The Captain's Lady (8 page)

A sick feeling burned in the pit of Eric's stomach. Rising up, he choked off any response. He closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. “They can be quite the sick, perverted bastards, can't they?"

The leather hissed as he sat back down and propped his feet on the desk. He squeezed his eyes shut against the burning in his lids. Which left a wide-open track for the woolly weariness to penetrate his soul.

Joe cleared his throat. “I'm not sure if I should mention this, but I overheard some talk. About how Abby might be some sort of terrorist."

Instant darkness overshadowed Eric. A momentary dizziness clouded his brain. Yes, he'd considered the idea. And ruled it out as unfounded. As he mulled over the idea again, he realized how this could ultimately ignite a truly unlucky situation. Joe's words were like waving a red blanket, provoking the wild beast inside him into crushing everything and anyone that got in his way.

Bounding from the chair, Eric braced his hands in front of him and bent over the desk, aiming a warning glare at Joe, who immediately put the flat of his hands up. “Whoa. Whoa; I put an end to the rumors."

"What are you looking at?” Eric snapped as a stupid grin suddenly seeped across his friend's boyishly handsome face.

"I don't think I've ever seen you like this ... ever. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were in love with the girl."

The mask slipped on Eric's face for just a fraction of a second, just long enough to reveal his tender shaky feelings towards her.

"Oh shit, I'm right.” Slapping the flat of his hand against his head, Joe let out a hoot of laughter. “Shit, who would've ever thought?"

Irritated, Eric pushed away from the desk. “Get this straight. I'm not in love with the girl. I'm just concerned with her safety."

Suddenly he wasn't sure who he was trying to convince with the force of the words. Himself or Joe?

"Yeah, right, Eric. Come on. We've been friends long enough that I can read you pretty well. Just keep telling yourself you're not in love with her and just maybe you'll start believing it."

His scowl would have been enough to make any other man tread carefully, reconsider his words. Except this was Joe, who knew his eruption was a façade intended to protect buried wounds.

Turning the tables, Eric seized hold of the conversation and steered it back to the core of the issue, away from himself and his daunting feelings for Abby. “I think we should get Intel onto this Seyed Hossein. My gut tells me there is more to this guy, and situation, than we know about."

Sitting back down, he squeezed the back of his neck to alleviate the building tension in the muscles. He was unable to shake the nagging feeling that they were missing something about this illusive Seyed. That there was more to the guy and situation than what appeared. Something in his gut screamed that ignoring it would be a mistake they would deeply regret. He made a mental note to speak with Abby again; this time they would focus on Seyed. They were overlooking something, some minute, tiny detail that she omitted, or did not think was important.

It was the sudden jolt of Joe's next words that shook him from his thoughts. Silently cursing, he felt the words like a burr in his side:
boat spotted
.

"What was that?” With a spark of fierceness, he slammed his hands down on the desk while jerking forward.

"I said there are a number of boats, particularly fishing boats, sailboats, that have been reported as suspicious. Their activities are being monitored."

Eric was all ears; he sat up straight and gave Joe his undivided attention, waving with fierce impatience for him to get to the point.

"Apparently two nights ago a sailboat that was overdue at the Tali Marine Sports Club, on Kish Island, was returned under rather suspicious circumstances. The club manager, who was on duty at the time, filed a report of a missing dinghy. The lone occupant of the sailboat was noted as being disgruntled and uncooperative, saying the dinghy was lost at sea, and wouldn't elaborate on the details."

A burst of urgency pulsed as he sought to make harried sense of the information. Steepling his hands under his chin, he contemplated the situation. Eric frowned then glanced over at Joe. Stumbling across this information seemed too easy. When he caught the direction of his wayward thoughts, it all connected. Joe had some unusual contacts that were privy to all sorts of unusual information.

"The details are sketchy, but if my hunch is right, this could be our guy. I don't have to remind you that this information is unofficial and it came from a friend of mine at Intel."

Eric gave a chuckle of approval, before asking, “Did they get a description of the guy?"

"Not sure. More information is on the way, as we speak."

