"Expecting company?"
"No." She dropped her voice to a husky whisper. "Maybe if we keep real quiet, whoever it is will go away."
The ploy didn't work. Another rap rattled the door, harder this time.
"Hey, Cari!" Dave Scott's deep voice boomed from the hallway. "I spotted your car in the parking lot. Haul your buns over to the door and open up. I need your chop on the sequence we used to take Pegasus from sea to air mode down in Caribe to finalize this report."
Muttering an oath worthy of a true salt, Cari snatched up her blouse and fumbled with the buttons. "Hang on a sec! I'll be right there."
Mac got himself together well before she did. Not surprising, since she'd stripped down to her skivvies and he was still more in than out of his clothes. He pushed off the sofa, then waited until she'd scrambled into her slacks and shoved the shirttails inside the waistband before strolling across the room.
When he opened the door, surprise sent the pilot's sun-bleached blond brows soaring. "McIver! What the heck are you doing out of the hospital?"
Dave's glance winged to Cari, cut back. A delighted grin split his face. "Never mind. I'm a little slow on the uptake sometimes, but this one's a no-brainer."
With a flash of her bright copper hair, Kate poked her head out of the open doorway of the room across the hall. "What's a no-brainer?"
Her green eyes brightened when she saw who Dave was talking to. "Hey, gang, Mac's here."
She came across the hallway, followed in short order by Jill Bradshaw and Doc Richardson. When Captain Westfall appeared at the threshold of the room across the hall, Mac's easy smile slid off his face. Instinctively, he straightened and squared his shoulders. Or tried to. The knifing pain had him biting back a curse and brought Cari instantly to his side.
"At ease, man."
Westfall issued the gruff order, then shifted his gaze to Cari. Despite the calm smile she plastered on her face, he couldn't fail to note the whisker burn reddening her cheeks and chin. Nor could any of the others. Kate shared a look with Jill, while Doc Richardson manfully tried to smother a grin. Captain Westfall, thankfully, ignored the red flags.
"Did they discharge you or did you just decide to go AWOL?" he asked Mac.
"Neither. The doc gave me a few hours' shore leave."
"Good. How about you use what remains of it to go over the final report I'm delivering to the Joint Chiefs of Staff tomorrow?"
"Yes, sir."
"Lieutenant Dunn, we'll need your input as well."
"Of course. I'll be right there."
He turned and retreated into the suite across the hall. The others straggled after him, leaving a rueful Cari to shag a hand through her tangled hair.
"We need to work on our timing," she muttered to Mac. "Seems like every time we get hot and bothered, we wind up with someone shooting at us or the entire test cadre gathered around as interested observers. How's your shoulder?"
He should have known she wouldn't miss his involuntary wince when he tried to go into a brace.
"It's fine," he lied, toeing a bit of plastic out from under the couch. "Is this yours?"
"Yes. Thanks."
While she twisted up her hair and anchored it to the back of her head, Mac slid his feet into his flip-flops. Marginally presentable, they joined the group crowded around a small table in the suite across the hall. Chairs bumped and elbows jostled as the others made room for two more.
"Here you go," Kate said, passing them copies of the report. "The latest version, hot off the press. We've made some changes to the draft you need to take a look at."
The printed pages immediately absorbed Cari. They should have absorbed Mac, too. The report represented the culmination of long months of tests, trials and evaluations. The fact that it might also represent the culmination of his military career carved a small hole in his gut.
He'd demanded and received brutal honesty from the surgeons who'd tried—and failed—to patch together the shattered remnants of his shoulder. The damage to both tissue and bone went beyond their capacity to repair it. In their considered opinion, it went beyond being able to support even an artificial joint. His only hope was that one of the specialists they'd sent his case file to would accept him as a candidate for replacement surgery despite the odds.
The tension Cari had drained from him with her hands and her mouth and her supple, incredible body crept back. The muscles in the back of his neck knotted. His fist tightened on the report. With a silent curse, Mac eased his grip and forced himself to focus on the lines of print.
