"I copy that, P.J.," Blue's voice said. "We've got—"
He kept talking, but she didn't hear what he had to say, because, with a thundering crash, the wall in front of her collapsed.
She shielded Joe with her body as alarms went off and dust and light filled the air. But it wasn't light from a fire.
It was light from the headlights of a truck.
Harvard had driven one of Sherman's armored trucks right through the wall!
The man himself appeared through the flying dust like some kind of wonderful superhero.
"I've got Cat." He picked up the captain effortlessly as if he weighed nothing at all. "Drive or shoot?" he asked.
P.J. didn't hesitate as she scrambled into the truck. "Shoot." She did just that, aiming over the heads of the soldiers and guards who were coming to investigate the crash.
Harvard was behind the wheel in an instant, the captain slumped on the bench seat between them.
"I can shoot, too," Joe Cat gasped as Harvard spun the wheels, backing them up and out of the rubble.
"Yes, sir," P.J. said. "I don't doubt that you can. But right now, Captain, your job is to keep your head down."
She squeezed the trigger of an HK MP5, firing through a special slot in the side of the vehicle. All around them, soldiers scattered.
Harvard put the track in gear. Tires screaming, they headed down the mountain.
"I had time to disable all but one other truck," Harvard announced. "And we got it right on our tail." He swore.
"We've also got an entire army advancing toward us," P.J. reminded him.
"I'm well aware of that," he said grimly. He was driving with two hands tight on the steering wheel as he negotiated the steep, curving mountain roads.
There was a jolt as the truck behind them rammed them. Clearly the driver knew the roads better than Harvard did.
Harvard punched the truck into overdrive and slammed the gas pedal to the floor. They shot forward. "Get this guy off my butt," he told P.J. "The windshield's bulletproof—don't aim for him. Shoot out his tire."
She held up her submachine gun. "This thing isn't exactly a big favourite among sharpshooters," she told him. "I'll be lucky if I can—"
"There's a rifle on the floor. Use it."
P.J. lifted her feet. Sure enough, there was a small arsenal stored there. She grabbed the rifle, checked that it was loaded and opened the window that looked out onto the open back of the truck.
It wasn't an easy shot—not with both trucks moving. She sighted the front left tire.
Before she could squeeze the trigger, a helicopter appeared, roaring above them, tracking them down the jungle road. There was a red cross on its underside, clearly visible even in the predawn, along with a painting of the French flag.
Blue McCoy had come through with that miracle.
P.J. took careful aim at the other truck and fired the rifle.
The truck jerked, skidded and careened off the road and into the trees.
"Nice shot," Harvard said matter-of-factly. "For a girl."
P.J. laughed as she pulled her lip microphone closer to her mouth. "This is FInCOM agent P.J. Richards, hailing the French medivac chopper. Captain Catalanotto and Senior Chief Becker and I are traveling south, currently without immediate pursuit, in the armoured vehicle you are tracking. The captain is in need of immediate medical attention. Let's find a place we both can stop so we can get him on board."
"This is Captain Jean-Luc Lague," a heavily accented voice informed her. "There is a clearing half a kilometer down the road."
"Good," P.J. said as she put her arms around Joe, cradling him against the jostling of the truck. His shoulder had started bleeding again, and she used a scrap of his shirt to lightly apply pressure to the wound. "We'll stop there. But you'll have to take us on board without landing, Captain Lague. There are minefields all over this island."
"I can hover alongside the road."
"Great," P.J. told him. She glanced over to find Harvard smiling at her. "I'm sorry," she said, suddenly self-conscious. She turned off her mike. "It's just...I figured I was the only one of us who had a microphone that worked, and..."
"You did great," Harvard said. "And you're right. My mike's not working, Joe's mike is gone. Who else was going to talk to Captain Lague?"
"But you're sitting there laughing at me."
"I'm just smiling. I'm really liking the fact that we're all still alive." His smile broadened. "I'm just sitting here absolutely loving you."
"Uh, H.?" Blue's voice cut in. "Your mike's working again."
Harvard laughed as he pulled up next to the open field. "Is there anyone out there who doesn't know that I'm crazy about this woman?"
"Admiral Stonegate probably didn't know," Blue drawled.
The chopper hovered, and Harvard lifted the captain in his arms. Several medics helped Joe into the helicopter, then Harvard gave P.J. a boost before he climbed in himself.
The door was shut, and the medics immediately started an IV on Joe. The chopper lifted and headed directly for the ocean and the USS Irvin.
The captain was fighting to stay awake as the medics cut his clothing away from his wounds. "H.!" he rasped.
Harvard reached out and took his friend's hand, holding onto it tightly. "I'm here, Joe."
"Tell Ronnie I'm sorry..."
"You're going to get a chance to do that yourself," Harvard told him. "You're going to be okay." As he looked at P.J., she wasn't at all surprised to see tears in his eyes. "We're going home."
