On Wings of Passion (3 page)

She roused herself from a half sleep. “No…I’m supposed to be getting some information on it from the Pentagon when I get back to New York.”

“Does your publisher think he’ll save the country a lot of money by getting rid of the Buffs?”

“I suppose,” she murmured, too tired to comment.

“You don’t sound sure.”

“I sound tired,” she replied irritably.

“Sorry.”

Immediately, she felt contrite and turned to look at him. Streetlights played over his face, creating glimmers and shadows. Her heart wrenched with newly awakening feelings. Suddenly, she realized that he was just as exhausted as she was, yet he was trying to be courteous by keeping the conversation flowing. She was amazed at the emotions that registered on his face and in the depths of his dark eyes. She lifted her hand in a placating gesture. “No, I’m the one who should be sorry,” she apologized. “It’s just been a long, incredibly stressful day.”

He gave her an enigmatic smile and turned the car into a hotel parking lot. “You’re worth putting up with,” was all he said. She gave him a skeptical look, unsure how to interpret his comment. He parked and turned off the engine. “Come on. There are reservations for us here. A hot bath and a good night’s sleep ought to put you in a better frame of mind for tomorrow.”

Erin felt emotionally and physically drained. Suddenly, all her residual anger at him evaporated. Was it because he had met her barbs tactfully but firmly? Or, a voice whispered, was it because he was friendly and able to set her at ease with just a few words? Groaning silently, she refused to consider the answers too closely.

She was pleasantly surprised when he opened the car door for her. He extended his hand and wrapped his fingers firmly around her elbow. A small shiver coursed up her arm. She was keenly aware of his masculine appeal. Giving her a brief, almost official smile, he escorted her through the lobby of the hotel.

Blinking against the strong lights and too tired to think, she let him handle the details at the registration desk. He had an aura of authority and as she let him take charge, she realized in the back of her fuzzy mind that it meant she trusted him. The thought irritated her.

In no time at all, Ty had escorted her to her room. After placing her small suitcase at the foot of the bed, he handed her the keys.

He studied her in the semidarkness. “I know you civilians usually sleep in late, but how about if I come about six-thirty tomorrow morning? We’ll have breakfast here before going to the Physiology Center.”

She ignored her racing pulse and murmured with a vague wave, “Sounds fine. Good night.” She thought she caught a mischievous glimmer in his eyes as he nodded and turned away, leaving the room. She stood staring after him, hands on hips. Was he laughing at her?

She frowned thoughtfully, then dismissed the matter. Right now, all she wanted was a hot bath and sleep.

“Why were you silently laughing at me last night?” Erin asked, not expecting an honest answer. She sat opposite Ty Phillips at a booth in the hotel coffee shop very early the next morning, idly stirring her coffee. He looked incredibly handsome in his dark blue uniform with the silver captain’s bars on his broad shoulders. His dark hair still glistened from a shower and she was aware of his clean male scent. The shadows she had seen beneath his eyes the night before were gone and he looked relaxed and refreshed, brimming with energy. He glanced up at her, his long fingers cradling his own coffee cup.

“I wasn’t laughing at you,” he said. “Matter of fact, I felt rather guilty for baiting you about civilians sleeping in late. You didn’t even respond to my teasing, so I knew you really were exhausted.” He grinned good-naturedly. “I honestly expected you to snap something in return.”

She sipped her coffee. “You felt guilty about ribbing a civilian?” she scoffed.

He shrugged. “I have to remind myself that, even though you can give as good as you get, I shouldn’t take advantage of the situation.”

Erin lifted her chin, mildly irritated. “I don’t like to fight, Captain Phillips. It’s not in my nature to go around with a drawn sword.”

“You could have fooled me.” He chuckled. “We certainly managed to get off on the wrong foot yesterday.” He watched her closely for a reaction.

She frowned. “I suppose in your estimation I’m a first-class pain in the ass.”

