by Geri Krotow
What was happening to her? She wanted to blame it on Perez’s death and being so close to Miles these past two weeks. But it wasn’t accurate or fair to do so. Miles had been getting to her since the day he’d climbed out of that tree with Henry the Eighth.
She was changing. The fact that she’d been able to live under the same roof as Dick, Krissy and her mother without gutting any of them was proof that she’d moved past her failed engagement.
The fact that she’d allowed Miles to make love to her and, more important, allowed herself to completely give in to their passion, demonstrated that she was finding herself. Finding the real core of who she was.
She wasn’t the same young woman who’d cultivated a navy career by going to the academy, and she wasn’t the person she’d been at the start of that career.
Could her newfound self continue as before, always going for the next hard tour, the next step toward promotion?
Or were her ideas of success changing? Was happiness more than any uniform or career?
She smoothed out her uniform and went back into the yarn shop.
* * *
“WELL, LOOK WHAT the cat dragged in.” Miles greeted the man doing lat pull-downs in the far corner of the fitness center.
“Warrant!” Max Ford, a retired navy commander and Miles’s longtime workout buddy, let the weighted bar ease up over his head before he stood up from the bench.
“How the hell are you?” Max held out his hand and Miles took it in a firm shake.
“I’m doing all right. What’s retired life like?” Max had retired from the navy almost a year ago. Since then he’d gotten married.
“Well, it’s been an adjustment, let me tell you.” Max smiled and shook his head, hands on his hips. “I thought I’d seen it all in the navy but I have to tell you, being a full-time husband and dad has been the hardest thing I’ve ever done. The most rewarding, though, and I absolutely love it, but tough.”
“How’s Winnie?”
Max couldn’t keep the warm light out of his eyes, even a hard-boiled sailor like Miles could see that.
“She’s wonderful. Cracking the whip, of course. She’s got me helping with her business, which I do in between getting the island hopper airline in order.”
“Do you need more pilots?”
“No, but I could sure use an EOD-type in the security area.” Max smiled but his tone was sober. “Seriously, there’s more to it than I imagined when I dreamed up pulling together a small fleet of commuter aircraft and a handful of pilots. The paperwork with the TSA is a job in and of itself.”
“It’s the times we live in, boss.”
“Hey, you can’t call me that anymore. I’m retired.”
“So I can call you whatever I want, and it’ll always be ‘boss.’”
Max shrugged off the implied compliment.
“Did I tell you Winnie’s pregnant?”
“No way. You sure move fast.”
“Well, our oldest is in high school and little Maeve is getting ready for pre-K. Plus we’re both older. We couldn’t wait too much longer.”
Max’s voice rang with pride and happiness.
A tug at his solar plexus made Miles listen to his own heart. Was it possible for a man to have a ticking biological clock? Making babies with Roanna sounded like heaven to him.
“So, what’s new with you? Anyone special in your life?”
“Nah. You know how it is—long days, short nights. No time for that right now.”
“Bullshit. Remember who you’re talking to, Warrant.”
Miles laughed and Max joined him.
“Touché.” Miles knew he couldn’t put a claim on Ro, which made him want her all the more. He hadn’t seen her much since the memorial service yesterday and he was experiencing withdrawal.
“There is that gal I met when you made me climb that tree last year.”
“The intel type?”
“How did you―?”
“She was in the B-17 last year, remember? And I saw her a couple of times at the wing AOMs before I retired.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. Tell me what the deal is there—if you’re so inclined.”
“You may recall she never agreed to go out with me.”
Max nodded.
“We’ve been assigned to a sensitive case together, and it’s allowed us to spend more time with each other.”
“I trust you’re taking full advantage of this time?” Laughter glittered in Max’s eyes.
Miles rubbed his chin.
“Yes and no. Of course I’m not stupid, boss, I use every chance to show her I’m not that much of a nerd, and to try to find out more about her. But our case has been a little hairy, to say the least. It hasn’t made my efforts to convince her I’m not such a bad guy any easier.”
Max didn’t ask any questions about the case. He’d been a career officer and knew that if the information wasn’t volunteered it was for a good reason. Miles had missed their comfortable way with each other.
“I’m finding myself in a position I haven’t faced before. The rules are different downrange—if something needs to get done, you do it. As long as you’re on the right side of the mission, it’s all good. But here, I find I can’t trust everyone like I did my colleagues in the war.”
“Don’t forget you worked with the top experts in their fields, Miles. You’re EOD. You’re used to working with only the highest caliber of operational service members. I’m not saying the guys and gals here aren’t excellent at what they do, but if they haven’t been downrange, and if they’re not used to high-risk operations, it’s tough for you to identify with them.”
Miles regarded Max with new eyes. Max was the man who’d suffered major trauma, including PTSD, after saving his unit from a terrorist bomber. Max and Miles had met while still in their initial phases of recovery and physical therapy at the Walter Reed National Military Medical Center in Washington, D.C.
Max knew better than most what Miles had gone through. And he’d been the best workout buddy a man could hope for during those early months on Whidbey.