Forty minutes later, Mac realized this meeting presaged the end of something else, something that seemed to hit each of the officers present when Captain Westfall gave his nod to the last page of the revised report.
"Well, that's it." With careful precision, he aligned the pages. "The analyses we've provided here should give the Joint Chiefs sufficient information to make a go or no-go decision on Pegasus.'"
He slid the thick report into a folder stamped with the appropriate classified markings.
"Jill, I'll leave the draft copies with you to shred and dispose of."
"Yes, sir."
"Dave, I'm relying on you to make sure every system aboard Pegasus is thoroughly shaken down before you fly back to New Mexico on Monday."
"Roger that, sir. Neither Pegasus nor I will lift off unless I'm confident we can come down again soft and easy."
"Good."
The captain speared a glance at each of his officers.
"Whatever the Joint Chiefs decide, I want you to know I was proud to have you on my team."
This was it. Possibly the last time the Pegasus cadre would work together. The captain and the other five would return to New Mexico to close down test operations. Mac would remain here in Texas until the docs rendered their verdict. The realization that their urgent mission and tight-knit team had both come to an end punched into each of them.
Silence gripped the room. Every officer present knew the usual hearty handshakes and promises to grab a beer the next time their paths crossed wouldn't hack it. But that was the standard formula, one they'd all relied on when readying for the next move to a new duty station. The only one they had to rely on now.
The handshakes were hard. The smiles were warm and genuine. They dispersed with a chorus of promises to gather for the official ceremony marking Pegasus's acceptance as an operational vehicle—whenever and wherever that might occur.
A pensive silence filled the rental car as Cari drove Mac back to the hospital. After the searing intimacy of their stolen hours together, they now had to factor a pending separation and Mac's uncertain future into their still tenuous relationship.
At Mac's insistence, Cari pulled up to the front of the hospital. "We have the rest of the weekend," she reminded him when he reached across his strapped arm to open the passenger door. "All day tomorrow and Sunday. I want you to meet Jack, Deb's husband, and their kids. Maybe we could spring you loose again tomorrow morning. We'll have a picnic on the beach with Paulo and the whole gang."
"Sounds good."
He made an effort to sound enthusiastic. She knew how much he must hate the thought of being left to twiddle his thumbs when the rest of the cadre dispersed. She also noted the white lines that bracketed his mouth. He'd need more than an aspirin to get through tonight, she guessed.
Her rush of guilt at pushing him to his physical limits got all mixed up with an urge to cradle him in her arms and soothe away his pain.
She lifted a hand to stroke his cheek. Mac caught it in his and tugged her close. Forcing a smile, he dropped a hard kiss on her mouth.
"See you tomorrow, beautiful."
Chapter 12
Cari arrived at the hospital just past ten the following morning. The dazzling sunshine of the previous day had given way to gray, sullen skies and a stiff breeze off the Gulf that carried a definite nip to it. Shivering in her lightweight chinos and daffodil-yellow cotton drifter, she hurried across the parking lot.
They'd have to revise their plans for a picnic on the beach with Deb and Jack and the kids, she thought. Go for some kind of indoor activity instead.
Instantly, her thoughts zipped back to the indoor activity she and Mac had indulged in the evening before. A rush of heat warmed her skin, countering the goose bumps raised by the breeze. She still couldn't quite believe she'd jumped Mac's bones the way she had. Or that he'd turned the tables on her so skillfully. Using only one arm, he'd managed to dissolve her into a shivering puddle of ecstasy. She could just imagine the magic he would work on her eager body when he regained full use of his other arm.
If he regained full use of that arm.
The distinct possibility he might not took some of the spring from her step. The little he'd told her about himself yesterday confirmed her suspicion the corps was more than just Russ McIver's career. It was his life.
Well, if the worst happened, they'd just have to come up with a strategy to deal with it. Mac wasn't the kind to sit around and feel sorry for himself. Nor would Cari let him. They'd get through this together.
