? She felt as if lightning had struck nearby and shaken her up. Birds were always considered messengers, bringing a warning, good or bad, of things to come. Usually within hours of their appearance Annie knew she would receive word, either in person or through a phone call, a letter or e-mail, of something or someone coming into her life.

Unzipping the right thigh pocket to her dark green flight uniform, Annie pulled out a soft brown deerskin pouch. Lifting the necklace, she gently tucked it back into the pouch and returned it to her pocket. The first rays of Father Sun were streaking across the tips of the elms and maples. It was now 0600 and the day had begun in earnest. All flying was done early in the morning when the air was still cool, and therefore more stable, making for easier flight training.

Turning, Annie walked back to the hangar. Opening the aluminum door, she stepped inside onto the meticulously clean concrete floor. Her desert camouflage Apache Longbow was in for software upgrades and sat near the far opening of the hangar. Her crew, two men and a woman, were busy working on it. Usually they worked early and left in midafternoon, to avoid the blistering summer heat.

The welcoming smell of coffee wafted toward her. Flaring her nostrils and inhaling deeply, Annie made her way around two other helos in the hangar. The coffee dispenser was on the wall to the right of the open bay, and Annie headed straight to it. A day didn’t begin without coffee!

As she stirred in cream and sugar, she heard booted feet coming in her direction, mingling with the clink of tools and the hushed voices of crew members. She looked up as she took a sip of the brew. Sergeant Kat Lakey, her crew chief, was hurrying her way, dressed in a green T-shirt, cammos and black boots. At twenty-five, Kat was a year older than her. Annie was happy this woman took care of her bird, for Lakey was the best crew chief on the base, in her opinion.

“’Morning, Kat. You look like you’re on a mission. What’s up?” Annie grinned, looking pointedly at the watch on her right wrist.

Kat smiled and halted. “Yes, ma’am, I believe I am.” Hooking her thumb toward the operations building in the distance, she said, “While you were out just now, I received a call from Ops. From our squadron commander, Colonel Dugan. He wants to see you immediately. I saw you step back into the hangar and thought I’d tell you. He called about two minutes ago.”

Sipping more of the coffee to hide her surprise, Annie nodded. “Okay…Geez, it’s early for him to be up and moving around, isn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am, I think so.” Kat raised a brow. “But Colonel Dugan is famous for saying the early bird gets the worm.”

“Yeah, you’re right about that one.”

“You know what it’s about, ma’am?”

“Hmm? Me? No. Why? Do you? You’re good at knowin’ all the base gossip, Kat. What dirt have you heard lately?” Annie grinned at the sergeant. Kat had a mop of brown hair and a long, narrow face blanketed with freckles across her cheeks and nose. Her gray eyes twinkled with silent laughter.

“No, nothing new, ma’am. I know we’re going to start combat training flights tomorrow, though. With live ammo.” Kat rubbed her hands, grinning wolfishly. Live ammo wasn’t used often. It cost money for shells, so usually electronic laser shots were used in training. Everyone looked forward to having the Apaches’ considerable arsenal be “hot and live”—real rockets, missiles or bullets instead of a namby-pamby red beam of light to equate a kill.

Chuckling, Annie nodded. “Yeah, I can hardly wait. Okay, I’ll grab a ride over to Ops. You doin’ okay on the software checks? I want my bird in top shape for tomorrow’s live-fire exercises.”

“Goin’ fine, ma’am. She’s not a hangar queen.” Kat chuckled.

Annie smiled and said, “Thank goodness she’s not that! Okay, I’ll get back over here ASAP.”

“Ma’am…”

Annie hesitated. “Yes?”

“Do you think this might be about Chief Dailey’s leaving? You do need a new pilot to fly with you. Could the colonel be callin’ you over to let you know a new team member has been assigned to us?”

“That would be my thinking, Kat.” She lifted her hand. “I see the base bus that’ll give me a lift to Ops. You’ll be the first to know when I get back.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“At ease, Chief Dazen,” Colonel Dugan said. He pointed toward a brown leather chair set off to one side of his dark green metal desk. “Sit down, please.”

Annie smiled quickly and nodded. “Yes, sir.” She perched on the edge of the chair, hands on her thighs, and gazed at him expectantly. The look on Dugan’s oval, pockmarked face puzzled her. He was frowning, his short blond hair gleaming with reddish highlights beneath the fluorescent light above his desk. She knew he was in his mid-fifties, but he appeared far more youthful.

There were what appeared to be several personnel jackets scattered across his desk, and he was thumbing through them. Annie smiled slightly as she watched him. She liked her commanding officer. Red Dugan was a legend in his own time. He’d been one of the first to fly the lethal Boeing Apache combat helicopters, had helped create the curriculum to teach pilots how to fly it at Fort Rucker, and had a long, impressive combat record to boot. Annie had flown with him from time to time and had learned a lot from the highly decorated pilot.

“Annie, there’s no nice way to say this,” Red muttered as he lifted his head after moving the files around on his desk. “I have a problem, and I hope you can help me solve it.”

