she didn't want to take a chance that the limbs might not give way as easily as pines did—providing the potential for even more risk. Falling at fifty miles an hour and hitting a tree limb as thick as her arm would be enough to break bones.
Unlike her usual jumping gear, she'd been fitted with a walkie-talkie on her belt, the earphone snug on her head and the lip piece settled against her mouth so they could literally talk to each other during free-fall, if they wanted to. A tight cap imprisoned her hair, with a heavy, military-style helmet over it, strapped beneath her chin. She wore a number of bulky items, but she was used to carrying an ax and a shovel, as well as maps, compass, water, first-aid kit and other items, when she jumped into a fire situation. Woodward also had outfitted her with a specially made—to his specifications—Beretta pistol in a thigh holster. She carried eleven clips of ammunition for it, and an HK submachine gun with six hundred rounds and thirty magazines rested in her backpack. The equipment she carried today included everything they would jump with two days from now over Nevis . Today was Thanksgiving. A hell of a way to celebrate it, she thought.
Automatically, her fingers went to her chest, where the nylon straps bit into her green-and-tan-and-black uniform—"tiger" utilities, designed to blend in to the jungle environment. The knife—her own—she'd brought with her for emergency situations, such as to cut away shroud lines should her first parachute fail and the second one have to be deployed. The main chute was on her back, the reserve in front, and she'd personally packed them late yesterday evening.
Woodward had packed his own this morning on the floor of the hangar at Andrews Air Force Base, where they'd taken off from. Pepper had watched him off and on, becoming convinced that he did know what he was doing. After all, he'd informed her icily, he had made five hundred jumps. He was no novice. Still, with two thousand under her belt, she considered him less experienced and would keep an eye on him during the jump—just in case. Pepper smiled to herself, her hands ranging knowingly across her bulky gear. If Woodward knew what she was thinking, his male ego would surely smart under her decision. But out in the field, she was responsible for her people, and she always felt like a mother hen of sorts.
Jim watched Pepper covertly within the deep shadows of the C-130. The vibration of the deck beneath him moved through his booted feet and up his legs. He'd made hundreds of jumps from this type of plane, but he worried about Pepper and the fact that it had been five years since her last HAHO. He wrestled with telling her his concerns. His cool, professional attitude toward her wasn't really the way he wanted to treat her. Despite his anger yesterday, her eyes continued to hold that warmth toward him. Mentally, Jim kicked himself. Dammit , he liked Pepper. He wanted to call her by her first name, but something wouldn't let him. She probably realized it, since she always called him by his official title or last name. Seesawing from his chaotic emotions over Laura, Jim moved slowly toward Pepper.
Thanks to their headsets, he wouldn't have to yell above the din that always permeated the interiors of these cargo planes. Reaching out, he placed his hand on her upper arm.
"Are you checked out?"
Pepper nodded, wildly aware of his unanticipated touch. His grip on her arm was hard without hurting, and she could tell he was monitoring the amount of strength he used. Her skin tightened beneath his fingertips. "Everything's okay."
Jim felt the firm strength of her body. She was solid, and he was sure she was in top shape due to her job. Still, he longed to soften his hold on her arm and run his hand in an exploratory motion upward, across her shoulder. Why? He'd seen a shadow come to her eyes the moment he'd touched her. Did she consider his touch an invasion of her privacy? Forcing himself to
Unlike her usual jumping gear, she'd been fitted with a walkie-talkie on her belt, the earphone snug on her head and the lip piece settled against her mouth so they could literally talk to each other during free-fall, if they wanted to. A tight cap imprisoned her hair, with a heavy, military-style helmet over it, strapped beneath her chin. She wore a number of bulky items, but she was used to carrying an ax and a shovel, as well as maps, compass, water, first-aid kit and other items, when she jumped into a fire situation. Woodward also had outfitted her with a specially made—to his specifications—Beretta pistol in a thigh holster. She carried eleven clips of ammunition for it, and an HK submachine gun with six hundred rounds and thirty magazines rested in her backpack. The equipment she carried today included everything they would jump with two days from now over Nevis . Today was Thanksgiving. A hell of a way to celebrate it, she thought.
Automatically, her fingers went to her chest, where the nylon straps bit into her green-and-tan-and-black uniform—"tiger" utilities, designed to blend in to the jungle environment. The knife—her own—she'd brought with her for emergency situations, such as to cut away shroud lines should her first parachute fail and the second one have to be deployed. The main chute was on her back, the reserve in front, and she'd personally packed them late yesterday evening.
Woodward had packed his own this morning on the floor of the hangar at Andrews Air Force Base, where they'd taken off from. Pepper had watched him off and on, becoming convinced that he did know what he was doing. After all, he'd informed her icily, he had made five hundred jumps. He was no novice. Still, with two thousand under her belt, she considered him less experienced and would keep an eye on him during the jump—just in case. Pepper smiled to herself, her hands ranging knowingly across her bulky gear. If Woodward knew what she was thinking, his male ego would surely smart under her decision. But out in the field, she was responsible for her people, and she always felt like a mother hen of sorts.
Jim watched Pepper covertly within the deep shadows of the C-130. The vibration of the deck beneath him moved through his booted feet and up his legs. He'd made hundreds of jumps from this type of plane, but he worried about Pepper and the fact that it had been five years since her last HAHO. He wrestled with telling her his concerns. His cool, professional attitude toward her wasn't really the way he wanted to treat her. Despite his anger yesterday, her eyes continued to hold that warmth toward him. Mentally, Jim kicked himself. Dammit , he liked Pepper. He wanted to call her by her first name, but something wouldn't let him. She probably realized it, since she always called him by his official title or last name. Seesawing from his chaotic emotions over Laura, Jim moved slowly toward Pepper.
Thanks to their headsets, he wouldn't have to yell above the din that always permeated the interiors of these cargo planes. Reaching out, he placed his hand on her upper arm.
"Are you checked out?"
Pepper nodded, wildly aware of his unanticipated touch. His grip on her arm was hard without hurting, and she could tell he was monitoring the amount of strength he used. Her skin tightened beneath his fingertips. "Everything's okay."
Jim felt the firm strength of her body. She was solid, and he was sure she was in top shape due to her job. Still, he longed to soften his hold on her arm and run his hand in an exploratory motion upward, across her shoulder. Why? He'd seen a shadow come to her eyes the moment he'd touched her. Did she consider his touch an invasion of her privacy? Forcing himself to
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