Explosive Alliance
or practical.
    Jansen was keeping an eye out for suspicious strangers around his sister, but didn't have any helpful insights. Bo's computer search on his laptop about Paige's dead husband hadn't brought any new info other than the standard questions about identifying the rest of the man's contacts, which shouldn't have surprised him. He'd spent countless hours over the past year researching the bastard.
    And Paige.
    Damn. He forced his strumming to segue into vintage Carlos Santana. A guitarist for the ages.
    His soul settled.
    At least something was going his way. He'd already spoken to Quade about taking leave while he waited around for the plane to be repaired. The commander had glowered and nodded, then headed into his room. Door closed. No chitchat.
    Mako unwrapped the torn T-shirt rag from around two fingers. He tossed aside the polish-stained cotton cloth along with the small round tin. "Figures you would find the lone tree here in North Dakota."
    "Tree?"
    "You know—woman behind every tree." He swiped the buffing brush along the sides of his boot.
    "Apparently from what I saw at the air show, you found that tree."
    It took Bo a second to remember that Mako wouldn't have recognized her. While they'd partied together on TDYs over the years, the jokester tech sergeant was new to Charleston Air Force Base, a recent transfer into the maintenance squadron from McChord AFB in Washington.
    "I already knew her from when she used to live in Charleston." Enough on the subject to cover his butt if someone filled in Mako, but not so much as to offer up more about Paige's past than she would want out there.
    "Cute kid she's got," Mako pressed, awful damn nosy all of the sudden. Buff, buff with the brush along one side. Buff, buff along the toe with a reminder of puked-on boots that needed polishing. "Single mother, I assume?"
    "Uh-huh. Widowed." His thumb slipped on a string.
    "Pretty lady."
    "Uh-huh." Understatement. Blond and lush even in jeans and no makeup, Paige resembled one of those WWII pinup posters he'd once seen in an Air Force museum.
    "Are she and her kid the reason you're asking for leave while you're here?"
    Bo set aside his guitar. "Something wrong with sightseeing? God knows we've all got leave time coming out of our ass since they keep us too busy to use it."
    "So you're planning a trip down to Mt. Rushmore with that leave you asked the colonel about."
    Why the hell was everyone pushing him to Rushmore? "Are you looking to start a travel agency? Next thing we know, you'll be passing out leis and discount booklets."
    Mako tossed down the buffing brush, with a smirk. "That's a lot of defensive bad attitude over just hanging out with an old friend. I smell a story here."
    Evading would of course prove the guy's point. "I'm taking time off to do a favor for a friend by flying her around some. Yes, it's the woman who was at the air show. She works with a vet clinic that makes emergency calls to remote locales."
    "Ah, I get it." Mako snagged the lighter from his polishing kit and flicked once, twice, again until a flame shot free. Slowly he glided it along the top to heighten the sheen. "Doctors Without Borders for cows."
    "Pretty much. Beats hanging out watching my nose hairs grow while we wait for those shipped parts to arrive."
    The flame snaked a blue path over the boot, reminding him of fire from the engine when he'd crash-landed in Rubistan. Fire that could have engulfed them after the bird strike. Fire that did engulf him every time he looked at Paige Haugen.
    And that was the core of his frustration.
    Yeah, he enjoyed women, but he was always in control, like with his music or in the plane. He called the shots right up to the time either he walked or they did. He didn't like one damned bit how much he'd wanted to stay with her—in a dog kennel for crying out loud—just to hear the Dakota melody of her voice while mosquitoes chewed his hide.
    Mako set aside the boot and lighter. "If she's just an old friend,

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