Under Fire: The Admiral

by Beyond the Page Publishing

  He scooted closer and bumped her with his shoulder. “You have a thing about protecting me.”

  “Yeah, I do.” She tried to move away but the branches weighed the cover down and she had no place to go. “I’m responsible for you. It’s my job to get you back. I don’t like the thought of not doing my job.”

  “Ahh. Here I thought it was because you liked me.”

  She said nothing.

  “I’m a big boy. You don’t need to be so protective,” he said, losing the humor in his voice.

  “You ever lose a patient, Doc?” she said, serious as a heart attack. “I mean one that you went over the circumstances dozens of times thinking what you could have done differently to save them.” She turned her head and watched him intently. The green light gave her eyes an intense, feral quality. “One that caused you to change how you made decisions.”

  “Yeah,” he said cautiously, wondering where this was going.

  “And you know that sickening feeling that you missed something. You could have done better.”

  He nodded. “But what’s that—?”

  “I’ve lost someone,” she interrupted. “Felt all those things and I don’t want to go through it again.”

  “You lost a client?”

  She said nothing. She didn’t have to. The look on her face said it all. They were silent a long time, listening to the absurd sounds of the wind, rain, and coconut bombs.

  “It wasn’t losing a patient that changed me,” he said.

  “What?”

  “You asked if I’d lost a patient. I lost a friend, Charlie.”

  She said nothing.

  “Car accident. Straightened me up. There isn’t a day that goes by I don’t think of him.” And the woman who saved my life. “What I could’ve done to prevent the accident. Why I didn’t stop him from driving. How I could’ve been killed that night.” He waited for her to share. She didn’t. She’d drawn her knees up, hugging them like when she’d gone to sleep.

  He bumped her again. “Was yours in a plane crash?” She chewed on her lower lip, considering the question, then shook her head.

  “Car accident like you. In the middle of the night, I came up on a car overturned in a runoff ditch filled with water.”

  Was he in some altered state? Dreaming? He scraped a fingernail hard over the back of his hand and felt pain. He was definitely awake.

  “The car had bounced off one of those steel power poles into the ditch. The inside was flooded, the engine pushed into the front seat, trapping the guy. I couldn’t free him.”

  Being shot at, the crash, and the bump on the head combined could be causing him to hallucinate.

  “I could see house lights down the road. It was before everybody had cells. To get help I would have to leave. The guy in the car was fading in and out, slipping under the water.”

  Gemma was . . . describing . . . his accident. He suffered a major outbreak of goose bumps.

  “I made the decision to stay, hold up his head instead of getting help.”

  He went over the clinical stages of hallucination. Emergence of warded-off memory, frequent reality checks, last vestige of insight as hallucinations become real, fantasy and distortion confused with actual perception, boundaries destroyed. He took in a deep breath, smelled the salt air and the jungle musk. He heard rain and wind. Felt her warmth. He leaned. Felt her. This was not a hallucination. He forced himself to take slow breaths before he hyperventilated. “What happened?” The words rolled on a cough.

  She cupped her hand, extended her arm into the partially collapsed area of the shelter, and brought it back, examining the water in her palm. Gemma moved their bags and curled the ground tarp away from the leak. Ben waited for her to continue, massaging the pounding ache in his temples. His scalp crawled as if those creepy things she was so worried about covered his head and tension cramped his muscles. The fine hair on his arms stood up like it had right before the lightning strike.

  “It was forty-five minutes before anyone came,” she finally said. “An hour before fire and rescue arrived. They got him out but it was too late. I question my decision to stay. Wonder if I’d gone for help if he’d still be alive.”

  “Too late?” He winced. “He died before they got there?”

  “No. They got him out.”

  “How do you know he died? Did you go to the hospital?” She described his accident precisely. But he had lived. At least he thought he had.

  “No on the hospital. Saw in a newspaper he died.”

  “What did it say?”

  “Only read the headline.” She paused and gave him a concerned look. “You okay, Doc? You’re breathing kinda hard.”

