Navy Orders
Geri Krotow
After a romantic betrayal, naval Lieutenant Commander Roanna Brandywine doesn’t trust anyone the way she used to.When a chance encounter brings Chief Warrant Officer Miles Mikowski into her life, she’s intrigued. But Ro has spent so long focusing on her career, she resists the attraction. Miles has had his own share of trauma, but it’s taught him that life is short and he has to go after what’s important to him.Then, unexpectedly, they’re ordered to investigate a sailor’s suicide. They must rely on each other as they discover that his death is not as straightforward as it seems. During their investigation, they acknowledge the chemistry between them, but the real question is whether there’s trust…and maybe even love.
Falling in love is not an order
After a romantic betrayal, naval lieutenant commander Roanna Brandywine doesn’t trust anyone the way she used to. When a chance encounter brings chief warrant officer Miles Mikowski into her life, she’s intrigued. But Ro has spent so long focusing on her career, she resists the attraction.
Miles has had his own share of trauma, but it’s taught him that life is short and he has to go after what’s important to him. Then, unexpectedly, they’re ordered to investigate a sailor’s suicide. They must rely on each other as they discover that his death is not as straightforward as it seems. During their investigation, they acknowledge the chemistry between them, but the real question is whether there’s trust…and maybe even love.
Light-headedness wasn’t familiar to Ro…
But sitting next to Miles Mikowski made her feel as though the air had been sucked out of the truck’s cab. The leather interior of the huge vehicle was roomy even by American standards. Except with Miles in the driver’s seat. His long, lean yet muscular physique filled every inch of the driver’s side. He had to be at least six-four. Whenever she stood near him, which wasn’t often, he towered over her.
“You didn’t ask in so many words, but being out on this bridge in these winds is begging for help, Roanna. Then to see you stopped at the high point like that…” He slapped his hand on the dashboard.
Guilt licked up her stomach, and nausea threatened to overtake her anger. She’d really frightened him. Miles, the man who’d already been through hell and back in the war.
“I know you like to run in the mornings, Ro, but maybe you should check the weather report before you run on the bridge in near gale-force winds.”
His frequent use of her given name instead of her rank irked her. They were both officers, so of course it was okay to address each other by first name. Miles always called her “Lieutenant Commander Brandywine” in public. Privately he’d used her name—when he’d asked her out. And she’d refused.
It’s not that he uses your first name. It’s how he says it.
Dear Reader,
Navy Orders is only the second book in the Whidbey Island series and yet I feel I’ve lived with the characters forever! I hope they’ve become a positive part of your life, too. The romance between Miles and Ro in this story grew much hotter than I’d ever expected, and it was delightful to write about their journey.
Miles is a wounded warrior and exemplifies how veterans give back for all of us on a daily basis. Because of this, I wanted to give back in my own way and decided to come up with a great cause to support. Right around the time I started pondering this, I came across Delaware Head Huggers (www.delawareheadhuggers.org) (http://www.delawareheadhuggers.org) on Facebook. I’d been looking for a chemo cap pattern to knit for a friend. Robin Agar, who runs DEHH with her beloved dog Schnapps (rumor has it that Schnapps knits, too!), generously donated a hat knitting pattern that you’ll find at the end of the book. Please support Delaware Head Huggers by knitting a cap and mailing it to them. If you don’t knit, Robin accepts other hats and monetary donations, as well. As of this writing, Robin is nearing the 9,000 mark for donated caps! Cancer affects too many of us, young, old and in between. While we fight for a cure, let’s make those who are in the fight feel a little love with a hand-knit (or crocheted) cap.
Thanks as always for your support of my writing. I hope you enjoy spending time with Miles and Ro as much as I have. I’d love to hear from you via my Facebook page, website (www.gerikrotow.com (http://www.gerikrotow.com)) or Twitter.
Peace,
Geri Krotow
Navy Orders
Geri Krotow
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Former naval intelligence officer and U.S. Naval Academy graduate Geri Krotow draws inspiration from the global situations she’s experienced. Geri loves to hear from her readers. You can email her via her website and blog at www.gerikrotow.com (http://www.gerikrotow.com).
Just like wounded warriors, stepmoms and moms-in-law are not recognized or thanked enough. For this reason I dedicate this book with all my love and gratitude to two great ladies in my life, Grom and Sally.
Contents
Chapter One (#u428b1f8a-1c85-5d47-af73-8d9c56e4778d)
Chapter Two (#u10e335d5-722a-54e4-b0ce-2d40479317c9)
Chapter Three (#u313603af-dce3-5f26-a19c-fe985d9aa7c7)
Chapter Four (#u1eaf061a-519c-517f-a848-5794486f5ea8)
Chapter Five (#u30a0ae9d-e58b-50ca-a08a-b85bb7b1b86e)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Navy Hug Hat (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE
CHIEF WARRANT OFFICER Miles Mikowski was in no mood to save a life this morning. He’d driven across Deception Pass Bridge onto Whidbey Island countless times, and while it was common to see walkers or runners working their way across the pass, nearly gale-force winds usually kept the bridge clear.
Not this morning.
His hands gripped the steering wheel of his truck as the image of a lone figure clinging to the bridge’s side rail morphed into the all-too-familiar Roanna Brandywine.
No, no, no!
“Christ.”
Regret tasted metallic in his instantly dry mouth. Not another one, not another sailor lost to the aftereffects of the war. He never should have stopped asking her to go out with him.
How had he not seen the warning signs with her? He couldn’t bear the loss of another warrior-in-arms to the war. No matter if the cause was a bomb, rocket-propelled grenade, bullet or PTSD.
Not on his watch.
Instinct took over as he floored his gas pedal to get to her. He slammed on the brake, unclicked his seat belt and burst out of the truck’s cab in one practiced motion. He’d already checked his rearview mirror and knew he had a clear shot across Highway 20 to Ro.
* * *
WIND RIPPED AWAY any warmth from the early-morning sunlight as Lieutenant Commander Roanna Brandywine walked across Deception Pass Bridge. She’d run four miles and looked forward to the hot shower she’d get at the base gym. But first, she needed to complete a mission she’d planned for weeks. Poised nearly two hundred feet above the turbulent passage that connected the Strait of Juan de Fuca with Puget Sound, she fingered the engagement ring that lay in the palm of her gloved hand for the last time.
Her desolation loomed large and real as she paused at the bridge’s midspan. The grandeur of Deception Pass never failed to make Ro feel at once small and insignificant yet able to conquer the world.
The small diamond that cut into her palm had been her link to what she thought a real, normal family life meant. Proof that she had somewhere else to go outside of the navy. That the navy wasn’t the only thing she’d ever succeed at.
Her illusion of having a happy, fulfilling personal life was just that. An illusion she’d strung out over several years and half a dozen navy postings. Her relationship with Dick had been part of her fantasy life away from the military.
Face it—the only part of your life that’s been real since you graduated from the naval academy nine years ago is your career.
She blinked.
No more.
She was done with pouring her emotions into the out-of-reach life that was never going to happen for her. Not in the way she’d planned it, anyhow.
So much of her pain was represented by this one tiny diamond.
She’d failed Dick. She should never have expected any man, especially a man who didn’t understand her need to serve her country and see the world, to wait years for her. Would she have waited years for a man who’d gone off like she had?
Dick knew her family as well as she did, and he’d loved her despite all its crazy ways. He’d fit in to her family so damn well, in fact, that he’d gone off and married her sister at the first hint of Roanna taking orders to Whidbey Island instead of getting out of the navy. Once her aircraft carrier pulled back into Norfolk, Virginia, they’d broken up.
Dick’s timing had been unfortunate, since he’d told her he was breaking up with her at the same time he revealed he’d married someone else.
Her sister.
Their last conversation still replayed in her mind, over a year later.
They were at a chain restaurant in downtown Trenton, New Jersey. Dick’s idea of a welcome-back-from-deployment meal. She’d been able to overlook his lack of planning even then. It was okay—he waited while she went off and fought wars and she put up with his not-so-desirable qualities when she came home. It was how they did things, both accepting less than what they deserved.
But then he’d revealed that their engagement was off. And, in fact, that he’d married the love of his life.
“Face it, Ro. We’re more like brother and sister than a couple. Have been for years.” He’d shot her a remorseful grin.
“I don’t know of too many brothers and sisters who sleep together,” she’d retorted.
Her bluster had been automatic, the reaction she knew she was supposed to have. In truth she’d been shocked at how little she’d cared. As if he’d done them both a favor. Maybe it was time for her to look at herself and even let go of whatever image she’d set out to achieve for her life.
But that would have meant she didn’t know where she was going next. Roanna always had a plan B, a safety net, and it had always been Dick. Plan A had always been whatever her navy orders said they were. The orders to Whidbey Island sent her three thousand miles from Dick. Did she really think he’d follow her out there and start a new practice in a strange state?
Again, her career was the one thing she’d been able to count on.
At Dick’s silence, her cheeks had grown warm, and then she’d started to shiver.
“I’m sorry if it wasn’t good enough for you, Dick.” They both knew she was talking about their sex life. At its height it had been a release from months of separation, a simple youthful yearning that demanded fulfillment in their teens and had turned into an obligatory ritual.
“Ro, don’t do this.”
“Do what, Dick? Get upset that you got married before you dumped me? Or feel hurt that you’ve been less than happy with our sex life?”
She’d sighed. Dick’s face bore an expression she’d never seen on him before—resignation. Maybe it’s time to grow up and move on, she’d thought.
“I’m sorry, Dick. This isn’t what I’d expected, but you’re actually right. We’ve been kidding ourselves for a long time, haven’t we?”
“I think so.”
The waitress had come and taken their orders. Ro had picked her favorite fish and chips basket while Dick—previously the king of junk food—ordered a grilled chicken salad, dressing on the side.
“So who is she, Dick? I’m impressed that she’s gotten you to eat healthier. She must be your soul mate.” She’d felt genuine when she’d uttered that, too. Really, it had become clearer as their conversation went on that Dick had saved both of their lives by finding another woman.
Dick had stayed silent. She’d felt a flash of compassion for him then, and for his new wife. Poor dears must have tortured themselves over how she’d take the news.
“Oh, I almost forgot.” She twisted off the small engagement ring they’d bought at the navy base exchange on one of his trips to Virginia Beach to see her. It had been inexpensive and tax-free, perfect for the young couple they’d been at the time.
“Here.”
He waved her hand, and the ring, away.
“No, no, I can’t take that, Roanna. Sell it or give it away, but it’s yours to do with as you wish.”
She’d held her hand out awkwardly for a few more heartbeats before she’d slipped the ring into the small front pocket of her jeans.
“So, do I know your bride, Dick?”
The guilt on his face had been palpable. She’d reached out to him and put her hand on his forearm.
“Dick, it’s okay. Cross my heart. I know you must think I’m in shock or something―maybe I am―but deep down I know this is the best thing for both of us. And I really, really want you to be happy. So who is she?”
His gaze had stayed downcast on the plastic ketchup bottle. It had seemed an eternity before he looked back up at her.
“It’s Krissy, Ro.”
Finally the shock hit her, followed quickly by despair, betrayal and a sprinkle of good old-fashioned outrage.
“Krissy?” She’d tilted her head and tried to smile. Her lips had felt frozen. She only knew one woman named Krissy.
Dick had sighed and bitten his bottom lip, garnering more courage.
“Your sister, Ro. Krissy, your sister, is my wife.”
