“Happy birthday, Uncle Zach!” Aaron beamed up at him.
“We thought since you’d be in SEAL training next week, we’d just go ahead and celebrate tonight,” his mother explained.
He hadn’t even bothered to ask if Marc’s promotion or something else had brought his parents to California this time. He was used to their frequent jaunts. When Zach was about nine, his father had retired from the Navy and the family had settled in Key West where his mother’s salvage operation was based. Lily Chapel Prince had spent the years before she married treasure troving and had returned to it later—the only difference now was that the family business was as much a hobby as photography.
Next to him Aaron bounced up and down, barely able to contain his excitement. “Here’s your camera, Grandma. I did good. I didn’t even tell.”
“You did great!” Lily Prince congratulated her grandson.
She meant well. They all did. But Zach would have preferred thirty to come and go without his notice.
He wouldn’t spoil it for them, though.
“Thank you.” He gripped the back of his chair. A strained smile spread across his face. “You really shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble.”
He meant it.
“We got you a hat, Uncle Zach.” Aaron climbed up on Zach’s chair to put the Navy SEAL ball cap on his head. He giggled when Zach turned it backward.
“I need to be able to sight down the barrel of my firearm.”
“And Grandpa got you this.” Aaron held out a small hinged box decorated in navy blue and gold. The kind military awards came in.
And Zach knew his father’s gift.
He swallowed back the lump in his throat and flipped it open to find his old man’s Navy SEAL Trident. An eagle grasping Neptune’s pitchfork in one claw and a weapon in the other.
“I just happened to have an old Budweiser lying around.” He used the SEAL’s nickname for the pin, meaning wiser than BUD/S, the term for a trainee. “And since you’re headed off to SEAL training—” his dad cleared his throat “—well, I just thought it would be incentive. Or good luck or something…”
The weight of those words came down hard on Zach’s shoulders. No room for failure.
But wasn’t he going into SEAL training only because he’d already failed as a pilot? He’d failed to protect his wingman. And Michelle and Skeeter had paid with their lives.
“Smile, everyone.” Click.
“Time’s running out on those candles,” Marc pointed out.
Zach forced his attention back to the birthday cake. Wax from the numbers dripped onto the frosting. But all he could do was stare at the flame. He’d almost been able to distract himself. Almost.
He looked up at the moonless sky. A chill raced down his spine. Cold sweat beaded his forehead. The ringing in his ears drowned out the background noise until the only sound was the unsteady rhythm of his own heart.
“Zach,” his mother queried. “Honey, what’s wrong?”
“We always celebrated together.”
Michelle’s birthday was six days before his.
Today.
“Oh, Zach. I’m so sorry. How thoughtless of me.” His mother expressed genuine distress. And Zach wanted to put her at ease, but couldn’t find the energy to fake it anymore. If there’d been a moon, he’d have thrown back his head and howled his agony.
“Make a wish, Uncle Zach,” Aaron pleaded in the soft whisper of a child who sensed tension in the air and wanted to diminish it. Marc squeezed the boy’s hand in a silent signal that only father and son understood.
If only wishing could make it so.
If only…
“What birthday was it,” Zach began, “when Michelle had the Barbie birthday cake?”
“Fifth,” his mother supplied solemnly.
“I yanked out the doll before she even got to blow out the candles.” Michelle had cried so hard. “And the next year I just went ahead and blew out her candles.” She’d cried then, too. “And there was the year I smashed the piñata before she even got to take a swing.
“I’d just like to know if anyone remembers a birthday when I didn’t make her cry.”
Life had been so simple back then. A smashed piñata had seemed funny at the time. And when you messed up, you called for “do overs.” He scanned the somber faces of his family.
This year was supposed to be different. He’d plotted to wine and dine her while they planned their future. But he hadn’t even been able to wait to give her the ring….
His whole life he’d played the clown. He’d even wrapped that cheap ring in a comic strip. How corny.
Whatever made him think he could make her happy?
“I didn’t think so.” The lone surviving candle burned down to the quick, flickered and went out. “I wish for do overs.” His voice cracked. He kept his eyes downcast rather than face the pitying stares of his family.
“Do you need a hug, Uncle Zach?”
Zach’s gaze locked on to Aaron’s. Thirty-year-old men didn’t need hugs. His eyes and his throat burned. So he just nodded. His nephew wrapped him in a big bear hug. The next thing he knew, his mother propelled herself into his arms. And Tabby, holding Mariah, launched herself at him from the other direction.
Adults didn’t get second chances. There were no points for second place in naval aviation. And in the SEALs the only easy day was yesterday.
And all his yesterdays were gone.
His tomorrows weren’t looking too bright, either.
But tonight he had his family.
His dad’s cell phone rang, interrupting their group hug.
“Tad, don’t answer it,” his mother scolded, wiping tears from her eyes.
“It could be Bowie,” he said, moving away from the table and toward the terrace rail to engage in quiet conversation. Obviously the caller was not the youngest Prince son, or the phone would have been passed around.
“I hate these modern inconveniences,” his mother fussed. “You should see him with e-mail and instant messages. I swear he logs on every hour. He has friends around the globe. At least I don’t think he’s having cyber sex or checking out cyber porn.”
