by Kaki Warner
She studied him, that frown between her eyes. “Is it awkward for you?”
She was deflecting. But he ignored that and told her the truth. “Not yet. But unless you do something to completely turn me off, it will be.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean, babe.” He smiled, enjoying the way color rose up her neck. “You’re an amazing, beautiful, sexy woman, KD. The kind of woman men in the service dream about. Hell, the kind of woman I’ve dreamed about. How can I not be attracted to you?”
The blush deepened. With an embarrassed laugh, she looked out the window. “Flattering words. Why?”
“Because I want to get into your pants, why else?”
Her head whipped toward him, eyes snapping. “Seriously?”
“Oh, I’m definitely serious, babe. But not hopeful.” He decided to quit kidding around and just say what had been on his mind. “Look. I know you’re struggling right now, and the last thing you’re looking for is any kind of relationship. I get that. So if you want me to go, I’ll go. But if you want me to stay, I’ll stay. No strings either way. For now.” He let go a deep breath, a little unnerved by the intense way she watched him. “But at some point, that’ll change. Because the more time I spend with you, the more time I want. That’s just the way it is. If that idea bothers you, I can leave now.”
She continued to study him, her beautiful brown eyes reflecting back his own uncertainty. And maybe something else. Something that gave him hope. He waited, transfixed by the way the last rays of sunlight slanting through her window brought out a hint of red in her brown hair and highlighted the downy fuzz on her cheek.
He wanted to touch her, brush his fingers through that mane of glossy hair, find a way to bridge the space between them.
“I don’t want you to leave, Richard,” she finally said. “But I can’t promise anything else. Not right now.” She hesitated, then added, “But given time, that might change for me, too. I’m just not there yet.”
It felt like an anvil had been lifted off his chest. Suddenly, Richard could let out the breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding. “Well. Okay, then. You go press your uniform while I get my swim trunks and go for a long swim in a short pool.”
* * *
* * *
As dusk crept in on the tails of another fiery Texas sunset, KD stood at the window overlooking the courtyard, towel drying her hair and watching Richard do laps in the small hotel pool. He moved with effortless grace, long arms cutting cleanly through the water, no splash on his kicks. He was a superb athlete. But probably not as quick as she was. She considered challenging him to one-on-one hoops, then realized with his height and those long arms, she’d never get off a shot.
The more time I spend with you, the more time I want. What did that mean?
Her phone buzzed. She checked caller ID and saw it was her sister. “Hey, Raney, what’s happening? How’s Cletus the Fetus?”
“Cletus is fine and a lot’s been happening. Mama’s on a tear.”
“What is it this time?”
KD watched Richard pull himself out of the pool, water sluicing down his shoulders and chest, making his swim trunks sag even lower.
“I don’t know. Did she show up there?”
“What? Here?” KD swung from the window. “She’s at Hood?” Mama was the last thing KD needed. She could imagine how her mother would react if she found her baby daughter sharing a hotel room with a man she’d never met nor approved, innocent though it might be. Mama could be pretty old-fashioned when it suited her. “Why would she come here?”
“I’m not sure she did. All I know is she flew out of Gunther yesterday morning and was back in time for supper.”
Gunther’s small six-passenger shuttle only made the round trip to the Dallas–Fort Worth Airport on Mondays and Fridays. Since yesterday was Wednesday, she must have flown private. “Did you check with Len?”
“They don’t get back from Florida until Sunday. And Joss is heading to the next concert. That’s why I’m checking with you. When I asked her where she went, she said, ‘Shopping.’ But she didn’t bring home any packages.”
“Maybe it’s a guy.” KD turned back to the window, but the only sign of Richard was wet footprints leading away from the pool.
“Like a date? Ha! She swore off dating after we nagged her into giving Esterbrook another try. Apparently, it didn’t work out. She even changed churches to avoid him. The sheriff’s been coming around. Maybe I should check with him.”
“Sheriff Ford? Isn’t he retiring?”
“He’s only a year older than Mama. And in great shape. I think he likes her.”
Everybody liked Mama. Especially men. “Well, she didn’t show up here.”
“Yet.”
“Hush your mouth. Are Mama and Dalton still coming to the hearing?”
“She hasn’t mentioned it. I don’t think she’s made hotel reservations, either.”
KD heard the key card slide into the slot on the door. “Then don’t remind her. Look, I’ve got to go. I just got out of the shower. Call me if she runs off again.”
Richard came in, towel over his shoulders. “Who ran off?” he asked, rubbing the towel over his wet hair.
“Mama. My sister says she’s on a tear. Thought she might have come here.”
He lowered the towel. “Your mother’s missing? For how long?”
“She’s not missing,” KD assured him. “She just took a day trip. But Raney’s pregnant and tends to overreact and thinks Mama lied about where she went because she came home empty-handed.”
“Where did your mother say she went?”
“Shopping.”
Richard stared at her for a moment then shook his head. “I can see why you’re worried. A woman going shopping. The audacity. Call out the troops.”
“You don’t know Mama.”
“That bad, huh?” He bent to dig clean clothes out of his duffle by the door. Which made the muscles in his back do amazing things.