Ro remembered that she stared at him for a good bit before she stood up without a sound and left the restaurant. She hadn’t known what else to do—she’d never seen this in a movie before, hadn’t practiced this type of exit strategy during any of her navy drills on the ship.
That was the last time she’d spoken to Dick. She’d refused Krissy’s calls, too.
The Pacific wind tore at her cheeks and brought her thoughts back to the present.
That had been fourteen months ago. She hadn’t spoken to her family since, except for holiday calls to her mother, and a brief visit from her a year ago. Mom had known all along about Dick and Krissy’s relationship and had never bothered to tell Roanna. She’d been deployed to the Persian Gulf, in the midst of a freaking war, and her mother hadn’t warned her.
No one had.
Why she’d kept the cheap ring this long was beyond her. Dick had certainly never offered her the family heirloom that her half sister, Krissy, wore on her petite left hand. Mom had let this tidbit drop last Christmas. It had been Ro’s first Christmas willingly away from her family and it had been her best. A bit lonely but she’d dined in the chow hall on base with other single sailors who worked for her and it had turned out to be a wonderful day.
Ro was the strong one in her family. The natural leader with common sense. The one who broke the mold, got away from the hell she’d known as a child.
But strength was the last thing she felt as she battled the wind and her emotions. The moisture from the mist started to form drops.
The sorrow, sense of failure and complete emptiness she experienced in the driving rain belied the professional reputation she’d built for herself. Clad in only her running tights, athletic shoes and weatherproof jacket, she felt smaller than usual. Her runs often took her across this bridge. Usually it was a place of solace and exhilaration, mingled with consolation. She’d chosen Deception Pass for the closure she needed. No more waiting. Her new life, her new attitude, started today.
She looked out over the edge of the bridge. White foamy water resembled the froth on a cappuccino. It was so far below her it made her dizzy. She grabbed the cold metal railing to keep her balance.
This is it.
She ungloved her right hand while keeping her fingers wrapped around the ring that pressed against her palm.
“Goodbye, Dick, goodbye, old Ro. Hello, new life!”
Before she allowed herself to reconsider, she held the ring out, ready to release it into the wind.
A sudden strong gust of wind forced her to use all of her strength to keep from falling over.
The ring fell out of her outstretched hand, into nothingness.
For a horrible moment it looked as if the ring was going to blow right back in her face—the gusts were that strong. Instead, it made it only halfway back toward her before it pinged against the metal edge of the railing and ricocheted into oblivion. She visualized its descent past the massive fir trees that covered the cliffs on both sides of the gap. A lone seagull floated on the updrafts and she imagined the bird cocking its head at the sparkle of sun glinting off the gem.
The sense of empowerment she’d anticipated was mixed with chagrin and anger that a gust of wind had turned her grand gesture into no more than an accident.
* * *
IT TOOK EVERY ounce of Miles’s explosive ordnance disposal training and prior experience not to scream at Ro to stay still and not—please, God, no—jump.
He was next to her in a few agonizing strides. He took in her stiff body, one gloved hand on the guardrail while the other lifted in front of her as if she were tossing her anguished thoughts away.
Only after he had his arms around her and they were falling toward the safety of the hard concrete sidewalk did he allow any words to escape his lips.
“Ro, it’s over. I’ve got you.”
* * *
RO REMAINED FROZEN as she tumbled with her assailant. The shock of being hit by a solid wall of muscle was as much to blame for her lack of response as her teeth-loosening collision with the concrete path.
The arms around her middle and shoulders, and the hand that cradled her head, kept her from a total loss of consciousness as sparks spewed in front of her vision.
“Stay with me, Ro. Are you okay?”
She blinked at the all-too-familiar baritone. A groan made its way past her clenched teeth. Only one man fit the bill of hero and rescuer, and had that deep sexy voice to match.
Navy Chief Warrant Officer and Explosive Ordnance Expert Miles Mikowski.
“Miles?”
“You scared the shit out of me, Ro.”
Her breath came back in gasps. Anger began to warm her from the inside out.
“What the hell are you doing?”
His face was a mere inch from hers, his weight hard but hot in contrast with the frigid ground beneath her. She’d never seen his eyes this close—his pupils were pinpoints of black heat in his steel blue irises as his breath warmed her wind-burned cheeks.
“Ro, it’s okay. I’m here, and you’re not alone.”
“Alone in what?” Their physical proximity started to register across all her senses and she squirmed. “Will you get off me?”
Had he lost his mind?
Slowly, as though she were a hand-blown Easter egg, he inched up and off her, all the while retaining a firm grasp on her arms, her hands. He rocked back on his heels in a crouch and pulled her up to a seated position.
The sound of car engines and the call-outs of drivers forced Ro’s glance away from Miles and to the highway.
“What’s going on, folks?” A uniformed state trooper stood on the street next to them. “Are you okay, miss?”
Ro looked at the officer, then at Miles.
“I’m fine, Officer. At least I was, until my...my colleague seemed to think I was in trouble. Miles?”
He shook his head.
“Tell me you weren’t about to do something really stupid, Ro.”
“The only thing I was going to do, I did. I tossed my old engagement ring.” She stood up and ignored the sharp cries of pain from her battered bones. She was going to kill Miles when she had the chance.
He stared at her as if he was seeing a ghost.
“Sir, are you okay?” The trooper turned to Miles, a hand on his hip.
“Yes, I’m fine. Sorry about any confusion, Officer.” Miles ran his fingers over his chin and Ro caught the grimace he was trying to hide.
Miles, embarrassed? This was new.
“I was in the war, and since I’ve been back a lot of vets have, ah—” he glanced past the trooper, to the vista of the Strait of Juan de Fuca “—I’ve seen a lot of vets with PTSD. I acted on instinct when I saw Ro on the bridge, in these winds, at this hour.”
“That true, miss?” The trooper deferred to Ro.
“Yes, yes. Miles is my work friend. He’s a good man, Officer, and wouldn’t ever do anything to hurt me.” She looked the trooper straight in the eye. No matter how much Miles drove her to distraction with his steady, determined attempts to date her, she knew he’d never act on anything other than honorable motives.
“Okay. I got a call from a concerned driver who saw you both take a tumble, and I had to ascertain that it wasn’t assault or a suicide attempt.” He paused, a slow grin overtaking his face. “Since you were just throwing away an engagement ring, we’re fine. I won’t write you a citation for littering, but toss the next ring into the trash can, all right?”
Ro smiled at him.
“No worries—there won’t be another ring.” Not for a very long time.
* * *
“GET IN BEFORE we cause an accident out here.” His booming voice brought more goose bumps to her arms than the Whidbey wind ever could.
She skirted behind his red Ford F-150 pickup truck. Sure enough, the morning commuters were already lining up behind him. Most were headed to Naval Air Station Whidbey Island, where they would put in a full day’s work for their country. They were going to start honking their horns at any moment.
Her fists ached to punch the tailgate, kick the tires. Instead, she pulled the passenger door open and slid into the leather seat.
She slammed the door shut, as much as one could slam such a heavy piece of metal, and turned to glare at Miles.
“Just drive to the pull-off and let me out so the traffic can get by.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I didn’t ask for your help, Warrant.”
Light-headedness wasn’t familiar to Ro but sitting next to Miles Mikowski made her feel as though the air had been sucked out of the truck’s cab. The leather interior of the huge vehicle was roomy, even by American standards. Except when the likes of Miles took up the driver’s side. His long, lean yet muscular physique filled every inch. He had to be at least six feet four inches tall. Whenever she stood near him, which wasn’t often, he towered over her five feet six inches, normally a respectable height for a woman.
“You didn’t ask in words but being out on this bridge in these winds is begging for help, Roanna. Then to see you stopped at the high point like that.” He slapped the dashboard.
Guilt licked up her stomach and to her neck. Nausea threatened to overtake her anger. She had really frightened him. Miles, the man who’d already been through hell and back in the war.
“I know you like to run in the mornings but maybe you should check the weather report before you run onto the bridge in near-gale-force winds.”
His frequent use of her given name instead of her rank irked her. They were both officers, so of course it was okay to address each other by first name. Miles always addressed her as “Lieutenant Commander Brandywine” in public. Privately he used her name but only when he asked her out. And she’d always refused.
It’s not that he uses your first name. It’s how he says it.
The way her name sounded on his lips made her think of sex. Her awareness of him annoyed her, to say the least....
“I’m not an idiot, Miles. I’ve lived here long enough to know I need to be careful. I’m on my way into the base, anyway. I’ve finished my run. I was cooling down.” He stayed silent. “My car’s right over here in the parking lot.”
You’re starting a new chapter today. Be nice.
“I didn’t realize you live off-island.” She referred to the fact that he was driving toward Whidbey.
“I don’t.”
No other explanations. She squirmed. What he did in his personal time was his business.
“Don’t worry, I’m not courting anyone else, Roanna.” He shot her a quick grin, an attempt at a return to their normal banter, while he waited for the car in front of him to inch forward. “I had to get up early to deliver a dog to a rescue group in Anacortes. It was the only time the volunteer could take delivery and get her out to Spokane today.”
“You work with a dog rescue?” Chagrin struck her as soon as she said the words. She’d heard he’d lost his working dog in the war.
“When I can.”
Miles swung off the right side of the highway and pulled into the small parking lot that heralded the start of Deception Pass Park. She didn’t miss how easily he maneuvered the big truck among the smaller, more practical cars. Apparently EOD training included massive vehicle handling.
Her gaze went from his hands on the wheel to his legs. Clad in workout pants his prosthetic leg wasn’t visible. But she’d seen him running in shorts on the naval air station jogging path, and working out in the gym. He had a titanium prosthetic for running and a more conventional one for his uniform.
“Looks like you’re going to work out, too.”
“Yup, every morning before I report to the wing. If I don’t keep my muscles in shape I’ll lose them.” His left hand rested on the top of the steering wheel while he leaned on his right arm, which was way too close to her on the center divider of the cab. She could even make out the fine blond-tinged hairs that covered parts of his hand and fingers.
“Hmm.” She wanted to tell him that his obvious strength of character impressed the hell out of her, but that might make him think she cared. Or that she’d reconsidered his previous invitations to go out for a meal or cup of coffee together.
Not happening.
“Thanks for the ride.”
“Sure.”
She swallowed. “No, I mean it. You didn’t have to stop, didn’t have to give a damn. But you did. And I don’t have to be such a pain in the ass to you all the time.”
Now she had his attention. Bright sparks danced in his blue irises.
“So now, after almost a year, after I’ve made a fool of myself, you’re willing to be nice to me?”
“I’m sorry for the times I was rude, Miles. Truly.”
Before he made more out of this than necessary she pushed open the door, slid down from the high seat and got out of the truck. She was careful to appear casual as she shut the door and headed for her car. She noted that he waited until she was safely inside her car before he pulled out of the parking lot.
The drive into the base wasn’t going to be long enough to get his brilliant blue eyes and shy smile out of her mind.
Miles’s confident demeanor had pricked her bubble of I-don’t-need-a-man denial since the moment she’d met him the better part of a year ago. They’d first come face-to-face when her mother’s cat had decided to run up a tree. Miles had expertly scaled the tree and saved the cat. Unwittingly he’d also saved Roanna from her mother’s emotional fallout. It would have been pure hell if Henry the Eighth, Mom’s cat, had perished.
A week later he’d walked into the wing staff meeting as the new weapons officer and she’d been forced to acknowledge that he had an above-average physique. When she’d discovered he was an amputee she’d been in even more awe of his physical prowess, given the fact that he’d climbed such a huge tree.
