Wingman

by Emmy Curtis

  They caught a cab to the airport, and an alien feeling of loss came over him. Her decision to go to MacDill was her rejection of him and their life together—such as it was. He wasn’t going to badger her into making a different decision. He wasn’t going to beg or tell her how he felt about her, because clearly, despite all they’d gone through, this was something she had to do for her own career. He had to respect that.

  Neither of them checked in bags for their respective flights, so they went through security together and sat at her gate since her flight would be the first to depart.

  They waited in silence, until the last people had boarded her flight. He stood up and held his hand out to her. She took it and stood next to him toe to toe. “I guess this is it, then,” he said, wanting to lengthen the seconds out by days.

  “I’m going to miss you,” she said. Then she raised her eyes to the ceiling and continued. “I’ll miss some things, at least.”

  He put a hand over his heart. “Only some things?”

  “Well, I won’t miss the morning-after stories of all your conquests, all the fajitas you’ve eaten, and their rating out of ten, nor will I miss you bailing on every social occasion. But I will admit that there are some things I will miss now that I didn’t even know about before.” She bit her lip and gazed at him, her eyelashes fluttering.

  His heart sank. She really had believed him every time he talked about the imaginary women he’d been with. But he couldn’t blame her because that’s what he had intended. That was his excuse for not hanging out with her, his way of ensuring that she never looked at him the way she had the past three days. Because he would not have been able to resist her. And would never have been able to walk away. He still wasn’t, which was why it was best that she was doing the walking.

  “I’ll text you my new details when I get there,” she said. “Maybe you can come for a visit sometime?”

  That was a bad idea. A bad, bad idea. “I’d like that.” Yeah, this was never getting any easier. He took her other hand and kissed her gently on her lips. Their last kiss. “Don’t forget me now.”

  She frowned. “I’m sorry. What did you say your name was again?” She winked at him.

  He shook his head. “So hurtful. So, so hurtful.”

  She picked up her backpack, took a boarding card from her pocket, raised her eyebrows. “See ya.”

  He nodded once in reply and watched her go. She disappeared onto the walkway and out of his life. He sat down again, watching the workers outside move around the plane. He wanted to sing some power rock ballad about a broken heart. He was in his world, and all the workers were in theirs. He wanted to rip that plane to shreds like he was the Hulk.

  But he knew he had to get his shit together and move on. He stood, grabbed his bag, and rolled his neck around on his shoulders, trying to ease some of the tension.

  Just as he was turning to leave, unable to actually watch the aircraft push back, a man in green shorts and a white button-down ran up to the gate. “Am I too late?” he asked, thrusting his boarding card at the airline employees.

  “No, Mr. Janke. You just made it.”

  Conrad looked at him. Wasn’t that the name of the guy who had tried to get Missy to confess?

  “It’s Colonel Janke,” the man complained.

  Yes, it was definitely him.

  “I’m sorry, Colonel Janke,” the employee said, swiping his boarding card. She gave it back to him and he ran down the Jetway. As soon as he was out of sight, the employee rolled her eyes.

  I’m with you, sister. Conrad took a beat. That couldn’t be a coincidence. Why would a JAG be flying to MacDill? Why would a base JAG be going anywhere?

  He tried to walk casually up to the desk. He grinned at the employee. “Hi. I’m Colonel Conrad, but you can call me Mr. Conrad. In fact, you can call me whatever you want to call me.”

  She smiled slowly and leaned forward on the counter. “Can I call you anytime?” Humor lit her eyes.

  He laughed. “Anything, anytime. I just wanted to tell you that we’re not all like him. And, man, he was lucky you let him on the flight, right? I mean, it’s not your fault he was running late.”

  “He only decided an hour ago where he wanted to go. Like, his ticket was only purchased at eight this morning.”

  Eight a.m. was about the time Missy and he had gone through security. It would have only taken him a call to the base travel office to see where she was headed. Cold trickled down his spine. Janke was following her. There was no other explanation.