Ordinarily, her C.O. never addressed her by her first name. In fact, Annie could count on one hand the times he had done so in the year that she’d been with the Eagle Warrior Squadron. Something was definitely up. “Okay…sir. Sure, what can I do to help?”

He smiled a little. “That’s one of the reasons I’ve chosen you for this, uh, assignment.” Lifting out a file, he set it on top of the others. “Two days ago, I got a call from the C.O. of another Apache squadron who told me he had a problem pilot on his hands. This pilot, CWO3 Jason Trayhern, is now being reassigned to us.”

Frowning, Annie said, “Okay, sir.” She bit back any questions she might have. Although her curiosity was burning her alive at this point, one didn’t throw questions at a commanding officer. One waited for the C.O. to lay out the plan of action instead.

Opening the file, Dugan growled unhappily, “CWO3 Trayhern is a problem, Annie. But his father, Morgan Trayhern, is highly respected by all branches of the military. We try to take care of our own. Have you heard of Morgan Trayhern?”

“Yes, sir, I have. He was a Marine Corps officer in the closing days of the Vietnam War. His company got overrun and only two people survived, him and another guy.”

“Yes, and there was a cover-up by our government on this particular operation when the company was lost. They painted Captain Trayhern as a traitor to whitewash the debacle, which was really the fault of the commanders above him. He, in the meantime, had suffered a severe concussion and was taken to Japan to recuperate. It was then that the CIA got involved. Morgan had amnesia and didn’t remember who he was, so, with the approval of the French government, they invented a new name and history for him and sent him off to the French Foreign Legion after his recovery. Out of sight, out of mind, or so the government officials thought. Trayhern remained there many years until one day his memory came back, and when it did, he returned to the United States to clear his name.”

“His family has a long history of serving in the U.S. military,” Annie said.

“That’s right. Their service record stretches back two hundred years, a real role model for the military way of life in this country. Despite that, Morgan Trayhern had to go through a lot to clear his name and restore his family’s honor after he was branded a traitor.” Dugan smiled faintly. “The man did it. He investigated on his own and finally was able to identify the men who had colluded against him.” Waving his hand, the colonel said, “That’s history now. But since then Morgan started a supersecret agency known as Perseus, which works closely with the CIA. His expertise has been focused on helping people around the world when the country in question can’t or won’t handle the problem. Suffice it to say, Mr. Trayhern has worked with every U.S. military service, and continues to do so to this day. I’ve met the man myself, and he is a true hero. He’s someone the military does not want to let down if we can at all help it.”

Hearing the awe in Dugan’s voice, Annie was impressed. “And his son is coming here? He’s being assigned to us?”

Nodding, Dugan set his lips in a frown. “Yes.”

“Then, sir, if you don’t mind me asking, why are you looking so unhappy about all of this?” If the son was anything like the father, Annie thought, he’d be a real asset. A hero in the making.

“Because, Annie,” Dugan replied, looking at her across the desk, “the two Trayherns are nothing alike. Have you heard of Jason Trayhern?

“Uh, no, sir.”

“When he was a third-year cadet in the Naval Academy at Annapolis, he got enmeshed in a drug ring scandal. He was never found with drugs, but names of cadets who had purchased them were found on his laptop computer. The people who conducted the investigation at Annapolis think his roommate set up Trayhern to take the fall. Jason and his lawyer had said from the get-go that Trayhern was framed. But the cadets have this skewed honor code and they don’t rat on their brother or sister cadets. No one came forward in his defense, so they booted him out.”

“Ouch. What must his family have felt like?” Annie murmured. “Or him, if he was innocent? I’d be really angry about it.”

“Precisely. It was a black mark against the Trayhern military dynasty, a blemish of the worst sort.”

“And he talked to the investigation officials?”

“Yes, he did, but the ‘blue wall’ closed ranks—the cadets refused to give up the real culprits to clear Trayhern’s good name. If someone had come forward to vouch for him, more than likely Annapolis officials would have allowed him to stay, all things being equal.” Dugan opened his hands. “I know from talking with one of the admirals at the school that they really wanted to save the senior Trayhern from this kind of embarrassment. But his son was caught with the evidence on his laptop and couldn’t explain how it got there.”

Shaking her head, Annie said, “Well, sir, we don’t know all the details.”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Running his hand through his short blond hair, he added, “And that’s why I’ve chosen you, Annie, to deal with Trayhern. I need the most astute, intelligent pilot I have in my squadron to handle this mess coming our way.”

Annie sat up straight. “The mess being Jason Trayhern?”

“That’s a roger. We’re getting him dropped on us because he’s a loner, Annie. He’s not a team player. He’s said to be rebellious, angry and arrogant, from what Major Butler has told me. Two pilots in his regiment petitioned Butler to have Trayhern replaced, because the man simply refuses to get along with anyone else in the cockpit.”

