CHAPTER ELEVEN
1600 Tuesday
Honolulu, Hawaii
BOWIE HAD RENTED A CAR at the base and was heading along the highway on the leeward side of the island toward Stevens’s residence.
He’d been summoned to Hawaii by both his C.O., Captain Harris, and Stevens.
But he had a mission of his own.
He’d met Captain Harris on the driving range of the Navy-Marine Golf Course and the news couldn’t have been worse. The C.O. had prostate cancer. He’d been in Hawaii not because the greens were better than on Midway, but for treatment. He’d opted for an early retirement and the X.O.—Commander Bask—had been promoted to C.O.
Lieutenant Bowie Prince had made the shortlist for Lieutenant Commander and had been promoted to X.O.
Bowie would be heading back to Gulfport, Mississippi, with the main body of the battalion in no less than a week, then from there to Australia. So much for wishing away his dog-pile duty. He’d just as soon wish away his life as be separated from Tam.
Bowie double-checked the address he’d written down and pulled up at the curb of Stevens’s home. He hadn’t known how to break the news, so he’d consulted his own father. Tad Prince had offered to do it for him, but when Bowie declined, his advice had been to tell it straight.
The other war being waged inside him came from not telling Tam first. She was the one he’d offered to help. Then there was Tam’s mother to consider. But it was Skully’s responsibility to make things right. Bowie believed the only way Tam would be free to love him would be if she realized how much she’d been wanted by her father. And the only way she’d realize that would be for Skully to tell her.
Bowie got out of the car and walked to the front door.
Too late to change his mind now.
He rang the bell. An Asian woman, only a few years older than himself, answered.
Bowie held back his surprise as he introduced himself. “Lieutenant Prince. Mr. Stevens is expecting me.”
“Come in, please.” She ushered him in the front door and then out to the lanai, where Stevens sat at a patio table, reading the paper. “Can I get you something to drink? A beer, perhaps?” the woman asked.
“Yes, thank you…” Bowie hesitated. “Mrs. Stevens.”
The young woman laughed.
“Cai isn’t my wife,” Stevens said. “She’s my housekeeper and the wife of a dear friend. Have a seat, Prince.”
“My apologies,” Bowie said to the woman and to Stevens, before sitting down.
“That isn’t necessary,” Cai said. “Bay and I have been telling him for years he needs a wife. But he won’t listen so he has to put up with me. I’ll be right back with the two beers.”
Cai returned moments later with their beers. He half rose out of his chair and she waved him back down.
“Thank you,” he said. Just what he needed. More Ba Muoi Lam. Didn’t anyone drink plain old Bud anymore?
“I’ll be heading home to the kids now,” she said. “Since my husband is away on your business,” she said, with a bit of undertone that could have been a taunt or a reprimand.
As they drank their beer Stevens made small talk. But Bowie was only half listening as he rehearsed what he’d come to say.
“Rob, you and my dad go back a long way. He told me if I had something to say to you I should just come right out with it. I’m finding that easier said than done.”
He had the other man’s complete attention now. “Just spit it out, Bowie.”
“I’m in love with your daughter.” Bowie shook his head and started over. “That came out all wrong. What I meant to say was you have a daughter. Her name’s Tam. She was born in Vietnam twenty-nine years ago. She’s the game warden on Midway Islands.”
Stevens looked at him like he’d had too much Ba Muoi Lam. “You’re not making any sense. Bian Xang killed my wife and son…twenty-nine years ago,” he said, as if just grasping the possibility.
“Lan Nguyen had a daughter. And if this is you, then you’re the father.” Bowie handed Stevens a scanned copy of the old Polaroid.
Stevens studied the picture in stunned silence. “I have a daughter. Tam translates to heart in English,” he said finally. “Daughter of my heart.” The man swallowed, tears welling in his eyes.