  He grabbed his phone and dialed his number-one speed dial.

  “Hi, this is Major Malden. I’m sorry I can’t get to the phone right now but if you leave me a message, I’ll call you as soon as I can. Thank you.”

  He looked out the window and saw the plane pushing back. Tension seeped through his body again. He couldn’t even fucking remember the last time he was relaxed.

  “When’s the next flight to Tampa?” he asked his new friend.

  Her fingers flew over the keyboard. “The next one leaves in three hours. Are you going to go and have a word with Mr. Janke for me?”

  “You better believe I’ll be having a word with him. Can you get me on that flight?”

  Her eyes flirted with him. “I can get you wherever you want to go.”

  He smiled back her. “I just bet you can.”

  He handed her his credit card, and she handed him a new ticket. He looked at her name tag. “Thank you, Nancy. It was an absolute pleasure doing business with you.”

  “Likewise, I’m sure.” She went back to her colleague on the other side of the desk.

  He watched the plane depart, while committing half of his attention to figuring out how long Missy’s flight would take and how soon he would see her again. To be safe, he left a voice mail. Hopefully she would turn on her phone as the plane was still taxiing to the gate when they landed. It would give her time to figure out the safest place to go.

  His fists clenched. She had to stop fucking leaving him. Every time she slipped out, left, or sneaked off, something bad happened.

  And he couldn’t help but notice that Janke was about five foot ten.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Missy landed at Tampa Airport five hours after she had left Conrad. She had spent the flight trying to read, trying to sleep, and trying to muster up an appetite for a soggy meat sandwich and pretzels. She should have known better. No airman worth their salt traveled anywhere without jerky and protein bars. She had neither.

  She was trying hard to feel as if this was a new beginning. She knew this new position was the right thing to do. Without Conrad in the pilot seat, she wouldn’t miss being in the air. It never felt quite right, though, any time she was at 30,000 feet and Conrad wasn’t flying the plane.

  As soon as the plane doors opened and she felt the warm, humid air wash through the cabin, she felt like she was in the right place. It was a new day. A new job. And a new state.

  She followed the line of people off the aircraft and into the airport. Only after she got to the bathroom did she remember to turn on her phone. One voice mail.

  After washing her hands, she tapped the icon to see who’d called. Conrad’s voice halted her in her tracks. The message was full of bad reception static.

  “The last passenger on your flight came late. It’s Janke, the JAG you told me about. The airline employee told me he’d only booked his flight an hour before departure. Keep your…” Then there was some static and the message ended.

  She paced backward away from the entrance of the bathroom and dialed Conrad back. It went straight to voice mail. Damn! Okay, so maybe Colonel Janke is a Floridian. Maybe he’s coming home after Red Flag. She squinted at herself in the mirror. No. JAGs were assigned to the base, not the exercise. So he must be based at Nellis.

  Conrad obviously thought there was something sinister going on. And it wasn’t as if she could dismiss it out of hand, given what they’ve both been through.

  She took a hea
vy breath; she couldn’t stay in the bathroom all day. Hopefully Janke was already on his way, but at least she could keep her eye open for him now.

  She emerged from the bathroom, trying not to look around her, trying not to catch his eye, if he was there. She walked down the concourse toward baggage claim and ground transportation, first walking slowly and then speeding up before slowing down again and looking in the store windows. It wasn’t until she was looking in the window of the National Geographic store that she saw his reflection in the glass.

  He was standing on the other side of the concourse with Ray-Bans on, looking at her, thinking that she probably wouldn’t recognize him without his uniform. But she never forgot a man who tried to intimidate her.

  Fight or flight? Fight or flight?

  She turned and walked right across the concourse toward him, not looking at him until she was just a few feet away.

  “What a coinkydink! What are you doing in Tampa, Colonel?”