“Oh, sir…”

“Sorry, Annie. You don’t deserve this kind of partner, either. I’m sorry we had to give Chief Mike Dailey a medical discharge. No one wished more than me that his high blood pressure problem could be resolved. You two were my ace team in the squadron, and I really hated to see him go. But we can’t have a pilot at risk in the cockpit, either. And now you’re the only one in the squadron without a copilot.”

Annie thought back to earlier that morning, when the red-tailed hawk had screamed out for her attention. When she’d asked what message it brought, the exact feeling she had right now had blanketed her. She felt upset. In chaos.

“So you’re assigning Chief Trayhern to me?”

“Yes, I am, Annie.” Dugan shrugged. “Ordinarily, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, but the situation is unique. I know Morgan Trayhern personally. I’m sure that, as a father, he’s going through hell right now because his son has gotten booted out of two Apache squadrons in a year’s time. This boy of his is a real burr under the saddle—his and ours. I had a choice in whether or not to take Trayhern. I’m doing this as a favor to his father. We’re going to give Jason Trayhern one last chance.”

Chewing on her lower lip, Annie sat there digesting the problem. “Sir, we’re slated to go over to Afghanistan in a month.”

“I know that. And Annie, I know what you’re up against. If there’s anyone in my squadron who can turn this man around, it’s you. You’re the only woman pilot on base, and I know this sounds like gender prejudice, but maybe, just maybe, Trayhern won’t take the same arrogant tact he’s taken with other pilots he had to work with if he partners with a woman.”

“And if I can’t get him to be a team player, sir?”

“All you have to do is come to me and tell me.” Dugan shook his head. “I hope it doesn’t come to that. I don’t want to be the one to boot Morgan Trayhern’s son out of the military, and if that happens, no service will ever allow Jason to reenlist. He’d be out. Castigated. But if you come and tell me he’s not fitting in, then I will give him a bad conduct discharge without any qualms.”

Annie found she had a hundred questions racing through her mind. Time was so short—only one month before combat duty. She knew it took at least three months for two pilots to get used to each other. They sat in the Apache together, flew together, worked together, and their relationship was like a marriage of sorts.

“Sir? Has Chief Trayhern ever worked with a female pilot before?”

Dugan smiled grimly. “No. As you know, there are only three women in the U.S. military who have qualified for Apache training thus far. That’s not counting the Black Ops squadron in South America, of course, which is nearly all female. He’s flown only with men.”

“What makes you think he’s going to respond positively to me, then? If he’s never flown with a woman, how do we know how he’ll respond to me?”

“That’s a good question,” Dugan murmured. “And I don’t have an answer, Annie. But I’ll tell you one thing—your marks listed in your personnel jacket, in flying and training, are 4.0. You’re the best I’ve got. Your crew has won every trophy in and out of the squadron, and I know it’s because of you, your ability to lead, as well as your ability to be a team player. You don’t leave people out or behind, Annie, and that’s the mark not only of a good leader, but of a real people manager.”

She saw his hazel eyes brighten with hope. The praise was wonderful, but the assignment sucked. “I do try hard to make everyone feel a part of my tribe.” She grinned wryly.

“There’s a lot to say for you being Native American, Annie. I’ve learned a thing or two from you myself. I’m convinced that what you’ve learned from being brought up in your community can help us here in the Army, too. Teamwork is everything. I’ve seen you take people who felt disenfranchised and make them a valuable part of your squadron ‘family.’” He smiled again. “And if Jason Trayhern is to have a prayer of learning how to fit in, I can’t think of anyone better than you to be his teacher.”

The responsibility was nearly overwhelming. Annie felt the weight settle on her shoulders. It was bad enough that she had to train hard and rigorously herself for the next month, to get ready for Afghanistan, where her life would be on the line every single day. Her copilot had to be someone she trusted with her life. How was she going to manage to do all of this?

Looking up, she murmured, “Sir, this is an incredible challenge for me.”

“I know it is, Annie. And I’m sorry to lay it on you. But no one is better qualified to save this young man from himself. He’s a fine pilot, but he’s a loner. Do your best, okay? I don’t expect miracles, and if it doesn’t pan out, it’s not going to reflect poorly on your personnel record, believe me.”

“Okay, sir, I’ll give it a go.” She managed a lopsided grin. “But I don’t know who I feel worse for, him or me.”

Dugan chuckled. “I understand. Listen, stay in close touch with me on this. I want to know what’s going down with him.” Glancing at his watch, he continued, “Chief Trayhern will be arriving here at 1000 hours. He’s to come directly to me, and I’ll give him a talking to and a warning. Then he’ll go through personnel, and finally, he’ll be taken over to your hangar. At that point, he’s all yours. Because the regiment is going over to Afghanistan in a month, I’m assigning him temporary billeting at the B.O.Q., Bachelor Officers Quarters, here on base.”

“Yes, sir. It wouldn’t make any sense to try and find an apartment for only thirty days. By 1300, he should be through personnel paperwork?”

“Yes.”

Annie stood up and came to attention. “I’ll do what I can, Colonel Dugan.”