"So who exactly is this friend of yours?"

Joe's wide smile flashed a row of perfect white teeth. Eric remained silent just long enough to tread that fine line of friendship and Commanding Officer.

"Do you remember Edwin Harley?"

It sounded familiar. Eric frowned, trying to remember where he heard the name before.

"Edwin is with the Marines, a Lieutenant Commander. We grew up together; his dad and mine are good friends. Remember Christmas dinner six years ago at my house? He was there with that young bombshell wife, Carlie."

A sudden shiver rose up Eric's spine, and the dread that lodged itself in his gut churned at the memory. “God how could I forget.... “Closing his eyes tight, he gave his head a quick shake as if to rid himself of a bad dream. “Shit, she was all over me when I came out of the bathroom. What a slut she was.” He leveled Joe a sheepish look. “I couldn't help feeling sorry for that poor schmuck; she sure had him duped."

"Yeah, well she split with some guy, took the kids and headed out to LA. I think Edwin was relieved, but I know he sure misses his kids. Anyway, the last eighteen months Ed's been doing some recon work with the Special Forces."

Eric closed his eyes for just a second, and then shared a pitying look with Joe for the guy's misfortune. “When did you talk to him?"

"I put in a call after Abby showed up; I thought we could use his contacts.” Joe held up both hands in a show of surrender, to halt the impending reproach. “I told him this was unofficial as well as confidential. He clearly understood that we didn't have a conversation."

Eric was reassured that Joe was on top of things. His was a very meticulous, unscrupulous organization that often left Eric's own obsession with detail pale in comparison. For years, Joe anticipated his every need. Rarely did he do things Eric disproved of; instead, he continued to demonstrate his value, not just to the entire crew, but also as his XO.

Joe was a likeable guy; this carefree calm attitude was unusual in the military. But more important to Eric, he was a true friend, dependable, reliable, and steadfast. Growing up as a navy brat, he had more friends and contacts in the military than Eric, who was in a higher-ranking position.

Joe was from a tight knit family with generational ties to the navy. He always included Eric in family gatherings and celebrations, even after marrying Mary-Margaret. As his wife, she accepted Eric's quirky chauvinistic views of women, always teasing that she wanted to fix him up with one of her friends. He grimaced every time she did, not having the heart to tell her to stop. She was a treasure and on more than one occasion, he'd told Joe how lucky he was. She was fiercely devoted to her family and it showed in the close loving relationship she and Joe still shared, after eleven years of marriage and three kids.

Eric took a pensive breath. “What else were you able to get out of Edwin?"

Joe frowned, tapping the pen on the open file. “Not much else, I'm afraid.” Slapping the file closed, he frowned at Eric and tossed the file so it landed with a plop in the middle of the desk. “He's going to do some checking, see if he can track this guy, find out what he's up to. You know, standard stuff these Intel guys love to do. He asked to be kept apprised of any other information that you get out of Abby, anything else she may remember.” Joe crossed his legs before continuing. “As you know, whatever information he may have, we won't be privy to, but he will
unofficially
find out and let me know."

"Thanks Joe, but for now let's just keep this between you and me. I need to decide the best way to handle this."

Joe stood up, nodding.

Eric remained in his chair long after Joe left, reflecting on the best course of action with Abby and their extended deployment. Sighing, he stretched his arms high, feeling the burning weariness in his neck and shoulders. Then a quick glance at his watch confirmed the late hour: 2200. No wonder he was tired.

Easing to his feet, he noticed the file glaring at him from the center of the desk. This was not something to leave lying around. He paused to drop the file in the top drawer then lock it with his keys. Putting the keys in his pants pocket, he headed off to bed, making a mental note to speak with Abby first thing in the morning.

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Chapter Ten

Abby awoke the next morning feeling groggy and disoriented. A familiar panic tightened her chest while she gasped a shaky breath. Desperate, she tried to still her pounding heart with long, deep breathing, but it was no use. Blinking rapidly, seeing only the mottled gray pipe of the bulkheads above, she fought to remember where she was.

