by Caro Carson
There’d be no second time. She was completely immune to Thane’s nice-guy act. He’d made sure of that with the way he’d walked out.
“Yeah, look, Thane. Carter. Cut the crap. From this point on, it’s got to be all work and no play. No more of your games. Don’t bother testing out your charm on me. We work together, nothing else. Can you handle that?”
An NCO in a black MP vest called over them. “Lieutenant Carter, we’re ready to go if you are, sir.”
In icy silence, Thane stepped around her to head across the parking lot toward a formation of about twenty soldiers, lined up in two rows.
Chloe turned to follow.
Thane stayed a half step ahead of her as they walked, but after a few strides, he looked at her over his shoulder and spoke in a voice that was quiet but dripping with scorn. “Here’s the thing, Michaels. I’m ahead of you in every way. You don’t have the knowledge I do of this post, you don’t know how the company operates and you have zero real-world experience in law enforcement. The question isn’t can I handle you. The question is, can you keep up with me?”
* * *
The NCO-in-charge was addressing his two rows of MPs as Thane stood off to the side with Chloe—Lieutenant Michaels—standing at his shoulder like a shadow.
All work and no play. Can you handle that?
Definitely. He’d expected her to be shocked. He deserved a medal for making sure she wouldn’t be shocked in front of the people she’d have to work with from now on. He’d been thoughtful, damn it, having her meet him outside. She’d used the privacy he’d given her to chew him out.
He’d expected her to be hurt. Instead, she’d zeroed right in on the specifics like a detective. When had he known and why hadn’t he spoken up sooner?
He slid her a look as the NCO read off the list of vehicles for which alerts had been issued. Chloe was listening. There was no smile. She didn’t radiate happiness. In fact, she looked fairly fierce, concentrating on descriptions of stolen cars and vehicles suspected of being involved in crimes. Thane had a feeling he could ask her to list all the vehicles’ makes and models when the NCO was done, and she’d spit them right out.
Because she was sharp.
She was also beautiful.
Both were reasons why he hadn’t leaned forward at that little patio table and said, “Leonard Wood? Are you an MP? So am I.”
It should have been the easiest, most obvious thing to do. But he’d sat there, devastated. In denial. Mentally grasping at straws, looking for a way for the truth not to be true.
He’d felt the loss of a relationship that would never be, but, obviously, she hadn’t. Cut the crap. All work and no play for Michaels and Carter was how she wanted it? It was exactly what she was going to get.
It was time to train the rookie. “Before every shift, we conduct PCCs just like we were leaving the wire downrange. PCC stands for pre-combat check.”
“I know. You can inspect everyone while I stand here and watch, or it can take half as long if you take the front row and I take the back.”
She wanted to conduct the inspection herself, with all the experience of a single ride-along under her belt? He almost had to admire that level of cockiness.
Fine. If she wanted to jump into the deep end of the pool, he’d let her.
Done with his briefing, the NCO called the two lines of waiting soldiers to attention, then turned to salute Thane.
Thane returned the salute and stood in front of the MPs. “I’ve got a ride-along tonight, Lieutenant Michaels. She’ll be taking over fourth platoon, starting tomorrow.”
That was enough of an explanation. He walked to the first soldier in the first line, and gestured for Michaels to start the second row.
Thane looked over each soldier from head to toe. He could tell in a glance if they had their uniforms on straight, if haircuts were in regulation, faces had been shaved, ACU trousers were properly bloused over their combat boots. Tonight, he was looking to make sure no one had tried to lighten their load by taking an armor plate out of its pocket on the black vest. He asked each soldier to turn on his flashlight, to show him they had latex gloves in a pocket, handcuff keys, their own military ID. All the while, he kept one eye on Michaels. She was doing the same.
Almost.
