Joint Forces (Wingmen Warriors 7)

He would have to tread warily with his wife. Because damn it, he wasn't walking away from her now any more than he would have twenty-two years ago when she'd been pregnant with their daughter. He may not have planned on this kid, but already it lined itself right up there equally with Nikki and Chris in importance.

And what about his feelings for Rena? The gut-shredding fear he'd felt when the van started toward her?

The pine-scented air freshener dangled from his rearview mirror, swayed hypnotically while images of the wreck pounded through his brain.

He couldn't think of that. Not with so much at stake and convincing her likely to be a hellacious battle. Safer to focus on the work ahead of him.

Priorities in order, he fixed his mind on a dual mission as unwavering as his path behind the emergency vehicle. He had a family to patch together. And a niggling question to solve.

Why had the van swerved deliberately toward Rena's car, rather than away?

Chapter 3

Tucked into her hospital bed, Rena extended her arm for the nurse's routine blood pressure check, antiseptic air making her long for the scents of home and the comfort of her own bed to gather her thoughts. Her foot throbbed from the sprain and four stitches, but her baby was okay and that's all that really mattered.

And J.T.?

She would face the fallout with him soon enough, once everyone left. Doctors, crewdogs, their spouses. There hadn't been a minute to talk between all the visitors and giving police statements during what was turning into the longest evening of her life.

Longest?

Well, except for when she'd waited to hear if her husband had been located after his emergency landing in Rubistan. Since J.T. was the only married crew member, the squadron commander had come to her house along with another flier's wife to tell her…

The plane had gone missing. Shot down. A special ops reconnaissance helicopter had been deployed. Hours had felt like years.

Okay, so this was the second longest evening in her life.

Tap. Tap.

Rena looked toward the door, adjusted her hospital gown. "Come in."

The door creaked open, a blond head peeking around—Julia Dawson, the wife of the previous squadron commander, an approachable down-to-earth woman in spite of their husbands' differing ranks. "Hey, there. Is it okay to visit now?"

The nurse patted Rena's arm. "Everything looks good. I'll come back later for the rest so you can visit with your friend." She circled round the empty bed in the semiprivate room on her way to the door. "Buzz if you need anything.">"Yeah, I do." Her grip firmed again. Not painfully this time, but holding on in a way she hadn't done in a long time.

Emergency vehicles squealed to a stop beside them. Doors flung open. He didn't want to let go. God, he'd missed her needing him. What a damn selfish thought.

She frowned. "J.T., I really have to tell you—"

A paramedic jogged toward them. "Hold the thought, ma'am. Sir, please move so we can get her out faster."

J.T. backed away. "We'll talk later." He would promise her anything, even one of those conversations she craved. "Hang on and we'll talk all you want soon."

The paramedic chanted a litany of encouragement to Rena while crawling through the passenger window to sit beside her. He placed a C-shaped collar to stabilize her neck, draped her with a protective blanket.

Then noise ensued, grinding and groaning of metal as the Jaws of Life pried her free. His wife's every wince sliced through him during the endless extraction.

Of course, he already knew just how difficult it was to cut Rena out of anywhere. Hell, he'd been trying to cut her out of his life for months without a lick of luck.

Christos Price hated whatever dorky unlucky star he'd been born under. It totally sucked being doomed to a life of geekdom.

Elbow hooked out the open window of his mother's car, Chris finished clearing the gate guard's station leading into Charleston Air Force Base housing. At least with his friends Shelby Dawson and John Murdoch he could be himself without worrying about being cool.

And he was anything but cool.

Chris accelerated past the never-ending pines and oaks lining the street. He could wear double his regular wardrobe of baggy cargo shorts, open button-down shirt over a T-shirt, and the extra layers still wouldn't be enough to pad his bony body.

What guy wanted to be the "spitting image" of his short, scrawny mama? Geez. Scrawny wasn't a problem for girls, but it really blew monkey chunks for guys. Especially when all the other dudes in high school were so freaking big.