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  Table of Contents

  The Last Flight

  PROLOGUE

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Epilogue

  Books by Jen Talty

  About the Author

  The Last Flight

  book III in the SARICH BROTHERS series

  The Omega Team Kindle World

  JEN TALTY

  PROLOGUE

  NOTHING FELT BETTER than flying upside down in a sixth-generation jet fighter, testing the limits of new technology. The nose of the plane cutting through the air like a sharp carving knife gliding through a perfectly cooked medium-rare steak.

  The howling sound of the hydraulics system slowly disabling echoed in the cockpit.

  “Fuck,” Captain Ramey Jordan Sarich muttered.

  The plane bucked left and he hit the comms button. “Engine one is out.” He shut the power down. The controls rattled in his hands. A loud tearing of metal screeched across his ears.

  “Engine two is out.” Ramey tried to restart the engines, but nothing. He pulled the nose up, rolling five degrees to his right and toward a section of the desert he might actually be able to land this sucker without killing himself and destroying a fifty-million-dollar plane.

  “Total engine failure.”

  This would be his second one in three weeks and he didn’t think the United States Government would appreciate the loss of the aircraft.

  Nor the money it cost to build such a prototype.

  “Starting protocol for emergency landing,” he said. He’d been a test pilot for the Army for the last five years and in that time, he’d only lost one plane three weeks ago, when the cargo hold of the newest sixth generation Stealth Bomber caught fire. Normally, when testing an aircraft, it wasn’t loaded with hot fire power. Only that particular test run wasn’t just about the plane, but the weapons system as well.

  Less than a minute after he’d ejected from the bomber, it exploded, sending shrapnel flying dangerously close to his body.

  His thigh ached, remembering the fourteen stitches that were required because a hunk of metal lodged in his muscle.

  “Six miles from the runway and I won’t make it. I will be landing three miles south east.” Just as he finished his statement, he lost all power and needles on his instruments spun out of control. The plane went eerily dark. Talk about flying blind. A pilot was taught to trust his mechanisms not his gut, because in the air, your feelings lied. It didn’t matter how good of a pilot you were, you could be flying level, but your body said you were leaning five degrees to the right.

  Thankfully, the moon and the stars lit up the desert sky. He eyed the runway at White Sands Missile Range in New Mexico. He knew exactly the best place to land this sucker, but wasn’t sure he’d make it to that spot either. Not only that, he’d be landing a flying brick considering he had no way to slow down or speed up. Most likely he’d come in so hot that the nose would plunge into the ground, flipping the tail over the head, flames erupting shortly thereafter.

  As he gripped the controls, the plane violently vibrating, he could hear his mother say, “Eject! It’s just a plane.”

  But equally loud, he could hear the United States Government screaming at him to save the technology.

  “Sorry mom,” he whispered as the ground raced up like a panther chasing after its prey. He’d landed more than one aircraft in an emergency situation. He just hoped this wouldn’t be the one that ended it all, and that he saved as much of the equipment as possible, if not all of it.

  The Army’s fire trucks raced across the desert, lights helping to guide him to the safest place to land. His chest tightened as adrenaline roared through him, keeping his emotions from seeping too far into his psyche. Sure, a bit of fear kicked in. He’d be insane if he didn’t have a healthy dose of mortality.

  Crazy he wasn’t.

  However, most would say he flirted with disaster.

  He readily agreed.

  With all his might, he held the nose up and as soon as the wheels bounced on the rough ground, he punched the manual breaks. The wings tipped, scraping the desert as the plane barreled forward, seemingly not slowing down at all.

  It took another five minutes of white knuckling the controls until the jet fighter came to a sudden stop, the nose dropping into the desert sand, lurching his body forward, only to have his harness yank him back.

  He hated whiplash.

  Following protocol, he went through his checklist, looking at everything with a watchful eye. He pulled the flight box out of the compartment, which he’d review with his boss. As a test pilot, a lot went wrong with his flights, and that was expected. But three weeks ago, he believed someone fucked with his plane, even if the government didn’t. Based on the chain of events leading up to his emergency landing tonight, he knew something wasn’t as it seemed.

  Time to call in his brothers.

  He climbed from the plane, noting the slight tremble in his body. Some referred to him as being reckless. The kind of man who to took unnecessary risks.

  Or perhaps had a death wish.

  He’d give the world reckless. He did whatever it took to get the job done and he got paid to put his life on the line, something he never questioned.

  “What the hell happened up there?” Lieutenant Colonel Jasper Marlin asked? Marlin, as bosses go, wasn’t half bad, but he also didn’t have much of a backbone when it came to pushing the higher ups.

  “I lost both engines without any warning.”

  “Engine failure isn’t uncommon.”

