Commander Mitchell?’
She nodded, then frowned. ‘Bates? Why do you call him Bates?’ She glanced at the file in her hand. ‘That isn’t in his medical file.’
His smile reached from ear to ear. ‘It’s his call sign. I’ll let you find out for yourself why he’s called that.’ He pointed across the tarmac to the plane on the far side. ‘Well, I guess you found him. Give him a few minutes. He’ll take the plane back to the hangar.’
Corrine’s mouth fell open. ‘That’s him?’ She gestured towards the plane, which had safely landed and was slowly making its way back to the hangar.
Luke Kennedy turned back to his chair. ‘That’s him all right. Good luck.’
She bit her lip. That was the second person to wish her luck talking to Austin Mitchell. What was with this guy?
She put her jacket back on and left the control tower. One of the ground crew gave her the go-ahead to cross the tarmac and enter the hangar.
This was her last candidate. The teacher had cartwheeled down the corridor of the school she worked at when she’d got the news she’d been accepted. The engineer had stood up and announced his success to all his colleagues to much celebration. Even her marine had whoop-whooped when he’d been told and then proceeded to jump off one of the pieces of training equipment and body surf across the upheld arms of his colleagues. What would a Top Gun instructor do?
This guy was a little unusual. He hadn’t just been selected because he was a pilot—he’d also been selected because he had a master’s degree in microbiology. It seemed he’d completed his studies and immediately signed up for the navy doing two tours of duty in Afghanistan as a pilot before being selected for the Top Gun programme.
Lots of the work on the International Space Station was research based. Experiments could be carried out in a non-gravity environment with cells reacting in different ways. This guy wouldn’t just be able to pilot, he’d also be able to take a lead on some of the experiments on board. He would be a real asset to the team.
She could see the heat rising from the tarmac as she crossed it. The sand was still whipping past her eyes. What on earth had she done with her sunglasses? The heat in the Nevada desert was stifling. An uncomfortable trickle of sweat ran between her shoulder blades. It didn’t matter what the TV adverts said—no antiperspirant could work here.
The walk to the hangar was longer than she expected. Corrine liked to keep up a pristine appearance. Working at one of the most respected agencies in the world meant she constantly felt the need to keep up appearances. But the swirling sand and winds seemed to have other ideas for her.
Her footsteps echoed as she stepped into the hangar. She squinted as her eyes tried to adjust from the glaring sun to the darkened hangar. The place was surprisingly quiet.
A shadow caught her eye. A guy in grey overalls pushing a set of steps away from the plane that had just entered.
She walked swiftly towards it. Her footsteps slowed. The pilot hadn’t left the aircraft. He was walking around it, touching it, talking softly under his breath as he did so. She smiled. She’d heard that pilots became attached to their planes but she’d always thought that was an urban myth—something reserved for the bomber pilots of years gone by.
Her eyes finally adjusted to the gloom. He had his helmet in one hand and she could see the embroidery on his flight suit.
She planted a hand on her hip. ‘Well, Lieutenant Commander Mitchell, I guess you had better tell me why your call sign is Bates.’
* * *
He’d spotted her as soon as she entered the hangar and listened to the click of her heels as she’d crossed the concrete.
The sight was a little unusual for around here. He usually flew with a female radio intercept officer. But Morah was always dressed in her flight suit—he didn’t think he’d ever seen her in a skirt. Certainly not a skirt like this. One that accentuated the flare of her hips and drew attention to a pair of very shapely legs.
His lips curled upwards. The black suit was smart. Appropriate. Covering every single part that should be covered but revealing every curve. The pink silk shirt strained slightly across her breasts, willing him to tug it out from where it was tucked in around her waist. Then it could be equally as dishevelled as her windswept hair.
He’d known why she was here from the second he’d seen her. People didn’t visit Naval Air Station Fallon without good reason. It was too hot. Too inaccessible.
He’d met a lot of people at WSSA during his application process. But he’d never met her before—he’d have remembered.
Her skin was gleaming with the compulsory sheen of sweat that everyone around here permanently wore. He gave a little smile as she neared. His hand was still touching the body of the plane. He always did this. Part of his ritual. Didn’t matter how mundane or routine some of the flying might be, he always gave a little thanks when he reached the ground safely.
Two tours of duty had made him appreciate life. As a Top Gun instructor he wasn’t expected to tour again. He was expected to train other pilots to be the best they could be. He’d trained forty so far. But as much as he loved to fly, as much as he loved the buzz, space had always been his ultimate goal. Now, finally, it was almost in his grasp.
Maybe it was the fact that he knew what she was about to say. Failure had never been an option for him. But something about this woman made him stop and stare. Stop, and almost hold his breath. He could practically see little sparkling stars around this beauty. She looked like a movie-star princess. And since when did he ever think like that?
It must be the moment. The expectation that he was finally on the threshold of his ultimate goal. It couldn’t possibly be anything else.
He smiled at the sound of her voice. She had a twang he’d never heard before. Cute.
He spun around to face her just as a soft waft of her perfume drifted across the hot air between them. It wasn’t the usual kind of perfume. More citrusy, with an edge of spice.
He kept chewing his gum. It helped him concentrate on training exercises. Even in the dim light of the hangar he could see she was a knockout. The curves had been visible from afar, but up close and personal she was younger than he thought. Fresh, unlined skin with a little touch of make-up. She probably hadn’t reckoned on the total sunblock she should be wearing in Nevada. Her blonde hair was straight in some parts, curled in others, with one part that seemed determined to flap around her eyes. It was obviously driving her crazy.
He gave the plane a final tap and stepped towards her. He couldn’t help the smile that formed on his face. ‘Call signs are kind of personal. You’ll have to know me a whole lot better before I tell you why I’m called Bates.’
He probably shouldn’t have done it. But he couldn’t resist the teasing edge in his voice. Who wouldn’t want to flirt with a woman who looked like this?
A hint of colour appeared in her cheeks. But instead of looking uncomfortable she was staring him straight in the eye. It seemed as though the mystery lady liked a challenge—a bit like himself.
She held out her hand towards him. ‘Dr Corrine Carter, part of the medical assessment team at WSSA.’
A doctor. Interesting. Maybe she was a little
