The Captain's Lady (7 page)

Stunned by the accusation, he slipped out of the chair and moved over beside her on the bed. Wrapping his arms around her, he soothed and caressed the silky hair. “Shhh, it's all right."

She stiffened and remained that way for several minutes. Finally she reached up one hand and pushed him away while swatting at his arm with her free hand. “Don't touch me. I thought you were different, that you cared, but you're a liar just like every man I've ever known."

Tensing at the accusation he held both her arms in a firm grip. “Look at me, dammit.” And he waited until the shy blue-eyed gaze snaked up to meet his. “I didn't lie to you.” The controlled emotion brooked no room for argument. Releasing her arms, he took a firm hold on the wobbly chin, turning the tear-streaked face upward. “Yes, there's a guard at the door. He's there for your protection.” As with a teacup being turned upside down, the fight poured out of her all at once, to be replaced with confusion and fresh tears. “I put the guard there to keep curious crew members away from you."

"Oh.” The reply was sheepish. “I didn't know ... I'm sorry.” A deep blush crept up her face, accentuating the deep purple and yellow of the fading bruises.

Eric found himself pleased with the fire she had shown. It proved the depth of her emotions. “It actually never even occurred to me that you would interpret it that way. For the distress it obviously caused you, I am sorry.” He sucked in a breath, hardening his gaze while he looked down again at the adoration she bestowed on him. He smoothed back her hair then abruptly pulled his hand away, clenching it to gain control of the moment.

"You need to understand that when I give an order on this ship, whatever it is, it's for the good of everyone. Do you understand? My orders are not to be questioned."

She lowered her chin. “Don't question anything I do here, Abby. This is my ship. I already told you that I would protect you. And by god, I will."

The hesitancy in her fingers as she reached out and touched his cheek made him just about melt inside. Then the fingers rasped across the shadow of growth on his chin. Eric took in her widening eyes as she jerked her scorched hand back, with a tinge of pink now highlighting her cheeks.

He reached for the shaky hand and gave it a supportive squeeze. “If you don't understand something I've done, please just ask me. Remember that whatever I decide is the way it will be on this ship. There are reasons why I do something that no one else will be privy to, including you.” Cocking his head to the side, his eyes softened, but the intensity deepened. “Do you understand?"

"Yes. I'm sorry, please forgive me.” The reply sounded almost breathless as she nodded several times.

Cupping the back of her head with his hand, he gently stroked her jaw with his thumb. “Just remember I won't hurt you, I promise you that. And I will protect you.” He eased her forward and held her tight. She slowly entwined her arms around his waist. Then, assaulted with an instinctive need for distance, he held her away, running both his hands down her arms before standing and towering above. Without another word, he turned and left, pulling the door closed behind him.

He remained on the other side of the door for just a second. He nodded to the guard. For the first time he felt unsteady over this growing bond with Abby, unclear where it was going and the crossroads they had reached.

Inside sickbay, Abby let out a querulous breath. Her nervous laugh filled the still air. How could this man have the power to fill or empty the void that resided deep inside her? Where would they go from here? If anywhere.

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Chapter Eight

The enlisted female bunkroom Gail occupied contained eighteen bunks, all filled on this deployment. She lingered in the closed confinement of her rack as four of the women who shared the bunkroom with her gathered by the TV to watch a reality show they were able to pick up.

"He really pisses me off. He needs to have someone knock him off his high horse. I don't know who he thinks he is, but you know as well as I do he only treated me that way because I'm a woman."

The four women around the television stilled, then looked at each other hesitantly before focusing their attention on Gail.

Petty Officer Jennifer Hampton stood up from the couch and strode over to Gail. “Would you keep your voice down?” She leaned against the bunk and gave a hurried smack to Gail's thigh. “I agree with you, as do most of us girls on this ship. He's a bastard when it comes to women. But you need to watch your step, girl. He's the captain. You need to be careful of what you say."

Gail shrugged and then rolled off the rack to stand beside Jennifer. “Not if we go together and file a discrimination suit against him."

The silence was piercing, and so were the stunned looks on each of their faces.

