Under Fire: The Admiral (13 page)

“All of the above and . . . me.”

“You?” He cracked the lid on a bottle of
water. “What would they ask about you?” He paused. “They aren’t
going to blame you for Vegas’s death?”

“No. Our presence had no bearing on what
happened to him.”

“Then what? How you protected me? Did your
job and saved my life.”

Gemma put the cup down and leaned over the
table. “They’ll want to know everything from the moment I arrived
in Ecuador.” He gave her a puzzled look. “I’m part of a
narco-terrorism committee pushing the government to become more
involved in stopping drugs at the source.” Ben said nothing. “I’ve
been very vocal.” He didn’t make the connection. “I changed the
flight plan. Flew directly past where the sub was hidden. We were
fired on. After ditching we went north into the action.” His
expression sobered.

“The Coast Guard would accuse you of setting
all that up?” he said incredulously.

She shook her head “Not the Coast Guard. Not
ever the Coast Guard.” She hesitated. “This was a highly sensitive
operation. For me to drop into the middle of it . . .” Gemma raised
and dipped her shoulder. “Questions are bound to be raised.”

“What should I tell them?”

“Tell the truth as you see it. Never lie. It
will
catch up with you.”

“The truth as I see it?”

“Yes, don’t attempt to tell them the version
you think they want to hear or match what I’m going to say.
Understand?”

“Why didn’t you tell me who you were the
first day?”

Shit!
The bite of toast she’d taken
expanded in her mouth. She didn’t see that coming.
Sure, tell
you I’m an admiral. Sam and Olivia’s mother, a woman fourteen years
older who fell in lust with you the moment she saw you.
She
forced the toast down her throat and managed to keep a grip on the
forkful of eggs when the clarity bomb hit. If she’d told him who
she was that first day, he would’ve left her alone. She’d wanted
his attention. She’d enjoyed every second knowing it would end when
he discovered she was practically old enough to be his mother.
Gawd, she’d been incredibly arrogant. “I apologize. Sam and I
thought it would be better not to let anyone know.” Sam didn’t see
any point in keeping her identity quiet.
And double gawd!
Here she’d been cautioning him about telling the whole truth when
she was hiding so much.

In her peripheral vision Gemma saw O’Donnell
come into the mess. She made a move to stand. Ben reached out,
holding her arm.

“When we get back, have dinner with me.”

Gemma blinked. “Like a date?” Crap. That was
professional.

“What, admirals don’t date?”

She clucked. “Of course. Why?” She glared at
her coffee as if the liquid were doctored with say-something-stupid
juice.

“I want to
talk
.” Before she could ask
about what, he went on. “I want to get to know you without planes
crashing, trees falling, people trying to kill us and being
surrounded by”—he shifted his gaze to O’Donnell, who now stood next
to the table—“military types.”

“Ma’am,” O’Donnell said, totally ignoring
Walsh. “It’s time to get you in the air.”

Ben’s grip tightened. Going anywhere with
this man was not going to happen. She’d fallen for him.
Hard.
She had to get this under control. Falling for a man
was not in her program. A program that had protected and served her
well. Ben’s eyes were fierce and his beard didn’t hide the
determined set of his jaw. She appreciated his straightforwardness
but she couldn’t return it. Turning him down here would create a
scene. “I’m in the D.C. phone book.” She was but it was her office
number. Ben released her hand and leaned back in the chair, a
satisfied look on his face.

Gemma stood. “Thank you, Sue, for the clothes
and taking care of us. Are the crew aware of the circumstances?”
Ben came around the table to stand next to her.

“When you came aboard word spread fast. You
know how it goes. Official word is you ditched a plane and got
tangled up in the op. No details. From the look of you when you
came aboard they think you and the doc here”—O’Donnell looked at
Ben—“went through some shit.”

“Has there been any intel from the
ground?”

“It was a big haul, Admiral. Drugs,
counterfeit money
and
plates.” O’Donnell could barely
contain her excitement. “Along with a
high-value
prisoner.
Wish I could have been there. Like the old days.”

