Seal Team Ten

by Brockmann, Suzanne

  Damn, maybe he was a bigot Joe returned to the table. "I don't suppose PJ.'s in the ladies' room?"

  Harvard shook his head. "No, I, uh...let's see." He counted on his fingers. "I totally alienated her, I incensed her, and last but not least, I made her walk away in sheer disgust."

  Joe pursed his lips, nodding slowly. "All that in only six minutes. Very impressive."

  "She called me," Harvard said, "a bigot."

  "Yeah, well, you've got to admit, you've been pretty nar­row-minded when it comes to PJ.'s part in this exercise."

  Damn, Joe Cat thought he was a bigot, too.

  Joe finished his beer. "I've got to go. That was Ronnie who paged me. Frankie's had an ear infection over the past few days, and now he's throwing up the antibiotic. I'm meet­ing them at the hospital in fifteen minutes."

  "Is it serious?"

  "Nah, the kid's fine. I keep telling Ronnie, babies barf. It's what they do. She's just not going to sleep tonight until she hears a doctor say it, too." Joe rolled his eyes. "Of course, she probably won't even sleep then. I keep telling her it's the baby who's supposed to wake the mother up at night, not the other way around. But she has a friend who lost a kid to SIDS. I'm hoping by the time Frank turns two, Veronica will finally sleep through the night." Joe picked up his jacket from the back of the chair he'd thrown it over.

  "You sure there's nothing I can do to help?"

  The captain turned to look at him. "Yeah," he said. "There is something you can do. You can stay away from P. J. Richards after hours. It's clear you two aren't ever going to be best friends."

  There was that word again. Friends.

  "If there's one thing I've learned as a commander," Joe continued, "it's that you can't force people to like each other."

  The stupid thing was, Harvard did like P.J. He liked her a lot.

  "But it's not too much to ask that you and she work to­gether in a civil manner," Joe continued.

  "I've been civil," Harvard said. "She's the one who walked away in a huff."

  Joe nodded. "I'll speak to her about that in the morning."

  "No, Cat..." Harvard took a deep breath and started again. "With your permission, Captain, allow me to handle the sit­uation." He wasn't a bigot, but he was guilty of generalizing without noting that there was, of course, a minuscule amount of the population that was an exception to the rule. And maybe P. J. Richards was in that tiny percentage.

  Joe Cat looked at Harvard and grinned. "She drives you crazy, but you can't stay away from her, can you? Aw, H., you're in trouble, man."

  Harvard shook his head. "No, Captain, you've got it wrong. I just want to be the lady's friend."

  They both knew he was lying through his teeth.

  Chapter 6

  "That's an apology?" P.J. laughed. "You say, 'Yes, I'm guilty of being small-minded when it comes to my opinions about women, but oh, by the way, I still think I'm right'?"

  Harvard shook his head. "I didn't say that."

  "Yes, you did I'm paraphrasing, but that is the extent of the message you just delivered."

  "What I said was that I think women who have the, shall we say, aggressive tendencies needed to handle frontline pres­sures are the exception rather than the rule."

  "They're few and far between, was what you said." P.J. crossed her arms. "As in practically nonexistent."

  Harvard turned away, then turned back. He was trying hard to curb his frustration, she had to give him that much. "Look, I didn't come here to argue with you. In fact, I want us to try to figure out a way we can get along over the next six weeks. Joe Cat's aware that we're having some kind of per­sonality clash. I want him to be able to look over, see us working side by side without this heavy cloud of tension fol­lowing us around. Do you think we can manage to do that?"

  "The captain knows?" Every muscle in PJ.'s body ached, and she finally gave in to the urge to sit on the soft leather of the lobby couch.

  Harvard sat across from her. "It's not that big a deal. When you're dealing with mostly alpha personalities, you've got to expect that sometimes the fit won't work." He gazed at her steadily, leaning slightly forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "But I think that transferring out of this particular program isn't an option for either of us. Both of us want to be here badly enough to put in a little extra effort, am I right?"

  "You are." She smiled. "For once."

  Harvard smiled, too. "A joke. Much better than fighting."

  "A half a joke," she corrected him.

