A Military Affair
Page 7
Angry and frustrated and bitterly disappointed in one Pete Quinn, Tess rolled over and thumped her pillow with a fist.
Damn the man, anyway!
The insistent buzz of the doorbell dragged her from sleep some hours later.
Grunting, Tess raised her head and peered bleary-eyed at the sliding glass doors to the lanai. Dew from the ocean breeze misted the glass. Weak, hazy light filtered in through the open crack. It was morning, but just barely.
Turning her head, Tess squinted at the clock on the nightstand. Oh, God! It wasn’t even 6:00 a.m. With a groan, she dropped her face back into the pillow. Her roommates could deal with whoever was at the front door.
She heard the flop of bare feet on the parquet floor. Joanna’s cool voice raised in inquiry. The sound of the chain rattling off the slide.
She listened a moment more. There were no screams. No shouts. Nothing to rouse the cop in her.
She went back to sleep.
The next thing she knew, something fat and hard whacked her in the butt.
Her face came out of the pillow, her body twisted and her feet hit the floor all in one lithe spring. Shoving back her tangled hair, Tess stared in disbelief at the male facing her across the bed.
“Quinn!”
“’Morning, Hamilton.”
Blinking the last vestiges of sleep from her mind, she took in the shoulders stretching the seams of a white knit shirt, the jeans riding low on lean hips, and the rolled newspaper in his right fist.
Fire came into her eyes. “Did you just smack me with that newspaper?”
“I did.”
“Care to tell me why?”
“It seemed appropriate.”
“You’ll have to do better than that,” she warned in a low growl. “Assuming you want to walk out of here with the same basic equipment you walked in with, that is.”
A speculative gleam came into his eye. He slapped the newspaper against his open palm and issued a soft challenge.
“You’re not wearing your riot gear, Red. Think you can take me?”
“I know I can.”
A muffled sound from the door spun Tess around. Her accusing glance went to Joanna, who paid not the slightest attention to it, then to Lani, goggle-eyed and standing on tiptoe to peer over her roommate’s shoulder.
“Did you let this jerk in?” Tess demanded.
“I did,” the blonde replied breezily.
“Why?”
“He’s got great buns.”
Quinn shot her an amused look. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
His amusement deepened. “You sound as though you might be an expert on the subject.”
“I am. Believe me, I am.”
“Excuse me.” Ice dripped from Tess’s voice. “Could you two take this conversation into the other room? Some of us would like to get some sleep here.”
“I’ve got a better idea.” Grinning, Joanna nudged Lani away from the door. “Lani and I will go put on a pot of coffee while you and Pete finish your conversation.”
Pete. It hadn’t taken Joanna long to get to his first name. Petey couldn’t be far behind. Thoroughly irritated, Tess crossed her arms.
“Okay, what’s all this about?”
He took a while to reply. Long enough for his gaze to make a slow trip from her tangled hair to the slice of bare midriff under her cut-off T-shirt to the sensible cotton panties she’d pulled on after her quick shower last night. They were not of the lace thong variety.
“This is about you,” he said at last. “And me.”
“There is no you and me.”
“There was last night.”
“Last night was fun, Quinn. The first part of it, anyway. What came after our little roll in the sack kind of ruined things for me.”
“Yeah, I got that impression.”
He tossed the newspaper down on the rumpled sheets.
“Lead story, front page, continued on 7A. Read it, Hamilton.”
She seriously considered picking up the paper and tossing the damned thing over the lanai railing. She was in no mood to see the story about the as-yet-unidentified Corsair pilot splashed across the front page.
“Read it, Hamilton.”
“If that’s what it takes to get you out of my bedroom,” she muttered.
Giving in with something less than graciousness, she plopped down on the bed and unrolled the paper. The picture that leaped out at her had her gritting her teeth.
It was a profile of her, her automatic weapon to her cheek, pumping out a steady stream of fire. Dirt and sweat streaked her face. Her hair was a mess. The Phoenix Raven insignia stood out in stark relief on her blue beret, but that was the only thing in the picture that looked good.
She threw Quinn a withering glance. “Couldn’t you have picked out a more flattering shot?”
“That one told the story I wanted. Read the text that goes with it.”
Jaw tight, she started the first paragraph. The prose was stark, the descriptions of her team and their mission terse and unnervingly accurate.
Quinn had done his homework in the short hours after they’d touched down in Hawaii, Tess saw. No doubt he’d pulled most of the information about the Phoenix Ravens off the Internet. However he’d come by the facts and figures, he’d used them to good effect. Those first few paragraphs painted a dramatic picture of the air force’s supercops.
Pulled into the story despite herself, Tess turned to page 7A. The pictures there were of the recovery team. Dr. Courtland with her blue steel Beretta in hand. The lieutenant rendering honors over a flag-draped casket in the belly of a C-130. The weary orthodontist carrying what was left of his gear to the crew bus after the mission.
The accompanying text went into detail about the mission, and the organization and operation of the Central Identification Lab. The article included profiles of the staff, statistics on the number of open cases they were still working, and poignant examples of field recoveries they’d conducted.
