Private Maneuvers (Wingmen Warriors 4)

Max stood, scoping the room while scenarios played out in his head. "Who's in the next room?"

Perry flipped a page in his leather planner. "U-2 pilot from Beale AFB. She left this afternoon to head back home to California."

Max flung the flashlight on the bed and crossed to the connecting bathroom. A possibility.

Returning to Darcy's room, Max paced while Perry worked the crank on the hurricane shutters. Restless energy without an outlet fueled Max's feet. "I'm not sold on the coincidence theory of two attacks in one day."

DeMassi scooped the maglight from the bed. "The same car or guy following you twice in a day, that's no coincidence. Clicks on different phones, not a coincidence. But freaky weird animals in Guam are pretty much the norm, Doc."

Max grunted, unwilling to dismiss the possibility so quickly. Could DeMassi be an insider leak? He'd been the one following Darcy, after all, with a free and clear order to do so. The guy had opportunity to plant the pests. Seemed unlikely, but Max wasn't ruling out anything. He paused by the dresser, his hand absently flipping Post-it notes filled with Darcy's scrawl scattered along the mirror.

"Fill out mission reports."

"Check takeoff currency."

"Fly-safe meeting—O' Club— 1600.''

All written on pink posties with a lighter floral background—her warrior spirit mixed with undeniable femininity tempted him.

"Okay," Perry drawled, snapping shut his day-planner. "Say it's not coincidence. What's the motive for anyone messing with Renshaw?"

DeMassi reached up into the corner of the mirror and pulled down a faded family photo. "Someone's jealous of her high connections? The U-2 pilot even." He thumped the picture. "Wants to see General Renshaw's daughter screw up. Or maybe even just a practical joke. God knows those flyers are always pulling something."

"Possible," Max conceded, taking the photograph of dad, daughters and a son. Darcy wore her school uniform, all arms and legs with scabby knees and no front teeth. And a killer smile even then. "In which case it's petty stuff, nothing to do with the mission."

DeMassi flicked the photo in Max's hand. "Unless you're sleeping with her."

The memory of Darcy in skimpy ribbed cotton mocked him.

"So?" DeMassi pressed. "Are you?"

Max dropped the picture on the dresser. "No. Hell, no! This is work. Rule number one—avoid entangling alliances."

DeMassi folded his arms over his pumped chest. "Why the hell can't you Agency boys speak plain English? Say it like it is. Nothing can screw up ops for a guy faster than a woman."

Too damned true.

"Coincidence or not." Perry tapped his day-planner against his palm. "There's no way to tell now. We just have to weigh the risks of pressing on versus shutting down. At the end of the day, it's your ass on the line, Max. That makes it your call."

Perry could claim it was Max's choice all he wanted, but that didn't change the facts. They didn't have any hard evidence on the snake issue to warrant even a call to his superiors, much less stand a chance of convincing them to risk his cover by any major change of plans. "We press on."

Max rubbed his thumb over the family photo resting on the dresser and couldn't shake the edgy feeling he'd made the wrong decision. Perry and DeMassi were dead right about a woman messing with a man's mind. Particularly a woman like Darcy Renshaw. But he'd be rational tomorrow.

For tonight he intended to make sure nothing and no one else came near her.

"Sirs, you've done your duty by the wounded copilot," Darcy said to Bronco and Crusty as they stepped out of the rental car. Fluorescent floodlights hummed in the 2:00 a.m. silence outside the three-story VOQ. She stifled a yawn. "Enough hovering. Scat. Go play Nintendo or something."

Bronco slammed the door on the Ford Tempo, activating the locks. "Enjoy it while it lasts, Wren. Do you need help walking?"

Laughing, she backed away before Crusty or Bronco could swing her up into some embarrassing fireman's carry. "No. Thanks, really. I appreciate you driving me back from the infirmary. But I'll be fine. Even Doc Clark says so, and heaven knows flight surgeons are infamous for being hard-nosed." She turned to Bronco. "No offense to your wife."

"None taken." He winked, stopping outside her room. "Put your leg up like Cutter said and get some sleep."

"Will do, sir." She twisted the knob behind her.

Darcy waited until they climbed the outdoor staircase to the second floor, and their footsteps thudded overhead before she sagged against the tan cinder-block wall. How could a few tiny bites sting so much? Her leg throbbed like hell. Doc Clark had pumped her full of IV antibiotics and antivenom until her arm throbbed, too. Then he'd released her with instructions to keep off her leg for the night.

At least he hadn't insisted she stay in the infirmary.