Danger Close (Shadow Warriors)

by Lindsay McKenna

  “I’ll be goldarned—”

  “Billy,” Gomez chided, patting him on the shoulder as he sat down next to him, “quit slobbering like the rest of these poor bastards. El Gato’s embarrassed. Can’t you see that? Don’t make her feel nervous. Help her feel at ease with us. Sí?”

  Strike sat back in his chair and scrutinized her silently. The change in her was heart stopping. He glanced over his shoulder, calling over a Thai waiter.

  “I agree with Zorro. What’ll it be, Cathy?”

  “Scotch on the rocks. Make it a double. I need it.”

  The three Recon Marines laughed good-naturedly. Once the drink was in her hands, Cathy felt more secure having something to hold on to. Eventually, the bar returned to its normal noise level. A number of men came over to try to introduce themselves, but Gomez and Strike handled them with ease. Gulping down the first drink to quell her screaming nerves, Cathy asked for and got a second one.

  Billy slugged down a beer, still staring across the table at her, his yellow hair slicked down with several cowlick strands standing at odd angles of attention at the back of his head. The checkered sports coat was ill fitting on his lanky frame but only made him teddy bear huggable in Cathy’s eyes. “You just can’t be the same lady.”

  “Want to see my dog tags?” Cathy asked, motioning to her throat where they lay beneath the mauve-colored silk of her blouse.

  Strike grinned. “These damned razorbacks from Arkansas are all alike, Cathy. If you don’t wear a gingham dress and some cotton balls in your hair, they think you’re from a foreign country.”

  The Kid grinned lopsidedly, flushing redly, joining in on the laughter. “You’re a real lady—even if you are in the WLF.”

  Cathy managed a sliver of a smile, touched by their camaraderie. “Thanks, Billy. It’s a beautiful compliment. And I must say, I couldn’t have picked three better-looking gentlemen to be with.”

  “You mean we’re good-lookin’?” The Kid asked, touching the lapel of his rumpled sport coat.

  “Hayseed,” Strike chuckled, “you wouldn’t know a compliment if it hit you between the running lights.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” Gomez snickered, holding his stomach from laughing so much.

  The friendly banter continued for well over an hour. In the back of Cathy’s mind, she wondered if or when Jim Boland was going to reappear. Her heart pounded briefly every time she thought about him. Strike broke the pleasant atmosphere.

  “The Sarge thinks you’re overrated as a point. What do you think?”

  Cathy nearly choked on the Scotch. She swallowed it hastily. Her eyes narrowed. “Sounds like Sarge is trying to stir up trouble.”

  The Recon shrugged. “Some of the guys were wondering about it, that’s all.”

  She set down her third Scotch, toying absently with the beaded tumbler. “I try to do the best I can no matter what position I’m asked to slot.”

  “Don’t you get scared out on patrol?”

  “Of course I do! So damned scared I stink. How about you?”

  Strike grinned. “Who doesn’t?”

  “What makes me any different from any of you?” she shot back, her voice tight with righteous anger.

  “You’re a woman,” Strike said.

  Kid nodded drunkenly. “Yeah, and women are too scared to think. ‘Specially in a firefight.”

  “Kid…” Gomez groaned, “why you do have to be so stupid sometimes?”

  The tension was brittle as ice. Cathy sat back, digesting the seriousness of his comments. “Is that it? I’ve pulled three quiet patrols with you and you’re all wondering if I can handle my end of a firefight?”

  Silence.

  “You all see yourselves as babysitters to me, don’t you? You think once a firefight breaks out, you not only have to watch your rear, you have to watch mine, too.”

  “Dios,” Gomez muttered, “We’re on R & R. Let’s not fight the war here.”

  The silence grew ominous. Strike had the good grace to look uncomfortable. “You have to remember all the yellow journalism we’ve read hypes your Valkyrie image,” he explained cautiously. “If we’d believed all that crap, I think every one of us would have mutinied against the Cap’n. He took the time to explain the situation and that you were involuntarily volunteered to us.” A grin leaked through his serious features. “And all of us have gotten a taste of being volunteered. We’re in the same boat, Cathy. The Sarge is sore because he wasn’t consulted first. Also, he’s from the old school that says women don’t belong on a combat front with the men.”

