Part 2 (1/2)
Bo's chuckles turned downright wicked. ”What'll you give me not to stop by the flight kitchen and sweet-talk someone there into adding extra caffeine and cookies to his lunch?”
”Listen up, ladies' man.” J.T. settled a hip against the window ledge, batting aside a flowering something-or-other hanging from the ceiling. Waiting for Rena to go. Hoping it would be soon before he ended up outside. ”You go anywhere near that flight kitchen and I'll tell the nurses over at the hospital what your call sign really stands for. We've been letting you get away with that 'Bo stands for Beau, want me to be yours' c.r.a.p long enough. Hmm, just think if I tell them you're really-” ”Okay!” The squadron Casanova rushed to interrupt. ”No need to say it out loud and risk somebody overhearing. These are government lines, dude, with people listening.”
J.T. let a much-needed laugh roll free. ”All right, then. You're safe for now. But I'll be double-checking that flight lunch of his for contraband Pixie Stix.”
Why wasn't Rena leaving? His boots started twitching on the hardwood floor. Maybe he would just- She sat up, started the car. J.T. exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. The car backed to the edge of the driveway while a steady stream of after-work traffic flowed past.
”No Pixie Stix,” Bo promised. ”Wish I was going with you Monday. I'd shut Gabby up.”
h.e.l.l yeah, they all wished Bo was flying, instead of indefinitely grounded until docs determined if his left hand would be worth a c.r.a.p in the airplane once it healed. Flying. They all needed it, actively doing something to discover who had sold out their flight plan that day in Rubistan.
Although having Bo sit his b.u.t.t in scheduling wasn't a half-bad plan for keeping an ear to the ground. G.o.d, the thought of one of their own turning traitor... J.T.'s fist numbed around the phone.
Not gonna think about that day. Keep it level before the weekend with Chris. ”Looking forward to flying with you again soon.”
”Yeah, me, too.”
Quiet echoed again, the lines occasionally smattered with the background sounds of another phone ringing, conversations off to the corner. But J.T. was hooked in that experience-linked with Bo and the young officer's fears over never flying again.
J.T. scratched along the neck of his flight suit. Even after twenty-four years in the Air Force, he couldn't imagine hanging up his helmet. Flying also offered an escape and release since his personal life had landed in the c.r.a.pper. He'd be screwed right now if he couldn't fly out his frustration.
Yeah, Rokowsky must be in his own personal h.e.l.l.
Age and officer/enlisted realities might separate them, but the shared prisoner experience transcended all
for a more casual relations.h.i.+p. A bond. J.T. searched for something to keep the guy on the line a while longer, until the edge eased from the kid's voice. The parenting role came easy, and he figured Bo didn't get much of that since the guy didn't have any family. ”What are you doing working the late s.h.i.+ft?”
”Easier to call the flight attendant I'm seeing. She's in j.a.pan this week.”
”I thought you were dating a research tech from the medical university. Hannah something.”
”h.e.l.l, mm, that was last Thanksgiving. I've had my heart broken at least three times since then.”
Bachelor days. J.T. shuddered as Bo rambled on about all the ways Hannah had ripped his heart out
before trouncing on it a few extra times.
J.T. sank to the arm of the overstuffed sofa, his gaze never leaving the front yard. Jesus, he was too d.a.m.n old for that c.r.a.p. Although the thought of indefinite abstinence pinched. Hard. And having Rena in sight- even out of reach in the driveway still waiting to leave-didn't help with all those images of the two of them tangled on the hardwood floor.
A van turned the corner. After that, finally a break in the stream of cars. Soon, she would be on her way.
The van roared, picking up speed.
Irritation nipped. d.a.m.n it, this was a residential neighborhood. J.T. reached for a pad to nab the license
number on the front while Bo reminisced about heart-stomping Hannah. The van eased over the center line.
What the-
Into the wrong lane.
”No!” J.T. shouted even though Rena wouldn't be able to hear him. Or move out of the way. He couldn't be seeing-
The van surged. Forward. Faster. Rena jerked to look just as- The van rammed her pa.s.senger door.
Chapter 2.
Grinding metal echoed.He'd expected his marriage to end, but please G.o.d, not this way.
J.T. spared critical seconds to bark instructions at Rokowsky. ”Call 911 and have them send EMS. I'm at the house. Car wreck. Rena. No time to talk.”
He jammed the Off b.u.t.ton. Tore open the door. Sprinted down the steps, vaulted the hedge. The car pinwheeled across the road. Rena slumped against her seat belt. The van recovered, righted.
Roared away.
Professional instincts? Calm in a crisis? d.a.m.n near impossible at the moment. But he scrounged, pulled them to the fore, logged as many details about the van as he could while his boots pounded gra.s.s closer to Rena.
Rage pumped through him with every step. The Cavalier slammed against a telephone pole. His wife's fragile body jerked inside like a rag doll. The crash thundered through the ground. Through him. The car bounced off, skidded sideways, tires squealing.
Stopped. Silence echoed, broken only by the hiss of the engine and a late day bird squawking its way out of a magnolia tree.
Gla.s.s glinted on the pavement. Jagged edges rimmed the door. Hand steady, his insides not so very, J.T. reached into the car.
”Rena? d.a.m.n it, Rena, wake up.”
He pressed two fingers against her neck to check her pulse as his other hand yanked at the handle. The door held firm.
Her pulse pounded under his touch. Okay. One good thing to focus on instead of the bruise purpling her forehead. And at least no blood spurted that he could see.