“Animals running loose in the city? That sounds positively dreadful.”
Silo growled at hearing her last comment.
“Far be it for me to say anything, but…” Her mother left the unfinished sentence hanging in the air.
“Yes, Mother, what is it? I know that tone,” Cyndi said, exhaling loudly.
“Anything new in the boyfriend department?”
Cyndi held her phone up to her face and silently screamed at the screen. Once she’d gotten that out of her system, she said, “You just don’t let up, do you, Mom?”
“I just don’t understand how a beautiful girl like you doesn’t have boys lined up outside your door. That’s all. So sue me.”
Cyndi got out of bed and wandered into the kitchen with the phone cradled against her shoulder and cheek. She pulled a quart of Rocky Road out of the freezer, then grabbed a spoon. “Maybe it’s the job. Civilians don’t understand why I do it, and the guys at work are intimidated by me. As soon as I want to get serious, they suddenly get spooked. What is it with men? They act like being in a committed relationship is worse than standing on a pile of radioactive kryptonite that’s on fire. Guys can be so infuriating.”
Cyndi refused to believe that her hard-earned success in the martial arts could have contributed to her dismal track record with guys.
From her first lesson as a young girl, her parents had taken decidedly different views on her involvement in the violent sport.
Cyndi’s dad had pushed her every step of the way as she climbed the national rankings. He never missed a match no matter how far he had to drive.
Her brother had never shown any interest in sports. Looking back, Cyndi couldn’t help but wonder if her father’s obsession with her winning was more about soothing his disappointment in Stevie than taking pride in her accomplishments.
Her mother had refused to attend her matches. She felt it wasn’t ladylike for a girl to wrestle around in a smelly gymnasium with a bunch of sweaty boys. In high school her mother had made her opinions crystal clear. She told Cyndi no teenage boy wanted to be teased about how their girlfriend could put them in the hospital if he crossed the line with her. Their fragile egos wouldn’t allow it.
So much for equality among the sexes.
“You do what’s best for you, pumpkin. I don’t want to make you feel guilty.”
“It’s a little late for that.” Cyndi plunked down at the table and scooped out a big helping of frozen solace.
Chapter Ten
One month later
Cyndi pulled out of the parking lot of the Front Range Riviera apartment complex to begin her morning commute. The drive was a delightfully short five minutes—a far cry from the snarled nightmare that is Los Angeles traffic.
Every driver passing the opposite way gave a friendly wave of the hand, as was the custom among locals. It had taken her a while to get used to this practice. A motorist in LA shaking their hand at you had a completely different meaning than here in Cheyenne.
Cyndi turned onto Randall Avenue, the road leading to the main gate at the base. A modest brick sign proudly proclaimed that Warren AFB was the Home of the Missileer. She got in line behind four cars waiting to enter. As she inched along, she looked over at the three massive nuclear missiles on display—an antiquated Minuteman II, a Minuteman III, and a Peacekeeper. The glossy white missiles chronicled the never-ending evolution of technology and destructiveness.
The line of cars moved quickly past the guard house until it was her turn. When the guard caught site of Cyndi, the young airman suddenly decided it was imperative that he leave his warm hut and personally check the picture on her ID against her attractive face. Then he walked around her car and did a slow visual inspection. The guard handed back her ID, flashed a flirtatious smile, saluted smartly, and wished her a good day.
The parking lot in front of the base theater had filled up fast. Rumor was that a four-star general had flown to Cheyenne and was making a big announcement today. By order of General McNeil, attendance was mandatory for all officers. He didn’t want his boss speaking to an empty room. No flight suits were allowed at this event. Air Force blues were the uniform of the day.
Lance Garcia walked into the theater lobby with his buddies. When he turned to enter the auditorium, he accidently bumped into Cyndi. “Sorry about that, Captain Stafford. Didn’t mean to knock into you. Please don’t throw me to the ground. I promise I’ll never do it again.”
His friends laughed the way guys laugh at everything their buddies say.
Cyndi ignored them. “I’ll spare you the humiliation in front of your friends, but only on one condition.”
“How considerate of you. What’s your condition?”
“You tell me the truth about your martial arts training. I’m not buying your lame explanation that watching Jackie Chan movies was why you did so well on our first encounter.”
Lance let out a long sigh. “You’re not going to let it go until I come clean, are you?”
“You’re very perceptive, Lieutenant Garcia. With a mind that sharp, I’ll bet you’re up for early promotion.”
“My friends call me Lance.” He stuck out his hand in a gesture of friendship.
Cyndi hesitated, then firmly grasped his hand. “You can call me Captain Stafford, Lieutenant.”
Without releasing her hand, Lance leaned in and whispered, “You aren’t a Russian spy by any chance, are you, Captain?”
She just rolled her eyes and yanked her hand away.
“I could have my top-secret security clearance taken away if I tell you. But…in this one case I might be willing to take that risk.” He locked eyes with her and waited.
Cyndi crossed her arms and glared
