Harvard's Education

by Suzanne Brockmann

  He shook his head. "I'm making her sound nasty, but she was this really sweet girl. I don't think she did any of it on purpose. She used me to feel better, and she ended up in this place where she could forgive him." He smiled, because for the first time since it had happened, he was talking about it, and it didn't hurt. "I was clueless, though. Alpha Squad got called to the Middle East—this was during Desert Shield. I didn't even get to say goodbye to her. When I came home months later, she'd already moved back in with Larry. Talk about a shock. Needless to say, the entire relationship had a certain lack of closure to it. It took me a while to make any sense of it."

  "Some things just never make sense."

  "It makes perfect sense now. If I'd hooked up with Rachel, I wouldn't be here with you."

  P.J. looked at her sneakers for a moment before meeting his gaze again. "You're good at sweet talk, aren't you?"

  "I've never had a problem with words," he admitted.

  "You can fly a plane. You can operate any kind of boat that floats, you jump out of planes without getting tangled in trees, you run faster and shoot better than anyone I've ever met, you graduated from Harvard at the top of your class, you're a Senior Chief in the Navy SEALs, and you're something of a poet, to boot. Is there anything you can't do?"

  He thought about it for only a moment. "I absolutely cannot infiltrate a camp of Swedish terrorists."

  P.J. stared at him. And then she started to laugh. "Larry must be something else if Rachel gave up you for him."

  Harvard looked at his watch, then stood and crossed the deck toward her. He pushed her legs aside with his hips as he sat on her chair, pinning her into place with one hand on either armrest. "It's nearly midnight, Cinderella," he said. "That means I can kiss you again without worrying about it going too far."

  Her eyes were liquid brown. "What? I don't under—"

  "Shh," he said, leaning forward to capture her lips with his.

  He could taste her confusion, feel her surprise. But she hesitated for only half a second before meeting his tongue with equal fervour, before melting into his arms.

  And his pager went off.

  Hers did, too.

  P.J. pulled away from him in surprise, reaching for her belt, pulling the device free and shutting off the alarm.

  "Both of us," she said. "At once." She searched his eyes. "What is it?"

  He stood up, adjusting his pants. "We have to call in to find out for sure. But I think our leave is over early."

  P.J. stood, too, and followed him into the kitchen. "Did you know about this?"

  "Not exactly."

  "You knew something, didn't you? You've been checking your watch all evening. That's why you kissed me," she accused, "because it was almost midnight and you knew we were going to get beeped!"

  "I didn't know exactly when." He keyed the number that had flashed on both their beepers into the kitchen telephone from memory. He grinned at her. "But I guessed. I know Joe Cat pretty well, and I figured he'd try to catch as many of us off guard as he possibly could. It seemed right up his alley to give us all forty-eight hours of leave, then call us in after only twenty-four. I figured it was either going to be midnight or sometime around oh-two-hundred." He held up one hand, giving her the signal to be quiet.

  P.J. watched Harvard's eyes as he spoke to Captain Catalanotto on the other end of the line. He caught her staring, and a smile softened his face. He put his arm around her waist and pulled her close.

  She closed her eyes, resting her head against his shoulder, breathing in his scent. She could smell the freshness of soap and the tangy aroma of some he-man brand of deodorant. Coffee. A faint whiff of the peppermint gum he sometimes chewed. His already familiar, slightly musky and very male perfume.

  She still couldn't believe it was Harvard—and not her—who had kept them from making love tonight.

  She'd never met a man who'd say no to sex out of consideration for what she might feel.

  "Yeah," he said to Joe Cat. "We'll go directly to California, meet the rest of you there. I'm going to need my boots and some clothes. And, Captain? Remember the time I saved your neck, baby? I'm cashing in now. I'm going to tell you something that's for your ears only. P.J. is with me. Consider this her check-in, too."

