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  She blinked, somehow, momentarily unable to register her dire situation. “I’ve been...”

  “Missiles in the air,” Puck shouted into the airwaves.

  She looked around-couldn’t see. What the hell was going on? Then at last, she saw it. A large missile was blasting toward her. Sydney pulled up, trying to out distance it-an unlikely feat given how close it was on her when she spotted it.

  Go towards it.

  An unmistakable voice from her past spoke as though he rode shotgun in the cockpit. She ignored the command and proceeded to try to out maneuver the missile, but no matter what she did it remained hot on her trail.

  Go toward it.

  Sydney rocked her wings and caught sight of the missile again. As quick as she could manage, she readjusted her position and this time headed straight for the missile. This maneuver would cause the missile’s obvious heat seeking capabilities to slow down and wait for her. Once she drew close, she would switch or perform a glide and roll in the opposite direction. By then, the missile would be unable to adjust and it would lack the power to speed up again to give chase.

  Calm, she stated her position, and timed her maneuver as best as she could. Face to face with the missile, Sydney thought her heart was beating outside of her chest, but she was determined and focused. “Now,” she commanded herself and did a perfect glide and roll. However, there was more than one missile airborne.

  The second missile slammed into her. In the next nanosecond, smoke billowed into the cockpit and flames licked all around her. “I’m hit!” She coughed, choked, and felt for the eject handle.

  Ejecting out of a jet wasn’t as textbook as it sounded. It was more or less something a pilot read about, but only an elite few ever put it to practice...and lived to tell the tale.

  Fear stalled her hand for another nanosecond. Would it work? Would she slam into something and become paralyzed? One thing was for sure, if she did nothing, she along with her plane would become a blazing fireball long before it hit the ground.

  Whispering a prayer, Major Sydney Garrett pulled the handle and ejected...somewhere over North Korea.

  Chapter 2

  All hell broke loose at the Osan Air Base.

  Jett just opened the door to his car when the base went on full alert. Soldiers peeled out of buildings and squadrons to race to unknown destinations. His heart kicked up a notch as adrenaline rushed through his veins.

  Still standing with his car door wide open, he caught sight of Colonel Mickelson marching out of the building as if the devil himself chewed at his heels. A soldier for more than half his life, Jett was ready to spring into action—but technically he wasn’t a part of the team until tomorrow. He hadn’t even met his direct commanding officer. Never a bystander, Jett closed his car door and followed the crowd of airmen.

  Entering a squadron building for the 51st Fighter Wing, Jett melted into the crowd and picked up small tidbits of what was going down.

  “Bastards shot one of our F-16’s out of the sky,” an airman to his left griped.

  “I heard we’ve lost all radar frequencies,” another man said. “Whole damn base is blind. We can’t even contact Kunsan.”

  Although Jett was new to Korea, he certainly recognized the name to the only other Air Force base in South Korea. But what did the airman mean that the whole base was blind? Before Jett voiced the question, a heavy hand landed on his shoulder.

  “Aren’t you in the wrong area?”

  Jett turned toward a gigantically tall, gold leaf, African American airman, and quickly saluted. “Yes-no-I mean, I don’t know, sir.” He cringed at how much of an idiot he sounded like.

  Major Brian Mohr, according to his nametag, frowned before he returned Jett’s salute. “Well, which is it, Captain-” He read Jett’s nametag as well. “Captain James Colton.” Now his eyes narrowed. “Colton,” he repeated. “Why do I know that name?”

  “I’m new to the base, sir. When the alarm sounded, I simply followed the running men, sir.”

  Mohr was already nodding his head halfway through Jett’s explanation.

  “Your patch identifies you as a member of the re-established Black Knights.”

  “Affirmative, sir.”

  Mohr eyed him a second longer and then said, “The 21st Special Operation Squadron is on the other side of the base. Lieutenant Colonel Nick Bradley is your C.O.”

  Jett nodded and, given his obvious unwelcome reception, retreated.

  Mohr snapped his fingers. “You’re the hotshot everyone has been talking about, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t pay too much attention to idle talk.” Jett kept his face passive though his chest swelled with pride.

  Mohr seemed to read straight through him. “You’re not in my squadron, Captain Colton. But I’ll let you in on a little secret...being a hotshot in Korea-”

  “Will get me killed,” Jett repeated Mickelson’s words and was unable to keep sarcasm from dripping into his tone.

  Meanwhile Mohr went from looking mildly annoyed to down right pissed as he stepped forward. “That’s right, Captain Colton. It will get you killed. Up until a few minutes ago this air base lost Major Garrett one of our finest jet pilots.”

  Jett’s chest tightened. “Garrett?”

  Mohr’s features softened. “You know her?”

  Her? Jett swallowed. He wasn’t feeling like his normal brave, take-no-prisoners self.

  “Major Sydney Garrett. Guys call her-”

  “Serious,” Jett answered for him again. He knew her handle because he’d been the one who had given it to her years ago. Long before they parted ways, long before he fell in love with her, and long before for they were married.

