Taking Cover (Wingmen Warriors 2)

Tanner didn't wait for the reply. Before he could rub the bump on his nose as a reminder for caution, he plowed across the bar, straight for his redheaded partner.

Chapter 7

Kathleen scooched back on her bar stool and sipped her lemon water, a much wiser way of removing Randall Fitzgerald's hand from her hair than breaking the guy's fingers. Randall skimmed his knuckles across her cheek anyway, before grasping his vodka tonic.

Of course, survival training had provided her with at least four different techniques for snapping a pinky.

Not that there was anything wrong with him– a nice guy, well groomed, intelligent. She just wasn't interested in anything other than an informal interview, and she hadn't lead him to believe otherwise. Perhaps he needed another reminder.

Kathleen twirled her straw. "How long have you been working at the Palmdale facility?"

"Five years." The gleam in his eyes matched the fluorescent ornaments painted on his Christmas tree suspenders.

Randall dragged his bar stool closer. Of course, he could have been clearing space for the drunken duo plopping down to "fly" the stick and throttle attached to the bar. She decided to give Randall the benefit of the doubt.

"So you like it there?" She watched him for visual clues while she sipped her water.

"Sure. It's a great job. No office politics, since the boss is a million miles away." Randall loosened the knot on his evergreen tie, then leaned an elbow on the bar. "I'm made of free time if you'd like a personal tour of the local hot spots."

Kathleen's smile became pained. The next thing she'd know, this clown would be asking her if she preferred waffles or pancakes for breakfast.

It wasn't fair. Two guys exchanged beer and small talk and it furthered an investigation. A man and woman did the same and it became some kind of mating dance.

But she could handle him. She hadn't hung out with flyers for years without learning a few polite brush-offs. Keep it professional at all costs. Never give an inch. "What exactly do you do out there at the plant?"

"I verify that all the parts are tested, sign for them, then the government takes possession of them."

"Uh-huh." She motioned for a water refill from the bartender by the throttle-style beer taps. "And then?"

Apparently good ol' Randy mistook her interest for impressed fascination. The guy sure did love to talk about himself. Rather than set him straight for pride's sake, Kathleen simply listened and filed information away to sort through later when her head wasn't pounding.

At least her headache wasn't Randall's fault. That pain had a certain blond pilot's name all over it. She'd seen Tanner when she'd stepped in the bar. How could she miss him? He could fill a room with his presence in a way that had nothing to do with his shoulders.

Even with her back to him, she still felt him. Felt the irritatingly predictable awareness that buzzed from her toes right up to the roots of her hair whenever he came near. She started to look over her shoulder just as a shadow fell across the bar.

A broad-shouldered shadow.

The buzz increased to a rippling jolt of heat, like a near miss with an electrical outlet.

A thudding heartbeat later, Tanner stopped beside her and thrust his hand toward Randall Fitzgerald. "Hi. Captain Tanner Bennett. I don't believe we met earlier at the testing site."

The inspector bolted to his feet. "Randall Fitzgerald, government inspector."

"Yes, so my reports tell me." Tanner gripped the inspector's hand, and Kathleen had to give Randall credit. The man didn't wince.

Tanner reached behind Kathleen's back, bracing a palm on the bar. The heat of his arm, his chest a whisper away from her shoulder, embraced her.

What the hell was he doing?

Tanner fingered a lock of hair on her shoulder. "Are you about ready to leave? We've got an early start tomorrow."

"No." She edged her head away until the strand slid free. When had her hair grown so darn long?

"Are you sure? You didn't get much sleep the past couple of nights." His voice lowered to husky intimacy.

"I'm fine." Or she would be after she killed him. First she would stake him out in the desert, slather him with his own honeyed words and set the ants loose.

Then she would kill him.