It wasn't until she was in the elevator, stabbing the button for the fourth floor, that Cari realized she was now thinking in plurals. They would have to come up with a strategy. They would get through this.
Sometime during the night she'd taken that next step. From wondering if she and Mac could carve a future out of the uncertainties facing them, she was now determined to make it happen.
Impatient now, she waited for the elevator doors to whir open and hurried down the hall. When she reached Mac's room, the door was open. The bed was neatly made, sheets turned down and tucked in at sharp angles. Its occupant stood at the window. He was in uniform—green gabardine trousers, precisely aligned brass belt buckle, tailored khaki shirt with gleaming insignia and rows of bright, colorful ribbons. Even the blue sling strapping his arm tight against his chest was perfectly squared.
Her heart skipped happily at seeing him standing tall even as a tiny thread of worry snaked along her veins. She could think of only one reason for him to be in uniform.
"Hello, Mac."
Her suspicion was confirmed when he turned his head. He arranged his expression into a welcoming smile, but Cari could see he had to work at it.
"What's with the khakis?" she asked, although she could pretty well guess the answer.
"The docs made their rounds earlier. They're discharging me."
Skirting the bed, she joined him at the wide window. The storm clouds piling up over the Gulf seemed an appropriate background for the news Mac delivered in a carefully neutral tone.
"The surgeon says he can't do anything more for me. Nor can either of the civilian specialists he consulted, it turns out."
"Well, hell!"
His smile almost reached his eyes. "That pretty well sums up my sentiments, too."
She ached for him, for the hope that was now smashed along with tendon and bone and muscle.
"Your arm's a long way from healed. Surely the doc's not sending you back to duty?"
"He's putting me on restricted duty until the bones knit as best they can and I complete a regimen of physical therapy."
"Then you'll meet a medical evaluation board."
It wasn't a question. Cari understood the process as well as Mac did. Nodding, he sidestepped the unsure future to focus on the immediate.
"I called Captain Westfall this morning and caught him as he was leaving for D.C. He agrees with the docs that I should ship back to my home station at Cherry Point to begin the physical therapy."
That made sense. The dispensary at the Pegasus site wasn't equipped for the kind of therapy Mac would require. Still, the knowledge that a half a continent would soon separate them carved a little hole in Cari's heart.
She'd known it was coming. With the Pegasus project winding down, the entire team would soon disperse to their various home stations. They'd pretty well said their unofficial farewells after the meeting last night. She wasn't ready to let go yet, though. Not of this particular member of the team, anyway.
"You don't have to leave today, do you?"
Mac hesitated. The docs had urged him to take some time off and fully regain his strength before going back to his duty station. Captain Westfall had echoed the recommendation, but understood Mac's need to focus on something, anything, other than the black hole that used to be his career.
It yawned under his feet now, threatening to sink more than his military career. If he wasn't damned careful, it would swallow Cari, too.
"Stay the weekend," she urged softly. "With me."
He wanted to. God knew, he wanted to! He'd spent most of last night alternating between the grinding ache in his shoulder and the far fiercer ache stirred by the mere thought of this woman. Every time he'd closed his eyes, he'd see her. Her head thrown back, her hair a tangled tumble, her sleek, supple body shuddering in glorious release.
Along with that erotic vision came vivid reminders of how she'd used her hands and her mouth and her teeth to bring him to the same shattering state. Just the memory was enough to put Mac into a sweat.
It also made him crave more than her hands and her mouth and her teeth. He wanted all of her. Under him. Around him. All over him. But not for a hurried few hours. In the dark moments just before dawn, he'd realized he wanted to wake up to Can's hair spread across his pillow. To share the first cup of coffee with her in the morning and drift off to sleep with her body tucked tight against his at night.
He'd believed he had a shot at fulfilling one or all of those cravings until the surgeon delivered his news this morning.
