by Ross, JoAnn
Julianne caved. “That did it.” A thought occurred to her. “Reservations must be hard to get there. You didn’t hack in and steal anyone’s suite out from under them, did you?”
“Would I do that?”
Her gaze didn’t waver.
“Okay,” he allowed. “Maybe I just might. Under the right circumstances. But as it turns out, I didn’t have to. Because the suite is only available for one day. Obviously it was meant to be.”
Since she’d be sharing a head for tomorrow morning’s shower with at least a dozen other women, the idea of a soaking tub—with a view of the Pacific—sounded like heaven.
Even more special was the idea that she wouldn’t be soaking in that tub alone.
49
She hadn’t slept well. Dallas could see it in the shadows beneath her eyes. Not that he could blame her. If he hadn’t learned the ability to take a combat nap anywhere, at any time, he sure as hell would’ve been kept awake by the constant noise. Even without the planes flying, a carrier was never quiet.
And being jolted out of a hot dream involving Juls in that oversize sea-view tub by the not-so-dulcet tones of the boatswain’s mate at the uncivilized hour of zero-six-hundred was, in his opinion, no damn way to start the day.
Yep. Dallas figured he’d last a week aboard a carrier. A week tops. As it was, if he didn’t have Juls to distract him, he might be getting real edgy about now.
Not that he wasn’t already edgy. Edgy for the carrier to dock so they could get to that pink hotel.
Anticipation, he told himself, as they were finally granted an audience with pilot skipper Captain Mike Campbell, could be painful.
It was obvious the captain wasn’t all that eager to see them. He was sprawled in a chair in the aviator’s ready room, definitely looking like the top gun he’d proven himself to be in his green Nomex flight suit.
“Let’s just get it over with,” he said without preamble when they entered. “But, for the record, no way would I have screwed any of my flight crew. Let alone a junior officer. Getting written up on a sexual harassment charge wouldn’t do a hell of a lot for my chances of making carrier skipper.”
Dallas wondered if that was every pilot’s dream. Or just the ones who flew on flattops.
“Did you know the LT had that same goal?” Julianne asked.
“Sure. Everyone in the place knew it. Another reason, along with the fact that I love my wife, and I’ve got a kid I haven’t even seen except on a computer screen, that I wouldn’t have gotten near her. She was a good pilot. Maybe the best I’ve ever seen at her level of experience. But she was a user. And no guy wants to feel used, right?” he asked Dallas.
“I don’t know.” Dallas shot Julianne a look. “I guess it all depends on the female doing the using.”
The pilot laughed at that, and the air in the room became less tense. Then his eyes narrowed. “I know you. You were Air Force, right? A CCT.”
“That’s me.”
“I was in Afghanistan right after 9/11. It was fucking amazing the way you managed to juggle all that aircraft during combat.”
“It’s a lot like a video game.” Dallas shrugged off the compliment. “Though the planes are life-size.”
“And real lives are at stake.”
“All the more reason to win the game.”
The pilot held out a hand. “Thanks for getting me home safe. My wife thanks you, too.”
“Just doing my job. Like you did when you landed last night in that storm.”
“Saw that, did you?”
“I think anyone who could get to a place where they could watch the deck saw that trap,” he said. “Talk about fucking amazing.”
“You’re both great,” Julianne said with a touch of impatience. “My admiration knows no bounds. Now, if you don’t mind, since this boat’s going to dock in just a couple hours, I’d really like to get a few questions in. If you’re done with the male-warrior-bonding thing.”
The pilot shot Dallas a look. “Is she always this impatient?”
“She’s efficient,” Dallas corrected. “But although we’ve been working together only a couple days, I have the feeling that she can learn to slow down a bit. With the right motivation.”
The pilot laughed again. Julianne, on the other hand, did not appear amused.
“You said that Lieutenant Murphy was the best pilot you’d seen.”
“At her level. Yeah. There are guys who’ve done more tours, got more experience, but she was a natural.”
“Are you saying the LSO shouldn’t have waved her off?”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying.” He winced a little. “I knew there’d be an investigation as soon as I heard about her committing suicide. Which I now hear you two think was murder.”
“We don’t have an autopsy yet. But yes, we have evidence pointing to that.”
“Well, that’s going to cause the shit to hit the fan.”
“Something we’re trying to avoid happening,” Dallas said. “The goal is to wrap it up real quick.”
“Good luck with that. And I’m not going to be much help. But I can tell you that the LSO behaved appropriately. She was off her game that night.
“Since she’d already done enough traps to stay current on quals, I was planning to pull her from the sked for a day or so. Talk to her, see what was distracting her. Maybe send her to the shrink. Because no way was I going to risk lives—including her own—just because she didn’t have her head on straight.”
“Maybe you didn’t sleep with her,” Julianne said. “But you were her superior officer. Her mentor. Did you talk about things other than her flying?”
“On occasion. But she wasn’t real chatty, like some women. No offense, ma’am,” he said to Julianne.
“None taken.”
