Pursued

Josie made tracks through the parking lot toward her Mustang convertible. Alone. Luckily, legends were able to nab plenty of designated-driver offers after a few too many beers.

They hadn’t once discussed her test. Although, maybe his slack attitude could work well for her program. She could feed him positive data, downplay trouble spots. She would work through any bugs given time, and she needed to pass this investigation in order to have that time.

Winding her way through haphazardly parked cars, she stayed alert for drunks or any other possible threats. The survival knife in her boot pressed a steely reassurance against her calf.

Across the lot, she noticed a vehicle parking beside hers, even though there were plenty of other closer spots. Excellent night vision clearly identified a familiar red SUV with a “1 Pilot” license plate.

Number One Pilot. She suppressed a groan.

Bridges? Waiting for her again?

After dark.

Damn it. He was a professional, as was she, but she hated this itchy feeling of unease. He likely didn’t mean a thing with the parking spot and she wouldn’t think twice about it if they were the same gender. However, gossip was hell and with her mother’s history she was hypersensitive about negative press.

Just when she’d decided to haul butt back inside, three other figures stepped from the SUV and erased suspicion. A general rounded to the back bumper along with two colonels. Bridges was hanging with the big dogs tonight.

Continuing toward her car, Josie snapped a salute to the senior officers. “Good evening, sirs.”

Bridges slammed his door and nodded. “Good evening, Captain. Hold on if you have a minute. I’d like you to meet our guests.”

Bridges made the introductions to the general and two colonels who’d flown into Palmdale on an unplanned visit. “I was filling General Quincy in on the kick-ass flight you gave the network reporter this afternoon. Folks up in the control tower said that was some fine flying, Lockworth.”

“Thank you, sir. Just doing my job.” She might wonder about Bridges at times personally, but professionally, he was a good boss when it came to giving positive face-time for those under his command.

General Quincy’s stars winked in the lamplight. “Let’s hope positive media coverage comes our way. We could use some additional congressional funding next fiscal year.”

Josie struggled not to flinch. “Let’s hope, sir.”

“I’ll be on the lookout for the feature piece.” Quincy’s attention skated to the bar, thank God. “We just finished dinner at the Officer’s Club and I wanted to see if this place has changed since I did some work at Palmdale and Edwards back in the Dark Ages. Do they still have the signature wall?”

“Yes, sir, right out on the back porch. It would be a crime to paint over it.”

“Outstanding. I’ll bet it’s full now.” He turned to Bridges. “What do you say we check it out, gentlemen?”

As Josie watched them leave, warning lights blazed in her mind. What was up with their unscheduled visit? There were too many upsets crashing down in one day for her liking.

First the flight with a reporter who hated her guts. Then a congressional oversight appointee who didn’t give a crap about anything but shooting the breeze with flyers over a beer. And now the general directly in her chain of command showing up out of the blue on the same day—and talking about her.

Coincidence? It didn’t feel that way.

She shook off the paranoia. Wouldn’t they have a field day if she expressed her concerns? It was already going to hit the fan anyway when Shannon’s story came out if something wasn’t done to counterbalance that report.

Starting now. She’d never been one to wait around for fate to stab her in the back.

Fishing out her keys, Josie thumbed the unlock button. She hadn’t stood a chance with Shannon’s interview anyway. The dazzling flight plan was her only hope of showing higher-ups she’d at least tried to give the reporter her money’s worth—even if she’d also taken some personal satisfaction in shaking up Shannon.

Josie slid into her car, locked herself inside and tugged her e-mail pager from her flight suit thigh pocket. Sure she could e-mail at home in twenty minutes, but she hated the solitariness of her place. Probably came from spending years in a jam-packed boarding-school environment.

She needed to send out feelers to her network of contacts and discover what was going on with the congressional investigation. Athena Academy grads watched each other’s backs. Nobody messed with their friends and got away with it.

And Athena afforded her some hefty contacts. Only the best were invited to attend.

Their high-powered professions around the world made group reunions in person damn near impossible, so instead Athena alumni relied on the Internet and their government-secure alumni Web site for communication in their high-octane lives. She hadn’t even been able to make the recent funeral for one of her older classmates and a personal friend, Rainy Miller.

How unfair and unbelievable to think of Rainy as gone. Nothing about her death made sense.

Josie sagged back against her seat, feeling too mortal. She’d tried to think through everything on her project. But then so had her mother, and still someone had died.

Rainy had also died in a suspicious car accident only days after calling an emergency meeting with Josie and their five closest friends from Athena Academy. Rainy had died on the way to the meeting. Now they were all seeking answers, and the questions were piling up even faster. Most recently, Samantha St. John had tracked down the man responsible for killing Rainy, an assassin known as the Cipher. Unfortunately, Sam had killed him without learning who had sent him to murder Rainy.

God, she was getting morbid and that wasn’t her style. She preferred action. She clutched the e-mailer in her hand and scanned through her inbox, which was packed with everything from questions about the Cipher to details of Tory Patton’s latest date with the new man in her life.

A reply to Tory would be a good place to start in diffusing Shannon. Josie tapped through a message to her old classmate and closest friend Tory, who worked for Shannon’s rival network. Tory would be more than glad to one-up Shannon, since she’d recently caught the traitorous witch buck naked in bed with Tory’s former producer and now ex-boyfriend. Things had worked out for the best, though. Tory had hooked up with Ben Forsythe, a man worthy of her. Ben was the brother of another member of the group, Alexandra. Or Alex, as she preferred to be called.

Josie hit Send on her e-mail, then started a second note to her sister, who’d graduated a few classes behind her at Athena Academy. Damn, but Diana had been young when Dad had shipped them both off to the boarding school.

Her fingers paused midway through the message.

She and Diana hardly ever talked anymore, the rift between them widening over the years. Rainy’s death should remind them all to reach out more.

Josie fished in her leg pocket for her cell phone. Her fingers closed around her lip gloss. She pitched it in her lap before tugging free the phone and dialing Diana’s number. The fact that her baby sister worked in army intelligence out in Arizona would offer enough of an excuse to call that Diana wouldn’t go into shock over hearing her voice.

If she even recognized it.

While the phone rang, Josie defiantly swiped on a coating of lip gloss. She’d wear orange tryst if she wanted, and it had nothing to do with questionable looks from Diego Morel or Mike Bridges.

The extension picked up. “Hello?”

“Hey, Diehard.” Josie pumped cheer into her voice and worked to recall happier times of horseback races, her little sister’s blond pigtails streaking behind her. “It’s me. Your bossy big sister. I’ve got a favor to ask, if you have time to talk for a minute.”

The five-count silence was deafening.

“Uh, sure, Josie. What can I do for you?”

Stunned or resentful? Who could tell anymore with Diana?

Josie tucked down into her leather seat for a more comfy chat, her eyes locked on the neon spotlight showcasing the plane tail sticking out of the top of the bar’s roof.

“I was wondering if you could track down some insider scoop on a retired air force test pilot, Major Diego Morel.”

Through the air conditioner-fogged bar window, he watched Josie Lockworth’s silver-gray Mustang, the car the same color as her arrogant eyes.

The bitch had to be stopped.

“Birddog,” as he was called these days, nursed his bottle of beer while others at the table discussed her project and her future, how lucky she’d been to have this chance to resurrect her mother’s work. Of course, some made their own luck. He savored the taste of hops and success. His eyes stayed focused on the window, on Lockworth. He kept silent. Listened. Planned while his thumb cleaned condensation from his bottle.

Her test data would be proved eventually. He didn’t doubt that. But with Lockworth out of the picture, he could make his own modifications. The success would be deemed his.