"I'm not sure spending the weekend together is such a good idea," he said quietly. "Maybe it's better to make the break now, before either of us gets in too deep."
He expected the words to produce an argument, maybe anger. Quite possibly an aching sense of loss that mirrored his own. What he didn't expect was her snort of laughter. Taken completely aback, he stared down at the amusement dancing in her eyes.
"Nice try, McIver. We both know it's too late for a clean break. We're already in too deep. The question now is what the dickens we're going to do about it."
"Cari..."
She cut him off with an airy wave of one hand. "This isn't the time or the place to decide that question. You're coming with me, mister."
Mac thought about reminding her that he outranked her and should be the one issuing the orders. That he needed to confirm his travel arrangements back to Cherry Point. That a few more hours wouldn't change the situation. With a spurt of greedy selfishness, he kept his jaw clamped shut while Cari dumped his few personal items into the plastic tote bag the nursing aide had provided for that purpose.
Almost shaking with a combination of bravado and relief, Cari kept her back to him as she scooped up razor, shaving cream, soap, deodorant, toothbrush and toothpaste. Her laughing comeback had thrown him completely off balance, but he wouldn't remain off balance for long. He'd challenge her blithe assertion they were both already in too deep. Do his best to convince her they should back off. Probably suggest they wait until time and distance and the results of the medical board had added perspective to their situation.
Well, she wasn't backing off. Not now, and not any time in the foreseeable future. What's more, she fully intended to use the next forty-eight hours to storm the citadel of Mac's heart in pretty much the same manner the marines had once stormed the halls of Mon-tezuma.
Her resolve firming with every second, she tossed in his shorts, sweatshirt and skivvies, along with his rubber flip-flops. The neatly folded hospital pajamas she ignored. If matters progressed as she intended them to, Mac wouldn't need them.
The plastic bag bulged at the sides by the time she'd finished. She swept a last look around. "Do I have all the essentials?"
When he hesitated for several long moments, Cari drew in a deep breath. She didn't want to discuss their future in the hospital. She'd prefer to have him away from the scent of antiseptic and shi
ny, squeaky tiled floors when they talked about what came next. She'd lay her feelings out here if she had to, though.
Before she could fully marshal her arguments, Mac spiked them by moving to the wood-grained metal cabinet beside the bed and extracting a small paper sack. With a wry grin, he tossed it her way.
"Now you have all the essentials."
Curious, she snuck a peek at the box inside the sack. The box of condoms kicked her pulse into immediate overdrive, and laughter once again danced in her eyes.
"Think we'll need an entire dozen?"
Mac's answering smile melted her insides. "A man can only hope. I was caught unprepared last time. This time, we'll do things right."
She led the way out of his room, fervently wishing she hadn't committed to spending a portion of their precious remaining hours with Deb and her noisy, lively brood.
When Cari called ahead to advise her sister they were on the way, Deb suggested an indoor pizza and game fest as an alternative to their planned picnic. Evidently the rented condo came equipped with a large selection of board games.
Rain had begun to lash the Gulf by the time Cari and Mac pulled up at the beachside condo. Spray flew up from the gray sea in lacy spumes. Waves rolled and crashed on the beach. Thinking Mac might want to change out of his uniform, Cari grabbed the plastic sack and made a dash for the condo. Mac followed hard on her heels.
Her brother-in-law answered the door and attempted to make himself heard over the shrieks of laughter and rafter-rattling barks emanating from the living room.
"Jack Hamilton, Major." Out of consideration for Mac's injured right arm he didn't offer to shake hands. "Glad I finally get to meet you. From the way Paulo perks up whenever your name is mentioned, it's obvious you're his hero."
"I don't know about the hero part, but we have become pals. He's a good kid."
When he wasn't beaning marines in the head with rocks, Cari thought wryly.
"Sorry 'bout the noise," Jack apologized as he led the way inside. "Deb's doing her best to keep the kids entertained until the storm passes."
The Right Stuff Page 12