by Tawny Weber
Her heart raced. She stopped and turned to size up the sleek black Dodge Viper with tinted windows, sunroof and personalized plates. SNAK- EATR.
Snake eater. Another name for Navy SEAL.
The passenger door opened. “Get in,” Miller ordered.
His high-handed manner was enough to make her change her mind about apologizing. Monday, when she had the Chief of SEALs to run interference would be soon enough. At least Ogden and Leighton had asked.
Tabby plotted her escape route. Headlights flashed across her path, cutting it off as a dark blue sedan pulled on to the street ahead of the Viper. With squealing tires the other car sped away. It could have been Hugh or Alan or a total stranger for all she knew.
“Get in,” Miller repeated. “I’m driving you back to base.”
“No thanks.” She started walking, keeping her pace brisk.
Coasting right along with her he threatened her through the open passenger door, “You don’t want me to stop this car and get out.”
She stopped. He braked.
Heading over to the car, Tabby leaned in. “I’m perfectly capable of walking two miles. Thanks, but no thanks.” She slammed the door and stalked back to the curb.
He got out. “This isn’t the best part of town.”
She turned to glare at him. “I’ll take my chances.”
“You don’t mean that.” He stared her down over the roof of the car. “Think of it as one more opportunity to convince me we need to study the feasibility of women SEALs.” He strode around to the passenger side and opened it again.
Tabby sized up man and machine, his rough exterior a powerful contrast to the sleek sports car. It was tempting. He sounded sincere enough. He even looked sincere enough in the pale cast of the moonlit night.
Closing the distance between them, she squeezed into the low-slung seat. “I’m surprised you didn’t have a better offer tonight.” Not to mention surprised by how relieved she felt that he wasn’t cheating with his best friend’s pregnant wife.
“What makes you think I didn’t?”
“You’re giving me a ride, right?”
“Don’t push it.”
It was her nature to push it.
He secured her door. Walking around behind the car, he paused to swipe his hand across the trunk. “I can’t believe it,” he muttered, getting in behind the wheel and setting the car in motion. “Somebody keyed my car.”
Oops. Tabby shrank into the butter-soft leather.
Her stomach growled, drawing his attention. “Hungry?” he asked.
“A little,” she confessed. It would be a while before she made a full confession.
Downshifting, he glanced in the rearview mirror, then at her before returning his attention to the road. “I’m just going to spell it out for you, Tabitha. This proposed study is a waste of your time. And mine.”
She regarded his profile, giving his words more consideration than they deserved. The shadow of a beard etched his jaw. “Do you know how stubborn you sound?”
As stubborn as that beard.
The hairs were coarse, she remembered from their dance. Coarse enough to redden her cheek. Coarse enough to let a woman know she held a man.
“Stubborn is my middle name.” He turned right and his gaze naturally followed.
She turned to stare out the window.
Pursuing a dream was not a waste of time. Pursuing this man was.
Neon lights led to an all-night burger drive-through. “I’m still buying,” he insisted, pulling up to the intercom. He acted as if the battle of the sexes had been decided with that one game of pool.
For him it probably had.
Right now she was waging an entire war trying to get him to see things her way when his eyes were shut tight.
“Gromley’s behind me on this 100%. And I’ve convinced Uncle Mitch the study has merit. But I need your cooperation. Give me the opportunity to prove what I already know.... I can meet or exceed requirements for entry into the SEAL training program. I’m a competitive runner—”
“I know. You’re Iron Man fit.” He continued to peruse the menu, but she could just imagine his lofty expression.
“Let me guess. You read it in my file, and you’re not impressed.”
He turned toward her. ‘‘Aside from the obvious gender differences, the biggest physical difference between men and women is in upper body strength. The average SEAL can bench four hundred pounds.”
“I can bench press double my weight. It’s the equivalent—”
“But not the same.” His gaze shifted from her eyes to her mouth.
“Being able to lift four hundred pounds is not a requirement. I can drag a two hundred pound man out of the line of fire. I’m not asking for gender modification.”
“Do you know what you want?”
All she’d ever wanted was to be a Navy SEAL. Except when he looked at her mouth that way. Then she wanted something even more elusive. “Cheeseburger, fries, vanilla shake.”
His gaze remained fixed on her mouth.
The crackle of the speaker broke in. “Can I supersize your order for you tonight?”
He supersized for them both.
Picking up their order at the window, he continued the short drive to the base while Tabby dug into the fries to curb at least one of her raging appetites. “You’re not planning on eating in my car?”
She stopped chewing and swallowed. “I guess not...”
“I’m kidding.” He chuckled. “I promise not to tear into you if you get catsup on the leather upholstery.”
“You have a warped sense of humor.” She didn’t find it all that funny. Especially since she still had to tell him she’d scratched his prized possession with a careless toss of keys.
He pulled up to the gatehouse. The sailor standing guard checked IDs, then waved them through with a smart salute.
Marc navigated his way around the base. Turning into the BOQ parking lot, he pulled into an open spot up front.
“Thank you for the ride, Commander.” She divvied up the food and gathered up her things.