On that note his mother ended the embrace, and the women took their seats. Aaron hopped down from his chair. Zach remained standing and used the opportunity to take his leave. “I hope everyone will understand if I excuse myself from the party.”
Before he got the chance, however, his old man returned with a mostly unreadable expression on his weathered face. “That was the Chief of SEALs,” he announced. “Team One has recovered the body of a female pilot.”
Dead silence hung over the table.
Zach felt the pull of twelve G’s. All the air rushed from his lungs. He couldn’t breathe. And at the same time he wanted to explode.
“The casket is due to arrive in D.C. tomorrow morning,” his dad continued before anyone could even catch their breath. “Mitch has to ID the body. He wants me there.”
“I’ll go pack.” His mother got up to leave the table.
“I’m going, too.” Zach forced himself to stay on his feet.
0734 Saturday
NAVAL HOSPITAL,
Bethesda, MD
ZACH HEARD the general hum and buzz of the hospital and the conversations going on around him as if from a great distance. He focused on the four most important people in his life right now, all walking ahead of him. His parents and Michelle’s.
The rest of the sterile world passed by in slow motion. With the single exception of their escort, a young coroner. The lieutenant wore no rank on his green scrubs, but had introduced himself upon their arrival at the Bethesda Naval Hospital a few minutes earlier.
Zach had managed little more than a fitful nap in the admiral’s private jet. His father, a retired captain, wore his khaki uniform. As did Zach. The polyester knit traveled better than he did, so at least he didn’t think he looked as wrung out as he felt.
He wasn’t up to the task that lay ahead.
<
br /> Since their arrival, Zach had avoided direct contact with the Danns. With his parents around that was easy enough.
Maybe the Danns didn’t blame him.
But he blamed himself.
He felt awkward with Michelle’s parents now and didn’t imagine it would get easier. He just wished it didn’t have to be this way. There was so much he wanted to say to his godparents. Beginning with, “I’m sorry.”
Admiral Dann had dressed up for the somber occasion, an intimidating picture in his “choker whites” with all that gold braid and row upon row of service ribbons. Few would even notice how heavily he leaned on his walking stick. Zach noticed.
They reached the morgue and the coroner began cataloging the injuries. “The body’s remarkably well preserved, considering,” he explained. “Female, mid-to late-twenties. Severe trauma. Burns over twenty-five percent…”
Zach couldn’t bear to hear another word. Michelle wasn’t just another toe-tagged corpse in a body bag. To him she was far more than the sum of her injuries and always would be. He stopped at a beverage vending machine and fed it quarters in an effort to regain his bearing. He punched the button for coffee, black. But the damn cup didn’t come down. And the coffee poured through the drain.
As inappropriate as it was, he almost laughed out loud. What fickle finger of fate had brought him to this point in time? God, he missed her.
Resting his arm atop the machine and his forehead against it, he turned his head and stared down the passageway. His father and the admiral entered the viewing room with the doctor. He could see them through the open curtains of the framed window. A blue bark, or coffin escort, had traveled with the deceased body from the Middle East and stood at parade rest beside the door. His mother and Michelle’s had remained outside.
“I can’t go in there,” Augusta Dann said in her soft German accent. “I can’t.” With trembling hands she clutched the royal-blue teddy bear Zach had won for Michelle years ago when they’d gone to see the Blue Angels’ air show at the base.
Augusta Dann looked small and vulnerable even though she towered over his own mother, who began to croon soothingly to her. In fact, from this distance, Augusta looked just the way Michelle had after he’d spent twenty bucks exercising his pitching arm to win her that stuffed animal.
Michelle had clutched it to her as if it was the most precious thing in the world. And she’d looked at him as if he’d managed the impossible.
“Look, his fur matches your eyes.” She’d held the furry toy up next to his face.
“How’d you know it’s a he? Did you check?” Zach snagged the bear from her and checked its underbelly. He got a kick out of holding it out of her reach when she tried to get it back. What she didn’t realize was how much all that wrestling for the bear turned him on.
“Zach, you perv.” She finally managed to grab the bear from him.
“I’m not a pervert.” Just seventeen. And horny. “Hey. A minute ago you were all over me with gratitude.”
She toyed with the bear’s goggles and silk scarf. “Well, that was before you opened your big mouth. Maybe you should just keep it shut for a change.”
He pretended to zip his mouth closed.
“There’s your brother and sister. They’re probably looking for us.” Michelle waved to his siblings. “Tabby, Bowie—”
Zach dragged her behind the row of tented game booths along the open-air arcade.
“Zach—” she protested.
“Shh. I don’t want them to see us.”
“Well, why not?”
He stood there looking down at her. Her back pressed against the striped canvas. His body pressed against hers. He didn’t really have a reason. And all he could think of to say was “Because…”
Zach leaned in and kissed her, a tentative touch of his lips to hers. After several skipped heartbeats he pulled back to look into her eyes.
Soft and round.
Like her young body. Her breasts rose and fell against his chest. He could hear her breathing, feel it fan his face and mingle with his own.
