The morning meeting with six other members of their investigation team from different bases had been spent divvying up interview subjects. Since Kathleen's toxicology reports weren't due in from the labs for another couple of days, she and Tanner were partnered for the day.
First on their agenda—check out the subcontractor who'd modified the electromechanical release device on the C-17's load ramp. Another whole day with Kathleen. Lt. Col. Dawson's plan was well underway. Tanner still couldn't decide if the idea was inspired leadership or reckless endangerment of their sanity.
Tanner focused on the landscape outside his window, rather than the too-tempting view just beside him behind the wheel. Rain from the day prior had coaxed color from barren cracks. Flowers now bloomed in a surprise splash of color. Clumps of Joshua trees and creosote brush seemed to stand taller.
The sun glinted off a shallow sheen of water on a dried-up lake bed. Plastic shark fins dotted the expanse, bringing a welcome smile to Tanner's face at the tradition he'd often viewed during countless TDY's to the base. Squadrons at Edwards AFB kept those fins ready to use after every rain.
Military folks worked hard, but they also played hard as a safeguard against the stress. Joking offered a pressure valve for the grim realities of their world, combat missions and even the ever-present risk of a crash on any flight.
Like the one they were investigating.
It could have been worse. Twisted metal. A burned-out hull. Nothing left to identify the crew but the extra set of dog tags inside boots.
The cause couldn't remain a mystery, otherwise, it could happen again. To him. To his friends.
Tanner shrugged off the depressing image and allowed himself an unreserved glance at Kathleen for distraction. Her tourist getup a thing of the past, she wore her flight suit, those fire-red strands tucked away in her regular braid.
An image of her in the airport sneaked into his thoughts as she did too often lately. His mind's eye remembered her tentative smile when she'd passed him the pocket protector full of pens.
She didn't smile often, something he hadn't noticed before. How did she blow off the steam that accompanied her high-pressure job? She needed to smile more often.
Tanner knocked back the dregs of his coffee, then smiled, lifting his empty cup. "A good omen."
"What?" She replaced her disposable cup, before readjusting her hands on the steering wheel. Positioning at precisely ten o'clock and two o'clock, of course.
He suppressed a grin at her manual-perfect driving. He understood her better now, and understanding the opponent gave him an edge. "We both like coffee. The sun's shining. All omens that it's going to be a kick-butt day."
"Omens." She gave a decidedly unladylike snort. "I'm more of a make-your-own-luck kind of person."
Of course she was, being a scientist. It made sense. Maybe he needed to help her understand more about the flyer mind-set as well. The sun seemed to wink in agreement. Or could that be a mocking gleam?
"Flyers are superstitious. We hang on to good luck charms, perform all sorts of rituals before we fly. Rabbits' feet, lucky coins, a bar coaster. Our pockets rattle with the stuff. One guy I know is convinced if he eats sardines and crackers for breakfast before a flight he won't get air sick."
She shot him a wry smile. "Alert the AMA." The wind snagged at her hair, finally freeing a lone strand. "And his reasoning behind this?"
"On his first training flight he was the only one in his class not to hurl. Now he's certain it was because of the sardines he ate that morning. It's become a mental thing. You can be sure that if he doesn't eat those sardines, he'll be puking his guts out by air-to-air refueling."
She winced, laughing softly. "Lovely."
The stray lock streamed across her face, catching on her mouth.
Tanner trained his eyes on a cactus so he wouldn't surrender to the temptation to smooth back her hair. "Don't diss the mojo, lady. We've seen it go bad for no reason too often not to hang with those traditions."
"Okay, so you know a few superstitious guys. You find superstitious people in any walk of life." She hooked the strand behind her ear.
Tanner relaxed in his seat, temptation safely tucked away for the moment. "Not this many. Have you noticed we always get into the plane on the left? Even if there's also a door on the right side, we still only use the left one. Fighter planes have the ladder rolled up to their left."
"There has to be a logical reason."
Figures his scientist partner would say that. "We think it's a carryover from cavalry days since you always mount a horse from the left, but we're not certain. Not a chance will anyone test it by breaking the tradition. Those rituals offer reassurance. Confidence in the air is everything."
Her eyes distant, Kathleen scrunched her nose, those few freckles more apparent in the morning sun. "Funny, I watched Andrew climb into that fighter at least a hundred times, and I never gave the left-side thing a thought."
Jealousy launched an ambush, downing Tanner when he least expected it. "Andrew?"
Kathleen's knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. "My ex-husband."
Ex-husband? So much for omens and knowing his opponent, good signs and a great day. Tanner could have sworn his mojo rode the morning breeze right out the window. "You were married?"