In the Weeds

by M. L. Buchman

  In silence, Reggie finished the two sandwiches and wrapped a napkin around a few extra bacon slices for Rex. Colby would have been happier if Reggie was groaning or slinging some shit back at him. Instead he handed over the wrapped sandwiches with a look that said one thing very clearly: You go there and I’ll kill your ass.

  Colby shrugged like: as if that could ever happen. Besides, Secret Service training versus chef training, he wasn’t worried. Though Reggie did have access to some seriously sharp knives.

  4

  “What’s in the bag?”

  “What’s it worth to you?”

  “Rude,” Ivy commented with no heat. She stood in the West Wing Colonnade and had been watching the sky even though it was still too early for the Marine One flight returning the President from Camp David. This time the Press Corps had piled out of the West Wing and were ganged up along the rope line.

  But now she was looking up into Colby’s dark eyes…and would rather she wasn’t. He was very hard to look away from. He was so unexpected that she—

  “Hold it, would you?” Colby handed her the bag, dropped his satchel at her feet, then stepped away to join a female dog handler who had just walked past.

  Ivy watched as they walked together along the rope line that kept the press gaggle at bay. Several of the reporters greeted Colby and Rex, though none reached out to pet the dog as he sniffed them. She could hear the greetings for the other agent and dog as well: Linda and Thor.

  Ivy watched as Colby instructed Linda on the proper search pattern, starting at the West Wing doors and working their way down to the landing area. There was a kindness that surprised her. Not that Colby was an unkind man. But it was easy to see the calming effect his instruction had on his teammate. They finished their patrol just as the groundskeepers rolled out the aluminum disks for this afternoon’s flight. Introductions all around: friends with the groundskeepers.

  That had always been Colby’s trademark: Mr. Easygoing. In high school, the girls had flocked to him. Not because he’d been anything special in those years, but because he’d been friendly and kind. He’d always been attractive, really attractive, and he’d always known it, which was a major turnoff to her. Except, where it had once been the only card he had to play—and why not? It had worked on flocks of high school girls—he didn’t seem to be using it anymore.

  He escorted Linda to a position that would be between the helo and the fence, gave a final instruction, then shook hands with her before striding back across the lawn toward her. The tall man and his huge shepherd walking across the White House lawn as if they belonged. It was a walk worthy of a Marine.

  Walk any turf as if you own it. That places fear in the enemy’s heart, especially if you do it on their home soil.

  Colby followed McKinnon’s Laws instinctively, without any training by the Corps.

  She remembered the bag she was holding and looked inside so that she wasn’t watching Colby as he returned to her side. Two sandwiches. She hadn’t even thought about food. A Marine Corps major having a major blood sugar crash on her first day would not be a good thing. Her flight suit had a small pocket that she always kept stocked with energy bars. She hadn’t even thought about needing to do that in her dress blues even if there was a place. Her metabolism didn’t have a lot of leeway and Colby had remembered that about her. She hadn’t even been aware that he knew that.

  Colby arrived and reached into the bag without ceremony. He snagged one of the sandwiches and a folded paper towel. He unwrapped several slices of bacon for Rex, then bit down on his own sandwich. “Damn, your brother even makes a sandwich something special.”

  “You saw Reggie.”

  He glanced up at the roof of the West Wing and nodded—more to himself than to her. “Better eat fast.”

  She pulled out her own and bit into it. BLT with avocado and the special mayo spread that he’d invented just for her. “A little chili for zing because it’s so you, slivers of tarragon for your sweet heart—” a so big-brother-got-it-wrong detail (more than one boyfriend had labeled her heart as pure steel…with wire barbs) “—and a touch of lemon juice for the sunshine you bring.” It was sufficiently the taste of home that it almost brought tears to her eyes.

  “Sure I saw him. Told him we were getting married.”

  “How did he take it?” Colby wasn’t the only one who could deliver a straight line.

