Читать книгу Dangerous Alliance - Lindsay McKenna - Страница 7
ОглавлениеChapter Three
“Hey, Libby,” Jenny Stevens called from her horse in the middle of the riding ring, “do you know that marine standing over by the gate?”
Libby kept her gaze on the ten children walking their horses along the arena’s pipe-rail fence. Jenny was a navy corpswave nurse. On her days off, she helped Libby with her classes, acting as her assistant. Libby twisted around on Shiloh, her Trahkner gelding, a special breed of horses brought from Europe specifically for eventing because of their size and strength. She looked toward the gate. Her heart thudded hard in her breast. Dan Ramsey.
“Him,” she muttered.
Jenny leaned over and gave her an inquiring look. “Him? Why, Libby, you said you’d never date a marine again. He’s gorgeous. Who is he?”
“Trouble,” she said between gritted teeth, “and he’s not my boyfriend, Jenny.” Two days had gone by since she’d last seen Dan Ramsey, and she’d never expected to see him again. Worse, she’d had a torrid dream about him this morning—which had left her in a decidedly bad mood. Now here he was, leaning negligently against the gate, looking cool and relaxed in his summer uniform. If only he weren’t so heart-stoppingly handsome, she’d have a much easier time remaining immune to him, Libby thought wryly.
Jenny smiled, her eyes on the children under her tutelage, each child sitting straight and tall in an English saddle, small hands clutching the reins near the neck of their horse. The group came in once a week to learn how to ride English-style. “Trouble? I’d like to see trouble like that. I’ve been here at Camp Reed for a year and haven’t met even one decent guy. Well, a couple, but they just didn’t do much for me. Now, that captain looks very decent.”
Libby gave her friend a dirty look. She was going to ignore Dan Ramsey for a while. Maybe he’d get the message and leave. She was willing to bet he wasn’t here for business reasons. “He’s as sneaky as they come.”
“Oh? Did he ask you out to dinner or something?”
Squirming in her English saddle, Libby felt Shiloh start to move restively between her legs. She reached out and stroked his long, powerful neck to reassure him. She knew he was picking up on her reaction to Dan. Ramsey, she reminded herself. Keep him at a distance, Libby Tyler. If you start calling him by his first name, it’ll be too late.
“He had the nerve to ask me out to lunch when I was over at the PM’s office the other day trying to get someone to investigate about those five horses.
Jenny nodded. “Can’t shoot the guy for trying,” she teased. Becoming more sober, she added, “I’ve heard about Captain Ramsey. They say he’s a real gung ho marine who’s going to clean up the drug situation around here. I treated a brig chaser at the hospital last night who mixed it up over at the brig with a prisoner, and he mentioned Ramsey’s name. I guess the good captain was brought in specifically to start a rehab program.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“You wouldn’t—you don’t listen to base gossip. Oops, there goes Scotty. He’s slipping out of the saddle. I better go over and help him.”
Libby nodded and watched her assistant trot over to a small, red-haired boy who was having trouble staying balanced in the saddle. The animal wanted to stop, not walk, so Scotty was kicking it as hard as he could, slipping slowly but surely off the saddle all the while. Smiling, Libby watched Jenny, who was an experienced rider with some dressage training herself, take care of the situation. Her neck felt hot and she rubbed it, sure that Ramsey was staring at her. Too bad, let him wait.
As Libby gave Shiloh the leg signal to trot over to another child in trouble, she admitted she was afraid of Ramsey. Afraid of how easily he’d reached into her slowly healing heart and awakened her feelings. As she neared Molly, who sat on a white gelding, Libby released a flustered sigh. Ever since she’d met Ramsey he’d been popping uninvited into her thoughts at odd moments.
“Molly, honey, lift your hands,” she coaxed, coming alongside her. A pure-blooded Trahkner, Shiloh towered above the white mare. The gelding was big-boned, a dark blood bay color with black mane and tail. He was seventeen hands high, a giant for a horse of almost any breed. Poor Sunny was small in comparison at fifteen hands high, and Libby had to lean down to gently reposition Molly’s tiny fingers on the thick, unwieldy reins.
