Call of Duty [Class of '93 Trilogy Book 3]

by Felicia Forella

  Hell, only a complete moron would get involved with a general's daughter. A complete moron or former helicopter pilot Braedon Powell. His close friend from the Academy had the shit-ass luck to fuck a general's daughter—or was it a colonel's daughter, not that it mattered—and wound up on the out side of the “up or out” promotion policy because of it. Not how Chad wanted to end his military career.

  He ran his finger around the neck of his t-shirt. Was it his imagination or did the room get hotter by the minute? Maybe it was because the walls were closing in on him.

  He pushed to his feet and sulked to the window, in desperate need of fresh air. A few deep breaths later and he felt reasonably prepared to face the executioner.

  He had to make sure he heard the request correctly, if anything said by a CO qualified as a request, no matter how polite the phrasing. “You want me to spy on your daughter, sir?"

  "Not spy, exactly.” An indecipherable grimace flashed across the general's face. “Befriending her is more what I had in mind."

  "Sir, I'm not sure—"

  "Sit back down, Major. It's a long story."

  He glanced behind him for the nearest chair to park his butt in. He crossed one booted foot over the knee of the other leg, gripping his boot as he attempted to make himself comfortable. He held himself ramrod straight. A bead of sweat dripped from the hairline at the back of his neck and rolled down his spine.

  "Sir, before you go any further, I need to let you know that I have already met your daughter.” His mother always told him honesty was the best policy. Within limits in this case, to be sure.

  "I should have known you'd put in some time at The Cockpit already.” General Covington knew him too well after all the time they'd spent together. Chad tried to decide if the comment was meant to slam him or not.

  "There is that, sir.” Never one to pass up the opportunity to keep his mouth shut, he kept their meetings outside of the bar to himself. The general would probably court-martial him for nearly mowing down his grandson. It definitely didn't qualify as a career building move, that was for sure.

  General Covington rounded his desk and perched on the chair next to him. Chad found himself much more interested in Casey's history then he knew he should be, especially given the situation. Sitting next to her father should have squashed any and all interest in her.

  But it hadn't, not really.

  Casey's life had not been an easy one for the past couple of years. Her husband left her for another woman six months after their transfer to Nellis. Fortunately, the general PCSd to the base shortly after they had, so Casey was able to remain in the apartment she and the idiot had rented and didn't have to be alone. Shortly after the disastrous end of her marriage, her mother succumbed to breast cancer after an eight-year battle. Now on top of everything else, items kept disappearing from her apartment. The police found no signs of foul play when they'd investigated two days prior, and chalked it up to stress and forgetfulness. Her father wasn't so convinced.

  That's where Chad came into the picture. Someone needed to keep an eye on Casey. Be her friend, keep her safe. She'd made it abundantly clear at her apartment that her father wasn't welcome in that role. He couldn't just sit by and watch from the sidelines.

  "I overheard you talking about the apartment you're renting this morning. When I realized it's around the corner from Casey's, I knew you'd be perfect. If the military and the US government can trust you, then so can I."

  Biting the inside of his cheek kept him from groaning, but barely. “Sir, I don't think—"

  "That's why I'm doing the thinking right now, Major. And it's perfect. Especially since you two have already met. We don't have to contrive something. You just have to get in her good graces."

  How on earth did he fall into this pile of crap? He had to do it. The plain and simple truth stared him in the face. Saying no was not an option. Even if it did mean spending more time with Casey and living with a constant erection. At least the hard-on had an easy solution—think of what the general would do if he ever found out about it. “Do you want me to report back to you on a regular basis or anything, sir?” Might as well jump feet first into the quicksand since trying to tiptoe around it wasn't an option.

  The general shook his head. “Needless to say, this situation requires your utmost discretion. My daughter and my grandson are all I have left, Major. Something stinks to high heaven. They need a protector of sorts to make sure none of the stench wafting off of this whole mess sticks to them. Someone who won't hurt her. I'm more than certain you're up to the task.” He read the general's meaning loud and clear in his eyes.