  He paused, listening to Joe. "No," he said. "No, no—we're here visiting my parents. Mom and Daddy. I swear, this whole trip has been completely innocent and totally rated G, but if anyone finds out, they're going to think..." He laughed. "Yeah, we're not talking real mature. Here's the problem, boss. P.J.'s going to need some clothes and her boots. I know you don't have much time yourself, but could you maybe send Veronica out to the hotel to pack up some of her things?"

  "Oh, God." P.J. cringed. "My room is a mess."

  Harvard looked at her, pulling the phone away from his mouth. "Really?"

  She nodded.

  "Cool." He kissed her quickly before he spoke into the receiver again. "She wants you to warn Ronnie that her room is a mess. Tell Ron just to grab her boots. We'll get P.J. whatever else she needs in Coronado. We'll be there before you."

  Another pause, then Harvard laughed. P.J. could hear it rumbling in his chest. "Thanks, Joe. Yeah, we're on our way."

  He hung up the phone and kissed her hard on the mouth. "Time to wake up Mom and Daddy and tell them we're out of here. And no more kissing," he said, kissing her again and then again. "It's time to go play soldier.'*

  Chapter 12

  Harvard could feel P.J. watching him as he stood at the front of the briefing room of the USS Irvin, the Navy destroyer steaming toward their destination.

  They'd taken an Air Force flight all the way to South Korea. Now, by sea, they were approaching the tiny island nation where their latest in training op was to take place.

  P.J. had slept on the plane. Harvard had, too, but his dreams had been wildly erotic and unusually vivid. He could have sworn he still tasted the heated salt of her skin on his lips when he awoke. He could hear the echo of her cries of pleasure and her husky laughter swirl around him. He could still see the undisguised desire in her eyes as she gazed at him, feel the heart-stopping sensation as he sank into the tightness of her heat.

  He took a deep breath, exhaling quickly, well aware he had to stop thinking about his dream—and about P.J.—before he found himself experiencing the same discomfort he'd been in when he awoke. He held his clipboard low, loosely clasped in both hands, trying to look casual, relaxed. He was just a guy holding a clipboard—not a guy using a clipboard to keep the world from noticing that he was walking around in a state of semi-arousal.

  When he glanced at P.J. again, she was trying hard not to smile, and he knew he hadn't managed to fool her.

  The captain, meanwhile, was giving a brief overview of their mission. "There's a group of six jarheads—U.S. Marines—who've been doing FID work with the locals, trying to form a combined military and law-enforcement task force to slow drug trafficking in this part of the world. Apparently; this island is used as a major port of call for a great deal of Southeast Asia's heroin trade. Lieutenant Hawken has spent more time in-country than any of us, and he'll fill us all in on the terrain and the culture in a few minutes, after we go over the setup of this op.

  "The jarheads are going to play the part of terrorists who've taken a U.S. official hostage. The hostage will also be played by a Marine." Joe Cat sat on the desk at the front of the room as he gazed at the FInCOM agents and the SEALs from Alpha Squad. "This CSF team's job is to insert onto the island at dawn, locate the terrorists' camp, enter the installation and extract the hostage. All while remaining undetected. We'll have paint-ball weapons again, but if the mission is carried out successfully, we won't have an opportunity to use them.

  "The Marines have planned and set up this entire exercise. It will not be easy. These guys are going to do their best to defeat us. In case you finks haven't heard, there's an ongoing issue of superiority between the Marines and the SEALs—between the Army and the Navy, for that matter."<
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  "I can clear that issue up right now," Wes called out. "SEALs win, hands down. We're superior. No question in my mind."

  "Yeah," Harvard said, "and somewhere right now some Marines are having this exact same conversation, and they're saying Marines win, hands down." He grinned. "Except, of course, in their case, they're wrong."

  The other SEALs laughed.

  "In other words, they don't like us," the captain went on, "and they're going to do everything they can—including cheat—to make sure we fail. In fact, it wouldn't surprise me to find out that the hostage has turned hostile. We've got to be prepared for him to raise an alarm and give us away."

  Tim Farber lifted his hand. "Why are we bothering to do this if they're going to cheat—if they're not going to follow the rules?"