  His mouth fell open and he fumbled as he took off his sunglasses.

  She remained silent, waiting for him to fill in the dead air.

  “I…I’m here…I—”

  “You’re not a very convincing spy, sir. Who sent you?” Please let it be someone in charge. Someone who sent him to keep me safe for some reason. It was a wild and ridiculous guess.

  “I’m here on vacation,” he said, finally finding his authoritative voice.

  “Cool. Where are you staying?” she asked.

  He just shook his head.

  “Wherever you’re vacationing, stay away from me or I will call the police.” She spun away and walked fast to the ground transportation area. She looked back and found him standing in place, his cell phone pressed against his ear.

  She sat in the back of a cab and asked the driver to take her downtown. The car was cool, so she slipped on her hoodie and tried Conrad’s phone again. Voice mail. Again. But then she guessed he was on a flight to Virginia, back to Langley Air Force Base. He’d probably land soon.

  What she wouldn’t give to have him here with her. Just to be with him.

  But no, she had to shake it off and get on with her life without him. Without him. Alone. The thought sent dread through her. Okay, so instead of searching for excitement or positive vibes, maybe she had to go through her own grieving process? She stuck her tongue out in disgust.

  “Can you take me to the nicest hotel in Tampa?” she asked the driver.

  “Sure. That would be the Kings Castle. It’s expensive,” he warned.

  “Good.” That would mean no freaking colonel on a military per diem would stay there. And she didn’t care. She had a load of savings that came of being a single officer, with no dependents and no social life to talk of. She even shared ownership of her horses. So, she’d saved a lot.

  She checked into the hotel and tried not to wince at the price. Eh, she deserved it. She booked room service with the receptionist and a massage for later. She was looking forward to an early night, with no worries except reporting to base on Monday. She was having a well-deserved vacation full of room service and swimming in the rooftop pool.

  Except as good as all that sounded, what was it without Conrad to talk to? To share the experience? To punch his shoulder when he snarked on something. As frustrating as her life had been with him in it, it seemed disproportionately empty now he had gone. Well truthfully, she had gone. She’d gone to reclaim her life, but it felt now as if she had left her life behind.

  Everything was so confusing. She had left her job to gain clarity, but it seemed running away brought the same feelings with just a different surrounding.

  She took a breath. It had been only a few hours. It might be months before she could claim this new base, and job, as her own. She had to be patient. Live a little.

  A few hours later, she stretched out on the bed, wearing the fluffy dressing gown the spa downstairs had given her. She reckoned she had half an hour before her steak and key lime pie arrived. If she was being honest, she could have done with just the key lime pie, but ordering a proper meal made her at least feel as if she had her shit together.

  There was a knock at the door. Even better. The earlier her meal arrived, the earlier she could take to her big, white, puffy bed. She raced to the door and peeked through the keyhole. All she could see was a tray with a silver dome on it moving as if it were being held up high by the waiter.

  She yanked open the door, her hand already on the folded up $5 bill she had ready in her pocket and a looking-forward-to-pie smile on her face.

  What confronted her was not pie, but a black 9 mm pointing at her face.

  Shock paralyzed her for a second, and then she tried to slam the door on him. It hit his arm, and he dropped the tray he’d been carrying. She leaned against the door, squashing his arm. “Help! Help!” she yelled, but the sound was muffled by the expensive carpets and thick walls.

  Her back pressed against the door, trying to keep him from coming in, his arm bent around the door toward her. Her heart pounded, looking around for anything to use as a weapon.

  There was nothing—the room was too big to reach anything. Fear loosened everything in her body, her hands became cold, and her bare feet started to slip on the carpet. Terror zipped through her. If that muzzle managed to point her way, if that man made it into the room, it was basically game over.

  She reached for his gun, pushing his arm away from her, but as his arm straightened, her purchase against the door weakened.

  An unknown man was trying to kill her? There was no way she was putting up with this crap.

