Beginning with You (18 page)

“That was two years ago, sir!” he protested loudly. “And that’s all it was! Just an incident.”

Ward stared into Jarvis’s haunted eyes. “I won’t have my people’s lives put in jeopardy by anyone on drugs or alcohol, Chief. Now, I’ve given you the opportunity to talk to me openly about this health problem of yours.”

“I’m sober, sir! I swear to God I am! I’d never drink on the job.”

Grimly, Ward stood up. “I hope for your sake you’re not lying to me, Chief. Because, if you are, I’ll string your ass up so fast you’ll think hell’s a great place to live instead. Do you read me?”

Chappie stood. “Yes, sir. Loud and clear, sir.”

The silence thickened between them as Ward stared hard at the chief. “One last chance, Chief, before you leave this office. I’ve never punished any man or woman who’s come to me openly and honestly with a problem. I work hard to rehabilitate my people because I want them satisfied with themselves and their job performance for the Coast Guard. I can forgive human weakness. What I can’t forgive is a liar.”

Jarvis belligerently met Stuart’s hard features. “I don’t have a problem. Sir.”

“Very well,” Ward said grimly. “You’ve seen the new orders for yourself, Mr. Welsh and Miss Locke?”

“I have, sir.”

“Any questions about my decision?”

“I can’t say I have, sir, but I’ve been in this man’s outfit long enough to follow orders.”

Ward saw the hatred in the chief’s eyes. Disappointed, he waved him toward the door. “Dismissed.”

Could he have handled it differently? Better? Ward knew Jarvis was an alcoholic. It was simply a matter of time and gathering up enough evidence to bring him before a captain’s mast. He wouldn’t see flight safety jeopardized for Jarvis’s unadmitted problem. No, he’d have to move quickly. And then he wondered how any action against the chief would impact Locke’s new assignment. A lot of the enlisted men would be jealous.

Chappie unlocked the file drawer. He glanced out the window of the office door and then slugged down two gulps of vodka, finishing off the contents of the bottle. He knew he’d have to remove all evidence from his office and be extra careful about his hiding places from now on. The alcohol barely took the edge off his anger. If that goddamn captain thought he was going to drum him out of the service, he was mistaken. He moved to the window. It was almost noon, and the hangar was deserted. Everyone had gone to lunch. His eyes narrowed. He spotted Annie Locke in the cockpit of CG 1418. She was doing scheduled maintenance on the bird. A slow smile came to his face.

So, Mr. Welsh and that bastard of a captain thought highly of Bucky Beaver’s skills. Well, he didn’t get to a chief’s rating by being a fool. There wasn’t a gold striper in the Coast Guard who could keep up with his maneuvering. The smile widened on Chappie’s square face, exposing his teeth. Why hadn’t he thought of this before? Not only could he get Locke into hot water, he could embarrass Welsh and show the captain that the people he thought so highly of were fuck-ups. And, of course, he’d be there to not only expose the problem that Locke had failed to remedy, but to point fingers. That would take the heat off him. Since the captain wanted whipping boys, let him go after two of his own favorites.

Rook sat in her office, her thoughts wandering. She couldn’t focus on the public relations drafts that she was supposed to deliver to Captain Stuart by the end of the day. The office was quiet when the secretarial pool was at lunch. As usual, the day was gray and cloudy. She stared out the window, wishing for some sunshine. Getting up, Rook opened the door to her office, hoping for some fresh air. She glumly looked at the calendar: June 25. She’d managed to survive almost three months at the station. She was officially on the SAR duty roster, having completed her initial orientation training, but she didn’t feel happy. Paula Welsh’s health had declined steadily over the last three weeks, and she wasn’t expected to live much longer.

She missed Tag’s daily round of jokes, his country-boy humor and easygoing manner. Rook tried to give him emotional support, but she realized no one could help him now. She knew from experience that the death of a loved one was something that had to be faced alone. Scribbling idly on a notepad, her thoughts moved to Jim’s father, who was slowly recovering but still in the hospital. That one trauma-filled day had driven her and Jim into each other’s arms. She didn’t regret that, but something deep within her signaled a warning to run from the developing relationship. Rook was unable to understand the wild panic that came and went. Right now, Jim was over his head in paperwork, running the huge business by himself. Before the accident, Howard Barton had been a driving force equal to his son in the company. Now, Jim was laboring under a double workload that would give a type A executive a heart attack in a week’s time. They didn’t get to see each other often, between his extra responsibilities and her duty.

