“Fire below,” Lola called out and stood the chopper on its side.
Tim hung in his harness looking straight down at the midnight blackness of the choppy ocean surface. A dazzling sparkler of brilliant green rocket fire came roaring up at him.
RPG!
His breath froze, but his reflexes didn’t. Knowing it was impossible and that they were about to die, he zeroed on the nose of the rocket-propelled grenade and shot a long burst.
It went off like… a firecracker. A little fizzle of bright streaks to show it had been disabled; the blue “safe” color just another shade of green in his night vision.
He’d never flown a range like this, at the edge of chaos, and he knew he couldn’t think about it.
Trust your pilot.
That’s the rule.
Trust your pilot and your training.
Tim shut off his brain and kept his attention on the targets that the pilot presented outside his side of the chopper. In battle, someone else would have his backside, the field of fire behind him, out the other side of the chopper. In range practice, the pilot would always present the threats to his side.
All he had to do was select and shoot.
Short bursts. Range didn’t mind having their targets hit, but they hated when they were torn up needlessly.
Tim fired short bursts.
Let the flow take him.
Kept his focus and his wrists loose.
His instincts had a decade of training and led him through the course as a blur; every moment crystalline clear, but all part of a loose, easy flow.
When Lola coaxed the Huey into a full roll, he shot the last target while hanging upside down by the straps of his harness.
He killed it dead.
Chapter 45
“You were goddamn awesome! Did you hear the range officer? He was just shitting bricks!” Lola danced around him on the sand like a warrior princess. Starlight and a thin crescent moon traced her path. The Huey, a dark shadow, loomed beside them.
Tim still floated in that place of perfect, mellow flow. He’d heard buzzing in his ears. Remembered the range officer talking about something.
“Perfect score,” Lola shouted up at the vault of the heavens. “I threw all that extra shit at you just to mess with you, and you still nailed it.” She sent up a war whoop and started dancing a one-woman conga around him on the sand. Each head toss, flinging her glorious mane of hair like a banner flying high.
He remembered directing them from the range down to the family cabin on Sandy Cove, right across the water from where the Assateague wild horses ran. She’d settled them high on the beach, had to pull him out of the harness where he still sat after she’d powered down the chopper.
He shook himself, feeling like a wet dog just waking up.
The next time Lola circled in front of him he snagged her around the waist and pulled her in hard.
Front to front, she continued to dance and writhe against him in celebration, snapping her fingers to the beat.
He felt like a goddamn god.
Tim took her then. No gentle lovemaking that he’d brought her here for. No slow rise of passion.
Just blistering need burning up his veins and his body.
In moments he’d stripped her naked and shoved her to the sand.
She opened to him and he sated himself on the taste of her, her feel, her shape. He drank deeply, took from her body until she exploded with a cry that shattered the darkness. Her fists pounded his shoulders as a release for the power that surged through her body in great waves.
Still more than half wild, Tim plunged into her welcoming embrace. The pressure built and built.
Trust your pilot.
He let his body take as he’d never taken before. Driving home, nailing the target until he found his own release, a release that tore from his throat with a roar like a lion’s. Or like the righteous glory of a minigun pounding down out of the sky and landing in the dead-center of absolute glory.
***
A dead man.
Tim lay atop Lola like a dead man. His weight a warm comfort on a cooling night. She held him tight, arms around his neck, legs still locked around his hips. The crumpled clothes beneath her a thin buffer from the sand.
She held him and looked up at the stars.
No one had ever taken her like that. No one had ever needed her so badly. And no one had ever given her so much back.
Her body held on to Tim as she stared out into the infinity of space. She was so far gone on him. There had to be something she could do about that, some way to stop it for both their sakes. There was no way she was good enough for him. Not for a man like Tim.
Returning from wherever he’d gone, he didn’t move to ease his weight as if still incapable of such an effort. But one hand, a single finger, moved in a slow circle near her ear, slowly winding a bit of her hair about it. So gentle she wouldn’t have felt it if he hadn’t done it so many times since they’d become lovers.
Experience had taught her that it couldn’t last anyway. Military relationships were strictly about sex, passing ships in the night scenario.
That was all it had ever been. Ever should be.
He nestled more comfortably against her, covering her body, toying with her hair.
Why couldn’t she ease her hold on the man whose heart still pounded against her chest?
Chapter 46
They hurried inside the cabin in the chill light of dawn, running naked up the beach. They’d gone for a long skinny dip. Damn, Lola missed swimming. And she’d felt so strong after the great sex that she’d swum way too far and barely made it back to the beach in absolute exhaustion.
The shower had been fast, especially with someone to scrub her back, and the collapse into bed equally quick. They barely snuggled up and she was out like a light.
When at last she woke, Lola could only blink at the dim light beyond the lace-curtained windows. A bedroom clock built into the face of a coconut informed her that it was six o’clock. A.m. or p.m.? The whole room had been done in tropical island, but with a sense of humor. Rather than the clock being kitschy, it was a joke playing off the soft blues and yellows of the rest of the room’s decor. The light green sea-wave bedspread only completed the theme.
