Protector (32 page)

SAN ANTONIO, TEXAS—ONE YEAR LATER

Newly promoted Major Chuck Tanaka loved living on the edge. And nothing dished up a bigger adrenaline rush than ending the day with Jolynn.

Hands on her waist, a scarf tied over her eyes, he guided her out to the front porch of their cabin in the woods. More of a cottage actually, the sunset streaking hazy warmth through the towering oak trees. They’d built their cottage on a larger scale than the one where they’d hidden in Italy. With an open concept living area, it sported three bedrooms— and a kick-ass workshop out back where he’d stashed his anniversary gift for Jolynn.

One year ago today, they’d met, a life-changing day for both of them that he looked forward to commemorating each year, along with their wedding date once they got married over the Christmas holidays. They would have planned the
ceremony for sooner, but they’d both wanted their big day to be distanced from the mess uncovered on the
Fortuna
last year.

Adolpho Grassi received multiple life sentences, without parole, only dodging a death sentence by handing over higher-ups in the terrorist food chain. He’d revealed the full extent of a plan to set off a dirty nuke in a sports arena during the NFL kickoff game.

Lucy hadn’t been dirty, but definitely “dusty” in the casino’s illegal dealings. She’d gotten off with parole and placement in the witness relocation program, thanks to ace legal help and complete cooperation. Josiah Taylor had somehow managed to emerge from the whole ordeal squeaky clean, only to pass away from a heart attack six months ago. At least Jolynn had found some peace in that relationship before her father died. She was still wading through the Italian court system to sell off her father’s foreign assets and put the proceeds to more charitable use.

Peace was an interesting and elusive beast, but golden when found. Chuck had realized something valuable in his quest for vengeance against the people who’d kidnapped him in Turkey three years ago. That greedy network of evil was big and tenacious, sprouting tentacles faster than one man could slice them off. He needed to come to terms with the fact this was an ongoing battle, during which he needed to live his life to the fullest.

With Jolynn.

He guided her around the back of their cabin, closer to their workshop, which happened to be bigger than some two-bedroom houses and they’d put the place to good use together after hours. Chuck had transferred out of the dark
ops testing unit, too frustrated over pushing paperwork since he couldn’t fly. Colonel Scanlon, a savvy leader, had shown him a new path for his uniformed service. Chuck worked undercover with the air force’s OSI— Office of Special Investigations. His pal Nuñez had proven a great mentor when it came to investigative work.

A transfer to Randolph Air Force Base outside of San Antonio, Texas, offered the perfect locale for Chuck and Jolynn to build their life together. She’d taken a job at a local accounting firm. Life was good.

“How much farther?” she asked, a hand in front of her although she had to know he would never let anything harm her.

“Almost there.” He guided her past the olive tree that Livia Cicero Scanlon had sent them as a housewarming gift. “I’m going to let go now. Stand still and don’t look.” Unable to resist, he swept aside her flowing red hair and pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck before stepping back. “Almost ready.”

He squatted, lifting the garage door. The wooden door rumbled as it unveiled the contents. Parked alongside the 1965 Mustang they’d rebuilt three months ago, he’d added a vintage GTO today while she’d been at work. He pulled the scarf from over her eyes.

Her squeal of delight left no room for mistake. His gift was a big-time hit.

“Oh. My. God.” Jolynn stared at the automobile, all but drooling over the original muscle car, a 1969 Pontiac GTO hardtop. She walked from front to back, all the way around, caressing her hand along the Starlight Black paint job.

Her hand hovered over the engine with reverence. “Four fifty-five, I assume?”

“Why, of course.”
He flicked on the overhead lights and closed the garage door.

“Dual quads?”

“Naturally. Even thrush mufflers.”

Sighing, she pressed her hands to her chest. “A man after my own heart.”

“That I am, Jolynn, that I am, because you most definitely have mine. Happy anniversary.”

“It most definitely is.” She looped her arms around his neck, angling her mouth over his.

Chuck’s hands sketched lower until he cupped her bottom, lifting her off her feet and settling her on the hood of the car. Without removing his mouth from her skin, he hooked his hands under her knees. Her gorgeous long legs locked around his waist. He nestled between her thighs, the heat of her searing his hard-on clear through his jeans.

He whipped aside her tank top, tucked a hand under her bra, and thumbed the hooks free. Already eager for the feel of her skin, the taste of her, anticipation burned through him. Her breasts tightened in response just as his mouth closed over a peak.

She almost leapt off the car.

The way she wriggled and sighed sent liquid fire coursing through his veins. God, he loved the way she felt in his arms.

God, how he just loved
her.

She brushed her fingers over his shorn hair, urging his head closer. She inched forward along the hood and rolled her hips against him. Sure, the physical side of their relationship rocked, but he knew he found so much more with Jolynn.

Easing his way back up, he traced the shell of her ear. “
Jolynn, Lynnie, Red, I want you. More than you can possibly imagine.”

“I want you, too, Chuck.” Her green eyes twinkling with promise, she pulled his face back to hers. “Now. And forever.”

NELLIS AIR FORCE BASE, NEVADA

Major Sophie Campbell had wanted to be a J. A. G. since she lost her father in elementary school. That didn’t mean she always enjoyed her job.

Today, she downright hated it.

But come hell or high water, she would get some useful nuggets of information out of the witness for the defense— cocky aviator David “Ice” Berg.

“Major Berg, you are aware that the Fire Control Officer on your test team, a man under your command, made a serious error firing from an AC-130 gunship into a private citizen’s home?”

