Blue Skies Page 8

  The minutes stretched and his alcoholic buzz vanished while he combated a rising wave of panic. What on earth possessed him to say that to her? Why was he so hell bent on conquering her iron will?

  Truth be told, he wanted more than to conquer—he wanted to dominate. Every night in the past week he did nothing more than dream of how he was going to accomplish his goal—and every morning, she out flew, out maneuvered- out everything while simultaneously reducing his ego to the size of a peanut.

  Jett stopped his search in the middle of the dance floor. What was the point? What could he possibly say about his thoughtless remarks?

  A few women swiveled and eased up on him, but he wasn’t in the mood to dance or party any more. He scanned the club again. This time he looked for Weasel. When this proved impossible too, he headed for the door.

  During the long arduous trek out of the club, Jett obsessed over his harsh words to Sydney. He was the last one who could talk about someone’s father; given the fact his couldn’t stand his guts.

  “My father was more of a man than you’ll ever be.”

  Was. Jett cursed under his breath and blocked out the flash of pain he’d witnessed in her eyes. He really did need to learn to think before he spoke.

  Finally, he exited the club and drew in a deep breath. However, the hardest thing to do in Las Vegas is find solitude. From the party crowd to the gambler’s den, Jett searched for a place where he could be alone with his thoughts.

  “You look like someone has kicked your puppy.”

  Jett glanced up, momentarily surprised to find his feet had led him to a bar in the center of the casino. That surprise was eclipsed when he recognized Niecy nursing a drink and plopping quarters into a counter video poker machine.

  “What are you-stalking me or something?”

  “I was here first.”

  “A small technicality.” He shrugged and then slid onto the stool next to her. “Where’s your friend?”

  “How should I know?” Niecy folded her arms. “I left her with you.”

  Jett expelled a breath and planted his elbows on the bar. “Well, she no longer with me.” He signaled the bartender and ordered, “Whiskey straight up.”

  “What did you do?”

  He resented the question and clamped his jaw tight.

  “Well?” she asked, ignoring his body language.

  “What makes you think I did something?”

  Niecy’s thin arched brows leapt high. “Is that a real question?”

  His drink arrived and Jett tossed the liquor down as if it was water.

  “That bad, huh?”

  “That bad,” he mumbled.

  Neither spoke, but the casino’s loud hum of laughter, slot machines, and exuberant gamblers filled the space between them.

  “You keep looking like that and I’m going to actually think you care about Serious.”

  Jett grunted. Though he was in no mood for Niecy’s baiting, he couldn’t bring him to leave her company. He mulled that over for a moment. It certainly had to be more evidence of his plummeting sanity.

  “Well, she’s different. I’ll give her that.” Niecy said, chucking more money into the machine. “Especially if she’s showing signs of immunity to your...charm.”

  “Bartender, I’ll have another,” Jett called out.

  “You got it,” said the young man who held a startling resemblance to Tobey McGuire.

  “All right stop it.” Niecy abandoned her game and turned her full attention to Jett. “You keep sulking and I’m actually going to start feeling sorry for you.”

  “Keep your pity.” He straightened in his chair when his drink arrived. His callous words to Sydney looped in head while his father’s bloated face surfaced in his mind.

  Worthless bastard. You’re never going to amount to anything.

  Jett closed his eyes, hating how his father’s words always successfully reduced him to feeling like a vulnerable six-year old. He spent most his life trying to prove his father wrong, trying to win his love.

  Just like he loved his older son, Xavier.

  Xavier never had to deal with their father’s physical or verbal abuse. Good old dad reserved all that just for little James. However, both heard his constant proclamation about their mother being a whore. That word was source of confusion until Jett turned ten and the realization that he didn’t look like anyone in the family. Eyes the color of wheat had a way of sticking out among a family tree of black onyx and while both side of the family showcase skin the color of dark chocolate, one had to wonder how Jett inherited his light coloring.

  Plain and simple, Gerald Colton had no room in his heart to love a son that wasn’t his.

  Love. He chuckled under his breath. What did he know about the elusive emotion? Hell, it was just a word as far as he was concerned. Heaven knows he’d searched for it in buxom breasts, hourglass curves, and soft, plump lips. However, no woman has ever elicited an emotion that lasted outside of the bedroom.

  “So much for love,” he mumbled.

  Niecy frowned. “You love her?” she asked misunderstanding him.

  “No.” Jett laughed. “I’m just intrigued by her.” And her passionate love for a deceased father. He finally stood up and tossed money onto the counter. “Last time I checked that wasn’t a crime.”

  Niecy studied him. “Do you need a ride back to the base?”

  “I’ll catch a cab.”

  “It will cost you a fortune.”

  “Hey, Jett. There you are.” Weasel hooked his arm around Jett’s neck as he approached from behind. “Man, I found us a couple of honeys that don’t know the meaning of the word ‘no’, if you catch my drift.” He barked out a laugh.

  “How charming,” Niecy snorted.

  “Ah, Captain Post,” Weasel wheeled around to face her with a mock salute. “I didn’t see the two of you sitting there.”