But when he’d asked her out on a date she’d reeled in her drawbridge. No man was going to cross the moat she’d built around herself, especially not a man she found so attractive. Casually dating nonthreatening men was her modus operandi.
You played it safe with Dick and look where it got you.
Miles hadn’t given up on her right away, but at least now he appeared to accept that they were work colleagues, period. Another point in his favor, damn it. He was a nice guy.
* * *
RO WATCHED AS her best friend, Gwen, carried two cups of coffee from the on-base fast-food restaurant’s front counter. They had a standing appointment to meet each Friday morning, time permitting, to connect and see if they were going to do anything together over the weekend.
“Ah, heaven. Fresh hot coffee and it’s Friday!” Gwen smiled at Ro and placed the paper cups with steaming liquid on the table. Ro reflexively smiled back.
They’d met at the academy on the sailing team and had been good friends ever since. Gwen was a few years older, ahead of her in college, and her senior in naval year groups. They’d both been happy when Ro’s orders had come through for Whidbey—they hadn’t been in the same area for the past ten years. Ro, especially, had benefitted from having Gwen available to listen to her vent in person instead of on Skype as she came to terms with her new life without Dick.
Gwen’s frank gaze made Ro want to squirm.
“What? What is it you’re dying to tell me?”
“You could do a lot worse than Miles Mikowski, Ro. I know you didn’t want to go out with him, or anyone, when you first broke up with Dick and started this tour. But it’s been a long time. You finally threw away your past today, even if you couldn’t have chosen a stupider way to do it.” Gwen’s crooked smirk couldn’t erase her classic beauty. A tall, wispy blonde, she’d been the envy of the other female mids when they were in school. She’d done everything they did and still managed to look like a porcelain doll no matter how sweaty or dirty she got.
“You could have just told me you needed a girls’ night or weekend and we could have gone to Whistler for a spa weekend. There are plenty of high mountains to throw a ring off there, with no threat of being tackled by an EOD dude.” Gwen stirred two packets of sugar into her coffee. “You’re damned lucky the trooper didn’t haul you off for a psych evaluation.”
“Yeah, well, Miles could say the same. As for going on a trip, I had to do it on my own. You know that.”
“I do.” Gwen regarded her steadily with pine-green eyes. “This was better, wasn’t it? Being in a hotel in Whistler with your best friend wouldn’t have gotten you tackled by Miles.”
Gwen leaned forward.
“Be honest—was it hot?”
Ro took a good gulp of her cappuccino to hide her smile. Gwen made her laugh but she didn’t want to laugh about Miles. Not when every inch of her ached from the way he’d “saved” her this morning.
“How are you and Drew adjusting to the command tour?” She wasn’t going to admit her feelings even to Gwen.
Gwen puckered her lips and raised her eyebrows.
“We’re doing as well as we can, considering he’s still upset I took the command tour orders. No, let me change that. We’re doing horribly, and I don’t know why we’re still together. How’s that for a depressing take on marriage?”
“And you want me to date Miles.”
“Dating and getting married are vastly different. Miles is perfect for you. If you think about it, it’s pretty romantic that he pounced on you when he thought you were going to leap off the bridge.”
“He was acting on instinct—he said it himself. He’s been on too many battlefields, seen too many people in the throes of their PTSD. He did the right thing, I guess. Except that he should’ve taken a minute to ask me first before he assumed I was suicidal.”
“Don’t be so hard on him, Ro. Or on yourself. You said you want to let go of your past, open up your mind. Have you ever considered a more permanent change? Have you thought about getting out of the navy?”
No, but she knew this was the next area of her life that had to be addressed. At more than nine years in, she was nearing the halfway mark to retirement.
“I’m only willing to handle one life change per day, Gwen. You’re the last person I’d expect to ask me about whether or not I’m making the navy a career. Where is this coming from?”
Gwen’s glance strayed to the view of the runway the window they sat next to provided. She shrugged and looked back at Ro.
“With all the stress my new tour has put on my marriage, I’m wondering if I should have gotten out sooner, taken a job with the airlines. Drew’s a good man. He doesn’t deserve having to worry about me flying war missions all over the globe.”
“B.S.! You’re one of the most talented, proficient pilots in the whole navy! Drew needs to chill. After this tour you can get out if you want to, or take a shore tour and think about it.”
Gwen shook her head.
“I just want you to consider that you have many, many options. You’re an academy grad, you’ve served in wartime and you have a background in computer systems. You’re eminently employable. But what about your knitting? There’s more to your interests, lots of things I don’t think you’ve even considered yet. This is your shore tour to do that.”
“Gee, thanks, Mom.”
“Cut it out.” Gwen looked at her watch. “Gotta go. You’ve got an AOM today, too, don’t you?”
Ro nodded.
“Suggestion—say ‘yes’ to Miles when you see him.” Gwen smiled and gave her shoulder a squeeze before she walked out of the fast-food place.
Indeed.
CHAPTER TWO
TWO HOURS LATER Roanna straightened her khaki uniform skirt and put on her favorite tinted lip moisturizer before she left her desk to walk to the wing conference room. It was only a quarter to nine but she’d lived a lifetime since she’d left her house for her run on Deception Pass this morning.
Each week the wing staff, along with various squadron representatives, briefed the wing commander, also referred to as the wing commodore, on the status of all wing patrol squadron forces in the world that were under his command. A complete intelligence brief was part of the package, as was a weather brief, operations brief and maintenance brief.
Ro was responsible for the intelligence brief, but whenever possible it was presented by a squadron intelligence officer or one of her intelligence specialists. She’d had enough face time to last her an entire career. She believed in giving less experienced intel types a chance to improve their skills.
Ro entered the roomy air-conditioned space and glanced at the dozen or so seats around the huge wood conference table and the seats lined up at the sides of the room. Miles wasn’t there yet and she let out her breath. At least she had a few more minutes during which she didn’t have to worry about him looking at her.
Go ahead, tell yourself that. You’ll be disappointed if he doesn’t show up.
She was giving Miles way too much rental space in her head. She pulled out a chair three down from the head of the table, where the commodore would sit. He’d be flanked by his chief staff officer and the operations officer, followed by maintenance and intelligence. All rank-related.
Right after she sat down, the senior enlisted sailor came into the room and handed her a piece of paper.
“Good morning, Commander.” The rank of lieutenant commander was often shortened to “Commander” in regular conversation.
“Hey, Master Chief Reis, how are you doing?”
“Fine, ma’am. The commodore wants to meet with you after the AOM.” Master Chief Petty Officer Lydia Reis referred to the all officers meeting, AOM, as Ro took the small yellow slip of paper.
“Did his secretary say what for?”
“No, and it wasn’t his secretary who told me—it was Commodore Sanders.”
“Okay, thanks.” She did her best to maintain an air of unconcern. Captain Leo Sanders, Wing Commodore, never made direct calls to any of his staff. They jokingly referred to him as the “CEO.” He made sure everyone knew he was the boss, no questions, but was also more friendly and personable than the average high roller. Ro had worked for Commodore Sanders since she’d reported to N.A.S. Whidbey fourteen months ago. He’d been more than fair on her fitness reports so she didn’t have a personal beef with him. But she’d also seen him slice and dice her colleagues for transgressions in front of the entire staff. He regularly broke the “reprimand in private, praise in public” rule of thumb. It was the epitome of how a leader shouldn’t behave. But he was in charge and it wasn’t her call how he acted. He gave her enough room to do her job as the wing intelligence officer without micromanaging her.
Besides, he had a great sense of humor that was most welcome when the staff was under the gun for an inspection or unplanned mission.
Why does he need to talk to me?
Ro ran her fingers along the edge of the polished maple conference table. She hadn’t screwed up on anything that she was aware of. She also hadn’t done anything that merited a surprise award or commendation, either.
She felt a distinct ripple of unease. She’d never gotten into any kind of trouble as an officer, yet she knew from experience that when a high-ranking superior wanted to see you on such short notice it was usually for something pretty serious. Commodore Sanders was a busy man in a responsible job. He wouldn’t be asking to see her for something he could have had his chief staff officer request from her.
Her apprehension was further piqued when Master Chief Reis handed Miles the same yellow slip of paper, with the same quiet request, right after he sat down in the chair opposite her. His expression remained unreadable as he read the note but when he raised his head and caught her staring, he grinned.
Oh, no. He thought she was looking at him for an entirely different reason.
“I got the same message.” She blurted out the obvious.
Miles raised his brows. He didn’t appear as concerned as she was. Of course, he was the weapons officer and probably got called into the commodore’s office a lot more often than she did. Weapons cost a lot of money, hence they were right behind the costs of aircraft maintenance and fuel as the budget-driving concerns.
Ro rarely spoke to the commodore one-on-one; there was no need to. He received his daily intelligence briefings from her or her staff via a short classified memo, and if he required further explanation he called her in along with his CSO to help explain and ask questions, too. The CSO served as the commodore’s extra eyes and ears in most instances.
Ro thought about asking Miles if he knew what the summons was about when the ops officer barked out, “Attention on deck!” Ro pushed out her chair and stood at straight attention in one fluid movement, as did everyone else. Commodore Sanders strode in.
“At ease, everybody. Take your seats.” He was always quick to put them at ease and get on with the briefings. Ro liked this about Commodore Sanders. He didn’t have time to waste and he didn’t want to waste anyone else’s time, either.
She folded the admin message into fours and placed it in the front pocket of her khaki skirt. She’d worry about whatever the meeting was about later.
The briefings all went as usual with nothing significant to report from most departments. The meteorologist pointed out that the current gale-force gusts were from a Pacific storm that could make landfall on Whidbey over the weekend but would most probably break up before it arrived.
Ro had just finished her first full year here and had never experienced a major storm on the island. She looked around the room. No one else seemed too worked up over that piece of news.
She noted that the commodore was quiet this morning, which boded well for the junior officer who was about to give the intelligence brief.
The JO from Patrol Squadron Eighty-Six started up well and appeared to hold the commodore’s interest throughout his brief spiel. He concluded his presentation with an overview of the current political situation in the Middle East.
“So you’re telling me what I’ve already seen on CNN this morning, Lieutenant?” Commodore Sanders never held back on the intel types. Typical of most aviators, he liked to think that being a pilot was the only career in the navy worth anything.
Ro stifled a frustrated sigh. Sanders had been quiet so far. Why now, why her briefer?
“No, sir. CNN is open-source. What I’m providing is verifiable by multiple classified sources.”
“The new data about the movement of the weapon sites is the salient point here, Commodore.” Ro jumped in before the commodore could twist the skewer he’d lobbed into the junior officer. Let the big guy aim his ire at her, not one of her subordinates.
“I heard him, Ro.”
Ro did her best to keep a grimace off her face.
“Sir, I can look up more information for you, sir.” The red-faced lieutenant junior grade didn’t get it. Ro shot him a look that she hoped conveyed her desire for him to shut up and sit down. The JO didn’t move, caught in the clutches of wanting to make such a high-ranking officer happy.
“Thank you, Mike.” She nodded at the row of seats behind the conference table as she spoke to the lieutenant. He shoved his pointer into the pocket of his uniform pants and sat down. Ro made a mental note to talk to him later, to tell him he’d done a bang-up presentation. It wasn’t his fault that the commodore was in a prickly mood.
She knew his prickly mood could be the result of myriad things—but she hoped it didn’t have anything to do with her meeting with him a few minutes from now.