She was so damned sure of herself. She executed a sharp left face to step to the next soldier in line. He wanted to scoff at that level of drill and ceremony, one usually saved for formal events like changes of command in the regular army. It so clearly marked her as fresh out of West Point. He wanted to scoff, but she did it without any pretense, moving down her line as if proper military courtesies were as natural as breathing to her. On her, that strictly executed drill looked kind of cool.
Thane finished his row and waited off to the side of the formation for her to finish with her last soldier. “Everything good?” he asked her conversationally.
“Yes, s—” She caught herself almost calling him sir. She wasn’t a cadet anymore, as her friend Greg had pointed out, but even the cocky Michaels forgot that now and then, apparently.
He managed not to smile at that little gaffe. He had a bigger mistake to point out. “You sure about that? Everyone has a working flashlight?”
“Of course everyone’s got a flashlight. Do you require them to be on the belt or in a vest pocket?”
“Soldier’s choice.” Then he spoke so softly there was no way anyone in formation could hear him. “That’s the kind of thing you should have asked before inspection, don’t you think?”
He didn’t give her a chance to respond. Instead, he took a step toward the formation and looked down her row. “Second row, take your flashlights out, turn them on and point them my way.”
They did. One soldier, just one, had a flashlight that didn’t light up.
These soldiers were from third platoon, but Thane knew them all by name. “Specialist Wesson, dead batteries? Come on, you know better.”
The NCO was on it, dismissing Wesson to go inside and scrounge up either new batteries or borrow a working flashlight. With a quick exchange of salutes—proper but casual salutes, like real soldiers, not West Pointers—Thane turned over control of the personnel to the NCO, and headed to his patrol car. Michaels kept pace beside him, her chin still up despite the fact that he’d just taught her a lesson.
That was what he was here for. And if the lesson had been taught in a way that she’d never forget, so much the better. He deserved a pat on the back for not rubbing it in her face with an I told you so. Little butter bar West Pointer, so sure she knew how to inspect the—
“You forgot to inspect one thing,” she said.
“What’s that?”
“Me.”
“You’re an officer. You have to police yourself.”
“Fine. Then I have to tell you, since you didn’t notice it, that I haven’t drawn a radio yet.”
Everyone else had one, a walkie-talkie style of radio with a cord that attached to a small, square speaker/microphone combination. Most MPs kept the speaker clipped on their shoulder, so they could hear and answer dispatch without having to take the bigger, clunkier radio off their belt.
Thane kept walking, but he glanced at her, trying not to look like he was inspecting her gear. The vest looked right. She had the standard sidearm, a nine-millimeter Beretta, in the same holster they all wore. Hers was on her right hip. She must be right-handed.
He had a fleeting memory of Saturday in the shade, of wanting to know every little detail about her. She was right-handed.
As if he cared.
“You don’t need a radio.” He sounded curt, even to himself.
“Yes, I do.”
“You’re either going to be in the car with its built-in radio, or you’re going to be with me.” Thane had a radio, of course. “Most of the initial dispatches are done through the computer. I’ll angle it so you can see the screen.”
“I need a radio so I can hear the radio traffic. If you haven’t tried it before,
let me tell you that it’s hard to hear what’s going on from the back seat. If I had a handheld unit, I’d be able to keep track better. It’s easier to learn all the call signs and codes if you can hear all the call signs and codes.”
Smart aleck. Thane kept walking toward the patrol car, away from the station where all the handheld radios were stored. “Not an issue. You won’t be in the back seat tonight.”
“You’re going to take the back seat?” She seemed surprised, pleasantly surprised. “I appreciate that. It will be easier to get my bearings and see where we’re going.”
“I’m not sitting in the back.” He was the officer on duty. He needed to see where the hell he was going more than she needed to be able to read street signs. “I’m driving.”
“Lieutenant Salvatore had a driver. Specialist Baker, first platoon. He must be your soldier.”
“During law enforcement rotations, the officers take different shifts than the enlisted. Our days are broken into twelve-hour shifts. Theirs are eight. They work three days on day shift, three on mids, three on nights, then get three days off. You won’t be working with your own platoon most shifts.”