“I apologize if I misled you into accepting a ride. It was for your own safety.”
“And I’m sorry, too,” she said, climbing out. “I scratched your car fending off advances from one of your SEAL buddies.”
“What the hell—”
She slammed the door.
Marc winced. How many times was she going to do that? She should have just said thanks for nothing because he was pretty sure that’s what she meant. And which SEAL? Hugh? Was she implying he should have picked her up sooner? Or was she telling him she could take care of herself? He’d never understand women.
He got out anyway. “I’m walking you to your door.”
“I’m on the third floor.” She dismissed his offer. “No problem. I do stairs.”
The brick building surrounded a courtyard on three sides with stairs on the outside at either end. She headed for the stairs to the right. The open design had the look and feel of a cheap motel, typical of the many quarters he’d occupied throughout his career.
After his promotion to Commander, he’d rented a place on the beach. He could see himself finishing out his career in California, maybe even settling down here.
They reached the door to three-eighteen.
“Security check,” he said, taking the key and unlocking the door. Once inside, he flipped on the light switch.
“That must get you into a lot of women’s apartments.” She stopped in the doorway, arms crossed, fast-food bag dangling from one hand.
“I’ve never needed an excuse.” He surveyed the small room, taking noted of the white pictureless walls and the single bed. Typical transit barracks, reminding him she was just passing through. Which was exactly what he wanted.
She tapped her foot impatiently.
He picked up a family photo from the nightstand. Prince stared back at him with a get-the-hell-out-now look on his scarred face. “The Toad’s boots would be hard
to fill for a son let alone a daughter,” he commented, maybe to her, maybe to himself. He knew because every day he tried. Marc set the picture facedown.
She clicked her tongue and moved away from the door. After dumping her load on the bed, she set the picture upright again. “I have my own boots, thank you very much.”
He was in a position to take advantage of that fire he could see burning inside her. But he wasn’t the type. He had no intention of wandering down the road of Commanding Officers who’d taken advantage of women in their command.
He walked over to the window to escape the uncomfortable realization he was being less than his professional best to even entertain the notion. Checking the lock, he popped the catch easily. “Have the manager replace this.”
“I’m on the third floor.”
“I’d come in from the roof. Drop a rope over the side. It’d take about two seconds. Have it fixed. And keep it closed and locked.” He leveled his gaze on her to let her know he was serious.
“Sure. Just in case someone decides to rappel down the side of the building into my room.”
“See you Monday, Lieutenant. Don’t forget to lock up behind me.” Letting himself out, Marc closed the door on all the possibilities, and all the impossibilities.
He’d done his duty. He’d seen her to her room safe and sound.
If only...if only what?
She wasn’t under his command?
She wasn’t Prince’s daughter?
She wasn’t dead set on being a Navy SEAL?
If only they’d gotten to dance a little longer?
He brushed aside those thoughts.
Relationships made it harder to concentrate on his career. The serious kind required effort. Effort he wasn’t willing to expend. He’d proved that with Carol. And the not so serious were a waste of time. He’d proved that with every other woman he’d ever been with.
Hustling down the three flights of stairs to his waiting car, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He spotted a dark blue sedan. The same make and model he’d seen circling the block when he’d stopped to pick up Tabitha. At the time he’d noted a rental sticker but hadn’t gotten a good look at the plates.
Coincidence? He didn’t believe in coincidence. The car ripped into reverse and burned rubber getting out of the parking lot.
He didn’t know what the other driver had in mind. But after what Tabitha had said about the SEAL in the parking lot it looked like he’d be spending the night in his car.
Climbing behind the wheel, he opted to ignore the cold fries and opened the glove box to dig into his stash of Tootsie Pops. During his surveillance of the building, his gaze naturally drifted toward Tabitha’s door.
Taking the book of matches from his pocket, Marc flipped it open, then closed.
Picking up his cell phone, he punched in the base prefix, then gave the switchboard operator the number and counted rings. One...two...
She picked up. “Hello?”
“Talk to me, Tabitha.”
“Marc?” The surprise in her voice was evident by the use of his given name.
“Yeah. Too late to call?” He checked his watch, 0249. He’d left her less than five minutes ago. But he didn’t like the way he’d left things between them.
“That depends. What do you want?”
To hear your voice. “Nothing. I just called to say goodnight. And to let you know the morning glories are blooming.”
“Good night,” she said with finality, but he heard the soft laughter in her voice.
Relieved, he let her hang up first.
Marc tossed the matchbook into the trash. Someday, maybe, he’d take Kewpie Doll Connie up on her offer. But tonight he craved strawberries.
Chapter 6
0700 Saturday
BACHELOR OFFICERS’ QUARTERS
Coronado, CA
Tabby awoke bright and early for her run. Closing the door behind her, she pocketed the room key and used the balcony rail to begin stretches in the crisp March air. A black Dodge Viper pulling out of the parking lot grabbed her attention.
