"Well, I love my father but you really can't go home again. At least I couldn't.” God knew he'd wanted her to move back with him. But she needed to stand on her own two feet and be her own woman. Brian's defection had shattered her self-esteem and she needed to prove to herself that she was a capable woman. Running home to Daddy wouldn't have allowed her to do that. She knew her father well enough to know that he would have jumped in and tried to run her life for her.
A blaring honk erupted outside. The young woman giggled, blushed, and waved as she darted out the door, not bothering to cast so much as a backward glance.
She had someone to go home to.
Casey slid her palm through the mug handle, allowing the chill of the glass to caress her palm as she surveyed her environment. Something about the bar at night stirred her feelings, the ones she tried to avoid. The turned up chairs, the dim lights, the lingering scent of beer and cigarettes fighting for a foothold with the bleach all cried out in lonely wails. It mocked her feelings, the soul deep loneliness that haunted her since her husband Brian left.
A wrong turn? A missed turn? She couldn't help but wonder what mistake she'd made and when. The dreams of that long forgotten, naïve five-year-old certainly didn't include scrubbing down a smelly old building after a bunch of drunken men and drunker women. Happily ever after at age sixteen looked nothing like this. Where had her fairy tale failed her? Or had she failed it?
Many a night passed in wishful thinking, both then and now. This all had to be some cruel practical joke. She was Sleeping Beauty waiting for Prince Charming's kiss. Waiting to be swept onto the white horse and carried away to the castle glistening in the distance. Or was this what happened to all those princesses after they rode off into the sunset?
Damn her for finding the frog first. Where was the prince?
Promise had glittered before her in college. The world lay at her feet. Thanks to the Air Force ROTC program, most of her education had been paid for by the US taxpayers. To repay them for their generosity, she'd planned to serve them. Protocol officer may not be the most glamorous job in the Air Force, but it was a necessary one. Her major in international politics helped ensure she'd be a darn good one.
Then she met the frog. Of course he masqueraded as a prince. Brian Wilkes had been going into his senior year at the United States Air Force Academy that summer. She had just completed her freshman year at the local state university in Texas. On a whim, she ventured to the idyllic setting of Colorado Springs, Colorado for some voluntary training at the Academy. He stole her breath away as well as her virginity. Looking back, the only thing that had really stolen her breath away had been the thin mountain air. She'd just been too wrapped up on being in love to see the truth.
Their long-distance relationship flourished, culminating in a proposal after his graduation. An elaborate wedding at the Academy chapel after her graduation topped off a two-year engagement. And then it all skidded downhill faster than one of those gliders she'd trained in the summer she met the man who would become her husband.
At Brian's insistence, Casey declined her commission when she'd been given the opportunity. He convinced her of the difficulties that face a husband and wife Air Force career couple. Since he had already invested two years in his pilot training, it only made sense for her to make the sacrifice, he'd argued. Never mind the training and education she poured her heart and soul into. Never mind her dreams. He never failed to remind her that his career as a pilot ranked higher on the prestige scale than hers ever would as a protocol officer.
Against her better judgment and the sound advice of her parents, she bought that line of bull. She opted out of her commission.
Just look at the benefits it brought me.
Marriage lasts forever, right? So abandoning a career isn't suicide, right? Till death do us part, and all that jazz, right?
She pushed out a loud “raspberry."
Jackson. She ultimately never regretted one single moment that led to her son. She'd suffer all she already had, and more, over again to have him at her side.
A sharp rap on the door dragged Casey back to reality from the land of self-pity and sorry reminiscing.
"I'm sorry, we're closed.” Her tired voice didn't carry as far as the door.
The squeak of the hinges resounded in the quiet. A dark-haired head peeked around the door. Dammit, she forgot to lock the door.
"I left my hat here earlier. Can I come in and look for it?"
