by Tawny Weber
Miller had said he’d call ahead and set up the appointment. How ironic the man’s reach should extend to beauty salons. Of course the name of the owner that appeared on the business card could belong to a woman he knew intimately. That wasn’t something she wanted to dwell on.
The receptionist used a pencil to punch in a series of numbers on the intercom system because the length of her blue-and-purple nails made them less than functional. They did, however, match the streaks in her otherwise jet-black hair. “She’ll be right with you.”
“Thank you.”
“Tabby, welcome.” Carol Bailey, wearing a stylist’s black smock with the salon’s logo, greeted her with a bright smile.
“Carol...you work here?” Tabby hoped she wasn’t gaping.
“Marc didn’t tell you? Isn’t that just like a man?” Carol clicked her tongue. “Anyway, it’s just us girls today. I’ve freed up my whole afternoon.”
“If that’s a problem—”
“No, not at all,” Carol insisted. “Tuesday’s usually my day off, but with Brad gone—” she shrugged “I decided to put in the extra hours. My schedule’s really not that full. Nothing the other girls can’t cover.”
Tabby followed the woman to a row of sinks where Carol waved off the shampoo girl. “Well, let’s have a look at you.”
Tabby removed her disguise, revealing the garish red dye job. “Men will be boys,” she said.
To her credit, Carol didn’t even blink. She simply draped Tabby in towels and guided her to the chair. “It’s going to take a two-step process to match your natural highlights. But I’d like to start by taking the color out of your hair and skin...”
“Marc said to treat you like a princess. We’ll let him put his money where his mouth is,” she whispered in a conspiratorial tone.
“Just promise me I won’t make the same fashion statement as the girl out front.”
“You mean, the owner’s daughter? I promise.” Carol laughed as she poured on shampoo. “We’ll have you back to your old self in no time.”
Tabby wasn’t the pampered princess type. But the lather being massaged into her hair felt so good she decided to relax and enjoy the afternoon.
As long as she didn’t make a habit of taking time off, why not?
The feasibility study would proceed on schedule. She’d spent much of last night condensing the timeline from one year to one month. The SEALs were not going to get rid of her or even distract her from her mission that easily. But they’d try. And she’d be prepared for the next time.
They’d test her. They’d push her. But how they’d treat her depended on how she reacted. The best course of action was no reaction, and that’s how she intended to handle them from now on. She’d learned that through a lifetime of experience with two brothers.
But it had felt so-o-o-o good to get even just once.
After the wash and bleaching process, they moved on to Carol’s cutting station. Tabby’s hair and skin were pale, but at least the reflection she saw in the mirror resembled something closer to normal.
“Better take a couple inches off.” Tabby tugged at a damp curl. “The Commander sets his standards a little higher than the Navy.” Or in the case of hemlines, lower. And the heavy buns tended to come lose and caused her headaches.
“He even prefers the barber on base. But I like to cut his hair, it’s so soft and thick... I love running my fingers through—” Carol stopped mid-snip and met Tabby’s gaze in the mirror. “I just meant he has nice hair...”
Tabby grew increasingly uncomfortable with the explanation and finally asked herself the question she’d been avoiding. Were Carol and Marc having an affair? “It’s none of my business.”
“Oh, but I don’t want you to think— I mean, I was hoping you and I could be friends.”
Tabby saw the other woman’s pleading expression and didn’t know how that would be possible when she carried around these ugly suspicions.
Not to mention the even uglier emotion she was feeling. Was she really jealous of Carol because she thought the woman was having an affair with Marc? But were they really? Carol’s eyes lit up whenever she talked about Brad. There was more of a distant fondness when she mentioned Marc.
A friend’s reach across the table, a stylist admiring a healthy head of hair, those things didn’t mean anything. Except Tabby found herself wanting to hold Miller’s hand, to know the strength and gentleness of his touch. And she wanted to run her fingers through his hair, to get lost in the texture and explore...
“You’ve got color back in your cheeks,” Carol commented, running a comb through Tabby’s damp curls.
