Under Fire: The Admiral (5 page)

He felt it first. The fine hair on his arms
stood on end. His heart felt like it was being pulled from his
chest, the air from his lungs. The brilliant light and deafening
crash were followed by a gut-wrenching crack like a
thirty-aught-six shotgun unloading next to his head. He tried to
sit up but Gemma tackled him.
“What the fuck?”

“Trees breaking,” she yelled and he
understood. Above them branches popped like gunfire at the O.K.
Corral. His man DNA took over and shoved Gemma over, rolling on top
of her. She struggled but her I-am-in-charge survivor-woman routine
wasn’t going to work. “No,” he shouted, holding her down with his
full weight. He was hit in the head and back and for a moment
thought the shelter was collapsing until he realized Gemma had
slung the packs on his back for protection. She coiled her arms
around them and wrapped her legs around his body. He braced for the
worst as limbs crashed and bounced until a ground-shaking thud
vibrated through their bodies. Several long moments later the only
sounds were shrieking wind, pelting rain and the ringing in his
ears.

Gemma released the pack, running her hands
frantically over his head and back. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He rose up enough to look into her
face. “You?”

“I will be once you stop crushing me,” she
said, wiggling under him.

“Give it a few more seconds,” he swallowed
hard, “for everything to settle. More shit could fall.” He didn’t
move, enjoying the feel of her way too much.

She arched under him and with one hand
reached up and snapped one of the glow lights she’d attached to the
hammock cord. She rolled her head side to side, presumably looking
for damage. All he could think about was how fine her body felt
under him and how his legs were between hers and . . .
how
he was turning into an idiot.

“Doc.”

Her voice was soft
and familiar.

“
Walsh!”

Where had he met her? He pulled his head back
and stared.

She braced her palms on his shoulders and
shoved. “For crap’s sake, get off me.”

Reluctantly he rolled away and got to his
knees, offering her a hand up, which she didn’t accept. She
snatched a light stick and before he realized what she was doing
crawled into the storm. “Are you fucking crazy?” He curled his
fingers inside her waistband and hung on. She reached around and
swatted his hand.

“Let go.” She moved farther into the
storm.

“Get in here.” He yanked, pulling her pants
half off her ass.

“Okay. Okay.” She came in and knelt, wiggling
her hips and hiking her pants back up. “We were fucking lucky.” She
reattached the light to the hammock cord and he saw she was
soaked.

“Lightning split the tree. The thickest part
of the trunk fell a few feet away. Branches are lying across
us.”

“Should we get it off?”

“In that?” She gave a quick tilt of her head.
“No.” She wiped water from her face and sat. “It’s adding more
protection from the wind.” She stopped and gave him a look. “Thanks
for protecting me. Don’t do it again. I should be doing that for
you.”

He scooted closer and bumped her with his
shoulder. “You have a thing about protecting me.”

“Yeah, I do.” She tried to move away but the
branches weighed the cover down and she had no place to go. “I’m
responsible for you. It’s my job to get you back. I don’t like the
thought of not doing my job.”

“Ahh. Here I thought it was because you liked
me.”

She said nothing.

“I’m a big boy. You don’t need to be so
protective,” he said, losing the humor in his voice.

“You ever lose a patient, Doc?” she said,
serious as a heart attack. “I mean one that you went over the
circumstances dozens of times thinking what you could have done
differently to save them.” She turned her head and watched him
intently. The green light gave her eyes an intense, feral quality.
“One that caused you to change how you made decisions.”

“Yeah,” he said cautiously, wondering where
this was going.

“And you know that sickening feeling that you
missed something. You could have done better.”

He nodded. “But what’s that—?”

“I’ve lost someone,” she interrupted. “Felt
all those things and I don’t want to go through it again.”

“You lost a client?”

She said nothing. She didn’t have to. The
look on her face said it all. They were silent a long time,
listening to the absurd sounds of the wind, rain, and coconut
bombs.

“It wasn’t losing a patient that changed me,”
he said.