She stretched, wincing only a little at a few of her sorer spots, and felt surprisingly good. P.m., she decided. That meant a dozen hours of sleep rather than a mere one or two.
Tim was gone. Only the slightest warmth lingered on the sheets beside her. He’d clearly been up a while.
She wandered back outside into the evening light.
Other than the squat helicopter parked in the middle of the view, it was a stunning place. The long cove sported only tiny waves along the achingly white sand. Across the cove, a long barrier island drew a line along the horizon. Low sand dunes with only the occasional high point, it did nothing to block the smell of the sea.
Salt and seaweed. A warm breeze that had been heating since it rolled off the Gulf Stream current, fresh from the warm Spanish beaches three thousand miles away.
The sun had indeed set, the sky had darkened even as she stood on the cabin’s threshold.
With the fading light, she caught the barest flicker through the Huey’s windows. She’d parked it parallel to the water on a broad rock patio that separated lawn from beach. In the cargo bay, a warm light teased behind the clear plastic.
She walked up close enough to see through the closed near-side door that the sea-facing one was slid open to the view, so she circled the nose and stepped barefoot onto the sun-warmed stone. Tim sat on the lip of the deck, so quiet, so at peace.
Lola leaned in to kiss him, but what she saw in the cargo bay was so perfect that it stopped her. Once again, Tim had revealed himself to be truly exceptional in judging her mood. Inside the chopper lay a tiny world of
cozy wonder.
He’d unrigged and stowed the gunner’s seat and the minigun. The stretch of the cargo bay was now covered in a cheerful red-and-white-checkered cloth. A half-dozen candles lit the shadowed interior of the Huey, revealing the results of Tim’s ministrations.
A couple of pillows that had been on the couch when they crawled into the cabin this morning were now set on the hard deck. They were decorated in the same red-and-white checker, with a bit of blue piping around the edges. The pillows would make comfortable seating; not that she and Tim wouldn’t both be at perfect ease without them. They’d both spent too many hours aboard to not be comfortable anywhere on the chopper under almost any conditions.
Now she saw why the picnic basket was so big. It was partly basket and partly an ice-filled cooler. A dozen plastic containers were scattered about, and she knew they’d be filled with Pauley’s Island-style culinary heaven.
A pair of wide-based mugs, filled with tiny bouquets of flowers, completed the scene.
As Tim pulled her into his arms, Lola decided these were near-perfect flight conditions. Rather than kissing her senseless, he swept her up in those powerful arms of his and set her on one of the pillows inside the chopper.
She folded her bare feet under her, as if they were surrounded by sunlit green grass rather than enough dusk-shadowed firepower to punch a fair-sized hole in an armored battle tank.
He stepped aboard and sat opposite her. Then he reached into the basket and extracted two exquisite china teacups and saucers. She couldn’t help herself. She felt all girly as she picked one up to inspect the fine filigree of pink roses, the cup’s delicate handle, and the gold along the rim.
Then he pulled out the prize, a matching teapot clearly meant for just two people.
“I cheated.” Tim spoke while wearing that soft smile that kept melting her heart.
“Please, cheat some more.”
He dug out a tall thermos that billowed steam when opened. On the tail of the steam rose a scent of herbal tea and… “Chocolate?”
Tim emptied the thermos into the teapot and tucked it back into the basket. “Mama’s special blend with just a dash of the best dark cocoa powder. I practically grew up on this. Hot, iced, sometimes with a shot of brandy on Christmas Eve or if one of us was sick to help us sleep. I swear it just gets better with the years.”
He poured from the pot very formally and very carefully. Lola wondered if Mama Cara knew her prize teapot had gone walkabout on a Huey helicopter.
“Hey! Isn’t the general going to be missing his helicopter?”
“I tried gaming him—”
Lola laughed.
Tim smile turned to one of deep chagrin. “Yeah, it worked about that well. General Arnson said something about not messing with someone who’d been all over that since when my mama was still in grade school. So, I told him there was this girl.”
“You told a Marine Corps general that you were having an illicit affair with a superior officer?” Lola wondered just how crazy Tim might really be.
“Hell no! I’m not that nuts. Just mentioned a girl and our family’s beach cabin and begged on my knees like any other natural-born American boy.”
Lola turned to look at the pale pink sky over the settling water out the cargo-bay door.
“Well, you done good.”
She tested the tea. The first sip promised wonders and the second delivered. She’d save the third until she’d eaten some of the spread laid out before her. No plates, just a napkin, fork, and spoon. Perfect. She began poking through the containers and peeling back lids at random.
Each required a brief moment held close to her nose. The containers, some cool from the ice, some room temperature, offered up scents pungent, spicy, sweet, and mellow. She reached into one and slipped a stuffed cherry tomato into her mouth.
When she bit down, flavor burst forth in a splash and the top of her head nearly blew off. She liked spicy hot. Tex-Mex or Cajun, she didn’t care, bring it on. This was something else again.
Tim laughed as she gulped tea and blinked back tears.