  His smile widened, and she saw a flash of his perfect white teeth. "That's a start," he told her.

  PJ. took a chance and went directly to the bottom line. "Seriously, Senior Chief, I need you to treat me as an equal."

  She was gazing at him, her pretty face so somber. She'd changed out of her uniform shirt and into a snugly fitting T-shirt boasting the logo, Title Nine Sports. She had put on running shorts, too, and Harvard forced his gaze away from the graceful shape of her bare legs and back to her eyes. "I thought I had been."

  "You're always watching me—checking up on me as if I were some little child, making sure I haven't wandered away from the rest of the kindergarten class."

  Harvard shook his head. "I don't-—"

  "Yeah," she said, "you do. You're always looking to see if I need some help. 'Is that pack too heavy for you, Ms. Richards?' 'Careful of your step, Ms. Richards.' 'Let me give you a boost into the boat, Ms. Richards."

  "I remember doing that," Harvard admitted. "But I gave Schneider and Greene a boost, too."

  "Maybe so, but you didn't announce it to the world, the way you did with me."

  "I announced it with you because I felt it was only polite to give you a proper warning before I grabbed your butt."

  She gazed steadily into his eyes, refusing to acknowledge the embarrassment that was heating her cheeks. "Well, it just so happens that I didn't need a boost. I'm plenty strong enough to pull myself into that boat on my own."

  "It's harder than it looks."

  "I didn't get a chance to find that out, did I?"

  She was right. She may indeed have found that she couldn't pull herself into the boat without a boost, but she hadn't had that opportunity, and so she was right. Harvard did the only thing he could do.

  "I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have assumed. It's just that women tend not to have the upper body strength neces­sary—"

  "/ do." She cut him off. "It's one of the times my size works to my advantage. I can probably do more chin ups than you, because I'm lifting less than a hundred pounds."

  "I'll grant that you weigh less because you're smaller, but everything's smaller. Your arms are smaller."

  "That doesn't mean I don't have muscles." P.J. pushed up the sleeve of her T-shirt and flexed her bicep. "Check this out. Feel this. That's one solid muscle."

  She actually wanted him to touch her.

  "Check it out," she urged him.

  Harvard was so much bigger than she was, he could have encircled her entire upper arm with one hand—flexed bicep and all. But he knew if he did that, she would think he was mocking her. Instead, he touched her lightly, his fingers against the firmness of her muscle, his thumb against the in­side of her arm. Her skin was sinfully soft, impossibly smooth. And as he moved his fingers, it was more like a caress than a test of strength.

  His mouth went dry, and as he looked up, he knew every­thing he was thinking was there in his eyes, clear as day, for her to see. He wanted her. No argument, no doubt. If she said the word go, he wouldn't hesitate even a fraction of a second.

  P.J. pulled her arm away as if she'd been burned. "Bad idea, bad idea," she said as if she were talking to—and scold­ing—herself. She stood up. "I need to go to bed. You should, too. We both have to be up early in the morning."

  Harvard slouched on the couch, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out in a rush of air. "Maybe that's a way to relieve some of the tension between us."

  She turned to look at him, her beautif
ul eyes wary. "What is?"

  "You and me," Harvard said bluntly. "Going to bed to­gether—getting this attraction thing out of our systems."

  P.J. crossed her arms. "Now, how did I know you were going to suggest that?"

  "It's just a thought."

  She looked at him, at the way he was sitting, the way he was trying to hide the fact that he'd gotten himself totally turned on just from touching her that little tiny bit. "Some­how I think it's more than just a thought."

  "Just say the word and it changes from a good idea to hard reality." His eyes were impossibly hot as he looked at her. "I'm more than ready."

  P.J. had to clear her throat before she could speak. "It's not a good idea. It's a bad idea."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Absolutely."

  "You know it'd be great."

  "No, I don't," she told him honestly.

  "Well, / know it would be better than great." He looked as if he were ready to sit there all night and try to tease her into getting with him.

  But no matter how determined he was, she was more so. "I can't do this. I can't be casual about something so impor­tant." Lord, if he only knew the whole truth.... She turned toward her room, and he stood up, ready to follow her.