“I want some of what you’ve got, girlfriend.” Tabby’s BOQ neighbor, Lieutenant Nydia Jones, Navy nurse in transit, inserted her key into the keyhole of three twenty. The woman balanced a steaming cup of coffee and a paper bag in one hand with a Saturday morning newspaper tucked under her arm.
“Excuse me?”
“The man spends the night and you’re up jogging first thing in the morning.”
“He didn’t—”
“Uh-huh.” The woman raised both perfectly tweezed brows. “Lost track of time? I saw him bring you home.” Nydia pushed into her room.
Tabby stared after the nurse.
She’d thought the phone call was a nice touch. But had Miller spent the night in his car? In the parking lot outside her BOQ? A chill crept into the morning air.
She hadn’t taken him for the creepy stalker type.
0845 Monday: The Commander’s Office
NAVAL SPECIAL WARFARE CENTER,
Coronado, CA
“Let me get this straight.” Marc turned and faced the Admiral. “You approve of this study?”
“Yes.” Admiral Dann shifted in the wing-backed chair. “Sit down, Miller. Your pacing makes me nervous.”
Marc sank into the empty seat. The senior man deserved his focused attention. But why was the Admiral giving Lieutenant Chapel the green light instead of putting a stop to all this nonsense?
Didn’t the man perceive the threat? Ignore the implications and they’d wind up with BUD/S trainees doing push-ups on their knees. He blinked back the image of Tabitha on her knees.
“Lieutenant Chapel’s not objective enough to conduct this study. And quite frankly, sir, it looks like there’s a conflict of interest on your part in letting her go through with this.”
“I know what it looks like. Though things aren’t always as they seem.” The Admiral paused for a drink of coffee and Marc had the feeling the last words were directed at him. “I realize Lieutenant Chapel’s recommendations are going to be biased. But Tabby’s pushed paper for five years to get this far. She’s crossed all her t’s and dotted all her i’s. I’m inclined to let her succeed or fail on her own.” Marc opened his mouth to comment, but the Admiral held up his hand and continued, ‘‘I don’t like it any more than you do. Maybe not for the same reasons—I wouldn’t want to see anything happen to her. I love her like my own. But this is the new Navy, an equal opportunity Navy and my hands are tied. Tabby feels up to the challenge, and Admiral Gromley has spearheaded this campaign through Congress.”
“Now a Congressional committee wants this study. Our only chance is to give them what they want. That doesn’t mean I’ve gone soft. Or expect you to. I’d like you to conduct a counter-study. Address the issue from the SEAL perspective—cold hard facts that can be presented to the committee. It will put my mind at ease about what you call my conflicting interests, and Congress can compare the male and female perspective.” He paused for effect. “Do you have a problem with that, Commander?”
“No, sir.” Though he didn’t appreciate the additional paperwork, this was too important to shuffle to the bottom of the pile.
“Good. Then it’s settled.” The admiral studied him for a long moment. “There is another matter I wanted to discuss with you. I’ve had several complaints from former instructors since you’ve taken over this job.”
“I’m not here to make friends. You tasked me with cleaning up training and that’s what I intend to do. I laid out my agenda when I first came onboard. Any instructor who had a problem with it was given the option to return to the Teams.”
“I read your manifesto,” the Admiral said.
“I’m not sure I’d call it that—“
“I’d call it ambitious. But I like where you’re headed with this SEAL prep. I want to give you the help you need to get the program off the ground. ”
“We need more SEALs at the recruiting level. Working with these
kids before and after they go to contract. Teaching them the fundamentals. The minimum Physical Screening Test is just that. We need to see higher PST scores coming in to BUD/S. New recruits need their own SEAL Company in boot camp with SEAL instructors. Where they get more PT than the average boot…”
Marc laid out his plans while the Admiral listened.
“After boot camp a couple extra weeks or months in Great Lakes for SEAL Prep to work on mental and physical readiness wouldn’t hurt. SEAL Prep would also be for guys coming from in-fleet. And I’d like to see something in place for the 60-70% that aren’t cut out for this job. We need to transition DORs so that we don’t send Drop On Requests back to the fleet demoralized. These are sailors that we’re going to be working with and depending on so that we can do our job.”
“I like this big picture view of yours, Marc. Just don’t lose sight of the fact that we need the numbers up before we can put any of this into play.”
“It’s why I started with a clean sweep and re-education at the instructor level. I will get those numbers up without compromise. I guaran-damn-tee it!”
“I’m glad we had this chance to talk. I can see why he recommended you for the job.”
Marc didn’t have to ask whom the Admiral was referring to. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to go easy on her. I’ll give her an insider’s look into the program. But we both know that’s not enough to prepare anyone for actual BUD/S.”
Which he knew to be her ultimate goal.
Marc shifted forward in his seat as he chose his next words carefully. “Be advised I’m dropping simulated rape and torture from Phase III of training. SERE programs across the military have already abandoned the practice,” he said, referring to the military’s Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape programs. “And had every intention of doing so even before I knew we’d be bringing a woman onboard.”
“Jeezus, it that what SEAL training has come down to?” The Admiral shook his head. “How long has that been going on?”