Hotshot

by Jo Leigh

  “No, thanks. I’ll have what she’s having.”

  He looked at Sara in time to see her head jerk in his direction. The glare was there, but only for a moment. Her eyes calmed along with her lips as her gaze moved to the waitress. “I’ll have the liver and onions.”

  Shit. Stupid move on his part. He despised liver, and, of course, Sara knew that. The smell alone made him sick.

  O’Malley ordered a cheeseburger. At least Luke would be able to wash away some of the liver with a large chocolate shake, although the damn organ meat would haunt his nightmares. Score: Sara–1, Luke–0. He would have given himself a point for showing up, but if she got rid of him by morning, that wouldn’t be a win at all.

  The waitress offered him a flirtatious smile, and he returned it. Habit. One he had to break, and quick.

  “You with the 455th?” O’Malley asked, even before the waitress turned. Luke nodded.

  “You know Master Sergeant Tobias?”

  This grin, Luke could afford. “Who doesn’t? Meanest son of a bitch in Camp Cunningham, and that’s saying something.”

  The scowl twitched in what Luke realized was a smile. “Good to know he’s still raising hell. He owes me twenty bucks. I should get on that.”

  “You been in the Sandbox?”

  “Oh-three to oh-seven. Tangoed with an IED, they sent me back.”

  Luke nodded again. He wouldn’t ask the details. He’d heard O’Malley’s story a hundred times, more or less. The man was lucky. He was still walking and still in uniform.

  “What brought you here?” O’Malley asked, sending what could have been a questioning look at Sara.

  Luke kept his focus on O’Malley, but he knew Sara had wanted this explanation since the hallway. “I have some time before I need to be at Eglin for flight training. They sent me here first.”

  “Eglin?” O’Malley looked at him as if he was lying, but Luke wasn’t going to assume anything about the older airman. “The F-35 Lightning II?”

  “Yep. Eventually.”

  “You ever done a recruitment tour?” O’Malley asked. Evidently he was in charge of interrogation as well as logistics. “Nope.”

  “Public speaking?”

  “Nope.”

  O’Malley’s scowl deepened. “You’re gonna face auditoriums full of snot-nosed kids who think what we do is bullshit.”

  Luke shrugged. “I have no idea why they thought I’d be good for this detail.”

  Sara made a noise that couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than disgust. “Probably figured if you could charm the panties off a general’s daughter, you could handle a hundred teenagers.”

  So she’d heard about that. “In my defense, I wasn’t aware she was a general’s daughter.”

  “Yeah?” she said, meeting his gaze with an anger that had simmered for years. “All it’ll take is one encounter, hotshot, with one of these students. I guarantee I’ll be front and center at your court martial.”

  “So it’s safe for me to unpack?”

  Sara’s eyes narrowed. “I assume all you’ve got is an economy-size box of condoms and your copy of Top Gun, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

  Luke turned away, only to be face to face with O’Malley. The master sergeant didn’t give away a thing. Luke knew guys like him, old-guard soldiers who pretty much ran the service. They never said much because they didn’t have to. If you wanted something done, they were the bottom line. So when they didn’t exactly stick to protocol or forgot a salute here or there, it never got mentioned.

  Luke was damn sure O’Malley wouldn’t say a word to him about the general’s daughter or Sara’s anger, but he could screw up Luke’s life in a day. At this point, Luke was frankly more concerned with Sara.

  He didn’t begrudge her the anger, or the insult. But he knew, now, that the apology he owed her wasn’t going to be accepted anytime soon. Of course she hated him, and he was pouring gasoline on that fire by stepping onto her turf. She had no reason to believe he was sorry for his behavior. He’d barely come to accept it himself.

  He wasn’t the man he used to be. Even though he didn’t understand much about the man he was now, he knew without doubt what he’d left behind in Afghanistan—the part of himself too narcissistic to care about a young woman’s heart. But Sara would have to see that for herself. She might never see it, and even if she did, it probably wouldn’t make a difference. Still, he would try.

