Pursued. Catherine Mann

him on her missions.

      “Hey, Captain.” Zeljak paused beside her, offering a double-size pack of wintergreen gum while he smacked a piece of his own. “Want some gum?”

      Josie started to say no, then reached to take a stick after all. “Thanks, Sergeant. I think I will.”

      She could use a little nerve soothing with a congressional spy/baby-sitter shadowing her. Diego strutted behind her, biker boots thudding against thin industrial carpet. She didn’t have to see him to envision his relaxed tread that screamed of slow, confident sex.

      Josie chomped her gum harder.

      They’d spent the past days reviewing the old data from her coffee table, tackling it in half the time. True to his word, he hadn’t made another move on her. And he’d kept pace with helping her sift through the flight configurations for each of the early missions her mother had overseen. Once she finished up here, she could dig deeper into cross-checking that correct software versions coordinated with the hard drives.

      Perhaps he actually could do the job with his eyes half-closed. Apparently, the problem was hers and she needed to get the hell over herself—or over him—pronto. Kinda tough to do with him breathing down her neck 24/7.

      Not for the first time, she wondered, could he be testing her? Could he have been trying to set her up? Even though an affair wouldn’t be an ethical breach, it might make a positive report of his seem suspect. She really did need to call her sister back to find out what Diana had uncovered about Diego’s past. But part of her regretted asking, almost wanting to hear it from him.

      She was starting to like him. And yes, like was far more dangerous than lust. She could and would harness her emotions. Work provided the perfect distraction. The challenge, her goal to clear her mother’s name, drove her relentlessly.

      Josie snagged a tissue and spit out her gum. She wouldn’t need any nerve crutches once she slid into the pilot’s seat.

      The Predator was flown from a remote control cockpit, much like a simulator setup. A pilot manned the controls in one of the seats with the sensor operator beside working the cameras, or the sensor suite, as it was called. But unlike normal Predator flights, the test versions required that another pilot be strapped to the vehicle with a modified second set of controls for override in an emergency if things went to hell.

      Things would not go wrong. Especially not with Craig strapped on. She’d planned carefully. Conservatively. Because no way would she accept anything but a win.

      Each test pushed the craft a little further. First, she’d fired up the engine and taxied the modified Predator along the runway. Next flight, taxi faster and test the brakes, and so on. Today’s flight would be the second quick loop in the air around the airfield.

      Diego lounged against the partition beside her, every squeak of his leather as he moved reminding her he watched. Waiting for her to screw up?

      “So why’s Wagner the one strapped on the Predator today and not you?”

      Was he an idiot or just checking to see if she was? “As the head tester, sometimes I have to step back. I take turns with Wagner and the other four pilots assigned to my team. I know the craft too well. I’m not the average crew member anymore.”

      “Good answer.” He waved her to her seat. “Don’t mind me. I’ll just fade into the scenery here.”

      He stood a better chance at winning the lottery.

      She forced her attention back on work while she and the sensor operator ran through preflight data. Today’s was a simple circle with the camera running, minimal chance of anything going wrong. DT—developmental test—followed such a scripted plan she could have simply passed over the paperwork with the camera footage and he would have been able to assess the mission. But he studied her through hooded eyes, checking her test discipline and methodology.

      She knew how to follow a plan, damn it.

      Josie keyed up the radio to talk to Wagner. Flying the modified Predator by remote was a snap—except when somebody was in the saddle. Even though he could counteract any of her control inputs, she still carried a lump in her throat thicker than her father’s sticky mac and cheese every time she piloted one of these flights. She’d rather strap her own tush to the rocket any day of the week than have someone else in danger. “Well partner,” she called over the radio to Wagner. “You ready to ride this bronco?”

      “I would prefer that it not buck me off if you don’t mind,” Wagner chided through her headset. “But I am checklist complete and ready to go.”

      Josie ran through her instruments one last time before the countdown. “Ten seconds to throttle up.”

      “Copy ten,” the saddled-up Wagner shot back.

      Josie checked her stopwatch and began counting down. “Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Going throttle up now.”

      She eased the throttle forward. Since she sat in the remote control seat, there was no kick in the ass like in a T-38 or a U-2 to let her know the engine was running to full power. Wagner would get that punt. Only her instruments showed a steady climb as power increased. “Ready for brake release in three, two, one. Brakes released.”