“There, that’s it,” she said encouragingly, smiling down into the girl’s serious face. Molly’s father was General Endicott, the base commander. Too often Libby had seen small children’s natural spontaneity severely suppressed by the rigid military atmosphere they were raised in.
Molly’s face relaxed once Libby had reached over and patted her shoulder. “Like this, Miss Tyler?”
“Exactly like that, Molly,” Libby praised, directing Shiloh to shorten his long stride to keep her at Molly’s side. Libby was still reluctant to turn around, wildly aware of Ramsey’s interest in her activities. It was impossible not to look up when she gave Shiloh pressure against his barrel to make him turn and head back to the center of the arena. The afternoon sun’s long rays made thin, uneven shadows across the sandy space. The few trees nearby offered snippets of shade here and there from the burning heat.
This time, Dan smiled at her. Libby’s mouth went dry and her heart started an erratic pounding. She forced a slight smile of her own and quickly pretended to shift her focus back to the children. The arena was a good five hundred feet in diameter, an oval filled with soft sand and dirt, perfect for teaching riding as well as jumping. Jenny had walked her horse back down the straggling line of children, correcting posture and hand or feet positions with plenty of lavish praise. Libby loved to see how quickly the children responded to a little positive reinforcement.
Jenny trotted back to the center and joined her.
“Why don’t you go talk to Captain Ramsey? We’ve only got five minutes left in the class hour. I can watch them.”
“Thanks, Jenny, but no.”
“You don’t like him?”
“It’s not that.”
“Oh, so you do like him. Good taste.”
Giving Jenny a flat stare, Libby said, “You’re reading something into nothing. I know why he’s here, and I don’t want to encourage him, Jenny. He can wait until we’re done with the class.”
Chewing on her lower lip, Jenny cast her an understanding look. “I know you’re afraid to get involved after your husband’s death. It must be so hard to reach out and try to love or trust again.”
Her stomach knotted and Libby whispered, “I’m not afraid of dating, Jenny. I just won’t date a military man, that’s all.”
Jenny reached out and touched Libby’s shoulder. “Maybe, with time, that fear will leave you. How about I take the kids back to the barn and make sure they unsaddle and put their tack away properly? You can go talk to Captain Ramsey in the meantime.”
Giving her friend a resigned look, Libby said, “Okay, but I’m sure I’ll be joining you in a few minutes. This won’t take long.”
Tossing her head, her black hair brushing her shoulders, Jenny laughed. “Okay. See you back at the OK Corral.” She waved to the children to halt their horses at the gate.
With a sigh, Libby steeled herself to meet Dan. Ramsey. Damn. How did he get under her skin so quickly? Reluctantly, she turned Shiloh toward where he stood. Although she found herself wishing her ten-year-old gelding would actually drag his hooves in crossing the arena, it didn’t happen. Libby remained seated as she pulled Shiloh to a stop next to the fence.
“Captain,” she said coolly.
“Libby.”
She squirmed inwardly, yet maintained a grim look on her face. “Why are you here?”
Dan looked up at the late-afternoon sky. It was a cloudless blue, the sunshine pouring across the yellowed hills of Reed. “The truth?”
“Nothing but.” Her heart snagged when he cocked his head and looked up at her with that boyish smile.
“I have spring fever, and I couldn’t stand one more minute in that cramped cubicle of an office of mine.”
“Oh…” She relaxed slightly in the saddle, relieved. He wasn’t pursuing her after all.
Dan hitched one highly polished shoe up on the lowest rail of the fence. “Actually, the rest of the truth is that I came to tell you I’m sorry for upsetting you the other day.” Wryly, he added, “I haven’t slept well since it happened.” He pointed to the area beneath his eyes. “I can’t handle three days in a row of guilt-ridden sleep.”
Libby stared at him, not knowing whether to laugh or take him seriously. “I don’t see any dark circles.” She liked his eyes, the intensity in them—the promise of a man who held many secrets, some of them sad.
“No?”
“No.”
“Hmm, Rose noticed them.” When he saw her frown, he said, “That’s my secretary. She’s quite a gal. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”
“Your apology’s accepted, Captain. Now if you’ll excuse me—”
“Wait.” Dan leaned out, his hand nearly brushing the rein she held.
