On Wings of Passion (2 page)

He stood tensely, hands on hips, eyes darkening thunderclouds. “Someone ought to teach you some social manners.”

Erin smirked and stepped onto the escalator. “Wishful thinking, Captain. I suppose in my investigation of the air force I’ll find you’re all wife beaters, too.”

“I’m sure you’d like to think that,” he answered, his voice barely above a growl. “You probably have your husband completely cowed.”

Erin marched off the escalator and immediately spotted her luggage on the baggage turntable. “I’m widowed, Captain, so it’s a moot point, isn’t it?”

Ty Phillips walked easily at her side. “I’m sorry,” he said, the tenseness coming out of his voice. He tried to change topics. “I suppose it is, but a good-looking woman like you had better watch her step.”

She grimaced at him. “I learned one thing about Irishmen a long time ago, Captain. They’re so full of bluff that it’s laughable. You have the wonderful job of escorting me around for the next two days. You don’t like it and neither do I. You’re such a typical macho male it makes me ill. Go talk to some other woman who will believe your blarney.”

Her heart pounded violently as she saw and felt his reaction. He reached out, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh of her upper arm and he gently pulled her to a stop. He was so close she felt his hot breath against her cheek. His once-kind eyes had turned bluer and predator-like as he glared down at her. “Now, look,” he rasped softly, “you may be a grown woman, but if you continue to act like a spoiled brat, I’ll take you in hand, darlin’. You either begin acting civilly, or we’ll have it out right here in the middle of this airport.”

A host of reactions exploded within her. She was aware of his male scent and the subtle excitement it produced in her. She recoiled at the talon-edged sharpness of his threat. Her lips parted and she stood very still within his grip. She knew he would do exactly as he promised. Swallowing hard, she tried to pull away from him but his fingers tightened, sending a painful warning up her arm.

“You’re hurting me!” she whispered.

“You’ve hurt me, too,” he retorted, his fingers relaxing slightly against her flesh. “You can hate me and the air force, Miss Quinlan, but do me one favor. Treat the people we’ve got to deal with in the next few days without the rudeness you’ve displayed here. That’s not too much to ask, is it? Or are you ice all the way through?”

Erin gasped. Heat rushed up her neck and into her face. “Why, you—!” she sputtered.

“Put a leash on that temper,” he said softly, his eyes glittering dangerously.

She stood frozen. Seconds crystallized into what seemed like hours of agony because of his nearness. Eventually she was aware of his fingers loosening their grip on her arm. He straightened up, allowing his hand to fall to his side.

“Would you like to start all over?” he asked quietly.

She was trembling and close to exploding. She wanted to lash out and strike his suddenly expressionless face. It was as if all his previous warmth and friendliness had now been hidden deep within him. She was seeing another side of him, and it shook her deeply. He looked like someone who could easily send a nuclear warhead down the throat of his enemy. And right then he was looking at her as if she were the target.

Something old and painful broke loose within her heart, and anguish surged to the surface. She fought it as her eyes filled with hot tears. She wouldn’t cry! Not now. And not in front of this damned officer! Turning away, she dashed the tears away with the back of her hand and headed blindly for her baggage. She reached down to pick up her only suitcase, but Ty Phillips took it from her and swung it up and over the turnstile. He was frowning and his eyes seemed to lighten slightly as he regarded her. Slowly, his expression softened. Erin reminded herself that he possessed a temper like her own—only he seemed much more in control of his than she was of hers.

“Come on. I have a car parked out front,” he said, his voice clipped.

Erin followed him without comment. At the moment all she wanted was to get to the hotel and away from him. He led her to a dark blue air force car parked along the curb. She reached out to open the door.

“I’ll do that,” he muttered, his fingers closing on the handle where her own fingers rested. She jerked her hand back as if it was burned. He gave her a disgruntled look and pulled the door open without another word. She slid into the seat, her hands resting in a knot in her lap as he stowed the luggage in the trunk. She tensed as he slid behind the wheel and shut the car door.

