Night Flight by Lindsay McKenna

Edwards without you adding to it!”
    Her cry serrated him and made him visibly wince. More than anything in that moment, Sam wanted to take her into his arms. It was obvious that she carried pain around with her daily by being here at this base. Colonel Roberts had augered in a year ago at Edwards. Megan had come back. Why? To rectify her past? Work through her grief and loss of her father? Mother? Holt had a lot of questions and few answers.
    “Take it easy,” he coaxed huskily. “I’ll leave.” He didn’t want to address the other issues. Megan was in enough pain. A large part of him was extremely protective of her, but something cautioned him to leave her alone. Give her room. Throwing her a mock salute, he said, “I’ll be seeing you around, Red.”
    Megan stared after him. Holt’s walk was cocky, brazen.
    She liked the way he squared his broad shoulders. So why did she feel disappointed when he left? Hadn’t she expected Holt to ask her out, or give her another line? Jet jockeys never quit once they had drawn a bead on their target. Wearily, she called it a day. Right now, her small Victorian apartment was all she wanted. There, she could hide and lick her oozing wounds that Holt had torn open by asking questions.
    Her hands shook as she locked the desk drawer. So why had she leveled with Sam? What was so different about him that her heart trusted him, even if her wary head didn’t? With a mutter of disgust, Megan put the keys in her purse and headed to the door. There were more important issues to address than that of Sam Holt muddying up her life.

6
    Curt took off his sunglasses as he entered his home. The bright October sunlight poured in through the screen door when he opened, it. It was five o’clock, and he expected to find Becky in the kitchen cooking their dinner. Sniffing, there was no hint of food in the air like there usually was. Frowning, he hooked the sunglasses into the breast pocket of his green flight uniform.
    In the past month since Patty’s problems began in school, something had gone wrong, and he couldn’t identify what it was. Becky was withdrawing from him, and it left him worrying constantly about her. About them. He found Patty playing in the kitchen, pots and pans scattered around her on the floor. Scowling, he looked around.
    “Where’s Mommy!” he asked her, crouching down.
    Patty shrugged. “Don’t know.”
    What the hell was going on? “Put those away, Patty. You know you’re not supposed to play with them. The floor’s dirty.”
    “Daddy…”
    “Do it!” He straightened, glaring at his daughter, and watched as she stuck her lower lip out in a pout.
    “Becky!” he called loudly, his voice carrying. “Becky!”
    No answer. She would never leave Patty alone like this. Was she taking a bath? Agitated, Curt strode through the living room and down the hall. As he neared the master bedroom, the distinct smell of whiskey assailed his nostrils. Heart starting a hard pound, Merrill froze, stymied.
    The door was locked. Cursing, he pounded on it. “Becky! Dammit, open up this door!” His voice carried down the hall. Breathing hard, Curt tried to capture his escaping feelings. “Becky!” Doubling his fist, he beat heavily on the wood.
    Patty came running, poised at the end of the hall, her eyes large. Curt snapped his head to the right. “Get back in the kitchen!” he roared at her.
    Tears formed and fell from Patty’s huge brown eyes, and she turned with a sob, disappearing.
    Anxiety paralleled his anger. No answer. What had Becky done? Drank whiskey because he’d flown today? Fear avalanched over him. He put his shoulder to the door and slammed all his weight into it.
    The door gave way after the third try. Wood splintered. Merrill fell into the room and reclaimed his balance. The place was dark, reeking of whiskey.
    “Becky?” His voice was wobbly. Squinting, Curt could barely make out her still form on the tangled covers of the unmade bed. Turning, he