And then there was Gil. Something was eating the hell out of the man, but Rook couldn’t get him to talk about it. It was probably his wife, who had been writing ridiculous things about Coast Guard people. She waited uneasily to see if her interview would appear in the newspaper. It had been almost two months since Eve had shown up unexpectedly in her office. Had Eve used the pretense of an interview to size her up, or was she holding the threat of a blasting article over Rook’s head to keep her away from Gil? She had never discussed the interview with him, but it was obvious he knew about it. Gil was short-tempered and growly lately; no one liked pulling duty with him. Tonight, she was his copilot. Rook prayed there wouldn’t be any SAR calls.

“Hey, Ms. Caldwell, what are you doing here all by yourself?” Annie asked, standing uncertainly at the door.

Rook lifted her head, warming beneath Annie’s infectious smile. Did she ever get depressed, like the rest of them? It didn’t seem so. “Hi, Annie. I see you’ve got duty with us tonight.”

Annie gave her a thumbs-up, nervously standing there. She was dressed in her olive-green flight suit. “Yes, ma’am, I got the magic combination. Couldn’t get two better pilots.”

With a laugh, Rook sat back in the chair. “You’re good for me, Annie. I’m glad you dropped by, because I was feeling a little down about Paula Welsh.”

Everyone at the station knew of Paula’s deteriorating health. With a solemn nod, Annie said, “Yeah, Mr. Welsh is going through a terrible time. I just wish there was some way to help.”

“It’s probably more important that we be there for him afterward.”

“To pick up the pieces,” Annie agreed softly. She gave Rook a shy smile, her hands stuck in the pockets of the flight uniform. “I just dropped by to sorta talk to you, Ms. Caldwell. I suppose this is a personnel matter, but I don’t feel comfortable talking to a man about it.” She hesitated, then, sensing Rook’s willingness to listen, continued. “Have you got a few minutes?”

Rook gestured to the chair next to her desk. “Sure, come on in and sit down.” Pulling open the desk drawer, she asked, “I packed a lunch. Want to share it? I don’t have much of an appetite right now.”

Annie shut the door and held up a hand as she sat down. “No, thanks, ma’am. I just got done grabbing a bite to eat over at the line shack.”

“Okay.” Rook placed the sack aside, devoting all her attention to Annie. “What can I do for you?”

Heat crept into Annie’s freckled face. “Well, it’s not what you can do for me. I just need another woman’s opinion on something.”

“Yes?”

Annie pointed to her front teeth. “I, uh, was wondering if I got my jaw and teeth fixed, if it might improve my looks just a little. No, I know I’m homely looking as all get out.” She gave a bashful laugh. “I come from straight Kentucky hill stock, and if you think I’m unsightly, you ought to see some of the folks that stayed home.”

“Annie, I think just the opposite about you. You’re beautiful, from the heart outward.”

Surprised, Annie risked a quick look in her direction. “Really?”

“When you smile, your face becomes radiant, your eyes light up and we’re all the better for it. I don’t call that unsightly—I call it beautiful.”

Laughing nervously, Annie stared down at her hands, clasped in her lap. There was still black grease stubbornly lodged beneath her short, almost nonexistent nails. No matter what she did, she could never get rid of all of it. “Yeah, but you’re a woman, Ms. Caldwell.”

Frowning, Rook asked, “Have the guys been teasing you over at the hangar?”

“Ahh, no more than usual, ma’am. It’s just that—well—you see, there’s this guy on Lieutenant Caldwell’s cutter by the name of Dave Harper, and I really like him.” Her voice fell to a whisper. “But he won’t even look at me. I see it in his eyes when I try to talk to him sometimes. He thinks I’m ugly.”

Taking a deep breath, Rook’s heart squeezed with Annie’s pain. “Was it something he said?”

