Rodeo nodded toward his arm. "You okay, Cobra? They pumped us full of more crap than normal for this one. Damned morphing virus strains."
"This new anthrax shot feels like the time I picked up one of my sisters' curling irons while it was still plugged in." And it wasn't as if he could call on his favorite flight surgeon for TLC anymore. "Sometimes it's tough to tell which is worse, the shot or the disease."
"You'll survive. My mama used to dose me up with every inoculation the minute it cleared the FDA, sometimes before." A military brat, Rodeo had grown up around the world, moving with his Army medic mother. The guy could party in four languages and never left a friend alone in a bar fight.
A wingman to trust.
Why then did he trust Rodeo with his life in the air, but hadn't told a man he considered his best friend about the mess with Monica? "Doesn't seem your mama stunted your growth."
Rodeo's deep chuckles rumbled through the interphone without arguing. No need since his wiry height spoke for itself. "Made any plans to kill time before we ship out?"
"Me. My pillow. One-on-one for twelve hours straight." Jack pushed the throttle forward, climbing into the opaque sky.
"Don't hand me that hangdog crap. Let's head down into Vegas and hit one of the casinos' all-you-can-eat setup before we're stuck with a week of that mess hall shit on a shingle. Crusty was telling me the Rio's got this kick-butt Carnival World Buffet." He kissed his gloved fingertips. "Everything from sushi for me to those cheeseburgers you love. Too bad Crusty's already over in Rubistan. He's always up for food."
Vegas? Irritation and memories chewed his hide. "Thanks for the offer, but my bed has a kick-butt pillow that won't take me a half hour of driving to find."
If he could sleep the night through without dreams of Monica—or nightmares about her sister who'd been taken hostage simply because she wanted to feed a few hungry peasants.
Guilt slugged him and not for the first time. He'd used those same damned connections in D.C. to wrangle an introduction for Monica's sister with the Rubistanian ambassador. Bingo, her team with the IFB—International Food Bank—had been granted entree into Rubistan.
All because he'd wanted to impress Monica.
No matter how many times logic told him Sydney Hyatt would have found her way over there with or without him the guilt stayed.
"Come on, Cobra. What's up with you? We've got a week in Rubistan and then hell only knows how long in Germany afterward."
Jack grunted, running out of excuses and not in any hurry to share, even with Rodeo.
"Ah, I get it." Rodeo nodded, his hands running over the dim neon glow of the control panel as he noted altimeter settings and airspeed. "You've already got something lined up, maybe someone to meet you on that pillow. Korba, for a hairy, ugly son of a bitch, you sure score a lot."
He wanted off this subject. Now. "Not tonight, pal. I'm taking my hairy self to bed."
"Yeah, right. What's your secret?"
Jack upped the throttle again, bringing him closer to his pillow and the end of this chat. "I start with calling a woman by the right name."
"Ah, hell." Rodeo's curse rode a laugh. "Then I'm totally screwed."
The headset echoed with laughter from Tag in back, Rodeo's call sign no great secret. His first had been "George," a link to his last name Washington until word leaked that Rodeo had a reputation for shouting the wrong woman's name during sex. Rumor had it one offended babe of the week bucked him off and onto his bare ass in under eight seconds—rodeo style.
Minutes after the tale hit the Officer's Club, somebody tapped a keg for a new naming ceremony and "Rodeo" was born. A funny-as-hell moniker if it weren't for the fact that Jack suspected Rodeo always called out the same woman's name. Something Rodeo had never shared any more than Jack felt compelled to spill about Monica.
Sympathy knocked with a reminder of how close he could come to being in the same position. Bare butt on cold tile.
Sweat iced on his back. "How about after we wrap things up overseas and get back home to Charleston, let's take some time off? Hang out. No women. I've got a line on some tickets to a Braves' game if you're in for a road trip over to Atlanta."
And damn it, he would not think about how much Monica enjoyed ball games, as at ease in jeans and a ponytail as in her flight suit and a French braid.
"Sounds like a plan." Rodeo smirked beneath the NVGs, his teeth a mocking green grin. "Well, hope you enjoy your date tonight with your... pillow."
"I'm sure I will."
When he completed this mission, he could clear the slate and move on. Celibacy was a pain in the ass, not to mention other body parts. Much longer and he'd be qualified for a call sign change to "Blue."
Problem was, he didn't want anyone else. But if he didn't get his head on straight again, he would alienate everyone around him. What the hell happened to his normal boots steady, laid-back, keeping it cool?
Cracked desert heaved and rolled with rocky out-croppings leading back to Nellis AFB, the location hosting final mission rehearsal as all the combatants from different bases came together. The city lights of Vegas stayed well out of sight in their route chosen for NVGs.