  She slid one of her hands down from the gun and used her short nails to rip through his skin. No hesitation. She drew blood the first time.

  The man grunted on the other side of the door, but as she’d had to loosen her grip on the gun to scratch him, he used the brief weakness to his advantage and barged the door.

  Missy did the best she could. She counted to three and let go of his hand and jumped away from the door. It banged open, and the man staggered into the room, caught off guard. She caught a glimpse of his face. Janke.

  She was more than furious and then more than scared. Storming her hotel room with a gun was career ending for him, so she probably wasn’t going to be able to talk him out of killing her.

  Fight or flight. Fight or flight.

  For the first time in her life, there was no upside to fighting. None that her frazzled brain could parse. She dashed for the door that was closing very slowly the way they do in expensive hotels. She managed to get through it, into the corridor, but he was on her immediately, using his height and strength to lift her right off the ground with arms around her waist.

  “Help! Fire!” she shrieked as loud as she could. A door banged at the end of the corridor, but no one came to help. He carried her back into the room. She kicked and punched behind her to try to make contact with him, and he threw her on the bed.

  He aimed his weapon on her again. “Stay.”

  She bit her lip to prevent it from trembling. She shook her head. “Why are you doing this?” she asked, horrified at the lack of control she had over her jagged voice.

  “I’m being a patriot. Sometimes you have to sacrifice one life to save thousands.” He said the words as if he were repeating something he’d heard.

  Either way, it didn’t sound good. “So, you’re going to kill me? What about all the people I’ve told? Will you kill them to stop them talking too?” Now she was swimming in unchartered waters. She didn’t know exactly what had brought him to her, but she was hedging her bets that TGO had something to do with it.

  His jaw clenched. “Who have you told? What did you tell them?” He raised his gun again.

  “I’m not going to tell you anything!”

  Missy took a deep breath and looked for something to use as a weapon. Maybe the phone. Maybe the lamp.

  He gritted his teeth. “I’m not playing games here. Tell me who else knows.” He pulled the gun back up and aimed it, do
uble-handed—the way they’d both been taught—at her head.

  Instinctively she dipped her head down, cowering from the inevitable shot, waiting for the sound of the death shot. Her death. Her life didn’t flash before her eyes, only Conrad did. His easy smile, flying with him… The hands clasped in her lap became wet, and she realized she was crying big, hot tears.

  She wasn’t getting out of this alive. She understood that now. And she wasn’t putting the MPs, Bowman, or Conrad in the crosshairs when she wouldn’t be around to protect them. She took a deep breath. “How did you find me?” she asked, stalling for time and wondering if it was even worth it.

  “Grove put a tracker on you when he met you before. You probably didn’t see it. It just looks like a tiny sticker,” he said.

  A shiver pulsed down her back at the thought of Grove knowing where she was at all times. And then she realized. That’s why she’d been released. They couldn’t get to her while she was in custody. They’d only be able to get to her when she was out.

  Her head came up, and her back straightened. “Did you try to shoot me last night?”

  Janke’s mouth twisted. He didn’t answer.

  Couldn’t take failure, huh? “You missed by a mile, man. I hope you never tried out to be a sniper…What an embarrassment that would have been.” She shook her head at him, trying to look normal. Trying not to show the terror that was almost controlling her whole body.

  He approached her, and she fought the urge to scramble away from him across the bed. Instead of shooting her, or hitting her, he picked up the pad and pen that was by the bed and threw them at her. “Write down the names of everyone you told.”

  That made her laugh. “Riiiight. And what’s the upside of doing that for me?”

  “I won’t kill you,” he said.

  No one believed that. She didn’t believe it. She just rolled her eyes at him.

  “Why are you here?” she asked.

  “Major Daniels—Eleanor—told you about the conversation she overheard between her father—the general—and Mr. Danvers,” he said, switching gun hands so he could pull off the messenger bag he was wearing across his chest.