Epilogue
The entire rest of the United States was having a wretchedly awful heat wave, but San Diego remained a perfect seventy-five degrees.
P.J. glanced at Harvard as he slowed his truck to a stop at a traffic light. He turned and smiled at her, and the last of the tension from the plane flight floated away. God, she hated flying. But this trip was definitely going to be worth the anxiety she'd suffered. This was day one of a greatly needed two-week vacation.
And she was spending every single minute of those two weeks with Daryl Becker.
It had been close to three weeks since she'd seen him last, since they'd returned to the USS Irvin on board a French medical helicopter. Bobby and Wes had arrived at the ship several hours later, dragging Chuck Schneider along behind them.
They'd spent the next three days in debriefings—all except Joe Cat, Lucky and Greg Greene, who had been sent to a hospital in California.
P.J. had slept in Harvard's arms each of those nights. They'd been discreet, but the truth was, she really didn't care what people thought. Not anymore. She would have walked naked through the enlisted mess if that was the only way she could have been with him.
When the debriefings were over, Harvard had flown to Coronado, while she'd been summoned for a series of meetings in Kevin Laughton's office in Washington, D.C.
Kevin had been sympathetic about her need to take some time off, but he'd talked her into writing up her reports on the failed Combined SEAL/FInCOM team project first. And that had taken much longer than she'd hoped.
But now she was free and clear for two weeks. Fourteen days. Three hundred and thirty-six hours.
Harvard had met her at the gate, kissed her senseless and whisked her immediately into his truck.
"How's Joe?" she asked.
"Great," he told her. "He's been home from the hospital for about a week. Lucky's doing really well, too."
"I'd like to visit them." She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "But definitely not until after we get naked—and stay naked for about three days straight."
He laughed. "Damn, I missed you," he told her, drinking her in with his gaze.
She knew she was looking at him just as hungrily. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and even dressed in civilian clothes, he was impossibly handsome.
"I missed you, too." Her voice was husky with desire. As he gazed into her eyes, she let him see the fire she felt for him.
"Hmm," he said. "Maybe we shou
ld go straight to my apartment."
"I thought you said there was something important you wanted to show me," she teased.
"Its importance just dropped a notch or two. But since we're already here..."
"We are?" P.J. looked out the window. They were on a quiet street in a residential neighbourhood overlooking the ocean.
"I want you to check this out," Harvard said. He climbed out of the truck, and P.J. joined him.
It was only then that she noticed the For Sale sign on the lawn of the sweetest-looking little adobe house she'd ever seen in her entire life. It was completely surrounded by flower gardens. Not just one, but four or five of them.
"Come on," Harvard said. "The real-estate agent is waiting for us inside."
P.J. went through the house in a daze. It was bigger than she'd thought from the outside, with a fireplace in the living room, a kitchen that rivalled Harvard's mom's and three good-size bedrooms.
There was a deck off the dining room, and as she stepped outside, she realized the house overlooked the ocean.
Harvard leaned on the rail, gazing at the changing colours of the sea.
"I've already qualified for a mortgage, so if you like it, we should make an offer today," he told her. "It's not going to be on the market too much longer."
P J. couldn't speak. Her heart was in the way, in her throat.
He misinterpreted her silence.
"I like it," he said. "But if you don't think so, that's okay. Or maybe I'm moving too fast—I have the tendency to do that, and—" He broke off, swearing. "I am moving too fast. We haven't even talked about getting married—not since we were out in the real world. For all I know, you weren't really serious and..."
P.J. finally found her voice. "I was dead serious."
Harvard smiled. "Yeah?" he said. "Well, that's good, because I was, too, you know."
P.J. looked pointedly around. "Obviously."
He pulled her closer. "Look, whether it's this house we share or some other—or none whatsoever, hell, we could live in hotels for the rest of our lives—that's not important. What's important is that we're together as often as we can be." He looked around and shrugged helplessly. "I don't know what I was thinking. Your office is in D.C. Why would you want a house in San Diego?"
"I might want one in San Diego if I'm going to work in San Diego. I found out there's an opening in the San Diego field office."
"Really?"
P.J. laughed at his expression. "Yeah. And don't worry—I'll still be able to work as Kevin Laughton's official SEAL liaison and adviser." She turned to look at the house. "So you really love this place, huh? You think we could make it into a real home?"
He wrapped his arms around her. "I really love you, and like I said, it honestly doesn't matter to me where we live. Whenever I'm with you, I feel as if I've come home."
P.J. looked at the house, at the ocean, at the flowers growing everywhere in the little yard, at the man who was both warrior and poet who stood before her.
Her lover.
Her husband.
Her life.
"This'll do just about perfectly." She smiled at him. "Welcome home."
END
Harvard's Education Page 24