  He nodded once before he pulled to his feet. “Is that all, sir?” In response to the affirmative gesture, he saluted and turned on a booted heel. Time to shower and get drunk.

  "Keep an eye out for the SOB.” He scarcely heard the comment over the thud of his boots.

  "Sir?” His hand quivered above the doorknob.

  With a resigned sigh, the general admitted that his gut instincts told him his ex-son-in-law figured into the equation somehow. Sadness tinged with anger reflected in his eyes. “Brian Wilkes. I just wish I could say I never liked the man. But he's an Academy graduate.” As if that explained everything. “I didn't want Casey to marry so young, but I didn't object to her choice in a husband."

  Damn, that sucked. “Do I know him, sir?"

  "I doubt it. He graduated in 1999. Until recently, he was a Viper pilot.” The F-16 Falcon was the fighter used by the Thunderbirds demonstration squadron. “So you wouldn't have been stationed together."

  Thank goodness for some small mercy. He wanted to ask what the sorry shit was doing now, just to remind himself of the power a general wielded. He had no doubt General Covington was behind the reason Brian Wilkes “used to fly."

  "If it does turn out to be him, don't let that SOB hurt my little girl any more than he already has."

  Chad knew a dismissal when he heard one. Clomping down the hall to the life support room to finally strip out of the anti-g suit and change into civvies for the trip back to the hotel, thoughts swirled through his mind. The last thing he wanted to do was to take on responsibility for anyone but himself. His last foray into the realm of responsibility turned out to be an unmitigated disaster. Besides, he wasn't in a position to take on anything additional, not with Luz in the area. Yet there was no way to refuse the “request” from his CO, one who knew the nature of his position.

  He'd just have to do his best with the time he had. The weight of the task settled like an unwelcome mantle as he strode from the building and into the rapidly deepening dusk. Running through options and a battle plan, he made a decision. The first order of business for the evening now involved learning more information about Casey's husband. Rebel stood out as the most logical person to pump for information. He had been assigned to the training wing for over two years. Being an incorrigible gossip and as bad as a damn woman, he was the odds on favorite to know about Brian Wilkes even if he didn't know the man personally.

  Taking a not-so-very-big chance that his friend would be home with his wife, he hopped into his Corvette, cranked the top down, and headed in the direction of base housing. From the flight line, his path to Rebel's home took him directly past the house he'd hoped to share with Brenda if he managed to get transferred to Nellis.

  The guilt of failed responsibility washed over him as he drove past the turn that led to the single-family house. How different would life be if he had a wife and child to care for? Among other considerations, he knew categorically that he wouldn't have been tapped for his mission with the Air Force Security Agency. They'd chosen him for the dangerous assignment precisely because he had nothing to lose, no dependents to leave behind if things went horribly wrong.

  Would he and Brenda have been able to make their marriage work? Would they have been happy? Doubt raised its ugly head once again, doubts he'd had since the moment Brenda told him she was pregnant. Unfortunately, Brenda probably would not ha
ve been happy being the wife of a fighter pilot when what she wanted was to be the wife of a business executive. She'd hoped that trapping him into marrying her would translate into him leaving the Air Force and joining the family business to fill the executive vice president spot left vacant and waiting for his return. To this day, he had no idea how she'd learned about his family's business. She didn't understand that he would never be happy being anything but a jet jockey. Divorce would have been inevitable. Not a happy prospect.

  Moving forward and trying to block out the ghosts of the past, he worked his way across the base until he pulled into the driveway behind a late model minivan. He didn't notice Rebel's SUV until he parked his own car and was halfway to the front door.

  "Oh, Chad. It's so good to see you.” The door swung open almost as soon as he knocked on it. Kelli's bright smile soothed Chad's nerves. “Rob didn't tell me you were coming for dinner."

  "That's because he didn't know I was stopping by. I hope you don't mind.” He clasped her outstretched hands in his, leaning forward to brush his lips across her soft cheek.

