most vulnerable. And somehow he'd figured out a way to make her feel responsible for his failures, using her built-in sense of obligation to justify his behavior.
But if you leave, he won't be able to punish you for his sins, and that scares him.
The realization slammed into her with the force of an explosion, and she grabbed the edge of the nearest table to steady herself. So much was becoming clear about her life. "This isn't about Ian at all, is it?" she said. "You're desperate. You can't let me go. If you do, you'll have no one to blame for your mistakes." Why hadn't she seen it before? Why had it taken so long? "You shot me down. Jock, and that got you booted out of the air force. Remember? But you hated the fact that I was still in, so you told me I'd do a lousy job of raising our kids if I returned to flying. I stood by you through everything—the Saudi incident, the court-martial. Even when Glen accused you of sleeping with his wife." Her voice shook. "I must have been blind! Every time you failed— as a soldier, as a husband— I paid the price." There was silence on the other end. Her voice gained strength and purpose. "Guilt was your weapon of choice. Used quite effectively, I might add, when I found out you'd been fooling around on me for years. That's my fault, too? Go to hell, Jock. The reason I was lousy in bed was because you never could find the target."
Jas jammed the off button with her finger as Ian popped his head through the garage door. "Ready, Mom?"
Her heart thundered and her hands shook. "Yeah, sweetie."
She climbed into the Range Rover's passenger seat. Clutching her hands, she stared straight ahead as he backed out of the driveway. "I don't care how you do it. Just get me there in time for the eight-ten night to D.C."
"You got it." Tires squealing, they were off.
Ian gave her a sidelong glance. As if sensing her disquiet, he joked. "So, madame. Is this trip for business or pleasure?"
With that, a surge of pure excitement swept through her, along with the calming sense that what she was about to do was right. With a sigh, she relaxed against the leather seat. "Well, now. I suppose I'd call it a little bit of both."
* * *
Andrews Air Force Base Flight Operations sat next to the flight line—an asphalt field of taxiways, hangars, and runways. Jas ignored the flight crew only signs on the building's automatic doors and found the women's rest room. Hurriedly, she changed into her flight suit, combat boots, and standard air force-issue brown leather jacket. Facing the mirror, she donned a flight cap; it was a dark blue hat worn many times, with her former officer's rank pinned to the right side. After positioning the cap two fingers' width above her eyebrows, she headed out into the cold, damp night, hoping no one noticed that she was a bit mature-looking to be wearing the silver bar of a first lieutenant. But everything else so far had gone smoothly—including the lift she'd gotten from a
former colleague of Dan's, a Pentagon employee happy to do a favor for his friend. Their admission onto the base proceeded with little more than a cursory wave, and the man was unaware of the crucial role he'd played in dropping her off. Without the coveted sticker he had on his windshield, she would have needed a visitor's pass, which meant forms to fill out, delays, questions—attention she did not want.
Jas strode along a well-lit road paralleling the flight line. To her left was a barbed wire—topped chain-link fence separating her from the runways. Jet engines thundered in the distance. Her muscles tensed as she watched green and red winking lights soar skyward. It was a cargo plane, not a spaceship. So far, so good—all air traffic would be stopped long before a spaceship was allowed to depart. Yet she couldn't keep from checking her watch.
Ninety minutes until launch.
Quickening her pace, she ignored the pounding of her travel bag
But if you leave, he won't be able to punish you for his sins, and that scares him.
The realization slammed into her with the force of an explosion, and she grabbed the edge of the nearest table to steady herself. So much was becoming clear about her life. "This isn't about Ian at all, is it?" she said. "You're desperate. You can't let me go. If you do, you'll have no one to blame for your mistakes." Why hadn't she seen it before? Why had it taken so long? "You shot me down. Jock, and that got you booted out of the air force. Remember? But you hated the fact that I was still in, so you told me I'd do a lousy job of raising our kids if I returned to flying. I stood by you through everything—the Saudi incident, the court-martial. Even when Glen accused you of sleeping with his wife." Her voice shook. "I must have been blind! Every time you failed— as a soldier, as a husband— I paid the price." There was silence on the other end. Her voice gained strength and purpose. "Guilt was your weapon of choice. Used quite effectively, I might add, when I found out you'd been fooling around on me for years. That's my fault, too? Go to hell, Jock. The reason I was lousy in bed was because you never could find the target."
Jas jammed the off button with her finger as Ian popped his head through the garage door. "Ready, Mom?"
Her heart thundered and her hands shook. "Yeah, sweetie."
She climbed into the Range Rover's passenger seat. Clutching her hands, she stared straight ahead as he backed out of the driveway. "I don't care how you do it. Just get me there in time for the eight-ten night to D.C."
"You got it." Tires squealing, they were off.
Ian gave her a sidelong glance. As if sensing her disquiet, he joked. "So, madame. Is this trip for business or pleasure?"
With that, a surge of pure excitement swept through her, along with the calming sense that what she was about to do was right. With a sigh, she relaxed against the leather seat. "Well, now. I suppose I'd call it a little bit of both."
* * *
Andrews Air Force Base Flight Operations sat next to the flight line—an asphalt field of taxiways, hangars, and runways. Jas ignored the flight crew only signs on the building's automatic doors and found the women's rest room. Hurriedly, she changed into her flight suit, combat boots, and standard air force-issue brown leather jacket. Facing the mirror, she donned a flight cap; it was a dark blue hat worn many times, with her former officer's rank pinned to the right side. After positioning the cap two fingers' width above her eyebrows, she headed out into the cold, damp night, hoping no one noticed that she was a bit mature-looking to be wearing the silver bar of a first lieutenant. But everything else so far had gone smoothly—including the lift she'd gotten from a
former colleague of Dan's, a Pentagon employee happy to do a favor for his friend. Their admission onto the base proceeded with little more than a cursory wave, and the man was unaware of the crucial role he'd played in dropping her off. Without the coveted sticker he had on his windshield, she would have needed a visitor's pass, which meant forms to fill out, delays, questions—attention she did not want.
Jas strode along a well-lit road paralleling the flight line. To her left was a barbed wire—topped chain-link fence separating her from the runways. Jet engines thundered in the distance. Her muscles tensed as she watched green and red winking lights soar skyward. It was a cargo plane, not a spaceship. So far, so good—all air traffic would be stopped long before a spaceship was allowed to depart. Yet she couldn't keep from checking her watch.
Ninety minutes until launch.
Quickening her pace, she ignored the pounding of her travel bag
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