LITMIR.BIZ

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No one should live in that kind of poverty.

      As Gus brought the Apache in for a perfect three-wheel landing, Cam felt sad. He had been the only positive part of her day. She gritted her teeth, girding herself for her next duty, which was to talk individually to each pilot about what she saw as his weaknesses and strengths. The task was not going to be fun at all.

      Cam missed the camaraderie of her sisters, as well as her fellow pilots at the BJS base in Peru. Akiva had been right; when one assumed a leadership role, the fun of being a pilot went out the window—pronto. Having no one to talk to on a personal level weighed heavily on Cam.

      She gazed out the windshield as the rotors stopped turning. Below, a U.S. Army crew tethered the rotors and the chief of the ground crew gave the signal that it was safe to open their individual cockpit covers. Until Mexican Army crews could be trained to take over these jobs, the U.S. Army would supply ground crews to Mexico.

      Pushing up the canopy, Cam unharnessed herself, trying to tuck all her fears away. Somehow she had to look confident and authoritative, as if she knew what she was doing when she talked to Antonio and Luis. It wasn’t going to be pleasant.

      On the ground, she saw Gus take off his helmet. He quickly ran his long fingers through his short, thick black hair, taming it back into place. When she looked at him, he grinned at her like an excited little boy. In that moment, all her consternation dissolved beneath the warmth and joy in his eyes as he held her gaze. Taking off her own helmet, Cam set it on the fuselage of the Apache as the ground crew rapidly worked around them. She had her hair in a ponytail, and reaching up, she loosened it so that it flowed down around her face and shoulders once again.

      Unexpected hunger sizzled through Gus as Cam’s hair flowed like a chestnut cape around her proud shoulders. The sunlight caressed her as she picked up her helmet and tucked it beneath her left elbow, then picked up her clipboard. The breeze lifted some strands, highlighting the gold-red tones. She was incredibly beautiful to him in that moment. The world seemed to stop turning for Gus as Cam looked up at him from only a few feet away. The voices of the ground crew, the calls of the seagulls wheeling above them, the noise of a diesel fuel truck coming toward them, all dissolved. He was aware only of her. That oval face dotted with girlish freckles, those thoughtful but worried green eyes of hers and her very soft, parted lips all conspired against him.

      As their gazes locked and held for an instant, Gus felt the armor he’d placed around his heart crack. He literally felt and heard it, and the sensation was startling. Frightening. Euphoric. He stood there staring at her, and really looked at Cam for the first time, man to woman.

      Swallowing hard, he forced himself to tear his gaze from hers a second later. But not before he saw her cheeks turn a distinct rose color. Had he seen her eyes change? Had they really become a velvet green with flecks of sunlight in them as she’d stared back at him? Trying to shake off the sensation, because it wasn’t appropriate under the circumstances, Gus turned away. But he remembered her eyes. They were like dark, placid green pools he’d seen in the jungles of the Yucatan peninsula that he’d visited with his parents as they taught him about his ancient Mayan heritage. If she met her, his mother would whisper that Cam had “jaguar eyes.” Eyes that now held Gus frozen, a captive—but what an eager one he was! To his consternation and shock, he realized that he could have fallen helplessly into Cam’s gaze, a willing prisoner.

      Turning, he fell into step with her as they headed back to the barracks. Cam kept a casual distance between them, and glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, Gus wondered if she’d felt anything toward him in that crazy moment out of time. Her cheeks were still a high pink color, and she was looking down at the ground, her brows drawn downward. Realizing abruptly that she probably hadn’t, Gus found himself in an unexpected quandary.

      He liked Cam. Liked everything about her, probably more than he should, given their professional relationship. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he took off his flight gloves and jammed them into the left pocket of his flight suit. Within moments they would be at the two-story barracks, climbing the outside wooden stairs to the second floor, where their H.Q. was located. Time. He needed some quiet time to think about what had just occurred. Tonight, when he went to his assigned cubical on the first floor, and the lights were out, he’d feel his way through it all. Maybe then he’d get some answers.

      Chapter 5

      Exhausted, Cam walked down to her small room on the first floor of the barracks—her “home” until she could find an apartment near the base. Darkness had fallen. After spending so much energy talking individually to the two arrogant Mexican pilots, she was emotionally whipped. Gus had been a dream in comparison. He’d hung on every word of her critique of his flight performance, asked good questions on how to become better the next time around. Gus was her only bright spot in the whole day.

      Heart heavy, Cam realized she wasn’t even hungry. It was 1900 and she knew she should eat, but she was too upset. Being a leader was harder than she’d ever envisioned. Gaining a new respect for her own C.O., Major Stevenson, Cam unlocked the door to her room. Stepping in, she turned on the overhead light. Earlier in the day, when she’d arrived at the base via commercial airline, she’d thrown her two pieces of luggage into the room, shed her civilian clothes and quickly donned the dark green flight suit worn by U.S. Army aviators.

      Looking around as she quietly closed the door, Cam decided that even though this was a spare room, it was posh in comparison to her digs at the cave in Peru where the squadron was based. Here she had a double bed, a wooden dresser with a mirror, and two large metal lockers to store her few clothes in. A television, DVD player and radio were all unexpected bonuses to her. At BJS, no one had these things, though one building on the other side of the mountain—the mining operation that was a front for their black ops—had a satellite dish where off-duty personnel could go watch television and find out what was happening in the rest of the world. It was a treat to have time to do that.

      Cam’s new room had a small desk and a phone, and she’d brought her Mac titanium G4 laptop, which she’d use to communicate with her colleagues. Next to it she placed the very expensive iridium satellite phone.

      Cam reached for the Velcro closing at the top of her flight suit and tugged it open. Pulling out the white silk scarf she always wore around her neck in order to stop the uniform from chafing her skin as she scanned the skies, Cam sat down. She needed someone to talk to. Someone whose advice could help her get through this messy situation. Picking up the satellite phone, she dialed a number.

      “Stevenson here.”

      “Maya? This is Cam. I hope it’s not too late?”

      Chuckling, Maya said, “I figured I’d hear from you. And late? When I’m known to stay up half the night and then crash for a few hours on the bunk in my office? I don’t think so.”

      “It’s great to hear a friendly voice,” Cam said, meaning it. She gripped the phone anxiously.

      “So, you hit a brick wall with your pilots?”

      Sighing, she nodded. “Yeah, two out of the three are challenges. Only one, Chief Gus Morales, is the material we’re looking for.”

      “So, give me the down and dirty on all of them. Let’s talk.”

      Relieved, Cam quickly related the day’s events. Her heart was beating hard in her chest because she didn’t want to disappoint Maya. She didn’t want her to think she wasn’t up to the job before her. Right now, Cam felt like a loser.

      “Let me do some more background snooping on Dominguez and Zaragoza, okay? If they’re that bad, why the hell did the army allow them to pass? That’s my first question. Secondly, I know that the Mexican military have been putting only two students per rotation through Apache school. Why should these two get it, instead of guys who really want the training?”

      Rubbing her aching head, Cam muttered, “I don’t know. There’s nothing in their personnel jackets to indicate why.”

      Chuckling darkly, Maya said, “Personnel jackets are sanitized versions of reality, and tell you little. Don’t

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