  Harvard stepped forward. "Do you honestly think real terrorists don't cheat, Mr. Farber? In the real world, there are no rules."

  "And it's not unheard-of for a hostage to be brainwashed into supporting the beliefs of the men who have taken him captive. Having a hostile hostage is a situation we've always got to be prepared for," Blue added.

  "Alpha Squad's done training ops against the Marines before," Lucky told the FInCOM agents. "The only time I can remember losing is when they brought in twenty-five extra men and ambushed us."

  "Yeah, they work better in crowds. You know that old joke? Why are Marines like bananas?" Bobby asked.

  "Because they're both yellow and die in big bunches," Wes said, snickering.

  "The comedy team of Skelly and Taylor," Joe said dryly. "Thank you very much. I suggest when you take your powerhouse stand-up act on the road, you stay far from the Army bases." He looked around the room. "Any questions so far? Ms. Richards, you usually have something to ask."

  "Yes, sir, actually, I do," she said in that cool, professional voice Harvard knew was just part of her act. "How will we get from the ship to the island? And how many of us will actually participate in this exercise, as opposed to observe?"

  "Everyone's going to participate in some way," the captain told her. "And—answering your questions out of order—we'll be inserting onto the island in two inflatable boats at oh-four-hundred. Just before dawn."

  "Going back to your first answer..." P.J. shifted in her seat. "You said everyone would participate in some way. Can you be more specific?"

  Harvard knew exactly what she wanted to know. She was curious as to whether she was going to be in the field with the men or behind lines, participating in a more administrative way. He could practically see the wheels turning in her head as she wondered if she was going to be the one chosen to stay behind.

  "We're breaking the CSF team into four sub-teams," Joe Cat explained. "Three teams of three will approach the terrorist camp, and one team of two will remain here on the ship, monitoring communications, updating the rest of us on any new satellite intel and just generally monitoring our progress."

  "Like Lieutenant Uhura on the Starship Enterprise." P.J. nodded slowly. Harvard could see resignation in her eyes. She was so certain it was going to be her that was left behind. "'Keeping hailing frequencies open, Captain,' and all that."

  "Actually," Blue McCoy cut in with his soft southern drawl, "I'm part of the team staying on board the Irvin. It'll be my voice you hear when and if there's any reason to call a cease and desist. I'll have the ultimate power to pull the plug on this training op at any time." He smiled. "Y'all can think of me as the voice of God. I say it, you obey it, or there'll be hell to pay."

  "Crash, why don't you share with us what you know about the island?" Joe suggested.

  P.J. was quiet as Lieutenant Hawken stepped forward. She was trying her best to hide her disappointment, but Harvard could see through her shield. He knew her pretty damn well by now. He knew her well enough to know that, disappointed or not, she would do her best—without complaining—wherever she was assigned.

  Crash described the island in some detail. It was tropical, with narrow beaches that backed up against inactive volcanic mountains. The inland roads were treacherous, the jungle dense. The most common method of transport was the goat cart, although some of the island's more wealthy residents owned trucks.

  He opened a map, and they all came around the desk as he pointed out the island's three major cities, all coastal seaports.

  The lieutenant spoke at some length about the large amounts of heroin that passed through the island on the way to London and Paris and Los Angeles and New York. The political situation in the country was somewhat shaky. The United States had an agreement with the island-in return for U.S. aid, the local government and military were helping in the efforts to stop the flow of drugs.

  But drug lords were more in control of the country than the government. The drug lords had private armies, which were stronger than the government's military forces. And when the drug lords clashed, which they did far too frequently, they came close to starting a commercially instigated civil war.

  Harvard found himself listening carefully to everything Crash said, aware of his growing sense of unease. It was an unusual sensation, this unsettling wariness. This was just a training op. He'd gone into far more dangerous situations in the past without blinking.

  He had to wonder if he'd feel this concern if P.J. weren't along for the ride. He suspected he wouldn't worry at all if she'd stayed stateside.

  Harvard knew he could take care of himself in just about any situation. He wanted to believe P.J. could do the same. But the truth was, her safety had become far too important to him. Somehow he'd gotten to the point where he cared too much.

