He gestured away from the hangar. “If you’ll follow me?”
Although stated as a question, the command couldn’t be ignored. She stiffened her spine, rolled her shoulders, and shoved her hands deep into her pockets where he couldn’t see how her fingers twisted with dread.
“Yes, sir,” she said, giving a nod.
A lump formed in her throat, and she swallowed it down. There could be only one of two reasons he needed to speak with her at this hour. Either that reporter had finally arrived for the exclusive interview, or he had noticed Ryker exiting the maze of pallets and put two and two together.
He took off, his long legs devouring the ground, which forced her to keep pace. Fortunately, she had practice following men who were much taller than herself and had long strides.
The USO building squatted less than a few minutes’ walk from the hangar. Without another word, Vane marched directly to the building. He held the door and ushered her inside.
“My office, please.” His tone was direct and didn’t mince words.
It was late enough that there was no one on duty. Unlike many other areas on base, the USO didn’t require twenty-four/seven staffing of personnel. She glanced around the darkened rows of cubicles and swallowed down the lump in her throat. The urge to ask what was up surfaced several times, but Vane had a purpose for bringing her to his office, and he would divulge that only when ready.
The door to his office was shut and apparently locked. She pulled up short and turned sideways to allow him to unlock the door. With a jangle of metal, he inserted the appropriate key and turned the knob. Another imperious wave of his arm had her pulse skyrocketing. Her reaction had more to do with the scowl on his face than anything else. That singular expression told her everything she needed to know. This conversation had nothing to do with an exclusive public relations interview.
She entered and approached the front of his desk, coming to attention without being asked.
“Have a seat, Major.” He dropped into his military-issue swivel chair and leaned forward, placing both palms on the laminated wood of his desk.
“If it’s all right,” she said, “I prefer to stand.” She shifted and moved to the position of parade rest, but there was nothing restful about the tension rippling through her body.
He arched a brow.
“Sir,” she added, offering the appropriate honorific.
Tightness filled his expression, a taut display telegraphing his displeasure.
“As you wish, but this might take more than a moment.”
Her stomach dropped, but she didn’t waver. This was a conversation she needed to have while standing tall. Besides, on her feet, she had the advantage of height on Vane. He might be ready to dress her down, but she would have the tiny—yet insignificant—luxury of looking down at him while he did it.
“You have a unique position,” he began, “a challenging role for a woman in the Air Force.”
She wished he would get to the point.
“Do you know why I brought you here?”
Until she knew for certain why he’d brought her to his office, she wasn’t going to volunteer any damaging information.
“No, sir.” It might not be wise to lie, but she was operating on the principle of plausible deniability.
“Women in combat is a touchy subject both within and outside of the military,” he said.
“Technically, I’m not in a combat role.”
They were splitting hairs.
“I can imagine the selection process was quite grueling.”
“The selection process for special operations surgical team members is difficult and rigorous for all applicants. Many men wash out.”
“Of course,” he said. “I am not here to denigrate your accomplishments.”
She couldn’t stand it anymore. “Exactly why am I here?”
“The decision to do a spotlight on one of our women in combat was not an easy one. We balance opening many doors against those who wish for them to remain closed.”
