By Jori Remington and MoJo
"Damn, it's hot!"
I pull out what was a nicely starched white handkerchief before I arrived
in this godforsaken place and wipe the sweat off of my upper lip and brow.
Folding it neatly, I tuck it into my suit coat pocket before I turn my
attention back to working on getting the air temperature in this room back
to something below subtropical. I bang on the old window air conditioner
a few times, but only accomplish making the unit hiss and spit our more
warm air along with a splash of mildewed water.
"Damn!"
"Here, let me look at it," Rabb says, pushing me to the side just by
way of his stature and I go to show him the stain on my suit, but that's
not what he meant. He wants to look at the malfunctioning air conditioner.
I'm sure he's not an HVAC specialist any more than I am. What I am sure
of is the fact that we are going to melt away in this miserable heat and
all Rabb is doing is making it send out another shot of blazing hot, stale
air. I am quickly developing a headache.
"Of course, Chegwidden couldn't have a friend in need somewhere nice.
Somewhere a little cooler than hell," I mutter, dropping several ice cubes
in a plastic cup and filling it with tap water. I hope I don't catch anything.
If they can't keep one window air conditioner running, God only knows about
the water supply. I should have brought bottled.
"Sorry, Webb. They just don't have Naval bases in the Hamptons," Rabb
says sarcastically. I watch him as he bangs away at the object of our misery
and gets nowhere with it. The maintenance people told us a while ago that
since this heat wave came through yesterday, all they've been doing is
repairing air conditioners across the base and they would get to ours as
soon as possible.
It isn't bad enough I have to share a room with Harmon Rabb at the BOQ
here in Pensacola after every other attempt I made for temporary housing
failed due to some 'touristy' thing going on in town. Now I have to watch
him stand there and sweat. When the air isn't filled with the scent of
musty water, this room smells like a hot summer afternoon near the beach.
Sweat. Saltwater. And something coconut. I really hate the smell of coconut.
That could be Rabb's hair conditioner. He must have changed brands since
we last investigated his background.
"There's nothing more I can do," Rabb says, sounding more like a cardiac
surgeon who just lost a patient than a man fighting with an A/C unit. He's
so overly dramatic.
One would think he'd know someone here he could go visit and leave me
alone here in my misery, but he seems to be staying. Maybe he would feel
guilty by leaving me all alone in this oven. That's just so Rabb.
I shift my gaze from him to something on the other side of the room
when he peels off his sticky, white uniform shirt and tosses it on a chair.
Then, with an easy going attitude that marks his whole demeanor, he changes
from his pants into a pair of running shorts as if this is a boy's locker
room or something. I'm still fully dressed and I haven't even touched one
button of my jacket or vest, yet now Rabb is sprawled out across one of
the beds trying to get cool. He looks like this old bull mastiff my family
used to own that used to lie on the tile floor in the kitchen in an attempt
to stay cool. Except Rabb doesn't drool as much.
"You know, Webb, you can at least take your jacket off. I won't peek,"
Rabb says, turning to look at me for a second before rolling over to face
the opposite direction. At least he was nice enough to take the bed next
to the rattling air conditioner. Of course, if it starts to work miraculously
in the middle of the night, he'll be the first to get hit with a cold blast
of air. Maybe Rabb isn't as gregarious as I thought. I watch as Rabb lifts
his head, punches his pillow once or twice and settles in. We have to meet
with Admiral Page very early in the morning, but I didn't know Rabb went
to bed quite this early at night.
Damn. He snores, too.
*****************
NAS Pensacola
Doesn't he ever quit pacing?
I don't think Webb slept a wink all night and maybe he's pacing to stay
awake. I'm not really sure what he did, but I know it wasn't sleep. If
I hadn't felt so guilty about leaving him in the heat, I would have hooked
up with some friends I have who are flight instructors here. I would have
felt obligated to invite him along and I'm sure that would have made both
of us uncomfortable. Especially if he accepted. I have no clue what Webb
does with his personal life, but I'm sure it has nothing to do with hanging
out and listening to the tales of a group of aviators. I doubt he picks
up many women, either. It's inevitable when you wear a pair of gold wings.
Despite the fact that it is incredibly hot this morning, he still looks
impeccable in that three piece linen suit. I'm just thankful for summer
uniforms. We wait in Admiral Page's office, the only sound around us is
the constant ticking of an old clock hanging on the wall. That, and an
occasional yawn from Webb.
Admiral Glendon W. Page finally enters the room with a quartet of people
around him. One man is dressed well and from the comments he was making
to Page as they entered the room, I would have to assume he is his personal
attorney. I don't know who the other three are. One is in uniform, the
other two aren't.
I stand at attention while Webb retains his look of casual disinterest.