  “Yeah. The heat and humidity . . . making it . . . difficult.” That and the fact that he may have found the woman who saved his life. “Where did this happen? Are you sure it was the same man?” Damn it. He had to be sure.

  She tipped her head to look at him. “Geeze, after I answer all these questions do I get a toaster oven?”

  “And a lifetime supply of protein bars,” he said, dialing back his intensity.

  “Texas.”

  “That where you’re from?”

  “Whoops, there go my prizes.” She rested her forehead on her knees.

  Shit. He’d pushed too hard. “Sorry. Too personal, huh?”

  “Yep,” she said through a yawn. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

  Not as long as tonight. Was Gemma Hendrickson the angel who saved his life and disappeared into the darkness with no one knowing who she was? Or was the stress of today’s crash causing him to see what wasn’t there? He closed his eyes and recalled what he could of the accident, as he’d done thousands of times. What she said a few minutes ago about being able to do anything for a few hours was what the woman said to him that night. Even the way she said it was the same. He leaned and took in a deep breath. Her scent. Geesus. She described the accident to him. She had to have been there. He wanted, needed to stand up and pace. His head felt like it had been hit by a dozen of those coconuts. A fiery pain ran the length of the slash across his body like it had just happened.

  Her regular breaths said she was asleep. He moved until their shoulders touched and waited some time before circling an arm around her. Then waited longer to gently bring their bodies together. She stirred then rested heavily against him. “God, don’t let this be a dream,” he whispered as hot tears stung his eyes.

  He’d been told many times to give up looking for her. Private investigators concluded she’d never be found. One investigator went so far as to say the woman they looked for was wanted or involved in something illegal. At the very least she was someplace she wasn’t supposed to be and would never come forward. Not even to claim the hundred thousand in reward money. He’d never given up. He’d always thought he’d find a plain woman with a hardworking husband, 2.3 kids and a dog living in a comfortable suburban home. He’d thank her, give her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. And finally, finally be able to put that night behind him.

  Telling Gemma . . . whew. Where to begin?

  For her to see a newspaper the next day meant she’d still been close. No paper outside the area would have carried the story. Fuck! She thought he’d been alone that night. She didn’t know about Charlie. Thoughts swirled in his head like the storm around them. He’d have to find the right moment to tell her. No blurting it out. He had so many questions.

  Why had she left? There was no way Gemma would have been into anything illegal. Yet, he couldn’t dismiss the gun, knife and her apparent ability to handle herself.

  Chapter 4

  Ben dozed off and on until the rain stopped, then he shifted and scooted, bringing Gemma with him, until he could lean against the tree without fear of letting in rain. He watched her reclined against him, face pressed into his chest, one hand tucked under her chin, the other under her shirt gripping the butt of the gun. A coconut thudded to the ground and she sat bolt upright, gun in hand searching for a
target.

  “Morning.”

  She looked at him, blinking sleep away.

  “Unless you’re worried about killer coconuts you can put the gun away.”

  She surveyed the body configuration and squinted suspiciously but didn’t move away.

  “My fault. It stopped raining. I scooted against the tree to get comfortable and brought you with me.” He shrugged. “You made yourself comfortable.” He smiled. “I didn’t mind.”

  She disappeared the gun and ran the back of her hand over her mouth.

  “Since you made this magnificent shelter,” he said and looked around, “that kept us dry and safe from coconut bombardment, alien lightning bolts, and killer tree branches, let me fix breakfast. I was thinking of protein bars, jerky and fresh-trapped rainwater.”

  She squinted at him suspiciously but sucked in her lips to contain a smile.

  “I see Madam is not a morning person. Or is it she would prefer coconut water? I’ll see to it immediately.” She stared at him as if overnight he’d grown another head. He pushed away the tarp and the fresh ocean air broke through, displacing the warm still air around them. They both breathed deeply. He used his free arm to point in the direction of the opening. “Shall we move to the great outdoors?”

  She smiled one of those smiles that makes a man feel good and that you have to return. He fought the urge to kiss her. Not some horny tongue-and-tonsil-dance kiss but a nice gentle good morning kiss on the forehead. Her expression clouded like she was reading his thoughts.

