Midnight Heat (2 page)

“I understand that shortly after taking control of your position last night, you issued an altitude change to Liberty Flight 576. Is that correct?”

“Yes, it’s correct.” She didn’t mention the fact that Pete Moore, the controller who held the shift before her, had left the plane dangerously close to the AirWest plane. “There was a third plane—” she continued on.

“Please, Ms. Burke,” he interrupted. “Just answer my questions yes or no for the time being.”

Of all the … Stay cool. Stay calm. One benefit of being an air-traffic controller was the conditioned response to high-stress situations. This certainly qualified.

Adding control freak to her mental description list of the Predator, she clenched her teeth and said, “Yes, sir.”

He held her gaze for an interminable second, then dropped it back to the notes. “The Liberty pilot reports you then issued a radar warning about a primary target, followed by new coordinates and another change in altitude.”

“Yes.”

“You then issued new coordinates to the AirWest pilot, after which the pilot received a TCAS warning,” he said, referring to the Traffic Collision Avoidance System, a mechanism onboard each aircraft. “You countermanded that warning due to the supposed involvement of the primary target.”

She remained silent.

After a long while he gave her a hard look. “Ms. Burke?”

“Yes?” Adria blamed exhaustion for her irrational need to bring him down a notch. But really, the situation was tense enough without his attitude filling up the room.

“You have no response?”

“Yes, I do. But you didn’t ask me a direct yes-or-no question. I was simply trying to follow orders. Sir.”

A scowl began to form in his mouth. Adria couldn’t suppress the pleasure she took in that
tiny victory. So, he could feel an emotion after all. Even if it was irritation.

The Predator tossed his pencil on the desk and leaned back in his chair. “It’s been a long night, Ms. Burke. I really don’t have the patience to sit here and play games with you.”

Adria imagined he had unlimited patience. Most hunters did.

“My goal here,” he continued, “is determining the cause of the incident. I have an AirWest pilot who says he responded to your directions after the TCAS, only to scrape wingtips with the Liberty, causing both pilots to temporarily lose control of their aircrafts. I don’t have to tell you the odds they beat in getting safely to the ground.”

“And I’m telling you my coordinates were correct,” she shot back, then paused a moment. “Actually, Mr. Colbourne, I’ve gone over this and over this.” Her voice was more controlled, but the electric intensity underlying each word betrayed the cost. “And I don’t think the Liberty and the AirWest did connect.”

“So just what do you think they did collide with?” he demanded. “A UFO?”

“Not in the way you mean, no.” She hurried on before he could comment. “As unbelievable as it may sound, I think they both clipped the primary target.”

He simply continued to stare at her. “Let’s
say for the moment that your … scenario is possible.” His flat tone indicated what he thought of that possibility. “If the primary target had clipped tips with the other planes, it would most certainly have lost control as well, if not crashed. We have no indication of that happening. At the very least, someone on board the Liberty or the AirWest would have seen the primary target if it was as close as you said in your report.”

“There was dense cloud cover, not to mention the fact that it was the middle of the night,” she responded immediately. “So any sight reports would be suspect.”

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk. Why did she get the impression that he was going in for the kill?

“Before you dig yourself in any deeper, Ms. Burke, perhaps you should be aware that both of the captains and their first officers aren’t completely convinced that the primary target ever existed.”

Dane Colbourne watched her closely. Surprise, then anger showed openly on her face. But not even a flicker of fear or vulnerability. He didn’t know what to make of her.

She shot to her feet and planted her fists on the edge of the desk. “What do you mean they don’t think there was a third plane?” Her
shoulder-length brown hair swung forward with the abrupt movement, her eyes shone bright with indignation. They were blue, he now realized. A clear, brilliant blue, like the sky at twenty thousand feet. “Of course there was a third plane! It sure as hell was on my display! Check the tapes if you have to. But it was there. And it must have flown right between the Liberty and the AirWest.”

