Part 14 (1/2)

celebration later. Just couldn't resist this now. Congratulations.”

”Thanks.” J.T. thumped his heart, plastering a sardonic smile in place. ”I feel the love.”

More laughter rumbled through the room as he pulled his chair up to the table beside Scorch.

”Tough crowd today.” The aircraft commander smoothed two fingers along his mustache. Rumor held

he'd once singed the blond stache in a bar with a flaming Dr Pepper mixed drink, thus his call sign.

”Only the strong survive around here.”

Scorch's eyes flicked up to J.T.'s, held for a somber second that affirmed the truth of those words...

From inside the rusted-out jeep bouncing along the rutted desert road in a convoy, J.T. stared back at Scorch beside him. Both of them resigned. Resolved. Scared enough to p.i.s.s themselves.

Hands bound behind his back, J.T. tried to brace with a boot on the back of the seat. Shock absorbers shot, the vehicle rocked, threatened to pitch him out. The hemp cut deeper into his wrists, burning like h.e.l.l, not as bad as his ribs, though. Those flamed like a son of a b.i.t.c.h, but the pain kept him awake.

Could be worse.

Each jolt jarred groans from Bo sitting in front, his mangled hands manacled and swelling. The young lieutenant's teeth chattered, shock setting in.

J.T. glanced back at Scorch. They would have to do something for the kid soon.

Sand caked in Scorch's mustache, the aircraft commander's Ivy League blond veneer dusty as h.e.l.l. In that moment, they bridged the gap between childhoods of brownstone walk-up and mansion, between enlisted and officer. It was them against the enemy, keeping the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds off Bo and away from Spike who carried more secrets than all of them put together.

A whistling premonition sounded.

h.e.l.l, not a premonition at all. A missile. c.r.a.p. ”Incoming!”

J.T. ducked a second ahead of Scorch. The missile arced, another, both closer, taking out the lead vehicle, then the last. Explosions, one, two shook the ground.

He propped his shoulder against the back of the seat. ”Bo, you okay? d.a.m.n it, kid, answer me.”

A grunt sounded from the front while J.T. lay in the back seat staring over at Scorch, both of them trussed and unable to help.

Praying the rescue wouldn't end up killing them.

Only the strong survive. The words echoed from Scorch's eyes then and now.

d.a.m.n straight. J.T. nodded, s.h.i.+fted front for the start of cla.s.s. Droning voices dwindled with the arrival of the two chemical-warfare instructors from the Civil Engineering Squadron.

At least the nighttime surveillance flights with the DEA were netting results in figuring out who sold out their flight plan. And J.T. welcomed the chance to be a part of the process to nail the traitorous b.a.s.t.a.r.ds.

Even if the process was slow as h.e.l.l.

They'd identified the two military leaks. One guy working in aerial port in Rubistan sent back vehicles to the States with the spare tire filled with drugs. The other Air Force leak-in the transportation squadron back in Charleston-took out the contraband. Their reasons were unclear, as were their off-base connections.

Neither had been picked up yet since DEA wanted to topple the whole operation. The two military links were only a small part of the larger operation.

Both men were under twenty-four-hour watch while the surveillance flights continued. Endlessly. G.o.d, the bad guys were good at this, but having closure for the shoot down would go a long way toward easing the roar in his head.

For Rena, for his kids, he would figure it all out. She wasn't the same woman he'd married, a woman who filled his life with plants and smiles and just let him be. Now she wanted things from inside him that he couldn't give. And for a man who already felt he hadn't given her near enough, d.a.m.n but that blew.

Life was easier when they could use s.e.x to work it out, reconnect while relieving stress.

By the time the training filters were being pa.s.sed around, he'd decided maybe the parking idea wasn't so bad after all, once Rena finished up with her client. Even if they didn't actually have s.e.x. Yeah, the needy edge would still be there, but so what? Edgy was good. Didn't mean he had to act on it just yet.

He wasn't twenty anymore. He would control himself now. He would have a chance to make headway with her-without worrying about interruption. And he knew just the thing to romance her with, the last thing he would have expected to use. The toughest for him to utilize. But the only tool in his a.r.s.enal with which to breach her defenses.

Words.

h.e.l.l, talk about underarmed and untrained. He would have to bring in some emergency supplies for reinforcements to go with his pathetic stash of verbal armaments.

”Don't you want to do some word a.s.sociation c.r.a.p or something?” Bo Rokowsky paced around Rena's spa.r.s.e office s.p.a.ce. He tapped a hanging basket in her lone little window, sent the petunias spinning into a kaleidoscope of pink and purple.

Rena tipped back in her office chair with a slow squeak and resisted the urge to tell him not to kill her favorite plant. The guy was wound tighter than the twisted macrame hanger.

For two prior sessions, her patient had tried to charm his way around answering questions. Yet if he wanted to fly again, he needed to clear the mandated evaluation. Today, she hoped for a breakthrough. She'd studied the way he operated, thought she had his number.

Scorch, Spike ... J.T., they'd all been okayed after release in the psych evaluations at Ramstein AFB in Germany. But not Bo.

Every person reacted differently to stress, of course. Bo's youth, his greater injuries, his rootless past may have played a part in diminis.h.i.+ng his coping skills. Whatever the cause, the initial debriefing called for further psychological evaluation of 1st Lieutenant Bo Rokowsky once his wounds healed before he could be returned to full flight status.

She'd been surprised when Bo requested her as his counselor since she was married to J.T. She had even gone to her boss to discuss the matter. He'd quickly pointed out that in a small base community, it was impossible to schedule around all the work and friends.h.i.+p connections. Doctors and counselors would forever be referring cases elsewhere. There wasn't a technical conflict of interest. The patient felt more comfortable talking to her. Budget cuts had left them short staffed. She needed to be a professional and do her job.

Bo's initial eval indicated time would likely settle his problem. Something she would have to confirm before he could return to the c.o.c.kpit.

”Word a.s.sociation is one way to find out about you.” She dropped her steno pad on the desk. ”Honestly, I prefer just to talk most of the time.”

”This should be pretty quick though, right? You just need to find out I'm not about to climb into a bell tower or something.”

”That's one way of putting it.” She flexed her foot on the chair across from her. The simple sprain, aches, immobility from her accident were making her stir-crazy. What more must Bo have gone through during the deliberate injury of both his hands? ”Because of the extent of your injuries in Rubistan, the Air Force wants rea.s.surance you're-”