Authors: Karen Anders
He dipped down and eyed her. “Are you ready? Do you need help?”
“No,” she said quickly, not sure how she would handle having those powerful hands on her again. Let him think she was just a bit stiff and sleepy. More the better for her if Chris never knew the level of fascination she’d had for him. Still had, apparently. Dammit.
She reached down and grabbed her purse and briefcase. Rising, she moved out from the seats and slipped into the space in front of him.
She tried her best to appear unaffected and coolly in control as they deplaned. But Chris’s long-legged stride kept him right at her back. And she could feel him there, just behind her, in a rather primal way that had the power to skew her internal equilibrium.
Chris took her arm when she headed for the escalator and directed her toward the elevator. He reached past her and pressed the button. When he stepped in after her, she felt a bit claustrophobic, as if he was suddenly taking up too much space, using up way too much of her precious air. And yet he was standing a respectable distance from her, not so much as looking at her. Which did nothing to stop her from thinking how satisfying it would be to push the emergency stop and caress his face, kiss that sexy mouth, watch his eyes heat.
It only made her mood swing to the nasty. “Afraid you wouldn’t be able to hold my hand on the escalator like my mommy?”
“Yes,” he simply said.
It only made her fume.
Then her stomach growled so loud it was audible above the din outside the slowly descending elevator.
“Sounds like you need something to eat, little girl.”
She let his dig go with a perfectly sweet smile.
“Let’s get some breakfast, then. We have two hours before our flight leaves.”
“I can’t hide the fact that I’m starving.”
“When was the last time you ate?”
“I don’t remember.”
After breakfast, it was a short walk to the gate, then on to the flight. It wasn’t long before they were touching down at the Honolulu airport, where they were picked up by a Navy car to take them to the
U.S.S. James McCloud
. A large crowd of reporters were only able to get in a few questions before Sia and Chris were tucked inside the vehicle.
At the sight of the ship and the sponson in particular, a chill ran over Sia’s skin. She could see where part of the flight deck had been scorched and that crews were working on the damaged area of the vessel.
The
U.S.S. James McCloud
was only one of a large fleet of carriers in the Navy. The flight deck, angled at nine degrees, which allowed aircraft to be launched and recovered simultaneously, took up the majority of the available space on the ship. The ship carried a full wing of 12/14 F/A-18F Super Hornets as strike fighters, another two squadrons of 10-12 F/A-18C Hornets, as well as early-warning aircraft, a helicopter and antisubmarine squadron. Each carrier-based aircraft used a tailhook bolted to an eight-foot bar that extended from the craft to catch one of four cables on the deck of the carrier. The cables were engineered to stop any aircraft at exactly the same spot on the deck no matter the size or weight of the craft.
The prominent bridge was situated to starboard, which Sia learned early on in her career was the right side of a ship.
Once on board, they were directed to the NCIS agent a-float, Clarissa Weston.
“Ahoy,” she called out as they entered her office. “Chris! It’s good to see you. I got word you and Commander Soto were coming aboard to investigate this tragedy. My office is at your command.”
“Thanks, Clarissa. It’s good to see you again. What do you have so far?”
“I’m sure you’ll want to do your own investigations, Chris, but so far all I’ve done is make sure no one has left the ship. That went over big. Most of these people have been cooped up on this vessel for three months, but this port stop isn’t for fun. It’s to get repairs to the flight deck Lieutenant Washington tore up when he crash-landed.” She turned to Sia. “It’s good to see you again, ma’am. Wow, that’s a nasty shiner. I sure hope you’re healing okay.”
“I’m doing fine, Clarissa. Thank you for asking.”
“The legal office is also at your disposal, Chris, ma’am. Commander Stryker is expecting you.”
“Thank you,” Chris said.
“The captain asked that you report to him as soon as you were aboard. He’s at Pri-Fly, the Primary Flight Control center. I’ll take you to him now.”
Sia was now familiar with the carrier after spending time on the ship during her investigation. They headed toward what was called the “island”—the command center for flight-deck operation as well as the ship as a whole. The island was about one hundred and fifty feet tall, but only twenty feet wide, so it wouldn’t take up too much space on the flight deck.