“Do you care what I think?”

Her heart skipped a beat. She wanted to say no, but his warm eyes compelled her to be honest. “Yes,” she muttered, shifting uncomfortably in the seat.

“I think you’re a first-class Irish banshee,” he said in a teasing tone. “And I think your reaction to me at the airport had something to do with your past and not with me personally.”

Erin swallowed hard, unable to meet his probing gaze. How in the world had an air force officer become
that
intuitive? His comment had shaken her to the core, and she stared down at her coffee cup with unseeing eyes. “You have a blunt way of speaking about very personal matters,” she said evenly.

“I think it’s called perception,” he said gently. “Don’t worry, Erin, I won’t ever use that knowledge against you.”

Her heart twisted, and she forced herself to meet his warming gaze. Her lips parted at the tenderness in his expression. He meant it. He would never deliberately hurt her.

Emotions clashed within her. How could she trust any air force officer? Hadn’t the air force killed her husband? But as hard as she tried to resurrect her old anger, it simply refused to be prodded back to life. He had guessed that there were reasons she had behaved so rudely and had already forgiven her. Suddenly, she felt afraid.

“Look,” she muttered, “why don’t you fill me in on the essential details of our trip to Wright-Patterson?” She drew out a legal pad and pen from her purse.

If he was upset by her sudden brusqueness, he didn’t show it. “Let’s order breakfast first,” he suggested. “I don’t operate well on an empty stomach.”

She glanced at him sharply, suppressing the urge to snap. He had done nothing to deserve a blistering retort from her. “Fine,” she agreed.

Over a large breakfast of three eggs, hash browns and toast, Ty said in a friendly manner, “You know, you might end up liking K. I. Sawyer. It’s a Northern Tier base near the Canadian border.” He raised an eyebrow, stealing a quick look at her. “If you like the wilderness and hiking in the autumn, you’ll enjoy your stay with us.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t already decided what I do and don’t like, Captain.”

He quelled a smile, concentrating on his meal. “Let’s just say I’ve made some guesses,” he drawled.

Erin hated herself for getting trapped by his easygoing manner, but she couldn’t resist asking, “Such as?”

“Such as, you’re tall and athletically built. Since you’re from a city, that probably means you play tennis or jog. You don’t strike me as a gal who sits behind a desk for long before becoming restless.”

“So far, so good,” she admitted, frowning.

“Want me to go on?”

“Sure. I always like to see someone with foot-in-mouth disease.”

“Remember, you asked me to volunteer my first impressions.” He laid his fork on the table and leaned back, studying her carefully, a soft smile curving his mouth. “You have a terrible temper—that’s already been well established.” He flashed a boyish grin. “Of course, your being Irish automatically atones for that particular weakness.”

“Weakness!”

He raised a hand. “I’m not finished. Now, sit there like the beautiful lady you are and let’s see how close I come. You’re a woman of great sensitivity. It would be easy for anyone to affect you either negatively or positively. I think you need quiet time to pull yourself together. I don’t see you as someone who can stand a lot of stress without retreating to your favorite place and healing yourself. So,” he continued, his expression suddenly very serious, “you hide your vulnerability beneath a tough exterior, playing the role of a no-nonsense, hard-hitting reporter who can take it on the nose.”

Erin clutched her napkin tightly in her lap. He had no business commenting on her like this! “Believe me,” she said icily, “I can be as tough as the situation requires.”

“Can’t everyone?”

“Of course not.”

His eyes held hers. “You don’t need to thrust that tough image out in front of you, Erin,” he said softly. “Why are you so afraid of allowing people to get close to you?”

She flushed under his intense scrutiny. “I don’t know who you are—”

He leaned forward, his elbows on the table. “Just a Buff pilot, darlin’. So don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re going to explode. Come on. Relax. I told you before, I’ll never use my perceptions of you against you, Erin. But obviously you don’t believe that.” She wrestled with her confusing emotions. “Let’s talk about business, shall we?” she demanded coldly, anxious to change the topic.