“What?”

“You asked if I’d lost a patient. I lost a
friend, Charlie.”

She said nothing.

“Car accident. Straightened me up. There
isn’t a day that goes by I don’t think of him.”
And the woman
who saved my life.
“What I could’ve done to prevent the
accident. Why I didn’t stop him from driving. How I could’ve been
killed that night.” He waited for her to share. She didn’t. She’d
drawn her knees up, hugging them like when she’d gone to sleep.

He bumped her again. “Was yours in a plane
crash?” She chewed on her lower lip, considering the question, then
shook her head.

“Car accident like you. In the middle of the
night, I came up on a car overturned in a runoff ditch filled with
water.”

Was he in some altered state? Dreaming? He
scraped a fingernail hard over the back of his hand and felt pain.
He was definitely awake.

“The car had bounced off one of those steel
power poles into the ditch. The inside was flooded, the engine
pushed into the front seat, trapping the guy. I couldn’t free
him.”

Being shot at, the crash, and the bump on the
head combined could be causing him to hallucinate.

“I could see house lights down the road. It
was before everybody had cells. To get help I would have to leave.
The guy in the car was fading in and out, slipping under the
water.”

Gemma was . . . describing . . .
his
accident. He suffered a major outbreak of goose bumps.

“I made the decision to stay, hold up his
head instead of getting help.”

He went over the clinical stages of
hallucination.
Emergence of warded-off memory,
frequent
reality checks, last vestige of insight as hallucinations become
real, fantasy and distortion confused with actual perception,
boundaries destroyed.
He took in a deep breath, smelled the
salt air and the jungle musk. He heard rain and wind. Felt her
warmth. He leaned. Felt her. This was not a hallucination. He
forced himself to take slow breaths before he hyperventilated.
“What happened?” The words rolled on a cough.

She cupped her hand, extended her arm into
the partially collapsed area of the shelter, and brought it back,
examining the water in her palm. Gemma moved their bags and curled
the ground tarp away from the leak. Ben waited for her to continue,
massaging the pounding ache in his temples. His scalp crawled as if
those creepy things she was so worried about covered his head and
tension cramped his muscles. The fine hair on his arms stood up
like it had right before the lightning strike.

“It was forty-five minutes before anyone
came,” she finally said. “An hour before fire and rescue arrived.
They got him out but it was too late. I question my decision to
stay. Wonder if I’d gone for help if he’d still be alive.”

“Too late?” He winced. “He died before they
got there?”

“No. They got him out.”

“How do you know he died? Did you go to the
hospital?” She described his accident precisely. But he had lived.
At least he thought he had.

“No on the hospital. Saw in a newspaper he
died.”

“What did it say?”

“Only read the headline.” She paused and gave
him a concerned look. “You okay, Doc? You’re breathing kinda
hard.”

“Yeah. The heat and humidity . . . making it
. . . difficult.” That and the fact that he may have found the
woman who saved his life. “Where did this happen? Are you sure it
was the same man?” Damn it. He had to be sure.

She tipped her head to look at him. “Geeze,
after I answer all these questions do I get a toaster oven?”

“And a lifetime supply of protein bars,” he
said, dialing back his intensity.

“Texas.”

“That where you’re from?”

“Whoops, there go my prizes.” She rested her
forehead on her knees.

Shit. He’d pushed too hard. “Sorry. Too
personal, huh?”

“Yep,” she said through a yawn. “Get some
sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

Not as long as tonight
. Was Gemma
Hendrickson the angel who saved his life and disappeared into the
darkness with no one knowing who she was? Or was the stress of
today’s crash causing him to see what wasn’t there? He closed his
eyes and recalled what he could of the accident, as he’d done
thousands of times. What she said a few minutes ago about being
able to do anything for a few hours was what the woman said to him
that night. Even the way she said it was the same. He leaned and
took in a deep breath. Her scent.
Geesus.
She
described the accident to him. She had to have been there. He
wanted, needed to stand up and pace. His head felt like it had been
hit by a dozen of those coconuts. A fiery pain ran the length of
the slash across his body like it had just happened.