  Ramey did his best to contain his frustration by sucking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. “The aircraft went completely dark. Had I been above ten thousand feet, I would have fallen from the sky.” He ranked his hand through his hair. “Someone fucked with that plane.”

  “Since when are you paranoid? Besides, do I need to remind you how often things go wrong on your test flights? Isn’t that why we do this? Figure out the problem so we can make sure we’ve got the—”

  Ramey held up his hand. “I don’t need the politically correct response to what happened. I need answers and I need a favor.”

  Jasper peered over his dark rimmed glasses. “Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like this?”

  “I want you to bring in the organization my two older brothers work for to investigate both accidents.”

  “The Omega Team, right?”

  “That’s the one.” Ramey rubbed the scruff on his face as he glanced around. “I want them to have access to all the reports.”

  “That’s going to be tough.”

  “But you can make it happen.”

  Marlin shook his head. “I can order an independent investigation, but it can’t be by anyone with the last name Sarich, no matter how good your brothers are.”

  “They’d send someone else.”

  “You realize if I do this that I’m going to have to ground you?”

  Ramey nodded. The last thing he wanted was to be benched. Flying was more than his job. It was his passion. “Are you going to ma
ke the call, because if you don’t, I’m going to hire them myself.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Ramey didn’t have any enemies, that he knew of.

  But someone either wanted to ruin his career or wanted him dead.

  Or both.

  Chapter 1

  TEQUILA RYDER SAT in the recon room at the White Sands Missile Range going over the crash report of Captain Ramey Sarich’s first incident. There wasn’t much left of the plane, but the Army’s report, what she’d been allowed to read, indicated mechanical failure and there was no pilot error.

  The weapons system, however, the information was blurry. The government had been creating new technology and new ways to decimate the enemy. She’d been given only the bare specs on the flight where Ramey had been forced into an emergency landing and nothing on any other tests. Something she needed her bosses, Athena Medaro and Grey Holden at the Omega Team to fix.

  Ramey’s flight had been the new weapons first live test run. Everything had gone as planned until the bay doors opened without Ramey engaging them, or so Ramey had said. The flight recorder confirms he did not use the commands to engage the weapons, but that didn’t mean anything. The fact that the plane was destroyed and the Army was withholding information, made her job harder.

  The official cause of the crash had been mechanical failure and Ramey had been cleared of any fault, but she suspected there was more to that story than the government was giving her.

  Or Ramey.

  She tossed the folder on the table, leaning back, stretching her arms up over her head and stared at the ceiling. Ramey had attended West Point and she had attended the Air Force Academy. They graduated the same year and their careers had followed a similar path in the sense that when she retired, she’d been a test pilot as well. She never intended to retire so young, barely getting her career off the ground, but two years ago when her half-sister was diagnosed with terminal cancer, she didn’t look back.

  Her nephew, Grant, had been seventeen when his mother passed, only two years after his father had died. Grant needed her and no way would she let her sister down, not after everything she’d sacrificed so Tequila could have the opportunities she had after their father had died. It was the least she could do, and now that Grant was doing well at the Air Force Academy, Tequila felt she could get her career back on track, even if it wasn’t in the military anymore.

  She lifted her wrist and glanced at her smart watch.

  Ramey was ten minutes late.

  Tardiness was not in her wheelhouse and she hated it when anyone made her wait.

  She stood, making her way across the room with a half-full mug of crappy, cold coffee contemplating if she should dump it out, or warm it up.

  “Tequila? Her fucking name is Tequila?” a husky male voice rang out from down the hallway.

  She glanced over her shoulder at who she assumed to be Ramey standing near the door. He had sandy brown hair, dark complexion, and one hell of a sexy, scruffy face. It wasn’t a five o’clock shadow, nor was it a full-grown beard. He was manly perfection wrapped in a flawless package of lean muscle. Leaning against the coffee station, she cocked her head to hear better and reminded herself she was on the job, not at the local watering hole during happy hour.

  “It’s seriously not a nickname? Christ, Logan, who the fuck did you send to help me, a God damned Margarita? How can I take this chick seriously?”

  This wouldn’t be the first time someone made fun of her name and she was sure it wouldn’t be the last. Could have been worse considering her sister’s name was Rum.

  “When I meet her all I’m going to be able to think about is sprinkling salt on her, licking her, drinking her, then sucking on a lemon. She better be hot on the eyes or I’m coming after you, bro.” He tapped his phone, then turned in her direction, taking maybe three steps before pausing with his mouth gaping wide-open.

  “Sexy enough for you?” she asked, batting her eyelashes and fluffing her long, straight blonde hair. “I know the boobs are a little on the small side, but my ass makes up for, if you’re an ass man. Oh, and my belly button is really great for shots.” She’d always had a sassy mouth, which often got her in trouble, but she couldn’t help herself when it came to her name.

