Degrees of Wrong (4 page)

I stood straighter, looked him in the eyes. “No.”

“NO?” he said, incredulous. “No WHAT?” A vein on the side of his tree-stump neck appeared to have been provoked. It now pulsated as he yelled at me.

“No, you didn’t say anything funny,” I clarified. Somehow, my answer infuriated him more.

“What is your name, cadet?” He yelled much louder at me than he had at the others. Maybe it was just that he was closer now. “And what are you hiding behind your back?” He reached around me and snatched the laptop from my hands. “What do we have here?” He tossed it around in his hands. My stomach tightened. “This is prohibited paraphernalia, cadet. It gives me great pleasure to take this artifact off your hands today.” He motioned to Little-Man to retrieve the item. I heard snickers at the end of the line again.

“Stanley, is that you? Boy, I will slap the spit outta your mouth!” Horan screamed.

And then I was able to identify the burning sensation in my guts. It was rage. I was losing my temper. Had lost it already.

Perhaps if my home hadn’t been destroyed, I could’ve overlooked his rude welcome. Perhaps if I hadn’t been tazed and abducted, I could’ve forgiven his obnoxious demeanor, his insults. Perhaps if I hadn’t been drugged, then handled like a rag doll, I could’ve turned the other cheek when he screamed in my face, spraying spittle with each bitten-off word.

Perhaps if I’d been given breakfast, I could’ve patiently and politely asked him to return my laptop to me.

But that just wasn’t the case.

As he allowed himself to be distracted by the imbecile Stanley, I snatched the laptop out of his hands. His head jerked back with a force that should’ve snapped his neck. The shock on his face lasted only for a second before turning to fury. If the vein in his neck pulsated before, it threatened to burst now. His whole body shook with rage, his face smoldering into an erratic-blood-pressure red.

The line of cadets became silent as a cemetery.

When he could speak, Lt. Frank Horan bellowed, “WHAT. DO. YOU. THINK. YOU. ARE. DOING.” As far as questions go, that one wasn’t.

To his surprise—and mine—I took a step
toward
him, our noses almost touching. And for his ears alone, I whispered, “If you
ever
put your hands on anything that belongs to me again, I swear I will—”

“Enough,” an authoritative voice roared at the end of the line. This cut short my threat, which I supposed was good, because the lieutenant looked like his blood might be made of hot sauce.

I admitted to myself that, as a doctor, I’d acted irresponsibly, given the visible signs of his deteriorating blood pressure. I resolved to feel guilty about that later.

Ebony gasped, but I refused to unlock eyes with Lt. Horan until he turned to answer the voice addressing us—I had toed the line and couldn’t back down.

“What the hell is going on here?” the anonymous man demanded.

Irritable, I redirected my dirty look to the new accuser—and gasped too.

If I thought Blue Eyes was the most attractive man I’d ever met, I was mistaken several times over. This man was magnificent. He regarded us with muscled arms crossed over a wide chest. His short black hair complemented his flawless olive skin, and even though his brow was drawn into a scowl, it called attention to his long black lashes and dark, penetrating eyes. His perfect mouth was now set in a frown, his strong jaw tight with irritation. This man was nothing less than breathtaking. Tall, dark and handsome was an insult to this marvel.

I lost my breath as his glare shifted from Lt. Horan to me. Of course, only I could aggravate the most desirable man in existence without so much as an introduction.

“Are you threatening an officer of my ship?” His voice was powerful, conducive to obedience.

My nod incited a collective whisper from among the ranks. I wasn’t sure if it was the act of threatening an officer, or that I’d
admitted
to doing so, but this seemed to take him by surprise.
Get in line
, I thought.
Behind Pretty Princess.

The perfect creature closed the distance between us in three efficient strides, and I thought my blood pressure would suffer as well, but for a different reason.

Lt. Horan was still red, but part of it now seemed to stem from embarrassment. “I had everything under control, Captain,” he muttered.