“What I meant was, Lieutenant Ford’s all the time talking about her big plans to fly jets to Japan and Europe. Hang out in the bars, live the good life, make a lot of bucks. Which, good luck with that, given how many pilots are getting out of the military at the same time airlines are cutting back.
“But in her own way, she’s as focused and determined as Mav was, so she might actually make it. She’s a good aviator, as well. Not as good as Mav. But better than most. I’d feel safe with my family flying with her.”
He smiled again at the mention of his family. Not a flashy, show-off smile, but one that came from inside, making Dallas decide he was probably telling the truth about not having had sex with the murdered pilot.
“So you wouldn’t know if Lieutenant Muprhy and the LSO were lovers?”
“I heard gossip. But only after she died.”
That was something they hadn’t heard before.
“Not before?” Julianne asked, jumping on the statement.
“No.”
“You’re sure?” she pressed.
“Absolutely. Aviators are competitive by nature, and you’re going to get conflicts. If I even suspected two of my pilots were shacking up, you can bet I would’ve dealt with it.”
“Do you remember who told you?”
He rubbed his chin. “There was a lot going on. And I was flying when she was found, so I got all the info secondhand. But maybe Ford?” He shrugged. “Sorry. You always, in the back of your mind, accept the possibility of one of your teammates dying. But suicide . . . well, shit.
“That sucks. And I was too busy trying to look back and think what I could’ve done to prevent it. And yeah, because, like I said, we’re a competitive bunch, I was also thinking about what this incident might do to my record. Because, when it comes to assigning CV slots, the command types going over service records make those scientists studying the Shroud of Turin look like skylarkers.”
“Slackers,” Julianne translated for Dallas.
When the pilot made it clear that he had no further information to share, after taking the obligatory, but probably not incriminating DNA swab, Julianne and Dallas left the ready room.
“Another dead end,”
she complained.
“Not entirely. It’s the first time we learned that the rumor might not have started until after her body was found.”
“Meaning that it could have been begun by the killer. To deflect suspicion from himself.”
“Or herself.”
“Or herself,” Julianne agreed with a lack of enthusiasm that suggested she wasn’t buying Lieutenant Harley Ford as the murderer.
“Well, for now, we’ll collect the rest of our swabs,” he said. “Send them off to the lab guys when we get to Pearl. Then take a few hours’ R and R before coming back on this tin can.”
“Spoken like a man who hasn’t exactly embraced the carrier lifestyle,” Julianne said dryly.
Dallas couldn’t argue.
Until two hours later, as they stood on the deck, along with the sailors standing at attention at the rail, hands clasped behind their backs, watching Diamond Head come into view.
The huge carrier, so at home in the open ocean, seemed out of place in this tourist land of pearly beaches, Mai Tais, and grass skirts.
Then, as the tugs came out to escort it into the harbor, as the screws of the O’Halloran churned up the mud in the shallower channel, they passed the USS Arizona Memorial.
And that was when it struck home. Perhaps these sailors hadn’t made the ultimate sacrifice, as had those still entombed beneath the memorial. But, like every other soldier, sailor, or Marine, they sacrificed their sleep, their personal lives, and yes, in many cases, their youth for something much larger than themselves.
“Okay,” Dallas leaned over and murmured in Julianne’s ear. “I get it.”
50
They weren’t going to give up. The pair were relentless, marching around the boat as if they owned it, interfering with work, asking their damn endless questions over and over again, as if they figured if they just repeated themselves one more time, the killer would slip and accidentally incriminate himself.
Or crack from the verbal torture and confess.
Like that was going to happen.
Maybe, he thought, as he watched them get into a taxi after disembarking, they’d get so caught up in screwing each other’s brains out, they’d miss the ship’s departure.
Of course, then they’d probably just call in the Marines to fly them out so they could begin pestering everyone again.
He’d considered killing her. There’d been a moment, when she’d been coming back from the telephone without her omnipresent guard dog, that he’d considered taking the risk.
But even if she weren’t the daughter of an admiral, which would undoubtedly generate an immediate and even more intense investigation, he’d seen the way the flyboy looked at her.
If anything happened to the former JAG officer, he’d turn relentless, not giving up until he’d gotten his man.
Which logically meant that he had to go, as well.
The problem with that was, the more the bodies piled up, the more likely it was that another domino would fall. He’d managed to shore up the operation after that commander had blown his brains out, but he could tell that others, with less cojones, were starting to get nervous.
Sometimes, when you were in a battle, nerves could be a good thing. Kept you sharp.
In this case, they could be deadly.
He’d have to think of something. Because he was in too deep. If he got caught now, he’d be lucky to get life without parole.
The one advantage he had was that while the flyboy obviously had a high enough IQ, he was currently distracted. And would be for at least the next three hours.
With that window in mind, he flipped open his cell and placed a call to the States.
It was time, he decided, to try a new tactic.
It was, admittedly, the riskiest yet.
Then again, he reminded himself, the higher the risk, the greater the reward.
51
Julianne was only vaguely aware of the drive from the port to the hotel, which, as she’d remembered, was the gleaming pink crown jewel in the necklace of luxury hotels linked together along the sands of Waikiki Beach.