If it hadn’t happened hours ago, Dane would have questioned whether or not those few glasses of champagne he’d had at his sister Dara’s wedding reception had actually impaired his thinking. Her theory was crazy. And he’d have to be crazy to believe it. But his thinking wasn’t impaired. And one thing he was very clear about was that when it came to one Ms. Adria Burke, nothing she said or did was going to be taken lightly.

Damn but he wanted some aspirin. Raking a hand through his hair, he worked harder for a patient tone than he could remember having to do for some time. One look at the stubborn set to her jaw told him that even if he dredged it up, it wasn’t likely to hold for long.

“Your theory leaves too much unexplained,” he said shortly.

Adria rolled her eyes and made a very unladylike sound of disgust. And Dane suddenly—impossibly—found himself fighting the urge to smile. He was used to mowing people
down with his confidence and certainty, used to getting the job done and done right. Only now did he realize just how exhilarating a worthy adversary might be. If this wasn’t so serious, he might actually enjoy going head to head with her.

She blew out a deep breath, causing the wispy hair fringing her forehead to flutter up, then settle down in complete disarray.

He watched her, waiting and wondering what she’d do or say next. Wondering why he felt such an odd sense of anticipation. Why in the hell he didn’t step in and bring this to his customary finality with a few well-chosen, completely unchallengeable statements.

“Listen,” she said finally. Didn’t she know just how completely she had his attention? “I don’t see why we’re even arguing about this. I mean, the ARTS III tapes contain all the display data. They’ll prove what was there. That the third plane
was
there.”

She really was amazing, he thought. She’d been through a harrowing experience, and while the ending had ultimately been a happy one for the passengers and crew, her job was still on the line. She had to be wiped out. And yet she sat there and defended her actions in a rational and calm manner.

Well, mostly calm anyway. He lowered his head and scanned his notes again, stifling for the second time the urge to smile.

He’d looked at her job file and had to admit he was very impressed. She’d passed her written test on the first try, which wasn’t so unusual, but her scores had been perfect. Then she’d been one of the lucky ones to pass her security clearance check quickly and had landed a plum—and highly unusual—assignment straight out. She’d obtained her FPL—full performance level—rating there in what had to be record time. It normally took four years, she’d done it in three. And the fairy-tale career had continued when her first FPL assignment had been a level-five facility. D.C.’s Metropolitan.

Any suspicions about how she might have landed it would have been put to rest by her work record. She’d been here two years and her performance rating was outstanding. Until recently. It was that tiny section of her work history that he’d focused on. Had to focus on.

According to her file, she’d been reprimanded twice in the last six months. Neither time for anything remotely as serious as the collision, and both times she’d shouldered the blame entirely with no argument, no excuses offered.

Even now, it seemed to him she was as concerned with determining what really happened as she was with clearing her name. His strengths as an investigator were the same ones she’d obviously developed as a controller.
The ability to remain cool and detached no matter how extreme the circumstances. To focus on the facts at hand.

In his case that included going over and over every detail of an incident until any flaw in logic or action was uncovered and analyzed. And all the cold hard facts in this case—not to mention the flaws—pointed at the controller sitting directly across from him.

He couldn’t ignore the regret he felt, but he didn’t let it come through when he spoke. “They are making copies of the ARTS tapes as we speak. The data printout will include everything from the time you took over control of your position. I’ll also be going over the voice and data tapes from both flights.”

He stood and massaged the bridge of his nose, his headache having settled into a slow steady throb. “I will probably have additional questions. Please leave a number with Mr. Beck where you can be reached, and try to stay accessible.”

Several moments of silence passed, then she stood. “That’s it?” she asked with disbelief.

Not hardly, he wanted to respond, but didn’t. Dane swallowed a groan as his shoulder and neck muscles began to compete with the pain in his head. He had long hours ahead of him with no sleep in sight. Instead of the usual rush of anticipation he felt when he took on a
new investigation, he simply felt tired. And confused. He never felt confused.

“I’m very thorough, Ms. Burke.” He locked gazes with her once more. “And I’m damn good. I’ll find out what happened. No matter what.”