The top of the island sported an array of radar and communications antennas, which kept tabs on surrounding ships and picked up satellite phone and TV signals. Below that was their destination, Pri-Fly. At the next level was the bridge, where the captain directed the helmsman who actually steered the carrier.
Sia clumsily navigated several ladders due to her injured shoulder as Clarissa ushered them into the Pri-Fly main area, where Captain Thaddeus Maddox was looking through a set of binoculars at the damaged part of the deck.
Without turning around, he said, “Commander Soto. I can’t say I’m thrilled to have you back aboard my ship.”
“Good morning, sir. Under the circumstances, I can’t say I’m thrilled to be back.” He was an intimidating man, with a strong, iron-hard jaw and salt-and-pepper hair. His posture was ramrod straight and he commanded the very air around him.
The captain set down the binoculars and turned around. He walked forward and nodded to Clarissa. “Thank you, Agent Weston.”
She nodded and took her leave.
Chris reached out his hand. “Special Agent Chris Vargas, sir.”
The captain shook his hand, but only briefly met Chris’s eyes. He returned his gaze to Sia, and she stood at attention until the captain said, “At ease.”
He turned to a stocky blond man standing next to him. “This is my XO, Commander Seth Tate. If I’m not available, you can speak to him.”
He then addressed Sia. “Your report put the death of Lieutenant Malcolm Saunders directly on the master chief’s shoulders. How do you explain what has happened with Lieutenant Washington?”
“I’ve only arrived, sir, and haven’t had a chance to even review preliminary information.”
The captain’s eyes narrowed. “Well, I expect you will have answers for me, Commander Soto. I have another dead aviator, lost another expensive aircraft and have a damaged ship. I’m not happy.”
“With all due respect, Skipper,” Chris said, “I read Commander Soto’s report and I would have drawn the same conclusions. She did a thorough investigation and on top of it almost lost her life. It was clear to her at the time she had the right suspect.”
“I concede the investigation was thorough, Special Agent Vargas. I will give her that, and she did put her life at risk. But if this investigation into the senator’s son’s death turns up he was murdered, then it’s obvious there was something more to the story than was evident at the time.”
She wasn’t supposed to go all warm inside when Chris stuck up for her. “Agreed, sir,” Sia said. “But Special Agent Vargas is in charge. I answer to him.”
“Noted,” the captain said. “Stow your gear and get to work. We’ll be leaving port in about a day or two. The needed repairs weren’t major.”
“Aye, sir,” Sia said, coming to attention. She executed a perfect turn and left Pri-Fly with Chris following behind.
Back at Agent Weston’s office, Clarissa volunteered to show Chris to his stateroom. Sia had been assigned the same stateroom as on her last visit. This time, though, her roommate had been transferred to another billet, which left Sia enjoying the stateroom all to herself. She only meant to lie down for a moment, but fell asleep. When she woke up, she saw she’d been asleep for a couple of hours. After freshening and changing her uniform, she was free to visit the legal office.
Commander William Stryker greeted her as she entered. “Hello, Sia. Sorry you had to come back here so soon.”
“Me, too, Billy. What do you have so far?”
“Not much. I’ve done some preliminary questioning of personnel and I’ve compiled that into this file.” He handed her a folder. “Agent Weston wanted me to pass the autopsy report for Lieutenant Saunders to you.”
Sia opened it and quickly skimmed the contents. “Thanks. I’ll read this later,” she said and tucked it into her briefcase.
“I’ve also compiled a list of people who were directly responsible for the two jets and any other personnel who may have witnessed the accident.” He handed her a sheaf of papers and Sia went to tuck them into the folder.
“Good work. That’s what I’m looking for,” Sia said.
Chris’s deep, resonant voice stopped the action she was about to perform. “Don’t you mean that’s what
we’re
looking for?”
She turned to find Chris standing in the doorway. “Commander William Stryker, this is the lead investigator, Special Agent Chris Vargas.”
Billy nodded, eyeing Chris.
Chris came up to her and looked over her shoulder at the list in her hand. “Let’s take the first name and make our way down the list.”
Sia nodded.
Billy looked at the name at the top of the list. “Airman Trudy Schover. I’ll get her in here for you.”