  “We need to eat, pack up and get moving.” She made to go out. He held her arm.

  “Thanks again for,” he looked around, “all this and yesterday. Tell me what I can do to make things easier for you today.”

  “That’s it. Hand over your Blowout pack.” Her hand extended, fingers wiggling. “Now.”

  Why the hell did she want the pack? She went to her knees. “Come on, Doc, hand it over. It isn’t nice to be taking those meds when they aren’t needed.”

  “I didn’t take anything.”

  She pushed away part of the tarp, letting in the morning light, leaned and checked his eyes. He smiled to himself. His eyes were so dark even in bright light it was difficult to tell if the pupils were dilated.

  “Follow my finger.” She moved it from his nose to his ear, performing the low-tech field sobriety test. He didn’t do it.

  “No. I didn’t take anything.”

  She sat back on her heels, hands resting on her thighs. “Okay. Wanted to be sure you weren’t hallucinating or getting delusional with the stress. ’Cause you’re way too funny and charming this morning.” She looked around. “And it sure as hell isn’t the accommodations.”

  “Go out. I’m fine.”

  She pushed her way out, dragging the packs with her.

  “Funny and charming, huh?” he said, following her out.

  Gemma said nothing, standing perfectly still with a pack in each hand.

  “What’s . . . ?” Now he was standing perfectly still. “Son of a bitch.” Around them looked like World War II movie, after the Marines have stormed the beach. Coconuts, large palm branches and downed trees littered the ground as far as he could see. Gemma turned back to look at the shelter. He did the same.

  “We were fucking lucky,” she said, her voice full of the awe he was feeling.

  The tree branch, his gaze climbed the tree, tree branch hell. Half the tree was down with branches resting on the shelter. They’d been five feet away from being flattened like tortillas by the thickest part of the trunk. “I’m not overly religious, but to have escaped death twice in a twenty-four-hour period kinda makes you think the Big Guy upstairs has plans for you.” Like guiding me to you.

  She didn’t say anything but nodded and reached for a branch lying on the shelter. He put a hand on her arm. “Eat and hydrate first. Enjoy this.” He hitched his chin in the direction of the water. Gentle waves rolled in to the beach, their white foam a slash across the turquoise water. Birds looking for breakfast dotted a sky made pink and gold by early morning sun. “Then we’ll take care of this.”

  She gave him the stink-eye and came close, touching his forehead with the back of her hand.

  “Am I being too nice again?”

  She made a face and nodded.

  “Would you prefer I give you a hard time?” She scrunched up her nose and shook her head. The reconstructive surgeon in him flared and he examined her face for signs of cosmetic surgery. None, and she was his age. He’d bet his medical license on it.

  “Okay. Let’s eat.”

  Gemma went to the water catcher and righted it. She used a small vine to pull several cut ones together, positioning them over the container. He watched in awe as she deftly pealed and opened two of the coconuts littering the ground. They sat on the trunk of a downed palm and had breakfast. Eating the coconut meat with the foul-tasting bars made them palatable. “You did take survival training,” he said.

  She nodded. “Five times. Tropics. Cold weather. Desert. Water, and urban survival.”

  He titled his head to look at her. “Urban.”

  “When I moved to D.C., I learned the best places to park, how to get a cab. Find a cheap cup of coffee. Take the subway.” She didn’t look at him but her cheeks rose and he knew she was smiling.

  Telling him where she lived was no slip. It was deliberate. He was getting through to her. An opening, and he took it.

  “I live in Baltimore.”

  “I know.” She rose. Her expression changed and she lunged at him, scraping the coconut in her hand across his shoulder.

  “What the fuck?” He shoved her back.

  “Spider.” She grabbed his hand, yanking him to his feet.

  He watched it skitter away. “Jesus. It’s bigger than a mouse.” Most spiders here were venomous and even the ones that weren’t had painful bites. She circled him searching for more predators, her hands sweeping over him like a TSA agent searching for cupcakes. Finished, she presented her back. “Check me.”