In all their time together, though, he and Max had never really discussed their different career paths. They were two sailors who needed to recover so they could continue to serve their country.
“Thanks, boss. I appreciate it.”
“There’s nothing to thank me for, Miles. It’s the truth.” Max paused. “Are you safe? Do you feel like someone’s undermining you?”
“Whoa, are you Houdini or something?” Miles wanted to keep it light but they were already in very deep territory. “It’s not being undermined—it’s being used for the sake of a superior’s career motives. I get it, I know the game. I don’t play it except when I have to. And when my boss tells me to do something, as long as it’s not an illegal order, I do it.”
“Roger that. Listen, Miles, you don’t have to say any more. I’ve been there. It’s a different ball game on shore duty, at a command where everyone thinks his or her job is indispensable—yet you know damn well that there are people taking bullets for all of us in more important roles, right at this moment.”
Miles shrugged. He wasn’t used to this touchy-feely stuff. Marriage was never going to soften him as it obviously had Max Ford.
“Just do the job you need to do, Warrant. The rest will work itself out.”
“It had better, boss.”
“One more thing, Warrant?”
“Yeah, boss?”
“Let me know when you get that woman of yours.”
Miles shook his head. “Ain’t happening anytime soon.”
“My wife knows her.”
“What?” Max had his complete attention.
“Ask her what she does with her free time.”
&n
bsp; “She’s a knitter. She probably buys yarn from your wife’s shop, right?” Miles wasn’t too familiar with the work Winnie did. He knew she was a navy widow and Max had been her CACO many years ago. She’d stayed on the island after her first husband died since her family lived up in nearby Anacortes. She ran some kind of craft business was all Miles knew.
“Her corporation is taking off and she needs talented, knowledgeable people to come on board and join the team.”
Had Ro decided to resign her commission?
“And?”
“Like I said, ask your lady friend about it.” Max smiled.
Miles shook his head again and held out his hand.
“It’s been great seeing you, boss. Don’t be such a stranger here.”
Max clasped his hand.
“You, either. I’ll talk to Winnie and we’ll have you over for a barbecue when it gets a little warmer.”
“That’d be great.”
“It’d be nice if you brought your lady friend, Warrant. Sounds like she and Winnie have a lot in common.”
Miles said goodbye and walked toward the showers. He didn’t want to disappoint Max, but Ro was the furthest thing from a domestic wife.
But she does knit. A lot. And she’s been questioning her career. You’ve seen her at her best and worst this past week.
He understood that Ro didn’t want anything from him other than a roll in the hay. He blamed himself for not waiting, not courting her properly. But it wasn’t in him; courting was for men who wanted to settle down.
Ro deserved more than he had to give her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
RO LAUGHED AT the sixth stupid joke Bill Brannigan had made in three minutes. He’d cozied up to her at the bar of the N.A.S. Whidbey Officer’s Club shortly after she’d arrived a half hour ago. It wasn’t her usual Friday after-work routine but she’d decided she needed to step out of her usual routine.
She drank some of her diet soda.
“When do you deploy again, Ro?” He beamed a grin at her that she knew he’d used to get other gals in the sack. Bill was an EA-6B jet pilot who never failed to let others know he was a naval aviator.
“I don’t, Bill. Not on this tour. Unless I push to go on detachment downrange, which I don’t plan on doing.”
She blinked and tried to focus on Bill’s words.
“Ah, that’s right. You were already over there a couple times, weren’t you?” He patted her shoulder. His hand lingered on her shoulder a little too long and a shudder ran up her back.
Bill had always made it clear that if she ever wanted more than a friendship, he was open to it.
This is creepy. He’s like a brother to you.
“Um, yeah.” She surveyed the bar, which was filling up quickly—Friday happy hour was always a hit. Active duty personnel as well as their spouses, significant others and significant-other-hopefuls contributed to the cacophony.
A couple of officers had just been promoted and were paying for their squadrons’ drinks at the bar. A young female pilot had completed her final check ride in a P-3C Orion, which her shipmates were celebrating with her.
Face it. You can’t get Miles out of your head.
Bill leaned in and his breath smelled like greasy French fries and beer.
“Do you have a cut on your eye, there, Ro?”
She put her hand to her cheek. “It’s just a few stitches from the black eye I got last week.”
Bill peered closer. Her instinct was to lean far away but she forced herself to sit still.
“I’ll be back in a minute, Ro. Don’t go away.” Bill sauntered off toward the bar’s restroom. She realized she’d probably be giving him a ride home if he kept throwing back his beers. Or calling him a taxi.
She looked over her shoulder through the O Club’s large window and stared out at the water. A run along the base path would have been a smarter option than coming in here and trying to pretend she hadn’t just finished the most tumultuous week of her life.
A familiar hand slapped down on the bar next to her and made her jump.
“Commander Brandywine, imagine seeing you here.”
She turned to glare at Miles. He had that damn smug expression on his face, not unlike the one he’d worn after he’d made her come so hard she’d screamed.