Libby halted.
“Hell, this isn’t working out the way I wanted,” he grumbled, then glanced up at Libby. “It’s about the other day when you told me you didn’t date marines. After you left, Rose filled me in on what happened to you, Libby. She said you lost your husband in a helicopter accident here on base.” Dan watched her flushed cheeks grow pale. The defiance in her eyes turned dark with undisguised anguish. “I’m sorry. I guess I don’t blame you for not wanting to get involved with another marine, and I understand your reactions to my lunch invitation the other day. I didn’t know.” He held her vulnerable gaze. “I have a tendency toward foot-in-mouth disease. Have you noticed?”
“Oh, I have a good dose of the same disease,” she muttered under her breath. Then, indignantly, she added, “What makes you think I’m the least bit interested in any marine, including you?” The nerve of this man! But when he gave her that rakish smile, all her anger melted.
With a shrug, Dan said, “I don’t, not really.” Did Libby realize how beautiful she was atop her bay gelding? Her shoulders were thrown back with such pride, her chin had a slight tilt of confidence and her back was ramrod straight. No denying it, right or wrong, practical or crazy, the way she sat the horse made him go hot with longing. Her thighs, outlined by the taut fabric of the yellow breeches, were long and firm. Judging from her reaction to him stepping into her life again, it was a damn good thing she couldn’t read his mind. Libby would probably trample him to death with that huge horse of hers if she knew what he was thinking.
“I just felt I should come over and apologize in person,” Dan said humbly, meaning it.
His humility shamed her. Libby relented a little and allowed the reins to fall on Shiloh’s neck. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have overreacted. I do that a lot. You can’t help it that you’re a marine.”
“It’s not a disease, you know.”
She grinned and enjoyed looking at him as a man, regardless of the uniform he wore. Jenny was right. Dan Ramsey was wonderfully good-looking in a strong kind of way. He wasn’t pretty-boy handsome. In fact, his face was almost leathery from so much time spent out in the elements.
“Touch;aae. I had that coming,” she said.
“Can we start over?” He saw blood rush to her cheeks, her lashes dropping to stop him from seeing what emotions lay in her emerald eyes.
“Over? You’re making me jumpy again.”
“I can see that.”
Libby picked nervously at a nonexistent thread on the thigh of her breeches. Shiloh, too, was restive, mirroring her feelings.
“What I meant was that I’m new on base, and I think I ought to know more about the terrain of this particular area.” Dan watched her chin rise as her huge green eyes settled on him, filled with an intriguing mixture of distrust and interest. “I’ve given this a lot of thought,” he lied, “and I think I ought to inspect the surrounding areas by horseback. Of course, I’ll need an expert guide. Someone like you, for instance.”
“Why?”
Dan turned and pointed in a northwesterly direction from the stable. “The brig sits right over there. If a prisoner ever escapes, and they have before, there’s a ninety-five-percent chance he’ll come this way, toward the San Luis Rey gate right down the road. It’s the fastest way to get off base and into civilian territory. And there’s less chance he’ll be picked up once he gets off base.”
Impressed, Libby nodded. “You’re right on all counts. Last year a brig prisoner got loose, and the hills around the stable were crawling with brig chasers and helicopters.”
“Did they find him?”
“Sure did.” Libby shrugged. “It was kind of exciting, to tell you the truth. Not much happens around here. Every once in a while a marine will fall off one of the trail horses and have to walk back to the stables, but that’s about it.”
“Do you ride out in these hills much?” Dan asked curiously. Last night he’d pulled out a map of Reed and plotted the escape routes attempted by brig prisoners over the past ten years. All had been recaptured in the area surrounding the San Luis Rey gate, which was only a mile away from the stables. Escapes didn’t happen often, but it was a valid part of Dan’s education to know the prisoners’ likely routes to potential freedom.
At the same time he’d been racking his brain for a way to meet Libby again—on her turf, so she’d be more comfortable. Armed with Rose’s explanation, Dan knew he somehow had to get past her distrust of him as a marine. Maybe, with time, she’d get to see the man, not the uniform he wore. He’d slept poorly after forming his plan, asking himself why it meant so much to him to pursue Libby. He didn’t have an answer.