She opened her mouth as if to speak, but only huffed out a small sigh of resignation. It bothered Dane more than he cared to admit just how curious he was to know what she’d been about to say.

She lifted her purse from the chair and dug inside. Pulling out a small pad and pencil, she hastily scribbled something, then tore the sheet off and handed it to him. “My home phone number,” she told him. “Though as thorough as you are, I’m sure you have it there in those notes somewhere. As you probably also know, I’m not union, so I’ve been placed on temporary leave until you file your report with Mr. Beck and the FAA. There’s a machine on that line in case I’m not home.”

She was such an easy read. He knew she was dying to ask what his early conclusions were. But she wasn’t going to. Even though she understood that whatever final decision was made would be done largely on the basis of his report. He was very probably holding her entire career in his hands. A career that, up until just recently, she’d obviously worked
damn hard to make a stellar one. He couldn’t deny that he admired her silence.

It wasn’t until he tried to tuck the card in the inside pocket of his jacket that he remembered he was still wearing his tuxedo.

When he’d been beeped at the reception, the only phone available had been in the limo that had brought some of the wedding party. Once he’d called in and been briefed, his only concern had been getting to the airport. He hadn’t taken the time to go home or even drop in at his office to change.

He caught a glimmer of humor in her eyes before she carefully masked it.

“I, uh, was at a wedding reception. My sister’s,” he said, wondering even as he offered the explanation why he’d done so. He wasn’t used to explaining himself, preferring to let his work speak for him. That he hadn’t, until this moment, given any thought to how people perceived him on a personal level did little to ease his uncustomary awkwardness. When she didn’t say anything, he felt foolish. He stuffed the card into the top folder. “I’ll let you know if I find out anything to support your theory.”

“Thank you,” was all she said. Clearly she didn’t think he was going to look too hard for that support. That rankled. But he’d be damned if he’d offer any further assurances. She’d learn about him soon enough.

Then a spark of something he couldn’t put
a name to flashed in her eyes. “Nice tux.” She reached out to straighten his rose. “Hot pink is definitely your color.” Then she turned and left the room without another word.

The back of his neck grew warm with embarrassment, but it was the idea that she didn’t expect him to help her that stuck in his mind. Why? He was her main if not only chance of exoneration. Was she the sort that didn’t rely on others? Did she always fight her own battles? If so, why hadn’t she defended herself on her past two reprimands? She didn’t strike him as the kind to take anything silently. Was the Adria Burke he’d dealt with tonight the rule, or the exception?

Another mystery for him to solve. If he wanted to.

And he discovered he did.

He shook his head. Crazy thoughts. Crazy night. Maybe it was just some strange reaction after watching his twin sister marry one of only two people in the world he’d ever gotten close to. He was still having a hard time adjusting to the fact that Zach Brogan, his childhood buddy, was now his brother-in-law. Jarrett McCullough, the other member of their childhood trio, had tied the knot just over a month ago. Now Dane was the last of the Three Musketeers left single. And he couldn’t escape the fact that it left him feeling oddly, irrationally, abandoned.

As adults, the three had gone their separate ways, but had never been truly apart. Not in the ways that counted. Months would pass when he didn’t know where either of them were, but he was certain that, no matter what, they’d be there for him when it counted. Just as he’d always be there for them no matter what.

Dane sighed and headed to the door. Part of him, the rational part he’d always relied on, knew that their recent marriages wouldn’t change that fact.

But the other part, the emotional one, the part he rarely acknowledged and only then when he was forced to, wasn’t sure of anything right now.

“Ah hell,” he muttered. Maybe Dara was right. Maybe he just needed to get laid.

But as he picked up the phone to call a cab for a ride over to his office in L’Enfant Plaza, he couldn’t help but wonder if what he really needed was to get a life.

The phone rang just as Adria pulled the bandanna off of her head and mopped her face and neck. The late-summer humidity made the air feel almost liquid. She brushed the dirt from her knees and dug her knuckles into the knot in her lower back as she dashed into the house.