making him emotionally raw, his hostile demeanor of yesterday could be understandable. He might not be angry at Dallas, but she was female, and therefore, the enemy. Great. Just great. It was hard enough fitting into a new squadron, but this made it doubly tough.
Dallas turned to Scotty, who was finishing up his ground duties around the Cessna. “Thanks for the info,” she called softly. “I appreciate the heads-up.”
He grinned. “You seem like a nice lady, Major. We’re lucky to have someone of your caliber step in and fill the slot as Mike’s partner. That dude needs a good, solid, steady person working with him. That’s what Randy was, you know. He was always the cooler head that prevailed when things heated up, in the air and on the ground. Mike’s the leader of the Wild Bunch for a reason.” The mechanic flashed his uneven, toothy smile once more.
Nodding, Dallas wished she’d gotten this info from her commander. But then, life didn’t work that way. The rank hierarchy often didn’t know the facts of a situation unless someone like Scotty was around to let them in on the real story. “I owe you one,” she called.
The mech gave her a shy smile. “Nah, you don’t, Major. You just come back safe and sound. That’s all I ask.”
“That’s my goal,” she promised him.
The sun was barely peeking above the horizon when she turned back to Murdoch. He had his head down, his duffel bag slung over his one broad shoulder, M16 over the other, as he shuffled toward her. He was weaving slightly, and Dallas caught the odor of alcohol long before he arrived. And when he lifted his head, she noted his skin, bloodshot eyes and the thin set of his mouth. He was still drunk. Damn.
As he approached the C-206, Murdoch glowered at his new partner. Scotty said hello, and Mike merely grunted in answer. Why the hell did the major have to be so damn sexy? Dallas Klein made a rumpled, unisex flight suit look good. She was tall, and though she was slim, her full breasts and curving hips showed she was definitely female. Plus those long, long legs would be definitely worth exploring. Though unhappy with his libidinous reaction, he acknowledged the fact that the major was a damn fine-lookin’ woman. Well, he was fried on women right now, and they were off-limits. So his reaction to this military pilot didn’t make sense at all. But then, he was still drunk from a night of partying in Nogales.
He noticed Klein frowning at him. She had the most beautiful gold eyes he’d ever seen. They contrasted appealingly with her shoulder-length hair, which was caught up in a girlish ponytail. Her olive skin was so smooth, and that mouth of hers made his loins sizzle. Mike couldn’t decide which was her best feature, those large, inquisitive eyes or those sinfully shaped full lips just begging to be kissed…
Mike seemed to come out of a fog as he saw her eyes narrow speculatively on him and her soft mouth purse. Trouble.
“Good morning, Agent Murdoch,” Dallas said as he approached.
“Yeah, it is,” he grunted. He started around the nose of his Cessna to take the pilot’s seat.
“Hold it,” she ordered.
Murdoch turned. What the hell? She was picking up her duffel bag from the copilot’s seat and heading toward him. “What are you doing?” he groused. “You’re my copilot.”
“Not today, with the way you look and smell, Murdoch.”
Shocked, Mike took a step back as she brushed by him. “What? Hey! Come back here, dammit!” He reached out, grabbed her upper arm and swung her toward him. What happened next, he wasn’t expecting. The moment his fingers wrapped around her arm, she dropped her bag and turned swiftly. In seconds, Murdoch found himself flat on his back. Her knee was in the center of his chest, and she was scowling down at him.
“Don’t ever grab me again, Murdoch. You won’t live to talk about it with your buddies the second time around. Got it?”
Blinking twice, Mike stared up into her darkened eyes. What the hell had just happened? “Uh, yeah…”
Dallas removed her knee from his chest and stood back. She didn’t offer to help him to his feet. The mechanic gave her a brief nod, as if to say she’d done the right thing under the circumstances.
“Now, Agent Murdoch, here’s how things are going to go on this mission of ours this morning. I’m commander today. You’re copilot. You’re obviously hungover, still drunk. I can smell the alcohol from six feet away. You’re my partner, and I’m not going to allow you to pilot a plane under these circumstances. Are we clear about our job assignments?”
Murdoch picked himself up off the tarmac, dusted off the rear of his flight suit and grudgingly reached for his duffel and rifle. “What the hell kind of move did you make on me?” he demanded, holding her furious stare.
“I’m Israeli, Agent Murdoch. I’m on loan to the U.S. government. Every Israeli soldier learns krav maga. It’s how we protect ourselves.”
Rubbing his stubbled jaw, he eyed her. “Yeah, I’ve heard of it. It’s a nasty way to fight.”
Giving him a brief, cutting smile, Dallas said, “It’s a way to stay alive, Agent Murdoch.”
“You’re good.”
“I have a black belt, the highest level in this style of fighting.” Krav maga combined the best moves from different combat techniques and turned them into a lethal back-alley mix.
“Wouldn’t you know it…” Murdoch muttered, finding new respect for her, as a woman and a soldier. “Damn good thing my ex-wife didn’t know krav maga, or I’d be dead by now.”
“Then don’t ever make the mistake of thinking I’m her.” The major pointed to her arm. “I’m off-limits to you, Agent Murdoch. You’d never have reached out and grabbed me if I were a man. So whatever rage you feel about your divorce and women, don’t dump it on me. Got it?”
“Yeah, I got it.” Smarting at her cool, husky tone, he watched her pick up her flight bag and head for the pilot’s seat. Scotty said nothing, just stood in front of the Cessna, waiting for them to climb in and get harnessed up. After running his fingers through his hair, Mike changed direction and walked to the copilot’s seat. Dallas was putting on the Kevlar vest near the open cockpit door. He threw his duffel in the back seat, after getting his revolver and tucking it in the leather holster beneath his right arm. Climbing in, he saw her glare at him. Now what?
“Mr. Murdoch, I’m assuming you forgot to put on your Kevlar vest because you’re still drunk?”
He flinched beneath her warning voice and jerked the vest off the seat. “I don’t ever fly with it,” he snarled.
“You will with me. Put it on.”
Anger swilled through Murdoch. His mind was still fogged with whiskey and he wasn’t thinking clearly. “Dammit, I told you, I’m not flying with it on. It’s too friggin’ uncomfortable.”
Fastening the Velcro straps of her chest armor, Dallas met his bloodshot eyes. He was acting like a pouty six-year-old. “Tell me, Agent Murdoch, was your last partner, Randy Grant, wearing his Kevlar vest when he died?”
Stung, Mike reared back. How did she know about Randy? And then he noticed Scotty’s sheepish look. The mech had told her. Swinging his gaze back to her, Mike couldn’t help but admire
