"What happened?"

"There wasn't room in our bed for me and his ego." She paused, then mumbled, "Not to mention his girlfriends."

Tanner stayed silent so long Kathleen pulled her eyes from the road to glance over at him. He stared back, and she didn't have to see through his sunglasses to know his eyes weren't smiling.

His brows pulled together. "I'm sorry."

A sympathetic Tanner was even more tempting than an amusing Tanner. Kathleen focused on the road, a safer place to look, anyway. "I was, too, but not anymore. It's over, and I learned from it. Life's about learning from our mistakes, right?"

"Sounds like he was the problem. What mistake did you make?"

"Falling for a hotshot pilot."

Her peripheral vision caught the ripple and flex of muscles along Tanner's legs as his feet worked the floorboards again. When he didn't flash back with a smart remark, she found her own words bubbling free with unusual chattiness.

"I don't do relationships with pilots anymore. Call it my own mojo if you will. Besides, with my job it isn't wise to mix the personal and professional." She couldn't help but wonder who she was trying to convince.

His hand fisted on his knee, twitching. Like flying a plane?

Tanner was thinking too much, and that didn't bode well for her. She'd found he packed quite a brain behind those jet-jock glasses. Time to turn the conversation around before he had her sharing things she would undoubtedly regret. "What's your ritual? Or are you a lucky charm kind of guy? What do you cart around in those pockets?"

That stopped his pseudo flying. Tanner's hand unclenched. "A St. Joseph's medal."

A pulse throbbed faster in his temple. Apparently she'd hit an untouchable subject, and the last thing she wanted was to press for emotional confidences.

Silence stretched for five passing telephone poles before she looked over at him. Not a smile in sight. She wished she could see behind his glasses. Flyers wore those tinted lenses like shields over their souls. No one could peek inside without permission.

Sure, she knew the practical, medical reason most aviators wore sunglasses. Flying above the pollution put them past filters. Their eyes became sensitive from being over-radiated, thus the need to wear sunglasses even when on the ground.

It offered another in a long list of stresses put on aviator bodies. They shrugged it all off, shielding their aches and pains with sunglasses and a laugh.

Except he wasn't laughing now. What ache was he hiding? And did she truly want to know?

She'd tried to comfort him years ago, and it had left them both with a cargo hold full of baggage. Better to stick with safer topics. "Your turn."

He scrubbed a hand across his jaw, swiping away his frown. "What?"

"Why haven't you married one of those perfect women you date?"

"Excuse me?"

"Sorry. Childish remark." One that sounded too much like jealousy. So much for safer topics. Tanner had a way of wrangling things from her without even trying. "Suffice it to say, you date women just like my sisters, which pushes another button for me. But we're talking about you. Why aren't you married yet? Lovin' the bachelor life too much?"

His fingers drummed along the console between them. "I'm not against marriage. Just haven't figured out how to make the long-term thing work yet."

"Ahhh, commitment shy."

His drumming fingers picked up speed. "I'm not hiding from it. I'd like to get married someday, have a few kids. Someday, but no rush. It's important to get it right—" The drumming stopped. "No offense."

"None taken. I totally agree. No one wants to go through a divorce." No way would she subject herself to that hell again. "So you want a marriage like dear old Mom and Dad had."

"My mom wasn't married to my father."

"Oh." Kathleen shot him a quick glance. She'd wedged the old flight boot in her mouth with that one. "Sorry. I didn't mean that the way it sounded."

"No offense taken. I've never met my father. Apparently, parenthood at eighteen didn't appeal to him. He skipped out, leaving my teenage mom pregnant with twins."

God, what must he have overcome to make so much of himself after such a rocky start? She'd had a secure childhood, full of far more advantages than Tanner had been given as a kid. Her father and mother had both been a part of her life and loved her, even if they didn't understand her life choices. "I'm sorry."

"Don't get me wrong. This isn't some sob story about a bad childhood. My mom did a damn fine job taking care of Tara and me."

Tara. His sister who'd been murdered in a carjacking attack. Kathleen didn't know all the details, but she'd been there firsthand to witness the aftermath for Tanner. He hadn't worn sunglasses over his eyes in those days.

Clearing his throat, Tanner pulled his elbow back in the car. "We always knew we were loved, but it was hard for Mom going it alone. If I ever get married, I need to be sure it's forever, for my wife, for the kids."

Tanner with kids, now there was an image. Too easily she could see the big playful lug with a little girl on his back and a chubby-cheeked baby crooked in one arm like a football. She and Andrew had talked about children near the end. The conversation hadn't gone well at all. "So you break off a relationship when you realize it isn't going anywhere?"

Rather than just continuing to use the woman for sex as Andrew had done.

There was a certain amount of honor in Tanner's method, at least. It still galled the hell out of her that her ex had slept with her the night before he'd served her with divorce papers.

Tanner shrugged. "I've always thought I should treat women with the same respect I would want some guy to show my mom and my sister."

Kathleen kept her eyes on the road, not that it helped. The sincerity of his words, the inherent honor, twined around her.

Scared the starch right out of her flight suit.

Almost against her will, she whispered, "You're a nice guy, Tanner Bennett."

Slowly he stuck his head out the window, looked left and right.