Captain looked at me, and back to Lt. Horan. I began to feel foolish—this man regarded us both as a teacher chastising two children in a playground fight. I resented it, since this man couldn’t have been much older than myself. I even resented it for Lt. Horan—Captain was
much
younger than him.

“This little twit was in the process of—” Horan started, and it was all I needed to continue where we’d left off.

“You enjoy name-calling, do you?” I drew in a breath to accommodate the long list of expletives waiting at the end of my tongue.

“Enough,” Captain hissed, stepping between us and grabbing my arm. My momentary pride at being considered the bigger threat was destroyed when my boot caught on the dock. The grip on my arm tightened, preventing a definite face-plant to a wooden plank. Instead, my cheek smacked against Captain’s chest, forcing him to wrap his arms around me to hold me steady. There, pressed against him, I wondered if the dock wouldn’t have been a softer landing. Everything hiding under his shirt was solid, hard, planed. I tried to convince myself that the heat ripping through me was just from embarrassment. But myself didn’t believe it.

Gentler than I expected given the circumstances, he pried me from his chest and peered down at me, his deep brown eyes smoldering in what looked like disbelief.
You’d think he’d be used to women throwing themselves into his arms
. He cleared his throat. “What is your name, cadet?”

That’s a great question.
Pretty Princess leaned closer, now more curious than ever. The abused ranks behind us grew statuesque. Too bad concentration couldn’t be corralled—I would have borrowed enough from our audience to at least remember my name. So far though, only four-letter words came to mind. Then I understood the problem—he never let go of me. His hands on my shoulders, holding me close enough to count his eyelashes, were robbing me of sense. That, and the way his intense gaze seemed to be questioning me, asking for more than my name.

Taking my chances with the dock, I stepped away from him and reclaimed my shoulders, tucking my laptop behind me. Even the tropical breeze felt cool where he’d touched. He blinked, as if realizing where he was—and who he was. I wasn’t naïve enough to believe I’d had the same stupefying effect on him. He was probably perplexed that the UN would recruit someone clumsier than an ox on stilts.

As the heat from his touch seeped away, my memory seeped back, like a magic potion was wearing off. “Elyse Morgan,” I said, as if I hadn’t been about to assault the lieutenant with a barrage of obscenities. As if I didn’t just leave part of my DNA on Captain’s uniform. As if I had known my name the whole time.

Enlightenment softened Captain’s face as he cleared his throat again. I remembered that Ralph had said he was aware I’d be boarding.
Finally, a reprieve from the lunacy
. But my reprieve seemed to slither from my grasp as Captain frowned, all traces of disorientation vanishing like a doused fire.

“Well, Cadet Morgan, I am Captain Nicoli Marek. I’m sure Lt. Frank Horan has already made his introductions.” He was polite, but nothing more. Well, he was irritated. “And you have interrupted the peace and unity of my vessel without even stepping foot on it.”

I’m sure my mouth gaped open, but I couldn’t bring myself to close it once it came unhinged at the corners.

“I cannot tolerate insubordination on my ship,” he continued.

The rage rekindled in my stomach and my eyes narrowed at the exquisite being that was Captain Marek. “Perhaps I should leave,” I offered, acid saturating my tone.

His eyes narrowed too. “That will not be necessary. Lt. Horan is capable of administering appropriate discipline.”

Lt. Horan smiled. I stifled a reflexive urge to choke him.

“I was told to ask for Dr. Folsom as soon as I arrived,” I ground out.

“Dr. Folsom has not yet boarded the ship. We’ll be picking her up soon.”

“I was also told you knew I was coming.”

“I am aware of all new cadets boarding the
Bellator
.”

I was going to scalp Geoffrey, I decided. After I strangled the life from Lt. Horan. But I needed to check his blood pressure first, because medically, that was a concern.

“Lieutenant, continue as you see fit,” Captain Marek ordered. He turned his gaze to me, and despite my intense dislike for this man, my heart fluttered a tiny bit when I glanced at his mouth on accident. “Cadet Morgan, you report to Lt. Horan. You are to obey him, unconditionally.”

