An Unlawful Order (The Chase Anderson Series) (26 page)

But the most Chase’s brain had eventually allowed was the slipping off of her wedding ring and the soft placement of it on the table between her and Stone. He had never stirred—
but don’t let him be dead
, she’d thought—as she rose from the chair and went inside to bed.

That night, which had been on the heels of her media flight with Major White, she’d dreamed of Stone and Major White flying her over Sacred Falls. When the helicopter began to spin out of control, she’d crawled to the cockpit and found White slumped over the stick and Stone missing. The bird was going into a nosedive so that the pool beneath the Falls looked as if it were rising toward them. A demon-like creature had emerged above the surface and was grabbing for the helicopter, narrowly missing it. She heard the metal ripping of blades against the rocky cliff, saw the blades fall one by one into the pool ahead.
Where, dear God, was Stone?
She’d pushed White’s body away from the stick, but it was too late. They were going down. The demon of Sacred Falls would have his sacrifice, and as she fell faster and faster toward the demon in the pool, her thoughts had turned to Stone and Molly, and she’d apparently begun to cry … until she’d heard, “How can you sleep in this heat?” and was jolted awake. The bedroom had been dark. She could make out Stone’s features from the light shining through the bedroom window.

He’d gone to the window and opened it. The drapes had come to life, ballooning into the room. “Why is it so hot in here?” she’d asked, rolling over to watch him by the window.

“Electricity went out.”

“I didn’t hear any thunder.”

Stone had unbuttoned his shirt and was sliding it down his arms. Next to his hands, she loved his shoulders the most.
Capable
, was how she would have described his entire upper body.

“Molly must be burning up,” she’d said, and slid her legs from the bed, her feet into slippers.

“She’s fine. She’d kicked the covers to the floor.”

“But if the power comes back on … she’ll be freezing from the ceiling fan and won’t be able to find her blanket.” She reached for her robe from the back of a chair and then decided she couldn’t stand the thought of another layer of clothing on her damp skin.

Stone had been standing in front of her, naked. He brushed her hair to the side. “I put the blanket back on the bed where she can reach it.” He’d leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Remember Okinawa? The night the power went out during the typhoon?”

How could she forget? It had been their first typhoon, and the day before it was due to hit the island, Marines had been ordered to stock up on food and water and to take shelter. Chase and Stone had made a run to the commissary, loading a shopping cart with wine, crackers, an assortment of cheeses, and then, in a last minute thought of practicality, Stone had grabbed a dozen cans of beans and franks, a jar of peanut butter, and a loaf of bread. They’d locked themselves in his room at the bachelor officers quarters where he had a steady supply of movies they had planned to watch until the power went out. And they had. That is, until the power went out and the typhoon hit the island. The windows, though reinforced with steel according to island building codes, had rattled so hard they’d dragged the mattress to the floor behind the sofa in case the windows shattered. Then, hot and sweaty and a little drunk, they’d fallen to the mattress. Stone had unbuttoned her shirt and reached into a cooler for an ice cube and slowly, teasingly, traced the roundness of her breasts, circling upward to each nipple. By the time he slid the ice down her body, she’d been quivering with anticipation.

Now in their bedroom, Stone’s kisses had moved from her forehead to her mouth. His lips had been hot. The Scotch on his breath, faint, a reminder of the moment on the patio and of what she’d been about to lose with Stone forever. The image of her wedding ring abandoned on the patio table had flashed through her as thunder rumbled and a streak of lightning caused her to shiver. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing Stone forever, and this fear of loss stirred her to press her body into his, if only for one last time.

With his mouth firmly pressed against hers, he’d reached behind her. She’d heard the tinkle of ice cubes and jumped when the cold stung the hollow of her neck. Droplets trickled over her collar bone and down a breast.

Her fingers had traced up his biceps and over his shoulders until she was lifting to her toes and slipping her arms around his neck. That’s when she noticed the glint of gold on her ring finger. He’d put it there while she was sleeping. Stone was back. At least for now. Maybe forever.

She’d molded her hips into his. He moaned, and she felt him rising against her thigh. Her left leg slid upward, against his. She’d wanted nothing more than to open herself to him, and so she’d lifted her leg higher, and higher. Encouraging him. Finally, when she thought she could no longer stand it, his hands lifted her short gown, exposing her to the cool breeze, exposing her.