The sun was setting behind the hills, throwing deep shadows along the area’s rounded, loaflike hills. Libby loved this time of day. “I often ride in those hills, Captain,” she admitted. She smiled and patted her horse’s neck. “This is where I train Shiloh. He’s an eventing horse, and I’ve got to keep him and myself in peak condition for the southern-California circuit.”
Dan wanted to say something about Libby’s peak condition but gave it a rest. She was a no-nonsense woman of the nineties who, he was sure, rightfully disdained chauvinism and double standards.
“You teach riding and show your horse?”
“Yes, but I also train eventing horses over at the Crescent Stables in Fallbrook.”
“You’re a busy lady, then.”
Grimly, Libby said, “It pays to stay busy.” That way, she didn’t have time to remember—didn’t have to be reminded of the tragic end to her happy two-year marriage.
“What are the chances of you taking me out sometime soon to show me these hills up close?”
“Sure, anything in the name of patriotism and Semper Fi.”
He grinned. “Now, you don’t really mean that.”
“I’m being flip,” Libby conceded. Every time he smiled, the creases at the corners of his mouth deepened, and so did the deviltry in his eyes. She could find nothing to disklike about Dan. Ramsey, Libby sternly reminded herself. Captain Ramsey. “One of my trademarks, I guess.”
“I like it.” I like you. Dan studied her mouth, sensing more than seeing the unhappiness Libby held on to. How much of her grief had she worked through? Something in him wanted to reach out to her, to help her, and perhaps in doing so, heal himself. Vestiges of pain remained in her eyes. Well, Dan knew what it was like to carry that kind of sadness around.
“So, when’s a good day?”
Libby shrugged. “It’s best to ride in the morning or late afternoon. The midday is murder, and I don’t like to subject human or animal to it.”
“How about Friday at 0900? I’ll meet you here.”
“Not this Friday. I have to get ready for a horse show we’re having here on Saturday and Sunday.” She motioned toward the arena. “It’s a two-day show for the children, and I’ll be helping them and giving encouragement from the sidelines.”
“Okay…then how about the following Monday—at 0900?”
Libby hesitated, then capitulated under Dan’s warm gaze. “Okay. Do you know how to ride, Captain?”
Dan grinned. “I’m a beginner, but I have a feeling you’ll teach me.”
“Better wear jeans. Do you have a pair of cowboy boots?”
“No, but I can get some.”
“Good, wear them. I’ll put you in a Western saddle. That way, you won’t fall off.”
With a laugh, Dan threw her a salute. “You’re really hell on a man’s ego, you know?”
She laughed. “Really?”
“Well, maybe some men, but not me. I’ll see you Monday morning, Libby.”
As he turned away, Libby admired the breadth of his shoulders and the inherent strength of his back beneath the snug-fitting shirt. He was in excellent shape, she could see. As Dan settled the garrison cap back on his head, Libby knew without a doubt he was proud to be a marine. There was strength in his movements, blended with confidence and pride. Suddenly, Libby wanted to know a great deal more about him. Where had he come from? How had life treated him? He seemed so positive and upbeat.
Mulling over her observations, Libby guided Shiloh out of the gate and toward the tack room below the arena. A number of trail riders were going and coming, the vociferous noise of marines on the horses echoing around the small niche in a canyon where the stable stood.
Most of the children from her class had already left, and Jenny was just unsaddling her mare when Libby arrived at the tack room.
“Long two minutes,” Jenny teased.
Dismounting, Libby grimaced. “I was wrong.”
“Oh?”
Unbuckling Shiloh’s girth beneath the saddle flap, Libby said, “I thought he was chasing me, but he’s not. He wants me to show him around the area on horseback Monday morning.”
Jenny slid the English saddle off her horse and held it in her arms. “And?”
“Don’t give me that look.”
“What look?”
“Oh, you know which one,” Libby muttered, hauling the saddle off Shiloh. “This is strictly business, Jenny. Captain Ramsey wants to become acquainted with this area because it’s the direction brig prisoners always head to escape onto civilian territory.”
“Sure.”
