Under Fire: The Admiral

by Beyond the Page Publishing

  “Ma’am,” O’Donnell said, totally ignoring Walsh. “It’s time to get you in the air.”

  Ben’s grip tightened. Going anywhere with this man was not going to happen. She’d fallen for him. Hard. She had to get this under control. Falling for a man was not in her program. A program that had protected and served her well. Ben’s eyes were fierce and his beard didn’t hide the determined set of his jaw. She appreciated his straightforwardness but she couldn’t return it. Turning him down here would create a scene. “I’m in the D.C. phone book.” She was but it was her office number. Ben released her hand and leaned back in the chair, a satisfied look on his face.

  Gemma stood. “Thank you, Sue, for the clothes and taking care of us. Are the crew aware of the circumstances?” Ben came around the table to stand next to her.

  “When you came aboard word spread fast. You know how it goes. Official word is you ditched a plane and got tangled up in the op. No details. From the look of you when you came aboard they think you and the doc here”—O’Donnell looked at Ben—“went through some shit.”

  “Has there been any intel from the ground?”

  “It was a big haul, Admiral. Drugs, counterfeit money and plates.” O’Donnell could barely contain her excitement. “Along with a high-value prisoner. Wish I could have been there. Like the old days.”

  In the old days they’d taken names, kicked some ass, worked undercover with the DEA on a special case and sent five men to the hospital. “Great.” The lieutenant’s death tempered Gemma’s excitement. Obviously, that information was being held back.

  Chapter 10

  Washington, D.C.

  Gemma glanced across Arlington’s rows of stone to the capitol dome and the memorial obelisk glistening in a brilliant cloudless sky. The clack of horses’ hooves pulling Lieutenant David “Vegas” Mercer’s caisson over Arlington’s narrow lanes echoed against stark silence. Nearby the flag on the Marine Corps Memorial flicked its tribute. Gemma snapped to attention as the caisson stopped.

  “Present arms,” the office in charge called. All in uniform saluted. Ben came to stand beside her as she brought her gloved hand up in this expression of respect.

  Military funerals were always the same. Men and women in perfect uniforms executing precise moves in prescribed order. A flag-draped casket carried by uniformed body bearers to the grave. Their slow moves guided by soft-spoken commands. At the grave, an officer carefully inspects the casket, insuring perfect placement of the flag. The chaplain begins the graveside service. “There is no good way to die,” he says to the uniformed men and women standing in neat lines listening, some giving up tears. “But when a man dies putting his country and those he loves first, he dies with honor.”

  A jarring rifle volley.

  Taps. The soulful notes floating out over rows of stone announcing a new arrival.

  And finally, the flag draping the casket folded perfectly by six sailors, handed to an officer who solemnly delivers it to family members with hushed words of comfort. Today for Lieutenant Mercer’s father, sister and fiancée. And it was done. Today there was another step. Lieutenant Mercer’s teammates removed their gold SEAL tridents, placing them on top of the casket, and with their fists hammered the pins into the polished wood. She’d heard when a man completed SEAL training and earned the badge depicting an eagle clutching a Navy anchor, trident and pistol it was pinned on their chest very much the same way.

  Gemma had no doubt the ceremony was calculated to hit every raw, painful emotion. To draw tears from the fallen’s family and friends. To rip a mourning heart from the chest, take out a chunk and cram it back in place, forcing a soul to grieve in order to move on.

  Today family and friends would say good-bye to the lieutenant and his spirit would mingle with countless other heroes who’d made the final sacrifice for their country. Tomorrow those family and friends would go on living their best lives to honor his memory.

  The family stood. The senior Mercer greeted mourners. The woman, the lieutenant’s fiancée, who clutched the flag just taken from the casket, looked dazed. Hunter stood protectively at her side.

  “Are you going over to talk?” Ben said.

  “No. They’re already overwhelmed and my rank can be off-putting to the others in uniform.” She turned to look at him and wished she hadn’t. He was damned handsome in a perfectly tailored black suit. The white shirt set off his dark complexion and hair. Damn it. Seeing him, hearing his voice . . . Despite her preparation, it was still unnerving. She reminded herself of his age, of her age. Reminded herself any relationship would end badly.

