Heart Of The Tiger

“I won’t lie to you.”

“There isn’t an operative alive who doesn’t lie. That uniform could be nothing more than a cover!”

“I’m a major in the Air Force. And I am a pilot.”

Her lovely eyes narrowed. “Be careful, Talbot. My father was in the Air Force. And he was one of the finest test pilots they ever had.”

“I know that.”

“Of course you would. You have my whole life history on microfilm somewhere in the vaults.”

“I’ve read your file.”

An Air Force pilot, indeed! Layne thought angrily. How many times had Brad assumed other careers, other covers to suit the purpose of his job? “What do you fly?”

He gave a lazy shrug of his broad shoulders. “Anything they’ll let me get my hands on.”

“Any idiot knows you’re either a fighter or a bomber pilot, Major! Don’t hedge on that with me. I’m afraid you don’t know your cover very well. I’m not impressed.”

“I’m a test pilot. Is that acceptable?”

Layne sat back, surprise followed by sadness welling up in her. Memories of her father came rushing back. She remembered his taciturn face as he’d climbed into the cockpit of the aircraft that would kill him on that hot October day. She forced herself to look at Matt Talbot again. Yes, he had that same look she had seen on other test pilots—the “look of the eagles.” These men had an arrogant pride melded with the unshakable confidence that they could fly anything with wings attached to it.

“Where are you stationed?”

Matt sipped his wine. “Nellis Air Force Base.”

Layne’s mind ranged over the myriad bases her father had been assigned to during the twenty years he had been in the Air Force. “Nellis isn’t a testing base. Edwards is where they test all the new aircraft.” She watched him, waiting for an answer, but his face remained impassive. He said nothing.

“Well?” she prodded.

“I’m assigned to Tactical Air Command, Layne,” he said, using her name for the first time since that evening. “Other than that, there are some things I can’t tell you, so I’ll remain silent rather than fabricate a story.”

Her lips compressed as she glared at him. “Nellis is home of the Red Flag. It’s where our fighter pilots sharpen their skills against specially trained U.S. pilots who fly like Soviets.”

He gave her a nod of his head. “Yes. They’re called Aggressor pilots and spend at least five hundred hours learning Soviet fighter techniques to use in training flights against American fighter pilots.”

“But you’re not an Aggressor pilot?”

“I was once, many years ago.”

“But not now?”

“No.”

“Nellis is right outside Las Vegas. It’s all desert and sagebrush. What’s a test pilot doing there?” she demanded. She felt frustration nestling in her throat. This conversation was reminding her of talks with Brad. Only Brad had always smoothly handed her a story, treating her like a child. Matt Talbot was at least telling her he wasn’t lying to her, even if it meant withholding information. Which was better? she thought angrily. “Wait a minute, I saw an article in the Washington Post just last week about…” Her voice trailed off, then she straightened. “RAVEN. They say the RAVEN prototype is at Nellis for testing because the airspace there is off-limits to all civilians.”

Talbot’s face revealed nothing, but his azure eyes calmly met hers.

Layne grimaced. “All right. Don’t say anything. By saying nothing you’re practically admitting to me you’re one of the men testing the RAVEN bomber!”

“I’d rather talk about why we need your help, Layne,” Talbot returned quietly.

She slid her fingers around her wineglass. “I’m listening. Not that it’s going to do you any good. I can say no to you just as easily as I did to Chuck Lowell.”

The waiter arrived, bringing each of them a crisp salad topped with a special vinaigrette-and-baby-shrimp house dressing. Perhaps he wasn’t lying. Why did part of her want so much to believe he was telling the truth? Because, her suspicious mind said, he held you last night when you were hurting so badly. He could even have taken you to bed and made love to you…. Layne gasped softly, stunned by her realization. Bed? Matt Talbot running his lean, powerful fingers over her hungry body?

“Chuck was right, we do need your services as an interpreter of Chinese,” Matt said, breaking into her tumultuous thoughts. A self-deprecating smile tugged at his mouth. “I don’t speak one word of Chinese, and we need someone who can.”

Unwittingly, Layne found herself lulled into the conversation. “You’re going to China?”