"You're crazy, girl. What's wrong with you, coming up with something stupid like that?” Petty Officer Mary-Jo Johnson murmured as she rose out of the chair.

"No really, please listen. I heard that there is a woman commander out there who is next in line to command a ship like this one. If we can get rid of the S.O.B., then we don't have to worry about being passed over for promotion just because we're the wrong sex."

There was some interest in the idea; two of the women looked at each other in agreement.

"We all know he's made his position clear regarding women. He has never hesitated to spell it out. You all know I'm right. He believes we were born to stay at home and wait for our husbands, holding their slippers in our hands, bearing their kids, wipe snotty noses, and waiting hand and foot on them like bloody slaves. It's like something out of the Dark Ages!"

Gail waved her hands animatedly as she spoke. Only Mary-Jo's disapproving glare remained aloof and on guard. Gail didn't miss the three other women's shared looks of agreement, acknowledging that yes, she was partly right about the captain's views. She rejoiced inwardly. The captain's one mistake would be used to her advantage: his voiced objections opposed to women in the navy, including his damming statement that they “lowered the integrity of the service.” She smiled as the thrill of victory appeared within her grasp.

She was startled from her thoughts as Mary-Jo planted herself abruptly in front of her, arms jammed in her pockets in mock challenge. “Okay girl, you got a point about the captain. He does have a problem with us women and he
has
said some stuff that has right pissed me off, too. But don't you forget, he's the captain and if he says jump, we ask how high. So I wonder whatcha think you're gonna do about it?"

Swallowing, Gail wanted nothing more than to take a step back, but was trapped with her back to the bunk. She fought the urge to cower, heart pounding, very aware of Mary-Jo's intimidation tactics. Pulling in a deep breath, Gail wondered about the best way to manipulate and handle the woman. Somehow she needed to—would—find a way to win her over. She was the one person on this ship impossible to read, and definitely no one she wanted to piss off.

With a gleam of mischief in her eyes, she continued, “Ladies, I got a plan, and I'll be counting on your help. You know we have to stick together.” Gail donned a somber demeanor intended to convey the need for a united front.

Mary-Jo held up both hands. “You can just stop right there, girl. I'm not interested in any dirty business. Nor will I get involved in any scheme of yours to hurt the captain. You can count me out. I had enough of these games with my sister back home; I'm certainly not gonna stoop to doin’ somethin’ that's surely gonna start trouble. Especially when it's not based on any fact.” Looking pointedly at each of the women, and not masking the disappointment and disgust she felt for their not standing up to Gail, she turned without another word and strode into the head.

Gail heard the familiar squeak of the faucet. Water galoshed through the pipes, then the faucet squeaked off. A moment later Mary-Jo returned to the bunkroom. She didn't look any calmer.

"Humpff, you just remember what I said, and if I was you, Miss Gail, I would drop it and start doin’ the job you're supposed to do and keep your nose out of the cap'n's business."

The angrier Mary-Jo got, the more pronounced her southern accent became. Taking them all in with a sweeping glance, she clenched her fists and smacked Gail on the back of the head. “What's wrong with you, trying to cause trouble? And what's wrong with the rest of you girls, sittin’ here listening to this? Shame on you.” She gave each of them a final dark glare before heading for the bunkroom door. “If you even think about causing trouble and I hear about it, I'll go straight to the cap'n. I won't stand by and take it. And I won't do it sneaky like you the cowards. I will be in your face and wipe the floor with you.” She made a point of peering right into Gail's eyes, conveying the warning before turning on her heels and leaving.

The remaining girls, one by one, looked at Gail. “She's right, just let it go."

The rebel in Gail sprouted up seething at the humiliation she had just endured at the hands of Mary-Jo. She had almost convinced them. Her silent thoughts pulsed with anger. No, she wouldn't let it go. If they wouldn't help her, she'd find her own way. Scowling, she plopped into one of the chairs by the TV, earning a pitying glance from Jennifer, still standing beside the bunk. God, how she hated them for making her feel this low.

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Chapter Nine

Eric sat behind his desk surveying the room. Joe sat across the room in the chair by the couch, where they had just held their daily department head meeting. The meetings were, as a rule, held in the morning, but with the sudden arrival of Abby and the ensuing commotion, they'd rescheduled it to 1900.

