An Officer and a Gentleman

by Rachel Lee

  “Very well, sir.” Her gaze met his steadily and unwaveringly.

  Dare nodded. “Other than this very minor complaint,” he continued more pleasantly, “I commend your handling of the matter, Captain. Now, on to other matters.”

  For the next half hour MacLendon listened to reports and fielded complaints from his staff. Most of the matters under discussion had little to do with Andrea, so she listened with only half an ear, the rest of her longing for an end to this meeting so she could get back to her own office and away from Dare’s disturbing presence. Why the devil had she been stupid enough to agree to spend Thanksgiving with him?

  It was with relief that she heard her radio squawk. Since the squadron knew where she was, it must be urgent.

  “Alpha Tango Niner, this is Bravo One, do you read?”

  Andrea looked up at Dare. “By your leave, sir?”

  “Go ahead, Burke.”

  She started to rise to leave the room, but MacLendon motioned her to remain, so she answered the call.

  “Bravo One, this is Alpha Tango Niner, go ahead.”

  “Alpha Tango Niner, we have a security system failure—repeat, system failure—at Delta Three Zulu.”

  “Roger, Bravo One. Who’s out there? Over.”

  “Sergeant Nickerson, ma’am. When the call came in he took a squad out. Over.”

  “Tell Nick I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Alpha Tango Niner out.”

  Andrea looked up at Dare. “With your permission, sir.”

  “This needs your immediate attention?”

  “Sergeant Nickerson evidently thinks so, sir.”

  “Evidently. Go ahead, but this time I want a report as soon as you know what’s happened.”

  “Yes, sir.” Steaming and barely able to conceal it, Andrea hurried from the room. Damn the man! she thought. Houlihan had trusted her enough to handle things her own way. Why did MacLendon have to be so damn nosy? Nosy and attractive. The combination was going to drive her out of her mind. Maybe she ought to put in for a new assignment at a base far, far away. Like maybe the moon.

  By the time she reached Nickerson, who was on the far side of the airfield alongside the perimeter fence that separated the flight-line controlled area from acres of open land, Andrea had decided Alisdair MacLendon was a jinx. In the entire two years she’d commanded this squadron, she hadn’t had as many major problems as she’d had in the weeks since Dare arrived. Just when she didn’t need a nosy CO, she had one. There had to be some kind of cosmic connection there.

  “What’s up, Nick?” she asked the master sergeant as she climbed out of her truck.

  The lines in Nick’s face deepened. “Did you get roasted?”

  “Only as much as I expected. What’s wrong now?”

  “You’re feeling that way, too? Well, ma’am, somebody cut the fence.”

  “Last night?” Andrea scanned the chain-link fence but couldn’t see the damage. “Where?”

  “That’s the thing, ma’am. Whoever did it is planning to come back. He fixed it so it wouldn’t show, and none of the security devices were triggered at any time, so we have to assume he didn’t try to go any farther.”

  Andrea cursed under her breath and followed Nickerson to the fence, where he showed her the careful cuts in the links and the way they’d been wrapped with lead wire so the weight of the fence didn’t pull the links apart, exposing the hole.

  “If Lattimer hadn’t been paying close attention,” Nick said, “he’d never have spotted this. Frankly, this could have been here a while.” Pulling his hat from his head, he ran his fingers through his hair and peered up at the barbed wire that topped the fence.

  The fence wasn’t electrified, because its purpose was not so much to keep an intruder out as to prevent anyone from stumbling accidentally onto the carpet of sensors that lay beyond, and to leave physical evidence if someone crossed the boundary. Security experts had long ago realized that it was impossible to stop a skilled, determined intruder. What had to be avoided at all costs was the possibility that an intruder could gain access and leave no sign of his presence. As long as the intrusion could be detected, the damage could be controlled.

  “I don’t believe this,” Andrea muttered. “I absolutely don’t believe this.” Looking past the fence to the airfield where the B-52s stood in their hulking line, she shook her head. “Why would anybody want to get in there?” The question was purely rhetorical; offhand she could think of twenty or so reasons ranging from sabotage to intelligence collection to sheer curiosity.