He turned and walked away amid a line of saluting cadets. I wished I had something to throw. I was almost mad enough for a hand gesture—maybe two.

I whirled around, back to Lt. Horan’s unmistakably triumphant grin. He ripped the laptop from my grasp, handing it to Little-Man. “See you on board, twerp.” He winked at me. “I have a special treat for you.” Turning to the line of obedient cadets, he shouted, “Man the pods and move out.”

Chapter Three

What I thought was the end of the line was actually the front.

I peered over the edge of the dock at the transport pod. It was a small round vessel, painted black—of course—in stark contrast to the glistening emerald crests keeping it afloat. The open top revealed three rows of bench seats big enough for at least nine passengers.

The lump in my throat grew exponentially as the conductor jumped in and held out his hand to lower me into the craft. Struggling to establish footing in the pod, I realized it wasn’t actually moving with the tumult of the sea. It must have some sort of complex technology keeping it immobile, even in the onslaught of morning tide. Then I wondered if it was advanced indeed, or just further evidence of my ignorance.

The lump was now choking size.

Ebony tossed me a charitable smile as I made quick work of strapping in, cinching the belt to a life-saving tight. These pods must have been for short-distance travel only. Any length of time spent on this hard rubber bench would numb my lower extremities into uselessness.

Ebony waited until I could breathe again before she spoke. “Is this your first time in a pod?” she asked.

I nodded.

“It’ll be okay.” She patted my hand.

After our pod reached full capacity, the conductor took his seat in front of a buffet of buttons spanning a wide touch screen. He let his finger wander over the control panel as if it were a menu and he were choosing the best wine to accompany the meal. His selection started the craft, its loud thrumming overtaking the peaceful slosh of the waves.

“The shield will come over us next,” Ebony said.

As though her voice commanded it, the glass shield eased over our heads and hissed, locking into place in the front of the pod, enclosing us into a bubble. The vehicle’s hum grew high-pitched, and we began our descent into the ocean.

I watched in terror as the water crept higher, and unreasonable panic played havoc with my breathing. As the pod submerged, the high-pitch thrumming all but disappeared, and we took in the view in silence. The glass made the water even clearer, revealing an established, thriving marine community. To the left and right, as far as the eye could see, the underwater coastline played host to its masses. Schools of fish darted around in an array of color, and crabs, large and tiny, skirmished around in pursuit of them. A small, lone shark regarded us with curiosity, pacing back and forth along the bottom, but keeping his distance. I wondered if we’d interrupted his morning hunt.

The pod crept deeper and deeper into the vastness following the slant of the sea floor, and as the brilliance of the sun faded, the inside of the vessel grew darker. Fewer and larger fish dominated the scenery now, and the dim light shimmered silver on their bodies. The mud floor seemed bereft of life, with the exception of an occasional crab or bottom-feeding fish.

In the distance, the outline of something large and unmoving sat on the bottom, and I wondered with a flush of excitement if it was an old shipwreck. I imagined where the mast would have been, and thought I saw the silhouette of centuries’-old cannons. Although it was my imagination running wild, this was a welcome diversion.

A soft light beneath our benches illuminated the cabin, and the conductor enlisted a spotlight to help him navigate the sea floor. The light wandered to and fro in careful vigilance in front of us.

I glanced around the cabin, gauging each person’s expression against my own inner turmoil. There were five men and three women, and none of them appeared to be as mortified as me. Of course, none of them had sassed the captain of the ship—or head-butted him, for that matter. And probably none of them had Lt. Horan and his “special treat” waiting for them when they boarded. If I had to guess, I’d estimate a good hundred percent of them had breakfast too. Which explained why they all seemed content to be traveling toward a warship.

Two men up front conversed too low for me to hear. Two women pointed out to sea, chattering to each other in a language I didn’t understand. I looked past them into the blackness but saw nothing of interest.