  “Sometimes family want to hear from people who were there at the end,” Ben said.

  Gemma shook her head. “Hunter’s told them everything and given our contact numbers. I’ve sent a letter of condolence. When and if they want to talk they’ll call.” As if he knew they were speaking of him, Hunter looked their way and shook his head.

  “That man is scary.” Ben moved in front of her, turning his back to the scene and blocking her view.

  “A comforting kind of scary,” Gemma said. “Comforting to know that men like him and the lieutenant guard this country.” She looked over Ben’s shoulder at Mercer’s two families. The one he was born into and the one he chose, Navy SEALs.

  “Freedom comes at a high price,” Ben said, following her gaze.

  “Yes, it does. People forget the freedoms we enjoy aren’t free because”—she glanced around the garden of stones—“the U.S. military pays everyone’s share.”

  They were silent for a long while.

  “Gemma, I . . .”

  “Thank you for coming, Dr. Walsh. I’m sure the lieutenant’s family appreciates it.” She hoped the formality in her tone would warn him off. She didn’t want, couldn’t deal with any more emotions today.

  Ben took off his glasses. “Have lunch with me, Admiral.”

  “Not possible. I have to get back. Paperwork.” She was grateful for the dark glasses she wore. She didn’t lie well. Her eyes always gave her away.

  “Then when?” He took her hand.

  Gemma twisted free and shook her head. “Uniform. No PDAs.” She was an admiral and could damn well do what she pleased, but it was as good an excuse as any. “And this isn’t the appropriate place.” She headed for her government sedan. Ben quickly stepped around her and blocked her way.

  “Then meet me someplace that is appropriate. I wouldn’t be talking about it here if you’d answered any one of the dozens of e-mails or phone messages I’ve left at your office the last three days.”

  “Dr. Walsh, I answered your first call. I told you I did not want to go to dinner with you. I asked you not to call any more.” His subsequent calls went to voice mail, which she deleted without hearing. The same with his e-mails. All deleted without opening.

  “I tried getting into the building where you work and all that accomplished was to get me on some federal watch list.” He gave her a slow sideways grin that worked at dissolving her backbone. “I’m ready to hire a private investigator to find out where you live and get your personal cell number.”

  Was he serious? “That would not be wise.”

  “Then go to dinner with me. Once. I want to tell you . . .”

  “I felt I was very clear when I said I am not interested in seeing you in any way, shape, or form,” she said in her sternest military voice. “Or hearing what you have to say.” Gemma sidestepped and he counterstepped.

  “With all due respect, Admiral, we both know that’s bullshit.”

  “Excuse me.” The audacity of the man.

  “Back there, in the jungle.”

  He stepped close. If he thought he was going to intimidate her, he had better think again. He came closer. Close enough for her to take in his scent.

  “We both know if those SEALs hadn’t interrupted I was going to kiss you, you were going to let me, and we—”

  “Admiral,” a deep baritone voice said in a soft Georgia drawl.

  G
emma turned to find Bambi in a crisp dress uniform approaching. Five feet away he stopped short, came to attention, and snapped a sharp salute that she returned. She took in the ribbons and medals on his uniform. Gemma was aware SEALs didn’t display all medals because it would advertise where they’d been, what they’d done. The ones he wore told her one thing for sure. This young man was a hero.

  He tipped his head to Ben. “Good morning, sir.”

  “Good morning, Bam . . .” Ben paused. “Sorry, I . . . don’t know your real name.”

  Bambi gave them a wide grin. “It’s Neil Lewis.”

  “Good morning, Neil Lewis.”

  “May I approach, ma’am?” Petty Officer Lewis said.

  “Yes.” Gemma was struck by his extreme difference of appearance and manner. From camouflage grunge to dress uniform spit shine. From informality to the most formal. “Of course.”

  Gemma looked past him in the direction of the family and other mourners. “How is the family doing?”