It isn't like he's never asked for a favor from the Navy before. He owes
us one and Admiral Chegwidden thinks this one is important.
"At ease," Page says as he moves behind his desk without paying much
attention to us. "AJ said he was sending down the best to, um, help me
sort this out and I hope you two are it."
The man looks me over with wet, puppy dog brown eyes before looking
to Webb. I've seen that look before. He's done something wrong. He looks
down at the wings on my chest then back to my face, his eyes searching
for some recognition, but I've never met him before.
"I can only speak for myself, but I assure you we will do everything
we can to help solve this matter," Webb says, his voice sounding as blase
as his demeanor shows. Neither of us have the entire story about what happened
here in the last few days, but I'm sure the Admiral and his entourage are
about to fill us in completely.
"Two days ago, Admiral Page's . . . girlfriend of several years was
abducted from a shopping mall parking lot. Amber L'Ecaudey was leaving
the Cordova Mall when she was accosted by what on-lookers describe as two
Caucasian or Hispanic or Asian males in their mid-thirties . . ."
"And you are?" Webb interrupts the man mid-sentence. No introductions
were made and I assumed the Admiral didn't feel that they were necessary
just yet. He knows who we are. We know who he is and I know that he wants
this all wrapped up quickly. Now I just have to find out why.
"Mr. Webb, I'm Sherwin Oswald with the Pensacola police department,"
the man says. He looks to be in his mid-fifties and he's dressed in a polyester
suit that would never make its way into Webb's fashion paradigm. Webb looks
at the man with curiosity and I know why. He knew his name and that probably
just shook up Webb's world as much as that cheap suit.
"Mr. Oswald, are you the man in charge of this investigation?" Webb
asks when the answer is already obvious.
"Yes, sir, I am. And as I was saying, Ms. L'Ecaudey was abducted from
the parking lot on the afternoon of the 16th at about three o'clock in
the afternoon. Two men jumped out of a what was described as a Lincoln
Navigator and grabbed her, leaving her purse in the parking lot along with
several packages and didn't seem interested in her car. Just her . . ."
"That's all well and good, but what are we doing here?" Webb asks, looking
at me instead of Det. Oswald.
"This does seem to be a matter to be handled by the local police department
. . ." I start to say, puzzled about this matter. Chegwidden didn't volunteer
much information, but I'm sure from what we've just heard, he wouldn't
send us out just because some Admiral's girlfriend got nabbed in a mall
parking lot in broad daylight.
"There's more," the other man in a uniform says, nodding to Page. Admiral
Page looks up to the man in the nice suit, waiting for his permission to
continue. Finally, Page starts to tell his story.
"There is more," he starts out, the emotions slowly crossing his face
showing just how upset he is about whatever this might be. "I might have
told Amber some things over the years that are rather sensitive in nature.
Actually, very sensitive."
Now Webb is looking interested. "Before this goes any further, I think
now would be the time for everyone else besides Rabb, the Admiral and myself
to leave the room," he orders.
"My attorney stays."
"I'm afraid not, Admiral Page. Not until we establish the severity of
this incident. Commander Rabb is here. . . "
"Representing the Navy," Page says bluntly.
"I'm not sure who's representing what just yet. Why don't we figure
that out before we worry about attorneys," I say, looking from Page to
Webb. He just shrugs his shoulders in some sort of agreement.
The Admiral nods his head and the men depart.
"What sort of sensitive information did you tell your girlfriend?" Webb
asks, moving closer to the man's desk. He's got his hands on his hips and
he doesn't look pleased. I shift in my seat as the Admiral cringes under
Webb's stare. The Admiral looks to me for some sort of support but I'm
not ready to give it.
"In my last command, I was privy to certain information about Cuba that
was rather sensitive," Page says and Webb narrows his eyes at him.
"Christ. I need to know exactly what it was," Webb says, pulling out
a cell phone from his pocket. He hits the speed dial and waits while he
still rambles on to the Admiral. "Why would you tell a girlfriend any of
this? I'm sure you people understand the consequences . . . Yeah? McBride?
Yes, I need you and a team down here at NAS Pensacola as soon as possible.
Today."
He hangs up the phone without explaining anything further to whoever
answered. Must be some sort of spook thing. Call. Leave a cryptic message
for another spook and hang up.
"Why in the hell is Rabb here on this?" Webb asks Page. Good question.
I was wondering the same thing myself. Maybe I'm here because I can play
nice with Webb and not come out of any of these situations wanting to kill
him in the end.
"AJ . . . Admiral Chegwidden assured me that the two of you could investigate
this incident discreetly. My wife has only been dead a year, yet my relationship
with Amber goes back a little further than that. I've not been at this
command for very long and I just don't want to go out with this cloud hanging
over my head. I'm already resigning my commission. I just don't want Amber's
name or my wife's good name to be smeared in all this," Page says, his
voice sounding as sorry as he can.