The rest of the AOM was rocky in parts as the commodore grilled everyone from the admin to the ops officer about the particulars of their presentations. Everyone took it in stride; Commodore Sanders had a lot on his shoulders, and besides, it was the staff’s job to inform and support the commodore, not wonder why he had his knickers in a twist.
After what seemed like hours but was only twenty-three minutes from the start of the AOM, the CSO, also a navy captain and the commodore’s right-hand man, wrapped up the meeting and everyone stood to attention as the commodore got up and left. The CSO paused and turned around.
“Miles and Ro, I need to talk to you.”
Everyone else cleared out.
Ro liked the CSO. Captain Ross Bedford had been on the same aircraft carrier as she was during the war and they’d enjoyed a good working relationship. He was a solid guy who put his family first whenever possible. Ross and his wife, Toni, had Ro over for family barbecues and holidays from time to time. He served as a great counterpart to the commodore’s often-serious demeanor, as Ross was always ready with a joke and liked to keep things positive. Despite the commodore’s sense of humor, which made an occasional appearance, his job frequently required him to play the heavy or to convey an impression of gravitas.
This morning Ross didn’t have any of his usual jovial spark.
“You two know you’re meeting with the commodore now, right?”
“Yes, sir.” Ro and Miles spoke in unison.
“Do you have any idea why?” He studied both of them as if looking for a reaction.
“No, sir,” Miles replied, and Ro shook her head.
Ross sighed.
“Okay, that’s a good thing, at least. Stand by for a major bombshell—” Ross grimaced at Miles ”—sorry, Miles.” His reference to a bomb only made Miles, an explosive ordnance expert, smile.
“No problem, sir.”
Ro inwardly squirmed. Miles’s leg had been blown off by an IED, close enough to a “bomb.” She thought Ross could have been a little more aware of what was coming out of his mouth.
Whatever was going on was major. First, the commodore had been the crankiest she’d seen him yet, and now Ross was showing cracks in his usually professional deportment.
“Let’s go.” Ross turned and held the door open for Ro to go ahead, while he and Miles followed her down the carpeted hall. The commodore’s office spaces were the nicest on all of N.A.S. Whidbey, even classier than the base commanding officer’s rooms. The wing commander was at the helm of all patrol squadron operations on the island. If something happened in or to a P-3 squadron in the wing, Commodore Sanders was responsible and accountable. That included ugly repercussions from mishaps, such as last month when a pilot and his crew left their aircraft before completing all the items on the shut-down checklist. They hadn’t noticed that the chocks under the front wheels weren’t secured. When a gale blew across the island that night, it put the P-3 nose-first through a hangar door. The commanding officer of the squadron took a career hit but it was the commodore who’d had to brief Senate staffers on why his overall wing maintenance budget had increased by two million dollars in one operational cycle.
Ro’s gut told her their impending meeting with the commodore was not going to be positive in nature.
The commodore sat behind his massive oak desk perusing his computer screen. He didn’t look up, didn’t acknowledge them at all on their arrival.
Ro noted how ridiculous the desk still seemed to her. The commodore had insisted on having it moved in here. He’d found it in a government surplus warehouse, he’d said. Ro guessed that the desk had originally been used by a politician from the area. It wasn’t extra-fancy or anything, just massive. Too big for the office space. There weren’t enough seats for them all to sit down so they stood, waiting for the commodore to look up from his screen.
Ro took in the vast number of diplomas and professional awards with which the commodore had basically wallpapered his office. She loathed when navy pilots lived up to stereotypes in any way, shape or form. While the commodore had his “I love me” wall, he never gave off the air of superiority conveyed by his accomplishments.
She supposed he was a good guy, overall. She couldn’t fault him professionally, and who was she to judge? If she stayed the course and took navy orders tour after tour, to different jobs and places around the globe, she might want her own “I love me” wall in her office one day.
The silence stretched and Ro wondered why on earth Ross wasn’t opening his mouth to get the commodore’s attention. Whatever happened to dealing with the live body in front of you instead of an inanimate computer screen?
The commodore blinked before he looked up and studied all three of them. Upon closer inspection Ro saw that the lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes were deeper and more pronounced than usual. A lifelong golfer, the commodore had seen his share of sun and his skin reflected that with its perpetual tan. Today he looked pasty under his bronze.
Her curiosity swelled and she wished she had a cup of coffee to hold, something to cover her anxiety.
“Good morning, gentlemen.” He always ignored the fact that women served in the navy—a fact that Ro didn’t miss but didn’t obsess over, either. She’d experienced worse discrimination over the course of her career to date. He probably thought he was paying her a compliment by considering her one of the guys.
“Morning, sir. I’ve gathered Ro and Miles as you requested. Are you sure you don’t want Master Chief Reis in here, too?” Ross’s tone was more conciliatory than usual.
“No, no, let’s keep it close-hold as long as we can.”
Whatever had them all in here at this moment wasn’t something he wanted his senior enlisted sailor to know about, not yet.
The commodore pursed his lips and fiddled with the fountain pen that sat in a brass holder on his desk.
“We have a big problem, folks, and there’s no easy way to tell you about it.” He steepled his hands in front of his face and took a deep breath.
“One of our young sailors died last night. It’s a clear case of suicide brought on by wartime post-traumatic stress disorder. Miles, I’m sorry to tell you it was a man from your department. Petty Officer José Perez.”
The air left Ro’s lungs.
“AMS1 Perez?” She referred to him by his enlisted rate―aviation structural mechanic―and rank―petty officer first class.
“You knew him?” The commodore’s attention made shivers race up her spine.
“Yes, sir.”
The commodore’s hawkish gaze made her feel like she was the one under investigation. She wriggled her toes in her black patent uniform shoes. She’d be damned if she’d ever let anyone see her squirm, no matter the reason.
Her last conversation with the sailor flashed in her mind. Petty Officer Perez had been a friendly, easygoing type, no older than her—probably a couple of years younger, in fact. He’d had the fire in his belly that made her smile. It motivated her when a junior ranking sailor was so dedicated to the navy.
Now he was dead.
“When’s the last time you saw him?” Ross’s voice was gentler than the commodore’s but Ro caught the grim underlying tone.
“I had coffee with him on the hangar deck yesterday afternoon.”
“At the gedunk?” The CSO referred to the snack shack that everyone in the hangar spaces frequented for decent coffee and greasy-spoon fare.
“Yes, sir. He wanted to ask me about switching rates to IS.” Intelligence specialist. “I told him it was pretty much too late in his career as he’s—he was—up for chief on his next exam.” She winced at her word choice. Perez would never be promoted again.
The room was silent. It didn’t matter what Petty Officer Perez wanted from his navy career—it was over. Ro felt a strong sense of sorrow and regret.
“He didn’t work in the weapons office, sir.” Miles broke the tension with his steady professionalism.
“No, but he was in maintenance. You’re on the hangar deck a lot with weapons and no doubt worked with him.” The commodore responded to Miles without any sign of a condescending attitude.
“This is going to hit the press before long, and when it does there’s potential for it to turn into more than it is. At the very least, I expect the media will try to blame this command for not seeing the warning signs of Perez’s PTSD. I need to have you—” he pointed at Miles “—and you—” he waved his hand toward Ro “—on the case. You are hereby appointed to the investigative team for the death of Petty Officer José Perez.”
He turned to Ro. “I’ve picked you because you have experience handling classified information. You know how to put pieces of a puzzle together without added fabrication.” The commodore ran his fingers across the top of his close-shaven head.
“Miles, I’ve picked you because Perez is—was—in maintenance and on the hangar deck, which you’re familiar with. I can’t have the maintenance officer doing this. Plus he’s going to be busy enough handling the JAG, NCIS and possibly a higher-level investigation.”
The commodore paused.
“Hell, Miles, I picked you because you’ve got the most recent wartime experience on the staff. I know you won’t lose it over a dead body. I need your experience and stamina.”
Ro looked at Miles. He was silent, his face solid and not yielding a clue as to his thoughts. A flash of envy hit her as she realized she’d never have that kind of demeanor.
But she’d seen past Miles’s demeanor that morning on the bridge....
“What about NCIS?” Miles finally asked, referring to the Naval Criminal Investigative Service. “And the civilian law enforcement authorities?”
“They’re all doing their job, but none of them are required to report back to the commodore. You are,” Ross said. It was obvious he and the commodore had already hashed this out.
So why wasn’t the command staff officer doing this investigation?
Ro didn’t have to ask her question aloud. The CSO needed to handle the inevitable bombardment of message traffic and emails.
“Commodore, how often do you want to hear from us, and what kind of report are you looking for when we’re done?” Miles’s expression remained unreadable to Ro. Professional, cool.
“We’ll worry about that later. For now, just call me if anything shows up other than what we already know—that Petty Officer Perez killed himself last night.”
Ro suppressed a sigh. Her instinct was to take some time to mourn Petty Officer Perez, to see what she could do to help his surviving family. She needed a chance to go back over the few conversations she’d had with him these past few months.
Nonetheless, a mental list of the action items she had to clear off her desk, ASAP, rolled through her mind.
Her job wasn’t going to involve her usual wing intel officer duties until the investigation was over; she was certain of that much.
Naval investigations often dragged on for months, and she’d seen firsthand while deployed to the Gulf and detached to Afghanistan that there was little chance she’d have any true influence over the outcome. If the civilian law enforcement agencies had already been called in, she and Miles, representing the wing, didn’t even have jurisdiction to investigate. The local LEAs tended to be more cooperative in a close-knit community like Whidbey but she knew that if the feds got involved she and Miles would be out of luck.
“What about the JAG?” Ro referred to their staff lawyer.
“He’s going to provide support to the deceased’s family during this terrible time, and of course, he represents me for any official statements. He’ll work continuously with the public affairs officer. I named a lieutenant commander who was supposed to join the wing in a month as the casualty assistance calls officer.”
Ro was impressed that the commodore had the foresight to appoint someone who’d probably never met Petty Officer Perez as CACO. That made it easier on the CACO to do his job—to ensure the family was provided for and received all benefits due to them as surviving members of the deceased.
The commodore didn’t even mention any concern over how the intel and weapons departments would run with Ro and Miles out of the office for an indeterminate time. There was no need to. They both had staffs that would fill in until their return.
This was an aspect of navy life Ro equally relished and despised. If she did her job right and delegated as much as possible, her subordinates were able to achieve their greatest potential and earn valuable experience. Ro had no doubt that she’d be able take on this unexpected mission and rely on the intel shop to carry on with its basic functions.
Miles stared straight ahead at the commodore. Why on earth did today have to be the day she’d decided to stop being so harsh on herself, to really let go of her past, to forgive herself for clinging to the idea of a fantasy fiancé for so long? Worse, why had she picked today to be more open toward a new man in her life?
This assignment would be so much easier if it were her and Ross, or her and any of the other department heads working together.
But it was Miles—the only man who’d threatened her vow to steer clear of any serious involvement with the opposite sex since Dick had dumped her. Ro harbored no illusions that working closely with Miles would prove to be anything but problematic.
This case was going to be a bitch.
CHAPTER THREE
MILES DIDN’T LIKE the feel of this. He wasn’t a Commodore Sanders fan, per se. Au contraire. He found the senior navy pilot, like most navy aviators he’d met, to be pompous and a bit too free with his good opinion of himself.
The commodore was justified in wanting an officer or two from the wing to keep tabs, as much as possible, on the case. Miles would have done the same.