“Oh, no, ma’am. You see, Dave takes night classes over at the same college I do, and I see him a couple times a week.” She licked her dry lips. “I watch how he looks at other girls who are really pretty. I’d like to get him to notice me, but I guess I’m pretty poor at figuring how to do it. My ma had eight of us young ones to raise, and she didn’t have the time to teach us girls how to go about looking attractive.”

Rook looked at the piece of notepaper in front of her for a long minute before speaking. “I’m afraid I’m not the best one to ask on that account. I don’t wear any makeup, either. My hair’s so short, I don’t have to figure out whether I should curl it or blow-dry it.”

“But you’re awful pretty, ma’am, with or without all that gunk some women put on their faces.”

“Thanks, Annie. I’ve always believed beauty comes from inside a person, and no amount of war paint can make the difference. Women shouldn’t be judged on their looks or their bodies, anyway.”

“Ain’t that the truth? I just wish these men would look at our God-given talents, instead of those dumb things.”

Rook smiled absently. “It would make things easier on our kind of woman, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am. Since you’ve come here, I’ve sure felt better about myself. You’re an inspiration.”

Rook tried to gently turn the conversation back to Annie. “Thanks. Just be careful you don’t put me up on any pedestals. I fall off real easy. Annie, have you talked to the dental officer about your jaw and tooth alignment problem?”

“Just this morning.” She brightened, her eyes brimming with hope. “He said my jaw would have to be busted and reset, and he’d have to do a lot of work on my teeth.”

“And the outcome?”

Softly, “No one will be able to call me Bucky Beaver anymore….”

Rook took a deep breath, realizing what it had cost Annie in terms of pride to admit that she knew the nickname the men had given her. She wanted to punch each one of those insensitive clods in the mouth. If only they could see the hurt in Annie’s eyes and the pain in her voice, they wouldn’t ever call her that again. People were so cruel to one another.

“Know the nickname I have for you?”

Surprise flared in Annie’s wide eyes. “Why—no.”

Rook held her wavering gaze. “I’ve always called you Sunny behind your back. The name has sort of stuck, and the rest of the pilots call you Sunny, too. So, sometime, if one of us slips up and refers to you as that, you’ll know who started the whole thing.”

Tears stung Annie’s eyes, but she fought them back. Her lower lip trembled and she tried to smile. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Rook became more businesslike, on the verge of tears herself. “Well, when will you start the dental work? I think it’s a great idea. But I think if you do it, you should do it for yourself, Annie, not for a man. We women need to learn to do things for ourselves, not for what some man might want of us. We have to learn to be ourselves. What do you think?”

Annie’s trembly smile became stronger. “Yes, ma’am, I think you’re right. Even if Dave Harper still continues to ignore me, at least he was the reason to get it done.”

“I like the way you think, Annie. You’re on top of things.”

The woman rose. “I owe you one, Ms. Caldwell.”

Shaking her head, Rook murmured, “We’re even, Annie, believe me.”

Annie cocked her head, silent for several seconds, trying to digest and understand Rook’s veiled comment. Not succeeding, she raised a hand in farewell. “I’ll probably be seeing you again before tomorrow morning.”

“Maybe we’ll get lucky,” Rook countered, and watched Annie leave.

Rook hoped not, trying to concentrate on the PR items in front of her. She didn’t want a SAR case with Logan. He was on the verge of exploding, and Rook didn’t want any part of it. Right now, she wished she was on board the
Point Countess
with Noah. His crew had gunnery practice this morning, outside the mouth of the straits. Her relationship with Noah was subtly changing. Rook rested her chin on her hand, staring at the wall. Noah…he was like a shadow in her life—always there if she needed him, but never intru sive. By leaving her alone and not pressuring her, he’d made her feel free to come to him on her own. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. She was still uneasy about the past, yet Noah had so far given her no reason to distrust him. He was smart, Rook decided, getting back to work.

A knock on the door made Ward turn, and he scowled. It was eight o’clock on the morning of June 26. Judging from the urgency of the knock, he sensed something had gone wrong. “Come in.”

Lieutenant Rook Caldwell walked in, a newspaper in hand. She was pale. “Captain, I was running some errands this morning, and I saw this on the newsstand. I think you’d better take a look at it.” She handed it to him, preparing herself accordingly.

