Jayhawk Down Read Online Free PDF Page B

luck.”
    The corner of her kissable mouth curved up. “Good, neither do I. Hungry? I know a little crab shack on the Gulf if you want to follow me,” she said. The smile turned into a smirk. “I’ll drive slowly so I don’t lose you.”
    He almost nodded agreement before he stopped her from slipping on her helmet. “Wait, I’ve got a better idea.” Was flying just a job to her, or did she love it like he did?
    His hand tightened on her arm. Unexpected resistance of hard muscle under the loose material of her jacket stirred his blood. It didn’t take much effort to imagine those toned limbs wrapped around him, slick with sweat and... One delicate brow appeared above the sunglasses as if she’d read his graphic thoughts. Shit.
    He released her arm and tried a boyish grin but her expression didn’t budge. Check airspeed, idiot, before crashing and burning onto the damn parking lot. He shoved his hands into his pockets and cleared his throat. “Why don’t you follow me? What I have in mind works better on an empty stomach.”
    Both brows came up, and her mouth quirked despite an obvious attempt to stop it. “And just where, and what would that be?”
    “4-8-X-ray,” he said, anticipating she’d know the identifier for Airport Manatee. “There’s a sweet little tail-dragger that wants to come out and play.”
    All pretence of restraint disappeared when she whipped off her sunglasses and pinned him with a sharp stare. “What, no Bonanza either? You’re ruining my opinion of doctors.”
    Stillman laughed out loud. “No, honey. That would be my father.” Actually, both elder Grays had owned what were often described as doctor killers. Planes that were flown with too much ego and not enough skill to keep their pilots from making fatal mistakes.
    Her hesitation surprised him. Maybe flying really was just a job—
    “I can’t see you piloting a Cub or T-Craft, so wanna give me a hint?” she asked with confusion clouding her eyes.
    He leaned his butt against the tailgate again. “Decathlon. And if you’re up for it, I’ve got two parachutes—”
    Her yelp seemed to surprise her as much as him, but didn’t stop her from launching herself into his startled arms. The press of heavenly breasts against his chest effectively soothed the thud of her helmet smacking into his back as she hugged him. Too soon she stepped back, her face pink and eyes sparkling with excitement.
    “Can I fly? It’s been a while, but I used to fly tail-draggers all the time. Haven’t done much aerobatics, but heck, I’m up for darn near anything you want to throw at me!”
    She was back to embracing her helmet. Jesus, now he was jealous of the damn thing nestled against breasts he’d be imagining the rest of the evening.
    “Forget the slow drive, I’ll race you to the airport,” she said then executed a neat one-eighty to face the dozen or so motorcycles lined up to the left of his truck.
    “I don’t think so. I don’t need any more emergencies today.”
    She laughed and slipped her black helmet on, waving away his concern with a flap of her hand.
    His gaze followed the sway of her hips as she strode away from him in jeans that had to be in danger of cutting off her circulation. Curious, he tried to guess which bike was hers. The low-slung Harley or the smaller Honda?
    He wasn’t even close. She swung her leg over a sculpted black Yamaha with red flame decals licking toward the bulging engine. Shit, he should have known she’d ride a crotch-rocket with as much horsepower as his two-seater airplane.
    Stillman shook his head and slammed shut the truck’s tailgate. This wasn’t going to be a walk on the wild side—more like a dead-stick, nighttime carrier landing in rough seas.
    Even if he didn’t survive, it was a hell of a way to go.
    Tampa, FL, Thursday,
15 September, 1600 hours
    FBI Special Agent Scott Munson wanted to ignore the irritating warble of his cell phone, but a quick glance at the caller ID changed his mind.