Under Fire: The Admiral (15 page)

Chapter 12

Paris

Ben leaned against a building across the
street and a few doors down from Gemma’s Rue St. Antoine apartment
in Paris. His flight had landed at seven thirty this morning, forty
minutes early, at Charles de Gaulle. It had taken two and a half
hours to clear customs, get from the airport and check into a hotel
in the Marais a
rrondissement, o
ne of twenty
districts
dividing Paris. T
he hotel would do. It had a bed
and private bath. It was clean, and best of all it was a couple
blocks from Gemma’s apartment. He’d been holding up the building
between a Chinese takeout and tobacco shop for close to four hours
waiting for her to either come or go. It had taken him an agonizing
eighteen hours to get her son, Sam, on the phone. It seems talking
to a guy on a Navy carrier in the middle of the Indian Ocean was
not as simple as it appeared on TV and in the movies. Talking him
into spilling where he could find Gemma had been equally as
difficult. He’d refused at first, but when he heard the story of
his accident and his mother’s role, he’d given in. To save Sam from
Gemma’s wrath, Ben, at Sam’s suggestion, threatened to sue Guardian
Air over the crash if her location was not disclosed.

Her office said she was on leave. He knew
enough about the military to know that made the trip personal, not
business. He could not figure the reason she bolted. More to the
point, what he’d done to make her run.

Sam enlightened him on the why. A less than
happy childhood as the daughter of dirt-poor, abusive and alcoholic
parents taught her early on to run and hide when things became
difficult. Her older brother was her protector. As a child, he
would hide her in the house until it was safe. When she outgrew
hiding places inside, her brother sent her out, taking the brunt of
the abuse himself. Sam said to this day when she felt threatened by
difficult personal situations she ran.

Unable to sleep on the flight, he’d gone over
dozens of scenarios and come up empty each time. At Arlington she’d
been upset he pressured her, but when she agreed to meet him it had
been genuine, at least he thought it had been genuine, not a
brush-off. Could he be losing his ability to read people? Or was it
Gemma was impossible to read? Whatever the fuck it was, he didn’t
want to do it again.

Sam assured him her cell would work here. He
didn’t dare call. The moment she saw his name in the caller ID she
wouldn’t answer and possibly run again. e made up his minde H His
best chance of getting to talk to her was a face-to-face
confrontation and hope like hell she didn’t call the gendarmes and
have his ass hauled away.

He checked his watch. Ten minutes later than
the last time he checked. “Haaaamm.” He yawned and stretched. Being
a surgeon gave him an ability to stand in one spot for long
periods, but he had his limits. The sky was going gray. If it
rained he’d need a better place to stand and watch. He stepped to
the edge of the wide sidewalk and looked up and down the street for
a better vantage point. The cheese shop across the street a few
doors from her building would do. For now, he went back to
supporting the building and processing what he’d learned about
Gemma.

He tipped his head to the passing gendarme
checking him out and wondered if the cop would believe his reason
for being there. He’d better concoct something more convincing.
Even a French cop would have trouble believing he’d come all this
way to see a woman and do nothing but stand across the street and
watch. He shifted his gaze to her apartment building and pushed off
the wall. Gemma was coming through the glass and iron door. He put
a hand to his chest. He knew it wasn’t possible but his heart
pounded so hard it felt like it would break through.

She—looked—beautiful and very Parisian. Black
turtleneck, gray jacket, a scarf swirled over her shoulders and
gray slacks. For a moment she stood looking up and down the street,
making a decision what direction she would go. She chose neither,
jaywalking and heading directly for him. He froze. It took a moment
for him to realize she hadn’t seen him. He ducked his head and
slipped into the Chinese takeout place, perusing the overhead menu
until Gemma passed. He gave it a moment, stuck his head out
searching the crowd for a head with short brown hair. He located
her and slipped into a stream of pedestrians exiting the St. Paul
Metro stop moving the same direction. She went to an outdoor café
in St. Catherine’s Square half a block from his hotel and sat at
one of the two empty tables. The one with a single chair. Ben
pulled the bill of his cap low over his face and sat with his back
to her at the other table. The waiter came and she ordered a café
and croissant in perfect French. He stole a glance over his
shoulder and saw she was checking her cell. He pulled out his and
texted,
“I didn’t know you spoke fluent French.”
When her
phone pinged he rose, removed his cap, and pulled a chair to her
table.