It wasn’t long before the woman was sitting across the same table where Sia had interrogated the master chief.
“Tell me where you were and what happened when Lieutenant Washington’s F/A-18 crashed into the deck,” Sia asked the young dark-haired woman. Her hands were clasped together in front of her and she was wringing them.
“I was in Pri-Fly handling the communication between the planes.” She looked at Chris. “I’m like an air traffic controller.”
“It’s okay, Airman, I was a pilot.” She acknowledged that with a nod of her head. “Did you know Lieutenant Washington?” Chris continued, leaning back and folding his arms across his chest.
Trudy shook her head, her eyes sincere. “No, sir. I didn’t.”
“Continue,” Chris said.
“Everything went routinely and that night was clear as glass, no clouds in the sky. Lieutenants Washington and Monroe took off. About three minutes into the flight, Lieutenant Monroe yelled for Lieutenant Washington to get his nose up.”
“Did Lieutenant Washington respond?” Chris leaned forward, his eyes intent.
“Yes, he said that he was having problems with his radar.”
“His radar?” Chris asked, as he set his hands on the table and concentrated on the airman’s words.
“Yes, sir. He said it was malfunctioning.” Her voice strained, Trudy stopped talking, her eyes going unfocused. She was trying to remember.
“In what way?”
“Total failure. No instruments,” she said solemnly.
“But he was trained to land without them, correct?” Sia asked. With each word her throat got tighter. She’d read her brother’s report years after his death, and as Trudy related the incident, Sia became more alarmed.
“Yes, ma’am. I tried to initiate communication just before the crash. He had his nose down. Lieutenant Monroe was yelling at him to bring his nose up and the flight crew handling the meatball were waving him off, but it was too late. He hit the deck hard, skidded across the platform and right off the end of the carrier, exploding as he dropped into the sea.” Her voice broke and held a note of the shock she still seemed to be experiencing, her eyes moist.
“He didn’t even attempt to eject?” Chris asked.
“No, sir.”
“Meatball?” Sia said looking at the airman for an explanation.
“It’s a series of lights that are calibrated to the horizon. It serves as a safeguard when pilots are landing on the carrier. If a pilot sees green, safe to land, if red, they need to break off and circle around to land again. The circles of light look like meatballs, so that’s how it got its name.”
“Any other observations, Airman?” Chris asked.
“Only that he was one of the finest pilots I’ve ever worked with,” she said emphatically. “I didn’t know him personally, but I knew him as a pilot. I was shocked to see his nose down like that. It was worse than a rookie mistake, malfunction or not.”
“Thank you, Airman,” Chris said.
Trudy nodded, but before she left, she turned back, tear tracks down her cheeks. “I hope you clear him of any blame. He doesn’t deserve to have his record marred this way.”
All Sia could offer her was a quick nod, her emotions in turmoil and thoughts of her brother foremost in her thoughts.
When the door closed behind Airman Schover, Chris turned to Sia. “Sounds like he could have made a mistake with the radar off. But he would have noticed if the meatball lights were red.”
“Maybe he was impaired. He could have been too short on oxygen, or some other explanation.”
Chris took a deep breath and then released it slowly. “That’s exactly how it went down when Rafael died, only my plane was still in the air and I ejected.”
Silence filled the compartment, the kind that wove around the heart and squeezed tight.
Chapter 4
J
ust the mention of her brother’s name made Sia remember him and the day he’d died. She’d been figuring out the best way to tell her father she wasn’t going to New York. She wasn’t going to take a job that was too far away from Chris.
She had answered the door when the Navy had come knocking to break the news about her brother. At first, she thought they had come to tell her Chris was dead and her heart had throbbed painfully in her chest. But when they’d told her it was her brother, the guilt only mixed in with the terrible grief and relief it hadn’t been Chris.
She could tell by looking at Chris he was remembering that day, too. His beard-shadowed jaw hardened and his eyes went distant.
“Do you think we’re dealing with more than pilot error in all these incidents?” she asked him, watching as his eyes focused again, but the pain and the grief lingered in their depths.
“I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but my gut is telling me something. I don’t usually ignore it.”