The Captain's Lady (3 page)

She kneeled beside him with a napkin, dabbing at the dripping blood, apologizing, pleading, even when he erupted and pushed her away. All the while Eric watched warily from the corner of his eyes, his chest heaving as if he had just run a marathon. He was shocked when the girl turned on him, screaming that it was her own fault, and making excuses for the sailor, raging and pleading for him to leave them alone.

Disgust rose up and he snapped, yelling at the girl, “Get yourself together. What's wrong with you, letting some guy knock you around, don't you have any self respect?” Leaning down he pointed his finger forcefully at the sailor who was now trying to get up.

With caution and wariness in his eyes, he moved back, keeping a distance from Eric while swiping at the blood dribbling down the side of his lip with the back of his hand.

"If I ever catch you hitting a woman again, I will take you out back and kick the crap out of you ... you piece of shit!” Turning, he shook off his friend's restraining hand and stormed out of the pub, needing to clear his head and once again bottle up the demons he had suppressed for so long.

Taken aback by the sharp recall, why now, when it struck him, the gritty instinct that churned the bile in his stomach. W
as she one of these women who allowed a man to beat her?
He closed his eyes to steady his jumbled nerves, took a deep breath, and allowed the answer to come.

And the answer was no. He sensed an inbred fighter buried somewhere deep beneath that pale vulnerability. With it was a desperate need for his help.

"I need to talk to her, find out what happened."

Larry shook his head. “She needs to rest first and stabilize; I don't want anything to agitate her right now."

"When?"

Taking another breath, Larry ran his fingers through his already rumpled hair. “A couple of hours. I want to get her settled first. She needs food and rest."

Eric strode to Abby's side, struck by the sudden contentedness on that angelic face. Her eyes were now closed and she breathed in a soft, peaceful rhythm.

"I hate to wake her, but we need to get her moved to one of the beds. She needs to get off her back."

Startled he glanced over his shoulder at Larry, then without a word he leaned down and touched her arm. With a start, her eyes shot open, blinking rapidly. She stiffened as a moment of fear and confusion played in those vivid blue eyes. But when she locked onto Eric's gaze, a visible relief washed over her and she let out a shaky breath.

He became more determined than ever to have all his questions answered. “Abby, the doc here wants to get you settled. You get some sleep. I'll come back in a few hours and we'll talk then."

"Okay,” she whispered. Then she watched the confidence in his quick stride as he pulled open the door and stopped to give her one last concerned glance before pulling the door securely closed behind him.

"Okay, Abby, we're going to help you sit up. Let's take it slow, and then we'll get you settled in a bunk."

The lieutenant and doctor helped her with encouragement and comforting words. Even in their secure, capable care, Abby felt the cool loss. It was no replacement for the captain, none at all.

Out in the passageway, Eric gripped the handle of the sickbay door. Shaking his head, confused, he sucked in a deep breath to regain control and still the harsh surge of adrenaline that coursed through him. Closing his eyes he forced his thoughts back to where they needed to be, commanding the ship, and the powerful need to meet with Joe, the one man who could do some serious digging, help unravel the mystery surrounding Abby's dramatic arrival.

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Chapter Three

The deck swayed beneath his feet as the destroyer once again resumed her patrol. Eric emerged through the steel gray hatch and was assaulted by a tantalizing spray of salt water. He stood a moment, breathing in its essence. God, he loved the sea.

The waves washed over the non-skid deck with a rhythm all their own, leaving a perpetual shine, like pavement after an early morning rain. The panorama of vast open waters sent jubilation surging through him. The open sea; this was his life.

Fifteen feet away, two crewmen were having a terse exchange of words. Eric watched Joe approach them, issue curt orders to finish scouring the secured dinghy for any clues as to Abby's identity.

Three midshipmen lingered aft of the launch. Joe sent them abruptly on their way. He faced Eric, who crossed his arms and surveyed the surrounding sea. “So what did you find out?” He kept his words carefully controlled, to betray no emotion.

"Not much. There's been no report of any boat in the area, fishing, downed ship, nothing.” Joe squinted, pursing wind-chapped lips as he glanced out and over the passing waters. “How is she?"

