Under Fire: The Admiral (14 page)

Lewis came to attention. “Admiral, Dr. Walsh,
thank you. It’s been an honor and a privilege.” He snapped off a
salute, and before she could return it, he turned and walked
away.

“Geesus,” Ben said in a low voice, watching
the petty officer walk away. “They’re kids.
Brave
kids who
live in the moment knowing they might not have a future. Willing to
make a sacrifice. I wonder if I could do what they”—he looked at
her—“what you . . .” He shook his head. “Makes you think about your
own life.”

Yes, it did make you think
. Made her
think of the coward she was. Afraid to let this man into her life.
Gemma didn’t know what to say. She settled for, “I have to get back
to work.”

“I’ll walk you to your car.”

“Certainly.” There was no sense arguing with
him. “I’m over there.” She could do anything for a couple of
minutes.

“So am I,” he said.

They walked in silence along the narrow road
with other mourners returning to their cars and those coming for
another funeral. Anger flared. How many more would die before the
insanity and killing would stop? She clicked the key fob to unlock
the doors to the government car she’d checked out for the day. She
was sure Ben would show up and she didn’t want him seeing the car
she drove or her license plate. Talk about insanity.

Ben opened the door but she didn’t get in.
“Why do you want to take me to dinner?”

“I need a reason?”

She stared at him.

“Isn’t
I’d like to get to know you, talk
to you
enough? Do I need to fill out a request form?”

She stared at him.

“Sorry.” His fingers brushed the back of her
hand. “It’s pretty damned frustrating. I want to take a beautiful
woman out to a nice dinner, spend time with her, and have no idea
why I’m being shot down. I’ve already told you if the SEALs hadn’t
. . .” He hesitated.

“Gemma, if someone like me did a number on
you in the past . . .
I’m not him
. Don’t hold what he did to
you against me. Give me a chance. I won’t betray you.”

Gemma’s legs threatened to go into system
failure. It was almost as if he looked into her soul and heart.
Betrayal was exactly what she feared. She managed a nod and tried
to get a grip on emotions slipping from her control.

“Don’t let what someone else did stop you
from—”

“If the invitation for dinner tonight still
stands, I’d like to take you up on it,” she interrupted, pushing
back her fear. The quiet confident way he spoke and looked at her
crumbled her resolve.

“Where? Here in D.C.?” he said with no
hesitation. “I have a couple of things to take care of at the
hospital this afternoon, but I can reschedule and get back any time
you say.”

“I’ll meet you in Baltimore. I know the city
and it’s an easy drive for me.” It would also make it easier for
her to leave early if things didn’t go well. Having dinner in D.C.
there might be a temptation to invite him to her place, and she
definitely didn’t want to do that. At least not yet.

“You pick the restaurant,” he said.

“You know Mama Tia’s, the Italian steak
place?”

He smiled. “Yes, I do. Love that place.”

“What time?” she said, a little breathless at
the thought she was really doing this.

“Seven.”

She got behind the wheel. Ben closed the door
and she buzzed the window down. “Ben.”

“Yeah.” He leaned.

“Bring your platinum card. I’m not a cheap
date.”

He smiled, then his expression grew serious.
“Sure. Anything as long as we have time to talk.”

There was that word again. Talk about
what?

Chapter 11

Gemma handed the parking attendant her key
and stood looking at the restaurant door. She was nervous. Not
something she normally felt meeting a man. But then she didn’t
normally have
feelings
for the men she met. She liked the
men she dated well enough but being with them was simply filling a
void in her life. A sexual need. She’d been careful. Known them for
a while, known who they were and something about them before she’d
begun a relationship. Always known she’d be able to walk away with
no problem. Ben was very different from all those men. She needed
more than a few days in the jungle and overactive hormones. To
avoid surprises she checked him out on the net. More than ten
thousand references popped up, with countless medical entries.
Refining the search to marriage, children, and scandal, she learned
he’d been married briefly and divorced. No children listed and no
scandal. She’d even searched lawsuits and found nothing. Everything
was good. She’d go in, meet him, order a bourbon, maybe a double,
and see where he took things. Two Navy officers, a lieutenant
commander and commander, passed her and stopped at the door. The
commander held it open.

