of his unit’s operation, Mike assessed the man behind the uniform. Rogue had stated unequivocally that any feelings she’d once harbored for Harper had died years ago. She was also confident that his presence at RAF Leuchars wouldn’t throw her off her game. Mike trusted her judgment on that. Like him, she’d competed in countless nerve-bending competitions. She knew better than anyone else what would—or wouldn’t—impact her performance.
The question that now had to be answered was whether her presence would impact Harper’s mission if the press IDed him as Dayna’s former lover and came sniffing around the captain. Mike had discussed the situation with his commander when they’d met earlier. The more he saw of the B-2 operation, the more he agreed with the colonel’s decision to take drastic measures to shield the detachment from prying eyes.
From the pride in Harper’s voice as he described his bird and its mission, Mike guessed the pilot was not going to like those measures.
That became instantly apparent when the two men returned to the colonel’s office. Responding to Mike’s subtle nod, Anderson dropped the ax.
“I told you Callahan here works for the government. His sources told him that you once had a romantic relationship with one of the golfers competing in the Women’s International Pro-Am Charity Golf Tournament at St. Andrews.”
Harper was quick. Surprise blanked his face for mere seconds before giving way to wary comprehension.
“That’s right. Dayna Duncan. I didn’t realize our one-time relationship was a matter of government interest.”
Harper leveled a hard stare in Mike’s direction before turning back to the colonel.
“I can see the complications to our detachment’s mission,” he conceded reluctantly. “Someone in the media is bound to recognize me and start snooping around to find out why I’m in the U.K.”
Anderson didn’t waste words. “Then you’ll understand why I’ve arranged to have you reassigned to the 3rd AF Executive Support Unit, with detached duty here at RAF Leuchars, effective immediately.”
“What?”
“You’ll act as liaison with the British VIP support section across base. That way, if asked, you can say with absolute honesty that you’re attached to the RAF unit. You’re still current on the C-21 Learjet, which is one of the aircraft they use to transport VIPs, so it shouldn’t be a difficult transition.”
“To hell with difficult!”
Harper’s disgust at being relegated to the status of a flying cabdriver overcame his ingrained respect for authority and rank.
“I’m scheduled for a run over a heavily defended target in two days and you’re going to pull me to haul VIPs around the capitals of Europe?”
Anderson hadn’t earned his eagles without learning how to use them. Even Mike felt the ice when the colonel leaned forward.
“I’m well aware of the schedule, Captain, and yes, I’m pulling you.”
Harper clamped his mouth shut over further protests but a muscle ticked in the side of his jaw.
“Since you’ve just come off a mission, I want you to take twenty-four hours to decompress. Report to the Brits’ Executive Support Section tomorrow morning. They’ll have a desk waiting for you.”
An expression of acute pain crossed the pilot’s face. “A desk,” he muttered under his breath.
Anderson wasn’t much happier about losing one of his best pilots, but he tried to soften the blow.
“Sorry we have to go this route, Luke. You know the security of our unit has to come first.”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s all.”
Dismissed, the pilot speared Hawk with an angry look and departed.
“Damn,” Anderson muttered when Harper had cleared the room. “I hate to lose him, even temporarily. He’s one of our best.” His glance was almost as disgusted as Harper’s. “I want him back as soon as you complete your mission. Make sure everyone in your chain of command understands that.”
“Will do.”
Hawk contacted Dayna as soon as he was clear of the base. Although dawn was just beginning to break, he knew she’d be up and preparing for her practice round. Succinctly, he briefed her on Luke Harper’s change in status.
“It didn’t sit well with him.”
“Tough.”
Hawk hesitated. His loyalty lay with Rogue and the other OMEGA operatives, first, last and always. Yet Luke Harper had impressed him with both his expertise and his obvious dedication to his mission.
“Harper knows this area and the base, Rogue. Might be some way we could exploit that knowledge.”
The suggestion was met with thunderous silence.
“Just something to think about. I’ll brief Lightning on my visit. You go give ’em hell on the links.”
Some miles ahead, Luke steered through the outskirts of town, still simmering.
The United States was at war with an army of fanatical terrorists, for God’s sake! U.S. troops took hits daily in hot spots around the world. Every crew dog worth his or her salt wanted to help bring the war to a swift and decisive end. Thanks to his long-ago romance with Dayna Duncan, Luke’s contribution to the effort would now involve ferrying military and civilian bigwigs around Europe. What a waste of his years of training and experience!
But the security of his unit came first. It would always come first. Acceptance of that unequivocal fact took the edge from Luke’s anger and disgust as turned onto the street leading to his rented flat.
The sight of the TV vans crowding the entrance to his apartment building sent his stomach into a ninety-degree pitch. How had they nosed him out so quickly?
He got the answer when he parked and exited his car amid a swarm of reporters and one of them shoved an early-morning paper in his face.
“Is this you, Captain Harper?”
He could hardly deny the evidence two inches from his nose. There he was, right on the front page, with his arm wrapped around Dayna’s waist and his mouth covering hers. While Luke studied the photo, the questions exploded all around him.
“What’s the story with you and Dayna Duncan?”
“Are you two picking up where you left off?”
“How long have you been stationed in Scotland?”
“Did Dayna sign up for this tournament so you two could reconnect?”
“Will you be in the gallery to watch her practice round?”
Luke thought fast. The damage was done. If he brushed aside their questions, these bloodhounds would dig until they came up with a story. The only solution he could see at this point was to brazen it out and give them enough juicy copy to satisfy even their voracious appetites.
With a dart of savage satisfaction, he set the stage. “Sure, I’ll be there to see her play.”
“She tees off at nine,” another reporter warned after a quick check of his watch.
The perfect exit line, Luke thought as he inserted his key in the door lock. “Guess we’d all better hustle.”
It took Dayna three tries before she finally escaped the media frenzy spawned by the photo in the morning paper. Even then reporters trailed her and her partner, Eleanor Tolbert, out of the clubhouse with cameras rolling.
The wind knifed off the bay, making Dayna glad she’d opted for weatherproof microfiber pants and jacket in eye-popping red. The stiff breeze covered the apology she murmured to Eleanor.
“Sorry ’bout