  “He thought it was a little odd that I wanted to name all our kids Reggie, but other than that he was cool with it.” Colby’s voice always gave him away. He’d tried to make a joke and Reggie hadn’t been amused. Her brother was always so serious. It had definitely made Reggie and Colby an odd pair growing up.

  “Works for me.”

  Colby choked on his sandwich.

  Whereas having an older brother and Colby to practice on, she’d learned to never give away anything she was feeling.

  They finished the sandwiches just as the White Tops flew into view beyond the Washington Monument. Three Sea Kings in a shifting group—even she couldn’t pick out which was Marine One at the moment—and a pair of heavily armed Black Hawks flying overwatch patrol. Those were the pitch black helos of the 160th SOAR Night Stalkers who were best known for being lethal, even by Marine standards.

  “Though maybe we should name the dog Reggie instead of our kids,” she continued as much to distract herself as anything else. Her nerves were attempting to rematerialize. “Wouldn’t want my brother getting a swelled head, thinking he was important or something.”

  She could feel Colby’s shock take another hit.

  This was even better than jumping out of cabinets to get a reaction out of him.

  His joke had died twice now and Colby didn’t know what to do with it.

  Reggie had taken it seriously, when he was supposed to laugh.

  And Ivy, its real target, hadn’t reacted at all. Instead she’d talked about what they should name their dog as if she already had pictured their whole life together.

  Did he even know her?

  He considered asking her what she was actually thinking or feeling…but he decided that he didn’t need that kind of joke backfiring on him a third time. And what if suddenly it wasn’t a joke? He definitely couldn’t deal with that.

  He stuffed the empty sandwich bag into his gear while the President, his entourage, and the press did their dance and cleared off. Then they left the shade of the big magnolia and headed down to the helo. Once aboard, he dropped into the first seat and suddenly the Marine crew chief was glaring at him.

  “What?”

  The Marine’s scowl grew darker.

  Ivy sat in the armchair opposite him, but her smile was wicked.

  Now what?

  “You might want to look at the seat back you’re sitting against so casually.”

  He leaned forward enough to turn and look. There, like a target at the middle of his back, was the Presidential Seal woven right into the fabric.

  “Holy shit!” He jolted out of the seat, stumbled over Rex, who had laid down in the aisle, and plummeted onto the bench seat on the other side of the aircraft as the helo lifted.

  Ivy burst out laughing.

  The lethal-looking Marine Corps crew chief did not. Colby had clearly desecrated a holy sanctuary.

  “Give him a break, Sergeant McShea. He’s merely Secret Service; he can’t help screwing up.”

  And Baxter had told him not to embarrass the service. Not much luck so far.

  Rex looked at him as if to say to get his act together, then settled into his standard helicopter mode—naptime.

  “Fine. Do that. I won’t tell you that it’s only a three-minute flight.”

  Ivy patted Rex’s head and he sighed happily. “I think that renaming him Reggie isn’t very fair to such a nice dog.”

  Between Rex’s size and typical unrelenting drive, most of Colby’s past girlfriends had been afraid of the German shepherd. Not Ivy, of course. She’d never been afraid of anything.

  Iv
y Hanson. A dog. Kids. It was a crazy image, but that didn’t mean he hated it either. Maybe that was the problem. It was surprisingly easy to imagine waking up next to her—which was not where his thoughts about women typically started. His imagination was far more about the lying down together part. He’d found his share of attractive women over the years, but—

  Hold on a sec!

  Now he was thinking of Ivy as an attractive woman?

  Not just pretty or good-looking, but actually attractive? Literally? Like he was attracted to her? That was so strange that—

  The helicopter began descending rapidly. He glanced out the window. They were flying low enough over a golf course that he could easily read the flag numbers on the greens as they flapped in the wind off the rotor. Crap! He’d just missed his one-time-ever chance to see the White House takeoff from the other perspective.