  “Unless we’ve become a terrorist target, I can’t imagine,” was Nick’s sarcastic response.

  “Gee, Nick, what a great thought.”

  He gave her a humorless half smile. “You got a better one, Captain?”

  “I wish I did. Kids. I like the idea of kids playing a stupid game.”

  “Me, too. I ain’t buying it.”

  “Me, either.” Andrea gave in and rubbed her neck. “Kids wouldn’t have wired up the cuts that way. I’m beginning to wonder if I’m going to spend the rest of my life standing on Colonel MacLendon’s carpet trying to explain things. Hellfire. Now I’ve got to recommend that he make sure those planes are checked out real good. He’s going to love this!”

  “About as much as you do, ma’am.”

  “Well, post a couple of sentries out here, get somebody out to repair the fence, and send a squad to check the rest of the perimeter.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Andrea, already on her way to the truck, looked back. “And, Nick, say a prayer that that cut isn’t just a decoy.”

  Nick’s faint smile faded. “Gee, Captain, what a great thought.”

  “Yes, I think so, too.”

  Thirty minutes later, Andrea stood at rigid attention on the carpet in front of MacLendon’s desk and watched the frown form on his rugged face as she explained what Nick had found. When she fell silent, Dare remained silent, too, so long that she began to get uneasy.

  Finally he stirred and waved a hand. “Sit, down, Andrea. Is life here always this exciting?”

  “Only the last few weeks,” she replied as she perched on the edge of a straight-backed metal chair.

  “Well, we’re batting close to a thousand, aren’t we.”

  Relieved that he was shouldering the responsibility along with her, rather than trying to place blame somewhere, Andrea nodded. “Yes, sir, it seems that way.”

  “Well, I’ll send the maintenance crews out to look for anything suspicious, and I guess I’d better cancel the generation scheduled for this afternoon.”

  A generation was an exercise when the entire bomber fleet took off at thirty-second intervals, as they would have to in time of alert. Andrea always found it impressive.

  “I think that would be wise,” she agreed.

  MacLendon, who’d been staring thoughtfully at a pencil he was rolling between his palms, suddenly looked at her. “You don’t think there’s any connection between this and that intruder alert you had the night I arrived?”

  “That was a faulty circuit.”

  “But what caused it?”

  Andrea shifted on the chair. “We don’t know. We never did manage to pin it down.”

  “It wasn’t a component failure?”

  “No, sir. Halliday—he’s my electronics expert—said it’s impossible to determine how it happened. The circuit may never have been seated correctly, and a small jar could have loosened it.”

  “Or someone could have loosened it.”

  Andrea said nothing, merely met his gaze steadily.

  Dare leaned forward, tossing down the pencil and resting his elbows on the desk. “In light of this incident, maybe we’d better consider the possibility that it didn’t come loose by accident. I’m not paranoid, Andrea, but I think it’s time to assume the worst until we find out what’s going on.”

  “Yes, sir.” She wished he wouldn’t lean forward on his arms like that. The posture pulled his sleeves tight across his upper arms a
nd revealed some very respectable biceps. For the first time she realized that Dare not only had a great shape, he had great muscles, as well. Once again she experienced that odd tightening in places she seldom thought about.

  “Andrea?”

  Blinking, she raised her eyes from his arms to his face. “Yes?”

  “Are you with me, Andrea?”

  No, but I’m beginning to wish I were. “Yes, sir.” For an instant, she had the horrifying feeling that he knew where her thoughts had strayed, but he stood up and continued talking business, so she dismissed the notion.

  “You’re tired,” Dare said with unexpected kindness. “I imagine you worked all weekend again. Look, for now just bring your squadron to a higher readiness level and let me know about anything unusual that happens. And take some time off, Andrea. You won’t be a damn bit of good to me if you work yourself to death. Let Dolan handle things for the next few days.”