“Good enough, Chief Dazen. Thank you in advance. Dismissed.”

“Yes, sir!” Annie did a snappy about-face and left his office.

Once outside the three-story redbrick building, she decided to walk the mile back to the hangar area. She needed time to get over the shock of her new assignment and try to adjust to this bad news.

The sun was hazy, the humidity stifling, and she was already sweating heavily. The street was busy with traffic, both desert-brown Humvees and many civilian cars. People in uniform and flight suits walked here and there with crisp efficiency. The home of the Screamin’ Eagles was a workaholic’s paradise, Annie thought. People were proud of the 101st Airborne’s historical tradition and strived to make it the top aviation division in the Army as a result. Everyone who wore the screaming eagle patch on their uniform did so with pride.

The tall, spindly pines planted between large-leafed maples stood at attention along the concrete sidewalk as she walked across the bustling Army base. The main headquarters, painted white, lay in the center of a diamond-shaped expanse of lawn bracketed by asphalt highways. Green shrubs along the walls of the diamond were trimmed to military perfection. But Annie was unable to appreciate the manicured beauty that surrounded her. Her mind and heart were elsewhere.

One month. One month to tame a lone wolf who didn’t want to be part of anyone’s team. And this wasn’t just any lone wolf. No, this was a famous one with a jaded past. Annie’s brow knitted as she walked. Settling her cap more securely on her head, the bill drawn low to shade her eyes from the sun, she kept to the inside of the sidewalk. When she passed an officer, she saluted. Enlisted personnel who passed saluted her. Warrant officers were not quite officers, but they were treated with deference nonetheless.

Automatically, Annie unzipped her right thigh pocket and pulled out the deerskin pouch that held her medicine necklace. After she’d shifted the necklace to her left hand to leave her right one free to salute with, she instantly felt the object’s warmth, finding it comforting and soothing to her anxiety and concern. Annie didn’t understand exactly why the necklace reacted when she was upset, but it did, and she absorbed the calming energy from it.

A pair of raucous blue jays screamed as they flew from one elm tree to the next ahead of her. That wasn’t a good sign—birds fighting and squabbling with one another. In Annie’s world of mystery and miracles, she knew nature talked to her, about herself and what was to come, whenever she would listen. Well, those birds had her full attention now. Would she and Trayhern be just like the blue jays—squabbling, bickering and screaming at one another? In four hours, she’d find out.

Chapter 2

Four hours later, Annie was flat on her back beneath the carriage of the Apache along with Specialist 3 Lance DeLong, one of her mechanics. They were lying side by side, looking up into the area where the chain gun was situated. The cannon, which looked like a long-barrel machine gun suspended beneath the fuselage of the Apache, could spit out 30mm rounds, instantly destroying whatever it hit.

Annie was so intent on what Lance was saying about a piece of hardware within the mounting that she failed to hear the solid, confident stride of someone coming her way. Only when the highly polished black shoes came to a halt less than two feet from where she lay did she realize they didn’t belong to one of her crew.

Hands freezing momentarily on the gun mount, Annie turned to Lance. “The new pilot is here. Can you handle this repair alone?” She searched the twenty-year-old’s round face.

“Aw, shucks, sure I can, Ms. Dazen. Not a problem.” Lance grinned, showing his uneven teeth.

Annie nodded and grinned back. “Okeydokey.” She rolled out from beneath the fuselage, her heart skittering with dread at meeting this infamous pilot. The polished shoes backed up to give her plenty of room to roll to her hands and knees and then get to her feet.

Raising her head as she brushed herself off, Annie saw the man was dressed in his class A Army uniform and standing with his feet apart, like a boxer ready to be struck. As her gaze ranged quickly upward, she realized that Jason Trayhern was tall, at least six foot two inches. When she looked into his square face and met his frosty blue eyes, her heart contracted in fear. The narrowed look he was giving her was one she might give an enemy.

Dusting off her hands, she thrust one forward. “Mr. Trayhern? I’m Annie Dazen, pilot in charge of this girl here.” She hooked her thumb over her shoulder at the huge Apache helicopter behind her.

Jason scowled. Annie Dazen wasn’t anything like he’d expected. Standing at five foot nine inches tall, dressed in an olive-green T-shirt and cammo fatigues, she was curvy but clearly in top physical form. Her skin was a deep copper color and her thick black hair lay in one long braid down the middle of her back. But it was her eyes that drew him, melting the glacial reserve that usually protected him. They were a warm golden-brown, and they sparkled with life. The careless smile on her full lips told him she either didn’t know who he was or could put on a helluva good facade. As he gripped her hand, he found her long fingers strong and resilient. He tried to ignore the warmth radiating from her, and gave her hand a perfunctory shake.

“Yeah, I’m Jason Trayhern,” he said abruptly. He released her hand because it felt like fire itself, and saw her smile widen.

