Taking Cover. Catherine Mann

with a thumb jab to the remote.

      Definitely too much time to think.

      Losing a family member sucked no matter what. Losing that person during the holidays carried an extra burden. The anniversary of her death never slid by without notice.

      Tara had been Christmas shopping at the mall, for crying out loud. How could he ever forget that? They’d always gone gift hunting together in the past since his job had been to look out for her.

      That Christmas he’d been at the Academy.

      And some slime in search of a lone female had lurked, waiting in the back seat of Tara’s car. The bastard had kidnapped her. Beaten her. Raped her. Then thrown her unconscious body into a snowbank where she’d died. Alone.

      Tanner flung aside the remote, welcoming the stab of pain from the violent gesture. Damn drugs had turned him morbid, lowered his defenses until he couldn’t halt the flood of memories.

      The cops had found Tara’s car later, her packages still in the trunk. She’d bought her twin brother a St. Joseph’s medal.

      Tanner gripped the silver disk around his neck and steadied his breathing. He’d learned a bitter lesson that Christmas—never, never leave your wingman.

      A solid knock on the door pulled Tanner back to the present, and he embraced the distraction. He wouldn’t have even minded seeing his hard-hearted doctor. “Yeah. Come in.”

      The door swung open and Major Grayson “Cutter” Clark strode through, wearing a flight suit and a cocky grin. “Hey, pal. Check out the nifty nightie they issued you.”

      Tanner shifted in the cotton hospital gown. Damn thing didn’t fit right anyway. “About time you decided to drop in. Where were you when I needed you, bud?”

      “Sorry, but I wasn’t on call. Only just now heard the news over at the clinic. I thought for sure O’Connell would have you in traction. Too bad. I had the big piñata joke all ready to go.”

      Tanner snorted, then winced. He could always count on crew dog camaraderie to lighten his mood. “Don’t make me laugh.”

      “Builds character.” Cutter snagged the clipboard from the foot of Tanner’s bed. He flipped pages. “Hmmm. Good stuff she’s got you on. Demerol, no less. You must have wrecked yourself to be hurting through all this.”

      Tanner grunted. “A day off my feet and I’ll be fine.”

      “Then you and O’Connell can tangle it up again.”

      Thoughts of her dressing him slid right through that Demerol haze. “What do you mean?”

      “Your set-to on the flight line last night is all the talk around the briefing room.”

      “Great.”

      Cutter sank into a chair, hooked his boot over one knee and dropped the chart to rest on his leg. “Don’t get your boxers in a twist. Nobody expected anything different from the two of you when O’Connell showed.”

      “What do you mean?”

      A brow shot right toward Cutter’s dark hairline. “You’re yanking my chain, right? Your arguments are legendary. Tag once suggested tying you two together, gladiator-style, and just tossing you into the arena to have it out. Two walk in. One walks out. Colonel Dawson giving that signature thumbs-up and thumbs-down of his.”

      Laughter stirred in Tanner’s chest, begging to be set free even though he knew it would drop-kick him right between the shoulder blades.

      “Stop! No more jokes.” A chuckle sneaked through anyway, punting his muscles as predicted until he groaned. “Did she send you in here to torture me so I would laugh myself into traction?”

      “Sorry.” Cutter smirked as he resumed flipping chart pages.

      Tanner sagged back on his pillow. The gladiator image began to take on an odd fantasy appeal in his drug-impaired mind. At least the drugs offered a convenient excuse. Damn, but Kathleen would have made a magnificent warrior goddess. That woman never needed anyone.

      The ultimate loner. Tanner’s muscles tightened in response. That loner mind-set proved a threat to the crew mentality essential to his Air Force doctrine. The Air Force, the team spirit, was everything to him.

      Never leave your wingman.

      Tanner raised the bed higher, ignoring even thoughts of discomfort. “Can’t you do something about this? Get me outa here and back in action with my crew. Man, you’re one of us. You have to know how crazy this is making me.”

      While all flight surgeons specialized in treating flyers and their families, a handful of those doctors were also flyers themselves. Cutter being one of the few. Tanner couldn’t help but hope that might nudge the scales in his favor. “Well?”

      “Sorry. Can’t help you, my friend. I’ve seen your chart. I know your history. O’Connell’s dead-on with her diagnosis, and there’s no mistaking her notations.”

      “Figures I lucked into the one doctor on the planet with perfect penmanship.” Time to invest in an Armed Forces Television schedule.

      “Yeah, you are lucky. Lucky she didn’t string you up like a piñata. We flight docs don’t take well to having our orders disregarded. If I were you, pal, I would start thinking up an apology.”

      “The piñata sounds less painful.” Deep down, he knew he owed her better than that. She’d kept him in the game years ago when he’d wanted to quit.

      “Kick back, pal. Take care of yourself. You were only weeks away from leaving your crew, anyway. You should be up to speed in time to upgrade.”

      Should be. The words didn’t comfort Tanner any more than the Demerol.

      What if the grounding became permanent? What would he do without his wings? His mother swore his first word had been plane. While other kids drew puppies and trees, he’d already perfected his own depiction of Captain Happy Plane. “Six weeks is a long time in a war. If something happens and I’m not there…”

      Cutter closed the chart. “I hear you, and I understand what you’re feeling. But there’s nothing I can do.”

      Last down and his field goal had fallen short. Tanner scrambled to salvage what he could for the rest of his team. “Look out for Lance. Okay? Make sure he gets a solid copilot.”

      Cutter stilled. “Is there something I should know about?”

      “Nothing specific. He’s just not…up to speed. He and Julia are having trouble again. Deployments and stress messing with another Air Force marriage—” Tanner stopped short. Hell of a thing to say to a guy only weeks away from the altar. “Oh, hey, sorry, bud.”

      “No sweat. Lori and I know what we’re up against. Nobody said Air Force life was easy on the family. It’s going to be work.” A full-out smile creased all the way to his eyes. “She’s worth it.”

      Tanner gave his friend an answering smile. “Congratulations.”

      Cutter nodded, then thunked the bed rail with Tanner’s chart. “Now get well. Lori’ll kill me if my best man falls on his face halfway through the ceremony. Look on the bright side. You won’t have to haul yourself across the Atlantic on a civilian flight to make the wedding. You can head back on the tanker with me next week.”

      “Great. Nothing like sitting in the back seat.” Tanner’s hands already itched to be in control.

      From the day he’d drawn that first airplane, he’d known he would be a pilot. Forget he was a poor kid working two after-school jobs to help support his single mom and twin sister. Course set, he’d achieved his goals, Air Force Academy, pilot. He’d never wavered in his focus. Except for the night he’d heard his sister died.

      The night he’d kissed Kathleen O’Connell.

      Chapter