What it didn’t include, Tess belatedly realized, was information or speculation about the remains they’d brought back from Namuoto. Quinn hadn’t even mentioned the F-4 Corsair or the victim’s branch of service.
Chewing on her lower lip, Tess read the last few paragraphs. By the time she’d finished them, the suspicion that she’d made a world-class fool of herself last night had morphed into absolute certainty. She blew out a long breath, closed the newspaper and looked up.
“I owe you an apology.”
“Yeah, you do. You also owe me a follow-up.”
“What?”
“My editor loved the piece on the Phoenix Ravens. Cops are hot right now. Military cops get double points. He wants a more detailed feature story on the training you go through and the kind of missions you fly. I put in a request last night to have you assigned as my liaison. It came back approved this morning.”
Tess’s jaw dropped. “Already?”
“Already. Evidently blowing up a stash of Chinese Tweets gets the brass’s attention. They were only too happy to expedite the request.” His mouth kicked up in a smug grin. “You’re mine, Hamilton, all mine.”
“For how long?”
“For the next three weeks.” His grin took on a wicked tilt. “Maybe longer, if you promise to dump those cotton panties and wear only that little lace number you had on last night.”
“Well…” Tess tapped a finger to her chin, considering his request. “Okay.”
She had the sensible cotton briefs off in two or three wiggles. A quick wad and a long toss sent them sailing through the open doors of the lanai.
“Consider them dumped.”
Laughter lit up his eyes. “You’re a woman after my own heart.”
“Funny, until five minutes ago, I didn’t think you had one.”
Oh, yeah, Quinn thought as he tugged his knit shirt up and over his head. He did. And if he wasn’t real careful, he just might lose it to a green-eyed, gun-toting GI Jane.
Ep
ilogue
Three weeks and five months later, Tess stood beside Quinn on a windswept ridge overlooking the National Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific.
The cemetery occupied the center of Punchbowl Crater. The crater was formed from an extinct volcano known as Puowaina, Hawaiian for Hill of Sacrifice. Local legend had it that the Punchbowl was the site of many secret burials of Hawaiian royalty. It had also supposedly witnessed the sacrifice of offenders of certain taboos. Now it served as the final resting place for veterans of the Second World War, Korea, Vietnam and the Gulf War.
Tess couldn’t imagine a more serene site for a national cemetery. The city of Honolulu sparkled like a jewel below, hemmed in on three sides by Oahu’s steep green hills. Beyond the city, the Pacific rolled in on turquoise waves. She needed only to turn a few inches to the right to pick out Pearl Harbor and the glistening white Arizona Memorial. The sight tugged at her heart, as it always did.
Slipping her arm through Quinn’s, she brought her gaze back to the lush park below. The cemetery was so beautiful in its breath-taking simplicity. Only a round, flat expanse of green dotted with trees, a soaring marble monument, and wide stairs flanked on either side by the ten Courts of Honor—monuments to the thousands of Americans still listed as missing in action.
After today, there’d be one less name on the list.
She and Quinn didn’t intrude on the solemn ceremony taking place at the base of the marble steps. This time belonged to the family of the man whose remains had been positively identified, and who was now, at long last, being laid to rest among his fallen comrades. His son was there, mourning for the father he’d known only through faded photographs. His grandchildren and great-grandchildren as well.
Tess stood silent, her throat tight and her thoughts on her grandfather. Big Mike would have liked Quinn. Tess certainly did, now that she’d come to know him better. In fact, she was pretty sure she was going to marry him. He’d asked her twice, the last time with just a hint of impatience.
She’d already admitted that she loved him. Several times. Once even out loud. He’d pounced on that like a dog on a steak bone and had started making plans to permanently move her into his bed. Not that they’d occupy it at the same time all that much. His job took him on the road almost as much as Tess’s did. Where they slept didn’t matter, though. No matter where she and Quinn had met these past five months or how long they’d had together before one of them had to jump on a plane again, they were home.
A little curl of warmth spread through her veins. She squeezed Quinn’s arm. When he glanced down at her, she answered the question in his eyes with a soft whisper.
“Yes.”
“Does that mean what I think it does?”
“If you’re thinking wedding rings and honeymoons, it does.”
His smile melted her heart. His hand right hand closed over the one she’d tucked in the crook of his left arm. Together, they turned their faces to the wind and their attention to the ceremony unfolding below.
IN LOVE AND WAR
Copyright © 2003 by Harlequin Books S.A.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-6271-7
The publisher acknowledges the copyright holders of the individual works as follows:
A MILITARY AFFAIR
Copyright © 2003 by Merline Lovelace
COMRADES IN ARMS
Copyright © 2003 by Eileen Nauman
AN UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER
Copyright © 2003 by Candace Phillips Irvin
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the editorial office, Silhouette Books, 233 Broadway, New York, NY 10279 U.S.A.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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Table of Contents
A MILITARY AFFAIR
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Epilogue