Afterward, they lay across the bed, fingers entwined, wishing for the return of the breeze. The bedroom had been dark and quiet, except for the ticking of the battery-operated alarm clock on Chase’s nightstand.

When rain began to drop like change against the roof, Chase slid from the bed to check the windowsill. “It’s not blowing in,” she said, slipping her T-shirt nightgown back over her body in case Molly were to run in. Back in bed, she’d found Stone’s hand and slid her fingers between his. He squeezed. She heard him take a deep breath.

“I’ve gotten myself into something, Chase,” he’d whispered. She’d rolled onto her side, raised up on an elbow. He was staring up at the motionless ceiling fan. She was almost afraid to speak, afraid of what she was about to learn. She kissed his shoulder.

“I think it’s over.”

“The flying?”

“All of it.” He turned to look at her. Even in the darkness she could see that his eyes were moist. She waited for him to continue. On her left side, she could feel her heart thumping against the bed. “Go on …” she’d whispered and placed a hand on his shoulder.

But Stone hadn’t. Instead, he’d climbed out of bed and crossed the room to the window. The rain was still falling, and the breeze had shifted so that now the drapes were again blowing into the room. “Carpet’s damp.” He’d lowered the window and disappeared into their bathroom, reappearing with a towel he used to wipe down the windowsill. He’d tossed the wet towel back into the bathroom on the tile floor. “I’m going to check on Molly,” he said, sliding on his boxers. So whatever he’d been about to tell her that night, he hadn’t. Two weeks later, he’d received orders back to the Middle East and deployed thirty days after that.

But Chase had followed Stone into Molly’s room that night, and they’d found their daughter lying curled like a question mark in her bed, oblivious to the thunder and lightning, the power outage. Amazing what the child could sleep through. Chase pressed the back of her hand against her daughter’s forehead. It was clammy.

She glanced over at Stone who had been standing before one of Molly’s windows, drapes pulled aside, staring down at the street.

“What is it?” she’d asked. The ignition of a car turned over, and she’d seen a flash of headlight just before Stone released the drape.

“Nothing,” he’d murmured. “Everything’s dark. Must be a transformer.”

When she opened her eyes, Colonel Figueredo was there, looking down at her. With his arms folded across his chest and his weight shifted mostly to one hip, she realized he’d been studying her for a while. “I didn’t hear you walk up,” she said, straightening herself in the chair.

His leather jacket was open, revealing a white shirt that was tucked into jeans. His belt and black slip-ons had a European sleekness about them. Colonel Joseph Figueredo was a man who looked as if he would be comfortable on any continent.

He pulled one of the patio chairs from the table and set it so close to hers that she had to quickly remove her forearm to avoid being pinched. “You must have dozed off,” he said as he was settling into the chair.

Was he kidding? Sleep was the last thing she expected to enjoy for a while, not until she had some answers. She corrected him. “You’re kidding, right? After being questioned for murder and after O’Donnell’s call….”

“Are you going to offer me a glass of wine?”

She drained her glass and set it so hard on the terrazzo she thought she might have cracked the empty glass. “No …” she said, and added, “sir.” She was breaking all protocol. Moreover, she didn’t care. Damn the regulations at this point. Besides, this was her home, her home field advantage.

If he was offended, Figueredo was good at hiding it. “What exactly did O’Donnell tell you?” His tone was somewhere between a statement and a question.

“That you need my help with the media and that I was to make you tell me everything.”

At this, Figueredo actually grinned. “I need
your
help?” He looked away, and she followed his gaze out toward the inky space that was ocean.

She was about to speak, but he’d gestured in a way that encouraged her to keep a low voice. She leaned forward. Her knee was touching his. She whispered, “So, Shapiro’s right, after all, about a base conspiracy to hide defects in the 81.”

He nodded.

“White had a hard landing several weeks ago, before his crash?”

Again, Figueredo nodded.

“What does Melanie Appleton have to do with this?”

This time, there was hesitation. Finally, Figueredo shook his head, and his stubbornness to come clean whenever Melanie Appleton’s name was mentioned outraged Chase. What power had this woman had over so many men? Over White? Over Figueredo? Over Stone? “Oh no, you don’t,” she said, with enough venom Figueredo suddenly leaned forward and squeezed her thigh. She yelped. Even in the low light that was cast from the moon and from the light emanating from her kitchen, she could read the anger in his eyes. Then again, there was also something slightly frantic about his expression.“You either keep your voice down, or I leave. Got it?” he said in a low, measured tone.