“You,” Libby said, following her into the darkened tack room, “are misinterpreting Dan’s—I mean, Captain Ramsey’s actions.”
“Sure I am.” Jenny giggled and hung the saddle on a long cottonwood rack, checking to be sure the iron stirrups were snugly fitted up near the back of the saddle before she wiped it down with a clean cloth.
“You’re such a wiseacre, Stevens.”
“My momma and daddy didn’t raise a dummy, Ms. Tyler. Despite Captain Ramsey’s seemingly innocent request, I think he’s pursuing you.”
“Pooh.” Taking a damp cloth, Libby quickly wiped down her own leather straps and saddle. “He’s new here. He’s got to get the lay of the land. I give him credit, at least he’s doing his homework. What other PM has ever come down to check out the terrain?”
Grabbing her purse from the tack trunk, Jenny said, “Precisely my point, Lib. Think about it. Listen, I gotta run. I have to be on duty over at the hospital in an hour. See you tomorrow afternoon.” At the door she cheerily called back, “And have fun getting to know the terrain!”
Disgruntled, Libby didn’t respond, merely waving goodbye to her friend instead. Quiet settled around her. The odor of leather and soap permeated the air. She inhaled the reassuring smells as she continued to clean off her saddle and then the double bridle. About fifty Western saddles lined the left wall and equally as many English saddles covered the right. The wonderful aromas made this one of her favorite rooms. Her most favorite was the hay barn, with the fragrant clover-and-alfalfa hay stacked beneath the corrugated-aluminum roof. It was too bad the perfume industry couldn’t capture the essence, Libby thought. She, for one, would wear it religiously.
Without reason, Dan came to mind. He wasn’t a horse person. Probably not even a country boy. A city slicker, no doubt, she judged. He didn’t even own a pair of cowboy boots. With a smile, Libby shook her head. Jenny was wrong. The captain was merely being thorough about his new assignment. She liked that trait in a man. Thoroughness could save lives. The copilot who had killed Brad and his men hadn’t paid attention to such small details on the terrain map as the location of the power lines, and it had killed all of them. She sighed. Finished with her task, she walked outside and prepared to rub her gelding down.
As she snapped Shiloh into the cross ties—two chains hooked to either side of massive barn timbers—Libby fought her curiosity about Dan.
“Ramsey. You’ve got to call him Captain Ramsey,” she whispered to herself, picking up the rubber brush. Libby wondered what he would do for the rest of the day. Go back to an office he really didn’t want to be in? Go home? She felt for him, understanding all too well his love of fresh air and the outdoors.
* * *
“Dan, you’d better put your seat belt and crash helmet on,” Rose warned, sticking her head around his door.
Having just come in, Dan raised his brows. “I don’t like your tone, Rose. What’s coming down?”
“There’s a Lieutenant Wood on the phone from Trea[chsure Island, and he’s furious in capital letters. He’s a navy brig officer up there,” she added.
He nodded. “Okay, I’ll take the call in here, Rose. Did he say what it’s about?”
She looked down her glasses at him. “PFC David Shaw. The same kid I talked to you about the other day.”
“Okay.” Rose shut the door and he picked up the phone. “Captain Ramsey speaking.”
“This is Lieutenant Wood calling from the correction facility at TI, Captain. Just how in the hell are you training your brig chasers nowadays?”
Dan settled his elbows on his desk and kept a tight rein on his anger. “Lieutenant, would you like to explain? I’m in the dark about this.” He didn’t like navy people chewing him out in general. And specifically, he didn’t like snotty officers snapping at him, regardless of rank or ser[chvice.
“PFC Shaw transported Coughman from your brig to ours,” Wood snarled. “And he brought the prisoner in without leg irons. Now, Captain, that’s pure slop. What if Coughman had decided to run for it? All he’d have had to do was knock Shaw out and take off. Regulations specifically cite the prisoner must be bound in wrist and leg irons. Don’t your people read the orders we give them? Just what the hell’s going on down there?”
Taking a deep breath, Dan recalled Rose’s warning about Shaw. “Look, Lieutenant Wood, I apologize for Shaw’s performance,” he said in an unruffled but authoritative tone. “I’ve been here less than a week, but I can promise you it won’t happen again.”
