"So if one of the pins reacted sluggishly…"
"That would be a problem. But we ran repetition tests at the plant before the part was installed. No problems. These babies are a beauty." The subcontractor's eyes glided up her, lingering on her breasts. "Works just as advertised."
Tanner kept his boots firmly planted, when he wanted nothing more than to charge over and put his body between Kathleen and the "Not-So-Mighty" Quinn.
Tanner reminded himself she didn't want his help, was in fact handling the obnoxious ass on her own. She'd made it clear she found testosterone dances and jealousy about as welcome as lancing boils.
This time, though, he could honestly say it wasn't jealousy talking. Okay, maybe some jealousy, but with a hefty dose of anger mixed in. Kathleen deserved more respect than Quinn was giving her.
She was an officer in the United States Air Force, a doctor to boot, for crying out loud. Her questions were intelligent and warranted serious answers, rather than the condescending garbage Quinn was shoveling her way.
As if on cue, the subcontractor reached to help Kathleen into the plane, his hand on her back perilously close to being more of a grab at her bottom.
Forget worrying about making her mad. Kathleen would just have to accept she had a partner. Nobody messed with his wingman.
Tanner started forward just as a shadow shifted in his peripheral vision. Like a bandit out of the clouds, Crusty slid up beside him.
In the second that Tanner paused, Kathleen sidestepped Quinn deftly on her own.
Crusty nodded toward the plane. "Do you wanna take him out? Or should I?"
"Maybe we could tag team him," Tanner growled.
"Sounds like a plan. I'm with you all the way, just like the Academy days. Remember when we pushed the F-16 right in front of the chapel?"
A smile twitched. "Yeah. That was a good one."
Crusty chuckled. "Man, was O'Connell pissed. Could have fried an egg on her forehead." His laugh dwindled. He tossed his shoulders back, his wrinkled flight suit rippling. "Okay, Bronco, my man. Let's go. A few well-placed put-downs and we'll set that cretin in his place."
Then take cover before Kathleen exploded.
Tanner cricked his neck side to side twice, almost easing the kink. "I get your point. She can fight her own battles. Damn it, I just want to…"
He stared at his boots, frustration nothing new around Kathleen.
"I know. It's not fair, but that's the way she wants it. We'll only make it worse." Sighing, Crusty forked a hand through his rebellious hair. "Gotta admit, I wasn't much in the mood for fried eggs this morning. Still kind of hungover from last night."
Tanner kept his eyes trained on Kathleen. She'd handled the situation with a finesse she shouldn't even have to consider. He'd almost made it worse by embarrassing her. "Thanks for saving me from making an ass of myself."
"No problem. Just helping a friend."
God, he wanted back in the cockpit where the good guys and bad guys were clear. He turned to Crusty. "Let me help you, too. Tell me what really happened up there."
Daniel Baker didn't answer, but his eyes narrowed. Tanner wanted to believe the defensiveness was a natural reaction. All flyers hated—hell, feared—review boards. "Crusty? Think back. Replay the action tape in your head like we used to do with football videos in the old days. There could have been any number of externals in action. Even a pocket of turbulence might have caused a slight yaw to the side. Not your fault. Just one of those things."
"Nothing happened that wasn't supposed to."
Crusty's set jaw made it clear. He wasn't going to offer anything. The best Tanner could hope for was a slipup through more direct questioning. "Are you sure your wings were level?"
"Absolutely."
"Maybe you were descending out of a flock of birds?"
"No."
"Climbing?"
Crusty hesitated. "No."