“Welcome to the Eagle Warrior Squadron. You’re now part of the 101st Screamin’ Eagle family, and that’s a proud heritage to carry.” Annie gestured around the huge hangar, which held four Apaches in for routine maintenance. “This is our home away from home. You’ll be spending a lot of time down here with us.”

Her voice was like smooth sipping whiskey, and it ruffled his icy armor. “I would expect to,” he said, biting off his words with official coolness. Her hair was coming loose from her braid, and her T-shirt was soaked with sweat. And no wonder. It was eighty-five degrees in here, and the humidity was just as high. He was sweating in his class A uniform, and envied her in the everyday clothing most people wore on the base. He desperately wanted to get out of his uniform.

“Well,” Annie said, “I assume you’ve already talked to Colonel Dugan? Been through the personnel game?” She tried to sound upbeat and glad to see him. Truth be told, Annie wanted to step away from this warrant officer, who was a grade below her in rank. That made her the commanding officer, and he had to follow her orders, not vice versa. Oh, it was true, he was ruggedly handsome, with that square, aggressive chin. She was sure most women would swivel their heads to look at this dude. He was definitely easy on the eyes. Yet Annie could feel his tension, and saw it reflected in his narrowed, darting gaze. A part of her felt sorry for Trayhern, because being new was always a pain in the butt. His mouth was thinned, too, telling her he wasn’t at ease in the situation. Seeing a film of sweat covering his brow just beneath the edge of his beret, she realized he must be very hot in the wool uniform.

“Yeah, I went through those volleys.”

Annie heard the repressed anger in his taut tone of voice. Though he held a black cowhide briefcase in his left hand, there was no question he was in a fighter’s stance. Why? There was no one here to make him feel that guarded or intimidated. Maybe that was the problem, Annie thought. He didn’t trust anyone.

Giving him her best official smile, Annie said, “Well, come with me. I’ll take you to the squadron locker room. We’ll get you squared away with a locker, and in the meantime enjoy the wonderful air-conditioning inside.”

“Sounds good to me.” Jason glanced around. He noticed that nearby crews, three to a helo, were all circumspectly looking at them. He was sure everyone knew that Dazen was getting a new pilot who’d just been transferred in. But did they know about him? The truth, that is? Had his black cloud of bad luck followed him here, too?

As he swung in behind Dazen and followed her across the spotlessly clean concrete floor toward the west flank of the hangar, he realized that this was a spit-and-polish operation. Not that the squadron he’d left hadn’t been, but Jason could spot little things that told the tale. He’d heard that the 101st was a top-notch unit, and now he believed it. The Screamin’ Eagles were the best. He was surprised that he’d been sent here, because normally only the cream of the aviation crop landed here. He hadn’t expected such a plum. When Butler had called him in for new orders, Jason had thought he was going to be relegated to some Army outpost—out of sight, out of mind.

Now he tried to ignore the gentle sway of Dazen’s hips as she walked in front of him. He didn’t want to be drawn to her as a woman. Colonel Dugan had read him the riot act, making it clear that if Jason screwed up here, he was out. Period. A BCD. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? More than anything, Jason wanted to avoid a bad conduct discharge. That black mark would haunt him the rest of his life, he knew. It was wretched enough that he’d been kicked out of Annapolis in his third year. He’d never live that down in a million years, given the military dynasty that was his family heritage.

Grimly, he forced himself to quit thinking about the sordid past. All it did was bring up pain, and that was something he was trying to avoid at all costs. He’d had enough of that to last for ten lifetimes.

Dazen opened a door, and when they stepped inside a narrow passageway, a delicious coolness hit him.

“Whew!” Annie said, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand, “what I’d give to have air-conditioning out in that hangar. Southern weather sucks!” And she laughed.

He walked at her shoulder. “You aren’t from the South?”

“Me?” She looked up at him and grinned. “No. I’m a full-blooded Apache from the White River Reservation near Show Low, Arizona. Land of desert, high mountains, low humidity, lakes and thousands of pine trees.” She saw his eyes thaw ever so slightly. “Where do you come from?”

“Hell,” he answered abruptly.

Annie slowed her pace for a second. The passage was empty of people at this time of day. For a moment, she wondered if he was serious. “Is that a polite way of telling me to mind my own business?” She kept her tone light and slightly teasing as she watched him take off his beret and wipe his brow.

“No.” Jason settled the beret back on his head. He refused to be drawn into friendly banter with her. She was his boss. There was an invisible line of demarcation between a junior and senior officer. No matter how much he wanted to respond to her sunny personality, he couldn’t allow it.

“In there is the men’s locker room,” she said, leading him through. “Off-limits to women, but there’re plenty of open lockers available, from what the guys have told me. Just pick one and get the combination lock that’s hanging on it. The combo to open it is written on a piece of paper tied to the lock.”

“Okay.” He looked down at her expectantly. “After getting a locker, what’s next?”

Shrugging, Annie said, “They said they’re putting you up at the B.O.Q. until we ship to Afghanistan. Have you stopped over there to get a room assigned to you yet?”

“Yeah, I’ve got it. Room 202, in case you need to ring me for anything in the future.”

