Taking Cover. Catherine Mann

      “You’re kidding, right? Don’t men hate standing around while women shop?”

      “Not this one.” Tanner’s muscled arms folded over his chest.

      “Okay, Bennett, what’s up?”

      “What do you mean?”

      “You haven’t let me go anywhere alone except the bathroom since we stepped out of the cab.”

      He shuffled, paused to look around, then faced her with narrowed eyes. “An international airport is a dangerous place for any military person. Might as well paint a bull’s-eye on our backs for terrorists.”

      Reinforcing Tanner’s warning, cops lined the walls, nothing unusual for the airport, but it still gave Kathleen pause even understanding the risks. Armed police forces in green uniforms and jackboots carried machine guns over their shoulder. Guns with the paint worn off as if they’d been used. Often.

      “You’ve been protecting me from unknown terrorists?” She couldn’t decide whether to be irritated, amused…or oddly touched.

      He shrugged, almost masking a slight wince. The movement knocked his jacket askew, leaving his left lapel flipped up. She knew she should just tell him.

      Should.

      Instead, her hand crept up and smoothed the coarse, warm fabric. A slow swallow slid down his neck. “Kathleen…?”

      “Your, uh, lapel.”

      “Yeah, right. Thanks.”

      She resented like hell the nervous twitters buzzing through her. “It’s just strange seeing you like this, I mean not in a flight suit.”

      Tanner ran a finger along his shirt collar. “Gotta admit, I prefer the bag myself. But this is safer.”

      “Safer? Ah, a businessman disguise. I guess I never thought about it in that much detail.”

      “Too many deployments for me not to think about it. I can’t do much about the haircut, but I make changes where I can.” His palm fell to rest over her fingers that still gripped his jacket.

      Heat crawled up Kathleen’s face. Oh, God. Had she really left her hand there all that time? “Thanks for worrying. But I’ll be fine.”

      He didn’t move.

      “I don’t need a baby-sitter.” She yanked her hand from beneath his, her wrist still tingling from a touch no longer there.

      Tanner eyed a passing couple in trench coats. Muscles rippled with tension beneath his coat until the couple passed—a baby gurgling and waving from the man’s backpack kiddie seat. Kathleen sagged against the wall with relief, then stiffened.

      Damn! Now he had her doing it.

      Protectiveness was all well and good, but this guy was becoming downright smothering. Or was that because his large body closed off the rest of the world from view until she only saw miles of chest and eyes so blue they could hypnotize?

      Snap out if it! she chastised herself. “Just because I don’t obsess doesn’t mean I’m clueless about airport security overseas. It’s not like I’m wearing my uniform.”

      He snapped. “You might as well be.”

      She snapped back. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

      “Those blue pants and shirt look almost identical to a uniform. Your hair’s even tucked up according to military regs.”

      “Since when did you join the fashion police?”

      “Cute, O’Connell. Real cute—” He hauled in a breath and held his hands up into a T. “Time out. Let’s not draw attention to ourselves by fighting.”

      Of course he was right, but his comment about her clothes still stung. What had Lt. Col. Dawson been thinking with his crazy plan?

      Diplomacy. Diplomacy. Dimple.

      Dimple?

      Tanner stared down at her with a half smile dimpling one cheek. “Come on.”

      “Huh?”

      Tanner’s smile spread until the second dimple tucked into his other cheek. “We’re going to get you a disguise.”

      Kathleen followed, not that she had a choice since he wouldn’t let go of her hand. His playful grin had further rocked her balance. Sure Tanner joked with everyone else around the squadron, but he saved his irritation for her.

      Not now. He turned that boyish charm on her, full power, as he dragged her toward the crowded gift shop. “Let’s start with the military bag. It’s got to go.”

      “But I can’t—”

      “Trust me. Hmmm.” He flicked through a rack of dangling tourist tote bags with expert shopping hands. No visual skimming the surface of the display for this man. “You need a big one. Got a color preference?”

      Kathleen eyed the door, then resigned herself to the inevitable. “Why ask me? I’m a fashion fugitive, remember? Color coding is beyond me.”

      “No preference.” He unhooked a fuchsia bag, logo blaring—I Did Germany Bavarian Style. His eyes glinted with mischief. “Since you don’t care, how about this one? Ah, so pink isn’t your color after all?”

      A reluctant smile played with her lips. Her sisters had dragged her out like this before, but shopping hadn’t seemed half as entertaining with them. “Not my first choice, no.”

      Although it had definite possibilities as a Christmas gift for her mom.

      Her poor mother never had quite understood her G.I. Jane daughter. Holiday dinner talk inevitably turned to gift offers for a makeover or color coding—or invitations to join the family medical practice. Kathleen had learned to smile, nod and make her own choices once she walked out the door. She was just too different, a real changeling in their midst.

      “How about this, then?” Tanner passed her a beige canvas tote with a big heart declaring I Love Germany. “Better, mein Wienerschnitzel?”

      My veal cutlet? Kathleen groaned, then laughed as she swiped the bag from his hand.

      He tugged the tag off and placed it on the counter by the cash register. A twirling jewelry stand towered beside her. Tanner reached past, bypassing the gold. He untangled a thong cord with a nutcracker charm hanging and draped it around Kathleen’s neck. Rocking back on his heels, he spread his hands.

      “Oh, yeah, that does it.” He quirked a brow, grabbing a pair of matching earrings and dancing them in front of her face. “Want these, too? My treat.”

      “Maybe next visit.”

      Snagging a feathered cap, he plopped it on her head. “Or how about a hat. No?”

      Tanner replaced it on the hook. Carefully crouching for a lower display, he began stacking items on the counter while the clerk rang them up. He pinned a Go Frankfurters button to the tote. A miniature beer stein key chain dangled from the handle. Three bars of Toblerone chocolate spiked from Kathleen’s bag.

      An unknown imp sprang to life within her, and she pulled a pocket protector full of pens from the display wall. Tanner’s brow creased.

      She dropped the plastic pen case on the counter. “Businessman garb for you.”

      He rewarded her with another smile. “You learn fast, meine toaster strudel.”

      That grin and a few words shouldn’t have the power to bring such a heady rush of pride. Geez, it wasn’t like she’d dug out a bullet under battlefield conditions. Still, she couldn’t stifle an answering smile when he slid his pen holder into his shirt pocket.

      After adding a German phrase book and map sticking conspicuously in view, Tanner slid his wallet free.

      “Hey, wait, Bennett.