  The smells of home overwhelmed his senses. An aroma suspiciously like pot roast wafted from the kitchen. His mind wandered to what it would be like to have dinner waiting when he got home. To what it would be like to have someone waiting at home even if she couldn't cook.

  Her small hand squeezed his, the gesture warming his heart. “Then I hope you plan to stay for dinner. It's almost ready."

  "My timing always was impeccable.” He grinned as he waggled his eyebrows. Rebel had certainly landed himself a beautiful wife. “Thank you for the invitation."

  "Rob always says I cook too much, and besides, I enjoy your company."

  "Did I hear a knock on the door?"

  Chad bit back a laugh as his friend entered the living room in a pair of sweatpants style shorts and nothing else.

  "Sheesh, buddy, took you long enough to get out here and check on your wife."

  "Maybe I was in the bedroom.” Rebel flashed him a wicked grin.

  Holding up both hands, he gestured for the man to stop. “Please don't tell me I interrupted something. It's not fair, considering I haven't go—I've been celibate for over a month."

  "Hey, that Latina babe was all over you last night. It's your own fault you went home to an empty bed.” Rebel tucked his arm around his wife's shoulders and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. The move struck Chad as saying, But I sure didn't.

  "She wasn't my type."

  "Not your type, my ass. She had—” A swift elbow to the solar plexus cut short the thought. Kelli's angelic smile directly contrasted with her doubled-over husband sucking in air.

  Chad watched the banter with a jaded eye. What would it be like to share such a tight bond with a woman? His relationship with Brenda had been strained at best from the very beginning. The only thing they'd had in common had been hot and heavy sex. Conversations were kept to a minimum and playfulness never entered into the equation, even before she began to nag about their future.

  "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry.” Her every word dripped with sarcasm. “Did I hurt you?” She patted her husband's stomach.

  "No, dear.” Rebel groaned as he straightened. “Your arm must have slipped.” He countered her sarcasm with his own.

  More than a hint of jealousy clouded his mind as he observed the couple. He doubted he'd ever find a woman who would make him want to risk the marital noose again.

  "I'm so glad to hear that.” Her voice rang with saccharine sweet insincerity. “Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I need to go finish dinner. Make yourself comfortable, Chad. I'm not letting you go back to that lonely old apartment without a hot meal."

  "Better listen to her, man.” Rebel watched his wife head for the kitchen, clearly admiring the view. “She's a force to be reckoned with.” He rubbed at his stomach for emphasis.

  Following his friend into the living room, Chad decided to cut to the chase and get down to business. “I'll take you up on the offer, but I really came by to ask a couple of questions, not to mooch a home-cooked meal. I need to know what you do about a jock named Brian Wilkes.” The two men seated themselves at opposite ends of the couch.

  "I knew it. I just knew it. You're interested in his old lady, aren't you? You paid way more attention to the action behind the bar than anywhere else last night."

  Damn. Was I really that obvious? Time to brush up on the poker face. Chad simply shrugged his shoulders. “So you know him?"

  "A real weak-dick if you ask anyone unfortunate enough to know him.” Chad grimaced at the reference to the man's piss-poor flying ability. “I'm not sure how he even got through the Academy. Makes the rest of us look bad, if you ask me."

  Rebel continued to delineate the less than stellar record of Captain Wilkes. Rumor had it the man would be sacked if he didn't make the grade, get promoted to major, and make it soon. The Air Force would force him to leave due to poor performance, what was euphemistically called RIFd, a reduction in force, when his next reenlistment came around. He left Nellis a little over a year earlier when he shacked up with a woman he met while TDY, leaving his wife and young son high and dry. Rumor had it General Covington pushed through some paperwork detrimental to his former son-in-law's career.

  "You do know that Casey is the general's daughter, don't you?” Rebel accepted the nod and didn't press further. “Well, the general had him shipped off to only-God-knows-where to cool his heels after that. Can you imagine crossing a general, any general?” His voice dripped with incredulity. “He'll be thanking every god he can think of if he ever sees the inside of a fighter again."