“I was just thinking,” at least that much was true, “that I would like to be friends.” Miller wore his uniform with too much pride and integrity to carry on an affair. Carol was off limits, and so was she. They had that much in common at least. “Actually,” Tabby admitted as Carol took the first snip. “I was thinking you and Miller had a past.”
“Doesn’t everybody?” Carol relieved the tension by laughing it off. “But you’re right. We sort of dated in high school. And we almost got married...twice.”
Sort of, almost? Twice!
What the heck did that mean?
“Twice?” She couldn’t stop herself from asking.
“Uh-huh, once right out of high school and again a couple of years ago. It broke my heart to say no to him, both times.” Carol worked comb and scissors as they talked.
“Then why did you?” It felt like prying, but she had to ask. That type of information wouldn’t be listed in a service record. Besides Carol had every right to stop the conversation before it infringed on his or her privacy.
“I was just someone to come back to. We grew up in the same small town. Harmony, Colorado. Ever hear of it?”
Tabby shook her head.
“Hold still,” Carol reminded her. “Marc’s been searching for something for a long time. I think that’s why he likes the sort of rootless existence the Navy provides. He’s really never had any...” Carol paused. “Um, I don’t feel comfortable talking about Marc behind his back. He’s been very good to me. He introduced me to Brad.” Her eyes took on that sparkle and she sighed. “It was love at first sight. We married before his leave was up.”
“Sounds romantic.” Tabby found herself warming to the change in subject and Carol. But her mind wandered back to Miller. He’s really never had any... Intention? Family? She could think of a multitude of ways to end that sentence.
“You know what it’s like,” Carol continued, “I moved from Colorado to California, where I don’t have any family or friends. Brad’s gone half the time. It’s been a long first year.”
“You may grow to love it. An extended family wherever you go. A change of pace with every new duty station. I actually missed it after my father retired and before I attended the Academy. But while we lived it—” Tabby shook her head at the memory. “I understand how you feel.”
“Really?” Carol’s mood had grown darker with their revealing conversation, but lightened again. “I keep myself busy with work. And since Brad’s promotion to CO of Team One I’ve been trying to start a Navy Wives’ Club for the team.” She finished cutting and fluffed Tabby’s hair with her fingers. “And with the baby due at the end of October I image things will change again. Do you want children?”
“I think kids are great. I just don’t think they fit my life-style,” Tabby hedged. Children were something she didn’t allow herself to think about very often.
“Is that because you want to be a SEAL?” Carol shrugged apologetically. Information passed both ways. “Brad told me. Marc told him.” Finished with the cut, Carol rested her chin on Tabby’s shoulder so they were side by side in the mirror. “Frankly, I wouldn’t want someone as gorgeous as you going off with my husband to wherever it is he goes. I’ll just have to get you married off so the rest of us SEAL wives can feel safe. You know, Marc’s a nice guy—”
“He’s not my type,” Tabby cut h
er off with a laugh. “And according to him neither is any SEAL that breathes.” Just in case Carol had any other ideas.
“Hmm, that’s interesting. That’s the same exact thing he said about you. Let’s get some color back in your hair. It would be a shame to shave it all off for SEAL training.”
“It’s just hair.”
“Now I know you’re a brave woman.” Carol smiled at her.
As they moved from station to station and process to process, the pleasant cha-ching of a cash register rang in Tabby’s ears. Her makeover was costing Miller a fortune. And sooner or later she’d be bald anyway.
Wearing a salon robe, with foil wrapping tufts of her hair, Tabby ignored the fashion magazine in her lap and closed her eyes.
“Daddy, Daddy, look what I found,” Tabby ran up to her father holding a boxed G.l. Joe. They were in the Navy Exchange. Her pretty and petite mother was pushing the shopping cart. Bowie was sleeping in the cart’s baby carrier, and Zach was riding in the back. “He looks just like you, Daddy. See he even has a scar and everything. And he comes with all this stuff. Can I get him?”
Her dad squatted to eye level. “Well, if he looks just like me and comes will all that stuff, we’d better.”
“I thought you picked out the Barbie,” her mom held out the box.