  The food arrived. When Luke looked back, Sara had been facing the window. He watched as she settled herself, brought herself under control. She’d found indifference again, and the longer he was here, the stronger that would become. Indifference would make his job harder because Sara was strong and stubborn. Her patience stretched like taffy, but once it snapped, it snapped for good.

  2

  IT WAS 0500 HOURS. At 0700 Sara would call Alonzo. If she didn’t get him then, she’d call hourly until she did.

  She fought a yawn, pissed at herself for being in the office so early, pissed at her head for keeping her up most of the night and pissed at Luke for everything. Following her to dinner. It was just like him to be so arrogant. Talking to O’Malley as if they were war buddies. O’Malley wouldn’t be caught dead hanging out with a man like Luke Carnes. O’Malley had standards.

  Her headache, courtesy of sleep deprivation, continued to distract her, which added injury to insult. She’d like to know what military genius had thought it was a good idea to send Luke “Solo” Carnes on a goodwill tour. Didn’t they know their audiences would be primarily men? If the tour had been to modeling schools, sure, no better speaker could be found, but this was an important effort. The air force needed serious candidates who could envision more to life than instant gratification. Who could realize that service had rewards that went infinitely deeper.

  In her opinion, the country would be better off by far with mandatory service for all young people. If not in the military, then something like it. Kids needed discipline, whether they thought so or not. Needed a purpose bigger than their egos. Which was exactly why Luke was unfit for this assignment. Nothing existed that was larger than his ego.

  Solo. She knew damn well he’d come up with that call sign himself, not that she could prove it. If he’d been tagged by his buddies, it would have been Skywalker or Narcissus—no, that was too intellectual. Ego. That’s what anyone who’d been alone with him for more than five minutes would call him.

  Solo. Not because he was a lone wolf, which he was. Oh, no. In honor of his beloved Star Wars. How many times had she watched that damn movie back in college? How many times had he stopped whatever he was doing—whatever they’d been doing—when Han Solo muttered some arrogant nonsense. Luke had always identified with Solo, always. A hero. A babe magnet. A cocky SOB with attitude to spare.

  Damn it, why was he here? Why couldn’t she just ignore him? Why did thinking about him hurt so much?

  Out of the corner of her eye she spotted a shadow, then O’Malley was in her doorway, looking like he did every morning, spit-shined shoes, shirt so starched it could stand up on its own, face that made grown men tremble.

  She jerked her head for him to enter, and when he did, she saw he wanted to have a chat. She knew that because he’d brought bribes. A mocha-raspberry latte, which she shouldn’t drink, and an apple fritter, which she shouldn’t even think of eating. She took both.

  He perched himself on the edge of her credenza, eschewing the two ugly, uncomfortable guest chairs, plain black coffee in his to-go mug. “Start talking,’“ he said.

  She took a bite of fritter to forestall the inevitable. He hadn’t pressed her after dinner, but he knew her too well to let it go. She’d never told him about Luke. Why would she? He was ancient history. It wasn’t as if she thought about him often, she really didn’t. When she did, though, the pain was like being slugged on a bad bruise.

  “I knew him in high school and college.”

  “That sure as hell doesn’t explain last night.”

&nb
sp; “I’m allowed to be bitchy.”

  O’Malley sipped his coffee, his dark, hooded eyes eternally patient.

  “We had a thing. He was an ass. He’s still an ass. I don’t want him on my team.”

  “A thing?”

  Sara winced, but covered it quickly. “I swear, you’re as bad as a thirteen-year-old girl. In fact, you are a thirteen-year-old girl.”

  He didn’t even blink. He simply sat and stared at her like some ancient tortoise. Waiting, always waiting for her to spill her guts.

  “Tell you what,” she said. “When you tell me about your first love affair, I’ll reciprocate.” She pushed away the fritter, her appetite gone, along with her good humor.

  “So it goes all the way back, huh?” He frowned as he took another sip of coffee, eyed the pastry. When he looked at her again, she watched his curiosity turn to concern.

