Forgive & Forget (Love in the Fleet) (18 page)

“That asshole!” Philip let her go and started pacing in the tight space. It was ingrained in his genes to want to protect her. And the frustration built because he was powerless to do it. He turned to her. “Why’d you go up there alone?”

“Because I didn’t know there was any reason not to. Are you saying this was my fault?”

He reached for her again and kissed her forehead. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not your fault.” She couldn’t help it if every man on the ship was in love with her. Even the CO. “He was the one who was a fool for not having a female officer in there too. Probably wanted to have some private time with the hot new newscaster. And the guy’s up for admiral. What an idiot. What did he say to you? I want to know everything.”

Hallie’s eyes sparkled as she removed some papers from her pocket. “I’m a reporter, remember? I took notes.”

Philip shook his head in disbelief at just how good she was.

“As soon as I realized he was being too familiar with me and then, that he might be ‘Rick,’ I jotted everything down. And when I got back to my desk, I typed it up. Just in case I ever need it.”

Hallie opened the papers and told him the story.

“At ease, Petty Officer McCabe,” the Captain had said when she entered his at-sea cabin and stood at attention. “Have a seat.”

“Thank you, sir, for granting me this time. I appreciate it.”

“No problem. This is a pleasant interruption to an otherwise hectic day. Gives me a chance to tell you what an outstanding job you’re doing on the nightly news. Not only have you improved morale around here since you took over the show, but your shipmates look forward to it every night, Hallie.”

Hallie
?

Her first thought was how inappropriate for the CO to be calling a second-class petty officer by her first name. Especially the first time he met her. Alone in his cabin. While sporting a smile that tap danced damn close to the PC boundary line, with a twinkle in his blue eyes that definitely did not belong there.

“McCabe will be fine, sir.” And just as she’d re-established that boundary, she realized his bright blue almond-shaped eyes were identical to the ones that stared back at her in the mirror every morning.

What did Philip call them? Cornflower blue?

Rick?

Wait. The Captain’s name was Andrew. No way could this be Rick. Hallie glanced at the embroidered wings over the breast pocket of his blue camouflage uniform. There were lots of pilots that age who were not Rick.

And hadn’t her mom called him her big, strong Irishman? Wasn’t Amerson Swedish or something?

“Thank you, sir, but I don’t do the show alone. There is a dedicated group of MCs in Public Affairs who are behind me, doing most of the work.”

How she managed to speak, she didn’t know. Buckets of adrenaline dumped into her bloodstream as fight or flight impulses vied with each other: One cried: “Tear the bastard limb from limb,” while the other screamed, “Get the hell out of here!” Tendrils of panic curled through her gut like roots in photography. Her mind Googled every detail her mom had ever told her about Rick.

“You got his height too,” her mom had said.

The Captain was obviously tall, but how tall? Based on the length of his arms, he could easily stand six-foot-three.

“Yes, but you’re the one we see. You’ve become the head cheerleader on the
Blanchard
, McCabe. You have single-handedly put a spring in every sailor’s step lately and I appreciate that.”

His cool blue eyes continued to fixate on her cool blue eyes. He showed no sign of recognition and why should he? This couldn’t be Rick and even if it was, Rick didn’t even know she existed.

Did he?

“We all like having you bring us the news every night, even when it’s bad news. So I’m glad I got this chance to tell you how much I’ve been enjoying watching you.” A disarming smile seemed to lock in those last five words.

Her body and soul went to high alert, double time. Either the fact that he was looking at her the same way the younger pilots did or the fact that he could possibly be her father was bad enough. Trying to process both thoughts at the same time was over the top. The “Get the hell out of here” voice was currently winning, but Hallie couldn’t move. Panic had now turned to paralysis. She acknowledged this as shock. It was the body’s way of caring for itself when it can’t process something horrific and simply shuts down.

But then Philip’s words came back to her: “I happen to know you’re very good at pretending.” And her mother’s: “I have a daughter with balls.” And then she almost burst out laughing because now John Paul Jones was in the mix: “I have not yet begun to fight!”

And as quickly as panic had overtaken her, a sense of calm and peace washed through her, as if her mom was hugging her and reminding her she could handle this. Besides, he couldn’t be Rick. He just couldn’t be.

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

The leer factor slid from his face and he looked away before responding. “Well, I’m just saying that the crew likes hearing what you have to say, McCabe. They’re all watching every night and that’s important, because you have valuable information to share.”

He sounded like a freakin’ politician because that was not what he’d said. But by calling him on it, she felt a shift in the balance of power. She now knew that he knew she did not tolerate harassment. And no way was she leaving, not yet. Not until she verified he was not Rick. And while she was asking, she’d better write down every single thing that transpired. Because whatever did happen, it would be her word against his.

Nobody took the wind out of Hallie McCabe’s sails.

“I try to do my job the best I can. I have some questions for you, sir, if you have the time. This won’t take long.”