  Bambi looked over his shoulder at the scene. “The sister and his fiancée are taking it pretty hard.” He returned his gaze to her. “His dad is taking it real hard. But he’s getting by. He knows the drill. He’s retired Navy. They get through today and things will get better.”

  Gemma understood. You get through the day because there are people around. Getting better was debatable. She thought about losing her husband and son. The hole in your heart was always there to unexpectedly trip and fall into.

  “Is there anything we could do to help?” Ben said. “Anything.”

  “No, sir. Not them.” He hitched his head in the direction of the Mercers. “The Team will be there to help any time they need it. But there’s a foundation that helps the families of fallen SEALs.” He reached into a pocket and came out with a card, handing it to Ben. “They’ll take your time or your money, sir. Whatever you feel like you can give.”

  Ben looked at the card. “They’ll be hearing from me, Neil, promise,” he said and tucked the card into his inside pocket.

  “Dr. Walsh, I . . . we . . . the lieutenant’s SEAL family want to thank you.” He extended his hand to Ben, who took it. “For what you did out there in the—” His voice broke. His lips twisted as he worked on getting control. “Out there in the jungle.” The petty officer turned his attention to her. “Thank you for what you did, ma’am. It’s greatly appreciated.”

  Gemma had donated to the trust fund for the child Mercer and his fiancée learned they were going to have a few days before he left.

  Lewis came to attention. “Admiral, Dr. Walsh, thank you. It’s been an honor and a privilege.” He snapped off a salute, and before she could return it, he turned and walked away.

  “Geesus,” Ben said in a low voice, watching the petty officer walk away. “They’re kids. Brave kids who live in the moment knowing they might not have a future. Willing to make a sacrifice. I wonder if I could do what they”—he looked at her—“what you . . .” He shook his head. “Makes you think about your own life.”

  Yes, it did make you think. Made her think of the coward she was. Afraid to let this man into her life. Gemma didn’t know what to say. She settled for, “I have to get back to work.”

  “I’ll walk you to your car.”

  “Certainly.” There was no sense arguing with him. “I’m over there.” She could do anything for a couple of minutes.

  “So am I,” he said.

  They walked in silence along the narrow road with other mourners returning to their cars and those coming for another funeral. Anger flared. How many more would die before the insanity and killing would stop? She clicked the key fob to unlock the doors to the government car she’d checked out for the day. She was sure Ben would show up and she didn’t want him seeing the car she drove or her license plate. Talk about insanity.

  Ben opened the door but she didn’t get in. “Why do you want to take me to dinner?”

  “I need a reason?”

  She stared at him.

  “Isn’t I’d like to get to know you, talk to you enough? Do I need to fill out a request form?”

  She stared at him.

  “Sorry.” His fingers brushed the back of her hand. “It’s pretty damned frustrating. I want to take a beautiful woman out to a nice dinner, spend time with her, and have no idea why I’m being shot down. I’ve already told you if the SEALs hadn’t . . .” He hesitated.

  “Gemma, if someone like me did a number on you in the past . . . I’m not him. Don’t hold what he did to you against me. Give me a chance. I won’t betray you.”

  Gemma’s legs threatened to go into system failure. It was almost as if he looked into her soul and heart. Betrayal was exactly what she feared. She managed a nod and tried to get a grip on emotions slipping from her control.

  “Don’t let what someone else did stop you from—”

  “If the invitation for dinner tonight still stands, I’d like to take you up on it,” she interrupted, pushing back her fear. The quiet confident way he spoke and looked at her crumbled her resolve.

  “Where? Here in D.C.?” he said with no hesitation. “I have a couple of things to take care of at the hospital this afternoon, but I can reschedule and get back any time you say.”

  “I’ll meet you in Baltimore. I know the city and it’s an easy drive for me.” It would also make it easier for her to leave early if things didn’t go well. Having dinner in D.C. there might be a temptation to invite him to her place, and she definitely didn’t want to do that. At least not yet.

  “You pick the restaurant,” he said.

