A Question of Intent Page 3

  "We have a big day tomorrow," she reminded her dispatchers. "The rest of the test cadre is scheduled to arrive between 8:00 a.m. and noon."

  "We're ready for 'em," SFC Denton advised in his Oklahoma drawl. "Our welcome committee will have 'em roped, tied and branded a half hour after they hit the site."

  "Tell the welcome committee to start with Dr. Richardson. I want him tagged first thing in the morning."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  Jill woke before dawn the next morning. She stretched catlike under the sheet and enjoyed the quiet of the boxy modular unit that served as her quarters. She'd had the three-bedroom, one bathroom unit to herself for the past couple of weeks. After today she'd share it with two other female officers.

  Her mouth curved in a wry grimace. She wasn't much for girl talk or gabfests. She hoped the other women weren't, either. Probably not. One was a Coast Guard officer with several command assignments under her belt. The other a hurricane hunter with the National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Agency.

  Thinking of all she had to do to get ready for the onslaught of arrivals, Jill threw back the sheet and padded to the bathroom. After a thorough scrub of face and teeth, she dragged a brush through her straight, blunt-cut bob. The straw-colored strands fell neatly into place thanks to a great cut, just brushing her jawline but well above the top of her uniform collar as required by Army regulations. A slather of lotion to protect her face from the dry New Mexico heat and a quick swipe of lip gloss completed her morning beauty regimen.

  Jill had long ago found ways to satisfy her feminine side other than through cosmetics that didn't mix well with camouflage face paint. Her neatly trimmed nails wore a coat of French-white polish, and her underwear tended more toward lace than spandex. No one could see her frilly undies under her BDUs and T-shirt, so she figured her tough-cop image was safe.

  She chose an ice-blue set this morning. The bikini pants were cut low on her belly and high on her thigh. The lacy bra contained no underwiring. She didn't carry a particularly generous set of curves on her trim frame and saw no need to torture herself with hard-wired cups. Ten minutes after slithering into the slinky underwear, she was booted, bloused, belted and ready for the day.

  Six hours later, her uniform had wilted a little in the searing hundred-plus-degree heat, but all eighty-two of the Pegasus cadre members were safely on-site. Helicopters had ferried most of them down from Albuquerque, where they'd flown into either the civilian airport or the Air Force base on the city's outskirts. A number had driven in, including one of Jill's new roommates.

  Lieutenant Commander Kate Hargrave had thoroughly impressed the gate guards by showing up at the checkpoint in a low-slung, ground-eating XJS. She impressed them even more when she climbed out of the Jag, revealing a pair of long, tanned legs and the lush curves of a Playboy centerfold.

  With her troops' break room right outside her office, Jill couldn't help but overhear their vivid descriptions of the sexy hurricane hunter. A chance meeting with the woman outside the dining facility where the cadre was gathering for the in-brief proved her troops hadn't exaggerated.

  "Major Bradshaw?"

  At the sound of her name, Jill turned to see the tall, leggy redhead weaving her way through the crowd. Since her Navy-style rank of lieutenant commander was the equivalent of Jill's Army rank of major, the two women shook hands instead of saluting.

  "I'm Kate Hargrave. I understand we're going to be sharing a bathroom for the next few months."

  Hargrave's crisp, tailored khaki uniform in no way disguised her hourglass figure, but her cheerful smile drew the eye as much as her curves. Jill's eye, anyway. Most of the males going by kept their gazes well south of her nameplate.

  "I haven't shared a bathroom with anyone since I dumped my jerk of an ex," the weather officer confessed with a grin. "I hope you don't spend as much time in there reading the newspaper as he did."

  Jill couldn't help but respond to that infectious grin. "Not to worry. I doubt any of us will have time to read a newspaper in the next few months."

  "Good. I like to keep busy. From the little I've been told about this project so far, we're all going to have our hands— Whoa!"

  The woman's green eyes widened and fixed on something just over Jill's shoulder.

  "Things just got interesting," she murmured in a low, throaty purr. "Very interesting."

