Blaze of Glory Read Online Free PDF

printers.”
    Printers
that
would
flood
the
area
with
leaflets,
propaganda,
anything
to
educate
the
other
side.
Hmm…
    maybe
she
should
compose
a
few
of
those
educational
dialogues
for
herself
when
it
came
to
Bobby.
    

    

    BOBBY
LEThis
dumbass
feet
keep
carrying
him
right
toward
Nirvana.
    Lord,
that
woman
was
hot
and
smart
and
had
he
mentioned
hot?
He
could
get
off
on
listening
to
her
recite theFarmers’
Almanac
as
easily
as
sliding
his
hands
up
her
shirt
to
explore
the
graceful
Gracie
bounty
of
her wellendowed
chest.
No
avoiding
her
now.
Might
as
well
be
straight
up.
He
didn’t
know
how
to
play
life any
other
way,
and
this
was
his
big
chance
to
move
on.
    He
stopped
at
the
base
of
the
C17’s
load
ramp,
large
crates
littering
the
runway.
“Lookin’
good,
Gracie.”
    “Bobby.”
Her
eyes
went
wide,
then
shuttered
as
the
chatter
around
her
shushed
a
level.
“Captain,
thank
you.
    Any
kudos
on
the
equipment
go
to
those
who
work
with
me.”
    “Equipment?”
Oh,
he
burned
to
check
out
her
equipment,
all
right,
just
not
the
metalandbolts
kind
packing the
hold.
    “My
van.
My
computers.”
    “Sure.
Awesome
setup
you’ve
got
here.”
He
ran
his
broad
hands
over
the
roughhewn
wood
of
rudimentary packing
crates
on
his
way
over
to
where
Gracie
stood
under
the
wing.
This
woman
had
everything
she needed
to
probe
the
hearts
and
minds
of
the
enemy.
    A
man
stepped
closer,
a
big
muscled
man.
The
dude
moved
closer
still
and—shit—had
the
guy
actually
put his
hand
on
her
back?
PDAs
in
uniform
were
a
nono,
for
God’s
sake.
That
spoke
louder
than
if
the
guy
had engaged
in
an
allout
Frenchkiss
howdy.
    Who
was
this
guy?
This
big
fella
in
a
flight
suit
with
pilot’s
wings
and
captain’s
bars
standing
mighty
damn close
to
Gracie
with
a
protective
air.
    He
couldn’t
miss
the
body
language.

    Body
language?
    Sheeit.
When
had
he
started
thinking
words
like
“body
language”?
He
was
beginning
to
sound
like
Gracie with
the
psychobabble.
Regardless,
the
dude
was
sending
backoff
vibes
louder
than
the
roar
of
a
jet
engine.
    Might
as
well
get
right
to
it.
He
thrust
out
his
hand.
“Bobby
Ruznick—Postal.”
    “Derek
Washington—Rodeo.”
    They
crushed
each
other’s
hands.
If
he
squeezed
much
harder,
the
Air
Force
would
be
short
two
pilots
for about
six
weeks.
Medical
report?
Cause
of
accident:
Adolescent
posturing
over
a
chick,
like
with
the
showoff
landing.
    “You
fly
this
puppy
in?”
Bobby
pointed
to
the
C17
with
a
tail
flash
indicating
it
was
based
out
of Charleston,
South
Carolina.
    “That
would
be
me
and
my
crew.”
Rodeo
gestured
with
a
wave.
    Even
as
good
as
Bobby
was
at
multitasking,
he
really
didn’t
need
this
woman
and
juvenile
jealousy
right now.
“Looking
forward
to
seeing
you
around
the
club—except
wait,
we’re
all
in
tents,
like
some
Army grunt.”
He
grinned
at
Gracie.
“No
offense.”
    “None
taken,
pampered
Air
Force
baby
boy.”
    The
guy
beside
her
still
didn’t
move
away.
What
the
hell.
He’d
never
played
it
safe.
“I
meant
it
when
I