“You’ll see,” she said once she’d curtailed her errant thoughts. “Besides, Mama never comes back from shopping without a dozen bags.” To distract herself, KD walked over to the couch and picked up the remote. “How was your swim?”
“Short.” He straightened, a wad of clothing tucked under his arm. “You done with the bathroom for a while? I want to wash off the chlorine.”
KD clicked on the TV. “Go for it. Just don’t use my loofah.”
“I won’t use whatever that is if you don’t use my razor.”
A few minutes later, he came out in shorts and a tee and went into the kitchen. She heard him rummaging through the refrigerator, then he came out with a beer and plopped down next to her on the couch, propped his crossed ankles and bare feet on the coffee table, took two big swigs of the beer, bit back a burp, and asked what she was watching. Like they had been together for years rather than days. How quickly the need to impress fades.
She clicked off the TV. “Rerun number two hundred twenty-nine of Law & Order. Trying to get in the mood for tomorrow.”
“You’ll do fine. Bill’s a great lawyer.”
KD asked how they met, and he told her about boot camp and a few scrapes they had gotten into. She watched more than she listened, enjoying the animation in his face and that wide, toothy grin when he talked about his friend. Richard was a different man when he was relaxed. Not so intense or guarded. Easy to be with. Which wouldn’t be for long, she reminded herself. Best not get too attached.
When he wound down, she asked if he was serious about leaving the army.
His mood abruptly sobered. No longer smiling, he thought for a moment then said, “It gets to me, you know? All the broken promises, broken lives, the drugs, the lies, the fear.” He took a swallow of beer before continuing. “I once cornered a guy with PTSD. Had it bad. The
shakes, the twitches, off somewhere else in his head and definitely self-medicated. He’d deserted and had left a trail of blood behind him. Civilian, Taliban, he didn’t care. He just wanted to go home. To make it stop.” With his thumbnail, Richard scraped a line of label off the beer bottle. “When I caught up to him, he looked at me, his eyes as empty of hope as any I’d ever seen. I’ll never forget it. Then before I could stop him, he put his gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger.”
Silence. KD didn’t know how to fill it, or if she should even try. If she’d learned anything in group therapy, it was the value of listening.
After a minute, he gave a sad, weary smile. “So to answer your question, yeah, I’m thinking of leaving the army. I love my country. The army, too. But I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want to invest more of myself in this endless war.” He looked over at her, his gaze flat and shuttered. “What about you, KD? How bad do you want to stay in the army after all you’ve been through?”
“I’m not ready to quit. And I sure as hell don’t want to be dismissed from service.”
“But if you’re given a choice,” he persisted, “between getting out now or being on permanent disability in some administrative position for the rest of your career, what would you choose?”
Doubts nagged at her. Would that be her future—assuming the Article 32 panel didn’t charge her and she passed the army fitness tests? Would she spend the rest of her career on the sidelines, watching her chance at the Pentagon slip away? But if she left the army, what would she do? And where would she do it? Rough Creek didn’t offer many opportunities. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’ve been focused on the military since I was a kid. I never thought of doing anything else.”
He picked up her hand, idly watching as he laced his fingers through hers. His palm was almost twice as broad as hers, his fingers a fourth again as long. A strong, capable hand. “I get it. I can’t figure out what I want to do, either.”
“I thought you wanted to rescue cats.”
“Maybe.”
“We’re a pair, aren’t we? Muddled in indecision with no clear path ahead.”
“Maybe in some things.” He looked up. His gaze paused on her mouth, then slowly rose to meet hers. “But not in everything.” That intense look was back. She knew what it meant and waited to see what he would do.
“Come here,” he finally said and gently tugged her hand to pull her closer.
She didn’t resist.
It was a slow, lingering kiss. No rush. No demands. Just a tender exploration with his lips, the tip of his tongue, the hand he moved to her cheek. She tasted beer, felt the slight roughness of his evening beard, smelled soap and a hint of chlorine. It moved her that a man so much bigger than she could touch her so gently.
He pulled back first. She didn’t want him to. But if he didn’t, this would inevitably lead to places she wasn’t ready yet to go.
With a crooked smile, he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Get some sleep, babe. Tomorrow’s a big day.”
She liked the way he said her name, putting emphasis on the first letter, then blending the two together so it sounded more like Kady than KD. And she especially liked it when he called her babe.
“You’re right.” On impulse, she leaned in, gave him a short good-night kiss, then rose and left the room.
* * *
* * *
At 0700 hours Thursday morning, KD stepped out of the bathroom to the smell of bacon frying. Again. She smiled. Bless a man who knew his way around a kitchen. Her family had always depended on Maria—the wife of one of their workers, as well as their housekeeper—to cook their meals. Consequently, neither KD nor any of her three sisters were very adept in the kitchen.
She dressed carefully in her dress uniform, white shirt, neck tab, blue jacket, opting for the skirt, rather than the slacks, and low-heeled, high-gloss pumps. She pinned up her hair, put on her cap, and checked the mirror. She had been so proud the first time she’d put on the officer’s uniform with all its bright shiny buttons, shoulder straps, insignia badges, ribbons, and braid. Would she ever wear it again?
