Holiday Heroes (Wingmen Warriors 13)

But he was man enough to appreciate the subtler temptations of life as being far more seductive than blatant displays.

Sweet sin, something shifted in his world in that moment. It didn’t matter that he was an old cantankerous bomber pilot, widowed father of three, a grandpa even. He couldn’t make himself look away from the holly-green of Ginger’s eyes.

She cocked her head to the side. “Hank?”

He whipped his hand free. “All set.”

Hank tugged her jacket from the back of an ornate wooden chair and held the coat open for her to slide her arms inside. Then his brain tripped over itself.

Hell.

This wasn’t an overcoat. It was clothing. He should have simply passed the jacket to her while waiting to give her the velvet bag that held the miniature porcelain crèche. Now, he couldn’t miss the intimacy of helping her dress. Luckily, Ginger simply smoothed over the moment by taking it in her normal easy stride that had aided her in negotiating legislation during senatorial debates.

She slipped one slim arm then the other inside, shrugging the suit jacket into place. Her fingers glided down the golden buttons until she was once again fully clothed. “Thank you, Hank.”

Too bad he still saw satin and lace.

Not wise. He needed to remember that he was here as part of Ginger’s protective detail for this string of politically strategic visits across Europe. With two death threats and pockets of terrorist cells all over Eastern Europe, her security had to be his number-one priority.

His brain didn’t have room for satin and lace when her life could be in danger. But because of those very problems with spreading terrorist factions, she’d stressed more than ever the need for strengthening ties between their country and representatives from countries on their list.

Ginger stepped forward, the hem of her sleeve gripped in her fist and reached to rub the fabric over his shoulders. “You’ve got snowflakes melting on your uniform. Don’t want to tarnish those three shiny stars on your shoulder boards.”

“Thanks, it’s kicking up out there, but I’ll have an umbrella to cover you on the way to the limo.” He kept his face stern. “I’m going to state the obvious—again. You should wear a bulletproof vest.”

“Impossible to hide under this suit.” She shook her head.

“Easy enough to hide beneath your overcoat if we kept your appearances outside.”

“We can only take security so far without insulting the people we’re trying to win over.” She tapped his temple as if the awkward moment had never happened. “What’s done is done, so lighten up. What’s wrong with you today, Hank?”

He let his real feelings show for the first time since he’d been frozen solid in the doorway. “I’m worried about you. I’ve got a bad feeling about this that I just can’t shake. You’re sick with that ear infection anyway. Why not bow out of the next two days of meetings and just make the final appearance at the chapel ruins?”

“Oh Hank, you know better. We’ve come a long way from when our kids used to play together while we drank a bottomless pitcher of tea with Benjamin and Jessica.”

Benjamin and Jessica. Ginger’s husband. His wife. Back when they’d all been friends and who’d thought of the future? “Or longneck bottles of beer.”

“That too.” Ginger gave his shoulders a final swipe and pat. “You gave up personal-comfort choices when you took on your position with the Joint Chiefs of Staff. And I’m taking a walk I never expected when Benjamin decided to get out of the Air Force and run for the Senate. So let’s put on our best game face and do our jobs.”

Their jobs. Right. Except as he stared down into her deep-green eyes and wondered why she wasn’t as affected by the moment as he was, he realized her hands still rested on his shoulders.

Her hand resting in the crook of Hank’s elbow, Ginger stepped out of the airport, her time to “freshen up” in the VIP lounge over. Her stomach clenched. From the security threats, surely. Not from the surprise jolt of awareness she felt from taking the arm of the towering man beside her. This was her longtime pal, her dear friend.

A man who had been unmistakably checking her out.

Her nerves fluttered like the trills of music from the band playing Christmas tunes under the red-striped awning. “Oh, Tannenbaum” floated on the snowy swirls as she made her way along the preswept red carpet leading to the limo fifty feet away.

Hank held the umbrella as she waved to the distant crowd who’d braved the snowstorm to welcome them. She had almost gotten to the point where she didn’t notice the protective detail. However her safety depended on it, and she simply had to accept that.

Cameras flashed and snapped as reporters caught their images for the papers and the Internet. She strode past the cargo plane with its spit-polished crew who had hauled all their gear, personnel and vehicles across the Atlantic, then around Europe. The redheaded secret service agent walked alongside, talking into his sleeve.

Hank stayed ever-present in step, his strides a loose march, snow spiraling around their feet. She gripped his arm, her velvet bag dangling from her elbow. She wasn’t sure why she’d been so insistent on carrying the crèche herself. It would have been simpler to include it with the luggage. But she’d always treasured the little piece, one of her children’s Christmas favorites each year and she wanted to keep it with her as long as she could.

Hank’s face dipped toward hers. “Is the microphone on yet?” His voice rumbled low.

“No, General, not until I’m in the meeting with the German Chancellor and the Vice-Chancellor of Kasov,” she answered while smiling, nodding, waving. “I can say pretty much whatever I want as long as I smile sweetly for the cameras and we keep our voices low. But there will be a driver in our limo after we finish this little walk-and-wave gig. You have about one minute.”

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