* * *

Gemma took an outside seat at the café even
though the air was cooling and it felt like rain. She’d been cooped
up in her apartment all day and the fresh air felt good. Her rush
to seek comfort with her friend was ill timed. He was in Dubai on
embassy business and it would be another week before his
companionship would ease some of her pain. In the meantime, she was
in Paris alone. She looked at the young couple a few tables over
kissing, hands gliding over places better touched in private. She
sighed. Paris was the last place a woman should be alone when she’s
trying to get over a man. She took out her cell and began the
unpleasant task of checking her messages. The only one of any
importance was from her office assistant saying he’d rescheduled
all her meetings. He’d call tomorrow as she’d requested with a
report on a committee meeting she wouldn’t make. The missed calls
log showed Sam called twice but left no message. And thankfully
there was nothing from Walsh. She didn’t know if that was a good
thing or a bad thing.
What the fuck?
She didn’t want to hear
from him. An incoming text flashed across the screen. She read it
once, then read it again. She jiggled the instrument, as if doing
that would reset the words on the screen to make more sense. A man
scraped one of the café’s heavy iron chairs across the paving
stones, positioned it opposite her and sat. “I don’t want company,”
she said in French, staring at the screen and not looking up. How
the hell did Walsh know she spoke fluent French? When the man
didn’t move she repeated it in English and looked into the face of
the someone she’d spent most of the last five days thinking about.
About being with in every sense of the word.

Walsh carefully placed his cap on the table
and ran a hand over his hair, trying to make order of his hat
head.

“Hello.”

She said nothing. He looked tired and
nervous.
As well he should be. A wariness flooded her brain.
How the hell had he found her?
She glanced down at the
phone.
Sam.
That’s why he was calling. Wariness turned to
anger. If Walsh thought her French was fluent, wait until he heard
her profanity. She opened her mouth to blast him, only to close it
when the café owner, M
onsieur Duran,
delivered her coffee and croissant. He asked Walsh if he’d like to
order. Without taking his gaze off her, Walsh shook his head. The
elderly Frenchman grumbled and shuffled off to take care of his
other customers.

Ben threw her a smile.

“Leave.” The word came out as a low growl but
it was all she could manage. He lowered his head, cleared his
throat and looked back to her. She could see in his eyes he wasn’t
going anywhere. He leaned across the small table and used his big
warm hand to cover hers.

“Gemma.”

The way he said her name sent a shiver
through her.

“I’m not going anyplace until you tell me why
you wouldn’t meet me. Why you came to Paris.”

“That’s none of your business.” To prevent
him from feeling her tremors she yanked her hand away, leaving the
phone under his palm.

“It’s my business if I’m the reason you
left.”

She held her hand out. “Give me my
phone.”

He held it out of her reach. “Not until you
tell me why you didn’t show up in Baltimore.”

Her angry act was going to be difficult to
maintain if he kept using that soft voice and smile. “Why did you
follow me?”

“I told you, I need to talk to you.”

What could be so important that he’d followed
her to Paris? She folded her arms over her chest and flopped back
in the chair. This had disaster written all over it. Face-to-face
she might not have the courage to send him away if he said he
wanted a relationship. “Go for it.” Ben hesitated and looked around
at nearby tables, where men and women sipped their wine or coffee,
read books and newspapers and engaged in conversation, and he
looked at a young couple, foreplay. “Talk,” Gemma demanded.
“They”—she scanned the tables—“aren’t paying us one wit of
attention. Whatever you have to tell me you can say it here. Be
quick about it.”
Before I say something stupid like I want to be
with you.

