Fatal Flight Page 7

  He gathered his thoughts and sorted his argument.

  She forestalled him, chanting, “And you want to have another go at me for my grandmother, because you’re a man of his word, who takes his responsibilities to heart.”

  “Well, at least you acknowledge that.” He captured her gaze and held it until she blushed. The tiny bit of revenge felt great. He was sick of feeling out of control around her.

  “Fine, I might have re-positioned the angle of my vector when it comes to your character, but that doesn’t change my answer. I still won’t meet her.”

  “You are the most stubborn woman,” he hissed between clenched teeth, fisting his hands in his pocket so he wouldn’t reach for her.

  “And what do you call what you’re doing? Persistence? Isn’t it one and the same? You’re just being a sore loser because you didn’t get your way.”

  “That does it. I’m done with your name calling and insolence. I’m trying to do a good thing for a kind lady. I’m lightening your financial burden by becoming your sponsor. I deserve a little respect, not the jeering antagonism of a school girl.”

  “School girl, you peanut butter and jelly pumpkin seed. I’m no school girl.”

  “That’s the one thing we can agree on.” Adam clasped her shoulders, jerked her against him, and dived on her mouth. It opened with her gasp of shock. He sank his tongue deep, devoured, pouring all his hunger into the silken, moist haven.

  Her hands stopped pushing at his chest. God, he loved the feel of her fingers grabbing his shoulders, wrapping around his neck, and threading into his hair. He lightened the pressure of his kiss, slowed the foray of his tongue, wanting—no needing—her response, enticing her into moving closer. When her breasts rested against his chest and her slender hips sank against his pelvis, he slid his hands down her back, cupped her bottom, and lifted her against him. She moaned and pressed closer. His leg started buckling under their combined weight. He hitched her backward toward Sky Dancer, lowered her onto the wing, and lay over her.

  Her legs widened as she went down. His hard-on settled into the V of her body, like a wounded soldier coming home. He could feel the damp heat of her arousal through the light cotton fatigues she wore.

  She made a mewling kitten sound, and every male hormone in him roared for release. Her hips wiggled against him, as she arched up asking for more.

  He tugged her T-shirt out of her waistband, slid his hand up the softest, silkiest skin he’d ever felt, and cupped her breast through the lacy fabric of her bra. She pulled her mouth free and gave a soft cry. He paused, expecting her rejection, but her hands slid under his jacket, scrabbling at his shirt until she’d exposed his back. Her fingers stroked over him, like a silken breeze teasing a heated shoreline.

  Raising his head, he took in long lashes lying above flushed cheeks, swollen lips, lifting as she sought his, and fell back into the kiss. His hand molded her breast and toyed with her erect nipple.

  The sound of laughter, of voices over by the office, hurled him into the present.

  She stiffened. Her eyes flew open. A look of total panic flashed across her face. Bracing his bad leg on the wing, he pulled her upright. For a second, they rocked together, steadying each other, regaining their equilibrium. Then her hands pushed him away, she skirted around him, tucking in her shirt. He expected she’d stalk off, instead she turned back.

  “You may have put your logo on my airplane, Hamilton, but you sure didn’t put it on me. Don’t manhandle me again.”

  Adam closed the small space between them and ran his hands from her shoulders down her arms, taking advantage as she froze at his touch.

  “I apologize for instigating the kiss, but you incited me, calling me names no man would stand for. Money didn’t have anything to do with this. And before you walk off full of righteous indignation, Sky, remember you were with me all the way.” He stepped back and turned away from her angry face and parade-straight posture. “But don’t worry, it won’t happen again. There is something unappealing about kissing a woman who acts like a victim, instead of acknowledging her response.”

  ****

  As soon as Adam walked into his father’s office, the older man stood and gave him the once over. Adam focused on keeping his steps steady. He’d caused his dad a lot of anxious moments after the crash. Assuring him he’d recovered the use of his leg might mitigate a little of his worry.

  His dad hauled him into a hug and held on. When he drew back, a smile slashed across his face. “So, you weren’t just telling me what you knew I wanted to hear. You have improved.”

