Private Maneuvers (Wingmen Warriors 4)

Instead...she didn't know what or who he was, and as much as his kiss rocked her, his words chilled her.

"You're not going to do anything to me." She'd had enough of people controlling her life. She was willing to relinquish control when necessary in the professional world, but she couldn't settle for less than a partnership on her personal turf. "I understand why you hid your mission. There's nothing to forgive there. But the way you used what I told you against me... That hurts."

He stroked back her hair with tender, lover hands. "I'm so damned sorry. But do you know what it did to me seeing you bleeding in the water and your eyes fogging over?" he paused, his chest pumping with each ragged breath. "I'd make the same call all over again to keep you safe."

She swayed forward. God help her, she was weakening, her body wanting to believe the promise in his seductive touch, the pain in his eyes, and just ignore the harsh vow in his words.

The callused pad of his thumb rasped along her jaw, down her neck before his fingers slid into her hair to cradle her head. "You don't think I wish we could back up and be friends again? I don't want us to leave things this way any more than you do." He cursed softly. "There has to be a better way to say goodbye."

Goodbye? Darcy shook off the sensual daze threatening to drain her will faster than rapture of the deep. He wanted her to see the big picture? Fine. They needed to both be professionals and get over their hormones.

Apparently, Max didn't know her very well, either, if he thought she would simply pack up and head home. She swallowed back the surge of longing still shimmering through her. The time had come to take a stand. "Who said anything about goodbye? I'm not going anywhere, friend.''

"I swear, she's getting on that plane if I have to carry her there myself," Max groused to Crusty, and paced a bare spot in the industrial carpet of the base security police office.

He'd spent the past two hours watching Darcy scan images on the security police computer screens in hopes of identifying their attackers while DeMassi, Lowry and Perry compiled intel in the next room. He'd looked at the same pictures without any luck, and Vinnie still wasn't changing his story.

Crusty tipped back in the office chair, digging through a bag of mooched sunflower seeds. "Pitch her on the plane? That I've gotta see. The whole John Wayne woman-over-the-shoulder routine will definitely go over big with Wren."

"I don't care, as long as she's off the island." He watched her frown as she studied another photo. Only thirty-six hours after their ordeal and already Darcy's flight-suit-clad body hummed with restless energy. Vitality. No lingering effects slowing this woman.

Her finger crooked in her dog tag chain, sawing back and forth. What he wouldn't give to hook his finger in that chain and draw her closer.

Maybe they should talk afterward, when she was safe at home in Charleston and he'd put the whole investigation to rest. If only that nagging voice in his head didn't keep insisting he was screwing up by not settling things between them now.

Friend.

He rued the day he'd used that word with her. She was killing him with friendship, treating him like one of her crewdog buds, taunting him with how very much was lacking and how much more they'd had before.

Crusty creaked back in his chair. "Why not let her spend a few days looking through mug shots until she returns to flying status? She might actually come up with something."

Max grunted.

"Too bad you were so hell-bent on the he-man 'little woman go home' tactics." Baker rattled the bag of seeds, digging for another handful. "If you'd just let her do her part, this could have been so much more pleasant. She can't leave until she's cleared by the flight surgeon, anyway. She has her old man watching over her 24/7 like a rotweiller."

Max ignored the pinch of guilt. He'd done the right thing to keep Darcy safe. The general had a grade-A warrior spirit, the kind that would teach his daughter real survival skills and keep her alive. General Renshaw's mindset seemed to go beyond just bloodying a kid's nose with kung fu crap to teach him that surfing was for bums.

Of course, Max had made sure his old man met the mat before heading out to catch the next wave.

Damn. He didn't need the past crowding his brain. A waste of brain cells and energy, anyway. Max scooped the sunflower seeds from Crusty's hands and started pitching them into his mouth. He crunched and paced. "It's not Vinnie."

"I know."

He almost hated having his gut instinct confirmed. "I've already sent in my recommendation we dismantle the tap. Screw the whole disinformation idea. This is bigger than that. Someone's playing us."

"And that someone's getting reckless."

Max dropped into the vacant office chair across from Crusty. "All the more reason to play it cool. Make like we're content until we have control of the situation." He worked the chair in a lazy half spin from side to side, the spartan government chair squeaking. "The last thing I want is whoever the hell's behind this getting fired up."

"Okay, run with that thought. Let's bounce some ideas back and forth." Crusty waggled his hands. "Brainstorm with me, partner."

Partner? Max paused midcrack.

Brainstorming? Him? What the hell was that all about? More of Darcy's socialization plan. Max stared at her across the rows of steel desks. Intent and focused, she cocked her head to the side to study one photo closer, then waved for the next picture.

She hadn't spared a glance his way, other than another one of her overbright "buddy'' smiles when he and Crusty had stepped into the office. She'd nodded politely, of course, then looked away.

Hell. He'd botched things with her on so many levels with no hope in sight for fixing it. He could talk and jam back sunflower seeds until the end of time and he would never have the "socialization" skills to do things any differently.