"Tanner? Is something wrong?"

He ducked his head back inside and grinned. "You paid me a compliment. I'm just checking for an eclipse or some other natural wonder. Maybe a bolt of lightning to strike the car."

Apparently, heavy discussions had been canceled, and she exhaled her relief. Tanner's good mood was infectious. She couldn't stop her answering smile. "Those superstitions again. I called you nice. I didn't submit your name for sainthood."

His low chuckle rumbled along the breeze. "There's the O'Connell I know and admire." His laughter faded. He swept aside a strand of hair from her jaw. "You know, Kathleen, just because flyers are alike in some ways, doesn't mean they're all scumbags like your ex."

The easy camaraderie faded with his laughter, his words. His touch.

She never should have told him about Andrew. With what could be weeks left to spend together, she needed to keep her guard up.

Intellectually she understood what Tanner said about flyers being different, but maybe she harbored a few superstitions after all. Because seasoned soldier that she was, she still couldn't find the courage to test her luck on that one.

Chapter 6

Tanner watched Kathleen's pinky tap the turn signal as they neared the Palmdale Testing Facility. He'd watched her a thousand times before, wanted her, admired her, been mad as hell at her. But he'd never been so confused.

She'd been married. It shouldn't surprise him. Of course she would have had a life during the nine years after she'd graduated and before she'd been stationed in Charleston.

Kathleen had been married. No big deal.

Yet, it changed something—something he couldn't quite target. He'd carried an image of her for years, had grown comfortable with that, and now it had changed.

He'd always seen her as a solitary woman. She dated, but quietly and nothing serious. Apparently, she'd been serious once. Tanner couldn't help but wonder about the man who'd gotten through to Kathleen O'Connell.

A fighter pilot Tanner swallowed a curse. Couldn't she have at least chosen a crew dog?

Rivalry between the different airframes was common. Bomber, fighter, cargo aviators—they all collected reasons why the others were bottom feeders.

Camaraderie within the unit was important. He'd thought Kathleen was one of them, a flight surgeon for the cargo guys. Maybe that was what had his shorts in a knot, her momentary defection to the other side. Yeah, that was what had him frowning.

Not the thought of some other guy dragging down the zipper on Kathleen's flight suit.

Tanner bit back another curse. They'd definitely spent too much time alone together. He needed distance. Soon.

The investigation was too important. To some it might seem like a simple case of an airlift drop gone bad. No fatalities. But it was more than that to him. A certain amount of Air Force honor rode on this. He'd heard the whispers of crew cover-ups. Let the press get ahold of that and morale would self-destruct.

Looming ahead was the factory, a sprawling lone structure at the end of a dirt road. Cars filled the parking lot. The main building towered, a warehouse with gleaming white siding and metal framing. Brick add-ons fingered off to the sides, three stories tall with office windows along the top floor. The warehouse, located twenty miles from the base, ran tests on minor parts subcontracted out by major manufacturers.

The best thing he could do for Lance, for all the others, was keep his head on straight and find out what the hell went wrong, so it wouldn't happen again. It wasn't the same as flying combat, but at least he would be doing something. If the warehouse held those answers, he would find them.

Gravel crunched under the tires as Kathleen pulled precisely into a spot marked Visitor. One slim leg at a time, she stepped from the car.

Time to implement boundaries. Tanner joined her outside. "I ran into Crusty at the coffee machine earlier, back at the squadron."

"Oh?" Wind howled across the desert, tearing the door from her hands and slamming it closed. "What did he have to say?"

"Nothing much, not in the middle of squadron. We're going to meet later for a beer over at the Wing and a Prayer Bar and Grill."

"Good thinking." She tucked the keys in the leg pocket of her flight suit before following Tanner up the walkway. "Should I bring my tape recorder or just a notepad?"

And spend an entire evening together? Not a chance. "You're kidding, right?"

"About what?"

He tugged open the heavy steel door. "It's better if I meet him alone. You know, Doc. Crew dog to crew dog."

Her eyes narrowed. "Right. This doc definitely understands."

She shot through the entrance without another word, her determined stride kicking up a miniature sandstorm. What had he done now? He was only trying to plow through the investigation as fast as possible.

And avoid spending more time with her.

Tanner shrugged through a kink in his back brought on by an uneasiness that had nothing to do with a pinched nerve.

Inside the factory, the main warehouse gaped into a wide-open space. Tanner pulled off his sunglasses and hooked them in the neck of his flight suit.

Metal rafters webbed the ceiling over workstations. The rattle of machinery, grinding metal and repetitious clanging mixed a ragtag chorus with the low drone of Christmas music.

Jingle Bells gone rogue. How appropriate for his lack of holiday spirit.

From beside a workstation, a man stepped forward, wearing khakis and a red polo bearing the test facility logo. With a full head of prematurely gray hair, he might have been mistaken for older, but Tanner pegged him at around forty.

The man's easy swagger carried him across the warehouse toward Tanner and Kathleen. He squinted, staring at the name tags on their flight suits. "Captains O'Connell and Bennett from the base investigation. I heard you two were on your way." He thrust out his hand. "Quinn Marshall, head of this little corner of the testing world. What can I do for you?"