11
They had twenty-four hours off, between the completion of the mission plan and launch. A day and a night.
Not a chance was Pete going to waste that in a barracks bunk and eating in an American chow hall, not when Japan beckoned.
Nor was he going to do it alone.
He commandeered a car from the motor pool shortly after sunrise—managed not to look like an i***t by remembering just in time that Japan was a right-hand drive country. Nothing fancy, just a blah-green Toyota sedan.
When Danielle came out to the car, he wished he’d found a Miata convertible or a Honda S2000. She wasn’t a Ferrari sort of woman, but she definitely evoked the need for a convertible where the wind could play with her hair.
She shouldn’t appear so startling, after all they’d rarely been apart in the entire last
