A Question of Intent

“We have a big day tomorrow,” she reminded her dispatchers. “The rest of the test cadre is scheduled to arrive between 8:00 a.m. and noon.”

“We’re ready for ’em,” SFC Denton advised in his Oklahoma drawl. “Our welcome committee will have ’em roped, tied and branded a half hour after they hit the site.”

“Tell the welcome committee to start with Dr. Richardson. I want him tagged first thing in the morning.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Jill woke before dawn the next morning. She stretched catlike under the sheet and enjoyed the quiet of the boxy modular unit that served as her quarters. She’d had the three-bedroom, one bathroom unit to herself for the past couple of weeks. After today she’d share it with two other female officers.

Her mouth curved in a wry grimace. She wasn’t much for girl talk or gabfests. She hoped the other women weren’t, either. Probably not. One was a Coast Guard officer with several command assignments under her belt. The other a hurricane hunter with the National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Agency.

Thinking of all she had to do to get ready for the onslaught of arrivals, Jill threw back the sheet and padded to the bathroom. After a thorough scrub of face and teeth, she dragged a brush through her straight, blunt-cut bob. The straw-colored strands fell neatly into place thanks to a great cut, just brushing her jawline but well above the top of her uniform collar as required by Army regulations. A slather of lotion to protect her face from the dry New Mexico heat and a quick swipe of lip gloss completed her morning beauty regimen.

Jill had long ago found ways to satisfy her feminine side other than through cosmetics that didn’t mix well with camouflage face paint. Her neatly trimmed nails wore a coat of French-white polish, and her underwear tended more toward lace than spandex. No one could see her frilly undies under her BDUs and T-shirt, so she figured her tough-cop image was safe.

She chose an ice-blue set this morning. The bikini pants were cut low on her belly and high on her thigh. The lacy bra contained no underwiring. She didn’t carry a particularly generous set of curves on her trim frame and saw no need to torture herself with hard-wired cups. Ten minutes after slithering into the slinky underwear, she was booted, bloused, belted and ready for the day.

Six hours later, her uniform had wilted a little in the searing hundred-plus-degree heat, but all eighty-two of the Pegasus cadre members were safely on-site. Helicopters had ferried most of them down from Albuquerque, where they’d flown into either the civilian airport or the Air Force base on the city’s outskirts. A number had driven in, including one of Jill’s new roommates.

Lieutenant Commander Kate Hargrave had thoroughly impressed the gate guards by showing up at the checkpoint in a low-slung, ground-eating XJS. She impressed them even more when she climbed out of the Jag, revealing a pair of long, tanned legs and the lush curves of a Playboy centerfold.

With her troops’ break room right outside her office, Jill couldn’t help but overhear their vivid descriptions of the sexy hurricane hunter. A chance meeting with the woman outside the dining facility where the cadre was gathering for the in-brief proved her troops hadn’t exaggerated.

“Major Bradshaw?”

At the sound of her name, Jill turned to see the tall, leggy redhead weaving her way through the crowd. Since her Navy-style rank of lieutenant commander was the equivalent of Jill’s Army rank of major, the two women shook hands instead of saluting.

“I’m Kate Hargrave. I understand we’re going to be sharing a bathroom for the next few months.”

Hargrave’s crisp, tailored khaki uniform in no way disguised her hourglass figure, but her cheerful smile drew the eye as much as her curves. Jill’s eye, anyway. Most of the males going by kept their gazes well south of her nameplate.

“I haven’t shared a bathroom with anyone since I dumped my jerk of an ex,” the weather officer confessed with a grin. “I hope you don’t spend as much time in there reading the newspaper as he did.”

Jill couldn’t help but respond to that infectious grin. “Not to worry. I doubt any of us will have time to read a newspaper in the next few months.”

“Good. I like to keep busy. From the little I’ve been told about this project so far, we’re all going to have our hands— Whoa!”

The woman’s green eyes widened and fixed on something just over Jill’s shoulder.

“Things just got interesting,” she murmured in a low, throaty purr. “Very interesting.”

Jill turned and saw at once what had snagged her attention. Dr. Cody Richardson was striding across the compound. Public Health Service Officers also wore Navy-style uniforms. Jill had to admit Dr. Richardson wore his khakis extremely well.