Darkness swallowed them up as he drove away from the airport. Erin was thankful for the shadows. They hid what she knew must be apparent on her face. Feeling completely disoriented, she tried to compose herself. No man had ever reacted to her as fiercely as Ty Phillips had. But a voice whispered that she had never been as rude to anyone as she had been to Ty. Compressing her lips, she stared blindly out the window. The silence in the car grew palpable.

Exhaustion crept over her. Rubbing her aching head, Erin felt the remains of her anger subside. She glanced at Captain Phillips, strongly aware of his presence. Even as he drove, an aura of quiet strength and control emanated from him, a determined steadiness that attracted her like a magnet.

“I don’t know if anyone has briefed you on the itinerary,” he said, interrupting her thoughts.

She raised her chin from her hand and looked at him across the seat. His voice was devoid of anger, and she relaxed a little. “No…I was given this assignment just this afternoon, so I’m flying blind.”

“We certainly don’t want you to do that.”

“Poor choice of words,” she admitted wearily. “No pun intended.”

He turned, glancing at her briefly. She tensed again, feeling his careful appraisal, afraid he could see into her heart and mind. One moment he was attacking her, the next he displayed gentleness and warmth. She’d never known a man with such a quixotic personality. Of course he was probably thinking the same about her.

She smiled grimly. She had to admit she was pretty volatile herself. Maybe it was the Irish in both of them.

“We’re due over to the physiological medical facility at eight tomorrow morning,” Captain Phillips informed her. “You’ll be going through high-altitude-simulator training in order to qualify you to ride in our B-52.”

“I’ll just go through the motions,” she mumbled.

“It will require your active participation,” he corrected, his voice hardening. “You’d better take this training seriously, Miss Quinlan. Your life may depend on it.”

“How?” she scoffed, meeting his gaze. Why did he keep contradicting her?

“I’m not going to give you a dissertation on it tonight,” he said. “You’ll be flying with us at between three hundred feet and thirty-nine thousand feet for ten hours. The cabin is pressurized for eight thousand feet. It’s a military training mission and none of the comforts of commercial flying will be available—no stewardess, no magazines, no in-flight movies. If we get a decompression leak, you’ve got to be able to detect signs of hypoxia. Either that or you could become unconscious in a very short time.” He glanced at her. “I for one don’t want that to happen aboard my bomber. It would be one more black mark I’m sure you’d be quick to hold against me.”

She ignored his jab. “What’s hypoxia?”

“Oxygen starvation. The symptoms are subtle, which is one reason you’ll be going through this test. Everybody gets different symptoms, and you have to be able to recognize your own.”

“What are the chances of the bomber losing oxygen?”

“Not very great,” he admitted, “but we’re prepared to handle even remote possibilities. And since you’ll be hitching a ride with us, you’ll get some of that training.”

“How sensible of the air force,” she drawled sarcastically.

“Isn’t it? We care about your neck, even if you don’t.”

She smiled tightly. “I’m touched, Captain. Still, your concern isn’t going to earn you a gold star in my article.”

“I don’t believe in brownnosing, Miss Quinlan. When it comes to hostile reporters, the air force feels it can rely on its own integrity. What you write is your business. Most reporters who are out to cut us down end up thinking differently after we’ve taken them through the training and briefings.” He caught her skeptical gaze. “Most reporters are honest enough to be fair in their assessments of the air force. But there are always a few who are out to grind a personal ax regardless of the truth.”

Erin narrowed her eyes. “Are you insinuating that I’d lie just to punish the air force?”

He shrugged. “I’ll reserve comment until I see you under other circumstances.”

She gritted her teeth. “I’ve never lied! Never! I have a reputation for being honest, and I’m not about to stoop to the air force’s level of lies just to get a sensational story.”

Ty Phillips threw her a stony smile. “The air force doesn’t lie. If it becomes a matter of security, then I’ll inform you of such, Miss Quinlan. You’ll be able to take your camera and shoot just about any pictures you want. I’ll be around to try to answer all your questions. Contrary to what you seem to believe, we don’t pull any punches.”

Erin bit back a retort. In another two days she would be rid of him. Then it would be another month before she had to fly in the bomber that was slated to take off from K. I. Sawyer Air Force Base in Michigan. With that in mind, she allowed her anger to fade.
Two days
, she prayed silently.
Give me the patience and diplomacy to get through them without blowing this assignment
.

