dark ops 3 - Renegade (7 page)

He hadn’t slept much during his night in quarantine with Jill Walczak. In fact, he hadn’t slept much the night before that with the Area 51 landing mess. At least he’d been released from the hospital with a clean bill of health, as had Jill, who was walking alongside him through the sliding glass doors and into the parking lot.

From behind the protective shield of his sunglasses, he studied the reserved woman beside him. He couldn’t figure her out, and he’d made it his mission to be damn good at figuring out females after he’d missed the boat so soundly with his ex-wife. Given Jill’s red hair, he expected a fiery temper and close-to-the-skin emotions, but she was too good at hiding herself behind that prim and huffy mask. She definitely wasn’t his type, yet something about her pissed him off and turned him on all at the same time.

He paused at the end of the hospital porch overhang, scanning the lot for where his pal David “Ice” Berg would have dropped off his truck for him. He should be sprinting across the lot to his ride, which sure enough, was conveniently parked just to his right, next to a blue minivan. Yep, he could go now. He should go now.

Ah hell.

He wasn’t going anywhere yet. “So, Jill Walczak, can-do cop, you don’t think much of me, do you?”

“My opinion of you doesn’t matter.” She turned away and sat on a bench. She still wore hospital scrubs, as did he, rather than waiting around for someone to bring clothes from home, which meant she likely didn’t have anyone.

He would leave in a minute. He couldn’t get into his truck anyway, since his path to the driver’s side was blocked by a mom who’d parked her double stroller behind her minivan while she buckled in her other kids. No sweat. He wasn’t due at work for another hour.

As much as he burned to clear his name of any screw-up with that flight, he couldn’t walk away just yet, not until he figured out a way to shake free of this damned annoying—tenacious—attraction to a woman who obviously considered him pond scum. “Guess I’ll see you around the cafeteria at the soft-serve ice cream machine.”

She put her hand above her eyes to shield them from the glare of the desert sun as she looked around. “Somehow I managed to get by without speaking to you before. I’ll persevere again.”

“You know there are those who say ignoring a guy is the best way to get his attention.” And damned if those people weren’t right.

She fixed him with an assessing stare. “Then by all means let me shower you with compliments, you handsome piece of man meat.”

He liked a woman with grit. “Are you always this crabby?”

“Nope.”

He hooked his elbow on the back of the bench so he could face her. Or rather he could if she would turn toward him again. “I take that to mean you do have some kind of grudge against me.”

She stared pointedly at his hand only an inch away from her shoulder. “I make it a habit to avoid men with notched bedposts.”

“I know for a fact that you have never seen my bedroom.” He didn’t move closer. He didn’t need to. He could see the goose bumps of awareness rising on her arms. She’d thought about his bedroom, and now that had him imagining her there. “Because, believe me, if you’d been there, I would remember.”

She rolled her eyes and snorted.

“Damn, lady, that was a good line.”

“Whatever.”

Maybe if he could tease her into a smile or a good mood, they could move on to some kind of acquaintance /friendship status, because no matter how smoking hot Jill Walczak might be, no way in hell did he go anywhere near complicated women. And without question, Jill was more complicated than solving a Rubik’s Cube in the dark.

Time to change tactics by going with no tactics at all, just straightforward honesty. He was a little rusty at that strategy. “Do you need a lift? I have my truck here if you’re waiting around for a cab. A couple of buds from my squadron dropped it off for me.”

“I’ve got a ride. He should be here any minute now.”

He? “Great.”

So much for his theory about no one bringing her clothes.

The foot traffic picked up, repeated swooshes of the automatic doors admitting and expelling a couple of doctors in uniforms, a nurse pushing a patient in a wheelchair. Out in the parking lot, the minivan mom had just finished strapping in most of her brood while the toddler in the front of the stroller squirmed and screamed. No wonder Mom wanted to keep his noise out of the van as long as possible.

He grinned. Give ’em, hell, kiddo.

His smile faded as he stared at the little rug rat. Sometimes he wondered about his decision to stay single after his divorce from Kim, since that meant he would never be a dad.

Sighing, Jill finally turned to Mason. “You don’t need to stay with me. I’m okay. If I have any more questions about your parachuting accident, I’ll get in touch.”

“Sure. Whatever. I’m not waiting around.” Just hanging out keeping her company until her ride arrived. What the hell was up with that? He needed to get his head in gear for the crash inquiry he faced in an hour. He’d racked his brains through the night and couldn’t come up with anything more than he’d told the boss initially. Hopefully by the time he checked in today, they would have figured everything out and be back on track for next week’s big show.

Time to punch out. He scratched his hand along his jaw, still bristly from the crappy disposable razor they’d given him to use. “Before I go, I want to say thank you.”

“Thank you?” Her green eyes blinked wide.

Green. Holy crap, they were green. He’d wondered back in the hazmat truck, and now he knew. They were light green, like an apple, and damn, wouldn’t that come across as the most unsexy comment ever? Your body is like Venus, your hair so whispery red my hands itch to feel if it’s as soft as it looks. And your eyes remind me of apples.

Of course she had no idea how very much he liked apples. “Thanks for arresting me, except for the cuffing part, which I could live without, since I’m not into kinky, oh, and I’d have rather bypassed the knee in my kidney. I thought for sure I would pee blood this morning, but I’m digressing here.”

“And you have a point to telling me this?”

He hitched his sore ankle onto his knee to ease the throbbing and shrugged a kink from his neck, maybe a result of his tussle with a pallet in midair or possibly from the stress of nearly getting gassed to death. “I’m grateful you were out there in that corner of the desert with your radio handy to call for speedy help. If I’d hung out in that crap from the explosion for much longer, I wouldn’t have been walking out of the hospital with a clean bill of health today.”