Richard looked over when she came in, gave her that careful appraisal, and nodded in approval. “You’re a credit to the uniform, Lieutenant Whitcomb.”
KD smoothed a hand down her tailored skirt. “Let’s hope I’m still allowed to wear it after all this is over.”
“Bill will do you right. How do you want your eggs?”
After they’d eaten and cleaned up, Richard drove them to Fort Hood while KD texted Bill they were on the way.
“Bill or I will text you when we’re done,” she told Richard as they turned onto the base. “Maybe we can get lunch.” Although right then, KD was so nervous her stomach felt like it was filled with broken glass.
Bill was coming through the doors of the VBOQ when they drove up. He looked a little intimidating in his uniform, and KD reminded herself he was no longer Bill, but Captain Breslin. After telling Richard to look for their text, she got out of the car and walked to meet him.
Ten minutes later, she and Captain Breslin were sitting at a conference table across from the government counsel, Captain McCready, a middle-aged man with a buzz cut and a fat folder in front of him. The preliminary hearing officer, Major Hendricks, took the chair at the head of the table, and behind him sat a woman ready to transcribe the proceedings on an outdated stenotype. Some things were slow to change in the army. For all the advances in ordnance and military hardware, administrative improvements lagged years behind.
After the introductions were made, Major Hendricks turned to the government’s lawyer and said, “Since you called this meeting, Captain McCready, you may begin.”
The prosecutor rested his forearms on the table and clasped his hands atop the folder. He wore a stern expression, made even more forbidding by pale gray eyes as cold as any she had ever seen. “We have recently come into new evidence pertinent to the case involving Second Lieutenant Whitcomb and the death of Captain Asef Farid at FOB Hickock.”
Bill leaned forward. “What evidence?”
“That’s classified. All I can say is that it’s medical in nature. To say more would violate doctor-patient privilege.”
KD frowned. What doctor? What patient?
Bill asked how McCready had come by this evidence.
“Down the chain of command through CENTCOM to me.”
“Chief Warrant Officer Stranton?”
McCready didn’t respond.
When Bill started to press him, McCready held up a hand. “If you’ll be patient, I’ll answer what questions I can when I’m finished.”
Bill sat back, one hand resting on the table, fingers tapping impatiently. “Go ahead, Captain.”
McCready opened the folder and studied the top paper. It looked like a document of some kind, with places for signatures at the bottom. Something official. “After careful review of this new information,” he said in a flat voice, as if reading from a script, “we find it raises sufficient cause to forgo the Article 32 hearing.”
Bill seemed as confused as KD was. “You’re canceling the hearing?”
McCready nodded.
“With prejudice?”
Again, McCready nodded.
“You’re saying the issue is closed?” Bill persisted. “There will be no forthcoming charges or hearings relating to the death of ANP Captain Farid or Lieutenant Whitcomb’s alleged part in it?”
The counselor nodded a third time.
It’s over? Really over? KD blinked at Bill, then at the prosecutor. Sudden relief almost made her light-headed. “So that’s it? We’re done?”
“Once you agree to a couple of stipulations.”
Bill frowned. “You mean conditions.”
Ignoring that, McCready studied the form in the folder. “First, Lieutenant Whitcomb must sign a Form SF-312, a C
lassified Information Nondisclosure agreement prohibiting her from discussing any meetings, findings, or decisions relative to events leading up to and including the night Captain Farid was killed at FOB Hickock. It is now classified.” He pierced KD with those cold eyes. “In other words, Lieutenant, if you are questioned about this matter by any persons or media outlets, including print, radio, TV, Internet, or whatever, you are to answer, ‘That’s classified.’ Period. Do you understand?”
The three men looked expectantly at KD.
Behind the PHO, the stenographer waited, fingers poised above the keys.
KD’s relief turned to dread. “But I’ve already told my family what happened. And the people in my therapy group know how I was injured.”
“Then they must sign nondisclosure agreements, as well. I can send the forms to your group moderator. Will your family be a problem?”
She shook her head. “No, sir.” KD would make sure of it.
McCready nodded and flipped to the next paper in the folder. Another official-looking document. “Secondly, in view of Lieutenant Whitcomb’s prosthetic hip and related injuries—which combined, qualify as a permanent injury—and taking into account her doctor’s assessment that she has a less than fifty percent chance of meeting the army’s physical fitness requirements, we further stipulate that she accept a medical separation from the army.”
KD stared at him, not sure she’d heard right. She was being released from service? Without even having a chance to pass the tests? “But I think I can pass the APFT, sir. I have a year to try, don’t I?”
McCready shook his head. “The separation would be effective immediately.”
Immediately? Today?
“Honorable?” Bill asked before KD could catch her breath.
“Of course. With full VA benefits, along with a Purple Heart and the army’s gratitude for her service.” McCready must have sensed KD’s shock and outrage. That cold gaze swung her way again. “Unless, of course, Lieutenant Whitcomb would prefer to state her case at an Article 32 hearing and risk charges.”