Annie nodded and mentally tucked the number into the back of her mind. “You got wheels?” Nashville, Tennessee, was only sixty miles away and he might have taken the bus down here. Unless he’d driven his car from his last base, in Colorado.

“Yeah, I’ve got wheels.”

“Okay, why don’t you get your locker and head back to the B.O.Q.? Once you change into your work uniform, come on back to the hangar. There’s plenty of indoctrination you need to get up to speed here. I’ll be out there with my crew, so just hunt me up when you return.”

“Yeah, fine. By the way, is there a phone around here I can use? I need to make a call. Maybe in your office?”

“Sure, let me show you where. We’ll be sharing the same office.” She gave him a measured look. “You’ll be spending a lot of time in it, for the next week anyway, familiarizing yourself with our manuals of operation.”

Jason followed her down the passageway. Reaching an intersection, she turned left toward a cluster of ten small offices, five on each side of the corridor. There was a hall window in each, with venetian blinds to keep out prying eyes if the warrants wanted privacy from passersby.

The first office on the left was hers. Annie unlocked it and entered, and when Jason followed, the heavenly coolness enveloped him even more strongly. Automatically, he gave a little sigh of relief as he shut the door behind him.

Annie walked around the metal desk, which was covered with neat piles of papers. She touched the black phone. “If you’re making a long-distance, nonmilitary call, just dial the operator and use a credit card.”

“Got it,” he said, setting his briefcase on the floor next to the desk. “Thanks.”

“Sure.” Annie opened a drawer and drew out a key. “Here, you might as well have this. It’s a key to the office. Just lock it up when you’re done?”

She saw him wrestle with his icy reserve, as if considering whether he could let down his guard. The iciness won out. She saw his eyes harden as he pulled out her chair, took off his garrison cap and sat down. “Yeah, no problem. Thanks, Ms. Dazen.”

She lifted her hand. “I’ll see you later, Mr. Trayhern. Welcome to the Screamin’ Eagles.”

He watched her push open the door and then disappear. Well, that hadn’t gone as badly as he’d thought it might. Maybe Dazen didn’t know of his jaded history. At least he hoped not. Frowning, Jason pulled a credit card from his wallet. It had been a week since his transfer, and he hadn’t called home for a week before that. He was sure his mother would be worried about him by this time. Normally, he called his mom once a week. And every time he did, he hoped his father wasn’t around so he wouldn’t have to speak to him. Jason tried to time his calls for just before lunch hour, knowing his mother would likely be there alone in his family home in Phillipsburg, Montana. His dad always drove home from the office in order to have lunch with her, so Jason tried to call before he arrived. Avoiding his father suited him just fine.

Picking up the phone, he punched in the numbers. Heart beating a little faster in expectation, he gripped the phone in hopes that his mother was there—and alone.

Laura Trayhern had just finished getting her two-year-old into her special kiddie seat at the kitchen table. Kamaria looked up at her now with wide blue-gray eyes and smiled. “Spoon, Mama?”

“Oh, you are such a cute little tyke,” Laura whispered, pressing a kiss to her adopted daughter’s soft black hair, which Laura had just brushed and braided. Reaching toward the counter, Laura retrieved one of the wooden utensils that sat in a yellow ceramic cup next to the range.

“Mama…” Kamaria held up her arms as she approached.

“You are irresistible!” Laura chuckled and gave the child the spoon before she tied a pink terry-cloth bib over her daughter’s purple Barney T-shirt. “There! Okay, wail away and do your musical renditions.” Kamaria liked to beat the spoon against the table in time to whatever music was playing on the small radio perched on top of the refrigerator.

Laura was heading for the fridge when the phone rang. Detouring, she looked back to make sure Kamaria was okay. Strapped in her chair, her fifth child sat quietly, looking around the cedar-paneled kitchen and waving the spoon like a flag. Sunlight poured through the windows, highlighting the gauzy white cotton curtains on either side of the sink.

“Hello? Laura here….”

“Mom?”

“Jason! Oh, I’m so glad you called! Is everything all right? We didn’t hear from you last week.”

“Yeah, I’m fine, Mom. I’m sorry I didn’t phone.”

“Are you all right?” She hastily wiped her hands on a kitchen towel, frowning at the note of trepidation she heard in her son’s voice. Leaning against the counter, she watched Kamaria, who was now beating the spoon against the table in time with a jaunty ragtime song.

“Uh, yeah…fine. Is…Father around?”

Sighing, Laura said, “No. He’s still at Perseus.”

“Oh…good.”

Pain flitted through Laura’s heart. “He loves to hear from you, too, Jason. I wish you’d stop avoiding him. I don’t like having to give him secondhand information from you all the time.”