  “Yes. A long way back. A lifetime ago. It’s not a big deal. I’m surprised he’s here, that’s all.”

  “Right,” O’Malley said. “You know, if you don’t want him here, I can—”

  She held up her hand. “No. It’s fine.” She cleared her throat, met the sergeant’s gaze. “I appreciate it, but I don’t need your help. If Carnes is right for the tour, he stays. If he’s not, he goes, and you won’t have to work any of your mojo, either way.”

  “Mojo? Me? I’m just the logistics guy.”

  “Seriously. Don’t screw around with this.”

  “I never screw around, Captain. I just ride a desk, and now it’s time for me to get to work.”

  “I’ll handle this,” she said, as he walked out the door, but even she could hear the wobble in her voice.

  “Never doubted it,” he said from the hallway.

  She sat back in her chair, stared at her coffee. She couldn’t believe she’d let her guard down in front of O’Malley. He already thought he was her big brother, and she didn’t want his sympathy or his interference.

  She hated that Luke had this kind of influence over her. The way it had ended between them had shattered her. Because she’d still loved him. He’d said goodbye seven years ago, but the way she was feeling, it might as well have been seven minutes.

  He had been the love of her life, and if she wasn’t careful, if she didn’t get her act together, he could shatter her all over again.

  She tried to take a sip of coffee. Her hand shook so badly she spilled the damn thing on her reports.

  LUKE HADN’T SLEPT WELL. That wasn’t unusual, sadly; hadn’t been for a while. So he did what he always did—a hundred push-ups by the side of the bed, then a hundred sit-ups, followed by a run. The streets were unfamiliar, but he was able to get his bearings. A park wasn’t far from the motel, and it had a walking path, so he tuned into his muscles and his breathing, forgot about the nightmare that had woken him at six. Finally, he walked back to his room. The shower had to be cold or he’d find himself leaning against the wall, head dipped, eyes closed. Not today.

  Instead of the diner, he decided to try a coffee shop he’d seen on his run. It wasn’t a chain, wasn’t a trendy coffeehouse. Just a place a guy could get some eggs and, he hoped, a good cup of coffee.

  He hadn’t yet gotten used to being around so many civilians. It was a culture shock to come back to ordinary lives, to safe streets and access to everything.

  The waitress looked as if she’d walked across the scarred linoleum floor a million times. She didn’t spare a glance his way when she put down his menu and filled his cup. Good. He wasn’t in a cordial mood.

  He didn’t get a newspaper, hadn’t brought his magazine. As he drank his coffee, then ate his breakfast, he steadied himself for the day. It wouldn’t be easy for Sara to find a replacement, no matter how much she wanted him gone. The odds of staying were in his favor. He would give his role his full attention. That meant he had to play catch-up, figure out what he was gonna say to the students. Not the truth, not all of it, at least. Some things were better left alone. Some things couldn’t be understood without the experience. No one could hope to imagine ejecting from a jet into enemy territory. Being certain every breath was your last.

  He reached for his toast and latched on to a different memory, infinitely better. Another breakfast, this one in a dorm room. He’d brought coffee and donuts; Sara had made instant oatmeal. Her roommate, Nancy something, had left for an early class.

  It had still been new, the freedom of living on campus. They’d already been seeing each other for a year, but that had been high school and sneaking around. College meant all they had to find was privacy. She’d frowned at the donuts, afraid of the Freshman Fifteen, but she really liked donuts. He’d fed one to her, bite by bite, captivated by her lips, her teeth, the way she looked at him. He’d been hard from the moment they were alone, but he didn’t touch himself. Not during the oatmeal or the coffee or her leaning forward in her V-necked shirt.

  She’d known he could see all the way down to her nipples. Hard pink buds. Hard for him, like he’d been hard for her. Talking about something, anything that wasn’t the hot ache. Knowing that after the food was gone, they’d still be hungry. That they’d strip each other bare and touch anything they pleased.

  Shit. He was hard now, and his eggs were cold, and only a fool would think about something that sweet when the woman involved disliked him so very, very much.