“It’d better not, Captain. I don’t put my brig people at risk like that. Shaw’s stupidity put the civilian population at risk, too. Coughman’s a convicted murderer. Didn’t Shaw know who he was transporting?”
“I agree with you in principle, Lieutenant Wood, and as I said, it won’t happen again. You’ve got my word.”
“I hope so.”
“Thanks for calling,” Dan said, keeping his voice calm as anger lapped at the edges of his control. The other officer’s receiver clicked down and the line went dead. Grimly, Dan pushed the intercom button that would connect him with his secretary.
“Rose?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Is PFC Shaw on duty down at the brig?”
“Umm…wait a sec, let me check the daily brig roster. Yes, sir, he is.”
“Get him up here on the double,” he ordered tightly. “And bring in the files on Coughman and Shaw, please.”
“Yes, sir!”
He’d just stood to unwind from the tension that had settled in his shoulders when his phone rang again.
“What is it, Rose?”
“Bad day, Captain. Sergeant Donnally just reported in from San Onofre. He was asked to go over there because two illegal Mexicans were found hiding behind one of the Quonset huts. Apparently they spoke only Spanish and Joe is fluent. They needed an interpreter.”
“Yes?”
“He got into a fight with a couple of marines who were beating up the illegals when he arrived. Joe’s on the way over to make a report to you just as soon as he drops off the Mexicans to Border Patrol authorities. He’s putting the two enlisted guys who started the fight on report.”
“Very well. Radio Donnally and tell him I want to see him as soon as he arrives.”
“Sure thing, sir.”
Great. Just great. Dan faced the window and placed his hands on his hips. One of his brig chasers had just screwed up big time, which gave him and Reed a black eye. Not a good way to start his job. And Donnally had been in a fistfight with fellow marines. That wouldn’t be viewed as positive by Colonel Edwards, either. He couldn’t have his brig chasers taking things into their own hands. But he’d wait to hear Donnally’s side of the incident before making a judgment. He looked out toward Teddy Roosevelt Road, running parallel to the huge two-story gray Headquarters building. When things went wrong, they really went wrong. Rubbing his jaw, Dan thought of Libby. And just as quickly, all his tension and anger dissolved. She had that kind of magical effect on him.
He heard a slight knock at his door. “Enter!” he snapped, turning around.
PFC David Shaw’s hand shook as he opened the door that led to his skipper’s office. Sweat had popped out along his broad brow and upper lip. Ramsey’s face was thundercloud dark and his eyes were narrowed on him with predatory intensity. Gulping, his Adam’s apple bobbing, Shaw entered the office, shut the door and snapped to rigid attention.
“PFC Shaw reporting as ordered, sir!”
Dan glared up at the string bean of a marine. His sandy hair was still short from boot-camp days. He was at least six-foot-three and couldn’t weigh more than a hundred and fifty pounds soaking wet. As usual, Rose had been right: Shaw wasn’t brig-chaser material. At least, not outwardly. Shaw’s face was oval, his gray eyes set wide apart, and teenage acne scars were still plainly visible on his flushed skin. It was a sensitive face, broadcasting anxiety from his straight-ahead eyes. Too sensitive for brig chasing, Dan thought as he rounded his desk and thrust his face in front of Shaw’s.
“Just what the hell did you think you were doing with Coughman, Shaw?” he rasped, his nose nearly touching the private’s.
“Uhh…sir, I shoulda put Coughman in leg irons. I didn’t. No excuse, sir!” he choked out, standing rigidly, his arms stiff against his sides.
Breathing hard, Dan glared into the private’s frightened eyes, which were locked dead ahead. “What didn’t you do, Shaw?” he shouted. Repetition was an ironclad teaching tool in the Marine Corps. Marines learned by rote.
“Sir! I didn’t put prisoner Coughman in leg irons, sir!”
“Did you read the orders, Shaw?”
“Y-yes, sir!”
“It doesn’t show, mister!”
“No, sir! It—” he gulped “—won’t happen again, Captain. I promise! Sir!”
Dan eased inches away, not satisfied that Shaw had learned his lesson. A heavy film of sweat covered the private’s face. “When you got out of boot camp, Shaw, what was your MOS, your Military Operational Specialty?”