Chase leaned back in her chair. “Then tell me,” and she’d softened her voice, “what’s going on. Clearly O’Donnell thinks I should know. He seems to think my knowing will help you.”

“O’Donnell is a fool for bringing you into this too soon. We had a deal. But then, White’s crash and Appleton’s death … her brother’s involvement.”

“Are you telling me you and O’Donnell are part of an undercover investigation or something like that?”

He leaned back in the chair. He took his time, but when he nodded, Chase let out a heavy sigh. She stood up and headed inside.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

She came back to retrieve the empty wine glass. “To open a new bottle.”

She checked on Molly first, drawing the child’s blanket back over her tiny body, and when she returned to the kitchen, she found Figueredo there, rummaging through a kitchen drawer. This was the third time he’d come to her home and made himself quite at home, the first time taking over the responsibilities of grilling chicken; the second time the day after the wreck when he’d shown up to offer her a ride but had been hungry and rummaged through her refrigerator; and now. “May I help you, sir?”

“Corkscrew?” he asked, his head over a drawer of utensils, and then locating it, added, “Got it.” He held it up, and asked, “Are we doing red or white?”

Chase pointed to the wine rack on the kitchen counter. “Red.”

“Good choice.” He looked over the bottles and selected one, opened it, and filled two glasses. “Is your daughter okay?” he asked, handing her a glass and gesturing toward the dinette table.

“She has a habit of kicking in her sleep. Had to cover her back up, but she’s sound asleep.”

He’d pulled a chair for her. “What I’m about to tell you must be kept in the strictest confidence for now.”

“Okay, sir.” She studied him as he removed his leather jacket. He carefully folded the jacket and draped it across the kitchen island. He unbuttoned the right cuff of his white shirt and rolled it once, then a second time, and tugged the sleeve toward his elbow. He had nice forearms, not too muscular, but with a certain combination of strength and elegance. There was a power about him, a presence simultaneously familiar and exotic, forbidden.

She blurted, “How well do you know General Armstrong?” He’d been rolling up the second sleeve and stopped. Why did she enjoy disarming him so much? She took a long drink of wine.

“Who says I know General Armstrong?” He was back to rolling up his sleeve.

“There’s an online photo of you with Armstrong in Fallujah,” she said. He’d leaned back in his chair, one hand on the table, the other on his wine glass. “You must have come in after I left.”

He shook his head. “I was there.”

Impossible,
she thought, and then she blushed under Figueredo’s stare. What did he know about her and Armstrong? “And we never met? I thought you were in Afghanistan with the tribes?”

“I was. I wasn’t one of Armstrong’s staff officers, but I was often sent in to brief him on the Taliban.”

“I see,” she said.

“I saw you there,” he added. “Knew who you were.” There was something in the way he said the latter that caused her to blush again.

“And just who was I, Colonel?”

He remained quiet for a few moments, and then said, “You were Armstrong’s public affairs officer.” He pushed the wine glass aside and leaned forward. His eyes were black orbs in a sea of white, as white as his shirt, as white as his smile, and she could now picture him as a young Omar Sharif, with a thick, black beard, riding horseback, the reins in one hand, a rifle in the other. “Look, Chase,” he said, “a woman like you is pretty hard to miss in a god-forsaken place like that—especially to a man who’d been living around women covered head to toe in the amount of material you most likely have on your bed right now. So, yes, to answer your question, I saw you there. Okay? I also saw a lot of things you don’t want to know about.”

So he knew. She looked down, willing away the emotion that embarrassment was bringing forth. “Chase,” he said, in a tone she’d nearly forgotten existed, “none of us escaped that place unscathed. We’ve all done things we wish we could change. I saw horrible things there … women beaten by their fathers and husbands because they’d been raped by Taliban rebels. I even witnessed a rape, and because of the position I was in, I couldn’t do anything to help the poor woman without blowing my cover.” He lifted Chase’s wine glass and handed it to her. He offered a toast, “The Arabs have a saying, ‘The sands are blowing.’” He softly clinked his glass with hers. “Here’s to the winds of change.”