  “You know Mama Tia’s, the Italian steak place?”

  He smiled. “Yes, I do. Love that place.”

  “What time?” she said, a little breathless at the thought she was really doing this.

  “Seven.”

  She got behind the wheel. Ben closed the door and she buzzed the window down. “Ben.”

  “Yeah.” He leaned.

  “Bring your platinum card. I’m not a cheap date.”

  He smiled, then his expression grew serious. “Sure. Anything as long as we have time to talk.”

  There was that word again. Talk about what?

  Chapter 11

  Gemma handed the parking attendant her key and stood looking at the restaurant door. She was nervous. Not something she normally felt meeting a man. But then she didn’t normally have feelings for the men she met. She liked the men she dated well enough but being with them was simply filling a void in her life. A sexual need. She’d been careful. Known them for a while, known who they were and something about them before she’d begun a relationship. Always known she’d be able to walk away with no problem. Ben was very different from all those men. She needed more than a few days in the jungle and overactive hormones. To avoid surprises she checked him out on the net. More than ten thousand references popped up, with countless medical entries. Refining the search to marriage, children, and scandal, she learned he’d been married briefly and divorced. No children listed and no scandal. She’d even searched lawsuits and found nothing. Everything was good. She’d go in, meet him, order a bourbon, maybe a double, and see where he took things. Two Navy officers, a lieutenant commander and commander, passed her and stopped at the door. The commander held it open.

  “Going in?” he said, giving her an unabashed up-and-down I’d like to get to know you better look. Gemma looked from one to the other. Normally men who looked at her the way the doorman was were sent to the not-on-your-life line with a nasty look or a put-down. Tonight she did neither. Tonight it was a boost to her confidence. Another thing she didn’t normally need. Her black dress no longer fit like a wet suit thanks to the ten pounds she’d lost at the jungle spa. But it was the only dress she had that covered the scratches on her arms, bruises on her neck and the tat.

  “Yes, I am.” She gave the two men her I am a predator sizing you up for my next meal look. “Thank you, Commander”—she glanced at his name tag—“Davis.”

  The
commander raised an eyebrow. “You know Navy rank?”

  Gemma shrugged. “It’s Baltimore. Everyone knows Navy rank.” She did her best hip-swing walk past them and into the vestibule.

  Inside, a bright, cheery hostess standing behind a lectern welcomed her to the restaurant. To Gemma’s right was the dining room, to the left a long dimly lit tunnel-like hallway that emptied into the bar. “How many?” the hostess said, looking from Gemma to the two men behind her.

  Gemma looked over her shoulder. “I can’t speak for these gentlemen, but I’m meeting someone at the bar.”

  Davis spread out his arms. “A lady friend? Tom,” he glanced at his buddy, “and I are free for the evening.”

  “Afraid not.”

  “Too bad.” Another up-and-down look. “Maybe next time.”

  Not a rowboat’s chance in forty-foot seas. She held back and let the men precede her down the hallway into the bar, where Ben stood. Gemma stepped back into the shadows. He checked his watch, turned, peering at the end of the tunnel. Her breath hitched and her body surprised her by doing that tingly zingy thing she hadn’t felt in a whole lot of years. The restaurant was busy tonight. Customers were flooding the vestibule and crowding into the dimly lit hallway on their way to the bar. She stepped back even farther, letting people pass, taking pleasure in watching him secretively as he leaned his back on the bar, drink in hand. Low-wattage overhead lighting illuminated him enough for her to see he’d changed clothes and no dark stubble shadowed his strong face. More tingly zingy fingers spread through her at warp speed, force-feeding her courage. She appraised herself in the mirrors that lined one wall of the hallway. Hair. Check. She had slicked it into submission with hairspray and gel until it was all but glued down. Makeup. Check. She twisted and looked over her shoulder. The dress had a mock turtleneck, cut-out shoulders and sleeves almost to her wrists. No panty line or bra strap showing. Check. It was silly to be this nervous. Ben had seen her looking her worst. Seen her do her worst and wanted to see her. She took a step and stopped.