Free Heart Strike by M. L. Buchman Page A

just…unexpected.
    â€œThe rest of the team is still in Venezuela. No word about breaking us up, so we’re headed back.”
    â€œDoesn’t matter to me. I haven’t actually been anywhere long enough to care in a while. A long while.” She was rambling. “Maybe since my brother died.” That was twice in one day; she typically didn’t mention him that often in a year. Definitely time to shut up.
    Richie bit his lower lip to cut off whatever he was about to say.
    She wished he wasn’t wearing his sunglasses against the late-afternoon light so that she could see what he was thinking. But she was wearing hers too, so they were even.
    â€œThey want pilots,” Richie explained. “And we’re headed into trouble.”
    â€œHow do you know about the trouble?”
    He paused while a departing jet shattered the afternoon stillness.
    â€œWe’re Delta,” he said simply once her ears had stopped ringing.
    â€œRight.” She nodded in agreement. This wasn’t the Operator’s Training Course any longer. “Keep going. You’re on a roll so far.”
    He stopped her at the edge of the hangar’s inviting shadow, just five steps from blessed relief from the sun’s blaze as if he didn’t notice it.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œOur team has been exclusively deployed to South America and solving the drug issues as close to the coca source as possible.”
    â€œOkay, which means what?” She was far too tired to put it together. “Wait a second.” Some part of her brain was working, and she didn’t like what it was telling her. “You think—”
    â€œBest bet is that we’re here for a brush-up course and then you and I will be flying drug-runner planes above the Amazonian jungle.”
    â€œThat’s crazy!”
    One of the helicopters whined to life behind them, probably headed out for a pre-dinner beach patrol.
    But it wasn’t totally crazy. It was hard to remember that she’d crossed over from trainee to operator. It had only happened yesterday, and she still hadn’t caught up with the new way of thinking yet.
    â€œI’m not even licensed to take paying passengers between safe little American airports.”
    Richie grinned at her and turned for the shadows.
    â€œNeither am I. But I don’t think the drugs will mind.”
    * * *
    They did let Melissa sleep—for six hours. Richie had tried protesting that she needed more, but his attempts to protect her fell on deaf ears.
    He, however, hadn’t slept a wink. They’d been assigned a hotel room just off Clearwater Air Station’s field, overlooking the runway. Nothing fancy, a single room with two queen-size beds. When he’d started to protest, he’d been told that no one had told them the trainees were differently gendered and it was the only room available unless one of them wanted to sleep in the barracks at the airport.
    Melissa had been past caring she was so tired.
    Richie had cared a great deal because all of the thoughts he was having about Melissa The Cat Moore were wholly inappropriate for a fellow soldier.
    She’d face-planted onto the bed and hadn’t wiggled even a toe when he unlaced and pulled off her boots. At first he was glad that she’d landed facedown, because that T-shirt was killing him. Then he started noticing all of the other nice shapes he shouldn’t be noticing and went looking for a blanket to spread over her before he got any stupid ideas.
    He’d gone for a 10K run, found a weight room, and pumped iron for an hour, then showered. By the time they were due back on the base, he still hadn’t slept a wink. And he’d spent the entire time Melissa had been in the shower and changing with his back to the closed bathroom door. Why did they make the things so damn thin that he could hear her every motion through them?
    A quick meal and thirty minutes later, they were airborne