“I’m going, yes. But not to China. To Hong Kong.”

She blotted her mouth with the napkin, intrigued. “I know Hong Kong like the back of my hand. My father made many friends over there while I was growing up.”

Matt put the half-eaten salad aside, resting his elbows on the table, concentrating on her. “That’s another reason why your name came up, Layne. One of your old friends contacted us while trying to reach you.”

She frowned. “Who?”

“The last time you and your husband took a vacation, you went to Hong Kong and ended up writing a series of articles. Do you remember?”

The old hurt came up again. That had been the last vacation she had shared with Brad shortly before his death. “Y-yes, of course I remember it.” And she also remembered Brad’s cold, biting anger because she had insisted upon doing the articles. He had wanted to relax around the Princeton Hotel, taking it easy, while she’d been as excited as a child at Christmas at an offered chance to meet Kang Ying, lao-pan, or leader, of the notorious pirates of the South China Sea. During the interview she and the lao-pan had developed a warm friendship that had endured, although they had not seen each other again. Brad had been furious with her for abandoning him.

Matt saw her face contort, her topaz eyes darkening with momentary pain. Out of instinct he reached across the table, briefly capturing her hand and giving it a squeeze. “Are you all right?”

The husky tenor of his voice was like a balm to her aching heart. For once she didn’t pull away from his touch. His fingers were warm, caressing the coolness of her own. The moment he moved his hand away she felt a stab of loss. Layne raised her head, trying to understand his actions. Either he was a consummate actor and knew when to touch her to gain her trust, or—she took a sharp breath—or he was a sensitive, caring man. Chewing on her lower lip, Layne fought to corral her emotions, not trusting her voice just yet to answer.

“I’m okay,” she said finally.

Matt could see that Layne was upset and wondered why she’d suddenly withdrawn. “I didn’t mean to stir up any muddy waters,” he apologized. “Kang Ying sent a message through one of our agents on Kowloon that he desperately needed your help.”

“The lao-pan himself?” Layne couldn’t hide the concern and anxiety in her voice. “Why would Kang want my help? This doesn’t make sense.”

Matt watched the waiter approach with the main course. “Here’s our meal, Layne. Let’s talk later.”

She couldn’t resist a smile. Matt Talbot had shifted from an engaging luncheon companion to all business in those split seconds. He wouldn’t want a shred of what they were discussing overheard by anyone—including a waiter. Oddly, though, his presence gave her a sense of security. As the waiter approached, setting Layne’s plate before her with a flourish, she offered Matt Talbot her first genuine smile. And she saw a brief look of surprise flare in his eyes. Let him wonder why she’d smiled at him. Let him stew in his own juices for a while. She laughed to herself, suddenly feeling lighter and happier than she had in years.

Chapter 3

Matt watched Layne covertly as she picked at her meal. After awarding him that heart-stopping smile, Layne had visibly relaxed. Was she excited about the reference to Kang? Her love of the Chinese and the Far East was well documented throughout her personnel file. Or was she beginning to like him? He shut off those hopes ruthlessly, as quickly as they arose. There was no room in his life for any kind of emotional entanglement. His brother was either dead or had been captured, and his need to get to Hong Kong and find him was paramount. This elegant, attractive woman sitting across from him could lead him to Kang and, he hoped, to Jim and his copilot, also lost in the crash.

Layne waited until the waiter had cleared the table before resuming their serious topic of conversation. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that Kang knows your people. The Company has its tentacles into everything and everyone.”

“Kang’s a criminal, we know that. But he also has access to the tongs and triads over there, as well as to agents looking for information.” Matt rested his chin against his folded hands. “Time’s at a premium, Layne.”

Despite herself, she responded when he used her name. It felt like a caress. Trying to ignore her reaction to him, she frowned. “It’s not a normal ploy to drag a civilian into your cloak-and-dagger stuff, Major.”

He shrugged. “I agree with you. But we’re not running this show, Kang is. The incident that occurred has made him a necessary middleman through whom we have to deal. And he said he wouldn’t consider working with us unless you act as intermediary.” Matt’s frown matched hers. “Apparently he puts great trust in you, Layne.”