“Yeah, I know, Mom. Sorry. Maybe someday…”

She knew better than to push her son. He took after her husband, Morgan, in so many ways. Both of them had a stubborn pride that made them unapproachable on certain issues, especially old, oozing wounds that had never healed. She moved to the sink, cradling the phone between her head and shoulder. Picking up a knife, she began to slice an apple for the Waldorf salad she was going to make for lunch. “Well, how goes it? Are you getting a lot of flying hours in? Last I heard, you were unhappy because you weren’t getting them.”

“Yeah…well, Mom, some things have changed. That’s why I didn’t call earlier.”

She held the knife suspended above the apple. “What do you mean, Jason? What’s changed?” The last time he’d used those words, he’d been abruptly transferred out of Fort Rucker to an Apache squadron in Fort Collins, Colorado. Heart sinking, Laura wondered what had happened now. Somehow, Jason’s life was dogged by bad luck. Not that he didn’t bring some of it on himself, she knew. Her son wasn’t perfect, no matter how Morgan wished he were.

“Well, Mom, I’m in a new squadron. The 101st Airborne. How about that? The Screamin’ Eagles. The cradle of Army aviation. I’ve been assigned to the Eagle Warrior Squadron here at Fort Campbell, Kentucky.”

“That’s unexpected, Jason. What happened?” Her voice was low and hesitant. In the back of her mind, Laura knew Morgan would be upset. Unless his military cronies had already called him about this transfer and Morgan hadn’t told her yet. He’d do that, too, because he knew she’d be worried about Jason. Ever since he’d been kicked out of Annapolis, his life had gone from bad to worse.

“I, uh…well, I demanded a transfer and got it.”

“But…you seemed happy with your old squadron.”

“I know….”

“Why, Jason? What happened?” Laura set the knife and apple aside. She turned to keep an eye on Kamaria, who was sucking contentedly on the spoon now that the song had ended.

“I just couldn’t get along with the pilot I was assigned to fly with.”

She heard the frustration in his voice. “But you didn’t get along with the first one, either. That’s two pilots, isn’t it? Jason, what is happening?” She tried to keep the worry out of her voice, but Laura knew it wasn’t working. Gnawing on her lower lip, she felt her heart breaking once more for her son. She was no newbie to the military system. In fact, Laura had been a military writer for decades, and continued to publish articles within high-command military circles. She knew the dope on transfers as well as anyone. And Jason hadn’t been at Fort Collins long enough to ask for—and receive—a transfer unless something had gone terribly wrong.

“I just didn’t get along with them, Mom. That’s all.”

Laura heard the steely defensiveness in her son’s deep voice. Once more he was putting up walls to keep her out. “And they let you transfer? Again?” Laura knew the service would not tolerate something like this for long. She was surprised he’d gotten a transfer at all. And she knew he wasn’t telling her the whole truth. Jason was hedging. He always did when the news wasn’t good.

“Yeah, they did. Things look good, though. You’ll never guess who I’ve been assigned to.”

Hearing the hope in his voice, Laura smiled softly. “Tell me.”

“I’ll be flying with a female pilot, Mom. CWO2 Annie Dazen is her name. She’s a full-blood Apache from Arizona. How about that? She’s one of a handful of women who have ever made it through Apache school, and she was at the top of her class, from what Colonel Dugan told me. He’s my C.O. now, by the way.”

“A woman. Well, maybe you can get along with her?” Laura chuckled, and she heard Jason give a strained laugh. Her heart lifted. Oh, how she wanted him to have good things happen!

“I’m going to try,” Jason said, becoming serious once more. “I’m assigned to the B.O.Q. right now. That’s temporary. I want to give you Dazen’s phone number, because her office is my office, in case you need to reach me. You got a paper and pen?”

Laura turned and pulled out a small plastic box that sat next to the wall phone. “Yeah, go ahead, honey.” Taking out an index card, she wrote down the number he gave her.

“I’ll be in touch, Mom. I’ll call you next week, okay?”

“Okay. You sound good, Jason. Better than I’ve heard you sound in the last year.”

“Maybe this new pilot will be good for me.”

“Do you like her?”

“I don’t dislike her. She was real friendly and warm toward me when we met.”

“Do you think she knows about your past?”

“I don’t know. If she does, she isn’t showing it. At least, not yet. But we just made intros, so I really don’t know.”

“What does she look like? Is she married? Have kids?” Nowadays, the Army was family. Back in the sixties, most people in the service had been single. Now it was made up of married couples and families—a huge change for the military to adjust to.

Jason laughed. “I haven’t a clue. She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, but in our business, we don’t wear jewelry when we fly.”

“Well, find out, okay?”

“Mom, you are so nosy sometimes!”

She laughed a little. Kamaria waved the spoon and Laura lifted her hand and waved back. “I’m a woman, dear, and those things are important to us. What does Ms. Dazen look like? You said she was Indian?”

“Yeah, she’s tall and well proportioned, from what I can see. She probably lifts weights. There’s no fat on her. But she isn’t a twig, either. There’s some meat to her bones.”

“Black hair? Copper skin?”

“Yeah, that, too. Nice eyes.”

Laura heard his tone of voice thaw a little. Her heart thumped with hope. Oh, please, God, let Jason get along with this woman. Let there be peace, not war between them.