  "I'm not just imagining this," he asked quietly, his hand­some face serious. "Am I? I mean, I know you feel this thing between us, too. It's damn powerful."

  "There's a definite pull," she admitted. "But that doesn't mean we should throw caution to the wind and go to bed together." She laughed in disbelief, amazed their conversa­tion should have come this far. "You don't even like me."

  "Not so," Harvard countered."You're the one who doesn't like me. I would truly like us to be friends."

  She snorted. "Friends who have sex? What a novel idea. I'm sure you're the first man who's ever come up with that."

  "You want it Platonic? I can keep it Platonic for as long as you want."

  "Well, there's a big word I didn't think you knew."

  "I graduated with high honors from one of the toughest universities in the country," he told her. "I know lots of big words."

  P.J. desperately wanted to pace, but she forced herself to stand still, not wanting to betray how nervous this man made her feel.

  "Look," she said finally. "I have a serious problem with the fact that you've been treating me as if I'm a child or—a substandard man." She forced herself to hold his gaze, willed herself not to melt from the magmalike heat that lingered in his eyes. "If you really want to be my friend, then try me," she said. "Test me. Push me to the edge—see just how far I can go before you set up imaginary boundaries and fence me in." She laughed, but it wasn't because it was funny. "Or out."

  Harvard nodded. "I can't promise miracles. I can only promise I'll try."

  "That's all I ask."

  "Good," Harvard said. He held out his hand for her to shake. "Friends?"

  P.J. started to reach for his hand, but quickly pulled away.

  "Friends," she agreed, "who will stay friends a whole lot longer if we keep the touching to an absolute minimum."

  Harvard laughed. "I happen to disagree."

  P.J. smiled. "Yeah, well, old buddy, old pal, that's not the first time we've not seen eye to eye, and I'm willing to bet it's not going to be the last."

  "Yo, Richards—you awake?"

  "I am now." P.J. closed her eyes and sank onto her bed, telephone pressed against her ear.

  "Well, good, because it's too early to be sleeping."

  She opened one eye, squinting at the clock radio on the bedside table. "Senior Chief, it's after eleven."

  "Yeah, like I said, it's too early to crash." Harvard's voice sounded insufferably cheerful over the phone. "We don't have to be on base tomorrow until ten. That means it's play­time. Are you dressed?"

  "No."

  "Well, what are you waiting for? Get shakin', or they're gonna start without us. I'm in the lobby, I'll be right up."

  "Start what?"

  But Harvard had already disconnected the line. P.J. hung up the phone without sitting up. She'd gone to bed around ten, planning to get a solid ten hours of sleep tonight. Lord knows she needed it.

  Bam, bam, bam. "Richards, open up!"

  Now the fool was at the door. P.J. closed her eyes a little tighter, hoping he'd take a hint and go away. Whatever he wanted, she wanted to sleep more.

  The past week had been exhausting. True to his word, the Senior Chief had stopped coddling her. She'd gotten no more helpful boosts, no more special treatment. She was busting her butt, but she was keeping up. Hell, she was out front, leading the way. Of course, the FInCOM agents were being trained at a significantly lower intensity than the SEALs nor­mally operated. This was a walk in the park for Alpha Squad. But P.J. wasn't trying to be a SEAL. That wasn't what this was about. She was here to learn from them—to try to un­derstand the best way not just FInCOM but the entire United States of America could fight and win the dirty war against terrorism.

  Harvard hadn't stopped watching her, but at least now when she caught him gazing in her direction, there was a glint of something different in his eyes. It may not quite have been approval, but it was certainly awareness of some kind. She was doing significantly better than Farber, Schneider and Greene without Harvard's help, and he knew it. He'd nod, acknowledging her, never embarrassed that she caught him staring.

  She liked seeing that awareness. She liked it a lot. She liked it too damn much.

  "Oh, man, Richards, don't wimp out on me now."

  P.J. opened her eyes to see Harvard standing next to her bed. He looked impossibly tall. "How did you get in here?" she asked, instantly alert, sitting up and clutching her blanket to her.

  "I walked in."