  Chad just shook his head. He'd been accused of way too many stupid things in his life, but pissing off a commanding officer wasn't on the list. And wouldn't be either. First Braedon and now this Wilkes asshole. Two shining examples of how not to conduct a career. Both men needed to remain front and center in his thoughts every time he got near Casey.

  "Do you think he's dangerous?” He hoped the comment sounded nonchalant.

  "Wilkes?” Rebel snorted. “Nah, he's too much of a wimp to go after anyone. If I were you, I'd be worrying about the general. Rumor has it he keeps a cigar box on his desk full of the family jewels from guys he caught making eyes at his daughter.” Rebel laughed at his own humor.

  "I'll keep that in mind. Oh, and, Rebel, it goes without saying that this stays between us.” He received a thumbs-up affirmative.

  Kelli chose that moment to stick her head out of the kitchen and announce dinner. He wondered if the perfect timing was a coincidence or if she had been listening for the opening. Either way he decided not to worry. He had more important things to worry about. Like keeping his family jewels attached to his body.

  * * * *

  Ahh, Friday.

  Casey smiled broadly as she clipped down the hospital corridor. Why did everything seem so much better on a Friday? It didn't matter that she usually worked at least one day of the weekend. Nope, it just mattered that it was Friday. Nothing more had turned up missing in the past couple of days, Jackson continued to thrive in preschool, and the hospital had just given her the go-ahead to form a breast cancer survivor's group. All in all, great reasons to have a great day.

  Most importantly, her ever-present-delectable-pain-in-the-butt had not frequented The Cockpit since Monday. Not that she searched him out in the crowd, not at all. Not that she missed his smile and infectious laugh, not at all. Her psyche fared much better without his commanding presence. Her hormones moped and grieved every night she went home without so much as a glimpse of the far too handsome major. Despite their opinion to the contrary, her overactive hormones did not run the show—her common sense did. Maybe she'd believe that line of bullhooey if she kept repeating it often enough.

  Her light footsteps echoed in the quiet halls as she covered the short distance from the cancer center to her office. Stopping in front of her supply-closet-turned office, she pushed open the door. It might not be much, but it was c
ertainly more than some of the hospital volunteers could claim. She thrived on her volunteer job at the hospital. The Cockpit paid the bills, but helping out at the hospital filled a void she hadn't even known needed filling until she saw the ad in the base paper.

  "Hello, Casey."

  She'd know that voice anywhere. Struggling to stand on now shaking knees, she assumed what she hoped was a nonchalant pose. What the hell was the one man she never wanted to see again doing sitting behind her desk, in her chair, in her office? She paid a lawyer hard-earned money to deal with the jerk. She inhaled deeply and held it as she counted to ten, before exhaling softly. And counted to ten again. She edged her way to the chair in front of the desk, closing the door behind her. Preventing the hospital staff from learning the intimate details of her personal business took priority over being enclosed in a small room with her ex.

  "Hello, Brian. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Yes. Her voice sounded calm and steady even to her own hypercritical ears. She fanned herself with the folder she held as she propped on the edge of the chair. Her heel pistoned rapidly up and down, jostling the edge of her long skirt.

  "We have some matters to clear up so this divorce can be finalized.” Had he always sounded like a whiny child? Once upon a time, his voice had been a source of excitement, of comfort. She'd waited for the phone to ring whenever he'd been TDY, happy just to hear the sound of his voice.

  "I've given you everything you've asked for in the divorce, Brian. I couldn't have made this any easier for you and your new girlfriend if I tried.” Cotton balls wedged themselves in her mouth, making speech difficult. She needed a water bottle. The sheer unmitigated gall shown by the man in front of her knew no bounds. He managed to find a new ways to tromp all over her heart when she had been nothing but cooperative. After all, what was the point of holding on to a man—and she used the term loosely—who made it clear that he wanted out. She wasn't a masochist.