But Sanders had paired him with Ro.
It was hard enough seeing her almost every day, knowing she didn’t want to go out with him. Didn’t want much to do with him at all. The fact that she was the first woman who’d ever gotten under his skin to this degree didn’t help matters. Nor did it assuage his ego, which she’d flattened last year with her repeated rejections.
Add his freak show of an overreaction this morning on Deception Pass Bridge, and his future with Ro was bleaker than ever.
A pang of longing to work with an operational team downrange hit him. In the fleet there wasn’t time for personality conflicts or egos to get in the way. They had a mission and they accomplished it come hell or high water, often both. Even while clearing mines in a godforsaken field in Afghanistan, when he’d lost his leg along with his dog, he’d completed the mission. The SEAL team he’d been supporting had been able to go forward with no further loss of life or limb and successfully root out a group of Taliban.
“This is such a hard time for our wing, for the entire community. I don’t want anyone who worked with Perez to think for one minute that they could have prevented this or that it’s their fault. This is a horrible and perhaps inevitable outcome of war.”
Commodore Sanders said all the right words but Miles relied on his carefully trained powers of observation. The commodore kept looking down and didn’t make sustained eye contact with any of them. His speech pattern was faster than usual, indicating his excitement or anxiety over the prospect of being cast in the middle of a national news-making case. Miles suspected that guilt was eating at Sanders, no matter what the commodore said about no one needing to feel guilty. It was natural for a leader to feel responsible when one of his own came to injury. Or worse.
The bottom line was that they’d all failed Perez if he’d committed suicide. Miles didn’t believe in anything except the team concept when it came to his shipmates.
“I need you two—” the commodore looked at Miles and Ro again “―to be my eyes and ears on this case. Get to the beach and survey the scene of his suicide. Make sure the local LEA doesn’t turn this into anything overblown or sensationalize it. Sailors commit suicide. It happens. It isn’t always because of PTSD or pressure from the military, but even if it is, no one deserves the disrespect of a magnifying glass on his own death. Not my sailor, not on my watch.”
“Sir, it’s not anyone’s fault that Perez had PTSD, if that’s what it was.” Ro’s emphatic pronouncement gave the old man pause as he stared at his intel officer.
Miles fought to not roll his eyes.
Why did she have to be such a master of the obvious? This was what was wrong with support staff like intel. Ro was going to have to learn to toughen up and only worry about the investigation. How the commodore felt about the loss wasn’t the issue.
The commodore’s glance strayed again, but just for a moment.
“What are you waiting for? Get the hell out of here.” He finished his last sentence in a low growl, Sanders’s way of making a tough order less emotional for all of them.
Ro left first and Miles followed her. She turned around to wait for him in the hallway. For the first time he saw the cracks in her “work” face that revealed her frustrations and her questions about what had happened.
Ro was obviously as thrilled as he was that they’d been paired to do the investigation. He was surprised she hadn’t said so to the commodore, or simply refused to work with him.
Her blue eyes widened in query.
“What—”
“Not here.” He held up his hands and nodded forward. Ro clamped her mouth shut and turned around. It afforded him a wonderful view of her backside as he trailed her down the hall. Judging by the pronounced swing of her hips she was working up to a good fight.
He’d rarely looked twice at the few military women he’d worked with. EOD teams still didn’t have many females, although he’d worked alongside his share of operational and staff officers who were women. He knew he’d been in the midst of intense operational situations during those times and he could blame that for not being distracted by the opposite sex—he’d had a war to fight.
He also knew that was complete bullshit. He’d be aware of Ro if they were both in the Arctic bundled in cold-weather gear with only their eyes showing through tinted goggles. Even in the midst of a firestorm he’d want to kiss Ro like he’d dreamed of since he’d first laid eyes on her.
He’d noticed her the day he’d met her, the weekend before she reported to the wing. She’d been wearing tight jeans that revealed just how curvy her ass was under her khaki uniform. She’d been spitting mad that his friend Max’s dog had chased her mother’s cat up a tree. Her anger had boiled over when she realized he was perfectly certain he could rescue her mother’s cat from the sixty-foot fir tree. When he climbed back down the trunk with the fuzzy creature under his arm it had only ticked her off more.
He suppressed a grin at the memory.
They exited the plush corridor into the utilitarian part of the hangar, above the main aircraft parking area. Ro turned to face him again and he fell in step with her.
“Let’s go outside. We can take my truck to the beach.”
“I have to get my purse.”
“Do you have your identification on you?”
“Yes, of course I have my ID,” she snapped.
“Then you don’t need anything else. Not for now. Let’s keep walking and get out of here.”
“Aye-aye, sir.” Sarcasm tinged her words and Miles smiled. He knew he sounded like a jerk to a softie like Roanna. It was clear to him that she was already bored at the wing after being there for not even half of her assigned tour length. Like him, she’d been out in the fleet fighting the war until circumstances brought her home. Like him, she wasn’t a native of Whidbey Island or Washington State. Unlike him, she showed no indication that the beauty and mystery of the Pacific Northwest had seduced her.
You haven’t seduced her, either.
He wanted her, all right. From the moment he’d watched her get her back up about her mother’s precious cat that was stupid enough to climb so far up a tree that it needed rescuing. A laugh escaped him as he remembered Ro’s face after he’d handed the bundle of white fur back to her mother.
“What’s so funny?” Ro’s mouth was set in a grim line. Her tension had been palpable in the commodore’s office and he’d wanted to squeeze her hand. Of course that would not only have been unprofessional, it might very well have earned him a smack to the head.
“Tell you in a sec.” He unlocked the truck.
They slid into his truck in silence. Only when they cleared the main gate did he speak.
“I was remembering the expression on your face when I climbed up and got Henry out of the tree for your mother.”
“It’s Henry the Eighth. You have to use his entire name.” She was sitting up straight, tense as a scared cat herself. But he saw the muscle twitching at the corner of her lip.
“You were so pissed off.”
“I was stressed. My mother is not the easiest person to please, and her cat is everything to her.” Ro relented and smiled. “I realize now how much I owe you. I had no idea you were an amputee. I get that, for a weapons expert like you, scaling a tree is no big deal. But you did it with one leg. For my mother’s stubborn cat.”
“Two. I have two legs, Ro, as long as I’m wearing my prosthetic.”
“I’m trying to give you a compliment here, Miles. Let me.”
He glanced at her and not for the first time was blindsided by her huge eyes. Her chestnut-brown hair floated around her face in a pretty cloud of spikes and curls. Her gaze, a sexy blue laser, conveyed so much more than her words ever had—at least to him.
He put his gaze firmly back on the road.
“If we need to work together on this, we need to agree to have each other’s back.”
“That’s a given, Miles. But it’s not about us—it’s about seeing that Petty Officer Perez is treated with respect and dignity.”
“Come on, Roanna. You’re naval intelligence. Do you really believe everything is as it looks?”
“I saw you watching the commodore,” she said, and he felt her shrug next to him. “He’s not the best I’ve ever worked for, either, but certainly not the worst. Either way, he’s our boss. We have orders.”
“To get to the truth. The truth may not be what he wants to hear.” He needed to keep his misgivings to himself; he sounded paranoid. The collateral damage of a life spent expecting an explosion at every turn.
She sighed as if she’d read his mind.
“This isn’t a Hollywood movie, Miles.”
“No, it’s not, Roanna. It’s for real—and we need to be on the same page. For Petty Officer Perez, for his family and for each other.”
* * *
ROANNA HELD ON to the handle above the passenger’s side window as Miles drove them to the area known as West Beach. They’d learned that AMS Perez’s body had been discovered by a dog walker early that morning.
“Good thing they found him while the tide was still out.”
“You’re not kidding. An hour or two later and he would’ve been shark bait.” Miles was a guy all the way.
“That kind of comment’s not necessary, is it?”
He flashed a glance at her, then brought his attention back to the road.
“No, but it’s important that we stay detached enough to do this right. Neither of us knew him that well, correct?”
“You heard what I said to the commodore. I was talking to Perez about switching rates, just yesterday afternoon.” Hours before he took his last breath. “But no, I didn’t know him that well.”
“He’d understand that we’re doing what we need to do to keep our sanity.”
Ro didn’t reply because that meant looking at Miles and whenever she caught a glimpse of his profile she got that funny hitch in her chest. Not from discomfort, but from realizing how natural, almost familiar, it felt to be with Miles.
She was even getting used to her body’s hormonal response to him, damn it.
“You have to admit this is pretty funny, Ro.”
“How so?”
“It’s taken a death for you to come to your senses about spending more time with me.”
She bit her lip and gazed straight ahead.
Just focus on the case in front of you.
She peered at the house numbers.
“Up there, that’s the one, isn’t it?” The sun had burned off any remaining morning fog, which was common on Whidbey Island. The house stood at least two hundred feet back from the road, and Ro knew the island well enough to know that the backyard led to a precipitous cliff a hundred feet above the stone-strewn beach. All the homes along this route backed up against the cliffs.
“Let’s check it out.”
They weren’t headed to the house—it served only as a landmark as it was the first home on the road, next to a large open area that residents used for picnicking and whale-watching. Ro was grateful she’d worn her uniform skirt with oxfords today. She usually preferred pumps with a skirt, but since she’d been putting in a lot of running miles her back was sore and she needed the lower-heeled shoes. Her pumps would never have survived tramping through gravel and across the windblown timothy grass to the edge of the cliff, not to mention the rocky shore.
There were still a handful of LEA agents wandering around the beach four or five feet below them. She and Miles needed to climb down the rough path to the tide line. This was the lowest point of the western island, punctuated by tsunami warning signs.
The LEAs were distinguished by reflective vests and evidence collection kits. A small area had been cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape.
“What will we tell them we’re doing?” They needed to be in concert with their story if they hoped to appear credible. “We can’t say we’re investigating officers, not really.”
“No, but we can say we’re with the wing and we’re here to help.” Miles reached over and squeezed her hand. It was a brief, warm reassurance, but her reaction was so electric Ro felt as if he’d just kissed her. She glanced around to see if anyone else had seen his gesture.
“Relax, Ro, it was a friendly squeeze. Not a public display of affection. I’d never put your career at risk with a PDA. You aren’t affected by my charms so we’re good, right?” His flirting made her want to sneer at him. Kind of.
You’re starting new today. Remember?
“Um, yes.” She took in the scene in front of them one more time before she turned back to Miles.
“Let’s go.”
They started the climb down to the scene of AMS1 Perez’s untimely death.
* * *
RO HAD NEVER seen a dead body before. Except for at her great-aunt Ruby’s funeral, during which her seven-year-old self wondered why Aunt Ruby’s eyebrows weren’t their usual dark color. They’d seemed so odd to her, all thin and high-arched, giving Ruby an expression of extreme surprise. Even as a little girl she knew that someone at eternal rest probably didn’t look so startled. That was before she’d learned the nuances of eyebrow pencils. In retrospect Ro had figured out that the funeral parlor’s cosmetologist had mistakenly assumed that Aunt Ruby’s eyebrows should match her beauty parlor bleach job.
The sight of Petty Officer Perez wasn’t as bad as she’d expected, not at first. At least that was what she told herself. There wasn’t any blood; that much she could see from several paces out. Except for his face, he was clothed. As they approached his body and moved around it, she decided that first impressions were overrated.
The angle of his head was at once unnatural and revolting. It signified death as clear as any pool of blood would have.