  “I’ve even put on a couple of pounds.” Adam tugged at his belt. It was still two notches tighter than before, but when he’d gotten out of the hospital, he’d tightened it four notches.

  “Sit. Coffee. Scotch?” His dad turned to the bar built-in behind a walnut panel.

  Adam took an armchair in a grouping at one side of the massive office. He breathed in the familiar smell of leather and lemon oil. He’d been coming here since he was a small child, carried in by his father and tucked into a playpen with a mass of toys. Hamilton, the Third took great pride in his son, loved him beyond all else, since he’d lost Adam’s mother. Cancer had taken her at the horrific age of thirty-three, when Adam was just two. He knew there was nothing in the world his dad wouldn’t do for him. He thought of Sky, whose father had rejected her before she was even born. He recognized anew he was a fortunate man and felt a warm swell of gratitude.

  A tinkle of ice heralded his drink and his father’s attention. “So, did Ashley agree to meet Brigitta?” His dad settled in the chair across from him.

  “Not a chance at this point.”

  His dad chuckled. “I didn’t know there was a woman out there who would refuse you anything.”

  “Well this one… By the way, she doesn’t answer to Ashley. Her name is Sky, and she is the most stubborn, infuriating, grrrr …” He couldn’t put his feelings into words.

  “Fascinating?” His dad’s lips twitched.

  “How did you know?”

  “Sounds just like your mother when I first met her. I wanted her from the second she told me off for spilling my drink on her. She gave me a hell of a chase before I caught her.” A distant look glazed his eyes.

  Adam was thinking of his first sighting of Sky and remembering he’d felt like he’d taken a fist in the gut when he stared into her cool blue eyes. He’d told himself it was just a natural reaction to her hostility, but knew someone was writing fiction, and the pen was in his hand.

  “You said something serious was going on here.” He turned the conversation in a direction he could handle.

  “Yes, we’ve been hacked. Our IT guys are going through the entire system, checking for damage, but so far, it seems the designs for the new lock-on system you were testing were the only thing stolen. As that is a military contract, I’ve notified Washington, and we’ll have Homeland Security and the FBI pawing through everything by tomorrow. I spent the last few days with our lawyers, protecting our intellectual property, but things are heating up. Will you check your designs against what was stolen? Maybe we can come up with an answer on how we can retrieve our prototype, or make sure whoever stole the software can’t use the system.”

  Adam had used his flight time well, retracing each stage of his accident from the first shudder of his aircraft to his ejection, so he could share his recollection with his father. He’d also gone over all his schematics on the prototype. He’d covered off every conversation he’d had with the design team and who was responsible for what, looking for a saboteur. Now, he flipped open his laptop and keyed in a complicated sequence. He scrolled, tapped keys, and scrolled some more, looking up with a smile. “The good news is the prototype plans are safe. Whoever hacked us followed my fake trail and took the false set. I coded the others in under a different file name and safe-guarded them behind a firewall that hasn’t been breached.”

  His dad took a deep breath and lifted his shoulders, as if dumping
a gigantic load. “Son, remind me to give you more shares in the company. I can’t tell you how relieved I am. I’ll get on the phone to Homeland and the Bureau right away.”

  “That doesn’t solve our in-house problem.” Adam set down his laptop and picked up his scotch. “Has the FAA ruled on the cause of the plane crash, yet?”

  “I haven’t seen their report, but they’ve had enough time. Do we push this?”

  “I think we’d better. I have a suspicion the fuel was contaminated in my port wing. Everyone knows I run off the starboard tank first and switch over at twenty-five percent usage, to balance my weight. When I switched over, the contaminated fuel was pumped into my starboard tank. Calculating the distance I’d have traveled before switching tanks, they made certain I’d be unable to land because of the terrain. As they’ll run on darn near anything but water, there must have been a corrosive element involved. We need to have the FAA inspector check the crash site and gathered debris for a chemical analysis.”

  “Someone tried to kill you?” His dad sounded horrified.

