The Gauntlet (3 page)

“From what I hear,” Molly said, “we’re the power behind the scenes. The tests we design are the ones that make or break the whole thing. All those jocks do is drive the bus.”

Tittering, Lee replied, “Don’t let those boys overhear that comment, Molly…. Heads up—here come the instructors. Time to get this dog-and-pony show on the road.”

The small groups of students quickly took seats, and silence fell over the room as six officers dressed in flight suits filed in, somber expressions on their faces. In the second row, Molly was close enough to read the black leather patches sewn above the left breast pocket of each flight suit. Each instructor’s name was stenciled there in gold lettering.

The last man to enter was the one she recognized from earlier. There was a tight, coiled explosiveness to the way the officer walked; an internal tension was reflected in each of his brisk movements. Curiosity ate at Molly, and she quickly scanned the instructors’ name tags.

Her heart thudded once, underscoring her intuition. The last pilot was Cameron Sinclair, “the Glacier.” Those ruthless, roving, light blue eyes looked over the crop of students almost with disdain, she thought. Lee was right: the instructor’s face was absolutely expressionless.

But she would rely on her own internal radar, a special intuitive ability she’d had since birth, to make her final decision about Sinclair. She thought of Maggie’s contention that all women had this ability—something special passed on to them in their genes. If Molly ignored the obvious and allowed herself to experience the energy that surrounded Sinclair, she felt no fear of him, only compassion. Why? Her left brain, that portion of her that used only logic, was stymied.

The instructors sat down in chairs facing the students. As the commandant got up to speak at the podium and introduce each instructor, Molly zeroed in on Sinclair. Once he’d perused the group, his eyes became unfocused, looking above the group at the wall behind them, as if he had mentally checked out, wasn’t really here at all, Molly noted. She sensed sadness around him. It wasn’t anything more specific than that. His eyes were opaque, hiding any feelings he might be experiencing. His generous mouth was flexed into a tight line, the corners drawn in, as if he were in pain.

Pain? Confused, Molly knew Sinclair had to be in top physical shape or he’d never be here at TPS. It couldn’t be physical pain. Her heartbeat suspended itself when Sinclair slowly turned his head and pinned his gaze directly on her. Heat swept up Molly’s face, and she quickly averted her eyes, nervous as she’d never been before. Had he sensed her perusal of him? He must have! Sinclair might be stone-faced, but his own intuition was very much up and functioning to feel her inspection of him so immediately.

Cam scowled, his focus remaining fixed on Molly Rutledge. Somehow he’d felt her gaze on him. When he’d shifted his eyes from the wall to where she sat, a sweet ribbon of discovery had flowed through him when he realized she had the most beautiful green eyes he’d ever seen. They were distinctly green and gold, like summer leaves kissed by sunlight. How intelligent and compassionate she appeared to be, he reflected, as her eyes widened when he caught her staring.

Disgruntled by his own thoughts, Cam wondered how he could really “know” that about Molly. Molly… Now he was calling her by her first name. Snorting softly, Cam pulled his gaze away from her. She had looked down quickly to avoid his stare, and Cam couldn’t resist looking at her one more time. Her cheeks were stained a flaming pink, her delicious mouth was compressed. There was such softness and openness to Molly that Cam continued to stare at her like a starving man. What the hell had gotten into him? Other women officers worked at TPS in various billets. He didn’t stare at them like a slavering wolf on the prowl.

When she licked her lower lip with her tongue, Cam groaned inwardly. It was such a sensual motion. Did she do it on purpose, knowing somehow that he was still watching her? No, Cam decided sourly; Molly Rutledge didn’t possess that kind of guile. Besides, Martin’s accusation that she’d slept her way into TPS was sheer stupidity on the student’s part. No one got to TPS without damn good grades and top qualifications.

Molly wasn’t the “type” to be at TPS, Cam decided finally. He knew that someday a woman would succeed at the male-dominated bastion that was TPS. Brutally honest with himself, as he’d always been, he admitted he’d expected a more assertive type of woman to beat down the door, not this angel face. How Molly would survive here was beyond Cam. And the way she’d handled the confrontation with Martin had been all wrong. She should have nailed him right between the running lights with equally harsh words, so Martin would respect her and back off. As it was, Molly was inviting another attack.