  “Mother Mary, Joseph and Christ, none of us belong on a war front,” Gomez said, tipping his glass of beer and draining it.

  Cathy looked down at the ice cubes in the bottom of her tumbler, feeling dizzy because of all the liquor she’d had on an empty stomach. “I guess we’ll have to wait until we get back to prove this to you, but I’m not a screwup. I know I made a mistake at Ban Pua—”

  “That wasn’t your fault, El Gato. If any of us had been blown out of a trench by a rocket, we’d be a little disoriented, too. I talked to the Marine private who dragged you to that bunker. He said he had to drag you kicking and screaming up the hill.” Gomez reached over, settling his hand on her arm. “You didn’t panic like Sarge first thought.”

  Relief flowed through Cathy. They knew the truth. Thank God. “And did Sarge tell you all this?”

  “Let’s just say I talked to the private and then to the Sarge. Buck admitted the truth and then I told these guys what happened.”

  Cathy gave Gomez a grateful look. “Thanks.” And then she looked at all of them. “I’ll do the best I can, that’s all I can promise.”

  By 1900, the team was tanked up and topped off, ready to go barhopping along the string of hotels that sat on the white strand of beach like a glittering necklace in the blackness of the night. Cathy begged off, well on her way to getting drunk and secretly doubting she could stand and walk more than a few meters.

  After the team left, Cathy became lonely. And with the loneliness came the specter of Ban Pua. Cathy drowned herself in another Scotch, and filled her tumbler again.

  Cathy wasn’t aware of Jim Boland’s presence until he pulled up a chair and sat down at her left elbow. He was still in the khaki tropical uniform, looking tired. A warm smile pulled at his mouth.

  “Where are the Three Musketeers?”

  “They went barhopping about an hour ago.”

  Jim studied her in the gathering silence, looking deeply into her dark, wounded eyes that could hide nothing from him. Taking the bottle calmly, Jim turned it around, looking at the label. “Drink all this by yourself?”

  Sourly, she said, “Yes. So what?”

  He called over a Thai waiter and ordered coffee. “Make that two cups,” he instructed the small, slender man.

  “I don’t want any!” Cathy protested.

  “Do you take cream or sugar?” Boland asked, unruffled by her sudden anger.

  “Goddammit…” Cathy started to rise out of her chair. His hand clamped firmly over her arm.

  “Sit down,” he ordered. And then to the waiter, he said, “Bring us some cream.”

  Cathy stared at him, slamming down the emptied glass. “I don’t want or need a babysitter, Boland. Why don’t you just get the hell out of here and go find a broad to bed down with? I want to be alone.”

  His eyes took on an amused glint as he reluctantly released her arm. Her skin was smooth and warm to his touch. “What would Major Lane say if you tarnished her WLF public image?”

  Boland steeled himself for the explosion he was deliberately trying to provoke from Cathy. At first, he thought she was going to rip into him. Instead, she just sat ramrod stiff, her eyes becoming very large with anger. Okay, that wouldn’t work. Somehow, Jim wanted to steer Cathy to talking about Ban Pua. He knew it was necessary or she was going to tear herself apart because of it. Forcing a smile, he said, “Come on, take it easy, babe. What were you thinking about when I cam
e in?”

  Sullenly, she said, “Nothing.”

  “Old boyfriend?”

  “He’s dead,” she snarled flatly. “Three years ago. Okay? I don’t have one presently.”

  “Sorry,” Jim offered, meaning it. He clasped his hands in front of him. “Here I’d thought you’d have two or three waiting for you when you got home.”

  “Compliments aren’t going to get you anywhere.”

  “Oh? Where do you think I was heading with them?”

  “The bedroom. Where else?”

  Boland leaned back, enjoying her spirit. “I can think of a lot of other places.”

  Cathy relaxed slightly. He was teasing her again. “I’ll bet you could.” She took a long look at him. His eyes were crinkled at the corners and they had a glint of humor in them. It was that tenderness lurking in them she’d seen before, as if he were hurting as much for her as she was for herself.

  “I’m not very good company,” Cathy apologized.