  Jill turned and saw at once what had snagged her attention. Dr. Cody Richardson was striding across the compound. Public Health Service Officers also wore Navy-style uniforms. Jill had to admit Dr. Richardson wore his khakis extremely well.

  The man could have modeled for a recruiting poster. His pants were knife creased, his short-sleeved shirt tailored to maximize the effect of his muscled torso. Black shoulder boards carried the broad gold stripes denoting his rank. The insignia on his cap featured a caduceus crossed with a fouled anchor, denoting the Public Health Service's original charter to provide medical care to America's sailors. Beneath his cap, Richardson's eyes gleamed a killer blue against his tanned skin.

  "Who is that?" Kate Hargrave breathed.

  "Commander Cody Richardson," Jill answered. "Public Health Service."

  "That's the doc who's going to be taking care of our every little cough and stubbed toe? Well, well."

  "I believe his primary duty will be to test the nuclear, biological and chemical defenses installed in Pegasus."

  Jill had no idea why the response came out sounding so stiff. It wasn't any skin off her nose if Kate Hargrave wanted to fall all over the man.

  As he approached, both women acknowledged his senior rank with a salute. Richardson returned it, gave the redhead a smile, and addressed Jill.

  "Good morning, Major."

  She dipped her chin in a polite nod. "Good morning."

  "Sleep well after our little tussle last night?"

  From a corner of her eye, she saw her new roommate arch an auburn-tinted brow. Jill kept both her voice and her smile even.

  "As a matter of fact, I did." With a nod at her companion, she performed the introductions. "Have you met Lieutenant Commander Kate Hargrave? Or do you prefer Dr. Hargrave?" she asked the weather officer, mindful of the string of initials after her name.

  "In uniform, I use my rank." Smiling, she offered the doc her hand. "But among friends and cohorts, it's Kate."

  "Kate," he acknowledged, taking her hand in his. "I spent most of last night reviewing medical records. Yours were particularly interesting."

  Jill just bet they were.

  "I'd like to hear more about your reaction to the vaccine you were administered after exposure to the Nipah virus in Honduras last year. Your records indicated you went into shock."

  Well, that was one of the more original pick-up lines Jill had ever heard. Evidently Kate thought so, too. She flashed Richardson a hundred-megawatt smile.

  "Anytime, Doc."

  When he blinked, looking more than a little stunned, Jill checked her watch and suggested they continue their conversation inside.

  Excitement hummed through the air inside the large, open dining area. Jill and the other two joined the group of officers at the front of the room. A petite brunette introduced herself as Lieutenant Caroline Dunn, Coast Guard. The buzz-cut marine beside her was Major Russ McIver. The senior Air Force rep arrived a moment later. Before he could make the rounds and introduce himself, a voice bellowed at the back of the crowd.

  "Room! Ha-tennnn-shun!"

  Eighty-two backs went blade stiff. One hundred and sixty-four knees locked. Chests out, arms straight at their sides, hands curled into fists, the entire test cadre stood at rigid attention while Captain Sam Westfall strode to the podium at the front of the room. Even the few civilians almost lost among the sea of uniforms squared their shoulders.

  The captain kept the group at attention while his gray eyes skimmed the room. There wasn't a sound. Not so much as the shuffle of a foot or the creak of a sagging floorboard. When it seemed he'd looked every man and women pr
esent in the eye at least once, Captain Westfall put them at ease and told them to take their seats. When the scrape of chairs and rumble of everyone getting settled had died, he gave the room at large a flinty smile.

  "I think you should know up-front I've reviewed the personnel files on each and every one of you. Most of you I handpicked for this assignment. You represent the best of the best from each of your services, all seven of which are represented in this test cadre. For that reason, you'll be issued a special unit patch during in-processing."

  With a nod, he signaled his executive officer to come forward. The Army captain carried a large poster, placed it on a metal easel, and flipped up the top sheet. Underneath was a classic shield-shaped design. The bottom two thirds of the shield was red. The top third showed a blue field studded with silver stars.

