dark ops 3 - Renegade (27 page)

It seemed strange somehow to transition into that sharing-a-bed through-the-night stage so quickly and without discussion. Yet he held back the sapphire and silver comforter, smiled at her, told her she was beautiful as he skimmed his knuckles down her spine.

He was charming.

He was solicitous.

He was sensual.

But he wasn’t intimate, not on any real emotional level. She couldn’t hide from the truth. She wanted something more with him. If she’d learned anything tonight, it was that life could be cut short all too quickly for her to waste time.

She turned to Mason, determined to shake some emotion out of him and find out what was going on in that gorgeous head of his. How to start?

Before she could reconsider, she blurted, “I think that first wife of yours really did a number on you.”

Mason’s fingers went still against her bare spine. Then his hand left her altogether. “Do you really think it’s wise to have this conversation when we’re both exhausted?” He clicked off the Tiffany lamp. “We can talk after we’ve gotten some sleep.”

Maybe he had a point, but then maybe she did, too, and he was trying to avoid the discussion altogether. Perhaps she just needed to take a different approach. Jill set her comb on the night table and slid her legs under the Egyptian cotton sheets, her decadent pleasure. Yet they only served to tease along her already heightened nerves that hungered for Mason’s stronger touch.

God, she was about to jump out of her skin. “This isn’t going to work.”

Mason sighed and clicked on the light again. “What do you want to know?”

He looked like he would rather have a root canal. And honestly, if that was how he felt about the possibility of connecting on a deeper level, why would she push for it anyhow? Disappointment simmered.

“Never mind.” She tugged the covers up. “You’re right. Forget I even freaking asked.” And then she felt petty for snapping when she should be grateful to be alive. Instead, she wanted to scream.

“My
ex
-wife didn’t do anything to me. It takes two to make or break a marriage. I’m just as much to blame, as I’m sure you’re noticing, since apparently I’ve done something to piss you off.”

Curiosity chased away her irritation. She ignored the last part of his little speech and pressed for her answers now that she had him talking. “Where is she now?”

Mason sat up and draped his arms over his knees, covers tenting over his bent legs. “She’s married to a firefighter in California.”

His bare chest and muscled arms called to her fingers, but she kept her hands twisted along the top of the sheet. “How do you feel about that?”

“I don’t love her anymore, if that’s what you’re asking. Do you really want to talk about this right—”

“Yes, I do want talk about this now. Right now,” she finished his sentence.

He studied her with oddly intense eyes before looking back at stripes on the comforter as if they held some mystic pattern. “Fine. I meant it when I said I don’t love her, but she’s a good person. She was a strong person, could even put up with the dangerous nature of the job—hell, look at how she’s in a successful marriage with a guy who fights California fires, for crying out loud.” Frustration leaked into his voice.

She inched closer to him, feeling closer for the first time since he’d shut her out earlier. “That must have hurt, seeing her move on.”

He looked sideways at her. “I told you. I don’t love her. We made a stupid, young mistake. She couldn’t handle the long separations. She said it felt like she wasn’t even married after a while. Most of the spouses around here would agree the job has that effect on relationships. Have you heard what you want now?”

Mason might as well have left the room for all the emotional distance he’d put between them again. He’d said his piece, and he’d found a way to march through life without dealing with it, without moving on in any real sense. She hurt for him as much as she hurt for herself.

“So that’s it.” She thumped him on the arm lightly. “You have your pat answer in place for why you can’t be a part of any relationship.”

“My feelings are my feelings,” he answered in a flat, emotionless voice.

“Your feelings are a crock.”

“How considerate of you to let me know what I’m feeling.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Maybe I should just sit here, and you can fill in the blanks, since you can finish my damn sentences for me.”

She recognized his rude words for exactly what they were. Mason was a man running scared. “For a suave ladies’ man, you’re really being a jackass.” Jill yanked the coverlet from the bottom of the bed and wrapped it around herself. “You’re right about not talking. Too much has happened too fast. There’s no reason for you to worry about protecting me anymore. I think you should go.”

And damn him, Mason snatched up his clothes and didn’t even argue on his way out the door. She’d always expected things would end this way if she ever dared act on her attraction to him, that her feelings could run deeper. She just hadn’t expected it to hurt this damn much over the possibility of losing something so brief that had rocked her world so hard.

Two days later, Mason stood with his crew in front of the futuristic transport plane that would revolutionize airlift operations. If it went well today, by sunset they could finally put this hellacious week behind them.

Put Jill behind him?

He didn’t know what to say to her. He’d left her a single message, checking, just to say . . . nothing much at all actually. Of course he’d copped out and placed the call at a time he knew she would be working. Damn straight he needed space.

Her questions had dug too deep, too fast. He preferred his life light and uncomplicated—not words he would ever use to describe Jill Walczak.

And he needed to figure out something before much longer, since Jill stood in her camos with Dr. Lee Drummond and the security team guarding this private unveiling of the hypersonic jet for generals from Canada, the U.K., and Australia. The Predator had already launched ahead of them, circling for a bird’s-eye view to ensure no unwelcome visitors. Once they all landed, there would be no avoiding a face-to-face with Jill.