  Sydney couldn’t catch her breath as she plummeted thousands of feet in the sky. Her panic was held in check by years of training and discipline. The scrap metal that had once been a fifteen million dollar Prince of the Sky tumbled faster away from her until it became a glowing ball of fire.

  Though she was the poster child for training and discipline, Sydney hadn’t performed a textbook ejection—but at least she was still alive.

  For now.

  Tumbling out of control, miles above the earth, still strapped to her ejected seat, Sydney’s thoughts slowed down so she could make sense of the jumbled words. And worse, her shock gave way to pain. Severe pain.

  She hadn’t felt it before, but she now remembered the fire in the cockpit and its flames licking at her face. And now the cold air raked at her exposed skin like a cat of nine tails.

  She wouldn’t know the extent of her injuries until she reached the ground.

  If she reached the ground alive.

  Right now, she prayed her parachute would operate once she reached fourteen thousand feet and her ejected seat would fall away. Just as the textbook said it would.

  What if it doesn’t open?

  She glanced around, trying to note her surroundings; but unable to notice anything other than the long green carpet of earth rushing to meet her. Fear reminded her of the toggle switch on her seat pan to send out a distress signal. A complete rag doll in the wind, Sydney braced herself to accept death.

  But there is so much I still want—

  She forced herself not to finish the thought. However, she had no control of the images flashing though her mind: the first time she’d touched a jet plane on her father’s air base, her father’s funeral, marching at the Air Force Academy, her first day at flight school, graduating at the top the class, making airman of the year three years running, her first assignment to Special Operations School...meeting the love of her life.

  She squeezed her eyes tight. Surely, she’d reached fourteen thousand feet by now. Where was her damn her parachute?

  Manic, Sydney reached for the seat handle, but before she could pull, she heard a muffled pop. The drogue chute stabilized and slowed her speed. In the next second a louder pop literally brought tears to her eyes as her main parachute bloomed overhead as her seat and headrest fell away.
r />   Sydney snatched off her helmet and oxygen mask and tossed them into the wind. Dizzy from the high altitude, she offered a prayer of thanks to her guardian angel.

  However, looking back down at the forest green carpet—she was hit with another concern: trees.

  Though it felt like she’d been falling forever, in truth, it had been no more than a few second since she had ejected.

  And for the first time, Sydney’s thoughts returned to her wingman. Where was Captain Johnson? Had he seen her eject from her aircraft?

  Her eyes scanned the area above but saw nothing but a sea of blue sky and billowy white clouds. Sydney strained her ears to hear the roar of a jet plane—but only the hard rush of air pounded her eardrums. Had he been hit as well? Was he out searching for her?

  Once she reached the ground, how long would it be before NATO sent in a search and rescue? Of course, that depended on whether the Guard Channel had picked up her distress signal. If not, they would figure she went down with her plane.

  Of course—the enemy could pick up her signal as well-particularly, whoever launched the surface to air missiles.

  She didn’t want to think about that.

  The trees grew larger and Sydney reached for the red handles above her head that were attached to the parachute. This handy doodad helped manipulate the shape of her parachute and aid in steering-but there was nowhere to steer to—no safe place to land. One tree would hurt just as much as the next.

  If by chance she survived the trees would hostile forces then meet her? The last time she checked launching a missile at someone wasn’t exactly meant as a friendly greeting card.

  Every Hollywood torture scene she’d ever seen in a darken theatre flooded her mind and did nothing to calm her anxiety. Her mind raced over the items in her survival kit and vest.

  Two way radio—check.

  Global Positioning Satellite (GPS)—check.

  9-mm semiautomatic Beretta Pistol—check.

  All her training had prepared her for this moment and she was determined to make her country proud.

  She kept her eyes glued to the horizon, her legs and feet together, knees bent. For the third time that day, a pair of golden eyes twinkled back at her and the fluttering in her heart was different this time.

  Jett.

  All too soon, her vision was obscured and merciless tree branches ripped and tore at her and the paper-thin nylon parachute. She tried to reel away; but when something sharp hit the back of her head, the world went black.

  Soaring through time...

  Chapter 3

  Thursday July 4, 2003 1100 Hours

  Sydney shielded her eyes from the bright Georgia sun as she stepped out of her brother’s old, dependable Honda. As usual the southern state’s humidity made the simple act of breathing an extraneous cardio workout. All in all, it was good to be home.

  Henderson’s airport really should have been named Henderson’s airstrip because it was just that small. For all intensive purposes it looked like nothing more than a mom and pop operation. How did her brother even find this place?

  “I can’t wait until you see this little baby.” Steven’s already wide smile slid even wider as he uncurled his six-foot-six frame out of the car. “She’s perfect.”

  Sydney drew in a deep breath and tried not to roll her eyes skyward, but her next words still had a way of damping her brother’s mood. “Are you sure you want to spend two point seven million dollars to buy a Cessna Jet?”

  “Oh, yeah. This little baby is worth it,” he said.