  "Please note we've included one star for each of the seven uniformed services," Westfall pointed out, reaching into his shirt pocket for a collapsible pointer. He extended the metal rod and issued a request. "I'd like the senior representative to stand as I name their service. In order of precedence, they are..."

  The pointer's tip whipped against a star.

  "The United States Army. Founded June, 1775."

  As the senior Army officer on-site, Jill stood and acknowledged the chorus of hoo-ah's that rose from the grunts in the audience. When the noise faded, the captain's pointer whapped another star.

  "The United States Navy, founded October, 1775. I have the honor of being the senior rep from the sea service."

  The squids responded with a stamp of booted feet.

  "The United States Marine Corps, founded November, also 1775."

  Major Russ McIver, the senior leatherneck present, led a round of "Semper Fi's."

  "The United States Coast Guard, dating back to the Colonial Lighthouse Service established in 1789 and the Revenue Cutter Service, founded shortly thereafter."

  Lieutenant Caroline Dunn stood. The only Coast Guard rep assigned to the test cadre, the petite brunette rendered a smart salute.

  "Next," Westfall continued, "the United States Public Health Service, which traces its origins to the 1798 act that provided for the care of America's sick and injured merchant seamen."

  "That's me," Dr Richardson said, standing to nod at the crowd.

  "The National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Agency, established in 1870."

  Kate Hargrove was the NOAA rep to the cadre. When the gorgeous redhead stood to acknowledge her service, a murmur of masculine appreciation rippled through the crowd.

  "Last but certainly not least," the captain said with a nod to the blue-suiters in the audience, "the United States Air Force. Formerly the Army Air Corps, it was established as a separate service in 1947."

  The AF senior rep was a tall, ramrod-straight pilot with salt-and-pepper hair and laugh lines around his eyes. Belying his status as a member of the "baby" service, Lieutenant Colonel Bill Thompson looked tough and experienced and well able to serve as deputy director of the Pegasus Project.

  Westfall let the assembled crowd enjoy the spirit of good-natured rivalry for a moment or two before continuing.

  "Each of the seven uniformed services has a history rich in tradition. Each has provided long years of honorable service to our country. I know you're proud, as I am, to wear the distinctive insignia of your branch or corps I would remind you, though, of the oath each of you took when you joined the military. To protect and defend the Constitution of the United States. That oath transcends your individual services. As of this moment, your first allegiance will be to each other, and to the project that has brought us here."

  At a nod from the captain, his exec added an overlay to the shield. When the transparent overlay settled, a milky-white winged stallion reared on the field of red, white, and blue. Westfall let everyone in the room get a good look.

  "Welcome to Project Pegasus, ladies and gentlemen. We are now one team, with one mission. Before any of us leaves this corner of the desert, the new all-weather, all-terrain attack/transport vehicle known as Pegasus will be certified to run with the wind, swim the oceans and fly to the stars. Your country is depending on you to make it happen."

  The terse pronouncement killed any tendencies toward levity among the assembled personnel.

  "You'll receive more detailed briefings on the vehicle when it arrives tomorrow. Today you'll get security and area threat briefings, be issued your site IDs and go through a medical screening."

  The captain collapsed his pointer with a snap.

  "Major Bradshaw, I'll turn the group over to you now."

  "Yes, sir."

  Jill stood at attention with the others while Captain Westfall departed. When he'd cleared the building, she moved to the podium. As she looked out over the sea of faces, the realization that she was responsible for both their safety and their adherence to ul-trastrict security measures hit her smack in the chest.

  One compromise of classified test information, and her neck would be on the block. One physical breach of the Pegasus site, and she could kiss her career goodbye.

  Her glance slid to Cody Richardson, lingered a moment, shifted back to the crowd at large.

  "Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. I'm Major Jill Bradshaw. My security forces and I are going to be watching out for you—and watching over you—for the next few months."

  Chapter 3

  Cody hooked his stethoscope around his neck and scribbled an entry in the form on the clipboard. Sixty-five patients in three and a half hours. Seventeen more to go.