“I don’t think I’m going to be able to keep my mouth shut,” he said, and leaned in again just as she opened hers to object. He sealed her protest, letting his tongue explore.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, bear dangling from her hand. Her body melded to his, all soft curves pressed against hard angles. Then her tongue touched his, and the ache in his groin became exquisite torture.
He wanted to go on kissing her this way forever.
Finally he either had to come up for air or quit breathing altogether. He chose oxygen. And got a good look at her flushed face.
He cocked a grin.
“Michelle Dann. Was that your first French kiss?” he teased.
She blushed a deep shade of crimson, and her eyes searched his. “Was I your…?”
She couldn’t even say it. She was the geek. And he was the jock about to start his senior year of high school. As an All-Varsity Junior, he’d lettered in three sports the previous school year. Cheerleaders with perky breasts worshiped him. Girls of all shapes and sizes wanted him.
And he didn’t know how to tell her that a make-out session with anyone else wouldn’t mean as much as one of their late-night chats, no matter what the subject, physics or poetry. Because she lived in Virginia and he lived in Florida, most of those conversations took place on the phone.
Except in the summer. When their families got together and he could spend time with her.
So he did what any self-respecting seventeen-year-old boy would do. “No,” he lied. “I’ve kissed lots of girls.”
She pushed away from the tent canvas, looking suddenly vulnerable as she wrapped her arms around that bear, instead of him….
“Smooth move, hotshot,” Zach pounded his fist against the hospital vending machine.
“Oh, that machine does that all the time,” a hospital corpsman said in passing. “There’s coffee in the cafeteria.”
Zach’s head whipped up. He snorted a laugh, the sound releasing his mounting tension. Then he instantly sobered. Because there was nothing funny about this situation.
He looked down that long stretch of corridor.
I can’t. I can’t.
Mrs. Dann’s words echoed in his head.
But at last he mustered the courage to move down the hall. He knew what he had to do.
And that was see Michelle just one last time.
The marine posted by the door snapped to attention. Zach passed the escort, gathering all his reserves in one breath before entering the viewing room.
The cold caught him off guard. And the smells. Of antiseptic mingled with the stench of rotting flesh.
He brought up a hand to cover his nose and mouth.
The coroner hovered over the draped body. His father and the admiral stood off to the side.
“I don’t want to see her this way,” Admiral Dann admitted, shaking his head. “God, I hadn’t even seen my own daughter in a year. The last time I talked to her it was to lecture.”
The strain in the admiral’s voice was hard to take. In his entire life Zach had never seen the man fall apart. Without a word to the others in the room Zach walked over to the gurney and reached for the green sheet draping the body.
The coroner offered him a surgical mask. “I should warn you, the face is an exit wound for a hollow-point bullet. It’s not a pretty sight.”
“Bullet?” Zach repeated. “Not an explosion?”
The punch to the gut feeling left him reeling.
“Point blank,” the coroner started by answering his first question. “Self-inflicted, maybe, judging from the powder burns to her hands, though she could also have struggled with her executioner. We’re going to have a tough time matching what remain of the teeth with dental records.”
The doctor went on to explain his observations.
But Zach had heard enough. He pulled back the drape to see for himself. Holding his breath, he counted the beats of his hea
rt. One, one thousand. Two, two thousand.
His gaze swept the faceless corpse from singed brown hair to toe tag. Her skin was gray, pasty, and mottled by bruised and burned flesh.
Cold to the touch, he noted, stroking her arm. He couldn’t begin to describe the feeling of relief.
“Skeeter Daniels. Lieutenant Junior Grade Sara Daniels,” Zach said. And the last time he’d seen her, those small breasts had been cupped in ivory lace. “Michelle’s RIO. She’s from Newport, Virginia. Both her parents and her kid brother still live there. I think.”
He stared at the body a moment longer, trying to reconcile the corpse with the way he remembered her. She’d earned the tag Skeeter shooting skeet with her father. At target practice, she could outgun any sailor on board the Enterprise and a few marines to boot.
All the bits and pieces Michelle had shared with him about Skeeter over the months during their deployment fell into place. But he’d never really taken the time to know Sara, and now he’d never get the chance.
Guilt warred with relief. This body wasn’t Michelle’s. But Skeeter never should have died under his command. And she had family who would mourn her passing.
“The bruises?” he asked. They looked similar to ones he’d recently suffered.
“Ejection harness,” the coroner replied, confirming his suspicions. “Broken back. Severe internal injuries. A severed spinal cord.”
A loose or improperly fit cinch.
Eject! Eject, dammit!
Zach hadn’t seen much of anything except red after the tail of Michelle’s plane burst into flames.
They’d heard the sonic boom when the jet hit the mountain, saw the flames. And kept a lookout for the chutes…
“Tell me they ejected!” he’d demanded of his RIO, willing his words to make it happen. His head snapped from one direction to another, trying to angle for a better look. “Tower, we’re engaged! Tomcat down. Repeat, Tomcat Two down.”
“Get your ass out of there, hotshot.”
“No chutes!” Steve confirmed the worst.
“Dammit! Keep looking.”
“We’ve got MiGs at two and six o’clock.” Steve worked diligently as his extra pair of eyes.
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