"We'll do what we can," I say only to hear Webb snort in discontent
behind me.
My gut instinct tells me that this is going to be anything but fun.
***************
South Beach, Miami
"Damn, it's hot!"
It's even hotter here in South Beach than it was in Pensacola. I don't
remember the Persian Gulf being this hot. I press my fingertips to my right
temple and rub it in a vain attempt to ease my headache. The same damn
headache that started three nights ago when I first got pulled into this
mess. I think a vein in my forehead might explode.
"What did you think it was going to be like in Florida in July?" Rabb
says casually, walking along Ocean Drive like he's taking a Sunday stroll.
He's all decked out in his summer whites and doesn't look uncomfortable
at all. I stop and let him go on ahead to put some distance between us
so I can cool down and focus.
I am really sick of this tacky, sweaty town.
Of course, Amber L'Ecaudey couldn't live in Pensacola. Oh no. She lives
here in South Beach. They met here during the Admiral's previous assignment
in Key West. All of this is suspicious to me. If she's having a relationship
with Admiral Page, why isn't she living in Pensacola? I mean, I could understand
it before when his wife was alive. It's pretty obvious Ms. L'Ecaudey was
his mistress. But wouldn't it make sense that she would have moved up to
Pensacola by now?
"Hey, sailor!"
"Oooh, want to dock your ship in my port?"
"El oh, ese uniforme es tan atractivo. Le hare para libre!"
"Be still my heart, it's Richard Gere!"
I look up and for the hundredth time today, semi-naked women are fawning
over Rabb. I put my hands on my hips and shake my head in disgust as two
young women wearing thong bikinis start draping themselves over him. It's
been like this every time we set foot on the strip and Rabb just laps it
up like kitten. What the hell is it about that uniform? I bet that's why
he's wearing the whites. To stay cool, my ass. He just wants the attention.
Well, not on my time, Rabb. I would like to get out of hell sometime this
century.
"Excuse me, excuse me," I say, catching up with them. Rabb is smiling
in that sickly charming way he does as one girl traces his gold wings with
her finger. She bats her eyelashes at him first before turning to glare
at me. "Rabb, we're *working* here."
"Who's your friend?" the other girl says. She slips her tanned arm through
Rabb's and starts to cuddle up to him.
"This is Clay," Rabb says and I could kill him for using my real name.
We don't know who these girls are. "You'll have to forgive him, he's a
little hot right now."
"Poor baby. Can I cool you off?" says the first girl. She moves from
Rabb to me and reaches out to touch my vest. I hold my hands up to stop
her from making contact. I don't want her touching me. I turn my nose up.
She smells like coconuts, too. Why does everyone here smell like coconuts?
Besides, she's all greasy from suntan oil and I don't want that on my suit.
"No, thank you," I say firmly, motioning for Rabb to get moving. "C'mon,
let's go."
"Duty calls, ladies," Rabb says with a little shrug and he pulls away
from them. They pout and strike suggestive poses while they wave 'bye-bye'
to Mr. Officer and a Gentleman here. I quickly grab his sweaty arm and
pull him down the strip, even more irritated than before.
"Look Rabb, no playing with the natives. We're here to find information
on Amber L'Ecaudey," I remind him. Rabb shakes out of my grip and takes
a deep breath.
"That's what I was *trying* to do," he says, pulling out the photograph
of her Admiral Page finally gave us after two days playing run around.
He's been anything but cooperative with us. I'm pretty sure that's not
even her real name.
"That's not what you were *trying* to do," I reply with a frown. "May
I remind you we are not on Spring Break."
"Those girls work here in South Beach and they might have seen her,"
he says all innocent. I still haven't figured out why Chedwiggen even sent
him. I could have done this by myself and I don't need Rabb to chaperone.
He only gets in my way.
"Let's just find out where 1439 Washington Avenue is, okay?" I say,
taking something out of my pocket as well. We finally found her very upscale
condo this morning and it had been ransacked. All we have to go on is a
crumpled piece of paper found in the waste can with addresses on it. The
paper is all damp from perspiration and I unfold it with disgust. I pull
a small South Beach brochure out of my breast pocket and consult the map
on the back. "We're only a couple blocks away. Think you can keep your
hands to yourself long enough to get there?"
"It's not my hands I have to worry about," Rabb answers smugly before
he keeps on walking. Even more half-naked girls flirt with him as we continue
walking and he does nothing to discourage it. "What's the matter, Webb?
Are you jealous?"
"Of you? Please," I snort, trying to walk faster. This place better
have air-conditioning. "I could pick up any woman here if I wanted to,
but I don't want to. I'm afraid I might catch something."
