Part 1 (2/2)

along the tracks. ”Quickest you'll ever throw away a billion dollars. Now get your a.s.s strapped in upstairs.”

”Roger that.” Spike clapped him on the back on his way toward the front.

J.T. jogged past his loadmaster perch, up the steep stairwell to the c.o.c.kpit. For a crash landing, the higher up, the better. Two seats waited behind the pilot and copilot. J.T. darted right, Spike left, and buckled into the five-point harness.

The clear windscreen displayed coastline and desert meeting, sunrise cresting. He plugged in his headset again, reconnecting to the voices of the two men in front of him. Their hands flew over the throttle, stick, instrument panel as they battled the hulking craft.

Scorch, their aircraft commander, filled the left seat, a fair-headed guy who looked more like some mythological Greek G.o.d from the book in J.T.'s flight-suit pocket, a book he'd packed in antic.i.p.ation of the quiet time out over the Atlantic. h.e.l.l. Scorch would need to tap into some G.o.dlike powers to get them out of this one.

Bo, the copilot, sat directly in front of J.T. The dark-haired kid must be all of maybe twenty-five or -six. Not much older than his two kids, for G.o.d's sake. Nikki was just finis.h.i.+ng up her junior year at UNC. Chris was still in high school.

Regret seared. d.a.m.n but he wanted to see his daughter graduate, the first member of his family to get a college education. Of course, he'd attended Rena's graduation a couple of years ago, been proud as h.e.l.l of her honors grades and quick landing of a job as a civilian counselor employed by the Charleston Air Force Base hospital.

But educational successes were expected for her since all her siblings had already sported a few diplomas triple matted on the wall when he'd met her. Hers had been delayed because of marrying him so young.

His head thunked back against the seat. Images of Rena scrolled through his mind on high speed as if to jam forty years more living into the next four minutes in case he never saw her again.

Never made love to her again.

h.e.l.l, right now he'd even settle for fighting with her, something they did as well and frequently as making love, which was mighty d.a.m.n often. I'm sorry, Rena. For so many things.

Scorch thumbed the interphone b.u.t.ton. ”We're not going to make it to an airstrip. We'll have to put her down in the desert. Strap in tight. This one's going to smack so hard your children will be born dizzy.”

J.T. braced his boots. And if they survived the landing? The Rubistanian government would detain them. Question them. It wouldn't be pleasant by a long shot, but they would make it home.

As long as the tribal warlords didn't get them first.

Chapter 1.

May: North Charleston, S.C.

The doorbell echoed through the house.

Rena Price resisted the urge to duck and run upstairs to keep from answering. Instead, she kept her feet planted to the floor for a steadying second while she tipped the watering can into a potted begonia by the sofa.

Yeah, that sure would make a dignified image, a forty-year-old woman cowering under her bedroom quilt. And all because she was scared spitless she wouldn't be able to resist jumping the man standing on the other side of her oak door. But then her emotions had never been easy to contain. Especially around J.T.

Water gushed Niagara Falls style over the sides of the porcelain pot.

”d.a.m.n it.” Rena dropped the watering can and scooped up a burgundy throw pillow from the sofa to blot the water off the floor. She'd just wash the pillow later.

Sheesh. She wasn't the same eighteen-year-old at an air show all gaga-eyed and drooling over a hot airman in his flight suit. She was a mature woman.

The bell pealed again.

A mature woman who needed to answer her door so her soon-to-be ex-husband could start his weekend visitation with their teenage son.

She Frisbee-tossed the soggy pillow across the room and out of sight into the hall. Flipped her long hair over her shoulder. Whew. Composed? Ha. Not inside. But enough to pa.s.s muster outwardly for at least five minutes.

Rena tucked around and past the ficus tree beside the overstuffed armchair. ”Hold on. I'm coming. Just, uh-” her eyes fell on the telephone ”-finis.h.i.+ng up a call.”

Liar. Liar. Her heels chanted with each click along hard-wood floors, then m.u.f.fled on a braid rug as she made her way toward the broad-shouldered shadow darkening the stained-gla.s.s inset.

Regret pinched, not for the first time. How sad that she'd come to a point in her life where her husband had to ring the bell at his own house. He deserved so much better than this.

Better from her.

They'd sure as h.e.l.l tried for years until she'd booted him out six months ago. Taken him back once he returned from Rubistan and whatever horrors he'd endured after being captured. Only to have him walk out on her a few days later.

She slowed in front of the door, pressed her hand to the gla.s.s magnolia pattern, her cl.u.s.ter of silver bracelets jingling and settling up toward her elbow. He wouldn't think anything of the gesture if he saw her on the other side since she was unbolting the lock with her free hand. But she let her fingers linger on the colored window for a second longer over the place where his body shadowed the pane.

After twenty-two years of sleeping with this man, her body instinctively hungered for the comfort and pleasure she could find in his arms. Her mind, however, reminded her of the heartache.

Her hand fell away from the gla.s.s.

She opened the door. ”Hi, J.T.”

Whew. She got that much out without stuttering or panting over his hard-muscled body in a flight suit. Still, she couldn't stop herself from soaking up the image of him to rea.s.sure herself that yes, he had survived the ordeal overseas. New threads of silver flecked his dark hair beneath his hat, adding to his appeal, shouting maturity. Experience.

Stress.

”h.e.l.lo, Rena,” rumbled her husband of few words.

She sidled outside with the company of pa.s.sing cars, safer than inside alone, and commandeered a spot by a potted topiary reaching shoulder high. ”Chris should be home any minute now. His s.h.i.+ft ended an hour ago and he knows he has an algebra test tomorrow. He's looking forward to your weekend together.”

”Me, too. We'll be camping, but I'll have my cell phone on me if you need to call.”

Camping. A shared sleeping bag with J.T. under the stars while their children snoozed inside the tiny tent. So many memories she'd made with this man.

”Great. Just make sure he packs extra bug spray. West Nile virus and all that, you know.” Closing the door and hopefully sealing away at least a few more of those tempting memories made in a bed upstairs, she couldn't stop babbling about everything her son should pack. At least she wasn't throwing herself at J.T. as she'd done the last time they'd been alone together.

How flipping unfair that he should look better at forty-two than at twenty. And he'd looked mighty fine at twenty with those brooding eyes focused intently on her while she gobbled up the vision of shoulders stretching his uniform to the limit. Fine enough back then to entice her out of her clothes and virginity in less than two months.

Of course, when he'd returned from Rubistan, it had taken him less than two minutes to talk her out of her clothes.

Rubistan. Her heart clenched tight.

J.T.

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