In the old days they’d taken names, kicked
some ass, worked undercover with the DEA on a special case and sent
five men to the hospital. “Great.” The lieutenant’s death tempered
Gemma’s excitement. Obviously, that information was being held
back.

Chapter 10

Washington, D.C.

Gemma glanced across Arlington’s rows of
stone to the capitol dome and the memorial obelisk glistening in a
brilliant cloudless sky. The clack of horses’ hooves pulling
Lieutenant David “Vegas” Mercer’s caisson over Arlington’s narrow
lanes echoed against stark silence. Nearby the flag on the Marine
Corps Memorial flicked its tribute. Gemma snapped to attention as
the caisson stopped.

“Present arms,” the office in charge called.
All in uniform saluted. Ben came to stand beside her as she brought
her gloved hand up in this expression of respect.

Military funerals were always the same. Men
and women in perfect uniforms executing precise moves in prescribed
order. A flag-draped casket carried by uniformed body bearers to
the grave. Their slow moves guided by soft-spoken commands. At the
grave, an officer carefully inspects the casket, insuring perfect
placement of the flag. The chaplain begins the graveside service.
“There is no good way to die,” he says to the uniformed men and
women standing in neat lines listening, some giving up tears. “But
when a man dies putting his country and those he loves first, he
dies with honor.”

A jarring rifle volley.

Taps. The soulful notes floating out over
rows of stone announcing a new arrival.

And finally, the flag draping the casket
folded perfectly by six sailors, handed to an officer who solemnly
delivers it to family members with hushed words of comfort. Today
for Lieutenant Mercer’s father, sister and fiancée. And it was
done. Today there was another step. Lieutenant Mercer’s teammates
removed their gold SEAL tridents, placing them on top of the
casket, and with their fists hammered the pins into the polished
wood. She’d heard when a man completed SEAL training and earned the
badge depicting an eagle clutching a Navy anchor, trident and
pistol it was pinned on their chest very much the same way.

Gemma had no doubt the ceremony was
calculated to hit every raw, painful emotion. To draw tears from
the fallen’s family and friends. To rip a mourning heart from the
chest, take out a chunk and cram it back in place, forcing a soul
to grieve in order to move on.

Today family and friends would say good-bye
to the lieutenant and his spirit would mingle with countless other
heroes who’d made the final sacrifice for their country. Tomorrow
those family and friends would go on living their best lives to
honor his memory.

The family stood. The senior Mercer greeted
mourners. The woman, the lieutenant’s fiancée, who clutched the
flag just taken from the casket, looked dazed. Hunter stood
protectively at her side.

“Are you going over to talk?” Ben said.

“No. They’re already overwhelmed and my rank
can be off-putting to the others in uniform.” She turned to look at
him and wished she hadn’t. He was damned handsome in a perfectly
tailored black suit. The white shirt set off his dark complexion
and hair. Damn it. Seeing him, hearing his voice . . . Despite her
preparation, it was still unnerving. She reminded herself of his
age, of her age. Reminded herself any relationship would end
badly.

“Sometimes family want to hear from people
who were there at the end,” Ben said.

Gemma shook her head. “Hunter’s told them
everything and given our contact numbers. I’ve sent a letter of
condolence. When and if they want to talk they’ll call.” As if he
knew they were speaking of him, Hunter looked their way and shook
his head.

“That man is scary.” Ben moved in front of
her, turning his back to the scene and blocking her view.

“A comforting kind of scary,” Gemma said.
“Comforting to know that men like him
and the lieutenant
guard this country.” She looked over Ben’s shoulder at Mercer’s two
families. The one he was born into and the one he chose, Navy
SEALs.

“Freedom comes at a high price,” Ben said,
following her gaze.

“
Yes, it does
. People forget the
freedoms we enjoy aren’t free because”—she glanced around the
garden of stones—“the U.S. military pays everyone’s share.”

They were silent for a long while.

“Gemma, I . . .”

“Thank you for coming, Dr. Walsh. I’m sure
the lieutenant’s family appreciates it.” She hoped the formality in
her tone would warn him off. She didn’t want, couldn’t deal with
any more emotions today.

Ben took off his glasses. “Have lunch with
me, Admiral.”