  Her eyes narrowed on him. “By all means pretend that I’m not.”

  “As you wish, Captain.” He spun back toward Jett and nearly lost his balance in the process. “So what do you say, Jett. Care to join us—or are you still trying to win that pool. I saw you with-”

  “I’m trying to do anything.” Jett cast a nervous glance over at Post.

  “What pool?” she asked. Her eyes filled with a renewed suspicion.

  “Nothing.” Jett shook his head and tried to tug Weasel away from the bar. “He’s obviously had too much to drink.”

  “Oh, I get it,” Weasel slurred with a dramatic wink. “Mums the word.”

  Jett clamped a hand over his friend’s mouth. “We’ll catch you later.” He turned and literally dragged Weasel away.

  Niecy watched the circus act of Weasel, Jett, and two scantily clad women melt back into the casino crowd. “Those two are up to something.”

  Hostile territory...

  Chapter 13

  Tuesday July 4, 2006 1600 hours Osan Air Base

  The 21st Special Operation Squadron—the newly re-established Black Knights were locked and loaded for their search and rescue mission. Jett included. Despite not having a formal introduction to his new C.O., he had no problem, getting on active duty, seeing how the base grabbed every able body they could find.

  Osan was no longer operating in the dark. All systems were up and running—though no concrete explanation had been found as to what caused the four hour black out. This was an unacceptable answer with the Brigadier General all the way up to the President of the United States.

  North Korea Chief of state Kim Jong-Il filled the airwaves with threats of launching a nuclear attack in response to their country’s energy crisis. All talks with South Korea, Japan, and the United States were cut off.

  While the world held their breaths during the pending catastrophe, Jett’s heart and soul obsessed over one thing—one person.

  She’s not dead. She can’t be dead. I would feel it, wouldn’t I?

  He wasn’t sure anymore. Time played cruel tricks. In the three years since Sydney ha
d walked out of his life, why hadn’t he gone after her? Lord knows he wanted, needed, and longed for her. Hell, he still remembered vividly the taste and feel of her as if she’d placed a curse on him.

  For three years he’d tried to replace her in his heart, but her lips had soured the taste of other women. His enslaved body was never able to experience the rapture her curves and feminine softness gave. Though their paths failed to cross again, he’d fooled himself into believing that some day they would but now...

  “Charlie Two-seven, you are cleared for take off.”

  The sharp voice from traffic control crackled inside the headset and successfully wrenched Jett back to grim reality.

  “Roger, that.” Jett turned up his engine to full power, but then his hand felt cold and sweaty as he wrapped it around the throttle. He drew a deep breath, steadied his racing heart, and forced himself to remain in the present. He needed to be at the top of his game when flying into enemy territory. He had to be better than he had ever been if he was going to survive and rescue the woman he should have never let go.

  Every inch of Sydney’s body hurt-and not in a good way. If it weren’t for the questionable species slithering in the vicinity of her open thighs she would have been content to lie still and bake in the sun for eternity. However, rectifying the situation meant moving and moving meant more pain.

  Who, what, why, and where she was raced like a train through her mind, but no ready answer was forthcoming. She just wanted and needed to survive the pain. Whatever was taking great liberty of gliding all over her body now had a firm hold of her leg and was squeezing painfully hard. So much so that she finally managed the impossible task of opening her eyes. A carpet of rich green stretched out before her, which only confused her more.

  The pressure on her leg intensified and she tried to flail her hands up—down. Was she upside down? Wait. That didn’t make sense. Pain. Stop the pain.

  She jammed her hand into her vest, fumbled for moment, but then finally wrapped her hand around the semi-automatic Beretta. The pain robbed her logic. It must have. It was the only explanation of why she would purposely shoot blindly toward her own leg.

  Instantly her slippery assailant released its hold on her—as did gravity—and she found herself plunging head first toward the ground. Shortly before she hit the bottom, it occurred to her that she was sliding down a tree—a massive tree.

  The inevitable crash came and flipped her body forward and landed her unceremoniously against sharp rocks embedded in the cold earth. Sydney lingered at the edge of darkness for a moment, but then oxygen seeped back into her lungs.

  Somehow, she managed to roll herself over and open her eyes once again. This time, she stared at nothing but blue sky. The beauty of it didn’t escape her. In fact, it gave her a sudden strength while it cleared the clouds from her mind.

  “My name is...” She coughed, gasped, and then licked her lips as a way to stall for answers. “I’m Major Sydney Garrett of the U.S Air Force.” A proud smile cracked her dry lips as she then rambled off her serial number. When she tried to answer the question to why she was lying on the ground when the last thing she remember was coasting on a routine soiree near the DMZ.

  She searched her memory for what seemed like eternity but kept hitting a brick wall. With prayer and fledging strength, Sydney pulled herself up into a sitting position. Half of a snake’s corps still clung to her left leg, while its blood or her blood was splatter across her rip and singed G-suit.

  Singed—fire.