  She smiled, nodded, and finally rolled her eyes. Steven who had the good fortune to make his millions before the dot comers went bust pretty much spent his days as a carefree playboy.

  In the military, she got her daily fix of roaring through the sky. Her brother, who wanted nothing to do with the military, had to sate his flying addiction in other ways—at the moment in two point seven million ways.

  “Mr. Garrett!” a voice thundered from behind them.

  Sydney and Steven turned toward a silver-haired gentleman, with skin the color of a lobster. Not everyone can tan.

  “Mr. Henderson!” Steven shouted. His mood brightened.

  Sydney eyed the two men and knew both were about to engage in a good round of haggling.

  “So who’s this pretty lady you brought with you?” Mr. Henderson removed his mirror glasses and flashed steel gray eyes at her. “Or maybe beautiful is the right word?”

  Embarrassment burned Sydney’s cheeks as she smiled and slid her hand into Henderson’s offered one. Accepting compliments for anything other than her flying skills wasn’t her strong suit. Today was a rare day where Sydney wore a white, summer dress and allowed her thick hair to hang loose.

  “This is my sister,” Steven replied, rocking on his heels. “I brought her to get her professional opinion.”

  Henderson’s brows shot up with surprise. “She’s the F-16 fighter pilot you were bragging about?” His incredulity heightened his comic book features.

  “She knows her stuff,” Steven bragged and puffed out his chest. “I figured I bring her out to get her professional opinion of the plane.”

  Henderson gave her another cursory, yet calculating glance before he released her hand. “Well, it’s certainly nice to meet you. When I was in the military we didn’t have women as beautiful as you working on the frontlines...of course there were plenty of gorgeous nightingales in the hospitals. I even managed to marry one.” He winked.

  “Lucky you,” she said, barely able to contain her sarcasm.

  Steven pierced her with his ‘behave’ look and Sydney simply ignored him.

  “Matt!” A man yelled out the door of the white airport hub.

  The small group all turned toward the loud man.

  “Telephone!”

  Henderson waved to let the young man know that he heard him and then turned back toward Steven and Sydney. “That should be the bank. Why don’t we go inside and do a little business?”

  “I haven’t decided to sign on the dotted line yet.” Steven warned.

  “You will.” Henderson patted his back. “You will.” Henderson swung an arm around her brother’s shoulders.

  “We’ll see.” Steven glanced at Sydney. “You want to come in?”

  “I’ll just wait around out here,” Sydney said, flashing her best smile.

  “Don’t sign anything until you take me on a test flight,” she reminded him.

  Henderson squeezed Steven’s shoulders. “This shouldn’t take long.”

  Once the men disappeared into the building, Sydney sighed and glanced around the small airport, bored.

  “What a beautiful afternoon,” she mumbled under her breath, and then leaned back on the hood of her brother’s car and turned her face up toward the sky and imagined herself soaring.

  A car’s engine roared behind her while gravel crunched beneath tires but Sydney wasn’t willing to abandon her daydreaming to see who was pulling into the airport. The car stopped next to her and the engine shut off seconds before the car door opened.

  It was probably the ensuing silence that finally piqued her curiosity and she opened her eyes.

  Sydney sucked in an involuntary breath when her gaze met eyes the color of fresh honey and a smile that rivaled the sun. She blinked certain that the image would disappear once she opened her eyes again.

  No such luck.

  “I wasn’t sure you were real either,” he said with a soft chuckle.

  She swallowed and pretended the man’s warm, seductive voice wasn’t strumming her heartstrings.

  “Jett Colton.” He thrust out a hand and continued to blind her with his smile.

  “Jett?”

  “It’s my call sign.”

  “Call sign?” she feigned ignorance.

  “Yeah. I’m an Air Force fighter pilot. My friends call me ‘Jett’ because I like anything fast.” His gaze was unwanted but still felt as good as a lover’s caress.

  “Good for you.” S
ydney’s eyes lowered to his hands, but she didn’t dare take it. Her entire body was setting off warning alarms and for the first time in her life her heart was vulnerable to a stranger’s invasion.

  “O-okay.” Jett relaxed his arm back at his side as his next chuckle sounded more like a misfired weapon. “You don’t talk much.” He eyed her bare fingers. “I don’t see a ring-so you’re not married. And being as beautiful as you are, if you don’t already have a man on the hook, you must have a few fish swarming toward it.”

  Sydney rolled her eyes. Why were all the good-looking ones dumb as hell?

  Jett crossed his arms and leaned back against his own car and studied her.

  “Why are you doing that?”

  “Doing what?” he asked with convincing innocence.

  “Staring at me.”

  “Because you’re beautiful.”

  Another heat wave scorched her face. “Thanks—but stop it. It’s...rude.”

  Jett laughed, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she hadn’t joined him. “So what’s the deal? You’re not married and you don’t have a boyfriend-”

  “I didn’t say I didn’t have a boyfriend.”

  His eyebrows crashed together. “Do you?”

  “Well...no.”

  “Good.”