“Not possible. I have to get back.
Paperwork.” She was grateful for the dark glasses she wore. She
didn’t lie well. Her eyes always gave her away.

“Then when?” He took her hand.

Gemma twisted free and shook her head.
“Uniform. No PDAs.” She was an admiral and could damn well do what
she pleased, but it was as good an excuse as any. “And this isn’t
the appropriate place.” She headed for her government sedan. Ben
quickly stepped around her and blocked her way.

“Then meet me someplace that is appropriate.
I wouldn’t be talking about it here if you’d answered any one of
the dozens of e-mails or phone messages I’ve left at your office
the last three days.”

“Dr. Walsh, I answered your first call. I
told you I did not want to go to dinner with you. I asked you not
to call any more.” His subsequent calls went to voice mail, which
she deleted without hearing. The same with his e-mails. All deleted
without opening.

“I tried getting into the building where you
work and all that accomplished was to get me on some federal watch
list.” He gave her a slow sideways grin that worked at dissolving
her backbone. “I’m ready to hire a private investigator to find out
where you live and get your personal cell number.”

Was he serious? “That would not be wise.”

“Then go to dinner with me. Once. I want to
tell you . . .”

“I felt I was very clear when I said I am not
interested in seeing you in any way, shape, or form,” she said in
her sternest military voice. “Or hearing what you have to say.”
Gemma sidestepped and he counterstepped.

“With all due respect, Admiral, we both know
that’s bullshit.”

“
Excuse me.”
The audacity of the
man.

“Back there, in the jungle.”

He stepped close. If he thought he was going
to intimidate her, he had better think again. He came closer. Close
enough for her to take in his scent.

“We both know if those SEALs hadn’t
interrupted I was going to kiss you, you were going to let me, and
we—”

“Admiral,” a deep baritone voice said in a
soft Georgia drawl.

Gemma turned to find Bambi in a crisp dress
uniform approaching. Five feet away he stopped short, came to
attention, and snapped a sharp salute that she returned. She took
in the ribbons and medals on his uniform. Gemma was aware SEALs
didn’t display all medals because it would advertise where they’d
been, what they’d done. The ones he wore told her one thing for
sure. This young man was a hero.

He tipped his head to Ben. “Good morning,
sir.”

“Good morning, Bam . . .” Ben paused. “Sorry,
I . . . don’t know your real name.”

Bambi gave them a wide grin. “It’s Neil
Lewis.”

“Good morning, Neil Lewis.”

“May I approach, ma’am?” Petty Officer Lewis
said.

“Yes.” Gemma was struck by his extreme
difference of appearance and manner. From camouflage grunge to
dress uniform spit shine. From informality to the most formal. “Of
course.”

Gemma looked past him in the direction of the
family and other mourners. “How is the family doing?”

Bambi looked over his shoulder at the scene.
“The sister and his fiancée are taking it pretty hard.” He returned
his gaze to her. “His dad is taking it real hard. But he’s getting
by. He knows the drill. He’s retired Navy. They get through today
and things will get better.”

Gemma understood. You get through the day
because there are people around. Getting better was debatable. She
thought about losing her husband and son. The hole in your heart
was always there to unexpectedly trip and fall into.

“Is there anything we could do to help?” Ben
said. “Anything.”

“No, sir. Not them.” He hitched his head in
the direction of the Mercers. “The Team will be there to help any
time they need it. But there’s a foundation that helps the families
of fallen SEALs.” He reached into a pocket and came out with a
card, handing it to Ben. “They’ll take your time or your money,
sir. Whatever you feel like you can give.”

Ben looked at the card. “They’ll be hearing
from me, Neil, promise,” he said and tucked the card into his
inside pocket.

“Dr. Walsh, I . . . we . . . the lieutenant’s
SEAL family want to thank you.” He extended his hand to Ben, who
took it. “For what you did out there in the—” His voice broke. His
lips twisted as he worked on getting control. “Out there in the
jungle.” The petty officer turned his attention to her. “Thank you
for what you did, ma’am. It’s greatly appreciated.”

Gemma had donated to the trust fund for the
child Mercer and his fiancée learned they were going to have a few
days before he left.