  All that was really required today was an intake exam—temperature, blood pressure, heart rate, updated health history, etc. The small team of highly skilled corpsmen assigned to the Pegasus site could have handled those tasks easily. Cody had wanted to meet each of the test cadre members personally, however, and get their take on their physical, emotional and mental condition.

  If the first sixty-five were to be believed, he thought wryly, Captain Westfall had assembled the healthiest military team in the history of the universe. Only one had a condition that required watching. Lieutenant Colonel Bill Thompson, the Air Force rep, had mild atrial fibrillation, the most common form of heart arrhythmia. It was a lifelong condition that didn't require medication or he wouldn't have been cleared to fly. As a result, Cody didn't anticipate having to spend a whole lot of time here in the clinic. Good thing, since providing medical care to the folks on-site was only the secondary reason for his presence out here in the middle of the desert.

  Thinking of the twists and turns his life had taken to bring him to this place and this time, he tipped his chair against the wall. Slowly, inevitably, the familiar poison of guilt and regret seeped through his veins.

  How the hell had things gone so wrong? Why hadn't he seen the train barreling along the tracks before it ran right over him? How had he managed to lose himself long before he lost Alicia?

  Knowing he'd find no answers to the questions that had plagued him more than three years now, he shoved his chair back and rejoined his team in the clinic area.

  "Who's next?"

  "Major Jill Bradshaw," a white-suited corpsman replied, handing him another clipboard. "She's in cubicle two."

  A ripple of completely unprofessional anticipation feathered along Cody's nerves. He'd been waiting for this particular patient.

  "Is Petty Officer Ingalls with her?"

  "Yes, sir."

  Hospital Corpsman Second Class Beverly -Ingalls was one of only two women on Cody's medical staff. She'd assisted him in the exam of other females assigned to the Pegasus cadre. She'd assist him in this one, as well.

  As he walked toward the curtained cubicle, Cody skimmed Jill Bradshaw's chart. Her vitals looked good. Better than good. So did her physical stats. Age, thirty-one. Height, five-seven. Weight, 121. Nonsmoker. Occasional social drinker. No history of serious or debilitating diseases.

  Lifting the curtain, he nodded to the woman seated on the exam table, swinging a boot impatiently. "He
llo again, Major."

  "Sir."

  She ran a quick glance down the white coat he wore over his uniform and cocked her head. "No glasses?"

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "The photo in your background file shows you in a lab coat and wire-rimmed glasses. I sort of assumed the two went together."

  "Not anymore. It got to be a pain sliding my glasses up on my forehead whenever I bent to look in a microscope so I had Lasik surgery earlier this year." He flipped through the forms on the clipboard. "I skimmed through your medical history. On paper you look pretty healthy."

  In Cody's considered opinion, she looked pretty darned good in the flesh, too. Her skin glowed with a rosy tint that owed more to exercise and a sensible diet than cosmetics, and her corn-silk hair had a smooth, glossy sheen that dared a man to run his hands through it. Resisting the impulse, he handed Petty Officer Ingalls the chart and dragged his stethoscope from around his neck.

  "Unbutton your shirt, please."

  While the major slipped the buttons on her BDU shirt, Cody wrapped himself in a cloak of professional detachment. Or tried to. For reasons he didn't stop and analyze at the moment, he had trouble viewing Major Jill Bradshaw with his usual impassive objectivity.

  If any of the patients he screened in the past ninety minutes was going to rouse the male in him, Cody would have bet money on the flame-haired knockout. Lieutenant Commander Hargrave filled out a uniform like no one he'd ever examined before. Yet he'd experienced no more than a fleeting appreciation at her perfect symmetry of face and form. In contrast, he felt his breath hitch as Jill Bradshaw's hair parted to give him a glimpse of soft, white nape.

  Suddenly Cody stiffened. Beneath that spun-gold silk lay one of the most vicious scars he'd seen since his E.R. rotation at Raleigh's busy Memorial Hospital. The puckered seam of flesh tracked a path from just behind her left ear to her collar before disappearing under the crewneck of her regulation brown T-shirt.