Somehow Dallas had arranged for VIP check-in, which had them bypassing regular check-in and being escorted directly to their suite.
She was vaguely aware of being greeted by flashes of red and yellow, fire and sun colors as bold and hot as she felt as they walked into the magnificent suite. Outside the double doors leading to a huge lanai was a breath-taking view of Diamond Head crater, the beach, and the sparkling Pacific Ocean from which they’d just come.
But Julianne hadn’t come to this fabulous hotel for the view.
The moment they were alone, they fell into each other’s arms, kissing with a breathless lust that surprised Julianne. She was experienced. She’d enjoyed sex just like any other typical thirty-something woman. But there was nothing typical about the way this man made her feel.
Perhaps that was because there was nothing typical about Dallas O’Halloran.
The journey to the bedroom and the promised tub was too far, their hunger for each other too overpowering.
When Dallas pulled her to the floor in one rough move, Julianne did not object. In fact, as her hands fisted in his hair and her avid mouth met his, she wasn’t even sure which of them had dragged the other to the floor.
There were no words. No soft lovers’ sighs. Only blurred movement, drugged sensations, mind-blinding passion.
As he yanked up her khaki skirt, Julianne heard the sound of her admittedly unsexy panty hose ripping, and welcomed it. It had been too long since she’d had a man’s hands on her.
A man inside her.
In turn, she yanked down the zipper on his pants, released his straining erection, and, in what distant part of her brain was still working, marveled at the heat that seemed to scorch her fingers as they curved around his length.
They made love without undressing, a fierce, feverish love tinged with animal lust. After he’d ripped the condom packet, which he must’ve gotten on the ship, open with his teeth, Julianne took it from him, and felt him tremble as she rolled it over the dark, moist tip.
Once sheathed, he parted her legs with his palms; then, with the solid, muscular weight of him pressing her down, he rammed into her, long strokes, plunging deep and hard.
She bowed up to meet him, her rhythm matching his, her juices flowing hotly in response to his thrusts. When she came—too quickly—in a series of wet, violent shudders, she cried out—not in pain, but in sheer, surprised joy.
As her greedy body clutched at him, milked him, she felt Dallas stiffen. And as he surrendered the last vestige of his control, she came again, losing herself in him. Even as he lost himself to her.
52
Merry Draper was starving.
All right, technically, since she’d eaten only two hours ago, she couldn’t actually be starving. But try telling that to the tadpoles, who were currently working out their gymnastics routines while screaming that if they didn’t get a Taco Supreme—right now!—they were going to continue to kick her belly until they broke their way out and cartwheeled themselves to the fast-food place on their own.
Along with being hungry, she was also sweating. Her body, which ran hotter since she’d gotten pregnant, felt like a furnace inside.
And if all that weren’t bad enough, she was so exhausted it had been an effort to get out of her nightie and into shorts for this trip to the restaurant’s take-out window.
The Santa Anas had blown in from the desert, and the wail of the wind was unending. Like lost souls howling outside her apartment, trying to get in.
Gusts had tree branches scraping against her second-floor bedroom window, and the constant clink, clink, clink of the shredded canvas gazebo that had covered a small patio area next to the apartment pool sounded like someone trying to break in, which, although she’d turned on every light in the place, had kept her—and the babies—continually jumping all night.
She’d always been a clean freak. Probably due to having g
rown up with an admiral who ran daily bed checks whenever he was at home. But her feeling bulky and exhausted, combined with that edgy sensation that always got under her skin when the wind began blowing, like lightning dancing on her nerve ends, left her unable to keep up with the gritty dust that spread over the tables, kitchen counters, and floors.
Appreciating Tom even more now that he was away—at least she wouldn’t have had to worry about insane, knife-wielding psychos breaking in during the night if her Marine had been lying beside her in their queen-sized bed—she’d waited her turn at the drive-through, and had just had her order passed through the window when a bearded cretin in the BMW behind her leaned on his horn.
Maybe he was just freaked out like everyone else by the winds. Or maybe he was an asshole all the time.
Whatever, not wanting to risk his slamming into the back of the used minivan she and Tom had bought when she’d learned she was pregnant, trying to juggle the chocolate milk shake and the white bag while the tadpoles kicked to beat the band, Merry managed to move out of the drive-through lane.
On top of her already jangled Santa Anas nerves, the brief almost-confrontation had proven ridiculously upsetting. Hormones, Merry assured herself as she pulled into traffic. As much as she was looking forward to her babies’ arrival, she was also looking forward to getting her emotional equilibrium back.
Even after several deep breaths, which were meant to calm, but didn’t, as she pulled into her assigned parking space at the apartment building, Merry failed to notice the black Town Car idling at the curb.
53
Although they’d practically had to crawl to get there, Dallas and Julianne finally made it to the view. It was even more spectacular than the online description had promised.
Then finally to the bed, where, after some exquisitely slow lovemaking that had Dallas forgetting every other woman he’d ever been with, Juls had drifted off.
Deciding she could use a nap, he’d gone into the living room of the suite and begun making up some equations on his laptop.