“I know. I already got the basics. This isn’t my first ride-along.”
His first impression of her had been that she could be a Zen-master fitness and yoga instructor, happy with the world and her place in it. Now he watched her as she stalked away from him to head for the passenger door of the cruiser. Zen yoga? Not a chance.
Thane took his time walking up to his side of the car just to annoy her.
She kept talking. “I wasn’t asking why you weren’t working with a soldier from your own platoon. I was asking why you didn’t have a driver. Is it up to each duty officer to decide if he wants a driver or not?”
“It’s Sunday. Nothing happens on Sundays, so we don’t put as many MPs on the road. When was your other ride-along?”
She opened her door and stood there, talking to him across the roof of the car, along the length of the blue-and-red light strip. “Friday night.”
He opened his door. “On Fridays and Saturdays, everyone gets a partner.”
Everyone got a partner at work, he meant. Thane’s Saturday night after the pool party had been lonely as hell, but at least he’d had Ballerina to talk to about their wasted attempts to make real-life friends. Friday night, he hadn’t even had that. Ballerina had made him laugh about tater tots and then run off for her late night, a late night she’d said she enjoyed. Without him.
“Tonight, Michaels, it’s just you and me.”
He got in the car and slammed his door.
Chapter Seven
Chloe got in the patrol car and slammed her door shut.
“What are you doing?” Thane demanded.
She had no patience for his high-handedness. “I’m getting in the car. What do you think I’m doing?”
“Getting in the car,” he agreed. “Now you can get out of the car. In the real army, we don’t go anywhere in any vehicle before we PMCS it. That’s preventative maintenance checks and services. Since I’m the driver, I get to sit here while you walk around the vehicle and tell me if all the headlights and brake lights are working.”
She jerked her car door open. “I know what the hell PMCS means.” She got out and slammed the door. Jeez, the man thought it was her first day in the army. Everything about him irritated her.
I only have to work with him for two or three years. No big deal.
She stood in front of the car and held out her right arm to indicate that he should turn on that side’s blinker. Then the left. She stalked around the back, consciously noting the tires looked inflated and didn’t have worn treads, and repeated the exercise as Thane watched her in his rearview mirror. Right arm. Left arm. She’d never done this on a patrol car before, but over the years she’d done it on dozens of HUMM-Vs and a five-ton truck and—
She jumped a mile at an earsplitting burst of sirens. Blue and red lights flashed on top of the car, then stopped just as quickly. She swore, she swore, she swore that not only could she see Thane’s shoulders shake with laughter, but she could hear the man laughing through the windows and over the sound of the car’s engine.
She got back in and slammed the door. “Har-dee-har-har. You made the new guy jump.”
“Yes, I did, Michaels.”
They were going to use last names? Fine by her. She kept up her frosty pose as he powered up the laptop that was locked into place on a bracket between their seats. Thane hit a square on the touch screen to notify the dispatcher that 310 was now in service.
Chloe fastened her seat belt. Her handcuffs were situated on the back of her black belt in a bad spot. They were pressing into her spine, and the seatback pressed her weapon forward so that the muzzle end of the holster jabbed her in the thigh, but she’d be damned if she was going to wriggle all around to get comfy like a child. Like a new guy. A rookie.
Even if he was a first lieutenant and she only a second, lieutenants were generally considered one rank. They didn’t salute each other. They called one another by their first names, but since Thane had just called her Michaels...
“It’s going to be a long night, Carter.” The last-name thing was good. Carter was whom she had to deal with. Thane could be a distant memory of a sucker’s dream.
“Oh, it’s going to be a long day, too, Michaels. A lot of long days.” His smile was as mocking as his tone of voice as he put the car in Reverse and backed out of the parking lot. “In the morning, you’re moving into my office.”
* * *
Nothing happened on a Sunday, until it did.