“Going in?” he said, giving her an unabashed
up-and-down
I’d like to get to know you better
look. Gemma
looked from one to the other. Normally men who looked at her the
way the
doorman
was were sent to the not-on-your-life line
with a nasty look or a put-down. Tonight she did neither. Tonight
it was a boost to her confidence. Another thing she didn’t normally
need. Her black dress no longer fit like a wet suit thanks to the
ten pounds she’d lost at the jungle spa. But it was the only dress
she had that covered the scratches on her arms, bruises on her neck
and the tat.

“Yes, I am.” She gave the two men her
I am
a predator sizing you up for my next meal
look. “Thank you,
Commander”—she glanced at his name tag—“Davis.”

The commander raised an eyebrow. “You know
Navy rank?”

Gemma shrugged. “It’s Baltimore. Everyone
knows Navy rank.” She did her best hip-swing walk past them and
into the vestibule.

Inside, a bright, cheery hostess standing
behind a lectern welcomed her to the restaurant. To Gemma’s right
was the dining room, to the left a long dimly lit tunnel-like
hallway that emptied into the bar. “How many?” the hostess said,
looking from Gemma to the two men behind her.

Gemma looked over her shoulder. “I can’t
speak for these gentlemen, but I’m meeting someone at the bar.”

Davis spread out his arms. “A lady friend?
Tom,” he glanced at his buddy, “and I are free for the
evening.”

“Afraid not.”

“Too bad.” Another up-and-down look. “Maybe
next time.”

Not a rowboat’s chance in forty-foot
seas
. She held back and let the men precede her down the
hallway into the bar, where Ben stood. Gemma stepped back into the
shadows. He checked his watch, turned, peering at the end of the
tunnel. Her breath hitched and her body surprised her by doing that
tingly zingy thing she hadn’t felt in a whole lot of years. The
restaurant was busy tonight. Customers were flooding the vestibule
and crowding into the dimly lit hallway on their way to the bar.
She stepped back even farther, letting people pass, taking pleasure
in watching him secretively as he leaned his back on the bar, drink
in hand. Low-wattage overhead lighting illuminated him enough for
her to see he’d changed clothes and no dark stubble shadowed his
strong face. More tingly zingy fingers spread through her at warp
speed, force-feeding her courage. She appraised herself in the
mirrors that lined one wall of the hallway. Hair. Check. She had
slicked it into submission with hairspray and gel until it was all
but glued down. Makeup. Check. She twisted and looked over her
shoulder. The dress had a mock turtleneck, cut-out shoulders and
sleeves almost to her wrists. No panty line or bra strap showing.
Check. It was silly to be this nervous. Ben had seen her looking
her worst. Seen her do her worst and wanted to see her. She took a
step and stopped.

Two attractive young women in business suits,
drinks in hand, flanked Ben. He stood attention straight as the
raven-haired petite woman put her hand on his chest, went up on her
toes, and kissed him on the lips.

Gemma retreated into the vestibule, bumping
into couples waiting for a table. “Pardon me,” she said, edging
around them, using them as a barrier between her and Ben. The
second woman, a blonde, obviously knew him but didn’t attempt a
kiss. The brunette used her thumb to wipe her lipstick from his
lips. Ben grasped her wrist, moving her hand from his face, and he
moved enough to collide with the blonde, who didn’t budge. Ben
glanced at his watch and took a hard look down the hallway. Thank
God another rush of people entering the bar blocked his view. It
was easy to see he was uncomfortable and had no interest in these
women. But these were the kind of women he should be interested in.
A woman he could have a home and family with. Not her. Coming here
tonight was a mistake. No matter how good he was for her, she
certainly couldn’t be good for him. What had she been thinking?
Entertaining the thought of having any kind of relationship with
this man was a mistake of epic proportions. Icy spiders of reality
crawled inside her veins. She couldn’t, wouldn’t hurt people she
cared about. And she
did
care about Ben. She took one last
look and fled.

The valet hadn’t moved the roadster. She
exchanged a ten for her keys, slipped behind the wheel and gunned
the engine, leaving rubber on the pavement. Two blocks from the
restaurant her cell chimed, announcing an incoming call. Without
looking, she knew it was Ben. She let it go to voice mail. Moments
later, it dinged with a message alert. She pulled into the deserted
parking lot of an office supply store and stared long moments at
the words on the phone’s screen,
Missed message from
Walsh
.