  "That door was locked!"

  Harvard chuckled. "Allegedly. Come on, we got a card game to go to. Bring your wallet. Me and the guys aim to take your paycheck off your hands tonight."

  A card game. She pushed her hair out of her face. To her relief, she was still mostly dressed. She'd fallen asleep in her shorts and T-shirt. "Poker?"

  "Yeah. You play?"

  "Gambling's illegal in this state, and I'm a FInCOM agent."

  "Great. You can arrest us all—but only after we get to Joe Cat's. Let's get there quickly, shall we?" He started toward the door.

  "First I'm going to arrest you for breaking and entering," P.J. grumbled. She didn't want to go out. She wanted to curl up in the king-size bed She would have, too, if Harvard hadn't been there. But sinking back into bed with him watch­ing was like playing with fire. He'd get that hungry look in his eyes—that look that made her feel as if everything she did, every move she made was personal and intimate. That look that she liked too much.

  PJ. pushed herself off the bed. It would probably be best to get as far away from the bed as possible with Harvard in the room.

  "Those electronic locks are ridiculously easy to override. Getting past 'em doesn't really count as breaking." He looked at the ceiling, squinting suddenly. "Damn, I can feel it. They're starting without us."

  "How does the captain's poor wife feel about being dropped in on at this time of night?"

  "Veronica loves poker. She'd be playing, too, except she's in New York on business. Come on, Richards." He clapped his hands, two sharp bursts of sound. "Put on your sneakers. Let's get to the car—double time!"

  "I've got to get dressed."

  "You are dressed."

  "No, I'm not."

  "You're wearing shorts and a T-shirt. Not exactly elegant, but certainly practical in this heat. Come on, girl, get your kicks on your feet and—"

  "I can't go out wearing this."

  "What, do you want to change into your Wonder Woman uniform?" Harvard asked.

  "Very funny."

  He grinned. "Yeah, thanks. I thought it was, too. Some­times I'm so funny, I crack myself up."

  "I don't want to look too—"

  "Relaxed?" he interrupted. "Approachable? Human? Yeah, you know,
right now you actually look almost human, P.J. You're perfectly dressed for hanging out and playing cards with friends." He was still smiling, but his eyes were dead serious. "This was what you wanted, remember? A little Platonic friendship."

  Approachable. Human. God knows in her job she couldn't afford to be too much of either. But she also knew she had a tendency to go too far to the other extreme.

  As she looked into Harvard's eyes, she knew he'd set this game of cards up for her. He was going to go in Joe Cat's house tonight and show the rest of Alpha Squad that it was okay to be friends with a fink. With this fink in particular.

  P.J. wasn't certain the Senior Chief truly liked her. She knew for a fact that even though she'd proved she could keep up, he still only tolerated her presence. Barely tolerated.

  But despite that, he'd clearly gone out of his way for her tonight.

  She nodded. "I thank you for inviting me. Just let me grab a sweatshirt and we can go."

  This wasn't a date.

  It sure as hell felt like a date, but it wasn't one.

  Harvard glanced at P.J., sitting way, way over on the other side of the big bench seat of his pickup truck.

  "You did well today," he said, breaking the silence.

  She'd totally rocked during an exercise this afternoon. The FInCOM team had been given Intel information pinpointing the location of an alleged terrorist camp which was—also allegedly—the site of a munitions storage facility.

  P.J. smiled at him. Damn, she was pretty when she smiled. "Thanks."

  She had used the computer skillfully to access all kinds of information on this particular group of tangos. She'd dug deeper than the other agents and found that the terrorists rarely kept their munitions supplies in one place for more than a week. And she'd recognized from the satellite pictures that the Ts were getting ready to mobilize.

  All three of the other finks had recommended sitting tight for another week or so to await further reconnaissance from regular satellite flybys.

  P.J. had written up priority orders for a combined SEAL/ FInCOM team to conduct covert, on-site intelligence. Her or­ders had the team carrying enough explosives to flatten the munitions site if it proved to be there. She'd also put in a special request to the National Reconnaissance Office to re­position a special KeyHole Satellite to monitor and record any movement of the weapons pile.