As if a huge sasquatch had taken his head and twisted it around, his head faced into the beach gravel while his body faced skyward. She saw mostly the back of his head, but the large, black beach rock kept his head tilted at just the right angle to see his face with its bulging eyes in their final death stare.
Vomiting in public while in her uniform wasn’t an option, but she really wanted to. She averted her gaze and took deep, practiced breaths through her nose. Navy training paid off in so many different ways. How would she have guessed that learning to control her panic while doing swim qualifications in the helo dunker would keep her from throwing up at the sight of a dead sailor?
“First time seeing it this raw?” Miles’s voice wooed her back from the edge of her panic.
She let out a short gasp.
“Not all of us are in the field as much as you.”
“Not all of us sit behind computers and analyze data as much as you.”
His sharp words startled her. Anger replaced shock.
“Please don’t slip into your Cro-Magnon persona now, Warrant. You actually had me thinking that maybe you respected me as a partner in this investigation.”
“I respect hard facts and someone who knows what facts I need.”
The fact that they were actually sparring over the difference in their military occupations while Petty Officer Perez’s body lay yards away catapulted Ro from nausea to anger.
“You didn’t have a problem with my career choice when you asked me out.” There, that would shut him up.
“I wasn’t asking LCDR Brandywine out on a date. I was asking Roanna, the woman whose mother has a crazy cat, and who was new to Whidbey. I knew we could be friends.”
She met his eyes and steeled herself to outstare him.
“You didn’t know anything about me when you asked.” He still didn’t.
“I’m good at reading explosives.”
With her eyes still locked on his, her anger started to melt into something more visceral, more sensual.
Desire.
In front of Perez’s body. Self-loathing made her stomach churn again.
“This is sheriff’s business only, people.”
Miles broke their stare-down and turned to the man in civilian clothes who was flashing his Island County badge at them.
Get a handle on yourself, girl.
The detective was tall and blond like Miles but with longer hair and not quite as muscular, and his physical appeal wasn’t missed by Ro. Obviously he noticed her, too, as his gaze lingered a bit longer on her than Miles as he checked them both out.
“We’re from the wing, Detective. We’re just here to observe and make sure Petty Officer Perez’s remains are handled properly.” Miles spoke with authority. It was clear he didn’t expect much resistance from the detective.
“IDs?”
Miles and Ro whipped out their military identification without comment. Before September 11, 2001, a uniform was enough identification. Not anymore, as it was too easy for a terrorist to get a uniform and try to pass himself off as a good guy while attempting to take down a military base.
“Okay.” He handed them back their IDs. “I’m Detective Ramsey. You can stay as long as you don’t get in the way. Don’t ask questions, and for God’s sake don’t contaminate any evidence. Stay out of the taped-off area. Perez has already been assigned a CACO, as I’m sure you know.”
The detective was trying to push their buttons. Searching for a hole in their explanation.
“Yes, he has, but the CACO’s job is primarily with the surviving dependents, as I’m sure you know.” Ro didn’t want to start off under the shadow of the Island County sheriff’s doubt. They’d most likely need information from him at some point, and would have to build trust with Detective Ramsey right from the get-go.
She offered him a smile.
“We appreciate what you’re doing here, Detective Ramsey.”
“Do you, Commander Brandywine?” He looked over his shoulder at the water for a brief moment before he resettled his ice-blue gaze on Roanna. The man knew the navy and he’d memorized her name already.
“Then you’ll appreciate it when I tell you that if you hear anything in the next few days about Perez, his friends, family, whatever, you’ll bring it to me.”
“That’s a job for NCIS, isn’t it, Detective?”
Miles’s voice held an edge. Ro got it. First the detective had told them to be impartial, uninvolved observers. Now he was asking them to provide him with information, possibly privileged if not classified information.
“Of course. And my team is questioning everyone, as well. But since you’re both insiders, and here to ‘represent the wing―’” he paused, his brow raised as if he knew exactly what they were doing “—there’s a good chance you’ll stumble across something I won’t. People may be more willing to open up to you. And since I’m allowing you to stay and observe this part of the investigation, it’s only fair that you make me privy to whatever insights you glean.”
“We report to the wing commander, Detective.” Ro’s anger bit at the back of her throat. She was willing to play nice but she had her limits. This civilian really thought they’d enter into some kind of private deal with him? That they’d tell him something before they told their chain of command?
“LCDR Brandywine is correct, Detective, but of course we’re open to information sharing. We’re all after the same results.” Miles was smooth and unemotional.
Detective Ramsey nodded.
“Good.”
They exchanged business cards before the detective walked away. No doubt his mind was already back on the case. Ro waited until Ramsey was out of earshot before she faced Miles.
“Are you crazy? I’m not going along with your method of doing business, Miles. You’re going to get us both a court martial!”
“Get a grip, Ro. All Ramsey asked is that we help him out if we can. There’s no harm in that. Plus, in your usually overanalytical manner, you’re missing the big point here.”
She sighed.
“Which is?”
“On the off chance that this isn’t a suicide, then someone at the wing may have killed Perez. The detective knows that the navy will circle its wagons if this becomes evident. He’s pegged us as his way in.”
Someone they worked with, killing Perez in cold blood?
She shook her head.
“Doesn’t matter. It is a suicide and, bottom line, we report to the commodore.”
“Of course we do. But it doesn’t hurt to make friends when we can. No matter how certain we might be that this is probably a suicide, we’re not the experts with the evidence. The sheriff’s department is.”
* * *
MILES HAD TO hold back a smile three times while he spoke to Ro.
She was the überprofessional she thought she should be, and she was shit-hot at her job. But she was too uptight, too by-the-book. His operational background was going to have to be what got them through this, especially if the case turned sour and wasn’t a suicide.
His one gripe with navy intel had always been that it was so easy for the spook types to do a slick PowerPoint presentation on enemy territory and weapons stats. But they weren’t the ones on the ground with zero visibility from a sandstorm, fighting off Taliban who’d grown up in the area and knew it like the back of their hands.
He watched her expression as she took in the whole grisly scene. It was normal to feel sick the first time—hell, every time—you saw a dead body. Especially one that had recently met its violent end. Suicide made it more emotional, too. If a young sailor who was apparently happy with his job and life was willing to kill himself, how close were they all to this kind of despair?
“You dealt with this a lot in Iraq and Afghanistan.” She didn’t ask, but assumed she was right.
“Probably not as much as you, or someone else who hasn’t been there, thinks. Some of the folks I worked with didn’t see anything too rough. Some saw way more than their share of death and destruction.”
“And you?”
He didn’t look at her. Couldn’t look into her rich violet-blue eyes and tell her the worst. She didn’t need it, not today.
“I’d say I was somewhere in the middle.”
Ro took out a notebook from her jacket pocket and began writing notes.
“What are you afraid you’ll forget?” From what he’d seen of her briefings, she had a near-photographic memory.
She shot him a quick glance. “As you said, it’s my first time doing this, seeing this.” She motioned at Perez’s body. “My emotions are running higher than usual so I don’t want to risk forgetting simple details.”
“So even when you’re upset, you control it? Is there anything you don’t try to control, Roanna?”
Her nostrils flared and her mouth set in a determined line. He’d pushed too far.
Oh, he’d love to kiss her until her annoyance with him turned into something more enjoyable....
“Just keeping it professional and giving Perez my best effort, Warrant.”
“Right.”
He wanted to tell her that no matter how many notes she took she’d never get the image of Perez’s body out of her mind, not entirely. He wanted to shout at her and tell her to put the notepad away and rely on her gut. Let her emotions do whatever they needed to and allow the bigger picture to come into focus.
Instead, he shoved his hands in his own pockets and looked out toward the sea.
CHAPTER FOUR
RO ENTERED HER small foyer with a deep sigh of gratitude. It had been a long day and wasn’t over yet. From the AOM to the meeting with the commodore and then the awful scene at the beach, she felt like she’d been at sea—as though one day was really a week long. Time seemed immeasurable.
She only had an hour, tops, before she had to meet with Miles again. Her years at the academy had taught her the value of power naps as well as power breaks. She’d have to make the next fifty-eight minutes feel like a weekend.
Her home wrapped its arms around her and her shoulders let go of the weight they’d carried since Miles had tackled her this morning. She didn’t have many people over, and that was by design. This was her oasis from all things navy-related. When she’d returned stateside after her last wartime deployment she’d decided it was the right time to purchase a house, no matter where she ended up via her navy orders. The fact that Dick had dumped her, and she’d accepted that she was truly alone, only hastened her quest to find her own home.
Oak Harbor, Washington, was a long way from Virginia Beach, Virginia, where she’d rented a condo while assigned to the aircraft carrier. The wilds of the Pacific Northwest contrasted sharply with the crowded suburban sprawl she’d grown up with in New Jersey.
She was thousands of miles from her family and childhood friends.
It was exactly what she needed and still wanted. Each month when she paid her mortgage, she was above all else grateful that she was a homeowner, free and clear of anyone else’s emotional tentacles.
She dropped her fitness and lunch bags onto the bench she’d reupholstered last Saturday. Had that only been a few days ago? Less than a week?
Her whole life had changed this morning.
She’d thrown Dick’s ring away. Let go of the shame, self-pity and sorrow she’d worn like out-of-date costume jewelry.
Finally.
Guilt tugged at her conscience as she untied her oxfords and slipped out of her uniform skirt. The investigation needed to be first and foremost on her mind.
Except it was the image of Miles, as he drove his big blue pickup truck, that flashed across her mind. The way his hand caressed hers for that brief moment on the West Beach cliff. The promise of heat in his eyes.
Why did all her emotions have to rise up at once? It was as if she’d cursed herself the minute she’d gone to throw that ring away. Miles had shown up and, ever since, she hadn’t been able to control her attraction to him the way she had for the past year.
Even the gruesome death of a good sailor wasn’t enough to take her mind off Miles and what it might be like to actually get to know him.
“Stop it.” She whispered the request to herself as a form of prayer.
While she and Miles were at the scene of Petty Officer Perez’s death, his body had been moved to the morgue. They spoke to the coroner and asked about a timeline for his investigation and the need for an autopsy. The coroner had been cryptic but respectful as he’d relayed that he would be required to do an autopsy even though the preliminary investigation pointed to suicide, just as the commodore had said. The coroner had made it clear that his business didn’t involve the U.S. Navy.
Still, Miles told her he was hopeful they’d get into the autopsy, which would probably be performed tomorrow or Sunday. Time was of the essence.
Miles suggested they take a break for dinner and regroup in a couple of hours. They needed to keep the commodore appeased, yet the reality was that between NCIS and the local LEAs, there wasn’t much wiggle room for two non-JAG naval officers to glean extra information. They’d have to track down every possible lead they could within the first twenty-four to forty-eight hours, before sources shut down.
As soon as she had pulled on her jeans and cream-colored nubby wool sweater, she went into her kitchen and got a bottle of sparkling water from the refrigerator. She slid her feet into plastic gardening clogs and walked out onto her patio.
The cottage-size home afforded her a wonderfully wild garden area out back, nourished by the moisture and rain-forest climate of Puget Sound. Her patio was the only level spot in her entire backyard. The ground sloped up to her neighbors’ wooden fences—fences she never saw except when she did her annual cleanup of brambles and fallen branches.
Ferns, junipers and other low-climbing evergreen growth blanketed the yard, offset by random patches and containers of flowering plants. Roses thrived in the upper left corner of her garden, while the half dozen whiskey barrels she’d planted with fuchsia and seasonal bulbs gave the green carpet pops of vibrant color.
