The Hot Pilots Read Free Page A

predictable, so why not surprise her? Why not keep the fact that
     he was staying in Los Angeles his little secret? That way he could get some solid work done during the next few days, which
     would give him the excuse to goof off one night and show up unannounced at her apartment with a bottle of champagne in hand.
    It was unlike him—and exciting—to be so impetuous, but then it was also unlike him to have a swell girl like Linda. He began
     whistling merrily to himself as he went back to work. He was positive that she would enjoy the surprise, just as he’d enjoy
     the opportunity while Herman was away to spend some time with his girl.

CHAPTER 2
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    (One)
    Malibu, California
    27 July 1954
    Steve Gold carried his sandals as he walked along the waterline, up to his ankles in the surf that broke in frothing bubbles
     on the sand. He pretty much had the beach to himself due to the day—it was a Tuesday—and the weather, which was overcast.
     Steve didn’t mind the fact that the beach was deserted. He liked being alone; always had. And a quiet beach was his favorite
     place, next to being in the cockpit of a fighter jet.
    Steve was twenty-nine years old. He was six feet tall and weighed 170 pounds. He had blond hair, cut moderately short so he
     could easily deal with it in order to look presentable, and squint lines etched vertically on either side of his nose and
     around his brown eyes, thanks to the long hours spent scanning the sky from various fighter cockpits. Steve was an Air Force
     lieutenant colonel and a fighter ace, with fourteen and a half confirmed Japanese kills during World War II, and six MIGs
     accounted for during the Korean conflict.
    The fifth MIG he’d shot down had been especially sweet because it had given him twenty and a half official kills:
one half
kill more than his old man had tallied during World War I, when Herman Gold had flown with the Red Baron.
    Actually, Steve had even more kills, but they weren’t official. Back in ’41 he’d flown a volunteer stint with the Flying Tigers
     in China, during which he’d knocked down five Japanese airplanes while taking part in one awesome and glorious dogfight over
     Rangoon. Unfortunately, the kills could not be added to his official tally because he’d only been seventeen years old. When
     the Flying Tigers had learned that he’d lied about his age in order to join up, they booted him home and wiped clean their
     records of any trace of him …
    Steve now grinned as he thought about how Pop still enjoyed busting his balls about that, ribbing him that if the kills weren’t
     official it was as though they’d never happened. Steve knew his father was just kidding; his old man was real proud of his
     son’s war record.
    Steve continued walking with his feet in the water. As he passed a retaining wall that divided the beach and had been blocking
     his view he saw that there was another person out here today, after all. It was a woman wearing a black bikini, a wide-brimmed
     straw hat, and sunglasses. She was semi-reclining in a white canvas sand chair, with her legs—
nice, long, legs
—stretched out on a red and white striped beach towel.
    As he approached he saw her glance at him, and then look away in that kind of initially bored, disinterested way that he liked
     so much in women because it made things so much sweeter when he got their attention in bed. The closer Steve got, the better
     she was looking. He was figuring that it was worth a shot to try and strike up a conversation—
    And then he realized that he was looking at Linda Forrester—
    At that instant she gave
him
a double-take. He knew that she had recognized him by the way she quickly grabbed a book off her towel and ducked her head
     into it. It was obvious that she was just as flustered as he about this chance encounter, and like him, didn’t know what to
     do …
    He was still far enough away to credibly pretend that he hadn’t recognized her. He could just turn