  But it wasn’t the image of the South Lawn that stuck in his mind. It was the image of Ivy lying down next to him that was occupying his thoughts. Of course, he’d never be stupid enough to suggest such a thing seriously. Because Reggie had been right, Ivy would kill him if she found out.

  As he watched out the window, he saw a blur flash close by the window. Like a giant bird. Or a tiny F-14 Tomcat fighter jet.

  It seemed impossibly close, yet looked as if it was far away to be so small. Before he could make sense of it, there was a loud crunch like a pure steel gull hitting the side of the helicopter.

  He was about to ask Ivy if everything was okay when the helo lurched sideways.

  An ear-shattering scream pierced even the presidential sound insulation!

  That definitely wasn’t normal.

  5

  Ivy knew the motion the instant they entered the sideslip. An engine’s cry was bad news, but an auto-rotation landing could always be achieved.

  This wasn’t an engine failure sound.

  The sideslip was the loss of the tail rotor followed by the rending steel of the transfer shaft blowing through its bearings. They weren’t going to be landing under any sort of control.

  “Buckle up! We’re going down.”

  They tightened their seatbelts in unison yanks.

  She tried to figure out what she could do for Rex when Colby scooped the big dog into his lap and clamped his arms around the German shepherd. Despite his size, he’d picked Rex up as if he weighed nothing.

  It was crazy at this moment, but it was a visceral reaction—a body memory of how solidly he had held her as they fell on the South Lawn. Of his strength and power in ways that she’d never experienced in a man before. The fact that it came from Colby Thompson wasn’t something she had time to consider at the moment.

  Colby looked right at her, but didn’t say a thing. Good man, the Marine in her thought. No scream. No questions she couldn’t answer. No panic.

  She glanced out the window and was impressed at his lack of panic, because she could feel her own adrenaline kicking into high gear as the breath choked in her throat.

  Without the rear tail rotor to counteract the spin, the helicopter had begun a death spiral. The rotors turning one way and the helicopter itself forced to rotate in the other. Normally the tail rotor pushed the tail sideways against the engine-induced spin to hold the helo in straight-line flight. Not anymore.

  Flashes of the golf course.

  Anacostia Air Base so close, but completely out of reach.

  The blue slash of the Potomac.

  The trees between the golf course and the park at the south tip of the island.

  A radio call by the pilot, “Marine 173 going down, south end Haines Point.” His voice calm and clear, but he didn’t waste time repeating the call. Other than that, he and the copilot fought the controls in silence. The crew chief braced himself and kept his silence as well, knowing their fate was out of his hands.

  The Air Base.

  Blue water.

  Because the pilot had been flying so low over the golf course, they were below fifty feet when the failure had occurred. It had sounded like a bird strike. Out of the death zone. The death zone for a helicopter started at fifty feet and ended at four hundred. Below fifty, you mostly fell out of the sky. Above four hundred, you could set up an autorotation (unless you lost your tail rotor), and have some choice in where you came down. Even without the tail rotor there were some things that could be done with enough altitude.

  In the death zone…

  Well, it was aptly named and she was glad to not be in it.

  Didn’t mean this wasn’t going to hurt.

  Ivy’s body instinctively strained against the controls—controls that she didn’t have. Her left foot jammed into the plush carpet, just in case some bit of the tail rotor still existed. She rocked her non-existent cyclic to the right in hopes of using the airframe’s body angle to some advantage against the increasing spin.

  She looked up and saw Colby clutching Rex to his chest.

  But he was watching her.

  As if he wanted to say something.

  As if he didn’t know what to say.

  Maybe he—

  They slammed in.

  Momentum heaved her against her seatbelt.

  Her hands, clutched to the seat arms, were torn loose as the helo flopped about like a dying fish.

  Colby twisted, taking the brunt of the hit for his dog, just as he had for her forever ago on the South Lawn.

  Rex knocked the air out of Colby’s chest just as effectively as Ivy had earlier. Only this time it was much less fun. He couldn’t even make a small whoop noise as the helo tumbled through a full roll.