“I still don’t see why it’s necessary for me to ride on that ridiculous bomber in order to fulfill the requirements of my story,” she said.

He glanced at her. “I understand you’re taking the position that the air force should get rid of the Buff in the Triad concept.”

She was confused. “What’s the Buff?” she asked. Captain Phillips grinned. “Sorry, that’s air force lingo. We usually call the B-52 bomber the Buff. The men who fly it are referred to as Buff drivers.”

Erin was surprised by the sudden warmth and pride in his voice. His expression relaxed, and she felt drawn to him. “Why is it called the Buff?” she asked.

“Ever seen a B-52?”

“A long time ago,” she admitted hesitantly, bemused by the feeling of intimacy he had quickly established between them.

“They’re a rather squat-looking bomber with a very long wingspan,” he explained. “Not exactly the glamour girl of the big aircraft, or heavies, as they’re called. Someone down the line coined a few choice words for the bomber. Buff stands for big, ugly, fat…” He grinned boyishly. “I’ll leave the other word to fill in with your imagination.”

She suppressed her own smile and, avoiding his eyes, stared out the window into the darkness. “And I suppose the Buff is such an unwieldy aircraft that you don’t fly it, you drive it, right?” she asked, trying to sound casual. But in her mind’s eye she kept seeing his warm eyes shining with enthusiasm.

His laughter was spontaneous and infectious, and it helped relieve the brittle tension between them. “You said it. You’ll find out all about it when you fly that ten-hour mission with me and my crew.”

She pursed her lips. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was looking forward to it, despite their initial antagonism. “I’ve never flown anywhere for that long,” she said, surprised to realize it.

“There’s a first time for everything, Miss Quinlan. And believe me, on this assignment I think you’ll experience a lot of firsts.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?” she asked, meeting his eyes.

He repressed a mischievous smile. “A promise. You know, not many civilians get the privilege of flying in a Buff. The air force doesn’t honor many requests.”

“I suppose droves of people are knocking down your doors to do just that,” she said drily.

He shrugged. “According to public affairs, it’s a pretty common request. Despite what you think, many people consider the Buff an important deterrent.”

Erin frowned and rubbed her forehead. She hated people who mouthed the words of their superiors without thinking for themselves. But for some reason Ty Phillips didn’t strike her as anyone’s puppet. “Is that you or the air force talking, Captain?” she asked.

His glance at her was sharp. “Let’s get another thing straight,” he said firmly. “I’m a Buff pilot, not a public-affairs officer with a degree in media manipulation. Whenever you ask me a question, you’ll get
my
answer, not the official air force response. Understand?”

“My goodness, what would your commanding officer say?” she teased.

“If Colonel McCaffery was worried about my mouth or my opinions, he would have assigned someone else.”

“Then it’s obvious you’re considered politically safe, someone who will always back the air force’s philosophy a hundred and ten percent.”

A slow grin came to his mobile mouth. She was beginning to feel outmaneuvered. He hadn’t fallen for her bait.

“Let’s put it another way, Miss Quinlan,” he told her. “Word came down through the squadron that they were asking for volunteers to escort you around. When it became known that you were a reporter, there were no takers. The major who heads up Public Affairs at Sawyer is out for an operation, and the young lieutenant temporarily in charge has been up to his ears in work, so he couldn’t do it.” He met her widened stare. “I was ordered to accept the job of escorting you.”

“I hope you survive,” she said drily.

Ty smiled grimly and returned his attention to driving. “Darlin’, if I can make it through survival and evasion training, I can survive you. The real question is, can you survive
me?
”

Erin folded her arms across her chest without replying. She’d been able to handle ninety percent of the people she had ever interviewed with ease. But Ty Phillips made her feel at a distinct disadvantage. She had always had the idea that a bomber pilot was slow-witted, at the bottom of his graduating class. But that certainly wasn’t true of him. Disgruntled, she settled back in the seat, hoping to end the conversation. For a few minutes neither of them spoke.

Finally, Ty asked her, “Have you had much background on the SAC mission and Triad?”