"Dehydrated, sunburned. But most confusing is that she's been beat up. Bruised ribs, face, ankle. Doc's getting some food into her now."

"What about the baby?"

Eric squeezed the back of his neck with his hand. “Its heartbeat is strong, but Doc wants her to get some rest. I'll go back in a few hours and see if I can find out anything from her."

Nodding, Joe remained silent, obviously waiting for him to continue. When he didn't, Joe crossed solid tanned arms in front of him and said softly, “Do you want me to get a hold of Intel, make some inquiries?"

Even in the humidity, Eric felt a bone-deep chill creep up his spine. The mention of Intel brought a wave of uneasiness that sat like a lead ball in his stomach. For a moment, he scanned the deck and the crewmen hovering over the dinghy. Then, turning, he walked to the rail, taking in the swell of waters below, with a swift glance aft to view the wake of the ship.

He cocked his head toward Joe. “Make it unofficial. And for god's sake be discreet. First though, I want to talk to Abby, to get a better sense of what the situation is. No slip-ups, got it?"

Joe leaned against the thin black bar, gazing up at him. Although he was six feet tall, Eric stood over him at 6'2". They had been friends for almost fifteen years and Joe understood where Eric's views came from. A neglected childhood, abandonment. Yet there were still many facets he kept locked away.

"Damn, she was worked over pretty good.” The pain in his voice was unmasked as he held himself rigid, darting a glance at Joe who stood silent beside him.

Startled by his friend's rare show of emotion, he shot a piercing look at some curious crewmen passing by. “Let's talk in your office.” Joe gestured to Eric with a quick tilt of his head.

He cursed under his breath, allowing the rush of anger to surge through him for being so careless. This was the last thing his crew needed to see, an outward display of emotion from their hardened captain, stirring up an already dramatic situation. What was wrong with him? He had been rattled all morning. He was usually so driven, focused, so in control of any given situation. Maybe talking with Joe would help clear the muddle in his head. With an abrupt spin on his heel, he headed to his cabin, with Joe following close behind.

Closing the door, Joe watched as Eric walked around the dark mahogany of his L-shaped desk. He pulled out the high-backed leather chair and in one fluid motion dropped down, leaning back into the buttery softness. He smoothed his hand over his chin and the scratchy growth of the dark shadow that was a subtle reminder he needed to shave.

The cabin was large and spacious. The dark carpeting covering the floor was the same as in other officer's cabins; the only difference was this cabin had a separate sleeping room. The outer office they were in was large with a newly furnished couch and chair. This was where they held their daily department head meetings. The large desk took up a goodly portion of the room, boasting more the status of CEO of a large corporation instead of captain on a US Navy destroyer. The ship was new; all the amenities were first rate.

Pulling out the upholstered chair on the other side of the desk, Joe sat, crossed his legs, and waited for Eric to continue. After several minutes of dead silence, Joe cleared his throat. Eric smiled at the gentle reminder to get on with the show. How often had he heard this in their morning meetings?

"So how is she? What did the doc say?” Eric just raised his eyebrows at the repeated question. “Sorry, just thought I'd ask again."

Closing his eyes for a moment, running his fingers through his short-cropped hair, he physically gained control over the jumbled thoughts in his head. “As I said, she's dehydrated, baby appears to be fine. She's pretty close to her delivery date. Doc thought just a few weeks.” He clenched his jaw as a tweak in his cheek betrayed his mounting frustration. “As I also said, she was worked over pretty good; a lot of bruising, including her ribs, so at the very least, she'll be sore for a while. Right now anyway, she stays put."

"Is that what the doc said? She's going to remain on board?"

Leaning forward as the predator within him revealed itself, he said, “No that's what I say.” Agitated, Eric jabbed a thumb into his chest, then pushed out of the chair and paced to a side table holding a pitcher of water and cups. Keeping his back turned, and with slow deliberation, he poured a cool drink, taking the time to reign in his temper and the wave of possessiveness that smoldered just below the surface.
What the hell was wrong with him?

He swallowed the water in one gulp as confusion swelled. Eric turned to face Joe with a fierce glow sparking in his eyes, a warning to say no more.