“What do you think I’m doing here?” She turned to face the bar head-on. Hopefully he’d get the hint.
“You look like you’re here to pick someone up. But I know that can’t be true.” At his tone, she wanted to dump her diet drink over his blond head. Her fingers itched at the memory of running her hands through his hair when they made love.
“What I’m doing here is none of your concern, Warrant. We’re off duty.”
He slid onto the stool next to hers and she bit her lip. For the umpteenth time in a week, Miles was screwing up her carefully composed itinerary to freedom. She should have known from the very first kiss—no matter how effective it had been at hiding their presence from the wing staff—that she was in deep waters with this man.
“Ah, that’s not quite accurate, is it, Commander?” His voice held a timbre that was its own caress. She fought to keep her hands on the bar in front of her and not reach up and rub her neck and cheek where she felt every vibration of his presence.
“Spare me, Miles. There’s nothing going on now, nothing we can do about it until we get more information. If we ever do. Besides, everything’s shut down for the weekend.”
“Not true, Ro. We can be called to a new situation at any time. You know that.” Miles waved down the bartender. “I’ll have whatever you have on tap today.”
He turned to her.
“What are you having? Rum and Coke?”
“Coke. Diet.” She spit the words out. How was it that Miles, who’d been through the same things she had this week, appeared so much more the pulled-together officer than she did?
“Why aren’t you drinking?” His question was open, nonjudgmental.
“I never drink when I’m out unless someone else is driving. I’d rather wait to get home and have my glass of red. Single malt Scotch is good, too, if the weather is cold enough.”
She fiddled with her straw. “I don’t drink when I have to drive, ever. I know ‘one drink, one hour’ is legal but I’d never forgive myself if I messed up.”
“You really are a sweat, Ro.” He grinned at the navy reference to someone who is responsible to the point of obsessive-compulsive. “But I respect you for it.”
“I’m not a sweat. I make my own choices, is all.”
“You’re in my seat, buddy.” Bill clasped a hand on Miles’s shoulder.
Miles stood. “We haven’t met. I’m Miles.”
“Miles, eh?” Bill’s gaze zeroed in on Miles’s warfare insignia.
“I’m EOD. That’s what the little bomb means, friend.” Miles took a gulp of the beer the bartender put in front of him. Ro stifled a giggle. Bill was too obtuse to get that Miles was poking fun at him.
“What’s an EOD dude doing on Whidbey?” Bill reached over for his own beer. Ro found it annoying but not surprising that she was completely out of the equation at this point. Miles and Bill were doing the “whose penis is larger” routine, only it involved their navy career paths and wartime exploits.
“I’m here to conduct training, and to recover from my war injury.”
“Okay.” Bill took a slug of his beer. Ro was impressed that Bill didn’t ask what the injury was. In uniform, Miles’s lost leg was undetectable. A wartime injury could be anything.
“So how do you know Ro?”
“We work together at the wing.” Miles kept his gaze on Bill; his unspoken claim on Ro was unmistakable.
Bill wrinkled his forehead. “Hey, Ro. You never mentioned that,
uh—” he read Miles’s name tag “—Miles.”
“What’s to mention, Bill? I see you here once or twice a week at lunchtime. We don’t usually talk about who we work with.” No, they always talked about Bill and what a great pilot he was.
As she watched Miles and Bill play their testosterone game, she was struck by how tuned in her body was to Miles. His every gesture, the nuance in how he modulated his voice.
No one compared to him.
* * *
MILES CONVERSED WITH Bill as though he gave a crap about Bill’s EA-6B exploits. The entire time he watched Ro. She sat at the bar with a neutral expression on her face and nursed her soda. Too cool for school.
His gut had twisted when he saw her sitting at the bar. He hadn’t gone there looking for her, but he’d seen her car in the lot. He stopped in at happy hour on the rare instance someone he knew was promoted or the commodore invited the staff out to drinks after a long week.
He didn’t have Ro pegged as a happy hour frequent flyer, either. Maybe once or twice over the past twelve months their paths had crossed here. Since they hadn’t had the investigation to bring them together, there’d been no reason to talk.
He’d tried. Every damn time they were in any kind of social situation he’d tried to win her over, show her he was fun, didn’t need a commitment. That he was trustworthy, someone to have a good time with. That he’d never kiss and tell.
Her face, her lips, taunted him with what they’d shared Sunday night. He didn’t come in here only because he saw her car in the lot.
He wanted, needed, to be with her again.
He told himself it would do him good to have a beer and hang out with some friends. Unfortunately, his best friend, Max Ford, had gone and retired and was a newlywed. Yesterday at the gym he should have asked Max to meet him here, but he didn’t realize he’d be stalking Roanna like this. No matter, as Max would have been a no-show, anyway. Most retirees didn’t hang out at the O Club happy hour.
Face it. You’re here for Ro.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” He held his hand to his ear to indicate that the ambient noise and not his own thoughts had distracted him from Bill’s banter.
