serious. “Look, lieutenant, we’ll back you all the way if he tries to pull any smart stuff. It’ll be a cold day in hell if that bastard starts aiming for you.”
She gave Merlin a weary smile. “Thanks,” she whispered, meaning it. “God, when is my string of bad luck going to end?”
Merlin gave a philosophical shrug of his shoulders. “They say things always come in threes, lieutenant. First, your husband dies in an accident, then Lieutenant Walker, and now it looks like you’re gonna get saddled with a first-class know-it-all who’s ex-Air Force and thinks he’s better than all of us put together.” He gave a sad shake of his head. “Well, don’t worry, lieutenant. We’ll be there to help you weather this.”
* * *
Storm drove slowly down the avenues of Opa-Locka beneath the hot July sun. The city embraced the Opa-Locka airport where the Coast Guard station was situated. She had put down the top on her dark blue MG, needing the fresh air and the wind against her face. Anything that reminded her of freedom. She felt as if she were standing in a square room with the walls moving in on her. A cry uncurled deep inside her and she felt like screaming. But nothing happened. Her gray gaze darkened with anguish and tears pricked the backs of her eyes.
Bram Gallagher filtered back into her mind. She felt a moment’s relief from the depressive grief and trauma. His arrogance bordered on the unbelievable. She had worked with pilots from all the various armed forces at one time or another. Fighter jocks all seemed to be cast out of the same mold—that raucous sense of humor, blended with a self-assured ego. Her own brother, Cal Travis, was a Marine Corps fighter pilot assigned to a naval carrier, and he personified those traits. And Gallagher was certainly no exception. Plus, he had the swaggering walk to go with it. Well, Gallagher, you’ve got a few lessons coming, the hard way.
Still, something had stirred within her dormant heart and Storm couldn’t quite identify what it was. But it was a good feeling and, God knew, she needed something to neutralize the past few nightmarish weeks.
“Bram….” The name rolled off her tongue. An unusual name. Different. And so was he. But he was distinctly male in every thrilling sense. A wry smile curved her mouth. “They ought to call you Ram,” she muttered and then laughed out loud. “You just lower your head and charge!”
Two
The first statement thrown at Storm occurred the moment she swung through the doors of the Operations Center. It was one fifteen in the afternoon and time for the next duty section to take the next twenty-four-hour alert. Lieutenant Kyle Armstrong was at the forty-cup coffeepot when she walked in. The other eight pilots raised their heads in greeting.
“Hey, Stormie, the Old Man’s secretary called over here. He wants to see you right away.”
She rolled her eyes heavenward as she joined Kyle, and reached for a heavy glass mug with her name on it. “You really know how to make a woman’s day.”
“Sorry,” he demurred. “Hey, we saw your boy earlier,” Armstrong mentioned, a grin lapping at the corners of his mouth.
Storm gave him a dirty look, throwing an extra spoonful of sugar into the coffee as a fortifying measure. “My ‘boy’?”
“Yeah. The ex-fighter jock. What’s his name? Gallagher?”
“Quit grinning like a damn coon hound hunting fox,” she growled, lifting the scalding coffee to her lips. Wrinkling her nose, she took a small sip. Couldn’t the day wait even long enough for her to get her customary coffee into her veins and wake up her brain? She had slept poorly throughout the night, finally sleeping soundly at eight A.M. The alarm pulled her out of sleep at noon, and she had rushed through a shower to make it to the station on time.
Kyle, who was twenty-nine and the father of two kids, laughed. The other pilots who were lounging around waiting for the orders of the day to be handed out joined his laughter. “Just a little inside info, Storm,” he said. “Gallagher was over here at 1100 nosing around and asking about you.”
“Yeah,” Jesse Mason chortled. “He wanted to know all about you.”
Her gray eyes narrowed as she turned around, observing her cohorts. She had been flying with all these men for a long time, and they were like brothers to her. “What’d you tell him, Jess?”
Mason, who was part of the duty section to be relieved, grinned. “Not a damn thing. Told him if he wanted to know anything about you, he should go and ask you. I told him how Coasties stuck together.”
It was her turn to smile. “I’ll bet he just loved that answer.”
“Not exactly,” Kyle chuckled.
“Hey,” Jesse called as she turned to leave. “We don’t want him! If the Old Man decides to transfer him to another section, Stormie, we don’t want the bastard. He’s too sure of himself. A guy like that can get you killed. I don’t care if he was top stick in his class—his attitude sucks.”
Chuckling to herself, Storm waved good-bye to them, stepping out into the stifling grip of the hot, humid afternoon. Climbing back into her sports car, she balanced between shifting gears and drinking most of her coffee before she arrived at the Administration building. Now primed with coffee, Storm felt like she could withstand the coming showdown. Taking a deep breath, she entered the air-conditioned building and walked toward the commanding officer’s quarters of Captain Jim Greer.
* * *
“Lieutenant Travis, come on in,” the captain called as he saw her step into the outer office.
Storm entered the large well-appointed office, coming to attention. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted Bram Gallagher. He looked breathtakingly handsome in his flight suit. And he wasn’t looking happy.
“At ease, Storm,” Captain Greer ordered, looking up from his cluttered desk. “I want you to meet your copilot replacement, Lieutenant Bram Gallagher.”
Storm turned, offering her hand. Gallagher’s grip was strong and firm but controlled. His eyes were cobalt with veiled anger as he met her mischief-laden gaze.
“A pleasure, Lieutenant Travis,” he told her silkily.
Liar, Storm said to herself. Her fingers tingled from his touch as she resumed her at-ease position, hands behind her back. Greer smiled up at her.
“It’s all mine, believe me,” she murmured, barely able to keep from smiling.
“Lieutenant Gallagher has never worked with women pilots before, Storm. I’ve informed him that in the Coast Guard we’re the least likely of all the services to be, shall we say, chauvinistic.” He transferred his attention to the other pilot. “Storm will be responsible for teaching you all the finer points of CG helo operations, Lieutenant Gallagher. It will be up to her and the Operations officer to determine how much you fly or don’t fly. She’ll help set up a training schedule for you, which will be approved by Commander Harrison, and you’ll answer to her if there are any problems.”
“And if there are, sir?”
“Then you talk to the Operations officer, Commander Harrison.” Greer folded his hands, giving the pilot an icy smile laced with warning. “But I’m confident that if there are any problems, you two can work them out amicably between yourselves.”