  He ran his hands over her back. “Oh. No.” He brushed frantically and pulled the shirt.

  She sucked in a loud breath and went stiff. “Relax.” He patted her on the back. “I was kidding. There isn’t anything there.”

  She whirled on him. “You’re an asshole.” She held her arms out from her sides like a gunfighter getting ready to draw. Flexing her fingers. He could see she was making a decision. He was going to get chewed out, punched, or shot. She stepped closer and he prepared for the hit.

  “When I was eleven I was in the hills behind our house,” she said through clenched teeth. Her face was flushed and inches from his. “I fell through what they call a chimney hole for a cave. A cave where thousands of bats lived. I was in bat shit up to my knees. It was five hours before they got me out. In the bat shit were centipedes, roaches, ants, spiders and other biting insects. All of which bit me. Many times. I was in the hospital for three days. I now have sensitivity to insect bites, making me susceptible to anaphylactic shock. There are meds in my medical pack. As you know, those meds may or may not work. I’m not afraid of insects. I. Do. Not. Want. To. Be. Bitten.”

  He put a hand on her arm and she shrugged it off. “I am an asshole,” he said quickly. “I made a mistake. I apologize.” The last thing he wanted to do was alienate her.

  Gemma washed her hands over her face. For a moment she examined the grime that came away on her palms then looked back at him. “I’m the one who needs to apologize. I should have told you right away.” She lowered her gaze. “You’re a doctor. I don’t know why I didn’t.” She lied. She didn’t tell people because they’d want to know what she was doing there. Why it took so long to find her. Ask a hundred other questions she didn’t want to answer. She didn’t want anyone to know she was running, hiding from drunk, abusive parents, and she preferred the stings to going home.

  Walsh rubbed her arm sympathetically. “Shit. You must have been terrified.”

  “I was eleven.
I was afraid.” She sure as hell was. Afraid if she called out she’d be found and taken home to her parents before they passed out.

  “Let me make it up to you.” He made a sweeping bow like a knight showing respect to his queen. “I am here to do your bidding, survivor woman. You have only to tell me what it is you want.”

  Gemma eyed him. There was no question his attitude had changed. Had he somehow figured out she was Sam and Olivia’s mother? Olivia did look like her, but with the jungle doing her makeup and hair, that was a stretch. Besides, Walsh wasn’t a kiss-ass. If he knew, he’d have come right out and said it. “Smear bug repellant all over you and put the gloves on. We’ll break down the shelter. And forget that ever happened.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  She froze. He figured out she was Coast Guard?

  “Lighten up, survivor woman.” He gave her a shoulder bump. “I’m trying to be funny here. I’m apparently off the mark.”

  He was trying to be funny. She rolled her shoulders and windmilled her arms. “Sorry, Doc. Your . . . overnight change put me off balance. I thought I had you figured out.” More like she thought she’d inoculated herself against his charm. But, damn him, he found an antidote.

  He scratched the stubble on his jaw. “How about today I tell you all about myself while we hike? You can get to know the real me.”

  “O . . . kay.” Whatever. This was a poorly disguised attempt at getting her to reveal more about herself. The old “I told you something, now it’s your turn to tell me something” tactic he pulled on her last night. Which had inexplicably worked. She’d never uttered a single word about the accident. It was the night her twins, Olivia and Daniel, graduated from high school. Her estrangement from her children was so severe they’d made it clear she wasn’t welcome. She’d gone anyway standing in the shadows at the back of the auditorium, leaving before she was seen. If she’d hung around after the accident, her identity would have become known. That newspaper headline would have read Local Coast Guard Officer Fails to Save Man in Accident. Olivia and Daniel would have known she was there and . . . a shiver ran through her. She looked at Walsh, who’d begun to drag braches away from the shelter. Not a word in all those years and here, slicker than ice on the deck of a cutter cruising the Bering Sea, Walsh had gotten her to go all Chatty Cathy and blab. Who was this man?