  “I’d say I was just collateral damage. I think someone destroyed the plane and working prototype, right after they stole what they thought were the real design specs, leaving us with no proof the system was ours. They’d sell it on the open market, as their design.”

  “Our security is topnotch. How would they get near the aircraft?”

  “I’m guessing it was an inside job. And I think the fewer people who know the wrong design was stolen, the better for Hamilton.”

  “All right, I’ll phone the FAA and push for results, and talk to the authorities about keeping this quiet, while we bait a trap for our mouse. Do we sideline our other test pilots?”

  “As the only prototype was in the F18 I crashed, and it was destroyed, I don’t see any danger to them. We will add testing the fuel and a few more things to our pre-flight checklist. We’re working on other military contracts, but we’re not in the testing phase, yet, unless you’ve started on a project I don’t know about.”

  “No, I’ve lifted as much work off your back as possible while you recovered, but I have kept you in the loop on everything. As chief engineer, you probably know the projects and what stage they’re in better than I do.”

  “Corporate espionage is a dirty business. We’re talking rats, not mice. I’d suggest we have security do a level five search on everyone on the radar locked-on design team and keep it on the QT. You call off the alphabet suits, assure Washington the software is safe. I’ll design some smelly bait and catch us a rat.”

  Seated behind his desk, his finger on the intercom for his secretary, Adam’s father looked up. “It’s good to have you back, Adam. Dinner tonight?”

  “Come on over, Dad, I’ll cook.” Adam smiled. Seeing the relief on his dad’s face felt good. He was working again, with physio and chest X-rays in his rearview mirror. Now all he had to do was catch a traitor, pass his medical, come through for Gita, and put Sky out of his mind. He sighed. Why did he think the last goal would be the hardest?

  Chapter Five

  Sky came out of the office, clipboard in hand, reading her notes on the next student, as she walked. The man in question was saying a lingering goodbye to the woman who’d driven him here. This would be his first lesson, and she prayed he was serious about flying and not just another weekend jock, looking for a new way to impress women.

  She headed for the Cessna, flipping the page over, so she could finish reading. Something whizzed past her cheek and buried itself in the wing of the plane. She ducked, looking for the source. The sound of a gunshot ricocheted off the hills. Aviation fuel poured out of the hole in the wing. Sky searched her pocket for a handkerchief or rag, desperate to stop the escaping fuel.

  “Pops,” she yelled. “Pops.” Before she could call again, another bullet hit the pool of gas, igniting the fuel with a terrific whoosh. The compression of the air, caused by the instant change in temperature, threw Sky several feet. She landed on her arm and shoulder, her cheek scraping the pavement.

  Another shot sounded. A ping to her right, spun her attention to the fuel tank, set on a high cradle thirty feet away. She rolled in the other direction, scrambled upright between the burning airplane and what she guessed was the next target. High-octane fuel gushed from the tank, spreading across the pad toward her. Another shot, another inferno of flames and heat.

  Pops ran out of the hangar, his phone against his ear. “Sky, Sky. Get out of there.” He raced toward her. She darted through the narrow tunnel between the two fires, as it filled with smoke. Her student was standing mouth open beside the car, the driver screaming like she’d been hit.

  The sound of glass shattering came just ahead of the next shot, then ping, ping, ping, and the three security cameras along the perimeter were shot out. Sky scrambled for the hangar, wanting Max off the field and out of range of the sniper. A motion detection camera over the hangar door shattered. God, Sky Dancer would be next.

  “Get the door,” she shouted at Pops and the man who’d now run inside seeking shelter, along with the screaming woman. She grabbed the leading edge of the door and slid it along its track, interfering with the sniper’s line of sight. Pops’ set of doors slammed into place against hers.

  “Get back. The bullets might pierce the metal,” she warned everybody. Ted had rolled himself out from under a plane and ran to the front of the hangar. “What’s happening?”

