Taking Cover (Wingmen Warriors 2)

They'd worked together, brought down a crook who'd evaded detection for years, and made the C-17 community safer for their friends. Damn it, they had reason to celebrate.

So why could he feel her pulling away even as she sat in his arms? Just as she'd done after they'd made love in the cockpit.

And, damn it, they had made love. It wasn't just sex. He wanted ties, strong and lasting ones.

With Kathleen.

How could a woman so competent in the work world be so damned wary when it came to relationships?

How much did he really know about her? Kathleen wasn't a woman of many words. She might run that smart, gorgeous mouth of hers plenty around him, but rarely about herself, something he'd never realized before.

Fragments of conversations, pieces of herself she'd unwittingly shared shuffled around inside his mind. Words about her "too perfect," "wonder women sisters." An ex-husband who didn't respect her job any more than he'd respected her, a man who'd been a disloyal scum.

When had she ever found acceptance?

Once again he'd missed the big picture. This woman needed more from him than he'd thought. That proud tilt of her chin hid a pack of very human insecurities.

He'd been so focused on her not needing his protection, he hadn't realized Kathleen needed something far tougher for him to provide. She needed reassurance.

How was he supposed to fix that for her? Talk about Mars and Venus, men and women—he didn't have a clue how to tackle this one for her. If he blew it, the pain would be just as real as if she'd taken a bullet.

They'd made it through a day he hadn't expected to see end. He would have given his life for her, battled anything to keep her safe. This time there weren't any tangible enemies to conquer, walls to knock down.

Other than the ones she'd built around herself.

Tanner stroked her hair back from her brow as the morning sun rose, officially ending their Christmas together. He spoke, even knowing full well she wouldn't answer. "I love you, Kathleen O'Connell."

Chapter 18

"Will you promise to love him," the military chaplain filled the base chapel with his resonant baritone. "Honor him, keep him in sickness and health as long as you both shall live?"

"I will," the bride answered without hesitation. Kathleen had never considered herself the cry-at-weddings sort, but the Clark, candlelit nuptials were sorely testing her on that one.

I love you, Kathleen O'Connell. Tanner's words from two days prior echoed through her brain, her own silence echoing afterward.

Kathleen sat in the pew of the Charleston Air Force Base Chapel and wondered if her answer, or lack thereof, would be any different, now that the world had returned to normal?

She could still feel his disappointment, but she hadn't been able to make herself speak. Not while her emotions were still so raw, so tender, not unlike her well-loved body. She'd used their rescue as a much needed escape.

As a cop-out.

After two hectic days of questioning by military authorities, she'd been cleared and released. Quinn had been captured the minute he'd landed, thanks to the tracking beacon Tanner had sent up. Quinn was in custody, awaiting deportation back to the States. The planes with his faulty part had been grounded. Even Randall faced charges for his negligence.

Kathleen had completed her debrief and caught the first plane back to Charleston with only minutes left to dash to her town house and slide into her full-dress uniform for Grayson Clark and Lori Rutledge's wedding. Kathleen hadn't even known if Tanner had returned in time.

Then she'd seen him stride in during the processional, watched him now as he stood beside Grayson as best man.

And, Lord have mercy, what a best man Tanner made in his full-military-dress uniform. Only a slight crease remained on his temple from the gunshot wound. He hadn't even needed stitches, just a tetanus booster and a butterfly bandage.

Medals gleamed across miles of chest. His blond hair glistened as if he'd just stepped from a shower—or had perspired from making love to her.

Kathleen shifted to safer, more church-worthy thoughts.

Hundreds of ivory candles reflected off the stained-glass windows, showering multifaceted blessings on the small grouping gathered round the altar. Lori stood serene and glowing in a princess-cut satin gown, regal as ever with her hair swept high, interwoven with tiny white flowers and velvet ribbons. Wearing his full-dress uniform, Grayson held her hands, his voice steady and confident as he repeated his vows.

Matron of honor, Julia Sinclair, in midnight velvet held the hand of flower girl Magda, Lori's adopted daughter from the Sentavo rescue mission. The little girl's honey-brown curls danced around her face, a circlet of flowers pinned on her head.

A small wedding party, no doubt, but with their priorities in order. Love and certainty shone from the bride and groom. Not like during the circus of a ceremony Kathleen had let her mother plan. Lori and Grayson's marriage would be blessed with the support of friends wherever the Air Force took them.