  He held Rex tightly so that he didn’t drop his dog down onto Ivy as she was momentarily directly below him. Then struggling not to drop him on the ceiling as they both dangled from his seatbelt. Finally he crashed onto his back with eighty-plus pounds of dog flopping into his chest.

  Struggling dog.

  Wet dog!

  Water poured into the cabin and in moments he was not only breathless, he was also underwater.

  Rex kicked free, landing a few final injustices on Colby’s body that might have made him scream if he’d had any air and not been underwater.

  Finding his seatbelt, he struggled free and popped to the surface, banging his head on the helicopter’s entry door as the helo now lay on its side.

  He managed a small whoop for air just as Ivy surfaced inches from him.

  Some joke about how good the wet look was on her, darkening her sun-bright hair to a rich gold, didn’t have the air to be voiced. It had always been a good look on her when their families went to the beach—something he’d definitely looked forward to each summer.

  Then a large wet muzzle surfaced between them, driving them apart.

  Colby grabbed Rex again to protect them both from the dog’s swimming feet. His paws were big enough that it was surprising he wasn’t walking on the water, not that there was much room as the cabin kept filling with water.

  Ivy popped the latch on the door and pushed it up.

  No more water poured in—though small waves slopped in over the edges filling in the last of their air gap. The door was up in the air or she wouldn’t have been able to swing it open against the water pressure. He managed to get his feet on the edge of the bench seat below, but by the way Ivy kept kicking his shins, she was treading water.

  They stuck their heads out.

  The helo lay on its side in the Potomac shallows off the south point of the island. Water lapped around them.

  He gave Rex a heave up and out. After a brief scrabbling of claws on metal, he was gone with a splash that sloshed water back over his and Ivy’s heads in a wave.

  “Thanks,” Ivy sputtered out a mouthful of Rex-flavored river water and glared at him.

  “Aim. To. Please,” he managed to gasp out on three micro-breaths. Then he reached out underwater, wrapped his hands around her waist, and heaved her upward as well. His hands could practically wrap all of the way around her waist. So trim, yet so brilliantly fierce.
He’d always enjoyed that contrast in her.

  He managed to place her high enough that she was able to sit on the edge of the doorframe. Unable to resist, he grabbed her by the ankles and flipped her off the helicopter and into the river.

  She flopped back-first into the water and sloshed her own wave into his face just as the crew chief surfaced beside him.

  “Pilots are clear, out the front windshield,” Sergeant McShea announced with a sputter.

  They shared a nod, then boosted themselves up and out of the helicopter together.

  Their door was about all that showed above the choppy water. Just that and a single rotor blade sticking straight up—giving the world a twisted, twenty-foot middle finger for dumping it into the Potomac.

  The beach lay fifty feet away and a crowd was already gathering.

  Rex had reached the shore and was keeping the crowd back by shaking off great clouds of cold water. Ivy hung on to one of the wheels that dangled just below the surface and offered a smile at seeing the two of them emerge safely.

  This time, Ivy was unleashing that big smile of hers in his direction and it felt damn good. As if he’d never done anything so right as being alive at this moment.

  “Apparently they all think,” he nodded toward the shore, “that a crashing helicopter is somehow unusual in these parts.”

  “A crashing HMX-1 helo is unusual. It has never happened before in our entire history.” And that big smile of hers switched off. He was gonna miss that unless it came back for a spell. Colby decided that he was good with working on that.

  He and McShea slid down into the water together, just as the pilots swam around from the other side of the aircraft. One had a bloody nose, the other was grimacing and appeared to be swimming one handed, but they’d all survived.

  “Nothing like a minor miracle on a Monday morning,” the crew chief revealed a sense of humor that Colby somewhat suspected was unbefitting a Marine. Colby chuckled to promote his bad behavior.

  “Miracles? I always blame those on Saint Ives,” Colby called out as they swam ashore together.