It was a tough choice for a five-, almost six-year-old. Barbie wore a wetsuit and came with a killer whale. Tabby loved her swimming lessons and the time they spent on the boat. But G.l. Joe looked just like Dad... “Daddy, can I have them both?”
“I don’t see why not, Tiger.” He mussed her hair.
“Tad Prince—” her mother started to protest. “Come on, princess, I’ve been gone a month. And who knows when I’ll be leaving again.”
“You’re spoiling her rotten and I’m the one who has to deal with it when you’re gone.”
“Let me spoil you both,” he said, coaxing his wife with kisses. Only six more years to retirement, and then you’re going to be sick of having me around, I promise.”
Chapter 10
1000 Friday
NAVAL SPECIAL WARFARE CENTER
Coronado, CA
“Hey, short timer.” Clipboard in hand, Marc joined Master Chief Murphy poolside. Both wore the uniform of the day, ball caps, T-shirts and shorts. “How many days to retirement, Murph?”
From his lounge chair, Jack Murphy, affectionately known as Murph, took a long draw from his stogie. “For me or for you, kid?” He exhaled the words with a puff of smoke.
Marc removed his ball cap and used it to swipe his forehead, then dropped it on the clipboard between his legs. “For you, Chief. I’m not ready to retire yet.”
“One hundred and sixty-nine,” Murphy bragged. The Master Chief had been counting down his last year in the Navy since day three hundred and sixty-five. Murphy acted like he couldn’t wait, but Marc knew better.
Murphy lifted the lid of a nearby cooler and pulled out two soft drinks, tossing one over to Marc. “Used to be you could pull the tabs off these things.
We made short timer chains out of beer tabs. Yes, sir, everything changes.”
Marc popped the top of his soda can and contemplated the Chief’s words. There’d been several changes to SPECWAR, since the arrival of Lieutenant Chapel. Over at the pool house, another male locker room bit the dust. At this very minute she was using it to change into a swimsuit.
Yesterday they’d toured the Special Warfare compound while she furiously scribbled notes for modifications to barracks, locker rooms, heads and anything else she could think of that could be converted into female facilities. Hell, if he had that kind of budget, he wouldn’t be spending it to remove urinals from the heads.
The SPECWAR tour included Team One and Intel. Not much to see with the team gone. But at the intelligence units he’d touted the use of women as support personnel. He even offered to push through a transfer for her. She’d fall under the purview of his immediate superior, Commander Naval Special Warfare Group One, but out of his chain of command.
She’d turned him down flat. But for about ten seconds he’d considered it the perfect solution. Had even daydreamed about her moving from the District of Columbia to California to be his Friday- and Saturday-night girl.
“Swabby, you missed a spot!” the Master Chief hollered at the petty officers swabbing the deck. The sailor with the hose aimed at the one with the broom and a water fight ensued. “He got it that time.” Murphy nodded his approval. “You look beat, kid. I’d ask if you were up all night howling at the moon, but I know better. How many hours you put in yesterday?”
Marc shrugged. “Ten.”
The Master Chief raised a pair of bushy brows. “Okay, so it was closer to fifteen,” Marc admitted. After the day-long tour, he’d still had his job to do, and his own observations to record. He’d researched the cost of every one of those damned renovations she’d proposed, then did a cost comparison to renovations that were actually needed.
“Learn to delegate. You carry too much weight on those shoulders when you don’t have to.” Murphy sounded a shrill whistle. “Don’t forget to wash down the bleachers! Then go inside and swab around the belowdecks viewing area!”
“Actually, Lieutenant Chapel got to the bottom of my In box.” Marc believed in giving credit where credit was due. And thanks to her the paper monster was under control. “It’s a special assignment that’s taking up all my free time.”
“Baby-sitting,” Murphy said. Teeth clenched around his stogie, he gave Marc his full attention now that the two enlisted men had moved inside.
“That, too.” Marc took a gulp of soda. Basically that’s what his time with Lieutenant Chapel amounted to.