Him. Why did it have to be him? Her feet thudded to the floor as she straightened her posture, jolting her spine. She had been fortunate enough to push aside thoughts of him for, oh, fifteen minutes. His presence all but guaranteed he'd haunt her dreams now.
Why couldn't he wait till morning to hunt down some stupid hat?
As if he read her mind, he explained how the hat had been given to him at his last base when news of his transfer to Nellis had been announced. The look in his eyes revealed the importance of the object.
Great. If he turned in another remarkable performance as a decent human being instead of the worm she knew he had to be, she'd have even more trouble ignoring him. It was bad enough that he'd strolled through the bar at midnight. She'd felt her heart trip and her nipples tingle when he pushed open the door and sauntered over to the bar when he first arrived. Then he had to go and ask if she and Jackson were any the worse for wear.
Which made her remember the kindness and concern in his face after the encounter. That was the first time he'd turned in an award winning performance as a human.
"Make it quick,” she snapped, angrier with herself than at him. “I'm about to lock up and head home.” It had taken all her strength not to melt just a little as he hung out at the bar until closing time, trying to ask questions about Jackson and generally sending her hormones into overdrive. She had to dredge up the strength to stay strong.
"You must be tired."
"Gee, you think? What makes you say that?” Ouch, she hadn't meant to sound that sarcastic.
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “This is the first time all evening you've treated me better than the sh—stuff you scrape off the bottom of your shoes."
Guilt coursed through her thanks to his comment. She really didn't treat him like that, did she? Those back off vibes must be coming across louder and clearer than she realized. “Where'd you leave your hat?"
She watched as he bent over the jukebox in search of his missing hat, painfully aware of his too perfect anatomy. A body burned into every corner of her brain thanks to his close proximity for the past week. He possessed the buffest body around.
Of course he did. Fighter pilots have to stay in top form in order to meet the grueling demands put on them by their planes.
Ha. More like the physical demands of the groupies.
"Aha. Here it is.” He shimmied back to a standing position after yanking his hat from behind the old machine. His eyes twinkled with delight.
She didn't even want to know how it got back there.
"Thanks. I'll be on my way now.” He touched two fingers to his brow in salute.
Why, oh why did her hormones go on full alert around this man? It had to be the whiff she caught of a remarkably masculine scent, so spicy and masculine, as he strolled to the door. The smell slammed into her gut, spreading outward to harden her nipples and soak between her legs.
Damn and double damn. Why did he have this effect on her?
"F-fudge.” Chad stepped back inside the bar, the heavy wooden door slamming behind him.
"Now what?” Reality intruded.
"The damn taxi left. And I told him to wait. I'll just call the cab company and be on my way."
"It'll take them forever to get here at this time of night. I can't leave you here alone and I'm ready to go home."
"No sweat, I'll just wait out front. Go ahead and lock up.” He clutched his cell phone in his hand. “I'm a big boy, in case you haven't noticed."
Oh yeah, she'd noticed.
Don't do i
t. Her brain argued with her hormones. Don't say it. Her brain was outvoted since he already had her hormones partying like Mardi Gras at the thought of spending even more time with him. “I'll give you a ride."
Was that a smirk she saw on his face? Because he couldn't be capable of gratitude. Could he?
"You don't have to do that. Really, I don't mind waiting for the cab to come back. That'll give me a chance to chew out the idiot driver."
Her common sense attempted to regain control of the situation. He was handing her an out on a silver platter. A guilt-free departure awaited her, there for the taking.
Those damn hormones were in full it's-Mardi-Gras-so-let's-party mode, trying to convince her to flash her boobs in hopes of some cheap tacky beads and just generally prodding her to act like some shameless hussy. Reminding herself that it was October and not the day before Lent clamped a lid on her rapidly rising rioting desire.
Her keys jingled in her hand as she tugged them from her jean pocket. She locked the front door and headed across the deserted floor. Chad followed her dutifully through the back door to the parking lot. “Come on, let's go. I'd like to get home before the sun rises.” She resigned herself to this time alone with Chad.