They proceeded with the interview, discussing the current mission and his background. When he described his former flying days in F-14 Tomcats, Hallie swallowed hard, but realized there were lots of former F-14 pilots out there and although her father had been one of them, it probably wasn’t this one named Andrew.

This tall man. With her eyes.

“You know the F-14 was a helluva jet. Though landing one on a pitching carrier deck could be a little like wrestling an elephant. I enjoyed flying them. Guess I’m getting old now.” A slow smile tipped up his mouth. “The Navy retired them in 2006. The F/A-18 Super Hornet, which can practically fly itself, totally took over. My son’s flying those now.”

“Your son? Oh, sir, you couldn’t possibly have a son old enough to fly F-18’s.”

Flattery would get her whatever information she wanted. Because if he had had a son flying F-18’s, he would have to be older than her. And certainly Rick hadn’t left a baby at home with his wife while he was romancing Suzanne.

“Oh, Andy’s twenty-seven. With the Flying Jacks out of Miramar.”

So if he was Rick, he was a double bastard.

“Oh. Well, I wonder if you’d mind helping me out with something while I’m here, sir. I’m taking an online course in international diplomacy and we’re discussing U.S. relations with Asia over the years. Did you ever go on a West Pac cruise? Maybe see some action near North Korea?”

“Yes, when I was with the Salty Dawgs. We were attached to the
Kitty Hawk
. We did fly some sorties, checking out things along the DMZ and near North Korea’s borders. We were flying…”

She let him talk, but just as he seemed close to finishing, she interrupted. “Did you ever visit Japan, sir? I’ve always been fascinated by Japan. I even tried to get stationed there.” Hallie pulled out her most enthusiastic “head cheerleader of the
Blanchard
” smile.

Amerson chuckled. “Yes, lots of good times in Japan.” His mouth curved into a slow, lazy smile. “Beautiful country. We spent a couple of weeks there. The
Kitty Hawk
needed some emergency repairs so we pulled into the shipyard. Good liberty in Japan.”

Amusement lit his face as he waxed and waned about the good old days in Japan: flying over Mt. Fuji, trips to Tokyo, sushi, summer festivals, all she could think about was her mom waxing and waning—over too many glasses of wine—about meeting Rick when he came ashore for liberty. Just long enough to woo her and get her pregnant.

“Oh, so you were at the shipyard in Yokosuka, sir?”

“No, the
ship
was in Yokosuka, but we flew the aircraft to the air base. Didn’t want the planes sitting there in the shipyard.”

“You mean the air facility at Atsugi?”

Another good humored grin as he tripped down Memory Lane. “Yeah, we were in and out of Atsugi a lot that summer.”

“And what summer would that be, sir?”

“Let’s see. That was the cruise when…so that would be…”

Let’s see. The summer you were screwing Suzie Q. Andy Junior was two…so…1986?

“1986.”

Hallie scribbled away as the puzzle pieces clicked into place.

She flew on autopilot, getting everything down in black and white so she could peruse her notes later while she put the rest of the puzzle together. She ended the interview and came to attention, clutching her clipboard. “Thank you, sir. I’ll pick out a few questions for tomorrow. Please let me know when would be a good time to come back with my camera crew and we’ll film for the broadcast. Permission to depart, sir.”

He stood up and that’s when she saw he was clearly six-foot-three. “Tomorrow’s fine. Feel free to come up and see me anytime, McCabe. Just call ahead. Keep up the good work on the news.” And then looking her right in the eye and smiling one more time, he said, “If there’s ever anything you need, you know where I am. Carry on.”

It hit her like a ton of bricks just as she reached the door. Out of the blue. As if a voice whispered in her ear. Philip had never called Sky anything but “Sky,” although it wasn’t his given name. It seemed everybody in the Navy had a nickname, especially aviators. So maybe?

“Excuse me, sir, but I have one more question for you, if you don’t mind.”

“Shoot.”

“What was your call sign when you flew F-14’s? Pilots always have interesting call signs, usually with a funny story behind them. Care to share?”

Captain Amerson laughed. “Well, now that is an embarrassing story, and no, I don’t care to share its origins with you. But since my call sign is probably well known within the air wing, I guess I can share it with you. It’s ‘Ricochet.’”

Rick O’Shea.

My big, strong Irishman.

Game. Point. Match.

Chapter 19

Philip folded her in his arms again. “You’re going to make one hell of an investigative reporter.” He’d only interrupted her twice. When the CO called her by her first name and when he said that he was enjoying watching her.

But damn if Philip wasn’t proud of her for calling him out on both occasions. Hallie had never told him her mom’s line about having a daughter with balls and he thought it described her perfectly. And John Paul Jones? Only Hallie could find humor in a situation like that. Hallie McCabe could take care of herself. Another reason he loved her so much.

But her bravado was fading fast and he saw the pain return to her face. “I held it together while I was in there, but once I left I fell apart.”

Hallie had wanted to vomit. Her own father flirting with her. Wasn’t verifying that he was her father bad enough? But to have him come on to her like that. She ducked into the nearest female head and did vomit, until there was nothing left. Then she shut the door and sobbed against the bulkhead. Shock had turned to pain and then to anger. The son of a bitch! All she could think about was taking a shower. He’d made her skin crawl.