  “But, sir—”

  MacLendon came around the desk, perched on the edge, and looked down at her. “I know, Andrea,” he said gently. “I’ve been there, too. You want so badly to prove yourself that you’re afraid to leave anything to anyone else. But you’re only one person, and you’ll kill yourself this way. Or, worse, you’ll get so tired you’ll screw something up. Let Dolan earn his keep. Tell him to let you know if there’s any more funny business, but otherwise just let him handle it. Let him deal with the fistfights and AWOLs and personal problems. That’s what you have a deputy for. How will Dolan ever learn to be a commander if you don’t give him a chance to practice?”

  “Yes, sir.” He was right, of course, but she didn’t like it.

  “You’re a damn fine officer, Andrea. I know that already. I’ll hardly think less of you if you delegate. Now, go take care of your readiness level and then let your subordinates do what they’re here to do.”

  Standing, he indicated that the interview was over. “You know, Andrea, the hardest thing a commander has to do is trust a subordinate to do the job right.”

  Rising, Andrea looked him right in the eye. “Yes, sir, it seems to be a common failing.”

  Dare astonished her with a laugh. “You’re wrong, Andrea. I trust you to do things right. I just prefer to be informed. Now, go handle it.”

  At eight Thanksgiving morning, Andrea pulled up to Dare’s house as prearranged. His house was on a quiet, tree-lined street in the older section of base housing. Snow had still not fallen, although the skies kept threatening it. It wasn’t unusual, though. North Dakota didn’t get much snow, maybe twenty inches over an entire winter. The same twenty inches, however, stayed dry and continuously blew in the wind, rearranging themselves into huge drifts that had to be shoveled almost daily. Twenty inches might as well have been two hundred.

  Dare opened the front door to her just as she stepped onto the stoop.

  “I saw you drive up,” he said with a smile. “Come on in.”

  She stepped into an entry hall that opened into a large living room. Wood floors gleamed with polish and were decorated with Navaho rugs. Sandy colors, accented with blues and an occasional touch of sunset and terra-cotta, brought the desert Southwest to North Dakota.

  “It’s beautiful,” Andrea breathed, completely forgetting herself as she stepped into the living room. And it was. Not decorator beautiful. Home beautiful.

  Dare was pleased. “Glad you like it.” He took her coat and hung it in the hall closet. When he turned around, the wonder was gone from her face. She once again looked brisk and efficient. He felt a pang of loss but swept it aside.

  “Kitchen’s in here,” he said, leading the way.

  “Where are the others?” Andrea asked as she followed him.

  “They’ll be coming later.”

  Later? Her pulse shifted into high gear as she realized he had deliberately arranged for them to be alone together. Why had he done that? Only one reason occurred to her, and it made her mouth go dry. Surely he couldn’t be interested in her as a woman. And if he were? Oh, God! She nearly bolted at the thought. Only years of self-discipline kept her moving after him into the kitchen.

  It wasn’t a very big kitchen, but it was adequate. A turkey sat in a roasting pan on the counter, waiting to be stuffed. Bags of bread cubes sat beside it. Andrea pulled an apron out of the bag she’d brought with her and tied it over her slacks with hands that trembled slightly. Together they went to work.

  In a very short time Andrea realized that Alisdair MacLendon knew his way around a kitchen. Without the least difficulty, they worked in an intricate, silent ballet that yielded mince and apple pies by ten o’clock. When the pies came out of the oven, the stuffed turkey went in.

  Suddenly there was a hiatus in the activity. Andrea was at once relieved that she didn’t have to be constantly on guard against bumping into him and worried about how to fill the time. Where were the others?

  Dare disappeared for a moment and returned with two glasses of wine. “It’s early, but it’s Thanksgiving,” he said. “Sit down at the table and relax a minute.”

  So she sat at the kitchen table and watched while he cleaned up the baking mess. Her offer to help was refused. Andrea thought back to all the Thanksgivings she’d spent in the kitchen with her mother while her father and brothers watched football and lazed around, and decided that her commanding officer was a pretty unique guy.

