“Coffee emergency.” She set her cup down and opened her locker. The first thing she did was take off her watch and carefully set it inside. Rusty had given it to her when she’d joined the Air Force. The military had cured her of any shyness, and she quickly shed her jeans and shirt. She pulled her high-tech flight suit out.
It was a deep, navy-blue with a touch of metallic silver at the seams. It fit her like a glove.
She wriggled into it. Gregson and Parker were both ex-military as well, and married. The sight of her black sports bra and panties was hardly going to drive them wild. She zipped the suit up to her neck.
“Wheeler was looking for you,” Parker said.
“Great.” Mal pulled her brown hair up in a tight ponytail.
She reached into her locker and pulled out a photo. The edges were crumpled. She was twelve in the shot, gangly, and still growing into her body. Rusty stood beside her. They were both holding swords.
He wore his favorite, battered cowboy hat. His skin was leather-brown and wrinkled from too much smoking and sun, and his hair was a mix of black and gray. He wore jeans and had a thick moustache that he’d never once shaved off. He’d been part cowboy, part stuntman, part wanderer.
Rusty had told her that he had too much tumbleweed in his blood to ever truly settle down. The longest he’d stayed in one place had been when her mother had been alive, but even then, he’d traveled for his work.
Mal ran a finger over the picture, pain piercing her heart. He’d died three months ago. He’d been larger than life, the only father she’d ever known. Sure, he’d had no idea what he was doing. He’d taken her to bars, taught her to fight, dragged her around the country to rodeos, movie shoots, and whatever jobs he picked up.
But she’d always known he was there for her. Sometimes, she barely remembered her mom. Just her soft voice and round face. When Mal looked in the mirror, she didn’t see anything of her mom, except they had the same hazel eyes.
Rusty had survived so many injuries and bar fights, but years of smoking had finally done him in. He’d died of cancer. Of course, the crusty bastard hadn’t told her he was sick until it was too late.
It doesn’t matter how you die, Mal, it matters how you live. He’d said that to her just days before he’d died. She’d sat by his bedside, filled with a mix of terror, grief, and anger.
She stroked the photo again. He was gone and now she was alone.
Yes, she was about to turn thirty, but it still sucked to realize that if something went wrong with the test flight today and she never came home, no one would care.
“Mallory!”
Dr. Poppy Ellison strode toward her, her shoulder-length, blonde hair bobbing around her face. She was already in her flight suit, which hugged her petite body. Mal was five foot seven and toned muscle, Poppy was at least five inches shorter, and slender.
Well, one person would care if she didn’t make it.
“Where have you been?” Poppy asked. “Dr. Wheeler is ranting.”
“I’m right here. All ready to go.”
Poppy was the head scientist for the wormhole drive. She was super-smart, straightforward, and in possession of a killer eyeroll for fools. She treated Mal to one now.
Mal grinned. When she’d first come to work at Nynatech five months ago, she’d never guessed that she’d actually like any of the scientists, let alone become best friends with one.
Somehow, despite their differences, she and Poppy got on like they’d known each other for years.
A door banged open, and the tall, painfully thin form of Dr. Francine Wheeler strode in.
Ugh.
“West, you’re late,” the scientist said.
“I’m ready when you are, Doc.”
Wheeler shot her a hard stare. “Both of you out to the launch pad. Need I remind you that this is an extremely important test for Nynatech? History-making.”
Yeah, yeah. You’re a special snowflake and I’m a lowly pilot.
“We’re ready, Dr. Wheeler.” Behind the doctor’s back, Poppy made a face and jerked her head at Mal. Don’t talk back. Let’s just get going.
Mal sniffed. I’m just standing here.
Poppy grabbed Mal’s arm and hauled her out of the locker room. “Let’s go to space.”
Mal wiggled her shoulders, shaking off her tension. “Let’s do it.”
“Control, all systems are green, and we’re in a stable orbit,” Mal murmured into her headset. “The view is spectacular.”
She finessed the controls of the sleek, experimental starship. Outside, the Earth was a beautiful, blue-green orb suspended in the black of space.
She smiled and shifted in the curved seat that molded to her body. Sensors in the chair were monitoring her vitals. It didn’t get much better than this: getting paid to test experimental starship technology with the best view in the solar system.
“Acknowledged, Hotshot One. Stay in position while we finish diagnostics.”
Mal raised a brow at the control panel. “Hotshot One? That’s the best you could come up with, Simmons?”
Her controller, back on Earth in the control room in the Nynatech office, snorted. “It suits you, West.”
“I’m not buying you an after-test beer. Hotshot? That’s so lame.”
“Well, you can be a bit hotheaded sometimes.”
“I’ll show you hotheaded,” Mal drawled.
“Keep the comm line clear,” the sharp voice of Dr. Wheeler cut across the line.
She was probably looming over Simmons’ shoulder. Mal pulled a face.
“Let Dr. Ellison finish her calibrations in peace,” Dr. Wheeler added.
Mal switched to the internal comm line. “How you doing back there, Poppy?”
Poppy was seated behind Mal in the tight cockpit of the experimental ship.
“What?” Poppy sounded a little preoccupied.
“How’s it going?” Mal repeated.
“Everything’s fine. I just need to finish calibrating the wormhole drive conductor.”
“Take your time.” Mal didn’t want to get Poppy started on all the science speak. Mal’s eyes usually glazed over, and her brain went numb.
She grabbed a jar of peanuts from the pocket of her seat. She popped some in her mouth. She’d gotten addicted to the things in the Air Force. From the hours of sitting on a tarmac, waiting to be called up for an extraction. She hummed a little under her breath, checking her systems. All good.
She had a few days off coming up. She tapped her short nails on the console. Maybe she’d head to the beach somewhere. Warm sand, cold beers, a hot one-night stand with a surfer, and some snorkeling.
Normally, she’d spend her time off with Rusty.
Her stomach contracted. God. She rubbed her chest. It was still hard to believe he was gone. He’d left her his old truck, and his sword and knife collection.
Stay focused, Mal. “Poppy? How’s it going?”
“Mal, this isn’t like tuning a car engine.”
“Hell, Pop, I don’t even know how to tune a car engine.”
“Sorry.” Poppy blew out a breath that echoed over the line. “This isn’t easy and it isn’t like there’s an instruction manual when you’re doing something for the first time.”
“Well, Rusty used to say that if the road is easy, you’re likely going the wrong way.”
“Sounds like your stepdad had a saying for everything.”
Mal smiled. “He sure did.”
“Well, I’m almost there. I definitely want to get this right.”