“Motor pool, sir!”
“Then,” Dan thundered, “what the hell are you doing over here in Corrections and MP work?” It didn’t make sense.
“Sir,” Shaw snapped, as if back in boot camp facing a DI, “I was in motor pool, but Sergeant Major Black said I couldn’t cut it, so he sent me over here. Sir!”
Inwardly, Dan grimaced. Reading between the lines, he realized Black had recognized a screw-up when he saw one, and when Shaw had walked into his motor pool, he’d wisely gotten rid of him by dumping him on Correction’s doorstep at the first opportunity. “How long have you been a brig chaser, Shaw?”
“Sir! Two months, sir!”
“And you had all the primary MP training offered?”
“Sir! Yes, sir!”
“Shaw, dammit, this isn’t boot camp! Knock off the `Sir, yes, sir!’ Got it?”
Shaw’s eyes bulged and he made contact for the first time with Ramsey’s. “Yes, sir…”
Rose knocked at the door.
Reluctantly, Dan stepped away, giving Shaw one more lethal glare. The private was at stiff attention, his back bowed as if it would break. “Don’t move a muscle,” he rasped.
Jerking open the door, Dan took the files and thanked Rose. He shut the door loudly. Shaw jerked as if he’d been shot.
Let him sweat it out, Dan thought as he rounded his desk to sit down and study the two files. Quickly perusing Coughman’s, he saw Shaw’s illegible scrawl, indicating he’d read and understood the orders before transporting the prisoner.
Shaw barely breathed as the captain read through his file. Sweat beaded, then ran down his temples. Did he dare wipe it away? One look at the captain’s dark, angry face and Shaw remained at attention, not moving a muscle. Couldn’t he do anything right?
After five minutes, Ramsey looked up at the sweating private. “What made you join the corps?”
Stunned by the unexpected question, Shaw stared at Ramsey momentarily, then jerked his eyes away. “Wha— sir?”
Patiently, Dan repeated, “Why’d you join the corps, Shaw?”
“Uh…well, sir, I wanted training. My friend’s family said education was a key to success, so I oughtta get some kind of technical training I could use on the outside once my enlistment was up, you know?”
Dan’s gaze fell on Shaw’s grades. They were just this side of failing in all categories. “Motor pool would have been your best bet, Shaw. Brig chasers are a breed apart, and they’re highly intelligent men and women. Also, unless you’re planning on being a prison guard when you get out, this job isn’t going to help you toward your goal one iota.”
Shaw remained frozen. “Yes, sir, I know, sir.”
“Do you know why I called you in here?”
“Yes, sir,” Shaw mumbled.
“You screwed up on taking Coughman to TI. I suppose Lieutenant Wood set you straight on correct regulations regarding transport of a prisoner?”
Ashamed, Shaw nodded and swallowed hard. “Uh, yes, sir, he did. He, uh, was really mad about it, sir.”
“Don’t you think he had a right to be?” Dan shouted.
“Yes, sir, I do!” Shaw’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with sincerity. “I’m really sorry, Captain. I promise, it won’t happen again! I just didn’t read that set of orders close enough. Coughman was my first real chase, sir. Before, I always paired up with another, experienced brig chaser. I—I guess I got overexcited or something.”
Dan leaned forward, his voice grating. “Shaw, marines don’t get excited when trouble happens. You got that? You stay calm, cool and collected.”
“Yes, sir…”
“I don’t like being brought to task by another officer over one of my men, Shaw. Especially a navy officer. That’s embarrassing.”
“Yes, sir…”
Exhaling hard, Dan glared at the young private. Shaw was sweating so hard that large, dark splotches showed beneath each of his arms. A part of Dan took pity on the kid, but another part didn’t. Shaw could be killed if he didn’t make this lesson stick. Regulations were in place to make transporting a prisoner as safe as possible for the brig chaser and the civilian population alike. A little fear was good for him. It might keep him alive. “All right, Shaw, I’m giving you one more chance.”
“You are?” he gasped.
Dan made his face hard and merciless. “You screw up so much as an inch out of line, Shaw, and I’m going to make sure you get transferred out of my division and into someplace where the sun doesn’t shine until your enlistment’s up. You got that?”