It was nearly midnight, and Chloe and Carter were fixing themselves foam cups of coffee at the PX’s Shoppette, a 24-hour convenience store on post. They stood on opposite sides of an island that held pots of hot coffee and all the accompaniments that went with them. They’d both chosen the brew labeled “Bold.” Chloe was putting plain creamers in hers. On his side of the green Formica counter, Thane was adding all kinds of crazy crap to his cup. Cinnamon, vanilla powder, cocoa powder—every coffee garnish there was.
He had to be screwing with her, mocking her hot dog analysis. She pretended she wasn’t watching.
They were the only two customers in the place, if they could be called customers. MPs got free coffee here all night long. Thane had turned down the volume on his radio, but the indistinct voice of the dispatcher rumbling from the little speaker clipped to his shoulder still overrode the overhead Muzak every few minutes.
Thane put one pump of vanilla syrup in his coffee. One pump of chocolate. One pump of caramel. One pump of sugar-free caramel—yep, he was screwing with her. She debated whether or not to tell him he was neither interesting nor amusing when he suddenly chucked the whole cup in the trash and started striding toward the door.
“Let’s go, Michaels. That’s us.”
“What’s us?”
Thane was already slamming the glass door open. This was not a drill. Chloe chucked her cup in the trash, too, and ran after him, calling a one-word apology to the store clerk as she burst out the door after Thane.
He was already in the car, engine on. She got in her side and had barely gotten her door closed before he backed out of the parking space. He hit the buttons for the lights and sirens—they weren’t nearly as loud in the car as they were outside. Still, she reached for the two-way radio to turn up the volume just as he hit the street and floored the gas.
“Seat belt. Now. You check my right at intersections.”
She complied with the seat belt. She guessed she was supposed to look right for oncoming traffic. Salvatore hadn’t gone anywhere while using lights and sirens on Friday night, so she wasn’t positive. So much for Sundays being slow.
“Where are we going?”
“Am I clear on the right?”
They’d already reached the next intersection. The light was red, but they were going through the intersection, anyway. “Yes. Clear.”
But Thane had alre
ady bent forward to look around her head as he drove through the intersection.
She tried again. “What are we—”
“You call out ‘clear on the right’ or ‘not clear.’ Make sure that ‘not clear’ is loud.”
“Roger. What’s going on?”
“Officer down.”
The radio chatter was nonstop now. Chloe picked out more words. “Domestic disturbance?”
“Shh.” He shushed her angrily, listening to the radio and concentrating on the road as he sped toward whatever was causing nonstop radio chatter.
She shushed. A car ahead of them took an eternity to pull off the road and get out of their way. How could that driver not see red and blue lights flashing in the dark of the night?
The traffic light at the next intersection was red. “Clear on the right.”
Thane slowed down, anyway.
“Clear on the right,” she repeated. Did he not trust her? But no, out of the corner of her eye she saw he was concentrating on the left, wanting to be sure an oncoming car had seen their lights and was slowing down. He never even looked her way to see if the right was clear, since she’d said it was. He relied on her, as he should.
As they sped through the intersection, a male voice came on the radio, hard to understand because he was panting. “Hood, three-twenty, I’m up. I’m okay, suspect ran back in the house, blue shirt, basketball shorts.”
Thane relaxed the tiniest bit.
Another radio voice said, “Three-thirty, out at three-twenty.”
Thane turned off the main post road into one of the housing developments. He turned off the siren but left the emergency lights on. They were getting close, and Chloe needed to know what they were getting close to. The cuffs at her back and the holster on her thigh weren’t toys. “You gotta clue me in.”
“Domestic. That was three-twenty, the one out of breath. He got into a wrestling match on the ground with a male. He’s okay now, but the male got away and locked himself back in the house.”
“With whomever called 911?”
“Gotta assume so. Three-thirty’s there now for backup, but we’re still going, too.”
