by Tawny Weber
Mouth gaping, she stared at him. “And why not?”
Because he didn’t?
He dropped his gaze. “Come on. We can’t stop now, we’ll miss your flight.” He reached for her hand.
She pulled it from his grasp. Something about the way he wasn’t meeting her eyes put her on red alert. “Why not, Marc?”
“Because the SEALs, all the way up to your Admiral Dann are endorsing another study.”
“What other study? Who...” A sudden chill crept along her spine. “How could you?” She started walking.
“Tabitha,” he said sharply, catching up to her. “How could I not?”
He’d told her up front he would do everything in his power to keep women out of SEAL training. She just hadn’t realized that meant betraying her trust.
“Leave me alone!” She started running, trying to escape what she already knew. He’d done this and then he’d married her.
“Tabitha—”
“Don’t touch me!” she screeched, pushing him away. She threw her backpack to the conveyer belt and dashed through the security checkpoint, picking it up on the other side.
Marc followed under the arch, setting the alarm off.
“Sir—”
“Tabitha!” he called as she disappeared down the corridor.
He emptied his pockets with very little patience and jumped through, setting the buzzers off for a second time.
“Step over to the side please, sir.”
Marc sized up the burly female rent-a-cop. Two men with handheld metal detectors joined her. He did the unthinkable and gave up his side arm and all his concealed weapons, seeing it as the most expeditious way through the mess. Each revelation widened the eyes of the onlookers. Shit! Why hadn’t he disarmed before getting here?
“Sir, you’ll have to come with us.” The tallest of the two men drew his gun.
“He was chasing a woman,” the female security officer said.
“That woman is my wife!” He could see he was getting nowhere fast so he tried a different approach. “Look, Ms.—Gordon. We just got married and my wife’s a little pissed right now. We’re having our first fight. I don’t want her leaving until I’ve had the chance to straighten out a few things.”
“Honey, I don’t give a rip. You come in here armed like Rambo, you go with Mike and Ike.”
0909 Monday
PENTAGON—NAVY ANNEX
Washington, D.C.
“You’re late.”
“I know. I know.” Tabby strode past the desk of Rear Admiral Gromley’s secretary, Irene.
‘‘She’s been asking for you. And a Commander Miller called. Several times.” Irene looked at her over the top of horn-rimmed glasses. ‘‘I told the Admiral you were in central files. And the Commander you’d call back.”
“Thanks, Irene.” Taking a deep breath, Tabby knocked on the Admiral’s door.
“You’re late.” The Admiral’s gravelly voice greeted her. A thin, unlit cigar was clenched between Gromley’s stained teeth.
“Sorry.”
Rear Admiral Gromley’s brows drew to a thin gray line. “Never apologize. Women do too much of that already. The report,” she said, holding out her hand.
Tabby produced a copy of the study from her briefcase. The Admiral nodded as Tabby sat in a chair opposite the desk.
“Damn smoke-free buildings,” The Admiral said, lighting up and moving to an open window. “You know, don’t you, that sonofabitch Dann conducted his own study. Giving it his SEAL of approval. And he had the nerve to put it in the hands of the congressional committee last week.”
Tabby stiffened in her seat. She knew all right. “I want a copy of that study,” the Admiral continued, looking pointedly at Tabby. “I’ve asked, of course. But he won’t give it to me.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Chapter 19
0700 Friday
PENTAGON—NAVY ANNEX
Washington, D.C.
“These are for you,” Irene said, handing over a stack of phone messages.
Tabby checked the pink slips marked urgent and deep-sixed the ones from Marc.
“When are you going to put that poor man out of his misery—”
Tabby stopped the secretary with a look and headed over to her own desk. Irene was at her judgmental best today.
“It’s none of my business,” the woman said, holding up her hands in surrender.
Tabby knew she deserved that kick in the butt from Irene. Marc was trying. She was the one letting the resentment build like the pile of unanswered phone messages.
But why hadn’t he told her about his study on their honeymoon? Before they were married? When he mailed it? Wrote it? Compiled it? He’d had four weeks!
And every day of those four weeks he’d told her she wasn’t SEAL material. Why had she assumed he’d changed his mind? Because she’d wanted him to. Wanted him to believe in her. The way she believed in him.
She’d have to talk to him sometime. But not until after the congressional committee met on Monday.
The phone rang. Irene answered. “She’s standing right here.” Irene held out the phone instead of transferring the call to Tabby’s line.
Her throat closed. It could have been anyone, but she didn’t need to guess to know who it was! She shook her head vigorously. Irene continued to hold out the phone. Tabby rose to her feet and went over to Irene’s desk. “I don’t want to talk to him,” she mouthed the words.
The woman put the receiver in her hand and left the room. Tabby’s heart beat a frantic rhythm, urging her to escape.
Coward.
Her hand curled around the instrument. Taking a deep breath, she put the phone to her ear. “Commander. What can I do for you, sir?” She kept it formal. She needed more distance than the miles provided. Silence. She heard his breathing. Or was that her own?
“So that’s the way it’s going to be. Damn it, Tabitha, talk to me,” he ground out. “I’ve been worried sick about you. About us.”
