Catherine Mann - Rules Of Engagement.pdf

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Rules of Engagement
by
Catherine Mann
Chapter One
"Fire indicator light, number two engine!"
The copilot's barked alarm rocketed through Captain Ray "Gator" Perez's headset. Blazed through his
gut.
Ray's eyes shot to the control panel on his C-17 aircraft. The warning light glowed.
Damn. "Roger, co." Ray twisted, hard and fast. Looked out his side window. "Checking number two
visually."
Hell and damnation. Red shards of fire poured from the seams of the number two engine — streamed
over the plane's gray wing and into the star-studded night sky. "Visual confirmation. Fire in number two."
A nanosecond of ominous silence followed from the crew. Bulky Bronco looming in the copilot's seat.
Silent Tag, the loadmaster, in back. Not even a word from renegade flight surgeon Cutter sitting in the
instructor's seat.
Then training overrode emotion. Aircraft commander for the mission Ray clipped orders through the
headsets, exhausted emergency checklist procedures. Still, the fire indicator light glowed like the unity
candle he and Megan had planned for their wedding. A wedding that would never happen. A wedding
once scheduled for today.
Ray shut down that thought faster than his flaming engine. He couldn't afford images of his cool, blond
ex-fiancée screwing with his concentration. Not now, with a cargo hold of medical supplies to deliver to
the war-ravaged eastern European village below.
The same village where Megan waited, stationed at the American-held military airfield, the main reason
he'd volunteered for his hell-bound flight. Deliver her ring and his goodbyes. If he got to the ground in one
uncharred piece.
"Loadmaster, haul forward and strap in." Ray cranked the throttle up on the other three engines, using
airspeed to combat the fire, keep it blowing aft. It was damage control at best. God help them when time
came to slow for landing.
He radioed the airborne warning and control system aircraft for the airfield's tower frequency and spun
up the number. "Eagle base, this is REACH 2-7-1-1."
 
"REACH 2-7-1-1, this is Eagle Approach. Go ahead," husky, controlled tones — feminine tones —
flowed through the headset over the whine of straining engines.
Megan's voice echoed in his ears. First Lieutenant Megan Reed, U.S.A.F. — once his Megan. Just his
damned luck, she was the air traffic controller on duty. Apparently irony had decided to take a chunk out
of his backside before roasting him into hell in his burning plane.
He'd hoped to talk to her one last time. But not like this. And definitely not with the risk of it being so
very final. "REACH 2-7-1-1 declaring an in-flight emergency."
"State nature of emergency."
Her cool tones breezed over him, stirring fires within him hotter than the ones streaming from his C-17.
Damn it, did anything rattle this woman? His leaving sure hadn't.
"Severe," he answered, battling to adjust the airspeed in the single remaining left engine to equalize thrust
from the two engines on the right. "Fire in engine number two. Request immediate landing."
"Roger, 2-7-1-1." Megan's transmission crackled with interference, her unwavering voice, however,
plenty clear without even a hint of his name. Just an impersonal flight number. "Fuel and souls on board?"
"Forty-five thousand pounds of gas and four souls on board." Emotions churned through him. Too many.
Of course, that had always been the problem between them. And now hearing her blindsided him when
his emotions were already overrevved.
"Copy. Fire trucks are on their way to the field. State intentions."
Intentions? He'd once had plenty of intentions and plans with this woman. Had lived with her for a full
year, planted his baby inside her. Scheduled a wedding. Then they lost their baby. And he lost Megan.
Now he had no intentions other than getting her out of his mind with this last meeting. If he lived through
the night.
Whomp.
Ray jerked round in his seat, checked the wing through the windscreen. Found ragged metal instead of a
mounted engine. "Oh, shit."
A small gasp breezed through his headset. Just a whisper, but so much coming from his reserved Megan.
Mortality stared him in the face and he could only think how damned erotic Megan's small gasp, Ray,
had felt against his ear during sex two months ago.
How damned good it felt now knowing she might still care.
"REACH 2-7-1-1," Megan queried, her voice once again steady. "Define nature of 'oh, shit,' please."
Ray held back an irrational chuckle. Definitely his Megan, always calm, even when his emotions where
shot to hell and back, alarms blaring in the plane and his mind. "Number two engine has departed the
aircraft. Mark my position and set us up for immediate landing."
 
"Roger, 2-7-1-1," Megan answered with the same quiet authority as when she'd ordered him to leave her
hospital room after the miscarriage.
He ignored the remembered jab of pain. Ray called to the two pilots and loadmaster. "We have to get
this puppy on deck now. Unless you guys want to bail out first?"
Negatives from Cutter and Tag bounced through the headset. The crew would ride her in together.
Bronco didn't budge from the copilot's position. "Lights are flashing like Christmas trees, Gator. You
need our eyes and ears."
Computerized warning voices squawked their agreement through the crew compartment. Lost generator.
Gas leaking. Energy wanes and pulses yanking the plane like a carnival ride.
Ray thumbed the mike button. "Tower, things are going all to hell in here. I need to expedite this landing.
No flaps." Say my name, Megan. "Faster than normal airspeed. Larger than average turns. Get me lined
up now."
"Roger, REACH 2-7-1-1, come to heading two-six-five." She clipped through wind speeds and
altimeter settings, dry numbers in drier tones when there was so much left unsaid between them.
Leaving out the only word that mattered to him now.
Say my name, damn it, one last time. "Copy, Tower." Ray gripped the throttle. Focused on the runway
lights. Training overriding emotions. Barely.
My name. Just say my name. Care enough to stop me from walking out that door.
But she hadn't then. And she didn't now.
Ray centered the nose between the blinking runway lights screaming toward them at much higher than
normal speed. "Everybody tighten your belts. This one will come quick and hard." Like the end of his
future with Megan. "Nobody unstrap until we're at a complete stop. Then we'll haul ass out the back of
the plane."
Sweat popped, poured, streamed down his face. Megan's guiding voice echoed over the airwaves.
Inside his head. A head full of regrets.
God, he missed her. Couldn't stomach the thought of never seeing her again. Willed the C-17 not to
explode.
Gear down. Ground rushing up to meet them. "Okay, crew, get ready to run 'til you feel stupid. Then run
a thousand feet more."
Ray set his teeth for the thud of a landing he knew was coming. He'd run from Megan once. And damn it,
if he got out of this alive, he wouldn't make the same mistake twice. This time, he wasn't backing off until
he rattled her cool composure.
Chapter Two
 