For now, he peered through his sunglasses at the airplane. Until today, it hadn’t often been out in daylight during its testing. He exhaled in awe. He’d almost forgotten how amazing it was. And untraditional.

Real visionaries back in the early stages had stepped outside the box to come up with this one. From the very start, it defied regular expectations. The nose looked more like a wing, even changing its angle and shape to increase aerodynamics as the aircraft reached hypervelocity. The rest of the aircraft resembled the “lifting body” experiments of long ago, with a wide, flat bottom and shorter wings that turned up at the ends.

Damn amazing that they’d made it to this day with so much working against them. But even the horrifying distraction of a serial killer couldn’t stop this mission. It appeared that DNA would link Ferguson to all four of the killings and perhaps even some earlier crimes, including the questionable death of a prostitute that had cast such shadows over the end of Phillip Yost’s years in law enforcement.

As for all the supposed ties the victims had to Mason? They’d known the links were thin at best, and it appeared his friend Chuck Tanaka had crossed paths with the victims as well, which brought them to Ferguson’s attention. The fact that they bore supposed grudges against Mason was apparently irrelevant. Ferguson’s MO had been targeting people with ties to the military, plain and simple, inflicting pain at a higher level than he could as a physical therapist.

Strangely, though, as loose-lipped as Ferguson got when faced with figuring out a way to dodge the death penalty, he still denied attacking Annette Santos. He said he’d gotten the idea to add the alien twist from hearing her discuss her attack with Chuck and when she shared the details about the weird swirl in the dirt.

So who’d attacked Annette?

That was for the likes of Barrera and Gallardo and others in law enforcement to determine. Mason had his own battles to fight. Right now, he wasn’t sure what felt like a more colossal task—flying a mission with the potential to send him pinwheeling through the sky again, or trying to convince Jill they could have a relationship without flaying each other’s emotions raw.

“Sir, here they come,” Mason said out of the corner of his mouth to Colonel Scanlon, nodding toward the blue SUV nearing the craft. The vehicle transported the visiting generals for their up-close.

“Look sharp, boys,” Scanlon said softly, prescription aviator shades shielding his eyes. “No grab ass, and don’t go all chatty if they ask questions. Keep it short, and let’s move things along.” He made eye contact with the crew, one man at a time.

The blue SUV pulled up in front of them. A driver and an aide in uniform jumped out and opened the back doors. Out stepped the commander of the Air Force Flight Test Center and air vice marshals from Canada, Australia, and the U.K.

“Damn,” Mason mumbled, “that is a shitload of flag officers.”

Jimmy and Vince hid smirks behind their hands. Scanlon shot them a quick, stern look. Strangely enough, after all the emotion the colonel had shown when saving Livia Cicero, the woman was nowhere to be seen. Colonel Scanlon had simply informed them she’d left for southern Florida to recuperate from the trauma. His closed expression had brooked no further questions about any relationship with the Italian singer, even for guys used to needling each other about women. Some lines you just didn’t cross.

The colonel stepped forward, saluting each general in turn. “Welcome to the desert, gentlemen.”

The officers returned his salute, but they weren’t staring at him. Their eyes were all pinned on the bizarre gray aircraft behind him.

Scanlon smiled for the first time. “She is a little odd-looking, but she really gets the job done fast.”

The Australian officer replied, “It better, because this sheila will surely never win a beauty contest.”

Scanlon chuckled. “No, I suppose not. If you will follow us, my crew and I will give you a walk around.”

Twenty minutes and about a million questions later, they had completed the viewing with the VIPs. The American general gave the crew a nod as they got back into the SUV.

Colonel Scanlon turned to the crew and said, “Mount up, boys. Time to earn that flight pay.”

Mason hefted his flight bag and stole one last look at Jill in the same uniform she’d worn when she’d taken him down after his hellish descent into the desert. While he certainly hoped this mission would finish on a more positive note than when he’d been nose-first in the sand with a gun at his back, he wasn’t so sure he and Jill would end up any better off.

And the hell of it all? He stood a better chance at understanding how to work this multibillion-dollar test craft than he did at navigating his way back into the good graces of this one particular woman.

Tired, confused, and a little overwhelmed by the magnitude of what she was seeing, Jill stood on the tarmac with Dr. Lee Drummond, who’d apparently been a major part of the testing team from the civilian angle. History was being made. Mason was making history. And she grieved that things were so messed up between them, they couldn’t even look forward to celebrating this awesome moment together.

She and the stylish engineer, Dr. Drummond, stood off to the side. Other security forces were posted strategically throughout the viewing area. The four generals confabbed a few feet away, protocol somewhat falling away. They couldn’t hide their awe as the unrelenting sun showcased the large gray beast.

She still couldn’t believe her own luck at having viewed this aircraft, something the regular public wouldn’t even know about for years to come. Ab-so-freaking-lutely amazing. And her heart ached so much, she couldn’t even enjoy the wonder of the event.

Other than a select few present and ground crew, the flight line was totally deserted and silent. Even the normally busy airspace above stayed empty but for a couple of birds. Air and land had been cordoned off to keep prying eyes away.