  He didn't like the way that felt

  "Any questions?" Crash asked.

  "Yeah," Harvard said. "What's the current situation between the two largest hostile factions on the island?"

  "According to Intel, things have been quiet for weeks," Joe answered.

  P.J. couldn't keep silent any longer. "Captain, what are the team assignments?"

  "Bobby and Wes are with Mr. Schneider," Joe told her. "Lucky and I are with Mr. Greene."

  Harvard was watching, and he saw a flicker of disappointment in her eyes. Once again, she hid it well. In fact, she was damn near a master at hiding her emotions.

  "I'm with the Senior Chief and Lieutenant Hawken, right?" Tim Farber asked.

  "Nope, you're with me, Timmy boy," Blue McCoy said with a grin. "Someone's got to help me mind the store."

  Across the room, P.J. didn't react. She didn't blink, she didn't move, she didn't utter a single word. Apparently, she was even better at hiding her pleasure than she was at hiding her disappointment.

  Farber wasn't good at hiding anything. "But you can't be serious. Richards should stay behind. Not me."

  Joe Cat straightened up. "Why's that, Mr. Farber?"

  The fink realized he had blundered hip-deep into waters that reeked of political incorrectness. "Well," he started. "It's just... I thought...."

  P.J. finally spoke. "Just say it, Tim. You think I should be the one to stay behind because I'm a woman."

  Harvard, Joe Cat and Blue turned to look at P.J.

  "My God," Harvard said, slipping on his best poker face. "Would you look at that? Richards is a woman. I hadn't realized. We better make her stay behind, Captain. She might get PMS and go postal."

  "We could use that to our advantage," Joe Cat pointed out. "Put a weapon in her hands and point her in the right direction. The enemy will run in terror."

  "She can outshoot just about everyone in this room." Blue couldn't keep a smile from slipping out. "She can outrun 'em and outreason 'em, too."

  "Yeah, but I bet she throws like a girl," Harvard said. He grinned. "Which, in this day and age, means she's just about ready for the major leagues."

  "Except she doesn't like baseball," Joe Cat reminded him.

  P.J. was laughing, and Harvard felt a burst of pure joy. He loved the sound of her laughter and the shine of amusement and pleasure in her eyes. He pushed away all the apprehension he'd been feeling.
Working with her on this mission was going to be fun.

  And after the mission was over...

  Farber was less than thrilled. "Captain, this is all very amusing, but you know as well as I do that the military doesn't fully approve of putting women in scenarios that could result in front-line action."

  Harvard snapped out of his reverie and gave the man a hard look. "Are you questioning the captain's judgment, Mr. Farber?"

  "No, I'm merely—"

  "Good." Harvard cut him off. "Let's get ready to get this job done."

  P.J. felt like an elephant crashing through the underbrush.

  She was nearly half the size of Harvard, yet compared to her, he moved effortlessly and silently. She couldn't seem to breathe without snapping at least one or two twigs.

  And Crash... He seemed to have left his body behind on the USS Irvin. He moved ethereally, like a silent wisp of mist through the darkness. He was on point-leading the way—and he disappeared for long minutes at a time, scouting out the barely marked trail through the tropical jungle.

  P.J. signalled for Harvard to wait, catching his eye.

  You okay? he signalled back.

  She pulled her lip microphone closer to her mouth. They weren't supposed to speak via the radio headsets they wore unless it was absolutely necessary.

  It was necessary.

  "I'm slowing you down," she breathed. "And I'm making too much noise."

  He turned off his microphone, gesturing for her to do the same. That way they could whisper without the three other teams overhearing.

  "You can't expect to be able to keep up," he told her almost silently. "You haven't had the kind of training we have."

  "Then why am I here?" she asked. "Why are any FInCOM agents here at all? We should be back on the Irvin. Our role should be to let the SEALs do their job without interference."

  Harvard smiled. "I knew you were an overachiever. Two hours into the first of two training exercises, and you've already learned all you need to know."