Well, she would have to learn to protect herself. Flight testing was a world that involved brash egos, keen intelligence and plenty of macho hustle. If she indeed had what it took, then that soft exterior was either a lie hiding a shark beneath it, or a facade to throw everyone off about her true strengths. Still, as Cam sat there waiting to be introduced and give his five-minute spiel, he wondered what Molly Rutledge really was made of. It wouldn’t take long to find out—TPS began in earnest tomorrow morning. From that point on, every student was in a life-or-death struggle to come out on top of the stack. Second place would never do.

Refusing to look up at the instructors, Molly could feel Sinclair’s cool, continuous appraisal of her. He was the last to speak, and she felt it safe to lift her chin and look at him then. His carriage was proud, his spine ramrod straight, his shoulders thrown back, shouting a justifiable self-confidence. As he wrapped his long fingers around the lectern and shifted his weight to one booted foot, Molly had her first opportunity to fearlessly study Sinclair.

She didn’t listen to his words as much as their inflection, the emotion behind them. There wasn’t much of that, she admitted. As Lee had said, he appeared to be a machine with no heart. Molly didn’t want to believe that about anyone. Still, Sinclair never cracked a joke, as the other instructors had, to put the students at ease. Nor did he smile. He was the only Marine Corps pilot up there; the rest were U.S. Navy personnel. Maybe it had something to do with interservice rivalry among the branches. The Marine Corps was a branch of the Navy and paid by the Navy. Molly smiled. No self-respecting Marine wanted to admit it; they were far too independent and arrogant to acknowledge that fact.

After the welcome-aboard speeches, it was time to meet her instructor. Molly liked First Lieutenant Vic Norton. One of two flight-engineer instructors, he was short and compact, with curly black hair and a round face that was sober looking, yet friendly.

As Molly prepared to leave the room after a round of introductions with her fellow flight-engineer students, she felt an odd sensation. Turning her head, she saw Sinclair’s blue gaze locked on her, even though he was standing with a group of aspiring test pilots clear across the room. Sudden heat threaded through her, shakiness following in its wake. No man had ever had such a hpowerful effect on her.

Turning, she bumped into Lee. Her books went flying. All conversation in the room halted. Molly died inwardly.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered to Lee, and crouched down to retrieve her books. When feeling particularly vulnerable, Molly had a terrible tendency to become clumsy.

She flushed with embarrassment as Lee bent over to help. “My fault, Molly.”

“No, it was me,” she murmured. All eyes were on her, and Molly tried to blot them out. What must Sinclair think of her? Did he realize how much he’d shaken her up? He probably thought she was a brainless idiot. And why did she care what he thought anyway?

Lee restacked the books into her arms and Molly quietly thanked him. Gradually the noise level in the room returned to normal, and she retreated as quickly as possible. The library was on the second floor, and that was where she wanted to be—alone. Lieutenant Norton had given them a huge reading assignment to prepare them for tomorrow morning’s class, and she wanted to take advantage of the extra time. The library would be a perfect place to read. At least there, she could escape Sinclair’s scathing blue gaze.

* * *

“Hey, Cam, take a look at this.” Vic Norton handed him a thick file marked Rutledge, M.

Cam took the folder, gesturing for Vic to have a seat in his office. The flight engineer shut the door. “What’s this?”

“The lady’s file. Man, it knocked my socks off. Now I know why she got assigned to TPS. Take a look.”

It was normal procedure for Cam to acquaint himself with all the students’ files. He tried to tell himself he hadn’t particularly been looking forward to reading up on Molly. Opening the file, he quickly scanned the important data. His brows rose.

“She got washed out of flight school?”

“Yeah. Hung in for six weeks and then got deep-sixed. Still, the IP’s evaluation shows she’s got good aptitude, if she wanted to leave the service and go for a commercial pilot’s license. I think I’ve got a pretty good prospect in her.”

Frowning, Cam continued to page through her file. “You really think so?”

“Yeah, why?”

“She’s a cream puff, Vic.”

“Oh?”

“Look at her face.”

“Good-looking as hell.”

Cam glanced over at his friend. “Is that all you swabbies have on the brain—sex?”

Grinning, Vic shrugged. “Hey, I’m happily married, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still appreciate women. And Rutledge is definitely worth appreciating.”