Her regular breaths said she was asleep. He
moved until their shoulders touched and waited some time before
circling an arm around her. Then waited longer to gently bring
their bodies together. She stirred then rested heavily against him.
“God, don’t let this be a dream,” he whispered as hot tears stung
his eyes.

He’d been told many times to give up looking
for her. Private investigators concluded she’d never be found. One
investigator went so far as to say the woman they looked for was
wanted or involved in something illegal. At the very least she was
someplace she wasn’t supposed to be and would never come forward.
Not even to claim the hundred thousand in reward money. He’d never
given up. He’d always thought he’d find a plain woman with a
hardworking husband, 2.3 kids and a dog living in a comfortable
suburban home. He’d thank her, give her a hug and a kiss on the
cheek. And finally,
finally
be able to put that night behind
him.

Telling Gemma . . . whew. Where to begin?

For her to see a newspaper the next day meant
she’d still been close. No paper outside the area would have
carried the story.
Fuck!
She thought he’d been alone that
night. She didn’t know about Charlie. Thoughts swirled in his head
like the storm around them. He’d have to find the right moment to
tell her. No blurting it out. He had so many questions.

Why had she left? There was no way Gemma
would have been into anything illegal. Yet, he couldn’t dismiss the
gun, knife and her apparent ability to handle herself.

Chapter 4

Ben dozed off and on until the rain stopped,
then he shifted and scooted, bringing Gemma with him, until he
could lean against the tree without fear of letting in rain. He
watched her reclined against him, face pressed into his chest, one
hand tucked under her chin, the other under her shirt gripping the
butt of the gun. A coconut thudded to the ground and she sat bolt
upright, gun in hand searching for a target.

“Morning.”

She looked at him, blinking sleep away.

“Unless you’re worried about killer coconuts
you can put the gun away.”

She surveyed the body configuration and
squinted suspiciously but didn’t move away.

“My fault. It stopped raining. I scooted
against the tree to get comfortable and brought you with me.” He
shrugged. “You made yourself comfortable.” He smiled. “I didn’t
mind.”

She disappeared the gun and ran the back of
her hand over her mouth.

“Since you made this magnificent shelter,” he
said and looked around, “that kept us dry and safe from coconut
bombardment, alien lightning bolts, and killer tree branches, let
me fix breakfast. I was thinking of protein bars, jerky and
fresh-trapped rainwater.”

She squinted at him suspiciously but sucked
in her lips to contain a smile.

“I see Madam is not a morning person. Or is
it she would prefer coconut water? I’ll see to it immediately.” She
stared at him as if overnight he’d grown another head. He pushed
away the tarp and the fresh ocean air broke through, displacing the
warm still air around them. They both breathed deeply. He used his
free arm to point in the direction of the opening. “Shall we move
to the great outdoors?”

She smiled one of those smiles that makes a
man feel good and that you
have
to return. He fought the
urge to kiss her. Not some horny tongue-and-tonsil-dance kiss but a
nice gentle good morning kiss on the forehead. Her expression
clouded like she was reading his thoughts.

“We need to eat, pack up and get moving.” She
made to go out. He held her arm.

“Thanks again for,” he looked around, “all
this and yesterday. Tell me what I can do to make things easier for
you today.”

“That’s it. Hand over your Blowout pack.” Her
hand extended, fingers wiggling.
“Now
.
”

Why the hell did she want the pack?
She went to her knees. “Come on, Doc, hand it over. It isn’t nice
to be taking those meds when they aren’t needed.”

“I didn’t take anything.”

She pushed away part of the tarp, letting in
the morning light, leaned and checked his eyes. He smiled to
himself. His eyes were so dark even in bright light it was
difficult to tell if the pupils were dilated.

“Follow my finger.” She moved it from his
nose to his ear, performing the low-tech field sobriety test. He
didn’t do it.

“No. I didn’t take anything.”