“Yes, sir! Loud and clear, sir! I won’t let you down, sir!”
“I hope,” Dan whispered gruffly, “for your sake, Shaw, you don’t. I don’t ever want to see your face in here again on charges like this. Now get out of here and study up on the regulations for transporting prisoners. You are to know them by memory. Once you’ve memorized them, you are to repeat them verbatim to Sergeant Donnally. Understand?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Dismissed!”
Shaw did an about-face and left his office, and Dan leaned back in his chair. A knock sounded on his door. He glanced down at his watch. It was 1700. Already angry, he snarled, “Enter!”
Sergeant Joe Donnally entered.
“What the hell happened to you?” Dan asked, sitting upright in the chair. Donnally’s face was a mess of bruises and he had a long cut leaking blood down the right side of his jaw.
Sheepishly, Joe handed over his report and pressed a green handkerchief to his face. “I mixed it up with a couple of marines over at San Onofre, Captain. A couple of PFC’s discovered some illegal aliens hiding behind a supply Quonset hut and were beating the hell out of them when I arrived. I ordered them to stop.” Donnally shrugged his broad, powerful shoulders, stiffness apparent in them. “When they didn’t, I waded into the fray, sir. Wetbacks might be entering this country illegally, but they don’t deserve to be beaten to death. It’s all here in my report.”
Disbelief edged Dan’s voice. “Why didn’t you stop at the hospital first and get that face taken care of?”
“I figured you’d want to know what happened over there first, Captain.”
“Sergeant, your report can wait until later. Get your butt over to the hospital emergency room, pronto.”
“But, sir—”
“Dammit, Donnally, don’t argue with me! My people come first. You should have had the good sense to get treatment. You could have radioed me from the truck and detoured to the hospital. I’d have approved your request.” He gave the report a disgusted look. “This damned report can wait.”
Contrite, the sergeant nodded and came to attention. “Yes, sir.”
“You can fill me in on the details tomorrow morning at 0800, Sergeant.”
“Very well, sir.” Joe reached for the doorknob.
“Who won?”
“Sir?”
Dan motioned to Donnally’s swollen and bruised face. “It was two against one. Who won?”
It hurt like hell to grin, but Joe did anyway. “Captain, you know brig chasers don’t take crap from anyone.” And then he added respectfully, “Sir.”
Suppressing a smile, Dan kept his face carefully neutral. “I’m glad to hear you were the victor, Sergeant. Now disappear and get that mug of yours taken care of. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.” Joe quietly shut the door behind him. He pressed his damp handkerchief against his jaw, suddenly realizing the front of his uniform was splattered not only with his blood but with the blood of the other two men. Ramsey was proving to be a damn good officer and man—a far cry from Captain Jacobs, who’d hated Hispanics. If this incident had happened under Jacobs’s command, the sonofabitch would have considered it open season on illegal aliens. And he certainly wouldn’t have cared if Joe had lived or died, much less gotten over to the hospital to take care of his facial injury. At least Ramsey put his men first and the incident they were involved in second.
Rose gave him a wide-eyed look as he walked through the busy fifteen-person office and stopped at her desk.
“Rose, I gotta go over to the hospital. Had a slight scuffle.”
“No kidding. What shape was the truck in that hit you?”
The corner of his mouth that wasn’t split open and bleeding lifted. “The other two dudes are in a lot sorrier shape than I am, believe me. I’m checking out for the day. Will you sign me out?” He held up his scraped and bloody hand. If he signed out on that pristine sheet on her desk, he’d make a mess of it, and Rose valued neatness. He didn’t want to risk her ire. One fight a day was plenty.
Rose shook her head. “Yeah, I’ll sign you out. You oughtta make that a couple of days off, Joe. Your face looks like hamburger.”
“Thanks, Rose. I can always count on you for an honest opinion,” he said dryly, smiling through his pain.
She winked at him. “Take care of yourself. Is the captain upset?”
“I don’t think so. He only wanted to know who won.”
Rose’s face grew pinched. “That’s terrible!”
“No,” Joe corrected as he left, “that’s marine.”