Knowing her chief wouldn’t know how long she’d be with the CO, Hallie cleaned herself up, went back to her quarters, stumbled into the head there, and dry heaved. Gasping and choking and crying. There wasn’t even a place where she could go and have some privacy to deal with this. Hallie stripped off her clothes and climbed into the shower.

Immersing herself in warm water, she wished for her mother. She was torn between the loneliness of missing her and the hatred she felt for her mom ever being with that man. Hallie cried with the anguish of knowing the Captain was Rick and then she doubled over with the emotional pain that he’d been so familiar with her. With those eyes.
Her
eyes. All the longings of wanting a dad in her life caused her to crumple to the deck, when she thought about Captain Amerson being that man.

But wait. Rick wasn’t her dad. Her mother had been right. Rick was a bastard.

The water turned cold, letting her know two minutes were up. Reality reared its ugly head. All she wanted to do was to dry off and go crawl into her rack. Curl up into a ball and never get up. In a perfect world, she’d curl up in Philip’s arms and let him rock her while she cried.

Not make love. Just cry. And rock. And he’d understand. He wouldn’t ask her anything. He wouldn’t ask for anything. He’d just hold her. And soothe her. Because that’s the kind of man he was. A real man. A man she could count on. But she couldn’t go to him. He wasn’t a part of her life anymore and that was her own fault.

And she couldn’t climb into her rack either. She had a show to broadcast in three hours. And she had work to do. First she had to clean herself up and then she had a few things she was planning to say on tonight’s show. Trying to pretend she wasn’t on the verge of a panic attack wasn’t going to be easy, but as Philip had said, she was pretty good at pretending. So Hallie pulled herself together.

Dressing in a clean uniform, she dried her hair and put on make-up. The very thought of Captain Amerson “enjoying watching her” on the TV made her stomach cramp up all over again.

“Okay, Mom. He beat each of us once, but he’s not going to beat us again.”

It was all Philip could do to restrain himself, both from wanting to kill the CO and wanting to kiss Hallie. But he just stood there with his arms around her, whispering endearing words, swirling comforting strokes up and down her back. Holding her close and letting her cry. She clutched him like a lifeline. His heart swelled and surely it would burst with how good it felt to have her in his arms again.

Hallie raised her head to look at him through her tears and then grabbed him around the neck, pulled his mouth to hers, and kissed him hard and rough, taking away all his restraint. She whimpered and moaned at the same time. A cross between pain and desire. He hadn’t kissed her in weeks, since the night she’d told him goodbye, and he had his own pain to exorcise.

This kiss was not their usual. Neither slow, nor deep. It was shallow and hungry and ruthless. Their hands were all over each other, demanding and greedy. His massaging her breasts, hers now in his back pockets, cupping his ass, bringing him closer to her. And still their kiss went on.

They tried to climb inside of each other and be one soul again.

Philip backed her against the door and writhed against her. And with her. Angry, demanding, ceaseless. All the pent-up tensions of the past month crying for release.

Frustration tore at him trying to feel her breasts through the thick pockets of her aquaflage. He slid his hands up under her shirt, ripping her T-shirt from the waist of her uniform pants.

His hands glided up her smooth stomach until they found her lace-covered breasts. He massaged them roughly, then caught himself, slowed down, and settled for stroking her nipples with the pads of this thumbs. Moans escaped from her mouth into his and he sucked them down to blend with his own sounds.

He unclasped her bra in the front and was nearly brought to his knees when her breasts spilled into his waiting hands. But it wasn’t nearly good enough. He needed to have his mouth on her, to feel her heat and taste her skin.

His hips continued to grind Hallie into the bulkhead and Hallie ground right back. He slipped his hands out to unbutton her shirt, mouth plundering hers, while his nimble fingers worked. Philip pulled her shirt apart and pulled up her T-shirt, his mouth zeroing in on a nipple. Suckling, his groans mingled with her quiet moans.

Philip didn’t know what they were going to do or how they were going to do it, but his primal brain told him he needed to make her his own once again.

He returned to her mouth, his hands making love to her breasts. Hallie reached for the zipper on his coveralls, her other hand stroking him through the fabric. A jolt of fire slammed into him and he practically went through the steel overhead.

Too impatient to fiddle with snaps and zippers and thankful for the elastic waist in aquaflage pants, Philip hooked his thumbs in Hallie’s belt loops and yanked her pants halfway to her knees in one swift motion.

She grabbed for them. “No!” she whisper-cried. “We can’t do this!”

He jerked away from her, turned, and placed his hands flat on the bulkhead, gulping in air. “You’re right. I’m sorry I…”

Hallie pulled her uniform pants back up, reached under her T-shirt to hook her bra. “No, it’s my fault, Philip. I’m sorry I started that.” She tucked her T-shirt in, started buttoning her shirt. “I want you so much, but there’s no way we can do this.”