  And that wasn’t necessarily a good thing, she found herself thinking ruefully. What she needed were reasons not to like the man, reasons to quell the growing attraction she felt. This was almost as bad as—no, it was worse than—her one and only high school crush. Not since the age of fifteen had she followed a man’s every movement with her eyes, as if she could somehow physically satisfy her hunger just by looking, yet here she was filling her eyes with Dare’s every movement. He’d always been attractive to her, but when had he started to look perfect?

  When the last of the mess had disappeared, just as rich aromas of turkey were beginning to issue from the oven, he joined her at the table with his wineglass.

  “To future holidays,” he said, raising his glass.

  Andrea lifted her glass and managed what she hoped was a casual smile. “No football?”

  “Do I have to?”

  “Don’t you like it?”

  “Sometimes. I can take it or leave it. Why? Is there a game you want to see?”

  Andrea shook her head, the faint smile still on her lips. “I watch it because it’s expected. I have to be able to talk football with the guys. I’d rather scan the sports section in the morning and pick up the highlights so I can sound intelligent.”

  He chuckled. “Me, too. But don’t ever tell anybody.”

  “Personally, I’d rather play it.”

  “Don’t tell me you were on the Academy squad.”

  She laughed then. “Not likely! I fenced.”

  “You’re very good at thrust and parry,” he said.

  Their eyes locked, and something happened. While some corner of her mind acknowledged the thrust of his teasing remark, the ground seemed to shift beneath her. She blinked quickly and looked away, feeling panicky.

  The conviction formed in MacLendon then that, although he was going to wrestle with himself about it all day, some time before he said good-night to Andrea Burke he was going to kiss her. Only as the idea took root in his mind did he realize that he’d been wanting to kiss her for weeks.

  Looking down at his wineglass, he considered the idea. It would be dangerous, no question of that. They had to work together every day. He wished the thought had never occurred to him. He liked Andrea, damn it. He liked her and respected her and felt that they had arrived at a uniquely comfortable working relationship. She was, in fact, among the best of the officers he had worked with in his career. She took her job seriously and was unquestionably skilled at both security and command. Her no-nonsense approach to matters kept her unit running like a well-greased machine.

  So why the hell was he proposing to upset what surely mus
t be a delicate balance for her? Because he had to know what she tasted like? What she felt like against him? What his name sounded like on her lips? Never yet had she called him Dare. It was beginning to look as if she never would. So for the sake of a little male curiosity, he was going to risk it all?

  He looked up and found her misty green eyes watching him warily. He could have sworn she knew what he was thinking. He wished he could read her mind. Was she sitting there wondering how she would handle the sexual harassment if he touched her? Because it could be considered sexual harassment. Off duty or not, he was her CO.

  “Damn,” he said suddenly, startling them both, and rose from the table. He couldn’t touch her. They would never, ever be off duty enough for it to be all right for him to touch her. One of them would have to get a transfer first.

  “Dare?”

  The sound of his name on her lips for the very first time drew him up short halfway across the kitchen. “It’s okay,” he said, not daring to look back. “I just remembered something. Won’t be a minute.”

  When the other guests, four very young lieutenants, arrived that afternoon at two, they were obviously nervous at the prospect of having dinner with the CO. All four were ROTC graduates, summer soldiers who were just getting their first taste of the real Air Force. Dare took pity on them and poured them all a stiff drink. By the time they sat down to dinner an hour and a half later, the alcohol was doing its work, and Dare kept it flowing freely, figuring he could sober them up over dessert.

  Talk and laughter began to flow just as freely, and MacLendon told a few of his funnier war stories. Around five, when they cut into the pies, Dare cut off the alcohol and started pouring coffee. After pie, they settled onto the living room couches and somebody noticed that a light snow flurry had started.

  “We had that briefing last week,” one of the lieutenants said. Davis was his name. “The bad weather briefing, about carrying supplies and blankets and things in your car. It really gets that bad?”