Joe sat calmly in his chair, used to the short outbursts of temper by his boss.
Keep her here? What the hell was that all about?
Eric was a stubborn lout and opinionated as hell about women. Taking that into consideration, why was Eric so protective of this newcomer?
What the hell had gotten into him?

A drug-addicted mother had abandoned him at the age of eight in a dark alley in East L.A. Alone and scared, he was taken away by Child Protective Services after he was caught stealing a candy bar at a convenience store, hungry, angry, and desperate. Over the next nine years, he bounced from one foster home to another—thirty-two in all—including two trips to Juvenile Hall. Labeled a troublemaker, Eric lashed out at anyone who showed emotion around him. He'd never understood what it meant to belong to a loving family.

Joe believed this was why he had so many failed relationships. Eric wanted a woman to be devoted to him. One who would respect him as the sole provider, the head of the household. Be the perfect role model his children. His views were Old World and probably selfish, but he was not willing to change them for anyone; it was who he was.

Eric was rattled by the woman's appearance. Yes, that had to be it. They had been on deployment for so long. Maybe it was that, mixed with the shock of finding Abby in such a condition that caused him to react this way. After all, it had already affected most of the crew. Joe himself was not immune to the plight of the girl.

Eric looked out the port window. He thrived in this life at sea. The sea revived him. He became clearer, sharper; his instincts became honed. It was as if she were the other half of his soul, the perfect marriage. She filled a need in him, although it couldn't be sustained when he was on shore duty. The longer Eric remained on shore, the more he felt spiritually drained.

At that moment, it finally connected, striking a forceful blow to his gut. It was Abby, not just her plight, but something about her.

Joe cleared his throat, drawing Eric from his thoughts with a start. He mumbled a curt apology, while shaking his head in an attempt to regain some control. “Sorry."

He wandered back to his chair, managing to summon up his mask and slip it into place, once again presenting his commanding role to Joe. Eric pointed a steady finger. “Notify command; let them know about Abby. Tell them, as soon as we have more details we'll fill them in.” Leaning back in his chair, he steepled his hands, then propped them under his chin. “Get in touch with some of your contacts in Bahrain, unofficially, of course. I want to know what boats were in the area, any information about this girl. I have my suspicions of what she escaped. But I want all the cold hard facts.” He raised his steely hand, palm forward, halting Joe from leaving his chair. “One more thing.” He leaned forward, deepening the authority in his voice. “Make sure the crew keeps away from her. I don't want some curious young sailor wandering down there. Post a guard outside the door of sickbay. Make it clear to the crew she's off limits."

"Consider it done.” His words were firm, but the tone betrayed the all-knowing smugness he sought to suppress at the newly emerged passion and sharp comeback. Rising from the chair, he stopped to give Eric a mock salute before striding out into the corridor. Joe left the door open, as it was a standard in the navy that doors to the captain and XO's cabin were to be left open, even when they were not there. He whistled to suppress the chuckle that rumbled from deep inside.

Eric watched the sure quick steps of his friend, comforted by the fact that Joe would see the orders carried out to the letter. He was more than capable; in fact, it was a foregone conclusion that Joe would also make a point of finding out more answers than requested. Then it hit him, a sudden cold sweat, an unease that swept so deep it was like a knife piercing his gut; what might Joe discover? And why did it matter to him so much?

Just thinking of Abby caused him to see a vulnerable picture of her all alone. The flow of questions surrounding her arrival, everything about this girl flooded his mind. “Oh girl, where did you come from? Who are you? Who did this to you?” He whispered the words aloud, hearing the pain.

Thoughts of a possible terrorist link cropped up in his mind, but it didn't feel right. He gave his head a quick shake and dismissed the thought, even though deep down, awareness of his duty as captain must come first.

She was so innocent.
Or was she?
He mulled over the odd facts of her arrival.
No, she was the one in need of protection.
It was then that the deep-seated fury rose up within, consuming him with a sudden desire to find the guy who hurt her. God help the bastard when he did. He blew out the building anger in a sharp exhale, then forced his errant thoughts back to the ship and his immediate responsibilities.