Halfway through the text response, she
realized how crappy an
I’m not coming
message would be. He
deserved a call. She pressed the recall button. He answered
instantly. “Are you okay?” Before she could answer, he added,
“Where are you?” The hum of conversation and bar sounds competed
with his voice but couldn’t disguise the concern. Indecision
flooded her.

“Gemma.”

If she didn’t put a stop to this now they’d
both wind up being hurt. In a couple of months he’d realize the age
difference was just too much and end it. She didn’t need that kind
of hurt. She already cared too much about him. God only knows what
it would be like in a couple of months.

“
Gemma.
Are you there?”

She pinched her eyes closed and flipped her
internal switch from woman to admiral.

“I won’t be coming,” she said in the
emotionless, more familiar voice.

“What?”

She wasn’t sure if he hadn’t heard her
because of the noise in the bar or he was questioning her. “I won’t
be coming,” she repeated.

“Tomorrow then?” The background noise
subsided. She envisioned him standing in the hallway where she’d
stood minutes before.

“No. I’m going out of town and don’t know
when I’ll be back.”

“I’ll call you or you call me.”

“No.” She shook her head in resignation. “We
won’t be talking again.”

“What? Why? What’s . . .”

“Good-bye, Ben.” Her thumb pressed the red
strip, ending the call. The phone chirped seconds later with his
call. She powered it off, watching the display go dark, and let it
drop to her lap. He was probably upset, angry or both. No sense
talking. Either way he’d get over it, same as she would. He’d find
a friend with benefits, maybe even the dark-haired knockout in the
bar, and by tomorrow he’d have written her off. Only difference was
her friend was in Paris, and no matter how in control she was it
would take some time for her to forget him.

* * *

Ben held out the phone and stared, waiting
for the screen to come alive and tell him why she wasn’t coming,
didn’t want to talk. He pressed recall and the call went straight
to message. Shit! At the hostess station he pushed his way through
a group waiting for a table and then through the doors. Outside he
called again and again, like a stalker. Pacing in circles near the
valet stand, he loosened his tie and freed the top button of his
shirt. The fifth time he left a message begging her to return his
call and looked up to see one of the valets giving him a
you-are-pathetic look.
Great!
A pathetic stalker.

What had happened between noon and now?
Enough
of this shit. He’d go to her place. He double-timed
it to his car, fumbling in pockets for car keys and . . .
“Fuck.”
He hammered the top of the Lexus.
“Fuck.
Fuck.”
He had no idea where in D.C. she lived. He’d searched
the Internet to send flowers and come up blank. Her cell number
would be no help. He banged the top again. A man and his date
glared at him and made a wide berth around the car. He dug Gemma’s
business card from his wallet and checked his watch. Seven
forty-five. He called her office number anyway and listened
impatiently to the announcement and instructions to call a duty
officer if it was an emergency.
Hell yes
it was an
emergency, but some
duty officer
, whatever that was,
couldn’t help him. Finally, he was able to leave his message. “My
name is Dr. Ben Walsh. It is extremely important that Admiral
Hendrickson call me.” He recited his number.
“As soon as
possible
.
”
He had to tell her she was the one who saved
his life. And then he was going to tell her how he felt and wanted
to be with her.

He slid over the leather seat and dropped the
phone on the console. He wrapped his hands around the wheel,
resting his head on his arms. He’d thought she would give in to him
like every other woman. Damn it! She wasn’t every other woman. He
sat straight and released his grip on the wheel, opening his hands
and flexing his fingers. He glanced at his cell. There wasn’t much
chance she was going to call. Her voice had changed. She’d been all
business, determined. Like in the jungle when the SEALs appeared.
Some kind of switch got flipped. First things first. He had to find
her. He might risk going to jail for stalking but there was no way
he was letting her slip away again. And he knew just the person to
help him find her.
Sam
. He jammed the keys into the
ignition, slammed the Lexus into reverse and tore out of the lot.
Medical plates would come in handy tonight.