  “Did you get the fire department?” Sky asked Pops. Even through the doors, she could hear the roaring sound of the gasoline burning off and feel the tremendous heat. In the distance, sirens alerted them that help was on the way. No more shots sounded. Two firetrucks swung through the gates and pulled up short of the massive fire. Retardant foamed over the writhing flames, smothering them, until only the blackened frames of the Cessna and cradle remained. Leaving the doors closed, so the black smoke wouldn’t damage the interior of the hangar and its contents, Sky slipped out the smaller door near the office. The sheriff’s car drove up. She hurried over.

  “Someone shot up everything. If you hurry, you might catch the sniper before he gets away. He shot from somewhere up there.” She pointed at the tree line three-quarters of the way up the surrounding hills to the east. It was about a half mile away.

  The sheriff spoke into his shoulder mic, sending deputies up into the hills in search of the shooter.

  “Anyone hurt?” He turned and surveyed the group gathered around him. “Sky, you look like you’re pretty banged up. Shall I call an ambulance?”

  “It’s not serious, just lost skin when the blast from the plane threw me backward.” She touched her cheek, registering the fierce sting. Her fingers came away stained with blood. “Why is this happening?”

  Pops slung his arm around her shoulder and pulled her into the shelter of his chest. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he suggested, looking like he hadn’t a clue where to start.

  The woman from the car stood by, clutching the arm of the man. “I’m a nurse,” she offered. “Though you wouldn’t guess it from my hysteria.” She pulled her mouth in a derisive grin. “Let me wash those gravel burns and put some antiseptic salve on them. A pain killer wouldn’t hurt, either. I imagine they sting like crazy.”

  “I’ll take statements from the others until you get back,” the sheriff stated.

  Sky indicated the stairs for her loft and led the way. By the time she was halfway up, she knew she had more damage than skin scraped off her face and hands. Her knee throbbed, her hip was stiffening up with every step, and her arm felt like she had taken a bullet.

  Before the door closed behind her, she heard Pops’ voice. “This is the third attempt on Sky this month.”

  “Have you hired anyone new, made any tremendous changes? Can you think of any reason someone would go after Sky?” the sheriff questioned.

  Adam Hamilton, Sky thought. He’s the only change around here, and all this began right after he arrived. But how would he benefit if she was dead? He’
d just invested a pile of money in her. Killing an expensive asset just didn’t make sense. The only thing that did was if this had something to do with her grandmother. He had said she was financially flush. Maybe someone was afraid she’d benefit from what they thought was their inheritance. She’d been right not to meet her, if this kind of danger followed on her heels.

  “The first aid kit is over here.” Sky limped toward the bathroom. “Sorry, we haven’t even been introduced. I’m Sky Stravinski.”

  “Barbara Rumson. I was trying to talk Earl out of taking flying lessons because it was dangerous, but he wasn’t buying into my arguments. Now I wonder what he’ll think.” She gave Sky a mischievous grin.

  When Sky walked into the office ten minutes later, in a clean set of jeans and a loose top, the sheriff was waiting for her. “Walk me through what happened, Sky. It seems you’re the best witness I have.”

  She told him everything she remembered; pausing here and there to picture things in her mind, sort out the sequence of shots and explosions.

  “You say the first bullet just missed your head.” Sitting behind Max’s desk, the sheriff made notes in a small book. “Do you think you were the target, and he missed, then couldn’t get another shot at you, so aimed at the plane and fuel tank hoping you’d get caught in the fires?

  “I was out in the open for most of that time. I don’t see why he couldn’t hit me. He hit each of the surveillance cameras dead center. Maybe he was trying to scare me or warn me.” She burrowed her fingers into her hairline. Her head ached. The painkiller she’d taken wasn’t touching the bruising and swelling in her knee or arm. If only she could lie in an ice bath until she was numb.

  “Okay, if you think of anything else, call me, doesn’t matter how tiny the detail.” He stood and tucked his notepad in his breast pocket. “Sorry to tell you, my deputies didn’t find anything along that ridgeline. We’re taking a couple of the dogs up, see if they can pick up a scent, but without a piece of clothing of the shooter’s to bait them, I’m not expecting much.”