She took a swig of her water and smiled when the bubbles tickled her nose. Even if she only had five minutes of free time in a day, she spent it here.
With her knitting needles, of course.
Her fingers itched to go back in the house and get the chemo cap she was working on but she wasn’t convinced she had enough time. She looked at her sport watch. Miles had said they’d “connect” after dinner; she assumed he’d call her on her cell within the next half hour or so. She made a mental note to go out to Whidbey Fibers, her favorite yarn haunt on the island, as soon as her work schedule cleared up. Which, judging from today’s events, wasn’t going to be until the commodore felt the entire investigation was over. She’d completed a few of the knit hats she was donating to the yarn shop’s charity drive. The owner collected hand-knit or crocheted hats for chemotherapy patients who’d lost their hair. Ro heard they donated the caps to head trauma patients, too, down at Madagen Army Hospital in Fort Lewis.
If nothing else, focusing on someone, something, other than herself gave her a sense of belonging in the community. Plus it kept her close at heart to her deceased Aunt Millie, her mother’s sister, who had died much too young from cancer. She still missed her, fifteen years after her passing.
Knitting also took her mind off her job.
Impossible at the moment.
It bothered her that the commodore had basically assigned her and Miles to be his lackeys. His orders to them weren’t by any means illegal or unheard of; commanders used their staff subordinates to be their proverbial eyes and ears all the time. It was an effective way to make sure nothing slipped through the cracks. But this could turn into a freaking murder investigation and, for the life of her, Ro didn’t see any reason the commodore needed to put both her and Miles, two of his busiest staff officers, on the case.
Of course, he was probably worried about political fallout.
Being politically correct had become ingrained in the navy and other armed forces in the fourteen years since Ro had graduated from the naval academy. Every commander, no matter how morally upstanding he or she was, needed to be very careful when it came to personnel matters. One mistake, one instance of even the appearance of a mistake, could and did end otherwise stellar careers.
Of course, she’d witnessed commanders who should have been fired and never were. And she was justifiably proud of her service to her country and the navy. The great majority of her bosses had been of the highest integrity and served their nation well.
There had been a few jerks, too. Some got their due.
She couldn’t say the commodore here was a bad leader and certainly not a bad person. She just didn’t respect him with the intensity she had other leaders. Maybe if she’d worked with him earlier in her career, she’d have witnessed a more enthusiastic leader when it pertained to the operational side of their missions. She knew him now, when he was gunning for flag rank, and she found it difficult to see past her impression of him as a bit self-absorbed and career-motivated. Again, nothing surprising given his rank and résumé.
The commodore wanted her and Miles to cover his ass, period. So the wing wouldn’t be sullied by unfair comments in the press, sure. But she couldn’t help assuming that the commodore wanted to ensure that he made the next rank.
Wasn’t that what they were all aiming for, no matter where they were in their careers?
Wasn’t she?
* * *
“GOOD GIRL, LUCKY.” Miles scratched the boxer-mix behind her cropped ears. She rolled onto her back and bared her belly for a proper rub.
“It’s okay. Sorry I was gone so long today, gal.”
Lucky was staying with Miles while her owner, another staff officer, was deployed to Afghanistan. Brad had never stated it aloud but Miles knew that leaving Lucky with him had been more of a favor to Miles than anything else.
Miles’s explosive ordnance partner when he’d been in combat had been Riva, a Belgian Malinois. Riva had lost her life saving Miles’s when a land mine detonated in an area they were sweeping. She’d received a hero’s burial with honors, as she’d so valiantly and selflessly earned.
Her death had nearly crippled him emotionally. He’d known the odds were against both of them when he went into that godforsaken field but it didn’t make losing her any less painful. His counselor and doctors told him his extended grief for Riva was how his mind kept him from focusing on the loss of his leg and his operational career. On a mental level, he knew that. In his heart, however, there’d always be a special place for Riva.
He figured he’d get his own dog in time. He wasn’t ready yet. It wouldn’t be fair to compare a new pup to Riva.
“Woof!” Lucky gave him the sign that she needed more than a belly rub.
“Okay, let’s go for a little walk. You can’t come with me tonight, okay, gal?” The boxer possessed nowhere near Riva’s mental acuity but Lucky’s ability to perceive his mood changes rivaled that of anyone—human or canine—he’d ever met. He allowed himself to wonder what Lucky would make of Ro.
Miles never had a problem focusing on a mission—it was a vital result of the rigorous ordnance disposal training he’d had. Lose focus, lose your fingers, a limb, your life.
But today he’d been distracted by Ro ever since he’d seen her standing in the middle of Deception Pass Bridge. He’d instantly known it was her—he could recognize her petite, well-toned body, not to mention her wisps of sexy curls, even under a knit cap, anywhere. Although she’d turned him down when he’d asked her out all those months ago, he didn’t harbor a grudge. It wasn’t as though he’d been looking for anything serious. He found her attractive and figured it was mutual, judging from the way she got her back up whenever he was around.
He laughed as Lucky gave him a sharp bark.
“Hey, girl.”
Lucky butted her head into his thigh, seeking another belly rub.
As he rubbed her chest he thought about the animal shelter where he volunteered on weekends. He needed to call and let them know he wouldn’t be in tomorrow morning as usual. He had a feeling his time at the no-kill shelter was going to be limited until this investigation was put to bed.
* * *
THE CHILLY SPRING evening proved too much for Ro’s cotton sweater. She closed the sliding glass door behind her, cheered by the bright colors of her family room while she waited for the warmth of the house to chase away her goose bumps.
She didn’t remember when she’d started, but sometime during her carrier tour she’d begun knitting decorative accessories out of the brightest hues she could find. She’d collected skeins of lush yarns in fibers she relished and brought a box of them on her deployment. Her downtime on the ship was basically nil, but every now and then she’d find a moment to pull out the yarn and start a pillow cover. The bright colors perked up the drab navy-gray and olive hues of her carrier stateroom, and gave her mind a brief escape from the pace of wartime carrier operations.
Once she’d returned stateside, the pillowcases turned into afghans, and then she found herself working on the wall hanging that hung over her bed. Her knitting wasn’t anything she shared with others—she knew there was a group of knitters and crocheters that met every week in downtown Oak Harbor because she saw the flyers whenever she shopped for wool. But what if one of those women was the spouse of someone she worked with? What if it was another active duty person she saw every day? She valued her privacy and didn’t want to share her hobby with anyone else.
The guys at work would have the ultimate weapon to tease her with if they knew she knitted. This super girly side of her belied the warrior image she wanted to project at work. Regardless of how good-natured her colleagues were, she didn’t need them prying into the one thing that gave her peace of mind no matter what was going on around her.
She looked at her watch again. Still forty-five minutes until she had to check back in with Miles. Unless he called sooner, it was certainly enough time to get in a few rows on the chemo cap she’d started last night.
Last night.
It seemed a lifetime ago. Before she’d finally pitched the diamond. When Petty Officer Perez had still been drawing breath.
The repetitive motion of her fingers began to work their magic. Fifteen minutes was all she needed....
Her doorbell sounded through her reverie.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” She quickly finished her row and shoved the project back into the cloth drawstring bag she used to stash her works in progress. It was bright neon green and had an equally neon pink sheep printed on the side.
If Miles had found out from the wing roster where she lived and had come here early—instead of letting her meet him—he was going to be sorry. But then it occurred to her that something critical might have happened regarding the investigation.
She opened the front door.
“Miles, I—”
The words lodged in her throat.
“I’m leaving Richard. Who’s Miles?”
CHAPTER FIVE
RO GAPED AT her younger half sister, Krissy. Her shoulder-length hair was its regular dyed platinum blond, but had unusually long, dark roots. Krissy never let her roots show. Ro took in the rumpled hair, the circles under her baby-blue eyes, the complete lack of makeup. Krissy was dressed in a wrinkled sweatsuit and looked nothing like the fashion plate she usually resembled. And she was...heavier. Fuller.
Heavier? Krissy―who put the skinny in skinny jeans―heavier?
Upon further inspection she concluded that Krissy was plumper in one particular area.
“Did you have a boob job?”
“Great way to greet your only sister after you cut her out of your life for over a year. Nice going, Ro.”
“You’re my half sister. And you married my, oh, what was it? Yes, that’s it—my fiancé. While I was at war. No biggie.”
“It’s time to get over it, Ro. I’m pregnant and I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
“You’re pregnant?”
“Didn’t Mom tell you? I’m due in February.”
“So you’re...four months along? I haven’t spoken to Mom since Christmas, really.” She left out Mother’s Day—she’d had a very brief conversation with Delores then.
Anger-induced tears welled in her tired eyes. Of course Mom hadn’t told her. Why would she? In her usual meddling manner Mom probably thought she was protecting Krissy from Ro’s jealousy and disappointment that she wasn’t the pregnant one.
That she wasn’t the one married to Dick.
“Can I come in? I’m exhausted. I’ve flown all day and then the drive from Seattle was sooo long. Why can’t you live somewhere more civilized?”
Ro stepped back.
“You can come in, Krissy, but just for a minute.”
“You’re kidding, right? I don’t have anywhere else to go. I’m almost five months pregnant and my baby’s father is an ass. You’re all I have!”
She’d been there all of thirty seconds and already Ro’s forehead pounded.
“What about Mom? What about all your girlfriends? Why didn’t you just kick Dick out?”
Ro walked ahead of Krissy, toward the kitchen.
“I couldn’t kick Richard out. I didn’t really talk to him about this, you know.”
Ro stopped in front of the refrigerator and turned back to face Krissy.
“What are you saying, exactly, sis?”
Krissy played with Ro’s knitting-related refrigerator magnets. Ro put her hand on the fridge door.
“You didn’t tell him you were leaving?”
“I don’t owe him anything! He’s been staying at work late and when he comes home all he does is eat, sleep and then go right back to work!”
Ro sighed.
“Of course he does, Krissy. He’s a surgeon. His work is his life.”
Krissy wouldn’t make eye contact while she pouted. The sight of her spoiled, immature sister with a burgeoning pregnant belly made Ro’s blood boil. She’d been getting Krissy out of jams for far too long. After Krissy and Dick got married she’d promised herself she was free of Krissy’s neediness, Mom’s conniving and Dick’s constant demands—whenever he wasn’t in the O.R.
It had worked for almost a year and a half.
Almost.
“You can stay here until you get on a plane and go back to New Jersey. I’m not your safety net anymore, Krissy.”
“You have no idea what I’m going through! You’ve never had to worry about anyone but yourself.” Krissy’s eyes widened when she realized what she’d said.
“I didn’t mean it in a bad way, Ro. But you said it was a relief when Dick broke up with you.”
“What else was I supposed to say? You’d already married him!” Ro shook her head. “You’re right, it was a relief—to be free of that relationship. It wasn’t going anywhere. But that doesn’t erase the lying and deceit you and Mom pulled.”
“You hadn’t even seen him for over nine months!”
“I was at war, Krissy. You know, keeping the world safe so that people like you and Dick could find each other and fall in love.”
“Touché, sister.” Krissy pronounced it “touchy.”
Ro rubbed the back of her neck.
“Look, Krissy. I wasn’t expecting you. It’s the end of a very long week. I’m in the middle of a project at work that’s just begun and I won’t even be home this weekend. You need to catch a flight back to Newark. Now.”
“I don’t have any money.”
“You had money to get here. Surely you didn’t buy a one-way ticket?”
