Red Tail. Lindsay McKenna

into a stubborn line, and her gray eyes blazed with silver flecks of anger.

      In a characteristic gesture, Bram combed his fingers through his short black hair, pushing back several strands that always dipped across his brow.

      “Look, I’ve just finished helicopter flight school in Mobile, Alabama,” he stated. “I graduated at the top of my class, lieutenant. And I’m sure as hell not going to be relegated to a woman to help fine-tune my knowledge of flying SAR.”

      Storm relaxed slightly. At least he was honest. That was in his favor. She was glad to hear that he was at the top of his class. He wasn’t a slouch at the stick, then. And judging from his penetrating eyes and aggressive stance, he was cut out for SAR. It took more than a very competent pilot, Merlin often told her, to fly well. It took guts. One wrong touch on the cyclic or pull on the collective, and mere inches could mean the difference between life and death. Storm smiled to herself. She liked Bram Gallagher’s hands. They were long and artistic-looking, with large knuckles. Hands that proclaimed his flight ability. Almost every pilot she knew possessed those “flight hands,” and she was no exception.

      She grinned. Maybe she shouldn’t have, but Storm couldn’t help herself. “Tell me something, Gallagher. Why aren’t you an ensign or a JG, coming out of flight training? You’re a full lieutenant according to your transit orders.” Besides, he was too old for flight school—past thirty. Her grin widened—two more years and she’d be over the hill herself. Suddenly Storm realized she was actually enjoying herself—at Gallagher’s frustrated expense; but he looked as if he could take a few blows to the chin and live to tell about it. And her heart raced every time he gave her that look. It was a look charged with interest, ferreting her out, examining her, stroking her with his midnight blue gaze. She found herself drawn to him for no reasonable explanation she could think of. So far all he’d done was insult her.

      His brows knitted. “Not that it matters to you, Lieutenant Travis, but I just happen to be an Air Force Academy graduate, with nine years of fighter pilot flying under my belt.” He gave her a warning look. “And I was also a major in the Air Force, one rank above you before I left.”

      “Then what are you doing here?” she asked, disbelief in her voice. An ex-fighter pilot? This was getting more and more interesting by the moment. Even Merlin popped up and gave Gallagher an incredulous look and then dived back to his work like an ostrich sticking his head back into the sand.

      Bram gave her a bored look, noting the confusion registering on her face. She wasn’t pretty in a classic sense. Tall, yes. The ginger hair framed her face in a pageboy that barely brushed her shoulders, and it gave her an outdoorsy look. And she wore no makeup. That wasn’t a detriment in his eyes. No, the natural golden tan of her skin made her gray eyes look like beautiful diamonds. Eyes that he could get lost in if he allowed himself to…. Shoving away all those feelings, he capped his torrid thoughts and brought himself back to her tart question.

      “I was assigned by the Air Force to do a study on Coasties a couple of years ago. I got involved in your SAR flying and decided you guys had a hell of a lot more action going on saving lives than I did riding an F-16 around in the sky playing fighter pilot. I quit the Air Force and got a direct commission in this service and learned to fly helicopters. I don’t know how I did it, but I only lost one pay grade. That’s why I’m a full lieutenant and not a JG. It’s one step down from major, in case you didn’t realize it.”

      She frowned, immediately disliking his insinuating tone. “I’m not some child that has to be taught military subjects by you, Lieutenant Gallagher.”

      It was his turn to grin when he realized he had managed to probe beneath her cool unruffled exterior. So, she didn’t like to be patronized. Good, he’d keep that piece of information under his hat. “Don’t like the shoe on the other foot, eh, Travis?”

      Glaring from beneath her dark lashes she muttered, “It’s likely to be the other way round real soon, mister.”

      “Not if I have my way. Come tomorrow morning at 0800; I’m going to be in that captain’s office asking for a duty section change. No offense, lieutenant, but I’d much rather ask you out for a date than have you as my AC.”

      Storm’s lips parted and she felt heat rising to her cheeks. The nerve! She met his laughter-filled blue eyes. “Tell me,” she spat out, “are all ex-Air Force fighter jocks the same? Overconfident male chauvinist—”

      Bram laughed heartily, folding the paper up again and stuffing it back into his shirt pocket. So, she was human after all. Decidedly human. He allowed his eyes to slide across her tense form. Nice full breasts, slender waist, and beautifully curved long thighs. Not bad. Not bad at all except for that vinegar personality of hers. Still, she was interesting. Damned interesting. He’d never run across a woman like her during his service career. Well, maybe after he got his orders changed, he’d make a point of knowing her better. There was no wedding ring on her hand.

      “See you later, sweetheart. No offense to you, but I’m going to go find a male pilot to train with. Women should be left to what they do best, and that isn’t flying helicopters.”

      Storm gasped, openmouthed. Before she could find a decent derogatory retort, Gallagher turned on his heel, walking away from them. “Why—” she whispered angrily, “that—”

      “I’ll add a few more to that list you’re making, lieutenant,” Merlin said, extricating himself from the engine and watching Gallagher walk away. There was nothing apologetic in the pilot’s stride or the way he squared his shoulders and carried himself.

      She clenched her teeth, fighting back a few more choice epithets. “Arrogant swelled-headed jock!” she sputtered.

      Merlin scratched his curly blond head. “Man, has he got a surprise coming. Old Man Harrison ain’t gonna let him swap duty sections.” He gave Storm a conspiratorial smile. “Cocky bastard’s gonna learn his first lesson of becoming a Coastie—you get put with the best when you’re training.” He winked. “And that’s you.”

      Storm groaned, pacing back and forth for a moment. “I don’t know, Merlin. Maybe Gallagher would be better off with a man. At least he’d have more respect for him. Besides, I don’t think I’ve got what it takes to put up with his brand of chauvinistic brutality right now.”

      The mech wiped his hands off with the rag he carried in his back pocket. His face was serious. “Look, lieutenant, we’ll back you all the way if he tries to pull any smart stuff. It’ll be a cold day in hell if that bastard starts aiming for you.”

      She gave Merlin a weary smile. “Thanks,” she whispered, meaning it. “God, when is my string of bad luck going to end?”

      Merlin gave a philosophical shrug of his shoulders. “They say things always come in threes, lieutenant. First, your husband dies in an accident, then Lieutenant Walker, and now it looks like you’re gonna get saddled with a first-class know-it-all who’s ex-Air Force and thinks he’s better than all of us put together.” He gave a sad shake of his head. “Well, don’t worry, lieutenant. We’ll be there to help you weather this.”

      * * *

      Storm drove slowly down the avenues of Opa-Locka beneath the hot July sun. The city embraced the Opa-Locka airport where the Coast Guard station was situated. She had put down the top on her dark blue MG, needing the fresh air and the wind against her face. Anything that reminded her of freedom. She felt as if she were standing in a square room with the walls moving in on her. A cry uncurled deep inside her and she felt like screaming. But nothing happened. Her gray gaze darkened with anguish and tears pricked the backs of her eyes.

      Bram Gallagher filtered back into her mind. She felt a moment’s relief from the depressive grief and trauma. His arrogance bordered on the unbelievable. She had worked with pilots from all the various armed forces at one time or another. Fighter jocks all seemed to be cast out of the same mold—that raucous sense of humor, blended with a self-assured ego. Her own brother, Cal Travis, was a Marine Corps fighter pilot assigned to a naval carrier, and he personified those traits. And Gallagher was certainly no exception.