The heat continued to roll, spilling layers of flavor. As the heat mellowed, the tomato’s slight acid rolled smoothly on her tongue, the cinnamon wafted up to her nose, and the finish of something nutty was absolutely exquisite.
“We usually eat Pa’s stuffed cherry tomatoes in this.” He uncovered a container of shining white yogurt. “It makes a better balance.”
Lola sipped a little more tea and took a spoonful of yogurt to finish cooling the heat.
“Got any more good surprises?”
Tim nodded happily.
“What’s the best one?”
“Later. It’s for later.”
“Dessert? I want it now. Life is uncertain. Dessert comes first. C’mon, Timmy, I want it now. Now. Now!” She bounced on her cushion. He brought out a silly side that surprised her more than it did him. She pouted like a little girl, crossing her arms and offering her best frown. “I’m not gonna eat no more of your food till I gets my surprise.”
“Nope.”
“Then no more sex.”
“Ouch! Pulling out the big weapons.”
“Damn straight!” She gave one emphatic nod. “Gimme!”
He didn’t reach into the basket.
Instead he reached into his pocket.
For some reason, her first thought was that was a terribly strange place to keep dessert.
Then, in the candlelight, she saw the glint of gold and silver and ruby he now held between his fingertips. Her second thought was how stunningly beautiful the perfect ring was.
She never had time for a third thought because of the soul-freezing shock.
“Lola, this is my grandmother’s ring. I ask—”
The rest of his words turned into a harsh buzzing in her ears. Something about permission and ever after and—
A hard twitch shot through her body with a whip of pain, and she was gone.
Lola dove out of the helicopter, hit the ground in a tight roll that brought her to her feet, and took off running down the beach.
She fell, sprawling face first into the sand.
Heard dishes clattering and banging together where she’d shoved off.
And just as she regained her feet, she heard what could only be the sound of a falling teapot shattering against the hard stone.
Chapter 47
Tim almost missed her in the dusk when he looked down the beach. Had to walk halfway to her before he was sure.
Lola was huddled a hundred yards down the beach, almost at the water’s edge. Her arms wrapped around her knees, pulled so tight against her chest she could rest her chin on them.
For a moment he considered leaving her there.
Hadn’t he been clear? There couldn’t be anyone but her for him. And he knew it was mutual. There’d never been anyone who made him feel so schoolboy happy. They held hands everywhere except when they went running. They communicated with an ease, with a silence that often didn’t need words.
He wanted to shout at her. To rage. About betrayal. About breaking so many silent promises. About his family teapot. He raised his hand to look at the handle still clutched there. His mother’s favorite piece of china now just a handle connected to nothing. Tiny trails of pink roses leading to jagged and sharp edges where it had been shattered. All been shattered.
A deep fury boiled up within him. That she had led him so far astray, so wrong. That she’d broken his grandmother’s teapot.
Perhaps it was the absurdity of that last thought. Perhaps it was knowing he’d have to explain the loss to his mother. For whatever reason, the anger that was nearly blinding him drained abruptly away and left him ragged and exhausted. Worse, far worse than the adrenal letdown after battle.
To hell with Lola. He thought it, but knew it was wrong. It didn’t f
ind its target. He tried to restir the righteous anger he wanted to wrap around himself. It only made him even sadder and lonelier.
On the verge of turning away he noticed she still hadn’t moved. He was close enough to see she was shivering despite the warm evening breeze, staring sightlessly toward Assateague Island.
At a loss, Tim moved until he was just a pace away and slowly sank to a squat beside her. She didn’t turn to face him. This close, he could see that she fought the shivers coursing in waves up and down her frame.
Without thinking, he reached out to run a soothing hand down her arm, but she flinched away ever so slightly and he withdrew before he touched her. Still she didn’t turn to him.
He tried to think of ways to break the silence, but none of them were right.
At length, Lola’s frame stopped shaking like some terrified rabbit. She closed her eyes and finally rested her forehead on her knees, the arms not releasing the tension in the slightest.
Her voice barely a whisper, he had to concentrate and turn his ears clear of the gentle breeze to hear her.
“I’m so sorry. I can’t. I just can’t. You don’t know. I just can’t.”
The hysterical edge to her whispered voice finally broke through his own miasma.
“Shh. Easy. We’ll figure this out.”
“No!” She popped up her head and shouted at him. Her voice enough of a slap that he lost his balance from his squat and fell back until he too sat in the sand. Her eyes blazed red with pain and her running tears caught the last of the day’s light, but her words were sharp, hard-edged.
“No! ‘We’ won’t figure it out! There is no ‘we.’” She huffed out a breath, shook her head to clear the hair from her eyes, and looked right at him for the first time. Her voice softer, if not kinder.
“Goddamn it, Tim. I can’t be part of a ‘we.’ Nobody can be enough of an idiot to want me to be part of their ‘we.’ You’re better than that. Go find someone. But not me. Find some sweet, gentle-hearted woman. One who will make you and your family happy. Not some screwed-up, harpy bitch.”
Take Over at Midnight (The Night Stalkers) Page 23