Ward’s eyes narrowed as he read the front-page headlines of the
Star
: Whale Shot, Coast Guard Responsible? There were three large black-and-white photos. One of them clearly showed the
Point Countess
and Scanlon’s helo. The next was of the wounded calf, which had ten stitches of bullet holes across its body. The third showed the mother whale trying to keep her dying calf afloat. He stood there, rapidly perusing the five-column article, anger growing. He flicked a gaze at the byline and realized with a sinking feeling that Eve Logan had written the article.

“Sir, is there anything I can do?” Rook asked, thinking that the PR officer should get involved immediately on this sort of situation.

“No…not just yet.” Ward glanced up at her. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Ms. Caldwell.”

Rook tilted her head, noting Stuart’s agitation. “All right, sir.”

“Dismissed,” he told her, trying to keep the angry edge out of his voice.

Rook released a breath of air, only too glad to leave. She shut the door quietly behind her. My God, that was the
Point Countess
, Noah’s cutter, in the photo! The article practically said that he had shot the whale. She slowed her pace down the hall, lost in turmoil. He wouldn’t do that—Noah was gentle. She’d never seen him angry enough to strike anyone or anything. And, God knew, they’d had plenty of verbal battles before—the worst kind. If he’d never raised his hand to her, he’d never harm a defenseless animal—especially a whale. Rook recalled the look on Stuart’s face and a chill ran up her spine. Helos had no guns on board, so the only possible culprit to shoot the whale was the cutter, which did carry weaponry.

Rubbing her brow to stem a headache that was beginning, Rook rushed back down to her office. Noah’s career would be destroyed if he was proven guilty. The photos and story were blatantly incriminating. She knew little of her brother, but one thing she did know was his dream of being the skipper of a large cutter in the Coast Guard. That dream had not wavered in his mind since the time he was a youngster. Noah would never jeopardize his career like this—never. Restless, Rook looked around her office. She wanted to help him, but didn’t know how. Earlier, she had heard from the SAR desk that he had been called to participate in a case out in the straits. Was his cutter back in port yet?

Noah noticed both Captain Stuart and the Ops officer, Bob Nelson, waiting for him and Dave Harper when they arrived at the office. The silence was turgid.

“Reporting as ordered, sir.”

Ward gave a brusque nod. “Sit down, Mr. Caldwell. You too, Harper.”

Noah perused the officers’ faces. Stuart looked positively angry, barely in control of his emotions, if he was any judge. What the hell was going down?

Stuart looked to his Ops officer. “Read them their rights, Mr. Nelson.” Ward sat down.

Stunned, Noah looked over at Stuart and watched Nelson drone on. He sat up tensely afterward as the CO put the newspaper into his hands.

“Read that, Mr. Caldwell,” Ward ordered him.

Scowling, Noah read the account, studying the photos of the dying calf. He handed the newspaper back to Nelson, his attention focused on Stuart.

“You held gunnery practice out at these coordinates yesterday, Mr. Caldwell?” Ward asked, shoving the order to conduct target practice in Noah’s direction.

Noah glanced at it. “Yes, sir.”

“How many rounds did you expend? And how?”

“Harper and his team fired five bursts at one-minute intervals at a floating target we’d placed earlier.”

“With fourteen bull’s-eyes,” Harper added, sensing that the captain was hunting a scapegoat. He liked his skipper and immediately defended him.

Ward drilled a warning look in Harper’s direction—one designed to tell him to keep his mouth shut until spoken to.

“Who was in that immediate vicinity with you, Mr. Caldwell?”

“Just the Coast Guard helo that was ordered out with us to conduct basket hoists.”

“Did you or any of your men sight anything else in your vicinity?”

Noah kept his voice firm and unruffled. “No, sir. We had perfect visibility, and the seas were calm.”

“Like glass,” Harper added quickly.

Stuart snapped a look at him. He asked Caldwell, “Were there any other weather conditions present?”

Noah shrugged. “The normal fog bank we get this time of year, sir. It was southwest of us, about five miles away.”

“Four and a half,” Harper corrected, giving his skipper a swift glance.

“All right, four and a half,” Noah amended.