The man could have modeled for a recruiting poster. His pants were knife creased, his short-sleeved shirt tailored to maximize the effect of his muscled torso. Black shoulder boards carried the broad gold stripes denoting his rank. The insignia on his cap featured a caduceus crossed with a fouled anchor, denoting the Public Health Service’s original charter to provide medical care to America’s sailors. Beneath his cap, Richardson’s eyes gleamed a killer blue against his tanned skin.

“Who is that?” Kate Hargrave breathed.

“Commander Cody Richardson,” Jill answered. “Public Health Service.”

“That’s the doc who’s going to be taking care of our every little cough and stubbed toe? Well, well.”

“I believe his primary duty will be to test the nuclear, biological and chemical defenses installed in Pegasus.”

Jill had no idea why the response came out sounding so stiff. It wasn’t any skin off her nose if Kate Hargrave wanted to fall all over the man.

As he approached, both women acknowledged his senior rank with a salute. Richardson returned it, gave the redhead a smile, and addressed Jill.

“Good morning, Major.”

She dipped her chin in a polite nod. “Good morning.”

“Sleep well after our little tussle last night?”

From a corner of her eye, she saw her new roommate arch an auburn-tinted brow. Jill kept both her voice and her smile even.

“As a matter of fact, I did.” With a nod at her companion, she performed the introductions. “Have you met Lieutenant Commander Kate Hargrave? Or do you prefer Dr. Hargrave?” she asked the weather officer, mindful of the string of initials after her name.

“In uniform, I use my rank.” Smiling, she offered the doc her hand. “But among friends and cohorts, it’s Kate.”

“Kate,” he acknowledged, taking her hand in his. “I spent most of last night reviewing medical records. Yours were particularly interesting.”

Jill just bet they were.

“I’d like to hear more about your reaction to the vaccine you were administered after exposure to the Nipah virus in Honduras last year. Your records indicated you went into shock.”

Well, that was one of the more original pick-up lines Jill had ever heard. Evidently Kate thought so, too. She flashed Richardson a hundred-megawatt smile.

“Anytime, Doc.”

When he blinked, looking more than a little stunned, Jill checked her watch and suggested they continue their conversation inside.

Excitement hummed through the air inside the large, open dining area. Jill and the other two joined the group of officers at the front of the room. A petite brunette introduced herself as Lieutenant Caroline Dunn, Coast Guard. The buzz-cut marine beside her was Major Russ McIver. The senior Air Force rep arrived a moment later. Before he could make the rounds and introduce himself, a voice bellowed at the back of the crowd.

“Room! Ha-tennnn-shun!”

Eighty-two backs went blade stiff. One hundred and sixty-four knees locked. Chests out, arms straight at their sides, hands curled into fists, the entire test cadre stood at rigid attention while Captain Sam Westfall strode to the podium at the front of the room. Even the few civilians almost lost among the sea of uniforms squared their shoulders.

The captain kept the group at attention while his gray eyes skimmed the room. There wasn’t a sound. Not so much as the shuffle of a foot or the creak of a sagging floorboard. When it seemed he’d looked every man and women present in the eye at least once, Captain Westfall put them at ease and told them to take their seats. When the scrape of chairs and rumble of everyone getting settled had died, he gave the room at large a flinty smile.

“I think you should know up-front I’ve reviewed the personnel files on each and every one of you. Most of you I handpicked for this assignment. You represent the best of the best from each of your services, all seven of which are represented in this test cadre. For that reason, you’ll be issued a special unit patch during in-processing.”

With a nod, he signaled his executive officer to come forward. The Army captain carried a large poster, placed it on a metal easel, and flipped up the top sheet. Underneath was a classic shield-shaped design. The bottom two thirds of the shield was red. The top third showed a blue field studded with silver stars.

“Please note we’ve included one star for each of the seven uniformed services,” Westfall pointed out, reaching into his shirt pocket for a collapsible pointer. He extended the metal rod and issued a request. “I’d like the senior representative to stand as I name their service. In order of precedence, they are…”

The pointer’s tip whipped against a star.

“The United States Army. Founded June, 1775.”