Tanner jerked his attention from the government inspector and snapped his fingers. "Quinn! 'The Mighty Quinn' Marshall. I knew I'd heard your name before. You used to be on active duty, a C-130 pilot back in Desert Storm."
Quinn's chest puffed. "A lot of years ago."
Kathleen flipped her notebook closed. "I'm going to find a ladies' room while you boys shoot down your wristwatches with your hands."
Quinn nodded absently. "Yeah, sure, straight ahead past the soda machine, then right."
"Thanks."
Tanner's eyes trailed Kathleen without his consent. Even constrained in a braid, Kathleen's hair gleamed like a beacon in the dreary factory as she paused by the defense contractor. What was it about that woman?
An evening with his buds at the Wing and a Prayer and he would be back on track.
"What's the deal on her?"
Quinn's voice pulled Tanner's attention, if not his eyes. "She's the flight surgeon on the investigation team."
"No. I mean is she married? Seeing anyone? What?"
Tanner's gaze darted back to The Mighty Quinn. The answer fell free without hesitation. "She doesn't do relationships with pilots."
"Pilots!" Kathleen stepped out of the shower and kicked the boots lying on the bathroom floor. Too bad they didn't have a certain big, blond hotshot inside them.
Cinching her towel tighter around herself, she scooped the uniform off the tile floor. She stuffed it in her laundry bag and wished her frustration could be as easily discarded.
She hadn't accumulated years of medical training only to be banished from crew-dog interviews or to take notes, while Tanner and The Mighty Quinn talked airplanes. Give the doc a pat on the head and send her on her way. Kathleen whipped off her towel and flung it in the tub.
Willing her temper to fade, she slid on ivory lace underwear, her secret indulgence. She hadn't grown up in a house full of fashion-conscious sisters without picking up a few preferences of her own. Expensive matched sets of underwear nurtured a corner of her soul in need of pampering.
It also became her little secret she carried beneath her uniform. She would play by their flyers' club rules, compete wherever they set the bar, but she would do it as a woman.
She might not have a name like The Mighty Quinn, Bronco or even Crusty. But she knew who she was, and Tanner Bennett could take a flying leap off his own load ramp if he thought he could eclipse her.
Let him have his guy-talk meeting with Crusty. She'd scheduled her own investigative appointment with the government inspector, Randall Fitzgerald. Their little chat by the soda machine had netted more information than the entire tour through the factory.
Kathleen shrugged into her cream satin shirt, buttoning slowly. No way would she let Tanner's towering presence overshadow her tonight.
From the closet she unclipped and pulled free her favorite pants. Brown leather. One leg at a time she eased them on, savoring the sensation of the supple leather sliding over, then clinging to her. No need to tuck in her shirt as it stopped an inch below her waistband. She could enjoy the night breeze slithering the satin across her bare skin.
Kathleen slipped on low leather pumps and her standard pearl stud earrings. Nothing flashy like her sisters. No pouring on the charm like Tanner. Just herself, and damned if she planned to stand in the wings.
One spritz of perfume in her open neckline and she finger combed her damp hair, ready to leave. Let the desert night air dry it on her way to meet the inspector.
At the Wing and a Prayer Bar and Grill.
Tanner shoved open the door to the Wing and a Prayer, shooting a thumbs-up thanks over his shoulder to the friend who'd given him a ride. The aviator hangout was parked at the intersection of the middle of nowhere and the ends of the earth. The clapboard building sported the tail of a plane sticking out of the roof.
Cactus Christmas lights glowed around the door frame, offering a festivity he chose to ignore. Laughter and clanking bottles foretold the crowd he would find inside the always-packed bar.
He wouldn't wonder what Kathleen had decided to do with her evening. This was about getting his head on right again, while snagging time with Crusty to ferret out the straight scoop about what had happened on that flight.
Military and civilian locals alike gravitated to the bar decorated with Air Force test memorabilia dating back to the 1940s. Pieces of crashed aircraft—shell casings, metal skin off planes, busted flight instruments, propellers—covered the walls in the same way fishermen mount their prize bass. Straight ahead, a widescreen television blared nonstop aviation movies for those who opted for a table rather than the bar off to the left.
He wove around the dark wooden chairs in search of Crusty. Tanner sidestepped table after table with crews and…
Couples.
Why hadn't he ever noticed how many couples congregated in this bar during his other TDY visits to Edwards? He'd always thought of it as more of a crew hangout. Apparently not.