  A brief image of a jet’s cockpit ablaze flashed through her mind. Her hand trembled as she lifted it and gently pressed her fingers against her face. A surged of renewed pain ripped through Sydney and she quickly removed her hand.

  Just like that—she remembered everything. She closed her eyes and forbid her burning tears to fall. Pull yourself together. Soldiers don’t cry.

  She repeated her lifelong mantra until her courage trickled back into her veins and she pulled herself back into a sitting position. True, every inch of her body throbbed with pain; everything seemed to be in working condition. That is—until she tried to stand up.

  Her left ankle was shattered. Every time she moved it, the pain overwhelmed her. Sydney took in her surroundings, this time, straining her ears for any nuance of sound.

  Silence greeted and terrified her.

  Best that she could tell she was in some type woods or forest. At least it could help to aide in hiding from enemy. Yet, it would also make it harder for a search and rescue team.

  After what seemed like hours, Sydney managed to drag herself behind a thicket of trees and hunker down. She unclipped the kit attached to her hips and then removed the radio from her survival vest. She switched on the channel and made a desperate attempt to reach her wingman.

  “Puck, this is Serious. Come in.” She kept to their call signs as a way to camouflage their true identity in case enemy forces were listening.

  No response.

  She tried again, but the radio remained dead in her hand.

  Emotionally, she stood at a crossroad. One path would lead her to despair and depression. The other meant she would have to fight like hell to survive. She had to survive. There was something that she still had to do. There was something that she still had to say—to confess.

  Again, a pair of twinkling gold eyes flashed from her memory along with a brilliant smile that warmed her like the sun.

  I should have told him I loved him when I had the chance.

  Despite her best efforts, tears seeped from her eyes. However, her survivor instincts and courage were rising by leaps and bounds. I will get another chance.

  Sydney lifted the radio to her mouth. “Puck, this is Serious. Do you read me? Come in.”

  The birthday gift...

  Chapter 14

  Friday September 19, 2003 Osan Air Base 0900 hours

  Jett and Sydney went out of their way to ignore each other. However, the competition between them remained fierce—in and out of the sky. Their 5:30 a.m. physical training class had them competing in everything from the five-mile run to scaling walls in Olympic time.

  The runs were nearly always ended in a tie but Jett practically gloated when beating her over the wall. Yet, once they were in the sky, no one beat Sydney Garrett.

  “All right, everyone, listen up,” Maj. Maxwell commanded and then paced before the hanger. “Today we’re going to be working in the simulator where each of you will tested against surface to air missile launches.”

  Sydney’s stomach lurched but she made certain she kept her sudden case of anxiety hidden.

  “Captain Garrett. You’re up first.”

  “Yes, Major.” She saluted and stepped out of ranks to follow her instructors to today’s simulator. Gearing up remained the same as if she was climbing into a F-16. Everything was replicated to give the exact feel of take off and flying.

  When her threat warning system lit up, Sydney’s hands were suddenly sweaty and her stomach had transformed into a jumble of nerves. “Missiles in the air,” she informed tower control as protocol demanded. Next she rattled off her coordinates.

  With an arsenal of tricks up her sleeves, Sydney remained confident that she could out maneuver the attack. A scant minute later that confidence had waned. No matter what she did, the missile remained locked onto her.

  Think, Syd. Think.

  For the first time, she drew a blank and when she tried to pull a desperate hotdog attempt, the planes throttle became uncontrollable.

  She tried to read her center console, but everything was shaking uncontrollably. Then she felt rather than read when her engine shut down. The next second, she was spinning out of control.

  Then everything stopped.

  “All right, Captain Garrett. Climb on out. You’re dead.”

  The declaration crushed her, but she said nothing as she unhooked everything and climbed out. When she descended the metal steps from the simulator, a wall of stunned faces greeted her.


  “All right. Captain Post, you’re up.”

  “Yes, Major.” Niecy saluted and stepped out of ranks.

  Sydney returned to the line, walking on numb and shaky legs. What in the hell just happened?

  However, Capt. Post and well as the majority of the squadron met the same fate as Sydney. Then it was Jett’s turn.

  “Lt. Colton. You’re up next.”

  Lt. Johnson moved next to Sydney. “Don’t beat yourself up. That was a devil test.”

  Sydney glanced up and smiled into Johnson’s kind eyes. “Thanks. I needed to hear that.”

  Outside the simulator, the rest of the squadron could see the same simulation as the pilot on a wall screen. Sydney, however, was still reviewing her mind on what she’d done wrong when she caught a few whispered questions buzzing around her.

  “What is he doing?” Lt. Johnson asked.

  Sydney glanced up at the screen and saw Jett is a near nosedive toward the missile. Words eluded her as she watched the scene unfold. Her breath even hitched as though Jett had placed himself in real danger.

  Then, when a collision was all but guaranteed, Jett performed a perfect glide and roll in the opposite direction. The hanger erupted in cheers while Sydney found herself thoroughly impressed.

  When Jett emerged from the simulator he received another around of cheers and applauds. For the first time in two weeks, Jett and Sydney’s eyes met and held. Finally, she gave him a small smile and a slight nod of congratulations.