  “Can’t think of another place I’d rather be right now.” The coffee came and Jim glanced over at her. “Cream?”

  “Please.” Cathy picked up the spoon and it slipped out of her fingers. Jim placed it back in her hand.

  “How much have you had to drink?”

  “Don’t know…don’t care.”

  “I had a few benders like yours a couple of years ago,” he admitted to himself, not realizing she could hear him.

  “It’s called running away from yourself,” Cathy mumbled belligerently, making a sloppy gesture with her hand. She saw his mouth draw into a semblance of a smile.

  “Yeah. In our business, it’s healthy to do that every once in a while. Got any idea what you’re going to do with the next five days?” he asked, noting she was becoming groggy.

  Cathy passed her tongue over lower lip. “Stay drunk. It’s a good way to relieve tension.”

  “I can think of better ways than that of relieving tension,” he returned drily. In fact, Jim thought, she was one hell of a good-looking woman. He felt naked desire course through him. She would be an easy target tonight…she would put up little resistance to his advances. The sultry pout of her full lips, half-closed emerald eyes and a wisp of dark hair lying across her cheek only enhanced her sensuality in his eyes.

  Cathy smiled sourly. “I think I’d better ask for more than a penny for your thoughts.”

  “Can’t blame me. You’re a beautiful woman, Cathy.”

  She frowned and rubbed her brow. “I feel ugly inside, Boland. Ugly and hurting and angry. There’s nothing pretty about me right now. I’m a time bomb ready to detonate. You’d best go while you still can.”

  Jim tried to gauge why she didn’t want to be around him. Was it personal dislike? No, he didn’t think so. Then what? He said little more, allowing her to finish off the cup of coffee before he stood and held out his hand to her.

  “Time for you to get some sleep.”

  Cathy frowned. “I can make it on my own.”

  He slipped his hand under her arm, helping her stand. “I know you can. But friends look out for each other,” he murmured, and guided her out of the lounge, across the lobby and to the bank of elevators.

  Friends. The word echoed through her spinning head. Yes, Boland was behaving like a friend who genuinely cared what happened to her. Whether she wanted to or not, Cathy had to lean against his hard, steadying frame because she was dizzy. She squinted at the buttons on the panel.

  “Will you push the Up button? I can’t see it.”

  Boland pushed it, keeping a good grip on her arm. Her fragrance brought his senses screamingly alive. And she was warm. And feminine. She began hiccuping

  “Damn,” Cathy mumbled, pressing her hand across her mouth, embarrassed. Another hiccup. Boland began to smile. The elevator doors opened and she weaved in.

  Cathy tried to pull free of him. “I can make it….” Another blatant hiccup. Blush stained her cheeks.

  “I’ll see you to your room,” Jim told her patiently, a slight tinge of amusement in his voice. The doors creaked shut and Cathy sagged against the wall. “Dizzy?”

  “Yeah. My room number is—”

  “Two zero eight.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “I might have known…”

  He slipped his arm round her waist and helped her out the doors and down the long, thickly carpeted hall. Digging unsuccessfully in her purse for the key, Cathy gave up. Boland found the key. He kept one hand on her and opened the door with the other.

  Her legs buckled and Cathy felt herself sinking downward. Unconsciousness lapped at her and she felt herself being lifted and carried. The crisp texture of his uniform against her cheek and his masculine odor laced her senses. She wanted to be held by him forever. She felt safe in his arms.

  Cathy felt her shoes being taken off and then a sheet was tucked in around her. Boland’s blurred features danced before her hooded eyes. A cool hand touched her perspiring brow.

  “Think you’ll be okay?” he asked as he leaned over her and studied her in the shadowy light.

  Cathy moaned. “Yeah, I’ll be okay.”

  “Don’t move around. The room will only spin more.”

  She obeyed him and closed her eyes. He turned off the overhead light, leaving the bathroom light on and the door partially opened.

  “I’m in room 410 if you need someone, Cathy.”

  “Please, Boland, just go. I’ll be okay.”

  “The team is going to play volleyball tomorrow morning. I don’t think you’re going to be up for it.”

  Cathy dragged an arm across her eyes so he couldn’t see the tears gathering in the corners of them. “Look, I don’t mean to sound antisocial, but I don’t want to see any of you. I don’t want any reminders, Boland. Do you understand?”

