Catherine Mann - Defender

Table of Contents

Praise for Catherine Mann

Catherine Manns military romances launch you into a world chock-full of simmering passion and heart-pounding action. Dont miss em!

USA Today bestselling author Merline Lovelace

Exhilarating romantic suspense. The Best Reviews

A great read. Booklist

Terrific romantic suspense that never slows down... An action-packed story line. Midwest Book Review

As gripping in its suspense as it is touching in its emotional pull. Romance Junkies

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

DEFENDER

A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author

PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / April 2009

Copyright 2009 by Catherine Mann.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the authors rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

eISBN : 978-1-101-02985-5

BERKLEY SENSATION

Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

BERKLEY SENSATION and the B design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

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To Morgan Mack Mitchella precious blessing to all who knew him. Thanks to the generous gift of organ donation, we were touched by the warmth of Morgans shining smile for eight and a half years.

And to his grandmother, K. Sue Morgan, an invaluable mentor, talented author, and treasured friend.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To my editor, Wendy McCurdy, and my agent, Barbara Collins Rosenberg, endless thanks for your fabulous feedback and faith in my flyboys. Joanne Rock and Stephanie Newton, what would I do without your brilliant insights, inspired critiques, and excellent taste in chocolate? Suzanne Brockmann, Lori Foster, and Merline Lovelace, your continued encouragement and support mean the world to me. Karen Tucker, R.N., your proofreads and medical fact checking are invaluable. Julia Morrison, I adore you, maestra extraordinaire, Star Trek expert, and sister dear. Sergeant RootAir Force Special Ops gunneryou have my deep appreciation for your help with the rescue-scene info and for your twenty years of brave service to our country. My deepest gratitude to USO performers, crews, and staff who so generously give their time and talents to entertain our troops!

And most of all, thank you to my family who somehow believes I can accomplish anything. My children, my miraclesBrice, Haley, Robbie, and MaggieI love you all. Robmy very own flyboy heroI cant thank you enough for sharing with me your military expertise, unflagging support, and, of course, your love.

PROLOGUE

AFGHANISTAN: THREE YEARS AGO

Smoke trailing from the ass of his plane and terra firma approaching at meteoric speed, Captain Jimmy Gage figured he was about fifteen seconds away from being roadkill.

Punching out of a C-12 wasnt an option. No ejection seat. He would have to wrangle this plane to the ground on his own, since the other pilot had slumped, unconscious from inhaling smoke and gas fumes before Jimmy could get his own mask on, then strap on his partners oxygen.

Major Nathan Socrates Breuer was still out cold, even sucking down the pure stuff spewing from the mask.

This troll through the sky should have been a standard medical transport along southern Afghanistans craggy landscape. They had completed their drop off and were on their way back to base. He even had a seasoned instructor pilot on board.

Who was still stuck in la-la land.

The left engines slowing groan told him it wasnt reaching max revolutions. His best guess? Sand junking up the fuel tank, which started the whole cluster-fuck effect until an O-ring somewhere in the fuel system failed. Now that engine flamed out of control, the other coughing.

Jimmy fought to level the wings and shoot through a narrow ridge, muscles straining under his sweat-soaked flight suit. Hed dodged ground fire, shoulder-launched missiles, even handled crappy-ass weather, only to be jacked by engine failure. As if it wasnt bad enough that he had to fight human bad guys scurrying around in those tunnels and caves, technology proved to be a lethal enemy as well.

What had his first instructor taught him to do when this sort of thing happened? Oh yeah, say something cool over the radio, then decide whether to go for the scatter or depth record. Hell, that was funny at the time. Not so much now.

The small cargo plane bucked under him. Yoke in hand, he battled for control, constantly adjusting the trim to maintain the best glide angle, defying the shuddering beast to split apart before he could wrestle it to a flat patch in this godforsaken sandpit.

If they survived this crash landing, somebody would need to scoop them up and out ASAP. Time to say something cool. What was the coded Mayday word today? Oh yeah, badger. Who thought this shit up?

He keyed the microphone and transmitted, Fin six-seven, Fin six-seven, badger, badger, badger. Thirty miles south of bulls-eye. I have an engine fire, and Im not gonna make it to anything that looks remotely like a runway. How copy?

A tinny voice came through his headset, Fin six-seven, Choctaw zero-four. Were passing your info to the operations center and heading your way. How long until you are on the deck?

Jimmy thanked God and a couple of major saints that there were other friendlies in the area. He glanced out over the nose, searching for a flat spot or road to put down the fast-sinking aircraft. Good instincts and top-dollar training guided his hands as he readjusted his angle to eke a touch more glide from his wounded bird, just missing the mountain range on his left.

He radioed up again. Roger that, Choctaw, pass to the ops center that I will be requiring rescue forces, and if they wanted to get them moving my way berquick, I would really appreciate it. My engine is barely putting out any power, and I will be... well, lets call it landing in about two minutes.