The Master Chief pointed his cigar. “I don’t think you mind the baby-sitting so much.”
Marc met the other man’s hawk-like gaze. “I mind.”
“Sure ya do. Eyes left.”
Marc did as instructed. Lieutenant Chapel was rounding the bleachers in a one-piece bathing suit.
“I don’t know whether to stand and salute or just keep looking,” Murphy said. “I’ve never seen the old Stars and Stripes worn quite that way.”
Marc stared and hoped his salute wasn’t too noticeable. They’d spent the morning going over her tentative timetable for the month. He’d made a few adjustments and decided to start from the beginning to see if she could actually meet the entry requirements. She’d passed the requirement of running in pants and boots this morning. T-shirt optional for everyone, but her.
“Eyes back in your head, Commander.”
Marc shifted his gaze from the Lieutenant to the Master Chief. “Where do you think they were?”
The Master Chief snorted. “Let’s just say I’ve been around the block a few times.” He tapped the ash end of his cigar into a sand-filled bucket and dropped the subject.
Marc took his Serengeti aviators from his t-shirt pocket and put them on. Once again, he could look.
He just couldn’t be caught looking.
“Lieutenant Chapel,” Murphy acknowledged with the same belligerent air he reserved for all officers with more rank, and less experience than his thirty years.
“Master Chief.” Instead of reprimanding the man, she greeted him with the respect he’d earned and Marc’s opinion of her rose another notch. Chiefs were the backbone of the Navy. Too many officers didn’t recognize that fact.
“Commander, am I early?” she asked, setting her towel and bag on one of the chairs.
Marc checked his watch. “You’re right on time, Lieutenant.”
“Murf, you’re the timekeeper.” Pushing to his feet, he removed his stopwatch and handed it to the Master Chief. Then he peeled off his t-shirt and tossed it to the chair. “In the water, Lieutenant.” he said, peeping over the top of his sunglasses before he tossed them aside.
Tabby popped to attention and offered a mock salute. “Aye, aye, Commander.” She risked a glance at his chest in envy of his dog tags, lying against his bare skin.
Mmm, mmm, mmm she sighed when he reached for his waistband. Then went to dip her toes in the lap pool. The water was cool, but the afternoon promised to be a real scorcher.
She brushed back her hair, liking the feel of the shorter cut. Her hair had been returned to its natural color, meaning it would at least grow out unnoticed.
Since the dye incident he’d become protective, overprotective. He’d contacted the BOQ manager himself about her window, making sure it was fixed that very day. He also called every night around midnight just to check up on her. He started each call the same way, Talk to me, Tabitha, and she found herself looking forward to his words tucking her in at night. They talked for hours sometimes, about everything, and about nothing.
“You’ll never acclimate yourself that way.”
Dragging her toes from the pool, she turned to face him. He wore the standard issue khaki trunks.
“Race you,” he challenged, diving in and splashing her in the process. Tabby didn’t stop to cry foul, but jumped in intent on catching up. The cool blast of water stole her breath. She stroked and kicked until her stiff movements became fluid.
The Master Chief cheered her on, but the Commander was stronger. And he’d gotten a head start.
He touched the wall first.
She arrived breathless and second.
“Slowpoke.”
“Cheater.”
“Keep warming up,” he suggested, rising out of the pool in one fluid movement. “Then we’ll time your laps.”
She pushed away from the wall and into a backstroke to prepare herself for the physical test that lay ahead. The first requirement she had to meet was a 500-yard swim in under 12:30, using the breaststroke or sidestroke. After a ten-minute rest she had to perform a minimum of forty-two push-ups in two minutes. Another two-minute rest, then fifty sit-ups in two minutes. Finally, at least six pull-ups with no time limit. She’d already completed a 1.5 mile run in 11:30 wearing boots and pants earlier that morning with minutes to spare.
She knew she could meet those minimums. But she also knew minimums weren’t going to cut it. Tabby rolled over and warmed up her breaststroke. She had the option of using a sidestroke, but her breaststroke was stronger. It also wore her out faster. When she reached the end Miller and the Master Chief were waiting for her.