“Thanks.” She was still having trouble talking. The plane rattled and bumped as it barreled through the clouds, and as she faced the fact that there were hours of this yet to go, her insides twisted with fright.
“The worst is over. I’m going to get you home safe.” Cal’s voice was soothing. Gina managed to turn her head enough to look at him. He did not look frightened, or even worried. He looked like he had when she’d jumped off the mountain with him: coolly competent, a man in his element.
Gina’s death grip on her seat lessened. She even managed a deep breath. This was not a man who overestimated his abilities or underestimated the risks. This was a man who had proved to her that he could do exactly what he said he’d do.
“I know,” she said.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Some five hours later, Cal set the Beaver down on the northwest runway at Eielson Air Force Base near Fairbanks, Alaska. The sixty-three-thousand-acre home of the 354th Fighter Wing would not have been his first choice of refuges, but the mission was too urgent and the margin for error was too small to let any type of personal consideration weigh with him. The flight had been a little rough, as he’d had to stay low to avoid detection by radar and thus evade any pursuit that the opposing side might have been able to launch. The end had gotten slightly hairy as fuel, even with the extra juice from the auxiliary tanks, had run critically low. It had been full dark by the time the bright lights of the base had appeared on the horizon. He’d been operating under visual flight rules since taking off from Attu, and since the instruments were a little wonky he’d had to basically guess how much farther they had to go. Without a word to Gina—he didn’t want to alarm her—he’d been nursing the fuel to make it last, and the sight of the base, which was basically a small, self-contained city, was a considerable relief. Grim triumph was his strongest emotion as the Beaver rolled in past the control tower and on down the runway: they’d made it.
As he had expected, as soon as the plane taxied to a stop it was surrounded by a full contingent of MP vehicles; being in a civilian aircraft of unverified provenance, he would necessarily have been accorded a look-see. What he had not expected, at least not so soon, was the large black limousine.
He was tired. He was hungry. He was worried about the woman beside him, who’d gotten paler and quieter as she’d white-knuckled it through the buffeting they’d received five thousand feet above the waves. But one look at the limousine and he could already feel his hackles beginning to rise.
“We rate a limo? And a police escort? Or are we about to be arrested?” Gina was looking out at the surrounding cars with surprise. She’d shed her snow gear during the ride and was sitting there beside him looking stressed but beautiful in her snug red thermal shirt and tight jeans, her hair finger-combed and confined in a loose braid that hung over one shoulder. Faint blue shadows beneath her eyes gave them a slightly bruised look that did something to his gut. He wanted to wrap her up in his arms and sweep her off somewhere to rest and recuperate. But he couldn’t: not right now.
Cal sighed. Having unfastened his seat belt, he reached over and unfastened hers.
Then he got up, leaned over, and kissed her.
She kissed him back, her lips softly clinging, her mouth hot and sweet and luscious. He felt himself getting hard in response, recognized that now was not the time, and pulled back.
Those big blue eyes of hers were almost his undoing. If it hadn’t been for his certain knowledge of who was waiting for him in that limousine, he would have taken his time and kissed her breathless. As it was, he dropped one more quick, hard kiss on her lips and lifted his head.
Her slim, cool hand was still lingering on his cheek when he looked back out at the tarmac and saw that the rear door of the limo was being held open by an airman at full attention. The combination of the cars’ headlights and the runway lighting meant that the tarmac was as bright as a football stadium on a Friday night in October.
Straightening as best he could given the low ceiling, Cal said, “I realize it’s probably a little early in this relationship for us to start meeting the parents, but brace yourself: you’re about to meet my father.”
Gina’s face tipped up toward him. “What?”
Cal nodded toward the tall, silver-haired man who was just stretching to his full height as he got out of the limo.
Gina looked. Then she looked back at Cal.
“But—that’s a general.”
Cal nodded. “Yep.”
Grabbing her hand, he snagged both their coats and headed out of the cockpit. “Let’s go.”
“Your father’s a general,” she said from behind him. Her fingers were wrapped around his. He tightened his hold on them.
“Yes, he is.”