Ward stared down at his notes. Either both his flight and cutter crew were lying, or the newspaper was—specifically, Eve Logan. But how could she rig the whale shooting? She couldn’t. There had to be an explanation—a logical one. He lifted his eyes, staring hard at Caldwell. He was composed, unruffled—at least, outwardly. If the man had something to hide, he’d give himself away. His gaze shifted to Harper, who had his jaw clenched and was sitting forward aggressively. Ward almost smiled. Harper was protecting his skipper, which was commendable up to a point, but foolhardy if Caldwell was lying. Harper’s career would go down the drain, too.

Ward nailed Caldwell, speaking very slowly and very clearly. “For the record, did you see any whales anywhere near the area where you were practicing gunnery?”

“No, sir.” He looked over at Dave. “Did you or your crew?”

“No, sir.” Harper shifted his gaze to the captain, his voice shaking with anger. “We saw no whales, Captain.”

“Very well. How about a twenty-foot yacht?”

Noah shook his head. “Sir, by the manual, I’m charged with making sure there is no boat traffic in the immediate area where we practice and CG 1224 confirmed this before we started to fire.”

Ward sat back, studying the two men for a long time. The air grew oppressive in the office. “Lieutenant, I want you and Harper to go with the Ops officer right now and make out a full report of your activities yesterday. Leave nothing out. I’ll expect that report on my desk within the hour. Understand?”

Noah rose, struggling with his shock. “Yes, sir.” He turned. “Let’s go, Dave.”

“Yes, sir.” Harper gave the CO a scowl and then left with his skipper.

The office had just emptied when the phone rang. Ward answered it. “Captain Stuart.”

“This is Admiral Savage. Just what the hell is going on down there?”

Ward’s hand tightened around the phone. “Sir?”

“The Seattle Dispatch’s main headline reads, Coast Guard Accused of Shooting Whale.”

“Admiral, I just saw the story myself. It’s in the Port Angeles paper, as well. We weren’t notified that it was going to run, or given a chance to respond to the allegations.”

“Do you realize it’s been picked up by AP? Jesus Christ, it will be on the front page of every newspaper in the U.S.!” Savage’s voice lowered to little more than a snarl. “Not only that, you can bet you’ll have television crews on your doorstep within hours. Dammit, Stuart, I want action on this, and fast!”

“Nobody agrees with you more, Admiral.”

“Have you talked to the helo and cutter crew?”

“Yes, sir. They just left my office.”

“Did they do it?”

“I don’t believe so, sir.”

“What do you mean, you don’t believe so?”

Ward held on to his disintegrating temper. His words came out chopped. “Admiral, the
Point Countess
arrived in port less than thirty minutes ago. My cutter captain is writing out his report right now. I’m moving on this just as fast as humanly possible. My next call is going to be to that newspaper, to find out why the hell they didn’t wait on this story until they had all the facts.”

Savage was breathing heavily into the phone. “I want to be updated as soon as you find out who did this. Good God! We’ve got enough problems without having the public think we’re a bunch of a whale murderers.”

Ward listened to the tirade, closing his eyes. What a can of goddamn worms. Eve Logan was going to pay for this.

By noon, Rook had fielded dozens of phone calls from newspapers from around the U.S. Stuart had told her that Admiral Savage was sending over his special PR team from Seattle to deal with the crisis. He didn’t think it would look good to have the sister of one of the suspects handling the press. She hoped they would arrive soon.

The door to her office stood open and various people filed in and out, running to answer the ringing phones in the outer area. Rook had just given Jody a statement to read to an East Coast television station when she looked up and saw Eve Logan, dressed in a chic gray suit, walk through the outer door. Her eyes narrowed with anger.

Rook stood up, slowly, her combat instincts rising dangerously. Gil Logan had already come by twice to apologize profusely for his wife’s actions. Rook didn’t blame him. Fists clenched, she waited.

“Hello, Lieutenant Caldwell,” Eve announced soberly. She came in and shut the door to the office. “I understand you’re the acting PR officer, so as a reporter from the
Star
, I demand some answers to my questions regarding the whale shooting.”