“Anything you want. Where would you like to start?”

Erin’s fingers trembled as they closed around her pen and she positioned the pad on the table. Who
was
this Captain Ty Phillips? She felt stripped beneath his scrutiny and her throat constricted with a familiar paralyzing fear.

When had that fear begun to haunt her? Soon after her husband’s death. Life had been so secure until then. Suddenly, she had been thrown abruptly out into the mainstream of life, trying to recover from the emotional loss as well as survive in a hard, uncaring world. And now this officer had dropped into her life and was nonchalantly exposing her deeply hidden wounds and anxieties.

It required her concentrated effort to push aside her feelings and return to business. “Tell me about the Triad,” she suggested.

He was very willing to describe it. “Very simply, it’s a defense concept to keep this country free from aggression,” he explained. “It consists of SAC B-52 bombers, intercontinental ballistic missiles—which you will probably want to refer to as ICBM’s—and navy submarine sea-launched missiles. The three forms of defense guarantee that, if an outside force penetrates one leg of our defense system, it must take on the other two. As a consequence, SAC plays a defensive role on a global front, and we keep aggressive powers somewhat in line.”

“My editor feels you can do away with the land-based bombers,” Erin challenged.

Ty shrugged. “That becomes a matter of opinion, Erin. Of the three forms I’ve mentioned, only the bombers can be recalled from a target. If there were a threat of nuclear war, would you rather push a button to launch an ICBM, or send bombers that you knew could come back in case the situation deescalated?”

She raised her chin, watching him. Gone was the boyish quality she’d seen before. Now he was strictly a military officer telling her what he obviously believed in. “I’d want the bombers,” she admitted. “That’s only logical.”

“I think so, too. And so does the air force. Which is why we’ve put the B-1 B bomber in production to replace the Buff.”

“But you’re talking billions of dollars.”

He sighed, pushing a fork absently around on the tabletop. “What’s peace worth to you? The Buff is fifty-four years old and is rapidly becoming an obsolete way to defend our country. The Buff is so old that the air force, rather than private companies, has to manufacture some of the parts for it. No one else in the aircraft industry still makes them. This affects the bomber’s reliability in the long run. The B-1 Bs are in the air but so far, they aren’t showing they can replace the B-52.”

Erin was perplexed. “So far you’re telling me how much money we’re spending to keep the Buffs flying. Surely they must be doing the job—”

He shook his head. “It’s more complicated than that, Erin. The overall defense systems of unfriendly countries are becoming more capable all the time. They have surface-to-air missiles, or SAMs, and newer radar techniques. The Buff is too large to evade radar and it’s got too little room for us to add the necessary electronics needed to get it safely through to its assigned targets.”

“Will the B-1 overcome these problems?”

He nodded. “They have up to a point,” he said.

Erin scribbled down a few more notes.

“If—” he took a deep breath and shook his head “—and I hope it never comes to that, but if there were a limited nuclear war, the Buff would not be a solid deterrent. In other words, one third of our Triad concept is weakened by the problems I just mentioned. And if we know that, you can bet our enemies do, too.”

“This is positively gruesome. I hate the thought of war,” she admitted, searching his face.

“That makes two of us, darlin’. You’ll find that the SAC bomber crews are more concerned about peace than most people think. We don’t want to fight a war. We’d much rather act as a deterrent and keep the peace.”

Erin heard the slight tremble in his voice, and it affected her deeply. “I always thought you guys were real hawks, waiting for a war to begin.”

He shook his head. “I won’t try to persuade you one way or the other. Instead, I think spending a few days around us will give you a chance to form your own opinions.”

“But I’m a captive audience. I’m willing to listen.”

“No way, darlin’. We’ll let the facts speak for themselves. Fair enough?”