And he wouldn’t have been able to return to work and find out what the hell went wrong with that flight. Only by solving that mystery could he save the same from happening to some other tester down the road. And the next guy might not be so lucky.

Damn. Flirting with this woman suddenly seemed like the lamest thing of all to do. He could show up to work early and get a head start on the meeting.

Mason stood. “That’s all I wanted to say. If you’re sure your ride’s on the way, I guess I’ll make your day and push off.”

Jill actually laughed. “Thanks, and yes, I’m sure he’s on his way.” She glanced up at him. “Good luck, Sergeant.”

“Good-bye.” What was it about this woman that tugged at him? She wasn’t his type at all, so serious, not to mention able to see through his bullshit.

Mason fished his keys from his pocket—thank you again, Berg, for having the foresight to leave the extra set at the front desk, since everything on him had gone into a decontamination bin. He stepped down off the curb.

Ouch! Shit. His ankle still hurt like a son—of a gun.

He shook off the pain and started forward, more carefully this time, toward his Chevy truck parked just to his right. The mom still hadn’t cleared her stroller away, since now she was trying to settle the crying baby while the toddler pitched all of his many bribes out onto the asphalt.

Another engine revved off to the side, one with some serious muffler issues. He checked left. A beat-up, rusty sedan roared in front of the hospital, gaining speed, bumping two wheels onto the sidewalk, heading toward him. Toward Jill. Toward the screaming toddler just to his right restrained in the double stroller.

And he had only a few seconds to figure out how to save them all.

“Jill! Get behind the bench!”

What the hell? Jill barely registered his words, but the unmistakable authority in his tone sent her feet moving on instinct until she found herself in a crouch behind the concrete bench. From her peripheral vision, she caught sight of an elderly couple huddled a few steps to her side behind another bench.

Mason was sprinting full-out along the sidewalk toward a minivan. Only seconds ago, he’d been limping. Now he ran with undeniable athleticism. Adrenaline had a way of numbing anything. His muscles bunched and strained against the green scrubs.

A roaring sounded behind her, the growling car coming closer. She leapt toward the elderly couple behind the other bench just as a rusty sedan scraped along the concrete seat. Sparks flew from the screeching metal.

The bench held.

Rock bits spewed in the air, bit at her skin, even as exhaust fumes choked her. The vehicle regained traction and peeled rubber along the patch of sidewalk, just where she’d been standing.

It careened back into the lot and plowed forward. Through the rear window she had an unobstructed view of the car speeding toward Mason. Oh God.

But wait. An unobstructed view? Where was the driver?

She tore herself from behind the bench and raced after the car—not that she had any chance of catching up with it.

Just ahead of the car, Mason scooped up a huge stroller in a bear hug. He leapt into the air, twisted at the last second, and landed on his back. Bits of loose asphalt sprayed from the ground as he skidded.

The car whooshed past him and into a telephone pole. A woman screamed. Her hands flailing, she rushed toward Mason and the stroller.

The toddler, who was strapped in, giggled.

Jill kept running full-out, only a few steps, only a few seconds. Everything had happened so quickly. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” He eased the stroller to the side and upright in a smooth move that left her blinking. The mother pushed past and unbuckled her child.

“Omigod, omigod, omigod!” She scooped her son into her arms, tears streaking down her face as she kissed his curly little head and babbled, “Thank you, sir, thank you for saving him.”

As the adrenaline let down, Jill realized how he’d summed up the situation with lightning-fast reflexes, keeping her safe while trusting her to act rather than simply tackling her, somehow determining who was in imminent danger.

It would have been easy to believe the car was heading for the elderly couple instead. Mason had chosen correctly. She understood well from work how tough it could be to make the right choice sometimes. She also knew how hard it was for some men to believe in a woman’s training, even when the guys were pros, too. But he had trusted her.

Her attitude toward Mason shifted ever so slightly.

There were people behind them—she heard curses, footsteps running away, a woman speaking with 911. Jill extended her hand to Mason.

A blast echoed. She jerked back. Mason sprang to his feet.

Flames erupted from the crashed car about ten yards away.

The ground rumbled, and a hubcap clanked to rest beside her. Jill flinched, and the toddler burst into tears, his siblings peering out of the minivan with wide eyes. Good God, she and Mason had experienced two explosions together in less than forty-eight hours. Had the world gone nuts?

Mason darted forward again, the bright morning sun dancing off the flames. Damn it, she wasn’t standing around and watching this time.

“Wait, Mason,” she shouted, running after him. “What if there’s a secondary explosion? Stop!”

He closed in on the burning vehicle. “I’ve got to check on the person driving.”

“There wasn’t anyone behind the wheel!”

“Maybe the driver passed out.” He shielded his eyes from the heat with his arm and peered through the passenger window. “There could also be somebody else in the car, maybe in the back.”

She inched forward carefully. “I’ll check the back. You get the front.”

Jill moved in closer. Heat from the flames scorched her skin. She peered through the jagged broken glass into the backseat. “Empty.”

Mason backpedaled from the front. “No one here either. Let’s clear the hell out.”

He hooked a hand around her elbow and yanked her alongside as he hoofed it to the clustering crowd. His vise grip nearly lifted her from the pavement as he propelled her until they stopped by a lamppost.

Jill sagged against the cool metal, gasping for air. “How could no one be in the car?”

Mason scratched the back of his close-shorn head, favoring one foot by bending his knee. “The little green men sure are busy lately.”

“Not funny. Terrorism?”

“Honest to Pete, I’d rather it be the little green men.” He nodded toward the approaching security police. “Either way, you and I aren’t going to be saying good-bye anytime soon after all.”