She shooed him out the door, setting the alarm and locking up before heading for her car.
The gravel stopped crunching under his feet seconds before his voice rang out in shocked horror. “Ohmigod. Is that what I think it is?"
Eyeing up her car, she kept walking. “It's a minivan.” Duh. She reached the van before him, unlocking his door.
He mumbled something about cold days in hell before he slid into the passenger seat.
Climbing into her seat, she suddenly felt claustrophobic. Funny, she never realized how small the interior space of her car was.
Chad's presence overwhelmed her as he clicked his seat belt into place, bumping her thigh. Her hormones invited her nerve endings to the party. Every inch of her body sprang to high alert. How could her traitorous body call out for a man so horribly wrong for her? Hadn't it learned anything in the past year?
Her brain battled to regain control by focusing on the road.
"If you follow the main road through the base, you'll get to the hotel faster.” Chad pointed to his right, the well-lit entrance to the base clearly visible. “Since I assume you want to get home before sunrise."
His voice filled every available space in the van. The low rich timber seeped into her pores.
"When you get to the base, I'll reach across and show the MP my ID."
He obviously hadn't seen the sticker on her front bumper.
She slowed as the guardhouse grew closer, rolling down her window. True to his word, Chad stretched his arm in front of her, military ID dangling from his fingers. The white-gloved hand of the MP snapped a salute and let them proceed. If he thought it strange that an ID had been flashed when the base sticker allowing her access was clearly visible, he gave no indication.
The back of his arm lightly brushed her sensitive nipples as he pulled it back. She struggled to latch onto his voice. Onto anything other than the burning tingles radiating from the point of contact. Her painfully hard tips poked against the utilitarian cotton of her bra.
"Just go straight on this road for a couple of miles."
Casey knew her way around the base. She should have spoken up. But his deep soft voice swirled around the interior of the van and wove its way to capture her senses. He'd locked her in his spell with no more than his words and an accidental brush of her breasts. She was the shameless hussy her hormones encouraged her to be.
"Do you have to pick Jackson up now?"
"No, I'll get him in the morning."
"It must be tough taking care of everything while your husband is TDY."
The mere mention of Brian snapped her out of the sensuous fog. He thought he was away on temporary duty.
"The bastard is TDY, all right. The dipwad of the year."
"Excuse me?"
"Don't even try and defend the man, you don't even know him.” She bristled at the possibility. She hated the way military men all stuck up for each other. Hell, the way all men stuck up for one another.
The air cracked with another strong emotion, smothering the lust.
"You're right. I don't know him so I wouldn't presume to say anything."
"Thank you.” She replied sincerely, realizing she'd overreacted and assumed the worst. She currently lacked the energy required to argue the truly bad points about her soon to be ex and was grateful she didn't have to. “Good riddance to bad rubbish is all I have to say."
"I'm a little confused here. Aren't you married?"
"In name only. The divorce is winding its way through the legal system as we speak."
"Do you think you'll change your mind?"
"When pigs fly."
"Obviously you've never had the pleasure of meeting a Navy pilot."
Her laugh rang out. The tension, sexual and otherwise, evaporated into the night air. A companionable silence blanketed them for the remainder of the ride.
Casey swung the minivan into the circular entrance of the hotel Chad indicated. The bright lights from the lobby hit the back of Chad's head, swathing his face in shadows. One of his more human looks shifted across his too handsome face as he leaned over the space separating the front seats.
Fear froze her to her seat. He was going to kiss her. She knew she shouldn't allow it but found herself powerless to do anything to prevent it. She exhausted her supply of willpower fending him off at the bar.
Her eyes riveted on his light pink lips. They were more of a mauve color, now that she closely examined them. They were too full, too sensual for a man. Are they as soft as they look? She couldn't wait to find out. No, that wasn't true. She never wanted to discover their secrets.