The urge to wrap her fingers around Eve’s white throat was very real. Rook stood there, tense, her feet slightly apart. “First, you’ll answer mine. How’d you get those photos of the whale?”

“Simple. I was out sailing with another reporter and her husband yesterday morning when it happened. And like a good journalist, I had my camera along.”

“A good reporter would have allowed the Coast Guard to respond to the charges before printing the article,” Rook ground out.

“Three people saw the whole thing.”

“I talked to Julia Edwards, the other reporter, earlier. Your sailboat was in a fog bank at the time the shooting occurred, Mrs. Logan. How the hell could you see anything?”

Eve shook her head. “Don’t you raise your voice to me—” After torturous months of insecurity, wondering if Gil loved this woman, she finally had her revenge. But the victory left Eve feeling empty and scared.

Rook moved forward, punching her finger into Eve’s shoulder. “I know the real reason you’re doing this, Mrs. Logan. And so do you.” She breathed harshly. “But you’ve made a mistake. You’ve gone after my brother in order to get to me. No one gets away with that. Do you understand? For your information, there is nothing going on between your husband and me—there never was. It’s all up in that jealous head of yours.”

Shaken, Eve took a step back. Gathering her stunned thoughts, she gripped the tape recorder in her left hand. “You’re threatening me, Lieutenant!”

“You’ve threatened me and my brother’s career!” Rook shouted back angrily. She was losing it. Backing away, Rook dragged in several deep breaths. This wasn’t the way she should be reacting, but she couldn’t help it—the injustice of what Eve Logan was doing was too much to bear. Rook could see her career destroyed over this one confrontation alone.

The door opened. Rook turned, expecting Captain Stuart or some other officer to step in and break up the disintegrating situation. Her eyes widened enormously. Gil Logan stood in the doorway, his face thundercloud dark as he looked first at his wife, then at Rook.

“Eve?”

Eve’s lips parted, her fear turning to anguish. “I’m here on official business as a reporter for the
Star
. I have every right to interview Lieutenant Caldwell.” Eve shrank against the wall. After the newspaper had decided to run the story last night, she’d gone to stay at Julia’s, wanting no confrontation with Gil.

The embarrassment of having the entire office watch the scene was too much for Gil. Lips pulling away from his teeth, he snarled softly, “You’re coming with me, Eve.” And he gripped her arm firmly, pulling her out of the office.

Rook stood open-mouthed. She saw Gil snap a look in her direction.

“I’m sorry this happened, Rook. It’s going to be settled right now.” Logan shifted his attention back to Eve. “Come with me,” he whispered tautly, pulling her along with him.

Eve resisted his powerful grip once they were outside the main building and walking toward the parking lot. “Gil! Let me go!”

Gil released her in the center of the parking lot. At least out here there were fewer eyes and ears. He rounded on her.

“You didn’t come home last night. And you didn’t bother to call to tell me where you were!” He shook his head, his face full of hurt and anger. “Now I know why. You wrote this pack of lies about Noah Caldwell and his crew killing whales and you were afraid of my reaction to it! You’re a coward, Eve—a vindictive, vicious coward.”

Lifting her chin, her green eyes flashing with pain, Eve whispered, “You’re protecting her! You’re in love with Rook Caldwell! I can tell!”

“You can’t tell a goddamn thing!” Logan roared, gripping Eve by the arms. “You’re so jealous and scared of losing me that you’ve concocted this stupid and untrue scenario involving me and Rook! Nothing could be farther from the truth, Eve. She’s been dating Jim Barton since she arrived here.”

Blinking, Eve turned her face aside. “Let me go,” she sobbed.

Gil stepped away, hands on his hips, breathing hard. “You’ve really blown it, Eve. You’ve upset this entire station. The lies in that paper are hurting a lot of innocent people.” He laughed darkly, shaking his head. “The sad thing is, we’re all innocent.”

“I saw the Coast Guard kill those whales!” she shrieked.

“You heard shots being fired in the fog, for Christ’s sake,” Gil roared back. He jabbed a finger in her direction. “That isn’t proof, Eve. That’s lousy journalism, from a woman who has allowed her own immature emotions to color what she really saw and heard.” Taking a breath, Gil looked around. Their voices were echoing off the buildings.