“Ma’am, I was there,” Berg drawled, his South Carolina roots coating each word. “It was tough to miss the flames. But Captain Tate didn’t screw up.”

Of all the test directors to be in charge of this particular mission, why did it have to be Berg? Sexy as hell with a
sense of humor and unflappable calm, he managed to charm his way through life.

Not today.

“Let me rephrase the question.” Sophie flipped through the pages of her legal pad.

Stalling.

She didn’t actually need further information. She needed to decide the best tact for extracting crucial evidence from the rock-headed aviator occupying the witness stand for the past two hours. Based on prior encounters with stubborn Major David Berg, Sophie prepared herself for a protracted battle.

“Major Berg,” she pressed, dropping her paper on the walnut table in the military courtroom, “in the month leading up to the incident, your team was under incredible pressure to complete testing on the gun mount system. You were being pushed to finish ahead of schedule so it could be used in combat.”

“Objection!” Counsel for the Defense leapt to his feet. “Is there a question?”

“Su-stained,” the judge, Colonel Christensen, monotoned. “Get to the point, please, Major Campbell.”

“Yes, sir.” She nodded.

Berg didn’t so much as blink. He’d earned his call sign “Ice” honestly. The man truly was an iceberg under pressure, and today’s stakes were high. Damn high. In order for a child to get justice, a young captain with a spotless record would have his life and career ruined with a court-martial conviction.

This case sucked on a lot of levels.

“I’ll rephrase.” A simple twist in wording would get the question before the witness, cast some doubt in the jurors’ minds. “Are you certain Captain Tate didn’t cut corners on crew rest before the mission in question?”

Berg quirked a dark, lazy brow. “Asked and answered in my initial deposition. I am certain.”

Sure, she was pushing the envelope with badgering a witness, but her options had dwindled in the past couple of hours. She needed to win this case. Too many people counted on her, the child injured in the military testing accident. She also had a child of her own dependant solely on her.

She refused to consider that Berg might be right. Not that she doubted his honesty. His pristine reputation at Nellis Air Force Base carried whispered “awe” aura. As much reputation as anyone could garner working in the top secret field of dark ops testing. He was known as a by-the-book aviator with nerves of steel. No, she didn’t question his ethics, but he must have missed something or been misled by those who worked for him. Maybe he had to cut a corner in the testing process that led to Captain Tate making this tragic— and too damn high-profile— military accident.

“Major Berg, do you acknowledge that there was immense pressure in the month leading up to the incident in question?”

“Stress is standard ops in the test world.”

“And why might the pressure be higher during wartime?”

“Troops in the field need the technology we develop.”

“And in times of stress, you agree that sleep can be difficult?”

Sophie neared the raised wooden stand. Berg radiated such raw strength she doubted any amount of months on the job would lay him low.

A long-banked heat within her fanned to life.

Her steps faltered.

Heat?

The slumbering numbness that had invaded her emotions
for the past year eased awake with a burning tingle. An almost painful warmth spread through her, begging to be fed by—

Major David Berg? David? “Ice”? No way!

What could have snagged her attention now, after she’d known him for at least a year and a half? Something about him today seemed different somehow.

His mustache.
He’d shaved his mustache, unveiling a full, sensuous—

Sophie blinked once, twice. Had he noticed her lapse? A honking big unprofessional lapse.

She cleared her throat along with her thoughts. “Did Captain Tate receive the full eight hours of crew rest?”

“Twelve hours, ma’am,” Berg answered smoothly. “Regulations state crew rest is twelve hours long, something I know, my crews know, and I’m sure you know.”

“Of course, twelve hours.” Well, it had been worth a try to trip him up, create a reasonable doubt. Moving on to plan B.

Sophie closed the last two feet between them, stopping just in front of Berg. Air-conditioning gusted from the vents above, working overtime to combat the Nevada summer heat. Her uniform clung to her back, the blue service jacket about as thick and stifling as a flak jacket right now.

Her nerves must be frazzled from the insane year of restructuring her life as a single mother. She needed to concentrate on her job, not… him. Since Lowell’s death, she didn’t have the time or energy for anything other than caring for her son and paying off the mountain of bills her husband had left behind.

She pressed ahead, placing an evidence bag with a scheduling log inside on the witness stand. “If it’s twelve hours, then I’m confused how you fit in the missions and required rest without a single minute being off.”

He picked up the schedule, scanned it, and placed it back on the stand. “The numbers are tight, but they work. Yes, we were on a deadline. A tight one with no wriggle room, not even a minute. That’s what we do, year in and year out. When has the military not been overworked and undermanned?” Berg’s drawl snapped with the first twinges of impatience. “So in essence, the crazy-ass schedule we work is actually standard.”

Trained to watch for the least sign of weakening in her witness, Sophie rejoiced over the almost imperceptible clench of his jaw. Berg’s pulse throbbed faster above his uniform collar, the reaction so subtle she felt certain only she noticed. She ignored her own quickening heart.

Time to press the advantage, if she dared.

A quick glance at the judge’s bench reassured her. The jowly presider looked in need of some crew rest himself. She needed to move fast.

“Major, you can’t be with your testers twenty-four/ seven. So it’s actually impossible for you to say with complete certainty that Captain Tate received the required amount of rest prior to his mission? I mean really, did you walk with him every step of the way?” Her words fell free with a soft intensity that curled through their pocket of space. “Eat with him? Follow him to the bathroom?”

If she could just piss off Berg enough, she sensed he would snap and slip, say one little thing wrong that would enable her to secure a conviction. It wasn’t like he would go to jail— although somehow she knew he would rather go take the punishment on himself than see anyone in his command suffer that shame of a court-martial.