Bowie nodded and cleared his throat. He wasn’t finished. “Skully…” The man shifted his gaze from some faroff place to focus on Bowie. “Lan Nguyen is alive.”
Bowie thought Stevens would lose it then. But just the opposite was true. The ex-SEAL drew on his reserves to assess the situation. The woman he loved was alive. No more time for tears. Time for action.
“She lives in San Francisco. Here’s the number,” Bowie said, drawing from his pocket the scrap of paper he’d written it down on all those weeks ago in the ham operator shack. He set it on the table in front of Stevens. “I’d better get going. I’ve given you a lot to think about.” Bowie stood. “I don’t know what you want to do next, but I hope you’ll call them soon. Tam needs you in her life.”
“What was that you said about my daughter?”
“She’s the game warden on Midway. I’d appreciate it, though, if you’d contact her soon.”
“I meant that other thing you said. About being in love with my daughter.”
“Yes, sir. From the moment I saw her. Now I just have to tell her that.”
1900 Tuesday
STEVENS’S RESIDENCE
Barber’s Point, Hawaii
SKULLY REMAINED SEATED long after Bowie Prince had left. He held on to that scrap of paper, but he’d long since memorized the number.
For the past thirty years he’d felt as if he’d been driven by only one thing, revenge. And now he couldn’t even think how to get his ass out of the chair and over to the phone.
What would he say to her?
Should he even call? Or should he just find out her address and show up at her door?
Prince had said his daughter didn’t yet know about him.
Did Lan? Did she think he was alive or dead? How and when had she arrived in the U.S.? How many years had they been this close, yet this far apart? He should have asked Prince more questions.
And why the hell was he sitting here when the woman he loved was just a phone call away?
Beating back questions that would only get answered in time, Skully picked up the phone. He punched in Lan’s number with an unsteady hand.
“Hello?” a man answered. “Hello,” the man repeated when Skully remained silent.
Skully hung up.
There was a wrinkle he hadn’t thought of. What if Lan had found a life with another man?
Early Spring 1972
Da Nang, Vietnam
“SKULLY, STAND OVER THERE with the rest of the squad. You, too, Commander Prince. The wife sent me this new camera.” H.T. set the timer and took his position with the rest of the men who made up Team Seven’s Alpha Squad.
They’d just returned from a little place called Parrot’s Beak. And a big mess.
The flashbulb popped and the photo zipped out.
The men gathered around to stare at the black square.
“Try it again. It didn’t take,” Skully said.
“It takes a minute,” H.T. said, defending his new toy. “I’ll take another one, anyway,” He made everyone get back in position.
The second picture came out. By this time the image on the first had become visible.
“Told you it takes a minute.” H.T. slipped one photo in the pocket of his fatigue shirt and handed Skully the other as an “I told you so.”
Skully ducked inside their tent and put the picture in his footlocker. Prince sat down on his rack, reading a letter from home.
Mail call was the best part of coming back from the jungle, but unlike the other men Skully didn’t have a wife or sweetheart waiting for him at home. So there’d been no sweet-smelling letter waiting for him. Though he couldn’t complain about his mother’s chocolate chip cookies.
When he next looked up, Tad Prince sat with his head in his hands. Skully didn’t want to think his commander had received bad news from home, but he had to ask.
“Trouble?”
“No.” Prince shook his head, sniffing back tears Skully pretended not to see. “First picture of my new son. James Bowie Prince, born February 14.”
They’d been in Parrot’s Beak on that day where no health-and-welfare message from the Red Cross would have been able to reach them. So Prince was just now finding out he was a father for the third time. He held the picture out for Skully. It was one of those close-ups taken from the hospital nursery.
“He’s a cute kid. All that blond hair. Must look like the milkman,” Skully teased his dark-haired friend.
“Get the hell out of here,” Prince said with a chuckle. “You know damn well my wife is a blonde.”
That he did. The whole squad had been in love with Lily Chapel Prince at one time or another. The commander’s wife was a strong woman and a faithful partner, the kind Skully hoped to find someday.