Cam read some of her bio. “Comes from a well-to-do background.”

“More like a silver spoon, I’d say. Her father owns one of the hottest brokerage firms in the Big Apple. She’s got his genes. I’ll bet beneath that sweet face of hers is a real hustler. Those jet jocks think she’s soft, too, but my money’s on her to fool every last one of them.”

“She’s had it easy,” Cam remarked, handing the folder back to Vic. He wanted to hold on to it, but it would have appeared unusual. “It’s my experience that people who’ve had it easy don’t make it when the chips are down. I don’t think that face is skin-deep. She’s soft.”

“Naw, I think you’re wrong.” Vic grinned and tapped the folder against his knee. “I overheard one of your students bitching about her.”

“Martin, by any chance?”

“Yeah. He’s already bad-mouthing her to the other pilots.”

Frowning, Cam rubbed his jaw. “I saw him nail her in the hall. I’m his instructor.”

“He’s going to have to learn to keep his mouth shut, and if he’s got a problem, go to you.”

“Hmm.” Martin was one of those jet jocks who contended women were worthless—except in bed.

“Glad he’s your problem and not mine,” Vic said airily, rising. “Eat your heart out, Sinclair. I think Rutledge is gonna make the grade.”

Cam shook his head. “Never.” After all, his just looking at her in the classroom had made her drop her books, he thought. After Vic left, Cam sighed. For some damned reason, he couldn’t get enough of looking at Molly Rutledge. Why was he so drawn to her? Looking at his watch, he saw it was 1700. Time to eat. He wasn’t really hungry—he’d lost twenty pounds after the death of his family. The paperwork on his desk begged to be done. He’d go over to the restaurant on the base, get a take-out order and go to the TPS library. That was his place to hide. No phone to answer, no people dropping in unexpectedly to disrupt him. He could finally get his work done.

* * *

Molly’s stomach growled ominously. The library, small and intimate, was empty. She’d gotten interested in one of her textbooks on software programming, and time had gotten away from her. Looking at her watch, she realized it was 1730. Her back was to the library entrance, and she heard the door open and close. Her scalp prickled and she twisted around in her chair to see who had come in.

Her heart dropped hard in her chest. It was Cameron Sinclair. He stood, a scowl working its way across his broad brow. In one hand he held a sack of food, in the other an armful of files.

“You.”

Molly blinked at the whispered word. Said as a curse? Searching his hard, unyielding face, she wasn’t sure. His pale eyes pinned her, and she felt like quarry.

“I…uh, is the library off-limits after 1700, Captain?” She’d already screwed up, judging by the dark look on his features. Maybe at night the library was for instructors’ use only. She rose suddenly, her thigh brushing the desk, and two of its four legs jerked off the carpeted floor.

Her books went flying, sailing gracefully across the aisle to thud like small explosions into the row of library shelves.

Cam watched the unfolding events in disbelief. Molly had jumped up, almost toppling over the desk. Her hands flew to her cheeks as she stood watching her books fly. To compound the error, she stepped back, almost falling over her chair, which didn’t slide well against the carpeted floor. His own hands full, Cam was helpless to do anything but watch. Molly caught her balance, but the chair tipped over backward, crashing to the floor. Cam’s heart wrenched in his chest as he saw her eyes fill with utter embarrassment.

“Klutz,” she said apologetically, kneeling down in front of the shelves. “I’ve always been a klutz, Captain. I’m sorry. Libraries are supposed to be quiet.”

Cam sensed something sad in Molly’s apology. He set his sack and files on another desk. Her gold hair swung effortlessly, like a curtain, hiding her bright-red features, and Cam found himself wanting to reassure her that her very human reaction to him wasn’t bad or wrong.

“You don’t need to apologize.” God, he sounded hard and unforgiving. The thought was validated when she twisted a look up at him, her blond bangs thick and barely touching her brows, a panicked look on her face. Groaning to himself, Cam felt pulled into the shadowed worry of her now dark green eyes.

“My father always says when I get nervous I’m like an elephant in a china shop,” Molly offered breathlessly, reclaiming her books and stacking them back on her desk. As she leaned down to retrieve her pen and notebook, her hip caught the desk’s corner.

“Ouch!” Molly bit back the rest of her retort, dolefully rubbing her aching hip, sure a bruise would appear shortly.