  Reaching down, Jim wrapped his hand around her listless fingers, giving them a slight squeeze. “I understand, Cathy. Good night.”

  At the door Jim hesitated, watching her slide quickly into deep sleep. A gnawing sensation continued in the region of his heart. As he quietly closed the door, Jim knew that whatever plan Mackey had was doomed. And right now, he didn’t care. In fact, maybe the failure was his fault. If he hadn’t asked Cathy to accompany him to Ban Pua, things might be different. As it was, she was running scared. She reminded him of the baby. Of that fleeting moment of life amidst the carnage that stalked them all on a twenty-four-hour-a-day basis.

  Grimly, he took the elevator and then walked to his own room. He was going to spend the rest of the R & R time with her and try to help her up and over the trauma.

  THE PERSISTENT knock at her hotel door dragged Cathy out of sleep. She groggily sat up, pushing tangled hair away from her face. “Who is it?” she called, struggling to get her legs over the side of the bed.

  “Jim Boland.”

  Cathy froze, her head spinning wildly. Sunlight was pouring through the opened veranda doors, the tangy scent of ocean surrounding her. Looking down, she realized she was still dressed. Bits and pieces of last night came back, but the bulk of it stubbornly refused to come. How had she gotten to her room? Groaning, Cathy got off the bed, using the wall as a support. She fumbled with the lock and eventually opened the door.

  Jim smiled. “You look like hell.”

  “I feel like hell.” Jim Boland looked collegiate in a short-sleeved white shirt and a tan pair of slacks. Even in her present misery, she acknowledged that he was handsome. “What do you want?”

  “You.”

  “What?”

  Jim eased through the door and then shut it. “I know you don’t want to see me, but that’s tough. Come on, you need to get out of these things, take a long, soaking bath and start sweating out of that drunk you tied on last night.”

  Speechless, Cathy allowed herself to be propelled into the bathroom. Boland turned on the faucets to the tub, threw in a washcloth and peeled open a bar of soap. He turned, a satisfied look on his face.

  “There. Can you undress by yourself? Or are you
too dizzy?”

  Cathy’s mind refused to work. And her stomach was agitated. All her defenses were down and Boland’s field marshal tactics were proving too much for her to cope with.

  “N-no, I can do it.”

  “Good. Here’s a hotel robe. When you’re done, come on out.”

  Jim smiled after he shut the door to the bathroom. It was ten o’clock and he felt good. Yes, his plan was working right on schedule. Cathy was too sick and off guard to throw him out of her life. Yet.

  Finally, Cathy emerged, her hair in long, soaking strands framing her face, bundled up in the fleecy hotel robe. She was haggard looking as she sat on the edge of her bed, carefully eyeing him where he stood in the open doorway to the veranda.

  “Ready for some tomato juice?”

  She winced. “You don’t have to be so damned cheerful, Boland.”

  He walked over and sat down next to her, dialing room service. “Call me Jim.” He motioned to the balcony. “It’s a beautiful day. Sun’s shining. Birds are singing. The ocean is warm and calm.”

  Unable to keep up with him, Cathy closed her eyes, hearing him order up the tomato juice. She felt naked and fragile with him near her. But she didn’t have the strength to tell him to leave.

  Jim suppressed a smile. Cathy looked like a crumpled doll this morning.

  “Did you get some sleep last night?

  “Not much…too much Scotch,” she mumbled. Opening her eyes to bare slits, she asked, “How did I get to my room?”

  “I brought you up.”

  “I didn’t pass out in the lounge, did I?”

  “No, just here at the door to your room.”

  Relief shadowed her pale features. “Thank God.” Cathy placed her hands on her brow. “My head hurts like hell.”

  “Not the best way to release bottled-up frustration,” Jim observed drily, getting up to soak a washcloth. His gaze traveled over her half-robed body. She didn’t have bad legs at all, he decided. Well formed, a little thin at the ankle, but the knee and calf were nice. He found himself wishing the robe would slide off and discreetly reveal more of the long curvature of her thigh. Dismissing the thought, he pressed the cool cloth across her forehead after she lay down.