“Really?” She tried to keep her tone light. Inside, she felt like crying.
“Don’t get flippant. I’d like nothing better than to turn you over my knee.” She heard him sigh. “Look, I know I’ve hurt you. And I fully intend to make it up to you, but why haven’t you returned any of my calls?”
“Have you read my report?” She measured her words carefully, afraid to say anything that would reveal what she was feeling. “I haven’t read yours.”
“Tabby, I understand if you can’t talk...” He didn’t sound very understanding, impatience underlined every word.
“I’m glad you think so.”
“I didn’t call to fight. And I don’t want to continue this discussion over the phone. I called to tell you I can fly out for the weekend.”
Was it her imagination, or did he sound hopeful? She twisted the cord around her finger, searching for the strength to stay distant. “I’ll be reading your report this weekend. That is if you want to download the file to me.”
“If I’m there, we can go over it together,” Marc offered. “That way if you have any questions, I’d be available to answer them. And I can stay over on Monday for moral support.”
Moral support! “That’s kind of you to offer. I’ll call if I have any questions.” She thought about hanging up the phone in the drawn-out pause that followed.
“There was a time when a weekend wasn’t enough.”
No fair, her heart cried foul, wishing she’d ended the call when she’d had the chance. “I have to go,” she lied, biting her lower lip to keep it from trembling.
“After this weekend I’ll be caught up in a training cycle for weeks.”
“Goodbye, Commander.” Was that really her own cold voice? She bit down harder on her lip.
“I’ll kiss it and make it better. I promise.”
He was grasping.
Her throat tightened around a lump so big it threatened to choke her. That was exactly what she was afraid of. She could easily lo
se herself and her dreams in loving this man. Why hadn’t she just kept that in mind to begin with?
“Goodbye,” she repeated.
“Tabitha, don’t hang—”
She did. Before he changed her mind. She was strong but not that strong.
0800 Friday
NAVAL SPECIAL WARFARE CENTER,
Coronado, CA
Marc excused the men from morning muster. Nobody moved. “What?” he demanded, scowling at them.
Hugh looked at the men on either side of him. “Nobody’s going to say it, so I will. Shit, Marc, you showed up on Monday wearing a gold band on your ring finger and never said a word. We’d like to know what’s going on! As far as I know, no one here got an invitation to the wedding.”
The resentment took him by surprise. Did they feel left out? Or at least put out? It was, after all, his personal life, but he supposed an announcement was in order.
“Lieutenant Chapel and I were married last weekend in Tijuana.” A fairy-tale beginning that ended too soon. It didn’t help that his bride was thousands of miles away and wasn’t speaking to him.
Except for their very cryptic phone call very early this morning. At least he’d finally gotten through to her.
A collective gasp was followed by a chorus of best wishes and hearty pats on the back. His mood lifted for the first time in days.
“And why is nobody’s business but my own.” That earned him a few ribald comments.
“How ’bout we throw you a bachelor party tonight at Manny’s,” Hugh suggested.
“I’m not exactly a bachelor anymore.”
“Some of us are,” Perry said. “And with the Lieutenant back East, that makes you a West Coast widower, Commander.”
God, he missed her. Marc didn’t commit to the party. There was somewhere else he’d rather be. But it was decided that a party would be held in his honor with or without him.
Master Chief Murphy was the last one out. “You know, kid, usually you look before you leap.”
It was true. His life had become so controlled, he rarely went with his gut now. And maybe that was how he knew he’d done the right thing.
Alone at last, Marc reached for the telephone as he had several times each day to check out flights to D.C., but he stopped himself from picking it up. Tabitha had made it clear she didn’t want him there for the weekend. If ever.
He’d tried. Now it was up to her.
Had she forgotten so easily what it was like when they were together? They didn’t even have to be making love. All they had to do was be in the same room and it was like a spark on gasoline.
Picking up the phone, he called for military hop information and found a supply plane leaving for Andrews within the hour. It was the last one headed that way for the day. Grabbing his cover from the rack on the way out the door, he bumped into Hugh.
“Marc, we have to go over these training schedules for next week.”
He’d almost forgotten about the training schedules, even the trainees filtering in next week. Duty called. His marriage would have to wait.
0130 Saturday
MANNY'S DIVE,
Coronado, CA
Marc was half a dozen shots of tequila—and just as many beers—into a bender. His bachelor party was an excuse to drink himself under the table. And just as soon as it happened, he’d go home to that big empty bed and pass out.
Brad had already left. Along with most of the other married men, and some single guys who wouldn’t be lonely tonight. Only the hard drinkers remained.
Maybe it was time he left. Marc staggered to his feet, bumped the table and made it about two steps.
“I got ya,” Connie said, sliding into the crook of his arm and supporting most of his weight.
He leaned into her soft inviting curves and did his best to hold himself up. “I got ya,” he repeated, the words finding their way through the fog in his brain. But for the life of him, he didn’t know what he was supposed to do with her. “I need my car keys.”
Murphy stepped to Marc’s other side. “I’ll get ’em from Manny, kid, and drive you home.”