He acknowledged each officer as they passed by his desk, waiting until they left before swallowing the last of the bitter coffee in one gulp and rereading the orders clutched in his hand.

To Captain Eric Hamilton,

Commander USS Larsen

Northern Arabian Gulf

DATE: June 19, 2004

Indeterminate extension of existing orders to remain in the Persian Gulf, conducting operations in support of multinational forces in Iraq and Maritime security operations in the Gulf, in order to set conditions for security and stability in the region.

Stability in the region. There was the crux of the issue.

When the USS Larsen pulled out of its homeport six months earlier, as part of the battle group now stationed in the gulf under Operation Iraqi Freedom, emotions were high as the thrill of being back on the open sea stirred the blood of the crew. Most had left behind wives, children, and families. Some had even become new fathers while out at sea.

At the announcement of the orders, the officers masked their disappointment well, but it was still there. This left Eric with a silent, piercing guilt for feeling a lonely jubilation that they were staying. He had no ties to shore, only a rented apartment in Portsmouth with a few meager possessions. No, the sea was his true home, his lady-love, the only place he truly felt alive. He was merely a survivor of life's fickleness until experiencing a soul-awakening rebirth the first time he went out to sea.

He slipped the orders back in the folder, and then dropped it neatly to the side of his desk with a measure of finality. Tension in the region was already high. The increase in hostilities prompted the creation of a task force scheduled for dispatch later in the week.

Eric was hesitant about bringing up the subject of Abby, but there was no way around it. Without covering the pertinent details, he'd advised the men that they would not be moving her, and for the time being, she would remain in sickbay, off limits to the crew. Their startled looks were nothing less than expected. Not wanting to elaborate on the details, Joe's quick thinking steered the discussion in a different direction.

Before the meeting, Eric spoke with Vice Admiral James, Commander of the US Navy and Marine Forces in the Gulf. The discussion lingered on the Brits, who were still very much in the area. A British Class Sheffield Destroyer had been spotted on the horizon to the north.

Eric was concerned about the admiral's reaction toward Abby and the reason she was remaining on board. But, much to his relief, the admiral left the decision to Eric's discretion.

The support and trust he'd received over the years was a welcome comfort. Having that support was a good thing since Eric had already decided Abby would stay onboard, as long as it remained safe. Having the okay from above made it that much easier.

As the door closed behind the last officer, Eric gave Joe a cursory glance, grimacing over the harsh guilt stabbing in his gut. “Sorry about the extension; I know you miss Mary-Margaret and the kids."

Joe tightened his mouth. “Thanks, yeah, I miss them.” He turned away for a second, taking a deep breath before turning back. “So what did the Admiral have to say about Abby staying on board?"

He laced his fingers together, and propped them under his chin, feeling a little lighter since speaking with the Admiral. “He said he'd leave the decision of whether she's moved up to me."

"What do you mean, whether she's moved?"

He did not want to have this conversation right now. His thoughts drifted to the earlier idea of finding a place for her and the baby near him in Portsmouth. It was too soon to share these thoughts with anyone, including his friend. In an attempt to change the conversation's focus, he brought up the misunderstanding about the guard, how upset this made her. He hoped this would be enough to get him off the subject. Joe's dark, leveled look told him it did not work.

Joe shrugged and read the documents in front of him. “I'm looking for some information—any information—on this Seyed Hossein.” He sighed. “Turns out there's not much available. Not even a hundred percent sure the guy exists.” He stood and took the files, then sat in the chair across the desk from Eric. He laid the papers on the front edge of the desk, leaned on his elbows, and added, “The French police report that every year several thousand girls are reported missing from Paris. The police believe these girls are abducted for use in prostitution in Arab countries. What is really sick is that even Intel has information on these auctions in Africa, where these abducted white women are sold to Arab customers. Blonde women like Abby are most sought after.” He continued as Eric's nostrils flared, “These women are never seen again. For what it's worth, Abby is one of the lucky ones.” He thumped the manila file folder with a knuckle. “I believe this Hossein is responsible for more than one disappearance."