by Geri Krotow
“We can’t get flights that soon, Ro. Give us at least a few nights—we’ll help you out.” Krissy was all smiles now that her knight had showed up.
“Help me out with what?” Ro glared at Krissy. Yes, Krissy was still her younger sister but she was twenty-six and pregnant. An adult.
“Krissy doesn’t deserve your ire, Ro.” Dick put a protective arm around Krissy’s shoulders. “Direct your anger at me.”
“My ire?” A short bark that four hours ago would have been a hearty laugh popped out of Ro’s throat. “You are too much.”
She glared at them both now. It wasn’t helping her self-esteem that she looked like Popeye the first time she’d had to face them since they’d gotten married.
“You deserve each other. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a real job and I have to be up and at it in—” she checked her watch “—five hours.”
She turned on her heel, scooped her knitting bag from the hallway table and went upstairs to her bedroom. They could find the guest room on their own.
* * *
ROANNA COULDN’T REMEMBER a time she’d been so exhausted. Plebe summer at the naval academy came to mind, as did seemingly endless mid watches on the carrier. Neither of those had involved the emotional intensity she experienced now. Because even in wartime situations, fighting for every shred of intelligence that would be needed to keep the aircrews alive, she hadn’t had Miles next to her, step for step.
It had been hard enough to keep saying “no” to his requests for a date last year. She’d found him attractive from the moment she’d met him when he’d scaled the tree for Henry the Eighth.
But she hadn’t been ready to date anyone. Then he’d been assigned to work on the same staff as her, at the same command. Nothing said they couldn’t date except Roanna’s determination to always present the appearance of complete propriety.
She’d had so many reasons, good reasons, not to let her guard down around Miles. Their attraction was mutual and hot. She couldn’t imagine anything less than a full-blown affair with him—he wasn’t the kind of man to ask for half of anything.
She rolled over and punched her pillow under her head.
A relationship with him wasn’t worth it. The entire wing staff would learn about her personal business. When she and Miles stopped dating, which they would, the awkwardness of seeing him at work would be too much. More than she was willing to deal with.
She curled her fingers under her pillow, wishing that the part of her she never showed anyone else hadn’t revealed itself to Miles when he kissed her.
The sound of muffled conversation seeped through the wall of her bedroom, which adjoined the guest room—usually her yarn room. She’d lovingly created a hobby haven with shelves for skeins of yarn and wooden dowels nailed to the wall on which she hung her hanks of the more artisanal fibers. Long primitive shelves, whitewashed in a pale cream, lined the walls on three sides of the room.
She’d arranged the skeins by color so it was like walking into a rainbow every time she went inside. A futon folded into a comfortable sofa that she spent hours on while she pored over patterns or matched fibers for one of her custom designs for furniture covers. She’d had to move the sofa cover she was in the process finishing up—a soothing aquamarine knitted center with a crocheted picot edge in coffee-hued alpaca—in order to flatten the futon into a bed for Krissy.
Krissy and Dick.
She stared at her ceiling. It would be too easy to blame her angst on her surprise guests instead of her restless ache for Miles.
CHAPTER TEN
RO ROSE WITH the sun the following morning, atypical for a Saturday. It had taken her a while to unwind but once she did she fell into a deep slumber. She woke without an alarm and it took her a moment to remember why her eye hurt. The previous day’s events streamed across her mind. Her lips still tingled at the mere recall of Miles’s kisses. She allowed the back of her hand to linger on her mouth as she looked at her face in the bathroom mirror.
“Now, that’s the definition of fugly.”
She was relieved that her eye was starting to open but stitches sat on the puffy purple circle around her eye and over the rise of her cheekbone. The surgeon had done an excellent job; except for the tiny butterfly bandages, she could barely make out any stitches.
The memory of how tender Miles had been with her when he drove her home warmed her in the cold bathroom.
“Enough.” She forced herself to get showered and dressed before she grabbed her mobile and headed downstairs.
It was a relief to see there were no messages on her phone.
Getting out of her house and to the base without waking her uninvited guests became her top priority.
She almost made it, too. Her gym bag was slung over her shoulder and she held a newly cleaned and pressed uniform in her hand. She didn’t plan on wearing her uniform today but she’d be able to leave it in her office, ready for Monday morning.
“Roanna.” Dick’s voice made her jump as she reached the landing. How long had he been up?
“I’m already late for work, Dick.”
“On a Saturday?” He stood in front of her in flannel pajamas. Not the type of outfit you packed if you were in a hurry to get somewhere. Her gut contracted as she recognized his complete disregard for her, her life.
“My job is 24/7, Dick. You know that.” She wasn’t getting into the details of the investigation with him.
“I’m glad I caught you, Ro. We need to talk.” As if she hadn’t just stated she didn’t have time.
“Can you let it go? All I ask is that you and Krissy lock the door behind you when you leave.”
He stepped into the dim hall light. He looked older, more somber than she’d ever seen him.
