* * *
Almost home. The C-17 landing gear skimmed the runway just as the sun dipped into the horizon. Zach nailed the brakes, two days late and suffering from a near-lethal case of get-home-itis.
"Charleston control," he clipped into the headset mike, "Reach two-three-five-six is on the deck at fourteen past the hour. Duration, eight point nine. Fuel on board twelve thousand. Aircraft's code one." Nothing broken, not even another damned indicator light.
The maintenance debrief would be a speedy ten minutes in and out before he could sprint home to change for the squadron Valentine's function.
And to see his wife.
Anticipation fired through him.
Park the plane first, pal.
He guided the aircraft from the runway to the hammerhead and idled the engines.
"Tower, Reach two-three-five-six is clear of the active runway. Switching to ground control."
Zach nodded for the pilot sitting behind him in the instructor's seat to run the final checklist clean-up. Follow procedure. Keep everything reined in.
Captain Nola Seabrook behind him and Lieutenant Darcy Renshaw in the copilot's seat beside him exchanged the checklist call and response.
Multitasking was a must for any commander, and this TDY had offered the chance to address three concerns along with completing the core mission. He'd finished the requalification for veteran pilot Seabrook, ensuring she was back up to speed after her lengthy medical leave.
Then came the problem with Renshaw. Something was eating the young lieutenant, and she was too set on proving herself to the rest of the squadron to share. He hoped Renshaw would find a mentor in the unflappable Seabrook.
And he'd come close to accomplishing his most important task the past month—retracing the steps of Lance Sinclair's fatal flight. Zach knew in his gut something had gone wrong in the South American control tower.
With luck, the flight next week would prove just that, with the help of those who knew Lance Sinclair's flying habits best, those he crewed with most often—Tanner Bennett and Jim Price. Even Gray Clark had flown in with his family from Washington the night before to crew on the upcoming mission.
Only a week more and Zach could finally close that file once and for all.
Seabrook snapped the checklist shut and tucked it in her oversized black flight bag. "All clear."
"Roger, Captain." Zach nodded. "Renshaw, how about taking over and calling us into the parking area."
Thirty minutes later, he climbed into his truck. The past month, the sound of Julia's voice on the phone had left him so damned hard, no way would he torture himself with long-distance discussions of sex. They'd kept conversations superficial.>She didn't need to know about the boundary dispute heating in South America, or that he'd volunteered his unit for this mission so he could dig into control tower data linked to Lance Sinclair's crash.
Beyond what he owed Lance, Patrick and Julia, three other crew members had died that day. He needed answers.
"It's safe." He hoped. "But I can't promise you it will be next time. Julia, the last thing I want is to check out and leave my kids behind, but this is what I do. On any given day, war or peacetime, the US military has troops deployed in seventy countries. That's just the average. Humanitarian relief, drug intervention patrols, peace-keeping forces. War or no war, we're out there doing our job and it's not always going to be safe."
Julia stared at the floor. Did she even know her hands shook?
Skimming her drooping tank strap back up onto her shoulder, he wanted to hold her until she quit shaking. "I want you, no question about it. I've always been upfront about that, and turning you away right now is the hardest damned thing I've ever done."
He allowed his thumb to explore her fragile collarbone, a reward for holding strong.
"Think it through while I'm gone and see if my job is something you can handle before we go any further."
She looked up, direct with no wavering. Her hands might be trembling, but her gaze was rock-steady. "You missed out on something incredible tonight."
The soft skin beneath his callused thumb, and her eyes so passionate about everything affirmed that fact even more than her words. "I know."
His hand fell away and he stood. He swiped his T-shirt off the floor. "I'm going up to the office and clear out some paperwork before I leave."
Run a few hundred laps on the way.
He opened the door.