"No."
"Climbing?"
Crusty hesitated. "No."
Damn. "No?"
"No." His eyes glinted, camaraderie nowhere in sight. "Now drop it. I'm not going to tell you again, pal."
Crusty spun on his boot heel and joined the duo by the plane. No careless loping. His ramrod-straight back shouted his military training.
Duty warred with Tanner's sense of brotherhood. He'd always seen the two as synonymous. Not today.
His old friend was lying.
Tanner stared up into the rafters as the bird ducked and dove trying to escape. Was he much better than Crusty? He'd been lying to himself, trying to avoid the possibility that Crusty could be at fault, because he didn't want to accuse a friend.
And who was he to judge Quinn for not acknowledging Kathleen's intelligence? Too many times Tanner had ignored Kathleen's advice when he knew full well what a damned smart woman she was. Not to mention he'd spent the whole morning using their time together to work his way into her bed.
He couldn't ignore the obvious. Kathleen O'Connell deserved better from men like Quinn.
She deserved better from him.
Tanner looked down inside the plane and kissed goodbye his fantasy of tangling his body with Kathleen's in the cargo hold. Time to get his priorities in order and focus on the investigation. No more attempts to wear down her defenses. No more mating games.
He spared one last glance at Kathleen and remembered the glide of her hair, her satin shirt, her skin against his hands. Damn, but it would have been one hell of a ride.
Two weeks later, Kathleen gripped the steering wheel and wondered when her job had become as stale as last year's fruitcake. Mile after mile of desert road whipped past—clumps of Joshua trees, an occasional crumbling adobe mission, seemingly all heading nowhere.
Like all their leads on the C-17 accident.
She should be thriving on the challenge. Instead, she couldn't stop obsessing over why Tanner didn't touch her anymore. Not that she wanted him to.
Liar.
The guy who was never at a loss for words now sat silently beside her, no smiles, no jokes. No touching.
Something had changed between them in the hangar two weeks ago. She'd gotten what she wanted. He'd quit eyeing her with competitive determination. Yet the simmer was still there.
She didn't doubt he wanted her, but they no longer did anything about it. Not even argue.
Everything had stalled, even the investigation. The team had shut down for the holidays and scheduled flights out on Christmas Eve. Not that she particularly cared about spending the holidays at home. She definitely wasn't looking forward to Christmas alone tomorrow in her town house.
But maybe the trip to Charleston would restore her balance. And she didn't want to miss Cutter's wedding the following weekend. Of course that meant more time with Tanner, since he was the best man.
One at a time, she swiped her sweaty palms down her crisp jeans. Driving down the monotonous stretch of road offered her too much freedom to sneak peeks at him. Tanner's hand twitched in his unconscious flying routine.
His feet pushed the floorboards like rudder pedals. Her gaze skirted up his deck shoes, bare ankles, over well-washed denim, so white she knew it would be soft to the touch. Smooth cotton encasing flexing steel.
Her stomach lurched. Or was it the car?
"Hey!" Tanner grabbed the steering wheel just before she drove into another rut. "Eyes on the road, Doc."
"Yeah, sorry." She changed the radio station to cover her lapse. The car shimmied and shuddered over another pocket in the narrow side road. "Are you sure this shortcut of Crusty's will get us there faster?"
"Too late to turn back now," clipped the man who'd once been deemed the chattiest guy on earth.
"Maybe you shouldn't trust everything Crusty says."