“She named him after that knife of yours since it saved my ass from being shark bait a time or two.”
That made him feel good. Skully turned to leave the tent and noticed the commander do something out of character; he pocketed the picture of his new son. As a rule they never carried anything personal that could be used against them when out on patrol, and they were headed back out today.
A short time later, Prince mustered them together and they headed back out. They were losing ground in Quang Tri again and their job was to get it back since it was located south of the DMZ. And less than a hundred miles from their current position.
They headed out to meet up with a ruff-puff who would basically take them in the back door to Quang Tri. Once there they’d be smack-dab in the middle of NVA troops and trying to confuse the hell out of the enemy.
Regional Force/Provincial Force, or the ruff-puff, were really just the village militia. Sometimes they weren’t even armed. They just helped out where they could. The problem was a ruff-puff could be anyone. And anyone could pretend to be one. So it was the same basic principle as cops and informants—you liked to use a ruff-puff you knew and had a relationship with. But the last ruff-puff they’d worked with had been killed, so they knew they’d be meeting up with someone new today.
Skully was on point when the girl came out of nowhere. He almost shot her out of reflex. “Dung lai, halt!” he shouted as he stared into the most beautiful almond eyes he’d ever seen.
“I take you, Quang Tri?” she said, then turned around and disappeared, leaving him no choice but to follow or get left behind. He motioned to the guys behind him to pick up the pace. A new ruff-puff, especially a girl, put him on edge. He didn’t like an unarmed child taking point so he stayed close by her side.
Once they reached their objective she vanished as quickly as she’d appeared. For days, the eight men caused the enemy as much trouble as possible.
It was after they’d cut the line of NVA regulars down the middle and had half of them turning tail and running north that the Army engaged from the south. Their job was to close off any retreat.
SKULLY HEARD the trip wire of a booby trap and lunged at Tad Prince, dropping them both to the ground. All he could think about was the picture of that newborn son the man carried in his pocket.
Skully roared as a nail embedded in his shoulder, but Bouncing Betty had missed her mark. On big guys like them riding a Betty meant they’d be singing soprano.
Skully rolled off his C.O.
Prince sat up. “I owe you one.”
“You sure as hell do,” Skully complained, breathing heavily, as Prince examined his arm.
The C.O. waved the rest of the guys on to the rendezvous point with the Army division coming through; meanwhile they ducked into a dilapidated barn that looked like it would fall down around their ears if they so much as sneezed.
Prince doctored his arm while Skully tried to keep from passing out. “How does that feel?” he asked, wrapping off the bandage.
Skully rotated his shoulder. “I’ll live.”
“Ready to roll?”
Just as they stood, the barn door creaked open. They both drew their weapons as a girl slipped inside.
For a long moment they just looked at each other.
Skully took one look at her battered face, torn clothes, the fear in her eyes and knew she’d been raped.
“Good Lord.”
That she didn’t scream was probably the thing that surprised him the most. The other was that he recognized those eyes.
“It’s ruff-puff,” he said to his C.O. “What do we do with her?”
“Don’t let her leave. I’ll check this out. NVA?” Prince asked the girl.
She shook her head.
“American?” Skully asked through tight lips. But again she shook her head. “VC?” he asked then. And she nodded. Prince slipped out the door.
She went straight to the corner and huddled there, her slight body shaking. Her eyes never left him.
God, what she must be thinking. “We’re not going to hurt you,” he’d said as best he could in her language.
Blood ran down the inside of her legs.
He ripped the bandanna from his head and soaked it, using his canteen. He offered it to her but she wouldn’t take it.
She flinched when he touched her face with the cloth, but sat quietly through his ministrations. When he finished with that he started at one ankle and ended at her knee. Then handed the cloth and urged her to use it.