A barely audible whispered, “Thank you,” sent a puff of warm air against her forehead a split second before he dropped a chaste kiss on her brow.
With masculine ease and grace, he slid from the vehicle and proceeded inside. He paused at the door, turning around to wave.
A rousing rendition of the Hallelujah Chorus floated through her mind. He was gone! He hadn't kissed her!
He was gone. He hadn't kissed her.
* * * *
He slid his key into the lock, aided only by the miniscule flashlight attached to his key ring. The risk of being discovered outweighed the need to actually see the lock. Far safer to feel for the keyhole. Except the gloves he wore to prevent leaving fingerprints made that difficult. She really should leave a porch light on when she worked late. Didn't she worry about the creeps lurking in the night? This was Las Vegas, after all. His right hand slowly turned the knob, opening the door by millimeters. Every movement felt exaggerated. Once he assured himself the apartment was empty, the door soundlessly clicked closed behind him.
Stupid bitch. She hadn't changed the lock on the door yet. Obviously, his last unannounced visit hadn't made much of an impression. Too bad. Maybe this one would.
A lamp on a small decorative table cast enough shadows to allow him to roam about the apartment without any other light. His eyes darted about, scanning the room. Looking. Searching. The woman who lived in this apartment fancied herself a creature of habit. Those habits eased his burden by providing a virtual road map to the items sought.
He sidestepped the overstuffed couch on his journey across the room. The place still reeked of the southwestern motif it had been decorated in the last time. Who did she think she was? Martha fucking Stewart?
He spied the video cabinet and the curio shelf resting side by side along a far wall. The nightlight illuminated the tall thin piece of furniture, further aiding his approach. With his destination even clearer, his heavy steps carried him to the cabinets, dodging Tonka trucks and Hot Wheel cars. Obviously, she still wasn't making the brat pick up after himself. Extra care would have to be taken to assure an untimely accident didn't mar his progress.
First things first. He
rummaged through the videos, and slipped a plastic case into the bag slung over one shoulder. Would it be missed? From what he understood, a stupid blue dog and an oversized bear topped the lists of kids’ favorites, along with some bilingual brat. So the ankle biter should want to watch the tape now resting at the bottom of the canvas bag. And when would it be missed? Not that it really mattered. Once the kid didn't have a favorite tape, he would make his mother's life miserable. Too bad he wouldn't be around to see that.
A quick glance at the bric-a-brac on the shelves brought forth the realization that she not only kept her stupid collectibles but had acquired even more. He carefully scrutinized the shelves then plucked an item with gloved fingers and tossed it on top of the video now inside the bag. A faint dust-free shadow marked the absence of the small statue.
Odds were better that she'd notice the missing piece of crap before the kid missed one of his precious videos. If she kept up with her very predictable routine, cleaning took place every Monday like clockwork. The only regret stemmed from the fact that he wouldn't be around to see her reaction. In two days time, he'd be back on the other coast, waiting. If she didn't respond this time, he'd be forced to up the stakes.
Satisfied with the mischief, he retraced his steps back to the door and into the night.
* * * *
"Mommy, where's my Bwu tape?"
Casey took a deep breath. She hated to quarrel or fuss with him at any time, but especially on a rare morning together. The teachers were at an all-day conference, so there was no school on this Monday morning. Still, it annoyed her that he always seemed to misplace his video tapes.
"It's right where we put it the other day when you finished watching it.” She tried to continue cleaning up the breakfast dishes. Why did crises always seem to pop up when she was in the middle of something? Maybe because she was always in the middle of something?
"Nuh-uh. It's not there.” She could hear the frustration building in Jackson's voice.
Wiping bits of eggshells off her hands, she hustled to the living room to avoid a total meltdown. A temper tantrum could easily spoil the mood for the better part of the morning. Jackson stood in front of his video cabinet, a frown painted on his face.
Call of Duty [Class of '93 Trilogy Book 3] Page 7