Ro was proud of herself. Not too long ago she would’ve paid for whatever Krissy asked for or needed. That all stopped when Krissy became Mrs. Richard Brewster.
“Well, not exactly. I bought a nonrefundable ticket but my return flight isn’t until next month.”
“Next month?” Heat crept up her neck and Ro was grateful she’d put the knitting needles away. If they were in her hands she didn’t know if she’d stab her sister or herself from sheer frustration.
Krissy had never grown up. Ever. And now she was going to be a mother. She was carrying Dick’s baby.
Dick and Ro had never planned on having kids. It would have been too difficult with both of their demanding careers. So why did seeing the evidence of Krissy’s baby make Ro want to go to her room, slam the door and knit an ugly sweater?
The doorbell jerked Ro out of her rumination.
She looked at the clock on the microwave.
“Crap.”
She strode to the front door and, for the second time in ten minutes, opened the door.
“Hey, Miles. I thought you were going to call.”
Ro stared at Miles and thought his face was too damned handsome for someone who’d had as long a Friday as she had.
“I did, but you didn’t pick up.” Belatedly, Ro realized she’d left her cell phone in her car. “I thought I’d stop by—you realize we only live two neighborhoods apart?”
“No, I didn’t know that. Come on in.”
“Who’s there, Roanna?”
Ro turned and looked over her shoulder as Miles stepped into her tiny front hall and Krissy poked her head around the corner from the kitchen.
“A work colleague.” She sighed. “Miles, this is Krissy. Krissy, Miles.”
“Hi! I’m Ro’s sister.” Krissy walked over to Miles as she held a dish towel in front of her belly and gave a flirty little wave with her free hand. Did she really think Miles wouldn’t see she was pregnant?
Why did it bother her if Krissy wanted to flirt with Miles, anyway?
“Krissy’s my half sister. She dropped in for a quick visit. Unfortunately, she’ll be gone by tomorrow.”
“Nice to meet you.” Miles smiled at Krissy, and the resulting stab of awareness in her midsection made Ro take notice. She’d never seen that nice a smile on Miles’s face before. God, was he flirting back with her pregnant half sister?
Wish it was you?
His gaze jolted her back from her unwelcome revelation.
“We need to go. It’s going to be a late night.” He held up his phone. “I got a text from Ross. This is a good time for us to head over to the house.”
“Who’s Ross?” Krissy inserted herself as though she were working the case with Miles.
“He’s our CSO, the wing’s number two guy.” Ro was not in the mood to explain the navy staff system to Krissy.
“Don’t worry about me here, Ro. I’ll be fine.” Krissy was only too cooperative when it suited her needs.
Ro gritted her teeth.
“I’m not worried about you, Krissy, not at all. You’re an adult, and I know you need the time to make sure your travel arrangements back to New Jersey are squared away for tomorrow.”
Krissy ignored her and kept her gaze on Miles.
“Is she always this serious at work, too, Miles? Ro’s never learned how to lighten up.”
“Ah, Ro is the consummate professional at work. I don’t really know how she is outside of work.” He offered Krissy a placid enough expression, but Ro saw the muscle twitch next to his mouth. He’d love to add that she wasn’t the most cooperative woman he’d ever known, she’d bet a skein of cashmere on it.
To his credit, Miles kept his trap shut. Ro reluctantly gave him more points.
“I’ve got what I need—let me get my backpack.” She squeezed past Krissy into the kitchen. Ro’s home was the perfect size for her but with Krissy and now Miles inside she found it claustrophobic.
The fact that Miles towered over her and was built like a rock didn’t help matters.
He’d barely fit in your sleigh bed.
No matter how professional she was, she couldn’t stop herself from being human.
She just hoped she’d keep her most human instincts under wraps.
When she felt the door latch behind her she let out a deep breath and went into the still night with Miles.
* * *
THE IMMEDIATE, PALPABLE quiet was rare for Whidbey Island. Since it was perched on the most northwestern corner of the continental United States, every weather formation that came in from the Pacific or down from the Artic passed over the island. Ro often imagined her cottage was at the very edge of the earth. The winds had a habit of being unforgiving and brutal to anything but the native fauna.
It was so quiet she could hear Miles’s breathing as they walked down her winding drive to the road where he’d parked.
His motorcycle.
“Where’s your truck?” She bit her lip. She’d have to go back to the garage and get her car—no way was she riding on that bike.
He sent her a mischievous smile. “Left it at home. Too many people know my truck. This way we’ll be more under the radar.”
“‘We’? I’m not getting on that. Besides, can you, uh, are you able to manage two people?”
“Two’s as easy as one, Ro. It’s my thighs that grip the seat, not my calves. And my prosthetic leg does what I need it to, even on a motorbike.” He eyed her with restrained patience in the still-light evening. Whidbey Island was so far up north that the sun stayed up until nine or so on a spring evening.
“I’ve had the bike outfitted to my specifications.” Of course he had. He was an amputee, not an invalid.
She put her palms to her shame-heated cheeks.
“I’m sorry, Miles. I’m not questioning your ability.”
“Yeah, you are, Roanna.”
“It’s not you, it’s me, really—I’m not the motorcycle type. Besides, isn’t there some navy regulation that prevents us from riding motorcycles?”
“The only reg that says anything about it is that we can’t drive recklessly. I don’t do that.” He cocked one eyebrow at her. “As for not being the bike ‘type,’ you may surprise yourself. You look like you’d adapt in no time.”
Shame turned to desire and inflamed her face, her throat, her stomach. Just the briefest flirtation with Miles set her on fire.
This investigation needed to get wrapped up fast or she risked breaking the one promise she’d made to herself and had always kept.
Never date a man in uniform, especially one you work with.
Unfortunately, the population of single men in Oak Harbor who weren’t on active duty greatly diminished her chances of finding someone to distract her from Miles.
And what will you do when you prove that no one tempts you as much as Miles does?
* * *
MILES KEPT HIS revelations to himself. The expression on Ro’s face when she spotted his bike had been priceless. She tried to be so tough and was quite the naval officer, but he was learning that she’d forgotten that it was okay to be a girl, too.
Girl, hell. More like a woman of amazing beauty. Her large, round breasts couldn’t be hidden in her khaki uniform blouse. The formfitting hoodie she had on tonight left even less to his imagination—in which he’d already held Ro’s breasts and—
He groaned.
“What’s wrong?”
Shit. He thought his sexual frustration had been silent.
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” He flipped up the top of the storage box and pulled out a helmet, which he handed to her.
“Put this on and make sure the strap is snug, like a flight helmet.”
“I’m not—”
“You already told me. Frankly, Ro, I’ve never seen you as a pussy. Don’t start now.”
Anger threw sparks out of her irises that almost made him laugh. But her anger wasn’t the passion he really wanted to spark. For now, it’d have to do.
His strategy appeared to work as she shoved the helmet on her head.
“You win this one, Miles, but if you pull any crap on the road—” she adjusted the neck strap “—like speeding or making crazy turns―” she snapped the buckle on the strap into place “—or making me feel at all uncomfortable―” she pulled down the visor “—I’m done.”
He hated not being able to see her eyes.
“Got it.”
He put on his own helmet and lifted his good leg, his right leg, over the bike. It was one of the many adjustments he’d had to make since losing the left leg. He used to mount bikes and horses alike with his left leg first. He still could if he really wanted to, but he felt much more stable doing it the new way.
Ro remained next to the bike.
“Get on.”
She complied, although he understood beyond any measure of doubt that she did so only because she, too, was convinced this was the best way to travel at the moment—light, fast and basically undercover.
His abdomen quickened when her hands reached around his waist and clasped in front of him. The fact that she didn’t even try to hold on to the back handle inexplicably pleased him.
Despite her refusals to see him on a social basis, she trusted him on some gut level. She wouldn’t be on his bike, much less with her arms around his waist, unless she did.
That insight was enough to make him pray she didn’t allow her hands to wander any farther south or she’d know just how much he wanted her to trust him.
Miles smiled broadly under his helmet and revved the engine.
He’d enjoyed an active, commitment-free sex life before the accident. It was the only kind he’d felt safe having; with worldwide missions that took him away often and unpredictably, he hadn’t wanted to settle down. He especially hadn’t wanted to worry that he’d left a widow or, heaven forbid, orphan behind.
That was then, this was now. He’d had some time to think about his life and the fact that he wasn’t immortal. He’d known he could die while he was out on deployment—half expected it. It was part of the package when he signed on for explosive ordnance, and then again when he’d joined efforts with the SEALs on his last set of missions.
He’d faced the possibility of his own death head-on.
He sped the bike past the fir tree-lined streets in Ro’s neighborhood and eased them onto the main highway that bisected Oak Harbor and the island. They were headed north to where Petty Officer Perez had lived with his wife and two young children.
Miles turned on the motorcycle’s communications system and filled Ro in on the brief meeting he’d managed with the CACO.
The Perezes lived off-base. Mrs. Perez was a nurse and had a good job at the base hospital, so they could afford to purchase their own home. This wasn’t the case for most navy sailors who, once they had families, had to live in base quarters just to make ends meet. Living on base meant no rent, no utilities other than telephone, cable and internet. Quarters were often cramped but very livable, especially on Whidbey Island with the abundant natural scenery. It was easy to enjoy most weekends outdoors year-round, which made up for the tiny homes.
The Perezes had done well for themselves.
He pulled the bike into a small cul-de-sac in the Perezes’ neighborhood, then took his helmet off and motioned for her to do the same.
They were still on the bike.
“Why didn’t you just pull up to the house?” Ro’s voice was low and he liked how he could feel the faint timbre of it.
“I could have—they’ll assume we’re here for a condolence visit either way. But I’d rather not run into anyone who knows us if we can help it. Discretion being the better part and all that, right? I thought it might be a good idea to walk around the neighborhood and get a feel for the area first. Plus we might get some information out of their neighbors.”
“I really hate that we have to do this like we’re creeping around.” In his peripheral vision he saw her raise and then lower her helmet onto her thigh.
“We aren’t ‘creeping around,’ Ro. We’re officially nonofficial, working for the commodore.”
“You never call him ‘boss’ or ‘Captain,’ either, I notice.”
“No, I don’t.” He wasn’t going to elaborate. It was rare for him to respect any leader as much as he did his EOD colleagues, but that wasn’t what was at issue here. The reality as he saw it was that Commodore Sanders was, plain and simple, out for himself and his promotion. Miles didn’t let his own opinion take up too much space in his head, though. The commodore stayed out of Miles’s business and always made it clear that he respected Miles’s weapons expertise.
“Can you slide off first, please? It’ll be easier for both of us.”
“Oh, I’m sorry—of course.” He regretted the loss of her body heat so near his the moment she broke contact with him and slid off the bike.
“Nothing to be sorry about.” He took off his helmet, then accepted hers and put both of them in the storage area under the seat. He pocketed his keys and looked around.
“I get it.” She sighed softly.
“Get what?” He saw her expression and held up a hand. “No, wait. I haven’t said anything about the commodore. My opinion is just that—mine, and it’s irrelevant. He’s our boss, we’re following his orders. Did I miss anything?”
She smiled at him.
“Nothing at all.”
Damn, her smile made him forget what she’d asked. Why they were here, his own freaking name...
“Let’s go.” He turned and headed up the street, away from the cul-de-sac. Perez’s family home was just around the bend, on the other side of the woods that separated the neighborhood streets.
“Aye-aye, Warrant.” Ro mock saluted him as she fell into step.
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