  He finished breakfast, paid his tab. Took his time going back to the motel. When he let himself think of Sara, it was as she was now. In charge and no-nonsense. Wanting him gone.

  But he shoved all that away when he walked into the motel. It wasn’t difficult to find the rehearsal room. It was early, and he was alone. A large table dominated the space, but a podium with a stand-up screen mounted behind it filled the far end. Military posters lined the walls, a whiteboard was covered with bullet points more appropriate for actors than airmen. There was a good hour he could use to look through the material he found in neat stacks on the back tables, and he wanted to read them all.

  Not five minutes had passed when the door behind him opened. Sara stared at him, then shut the door and turned the lock. When she looked at him again, he saw none of her anger, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t furious. This was Sara in armor, prepared to get the job done. He didn’t know if she wanted a fight or not. She wouldn’t get one.

  “What are you doing here, Luke?”

  “I told you.”

  She walked to the end of the long elliptical table. She didn’t sit. “No way this is a coincidence. Not possible.”

  His thoughts went first to lies, but he checked himself. He’d promised. “You’re right,” he said. “I heard about Wiley, realized I’d have the time to fill in before I report to Eglin.”

  “Why?” There was nothing in her voice that even hinted that she was pleading, but it was there in her eyes. A flash, then it was gone. A stranger wouldn’t have noticed.

  “I owe you.”

  She looked at a poster tacked up on the side wall, an F-15 Strike Eagle at takeoff. “You don’t owe me a thing.”

  “You need a fighter pilot. Your choices are limited.”

  “Not this limited.” She looked at him again, completely in control, more beautiful than she’d ever been. The years had brought out the elegance of her bone structure, her fierceness. “I haven’t even begun to call vets.”

  “I’ll do the job well, Captain. I won’t embarrass you or the service.”

  She stared at him, no doubt trying to find an answer in the way he sat, the inflection of his words. If he could have, if he thought for a second she’d have believed him, he’d spell it all out for her, the business in Afghanistan, how he’d seen so clearly how wrong he’d been seven years ago.

  “I know you’d be good at this,” she said. “And that’s my dilemma. This duty means a lot to me. I intend to have an extraordinary success rate.”

  “You will, with me or without me.”

  “Quit trying to act as if this is some noble gesture, would you? I’m not buyin
g it. I just need to know what you want. If you can’t tell me, I’m going to have to make those calls, because I have a job to do, and I’m not going to let whatever games you have planned derail me.”

  He hated feeling so damn uncertain. He’d come here for a second chance, not to make a bad situation worse. He would, of course, step away if she asked him to. Yet he couldn’t help taking one last shot. “Will you believe me if I give you my word?” he asked. “If I swear to you, on my wings, that I’m not here to screw with you? There’s no game, Sara. I want to help. I was a jackass, I know that. But it was a long time ago. When I saw you needed help and I was in a position to do something about your predicament, I didn’t hesitate.”

  Sara pulled out the chair to her right and sat down. Once more she looked away, staring at anything that wasn’t him. Her lips pressed together, then relaxed; there was the slightest tick at the edge of her eye. When she finally looked back, it was with utter indifference. “You understand why I’m having trouble here.”

  He kept his gaze steady as his chest imploded. “Of course.” He paused, hoping for—what?—that she’d forget? Let bygones be bygones? “I’ll find a reason I shouldn’t be on this assignment, one the brass will buy.”

  She let the words hang for so long that he pushed the brochures together and abandoned his last flicker of hope.

  “Not right now,” she said.

  He paused.

  “I don’t have a replacement. It might take a few days.”

  “In the meantime?”

  She stood, lifted the plastic chair with both hands and placed it under the table. “Do your job.”

  Luke nodded. He figured if she continued her search, eventually she’d find someone else. He knew they wanted active-duty personnel for this gig, but if push came to shove, there were a lot of ex-pilots out there itching to tell their stories. Anxious enough to drop whatever they were doing and take the stage. He’d hoped to have more time for his campaign, but this was right. As it should be. He’d leave and she’d go back to her life. She was better off without him.