“That’s just it, Ro. Krissy and I have worked out our fight, don’t worry. We’re good. But we agree that we can’t go back to New Jersey until Krissy makes things right with you. What you think of me is one thing, but please don’t take your disappointment and anger out on your sister.” He ran his hand through his longish dark hair.
“Krissy and I share something you and I never did, Ro.”
“Um, yeah, like, a baby.” She sighed. “Dick, I don’t want to get into this with you. Not now.”
He shrugged, his face compassionate. Another first.
“Sure, I get it. But you know how crazy your mother can be. She’s been doing her best to make life a living hell for Krissy. Delores calls her every day and tells her she needs to mend fences with you. I don’t disagree, but Krissy deserves to be excited about this time in her life. She needs your strength to help her see that it’s okay to enjoy her own goddamned life.”
A sucker punch right to her emotional gut. As if Dick had planned to make her feel like even more of a loser. So now she was supposed to make both their lives easier?
Remember, you’re starting over.
Why couldn’t she have tossed that ring off the bridge with a few profane words of release? Why did she have to be willing to change, to keep a more open mind?
“Fine. We’ll all sit down together. But I can’t promise when—it might not be until tomorrow or even next week.”
“No worries, Ro. We’ll wait as long as it takes.”
She knew they’d wait. In her house, on her time.
Damn it.
* * *
COMMAND MASTER CHIEF Lydia Reis glanced at her dossier. She’d cleared everything off her desk except any documents having to do with AMS1 Perez and his surviving family.
Her hands shook as her fingers poised over her computer keyboard. If she had to stand up she wasn’t certain her knees would support her.
The tears welled and the heaving sobs she was sure had run dry last night threatened a reappearance. This wouldn’t do. She was the senior enlisted sailor in the
wing, the person all the other enlisted were looking up to. How she handled this would either be an honor to Petty Officer Perez’s name or make the wing seem like a circus.
She had to put her broken heart on hold.
Her phone rang.
“Master Chief Reis.”
“Master Chief, do you have a minute?” Commodore Sanders was in this morning, too. They all were.
“Yes, sir.” She stood up and pushed away from her desk, her office only steps from the commodore’s.
Usually, he emailed her when he needed a meeting. The seriousness of the Perez case drove through her heart as she walked into his office. She prayed she’d be able to do whatever was asked of her, if only for Perez’s family.
“Have a seat.” He motioned for her to sit down, as he all but fell into his own leather desk chair.
She waited for him to speak.
“Master Chief, you’ve done a bang-up job for this wing since I’ve come aboard. I can’t thank you enough for the hours you’ve put into rebuilding morale as the tired squadrons come home from deployment and your troops have to put their planes back together, as they get ready to go again.”
She shifted in her seat and hoped her expression remained detached.
Sanders leaned forward, his elbows on his massive oak desk. Her fingers itched to curl into fists but she controlled herself.
Don’t let him see you sweat.
“There’s no easy way to put this, Master Chief. I happen to have caught wind that you and Perez shared more than a professional relationship.”
The son of a bitch. To put this in front of her, today, this week.
She crossed her legs. “May I ask where you heard this, sir?”
Sanders leaned back, the satisfied gleam in his eyes underscoring his confidence that he had her number.
“Perez had a hard time keeping his mouth shut when it came to his philandering. You were a prize trophy.”
He’s bluffing. He would’ve been able to see Perez come into her office if he wanted, but she was positive that was all he’d seen.
“He came in and talked to me a lot, yes.”
“I’m referring to more than idle conversation, Master Chief.”
“I didn’t know him outside of the office, if that’s what you’re getting at, Commodore.” The lie was so easy when it came to protecting someone she cared about. Protecting his surviving family.
“Then why does the scuttlebutt put you in the center of his supposedly estranged relationship with his wife?”
She forced down the rage that wanted to stand up and deck the self-serving captain.
“I can’t control hangar gossip, sir. Of course anyone I give any extra attention to is bound to get flak from, or be questioned by, the other sailors. I counsel dozens of different sailors each week, one-on-one. Just like a lot of the others, Petty Officer Perez was looking to change rates to intel, or go back to school so he could become a warrant officer at some point. He was motivated to provide for his family.”
The last was a stretch of the truth but she’d never let the commodore know everything Perez had told her. She wasn’t that stupid.
“This is where you have to come clean, Master Chief. I’m willing to go to bat for you but if I find out you’re lying to me, I won’t be able to help you.”
“I understand.” She’d be damned if she told him again that she hadn’t had an affair with Perez. The truth hurt too much, and Commodore Sanders was the last man she’d ever share her heart with.
“Okay.” He paused. “I’ll assume it was all gossip. I have to put my trust in you, Master Chief.”
She remained silent—she didn’t trust herself to say anything that wouldn’t land her in a court martial.
“Have you heard any more news about the case this morning?”
“No, sir. Only that they’re performing an autopsy sometime today, and that the coroner plans to reveal the cause of death soon thereafter.”