“I’ve already got ’em,” Connie said, dangling the keys. “I’ll drive Marc home.”
0520 Saturday
LIEUTENANT CHAPEL’S RESIDENCE,
Washington, D.C.
Shutting off the bathroom light, Tabby grabbed her robe from the back of the door and put it on over her T-shirt and shorts. She’d been up all night reading Marc’s report.
Damn the man! Why hadn’t he told her?
There wasn’t one thing in those hundred-plus pages that should keep her, or any other woman out of the SEAL training program. All he’d been was thorough and factual.
And he’d drawn conclusions from his own perspective.
She couldn’t fault him for that.
Or was she letting him off the hook too easily?
She shuffled in sock-covered feet to the kitchen, opened the freezer, grabbed the unhealthiest breakfast she could find—a carton of ice cream—and dug in.
Leaning against the breakfast counter, she stared at the phone. A whole carton wouldn’t fill the emptiness inside. She picked up the phone. One ring...six, seven...twenty-three. Where the hell was he?
0800 Saturday
COMMANDER MILLER’S OFF-BASE RESIDENCE,
Coronado, CA
Marc awoke to the sound of rapid-fire drills exploding inside his head. Shutting his eyes tight against the morning light, he rolled over and buried his head beneath the pillow when he realized it was just the shower.
Just the shower! Naked, he clawed his way to the edge of the bed and swung his legs over the side, covering himself with the pillow.
No! Oh, God, no! Last night came back in slow degrees. Hanging his head, he covered his eyes with the heels of his palms. “Connie!”
If he was the point man and his marriage a minefield, he’d just stepped on a doozie. Nothing like blowing off your own damn foot. He didn’t stand a chance in hell of salvaging his relationship with Tabitha now.
Nausea roiled through his stomach.
“What are you bellyachin’ about, kid?” Murphy lumbered from the head with a towel wrapped around his waist and a cigar in his mouth. “That didn’t sound like sweet talk to me. And if you’re looking for another drink, the barmaid isn’t here.”
“Thank God,” Marc breathed.
“Got ya!”
The room exploded with SEAL instructors. They came from the closets. The hall. The bathroom. The balcony. “Hoo-yah!” They sounded the victory cry. Someone snapped a Polaroid and handed it to him.
Marc groaned. He looked as bad as he felt. And he felt like shit.
Kyle put a wrapped present on his pillow-covered lap. Marc noted the birthday paper and tore off the lid. He supposed an initiation was like a birthday.
The box contained several well read copies of Playboy. A squeezed tube of K-Y Jelly with the lid missing. And a plastic ball and chain that looked like part of a Halloween costume.
Murphy ushered everyone out the bedroom door. “Hurry down, honey,” he said, blowing Marc a kiss. “I make a mean western omelet.”
When the men finally left, Marc collapsed against the mattress.
“You’re welcome,” Murphy said, peeking around the door. “SEALs look after their own and don’t you forget it.” The Master Chief flicked the ash end of the cigar at him. “I know you’re lonely, kid. But I ruined three good marriages with that kind of lonely.”
Chapter 20
1630 Wednesday
PENTAGON—NAVY ANNEX
Washington, D.C.
Tabby paced restlessly outside the boardroom where for the past three days the Congressional committee had convened to discuss the feasibility of female Navy SEALs.
With two reports in their hands.
The members of Congress had asked her some pointed questions two hours ago and then excused her from the room. Otherwise she’d been in there all three days.
She could only
hope they’d make a decision, instead of tabling it for another day that might never come. If the decision was in her favor, how long would it be before she and other women could start training? Months? Years? She’d be the first in line. That is if the small problem of her birthday didn’t come back to haunt her. But right now her age was the least of her worries.
The Chief of SEALs strode out the double wide doors. He didn’t look happy. Yes! Or no? He gave her a half smile.
“And?” she prompted.
“Congress has ruled both reports inconclusive.”
Her chest constricted. If they found her report lacking, that meant she hadn’t done her job. And that meant she’d probably blown her last chance. She’d never got this far before.
Uncle Mitch looked her in the eye. “They want another study. And you’re it. Pack your bags. You’re going through SEAL training. The official SEAL statement will be, we have no objections to a test program supporting the study.” He shook his head. “What am I going to tell your father?”
“Let me tell him.”
He checked his watch. “Better make it fast, I have a press conference in ten minutes. Do you want to come along? Or do you want to stay out of the limelight?”
“I’ll pass thanks. What are you going to tell Commander Miller?”
Her heart stopped as she said the words.
What would she? What would happen right now if she told her godfather she was married to the man who was about to become her Commanding Officer for the second time?
Would they pull her from the study?
“Miller doesn’t have a choice. But I imagine he isn’t going to like it.’’ The Admiral softened his smile. “From here on out, you’re on your own. And it isn’t going to be easy.”
“I never asked for easy.”
0900 Thursday
NAVAL SPECIAL WARFARE CENTER
Coronado, CA
“Marc!” Hugh called, meeting him at the bottom step of the stairs leading to HQ and handing him the roster of trainees. “You’re not going to believe this—”