  He scratched the side of his face as he entered the conference room. “I take it you’re Tequila Ryder?” With his hands on his hips, he stopped in front of her, and actually looked her up and down. The corners of his mouth tipped upward. “Turn around.”

  “What?” God, she’d spent all of a minute with this guy and she wanted to know more about him. Something about the way he carried himself with a cool confidence and a subtle, but noticeable sweetness, made her want to hand him a salt shaker.

  “I’m an ass man, so I want to check yours out.”

  “You’re an asshole, is what you are.” She drew her lips into a tight line, pulling in a smile. Sparring with a man, especially one that looked like Ramey, was almost as much fun as doing a fly-by.

  He tossed his hands wide. “Hey, you brought up your ass, not me.”

  He had a point.

  If she’d met him in a bar, flirting would take on a whole new meaning.

  But she was standing in an Army Base and she was on the job.

  “Why don’t you tell me why you think someone messed with your test runs?”

  She really tried not to eye his ass when he strolled in front of her and poured himself a cup of coffee. His thick biceps flexed as he tilted the pot.

  “Because nothing went wrong until it all went wrong and rule of—”

  “Rule of Seven dictates that there must be seven events before a catastrophe,” she said as she raised her mug. “Retired Air Force Test Pilot.”

  He arched a brow. “You don’t say.”

  She clanked her mug against his. “Why weren’t you grounded after the first incident?”

  He shrugged. “The weapon system had never been tested in flight before and I was told that the second I flipped the switch to manual launch a wire tripped, creating a spark and the rest is history.”

  “Were you really testing a weapons system?”

  “Only one piece.” He set his mug down, resting his ass on the table, folded his arms across his chest, and glanced down the hallway. “What wasn’t in any of those reports is that the plane was also a sixth-generation plane. There are only two prototypes.”

  She cocked her head. “The second incident wasn’t a stealth bomber?”

  He shook his head. “Same body frame, but I assume they didn’t tell you that and just gave you the specs on the current model.”

  “They gave some of the modifications for the test, but no. How wicked are the sixth-generation planes?”

  “Fucking awesome, if I can keep them from killing me.”

  She set her mug down. Not only did the planes intrigue her, but so did Ramey. “Why’d the government hire me if they aren’t going to give me all the information?”

  “Because I asked my boss to have an independent evaluation.”

  “Thus far, based on what I’ve read, I’d have to agree with the Army’s findings and that both incidents were caused by mechanical failure, but that’s based on incorrect information. I’m sure they’ve looked at it with all the correct specs and found the same thing, otherwise you’d be standing in front of a review board.”

  “Someone messed with my planes,” he said with a clipped tone. “And someone is covering it up.”

  “What makes you so sure about that?” She didn’t think for one second that Ramey was the kind of man that would want an independent investigation when he’d been cleared unless he knew something.

  The question was: what did he know and why was he keeping it from her?

  “What if I told you that two other test flights were messed with, only I caught the problem before it happened.”

  “Did you report them?”

  “No. The first time was a week before the crash. Grey tape was used on the rivets ins
tead of orange tape while servicing the engine. Had I not inspected the plane and removed the tape, well, bad shit would have happened. That said, it’s a mistake that has been made before when people don’t follow standard operating procedures.”

  “Are you big on them?”

  “I wrote the book on SOP’s.”

  She nodded. “Do you have the names of everyone who worked on that plane between runs?” During her days as a pilot, one of her pet peeves had been those who didn’t think they needed to use the check list. SOP’s were created to make sure planes didn’t go down and that good people didn’t die.

  “I do.”

  “All right, and the other time?”

  “A week before this last flight. When I started the engines, they didn’t sound right. Made a coughing noise, if you know what I mean.”

  “I know that noise.”

  “I delayed the run and found there was a small tear in the oil hose.”

  “Split or cut?” she asked. Things went wrong all the time, but this did seem over the top for one test pilot.

  “Looked split, but who knows.” He looped his arm over her shoulder.

  She glanced between his hand and his face, which sported the most adorable grin she’d ever seen. It was a cross between an innocent little boy and a man who knew exactly what a woman wanted.

  Dangerous combination.

  “I keep journals of all my test runs back at my place. Maybe you can find something I missed.”

  “I don’t think the United States Army would appreciate you keeping personal records.”

  “I won’t tell if you don’t.” He nudged her hip. “Let’s go back to my place. I took my bird in and it’s a nice day for a chopper ride.”

  “You’ve got your own helicopter?”

  “Two of them, actually. Along with three other planes, one that I built myself.”

  “Nice.” She ignored the fact that he planted his hand firmly on the small of her back as they made their way through the Depot and out into the hot, desert air. Everyone said that a hundred-degree day in dry heat was nothing like eighty degrees in humidity.