Fire trucks screamed across the taxiway, filing in behind the landing C-17, echoing the scream in
Megan's head as she peered helplessly through the tower window onto the stretch of cement illuminated
by a halo of lights.
Composure evaporated. Forget waiting around.
Hands trembling, Megan passed radio control to the sergeant and tore down the stairs to the cracked
runway. Her eyes clung to the sight of the cargo plane powering past. Flames streamed from the wing.
Sweat plastered her BDUs to her skin in spite of the chilly mountain winds whipping through the band of
evergreens. Fear churned those flames into kaleidoscope visions within her mind of blood and…Ray.
She braced a shaking hand to the brick tower. Damn him and his grandiose gestures that had
undoubtedly brought him here in harm's way on what should have been their wedding day. Damn him for
leaving when she'd needed him.
Most of all, damn him for still being the only man she wanted.
Smoke pumped from under the tires as the plane jerked to a halt. Megan froze. Waited. Prayed.
The hatch door flung open. Her breath hitched on an icy gasp. Bodies poured through the open portal —
Cutter, Bronco, Tag…Ray.
"Thank you, God." She exhaled her relief in a puffy cloud into the night air.
The four men sprinted full out, combat boots pounding toward the control tower. But she watched only
one man now. Ray. Tall with muscles bulging and rippling his legs beneath the forest green flight suit as he
ran. Brown leather stretched across a wide chest with a heart that had once beat such steady reassurance
against her ear.
And then there he was. In front of her. So close. The mingled scents of musk, smoke, and man saturated
her senses seconds before Ray grabbed her arms. Her body absorbed the blessed familiarity of his touch
after too long without him, her pounding heart echoing enemy explosions in the distance.
Ray held her with his gaze as well as his hands. "You're not going anywhere. Got it?"
"Oh, yeah, I've got it." Angry words tumbled from her lips in a torrent of frustration born from the
teeth-chattering terror still pulsing through her. " You're the one who leaves after all. Not me."
"Christ, Megan!" His close-cropped black hair lifted in the wind that carried acrid gusts. "You told me to
go."
The three crew members standing behind Ray backed up a step. Cutter swept a red bandanna over his
face. "Uh, Bronco? Wanna go check with the security police by the plane about that gunfire?"
"Sure, bud. A little rebel action sounds less explosive than what's about to go down here." Bronco
thunked Tag on the chest. "Coming, Tag?"
 
The ever-silent loadmaster nodded, and the trio lumbered back toward the smoking C-17 now encircled
by fire trucks spewing water and foam.
Even though Megan realized the plane didn't seem likely to blow after all, horror still clawed up her throat
until emotion threatened to spill free again. Too much. Always too much emotion spinning around Ray,
and she wouldn't — couldn't — relive echoes of her tumultuous childhood.
Megan pulled her spine as straight as her resolve. "Forget I said a thing. You're alive. And that's all I
needed to see."
His brown eyes hardened. "Nice to know it would have bothered you if I died."
Pain prickled through her like the relentless rat-tat-tat of a machine gun.
"Of course it matters, Ray. We…" Loved each other? Made a baby together? Lost everything in a day?
"We have history. But we're exactly that. History. Your fault or mine — I don't remember anymore. I
just know when life got tough, our relationship couldn't take the pressure. It's best we learned before…"
she swallowed the ache "…before we married."
"Married?" He hauled her closer until their bodies exchanged heat and longing. "Like you would have
ever agreed to marry me if there hadn't been a baby."
She started to snap back that he should have been patient with her, damn it. She wasn't impulsive like
him.
Megan closed her mouth. With practiced precision, she restrained the harsh words and chaotic emotions
that would only lead to more arguments. More hurt.
Ray's molten brown eyes sparked with enough emotions for two people anyway.
"Don't!" His grip tightened around her arms. "Don't you dare shut down on me. For once be honest
about how you're feeling. Even tell me to go to hell. But don't pull this ice-princess crap."
She tried to focus on his words, but could only stare up and soak in the sight of him. The square cut of
his jaw, the hard angles of his bronzed face. Her fingers clenched around warm leather, muscles flexing
beneath her touch. "I may be many things, Ray, but when I'm with you, cold isn't one of them."
Passion combusted in the slice of air between them.
His hand shot up her arm and tangled in her hair. Pulling her close. Closer still until his mouth took hers.
Maybe she took his. The meeting and mating of their lips happened so fast she couldn't think. Didn't want
to think. Just wanted to drink in the taste of Ray.
Ray. Alive. So very alive. His tongue stroked hers, as bold and potent as the man. Her hands glided up,
over his shoulders and into his hair with a familiarity that left her whimpering for what they'd thrown away.
His arms banded around her, anchoring her to him in a perfect fit until fire pooled low in her belly.
Insidious doubts whispered through her mind. She'd needed his arms around her weeks ago. How could
he not know that even if she never cried, the sorrow and tears over losing their child were drowning her
inside?
 

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