Oh yes, on a US Navy ship. Releasing a sigh of relief, she ran clammy fingers through her sleep tussled hair, then brushed the loose strands back from her damp forehead. She stretched slow and cautious, remaining mindful of the ache in her still-tender ribs.

She winced; the baby must be sitting right on her bladder, prompting a sudden urgency to pee. Not thinking, she tried to sit up a little too quickly. The movement brought a sharp pain streaming from her ribs, stealing her precious breath. She let out a sharp cry, and froze in mid-motion. Abby counted the seconds until the pain receded. The baby chose that moment to remind her that it was still there. A pressure from its foot brought a return of the familiar ache in her lower back. She pressed the fingertips of both hands into a fierce pinch, kneading in small circles to release the mounting pressure.

Abby inhaled. She changed positions with awkward care. Then she eased both legs over the side of the bed, and wished the bathroom wasn't quite so far away. She groped for the crutch leaning against the bedstead, smiling at the memory of how the doctor had begrudgingly left it when she refused to use a bedpan, including threatening to crawl to the bathroom on her hands and knees if necessary. His ensuing comment about her stubborn streak occurred when he realized she would in fact, follow through on the threat.

A short lesson on the proper use of a crutch. This was his parting ultimatum: either she agreed to practice before he left, or there would be no crutch. It only took a few minutes to catch on. Although hesitant, her few steps were enough to satisfy him. Before leaving, he'd issued a final warning not to get out of bed for any other reason but to use the bathroom, or the crutch would disappear.

Slowly rising, grasping the crutch for support, she could not help but notice a short, boyish-looking woman wearing khakis standing with a clipboard across the room. She was making notes while going through the medical supplies in the usually-locked steel cabinet.

When Abby began to shuffle across the floor, the woman put the clipboard down, and hurried over to grasp Abby's upper arm while helping to position the crutch in her armpit. Her nametag read Corpsman Gail Carruthers.

"How did you sleep?” she asked Abby in a tone flat and devoid of emotion. There was a cool distance residing within those narrow eyes. Looking away, she appeared uninterested in Abby's response. So why did she ask the question? Abby sensed a solid barrier erected, as if somehow the woman was distancing herself. But why?

She suppressed a shudder from the cool discomfort of the air around her. Abby pasted a chaste smile on her face and continued on to the bathroom. “Actually, I slept great. I don't even remember dreaming."

"By the way, my name is Gail. Do you need some help or can you manage by yourself?"

"Thanks, but I can manage myself. I actually find hobbling with this crutch much easier now.” Abby stopped in the doorway and threw a brief glance at Gail, surprised by the cool disinterest and the evident priority of writing on the clipboard. Frowning, she closed the door and rested her hand against the metal panel. There was something troubling about Gail that penetrated her to the core. The woman was definitely in the wrong occupation. Weren't nurses supposed to be caring people?

Sighing, she caught a glimpse in the mirror of some battered girl and flinched seeing her own bruised face, cut-swollen lip, and tangled grimy hair. She pushed away from the door, musing, “Oh, what I wouldn't give for a long hot bath.” In an unconscious attempt to bring order to her hair, she ran a hand through the tangled mess, pulling slightly at the tangles.

After tending to her needs, she paused in amusement at the unique noise of the vacuum flush toilet. Still grinning, she hobbled out of the bathroom. A sudden movement out of the corner of her eye made her turn to see Gail hovering out of sight by the metal lockers in the corner. Rather strange, Abby thought. The tension in the room was unmistakable. It chilled her to the bone and hit Abby with a wave of nausea. As she watched, Gail shot a glance at the captain, who Abby just realized was there. No, not a glance, more of a sneer. So childish. It reminded Abby of being back in high school, one of many painful memories from so long ago, when a group of girls had humiliated her in front of a guy she had a crush on. Blinking away the memory and the discomfort, she wondered what the hell was going on between Gail and Eric.

Gail must have sensed Abby watching. Their gazes met. Gail's eyes widened and her face colored a bright red. Hands visibly shaking, she put the clipboard inside the supply locker, closed it quietly, and then slipped out of sickbay without a word or backward glance.