Hangar 13

Hangar 13
Lindsay McKenna

The moment she stepped into the echoing silence of Hangar 13, Ellie O'Gentry knew herself to be in the presence of an entity of breathtaking power–a presence so terrible, she doubted that even the mystic gifts bequeathed by her ancestors could lay it to rest.

She knew, too, how difficult it was for a combat-hardened fighter pilot like Major Mac Stanford, a man who placed his faith in refined technology and raw courage, to recognize the limits of his powersand ask for guidance of a Cherokee medicine shaman.

But some things simply could not be denied. Like the evil spirit gathering strength in Hangar 13and the stunning passion flaring between Ellie and this modern-day warrior.

“I don’t know what happened in there,” Mac said tightly. “I saw it, but I don’t believe what I saw.”

Ellie nodded and allowed him to open the door of the Corvette for her. She waited until they were driving away from the hangar before she spoke.

“Mac, what happened in there wasn’t caused by anything physical. You’re going to have to accept that sooner or later. Whatever is in that hangar is angry, and is carrying a lot of hatred.”

“How do you know?”

“I felt it.”

“This is crazy!”

“This thing isn’t going to stop hurling tools at your people. Sooner or later, it could do some serious damage. Is that what you want, Mac? Do you want your people hurt? Maybe even killed?”

“This is just too much for me to believe, Ellie.”

When she spoke again, her voice was a whisper. “I know it is….”

LINDSAY MCKENNA

A homeopathic educator, Lindsay McKenna teaches at the Desert Institute of Classical Homeopathy in Phoenix, Arizona. When she isn’t teaching alternative medicine, she is writing books about love. She feels love is the single greatest healer in the world and hopes that her books touch her readers on those levels. Coming from an Eastern Cherokee medicine family, Lindsay has taught ceremony and healing ways from the time she was nine years old. She creates flower and gem essences in accordance with nature, and remains closely in touch with her Native American roots and upbringing.

Hangar 13

Lindsay McKenna

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

“Major Stanford, we’ve got trouble.”

Mac Stanford looked up from the F-15 maintenance reports commanding his attention. Master Sergeant Gus Calhoon stood in his doorway, looking very unhappy. Placing his pen aside, Mac gestured for him to come in and shut the door.

“What is it, Gus?” Mac reared slowly back in his chair, the springs protesting. The sounds of his maintenance crew at work in the hangar filtered in through the open window.

Gus hovered hesitantly by the door. His oval face was badly wrinkled, his blue eyes flinty, his mouth pursed. Finally he came over to the desk. “Sir, it’s happened again.”

Mac’s brow gathered in a frown. “Again? What’s happened again?” He searched his mind for what Gus could be referring to. Not for the first time that morning, Mac wished he could be flying. It was 0900 hours, and the sky at Luke Air Force Base near Phoenix, Arizona was clear and just begging to be flown in. But a big part of his job was being maintenance commander for the squadron. The sky would have to wait.

“You know…” Gus pleaded in a low voice. He glanced toward the door as if to make sure it was shut.

Mac’s dark brown brows dipped. “No, I don’t know, Gus. Fill me in.” He gestured toward his desk, which was littered with reports. “With the general inspection coming up, I’m lucky if I can remember my name.” The inspector general’s annual visit was a pain-in-the-neck event intended to determine the readiness of everything on the military base. Mac had a lot of pressures on him to get the squadron’s planes in shape. If Luke got its usual high marks in the IG, he’d still be eligible for his “early” lieutenant-colonel leaves.

Rubbing his square jaw, Gus sat down in the leather chair in front of the desk. “Sir, remember two weeks ago when Sergeant Claris was in the cockpit of the F-15 and a wrench was thrown at her? It hit her in the back and she sustained some bruises and a laceration?”

Mac groaned. He placed his hands on the desk, scowling. “Yes…did you ever find out who threw it at her?”

Gus raised his eyes. “Sir, I didn’t find anyone. Sergeant Claris was alone in Hangar 13, working late. There was no one around—just her.”

“Well, what’s happened now?” Mac tried to appear patient.

“It’s Hangar 13 again. Only this time, it happened to Sergeant Burke. He was up on the scaffolding checking out an F-15 engine when he got nailed.”

The master sergeant squirmed nervously in his chair. Mac was feeling a bit edgy himself, and his voice came out sharply. “Just tell me what happened.”

“Yes, sir. Sergeant Burke was working on the wing, and his assistant, Sergeant Turner, was in the cockpit. This—this wrench came flying through the air and hit Burke on the head. It drew blood, sir, and damn near knocked him off the scaffolding.”

Mouth twitching, Mac rose to his full six feet. “Who did it?”

“Uhh, no one…again, sir,” Gus muttered.

Mac stared at him in disbelief. Gus Calhoon was a crusty thirty-year veteran of the air force and had seen it all, from Korea, to Vietnam and, of late, Desert Storm. There was no one more practical, more down-to-earth, than Gus. Flexing his fingers, Mac slowly came around the end of the desk and stood in front of him.