“I have a kid sister about your age.” He just started rattling nonsense, trying to offer what little reassurance he could. “What’s your name? Guess you don’t feel like talking much right now, do you.” He checked his pack for something more he could offer her and came up with the only thing decent in his C-Rats. “Chop-chop, eat, canned peaches?” he offered them to her. “They call me Skully.”
She devoured the fruit and he enjoyed watching her eat.
“Cam on, Skully-san.”
When Prince came back with the all-secure sign, they left to rejoin their squad, but he couldn’t stop thinking about her. They’d won their objective. And he’d started making regular trips to that barn.
At first he just left canned peaches, then one day she was there waiting for him. Even that started out innocent enough.
But he kept going back.
He should have known better, he was much older than she was. But that first time she touched him, the way a woman touched a man, he was lost.
1900 Tuesday
Lan Nguyen’s House
San Francisco, California
“WHO WAS THAT ON THE phone?” Lan asked, hitting the kitchen tap with her forearm so she could wash the dough from her hands.
“Hang-up,” Shane O’Connor answered, fidgeting with the manila envelope in his hand.
“Okay, I’m done now. Sorry for making you wait. But I wanted to get the bread made—”
“Ever hear of a breadmaker?”
“I like to bake. It’s just that I have no one to cook for now that Tam doesn’t live at home. I suppose it’s time I sent her a batch of cookies.”
Shane was a quiet man, but he seemed unusually quiet today. He’d let her rattle on and on about nothing, as if he’d just wanted to hear her voice.
“Sit down, Lan,” he said. And then she knew.
She set aside the dish towel and wrung her hands together. “You found him?”
He nodded.
She covered her mouth, then did sit down, but as soon as she did, she stood back up again.
“Are you ready for this?” he asked.
When she nodded he made her sit at the dining room table. He pulled out another chair and sat beside her.
He removed the contents of the envelope and handed it to her. “His name was Robert Stevens. Skully was a nickname. He was captured and taken to Hanoi in the fall of ’72. I’m afraid he’s still listed as MIA. I’m sorry, Lan. He neve
r made it home.”
“You mean he’s dead,” she said without emotion. “In my heart—” the tears started to fall “—in my heart, I thought he must still be alive. Because I can still feel him right here.” She pounded her chest. “That’s it. It’s over.”
Shane pressed a hankie into her hand. “Lan, there are organizations that specialize in the recovery and identification of the remains of Vietnam vets. I’ll make inquiries if you’d like.”
“I think he’d like that. And I’d still like to take our trip to Vietnam, so we can continue looking for the rest of my family.”
He nodded. “Stevens has family in the area. I thought maybe you’d like that information for your daughter. And I’ll check with them. They may have recovered the remains themselves. And I’m sure they’d want to know about Tam.”
“Thank you,” she said, but she was already in another place.
Early Spring 1972
Da Nang, Vietnam
“SKULLY-SAN, YOU NOT LIKE Lan?” She held his face in her hands so that he had to look at her.
“I like you very much, too much, nhieu lam,” he emphasized, removing her hands from his face.
He stood abruptly.
She reached for his belt. Desperate to make him stay, she worked to release it. “Lam on, Skully-san. Let Lan love you.”
She’d started on his zipper. Even though she could feel his desire beneath her palm, he stilled her hand. How could he want her and still reject her?
He brought her slowly to her feet and pulled her into his arms. He covered her mouth with his. When he kissed her like that it didn’t matter that there was no tomorrow in Vietnam.
This moment was all she needed.
CHAPTER TWELVE
2200 Thursday
Eastern Island, Midway Islands
“WAITING IS FOR THE BIRDS,” Will said.
Or in this case the green sea turtle.
Because of the penlight clamped between her teeth as she scribbled in her pocket-size notepad, Tam let her assistant’s comment flit by on the breeze. She didn’t share Will’s impatience, despite the lava rock digging into her numb rear end.
Midway Between You and Me (Harlequin Super Romance) Page 18