Ben shrugged and slid her phone across the
table. Gemma made no attempt to retrieve it, fearful he would reach
out and touch her again. She dropped her hands to her lap.

“Twenty-two years ago I was just home from
college for the summer break. My buddy and I went out drinking. We
were hammered. I don’t remember exactly what happened.”

“Doc, you may have forgotten but you told me
all this in the jungle. I don’t need to hear it again. If this is
what you chased me to Paris for you’ve wasted your time.” She
reached for her phone and he covered her hand with his.

“There’s more. A lot more. Let me
finish?”

Gemma looked from her hand to his face,
glaring until he moved his hand. “Get on with it.” She palmed her
cell and pulled her hands from his reach.

“An animal ran across the road—maybe. Anyway,
we hit a utility pole head-on, flipped off it into a runoff ditch.
There’d been a lot of rain. The car rested on its side in a few
feet of water. My legs were trapped. I couldn’t get out.” He
paused.

His dark eyes scanned her face in the fading
afternoon light as the glimmer of understanding took hold. What the
hell was he trying to pull? The man in that accident died.

“I was in and out of consciousness. My head
slipping under the water flooding the car. Then
you
appeared.”

Gemma struggled to keep her rapid breathing
under control. How dare he take what she told him and do this to
her.

“That was
me
, Gemma. You saved
me
.” He gave her the date and time of his accident.

Gemma’s head rotated slowly from side to
side. “No. The newspaper article.”

“It was my friend who died in the accident.
He’d been thrown clear of the car and more than likely died on the
initial impact. You didn’t read the whole article.”

It was true, she hadn’t. She’d only seen the
little headline and read the first few lines from a discarded
newspaper in the Dallas airport. “No,” she whispered. “Not me.”

“It
was
you.” He stretched out his
arm, resting it on the table palm-up. “You had a flashlight and
went under the water to free me. When you couldn’t, you wedged in
behind me. My head was on your chest, here.” He raised his hand and
put it on his chest where his head had rested on hers. “Kept my
head above water.” He closed his eyes. “You said,
don’t worry,
baby boy, help is coming.
I told you I couldn’t take the pain
anymore. Begged you to let me go so I could drown.” He opened his
eyes, placed his arms on the table, clasping his hands. “I remember
your words exactly.” He leaned toward her. “You said, not a
snowball’s chance in the middle of a fucking Texas summer. The Big
Guy is giving you another chance.”

Dear God. It was her.
All this time
thinking that man had died. Her decision to stay with him and not
go for help had killed him. A decision that in a very real way
helped her form every lifesaving evaluation she’d made since that
night. Gemma struggled to keep her expression free of emotion.

“You said, we’re going to take it second by
second. You can do anything for a second. And you counted down the
time by tapping the back of my hand. Just like you did with the
lieutenant in the jungle.” He hesitated and shifted in the chair
uncomfortably, his knee bumping hers. “I kept expecting you to
appear at the hospital. When you didn’t, I began to question if you
were real. I finally asked my mom and she assured me you were real.
You disappeared the moment the rescue personnel arrived. No one
could even give us your description.”

Which was exactly what she wanted. She hadn’t
wanted Daniel and Olivia to discover she’d been at their graduation
or anywhere near that weekend.

“I couldn’t recall seeing your face. All I
had was your voice. Over the years I’ve heard it in my dreams.
Thought I’ve heard it in crowded rooms or on the street. In the
jungle with you up against me, I realized I had more. I had your
scent.”

There was a long awkward silence before he
spoke again.

“Why did you leave? Never let anyone know who
you were?”

She wasn’t about to answer that question. “If
you knew that first night why didn’t you tell me?” The best defense
is a good offense.

“I wasn’t sure then.” The muscles in his jaw
tensed. “I was already attracted to you.” His dark eyes locked onto
hers. “The crash, the jungle, the tension, the whole situation
could’ve been skewing my perception.” He pulled his arm back off
the table and rested it in his lap.