“What color? Brown?”

“Golden color, really. I can see her pupils in them. She has large, alert eyes, Mom. In some ways, she reminds me of an owl. Not because of the shape of her eyes, but that gold-yellow color. Remember that great horned owl that used to nest in the pine trees on the east side of our home?”

“Oh, Miss Lucy. Sure.” Laura had named the huge brown-and-white owl that used to roost high above their two-story cedar home in the woods.

“Eyes like that. Pretty.”

“Sounds as if you like her already.”

“Well…I wouldn’t go that far, Mom. She’s okay. She’s friendly and seems to want to make me feel at home.”

“That’s a good sign.”

“Yeah, maybe. It will probably all change when she finds out about my infamous past.”

Laura hurt for her son. She knew that gossip followed everyone in the military like a curse. Sooner or later, Dazen would find out about Jason’s shameful history. Gripping the phone a little more tightly, she whispered, “Well, maybe Ms. Dazen isn’t going to hold it against you.”

Sighing, Jason said, “I’ll find out, that’s for sure.”

“Do you need anything, honey?”

“No, just to hear your voice. It reminds me of home.”

Laura closed her eyes. Jason loved being home. He loved living in Montana. He loved working with plants and animals. In high school, he’d excelled in biology. But Morgan had wanted him to go to a military academy to carry on the proud, two-hundred-year-plus tradition of the Trayhern family. Since Jason was the oldest male he was expected to go into the military. Laura knew he really hadn’t wanted to. Instead, he had wanted to become an ecologist and work outdoors, somewhere in nature. But that wasn’t to be.

“Well, you can come home on leave, son. Your bedroom is unchanged from the day you left it.” Laura knew Jason would never come home, not until he healed the rift with Morgan. Jason always spent his thirty days of leave overseas, instead. It had been nearly three years since Laura had even seen her son—not since the Five Days of Christmas party right after his first year in Annapolis.

“Yeah, I know, Mom. I should come home…but, well, you know how it is.”

“I know…”

“Listen, I gotta run. I’ll be in touch next week. Love you. Say hi to Pete and Kelly, and give little Kamaria a hug from me?”

Tears burned in Laura’s eyes. She cleared her throat and whispered, “I always do, honey.”

“And how’s Katy? What have you heard from her?”

Laura knew it hurt Jason that his younger sister, two years behind him in age, had taken up the family honor and volunteered to go to the Academy to represent them. Before Jason left, he’d been very close to Katy.

“She’s doing fine, honey. She’s flying Seahawk down in Columbia for the Black Ops stuff.”

“Just like Dad….”

Laura heard the grimness in Jason’s tone. Morgan had been a Marine. Jason was supposed to have taken the same route, but hadn’t, due to the scandal. “Yes, she’s following him into the Corps.”

“I see…. Well, I gotta go, Mom….”

“Take care of yourself? We love you….”

Just as Laura hung up, the front door opened and then quietly closed. That would be her husband, Morgan, coming home for lunch. She tucked the notecard with Jason’s office number on it into her apron pocket. Morgan came through the entryway, wearing a white, short-sleeved shirt and tan chinos, and still looking every inch a Marine with his military-short black hair, which had gone gray at the temples. Her husband was one of the most powerful men in the world when it came to espionage. His company worked beneath the auspices of the CIA, and Laura was proud of Morgan’s ability to help people around the world get out of trouble.

Today, though, she saw he was worried. His square face and gray eyes looked tight with tension. She walked up to him and placed a kiss on his cheek. “You look awful, darling. What’s wrong? Is a mission going bad?”

Morgan bussed his wife’s velvet cheek, inhaling the faint jasmine fragrance she wore. Placing his hand on her waist, he pressed her against him for a moment.

“No, not a mercenary mission,” he answered. Releasing her, he made his way to the table where Kamaria sat. The little girl twisted toward him, a smile of unabashed welcome on her face. Leaning over, Morgan placed a kiss on his daughter’s pink cheek.

“How’s our little musician doing?” he asked, turning to Laura as he rested his hand upon Kamaria’s tiny shoulders.

Laura pulled a turkey-and-cheese casserole out of the oven and placed it on a pot holder in the middle of the maple table. Immediately a delicious smell filled the air. “Beating along in rhythm with whatever comes on the radio. Her hair is long enough to braid now. With the temperature so warm today, I thought she might like to have it up off her neck. Do you like it? Come and sit down. Everything’s ready to eat.”

Morgan sat at the end of the table next to Kamaria. “Yeah, she looks cute in braids. Umm, that smells good. Turkey casserole?” He enjoyed being with his wife and daughter for lunch every day. Eyeing Laura, who was wearing jeans and a pink tank top, he admired her figure. His wife had carried four of their children. She was in her forties, and looked more beautiful to him than ever. Her waist was not as small as it used to be, but then, she was a mother. To him, she was still the special woman he’d met so many years earlier at an airport near Washington, D.C.