She nodded, impressed with his fairness. If he had tried to influence her, she would have resented him, and probably rejected his opinions. As it was, he had made her more curious and perhaps more receptive to his news. She closed her pad and put the pen away. “So where to now?” she asked.

Ty settled the blue flight cap on his head and stood up. “We’ll get you qualified to ride in a Buff. You need a card from the medical center saying that you’ve taken the course and lived to tell about it.” He flashed her a reassuring smile and held out his hand.

She hesitated only briefly. His fingers were warm and surprisingly firm as he helped her from the booth, and he seemed to release her hand with reluctance.

The Physiology Center, a single-story barracks set on a grassy knoll, was located just inside the entrance gates of Wright-Patterson Air Force Base. As Ty ushered Erin inside, a booming voice carried down the hall.

“Damned if it isn’t an SAC trained killer. Phillips! How the hell are you?”

Erin glanced at Ty to see his reaction to the name-calling; he looked slightly embarrassed. An officer in his mid-fifties came striding forward, hand extended, a wide smile on his narrow face.

“Colonel, good to see you again,” Ty murmured.

The lieutenant colonel gripped Ty’s hand and shook it heartily. “I couldn’t believe it when they called and said you were coming. Good Lord, how many years has it been since I flew with you?”

Erin stood back, enjoying the warm exchange. The colonel was a man of slight, wiry build and his peppered mustache made him look almost like a civilian instead of a military officer.

Ty introduced her. “This is Erin Quinlan from
Newsday-day Magazine
. Erin, this is Colonel John McIntire, the head of this chamber of horrors.”

“Ah, don’t listen to this guy,” he told Erin, smiling and gripping her hand. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Quinlan. We’re privileged to have you come down and see what goes on in training these Buff drivers and tanker toads.” A smile tugged at Erin’s lips, and she cast a glance at Ty. “Tanker toads?” she echoed, trying not to laugh.

Ty grinned. “Stick around for more than a day and we’ll have you talking like an S&C professional,” he promised.

“
Tanker toads
is an affectionate term we use for the crews on the KC-135 aircraft who refuel the Buffs while they’re in flight,” McIntire explained.

“And SAC trained killers?” she asked wryly. “It has an ominous ring, Colonel.”

McIntire slapped Ty on the back. “Naw, just another term used with respect for the fine job these guys do. During my orientation on the different aircraft flown in the air force, I had the privilege of being on Ty’s crew. He was just a young co then, still wet behind the ears.”

“
Co
is another word for copilot,” Ty explained. “You’ll find we abbreviate everything or make it into a set of initials.” He turned to McIntire. “We about ready to get this show on the road?”

“You bet. First let me show Ms. Quinlan around.”

“Call me Erin,” she invited, surprised at her friendliness. She frowned inwardly, displeased with how easily their affability won her over.

“Lovely name for a lovely woman. You’re a lucky fella, Phillips.”

Ty winked at Erin. “Jealousy will get you nowhere, Colonel McIntire. Let’s show her your steel box.”

Erin followed both officers to the center of the room where a large, rectangular, metal chamber dominated.

“This is our hyperbaric chamber, Erin,” McIntire explained. “We train people who have to fly at high altitudes how to survive in case of rapid or slow decompression. We also teach them about hypoxia and symptoms of oxygen deprivation so they’ll live to tell about it. Later in the day you’ll be going in there for about two hours.”

Erin walked cautiously inside the imposing white chamber. It was constructed from thick, metal panels riveted together by huge bolts. Since the chamber could be made to simulate any altitude, it had to be strong enough to withstand the pressure created by the atmosphere inside. Several chairs were attached to the chamber’s outside walls near small, very thick panels of glass. Inside were two rows of benches, each with individual instrument panels and assorted oxygen hoses draped nearby. Erin repressed a shiver. Maybe Ty was right. Maybe it was a chamber of horrors. But the way McIntire talked, it seemed nothing to be alarmed about. Uneasy, she followed them out of the chamber to a classroom.