Others danced, some stretched out and read. A few even slept, the reverberation of music nothing compared to the concussion of combat.
Leaning against the archway, she watched, listened, losing track of time until a shadow stretched past her. Jack. She smiled over her shoulder.
He didn't smile back, simply moved across from her to lean against the opposing side of the archway. "I told you when we left Nevada I wanted you to stick close whenever we can. This place isn't safe."
She frowned, studied him, the stress lines fanning from the corners of his dark eyes. His "shitty mood" after the night flight had increased to something darker, intense and so unlike the easygoing lover she'd come to know the past months.
Scowling, he reached down to check the BlackBerry—wireless handheld e-mailer—attached to his web belt.
"Jack? Everything okay?"
He dropped the handheld back in place, then twisted open a water bottle. "Just finishing up my shift in the command center."
"And everything went all right?" she repeated. Was he dodging her question? "Is there any news I should know about?"
"No messages. Nothing to tell you. Everything's on schedule." He braced a boot behind him, tilting back his bottle, effectively ending conversation for a few seconds at least.
"I thought for sure you'd be over there with Santuci ordering some Elvis tunes."
He grunted, drank again. A hungry glint overlaid the edginess with a new intent she recognized well. Sultry tension pulsed from him much like after a dangerous flight when he needed the ultimate physical release. Sex.
Her mouth dried right up as too many memories bombarded her. She snatched the water bottle from him and moistened her lips, the rim still warm from him.
Uh-oh. She rolled the bottle between her palms and searched for safer ground. "Sydney would like this. She always loved music, even as a kid. Music played and her feet would start moving. She never cared who was watching." Monica passed back his water. "You have that same comfortable-in-your-skin air. I envy you both that."
"You do okay. It's tough to hold your own in a squadron of crew dogs, but you fit. Hell, they even gave you your own call sign. Not all flight docs get 'em."
The heat in his eyes combined with his compliment warmed her insides into soft chocolate. "You've never told me how you got your call sign."
He drank again, studying her over the bottle, visibly reining himself in. What churned in his head? And could she handle this darker Jack, anyway, when they barely survived in his easygoing days?
Finally he lowered his bottle. "I used to be 'King,' the whole Elvis theme. Before long, 'King Korba' shuffled to 'King Cobra,' and then just 'Cobra.'"
A deep chuckle sounded from behind her. She turned to find Rodeo looming over her.
He leaned one shoulder against the wall. "Don't let him bullshit ya, Hippocrates. It's a snake joke from the time he lost his wallet at a bar in California and the manager offered to comp his tab if he dropped his flight suit."
Jack winced. "I had on shorts."
"With big hearts on them, I seem to recall."
"You don't have to tell all my secrets."
Laughter faded from Rodeo's face. "Well, sometimes secrets can be toxic."
Monica's eyes flicked back and forth from Jack to Rodeo, unspoken communication so heavy there almost seem to be a visible thread linking the air between the two men.
The last strains of a Rolling Stones' classic dwindled. Santuci raised his megaphone to his mouth and shouted, "This next one's a special request from Captain Derek 'Rodeo' Washington going out to his pal Major Korba. Let's hear it for the King!"
Three notes into "Hunka, Hunka Burning Love," suspicion niggled along with memories of Vegas vows serenaded by music from the King. There had been all those pointed looks from Rodeo lately. Now Jack's glare at his best friend. Sure, everyone knew he liked Elvis, but somehow this went further.
By the time Elvis started wailing, she knew just how far. "God bless it, Jack Korba! You told him, didn't you?"
Damn him, he didn't deny it. Or even apologize. Just stared back at her with one slow blink before shooting another glare at Rodeo that stated clearly the guy was dead meat.
Did everyone know their marriage secret? She darted a quick look at the other fliers sprinkled in the crowd. No one was staring their way, which boded well. For now. Gossip flowed faster than air through a squadron.
Crew dogs were bad enough about teasing with little or nothing for fodder. Now her most painful mistake would be paraded in front of her for the rest of her Air Force career in the form of endless Elvis dedications.