Commodore Sanders scratched his chin.
“Good. It seems the coroner isn’t interested in waiting for body fluid test results—so he must have enough reason to think it’s a suicide.”
The commodore shook his head. “How many good men do we have to lose to PTSD?”
The military had also lost women to PTSD and other wartime causes, but Lydia wasn’t going to point that out to the commodore. Not today.
For Perez she could do what was right, no matter how much it pained her.
* * *
“SIR, IT WAS REALLY clear to Miles and me that Anita Perez was upset, but it seems she and Petty Officer Perez had been having marital difficulties.”
The commodore nodded at Ro and grimaced. “I’d figured as much from what I heard on the hangar deck. Unfortunately, marriage issues aren’t uncommon in our profession, are they?”
He looked more haggard than he had yesterday. Was this why he’d seemed subpar? Was the commodore having marital problems? A dead sailor on his hands would certainly stress him to the maximum.
The commodore gave Ro a closer examination. “What the hell did you do to your eye, Roanna?”
“Mrs. Perez mistook me for someone else.”
“You don’t say.” The commodore rubbed his eyes. “Who did she mistake you for?”
“I have no idea, sir.” Ro should have been galled at how calmly she lied but she and Miles had agreed to keep any personal accusations and discoveries to themselves until they could be verified. It was their job to protect the commodore from political fallout and the less he knew about these things, the better. Until anything proved vital to the investigation, they were only going to report pertinent, validated facts.
Sanders shook his head. “Strange things happen during times like this. You okay, Ro?”
“Yes, sir. Miles kept things even over there.”
“We’ll go back to the Perez home again, sir, if needed. I do think it’s a good idea that you followed Mrs. Perez’s wishes and didn’t go out there.” Miles looked at Ro.
“She seemed to trust us, didn’t she? After she hit you.” Miles gave her a wink that Sanders couldn’t see. Ro wanted to hit him. “That’s the most we can hope for under the circumstances.”
“Absolutely.” The commodore, also in civilian clothes, pushed back from his desk. “You two keep on it. I can’t tell you how much I trust you with this. If you get any information about the autopsy, let me know ASAP.”
“Yes, sir.” They responded in unison and left his office.
It was almost scary how well she and Miles worked together. How they both refrained from mentioning to the commodore that Anita Perez thought her husband had been having an affair with one of the commodore’s senior female staffers.
Ro wondered if they were doing anyone a favor by keeping information from the commodore, but she was going to listen to her gut for once, instead of all the navy rules she’d lived by for more than half her adult life.
Miles stopped when their paths diverged. “I’ll call you as soon as I hear back from the sheriff’s department.”
“Okay.” Ro wasn’t going to hold her breath. Miles seemed so certain they’d get in on the autopsy but he failed to realize he wasn’t in a U.S. war zone. He was on Whidbey Island and Perez’s death had taken place in civilian territory—not on base. They weren’t going to come anywhere near Perez’s body or any sensitive results without the sheriff’s say-so.
They went their separate ways.
* * *
AN HOUR AFTER they’d met with the commodore, Ro sat at her desk, more comfortable in her civilian clothes than she’d thought she would be. Normally, she only wore her civvies to and from work or the gym. The office was uniform-only. But this was Saturday and it was more important that she be able to head into town without taking the time to change.
“LCDR Brandywine. This is an unsecure line.”
“Ro, it’s me.” Miles’s voice startled her. They’d never spoken on the phone before. Odd, she realized, since they’d known each other for nearly a year. His voice sounded close, intimate.
“Yes?”
“I got us in with the coroner. Meet me in the parking lot in five minutes.”
The line clicked off as he hung up.
“Damn it,” she swore under her breath. Miles had talked to Detective Ramsey as promised and now they were going to the autopsy. Was there anything he couldn’t accomplish?
“Everything okay, boss?” The petty officer who worked with her poked his head into her office door. Ro never swore at work. Not audibly, anyway.
“Yes, Petty Officer Rossignol. I’m afraid I’m going to be out of the office for the rest of the day.” She pushed away from her desk, stood up and walked out to IS2 Rossignol’s desk. “I’m doing a collateral duty for now and I may be away more often than not over the next week or so.”
“Does it have anything to do with Petty Officer Perez?”
“Officially, no.” She’d let Rossignol fill in the blanks. “But suffice it to say that my assignment is a top priority for the commodore.”
“I’ve got your six, boss. We have the reservist coming on board next week, so there’ll be real work for her to do if you’re out.”
Ro smiled at her subordinate. They were a good team, she had to admit. Rossignol kept the other ISs in line and she knew she could count on him to manage the entire shop if need be. Had, in fact, on a couple of occasions.
“We’re going to treat the reservist with as much respect as any active duty sailor, right?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m just saying—sometimes there isn’t enough work for everyone if it’s a quiet time operationally.”
“And when’s the last time we were in an operational lull?”