"Sure, Webb," he says, smiling to himself before getting quiet. What
a cocky son of a bitch.
"Just because I don't go strutting around in dress whites doesn't mean
women find me any less attractive than you," I state, loosening my tie
just a bit.
"Think so?" Rabb asks, raising his eyebrow at me. What is he doing?
Challenging me to prove otherwise? That is so unprofessional.
"I *know* so," I answer firmly. Must be the heat because my testosterone
level is increasing. "Are you afraid I might do better than you?"
He doesn't answer. Instead, he turns the corner with me onto Washington
Avenue and all I see are more restaurants and nightclubs. Great. This is
probably another dead end.
"What's the address again?" Rabb asks, looking over my shoulder. I hate
it when he does that. I swat him away.
"1439," I repeat, annoyed. He should be paying better attention.
"Which would be there," Rabb says, pointing at this huge nightclub called
Liquid up ahead. I squint against the sun and get a better look at it.
One can only speculate what kind of moral decadence goes on in a place
like that. I breathe a deep sigh and follow Rabb to the main entrance.
Two huge, Hispanic bouncers are prowling the fushia carpet and not even
Rabb's trademark smile is going to work on them.
"Names, please," one of the men says with a distinctive Spanish accent.
He must be from Cuba or Puerto Rico.
"We need to get inside," I say, irritated by this show of pompousness.
Who does he think he's dealing with? "It's a matter of National Security."
"Sure it is," he replied, folding his arms across his chest. "And I'm
Ricky Martin."
"I'm sorry. What my friend is trying to say..." Rabb begins all politely,
but then I quickly cut him off with a wave of my hand.
"I'm *handling* this, Rabb," I say, clenching my teeth together. Why
does he always have to step in and try to take over?
"Hot AND bothered," Rabb mutters under his breath before raising both
eyebrows up. He motions for me to continue.
"We need to talk to the owners concerning a kidnapping. And kidnapping
is a federal offense which makes this a federal investigation," I proceed
diplomatically.
"Sorry, you've got to be on the list to get in," he reiterates, and
it's pretty apparent from his posture he's not going to budge one inch.
"Really?" I say, twisting my lips into a smirk. "We'll see about that."
I whip out my cell phone and start pacing that god-awful carpet myself,
one hand on my hip.
"Who are you calling, Webb?" Rabb asks, shaking his head in confusion.
"Maybe if you'd just let me talk to..."
"We'd better get some different clothes to wear," I say, as I wait for
McBride to pick up. "They aren't going to let you come in dressed up like
that. Hope you don't mind staying up past your bedtime tonight."
*********************
South Beach, Miami
Doesn't he ever quit pacing?
Webb is acting so nervous one would think we were walking into the middle
of Baghdad dressed like Uncle Sam and waving American flags. Instead, we
are in a line to get into a nightclub. Sure, it is *the* hotspot on South
Beach, but would Webb even know that? I doubt he even knows who Madonna
is. I bet he listens to The Starland Vocal Band or maybe John Denver.
He looks so uncomfortable dressed like he is, too. He keeps looking
down at himself nervously, probably dying to get back to the hotel to put
on a vest. A hotel where we have to share a room. Damn Navy budget. I've
got to sleep in the same room as Webb again because he's the one with the
platinum card that can cover the cost of this neighborhood. If he bitches
about me snoring one more time I'm going to flush the toilet while he's
in the shower tomorrow and let him feel what hot is for once.
Some girl who must be a model keeps edging closer to me. She looks me
up and down a few times and gives me a smile. Webb nearly hacks up a lung
as he clears his throat, trying to draw me back to the matter at hand.
It doesn't hurt to look while I'm down here for a few days. Especially
when what I'm looking at is 5'11 with long, blonde hair and a crocheted
ensemble with absolutely nothing under it. The girl looks at Webb and shakes
her head.
"Is he your boyfriend? If he is, you should really be here on Sunday
night. It's a wild party," she says, drawing her tongue across her pink
lips.
"He. Is. Not. My. Boyfriend," Webb informs her from the position he
has taken up beside me. "I do not date men, Miss. . . "
"Just call me Tiff. That is not short for Tiffany, by the way," she
says, giving Webb a dirty look before looking back at me. "He didn't seem
like your type, anyway."
"Really? What is my type then?" I ask Tiff and I hear Webb mutter something
about a headache. Judging from the industrial beat coming from the door,
it isn't going to get much better once we get inside.
"I don't know. Taller, maybe," she says. With her chunky platform shoes
on, she's at least two or three inches taller than Webb but still shorter
than I am. I catch Webb taking a little peek at what's showing from under
the loosely knit dress and he turns to look the other way. Prude.
"I like tall women," I say, smiling at her. She smiles back. Maybe this
assignment might not be that bad.
"Rabb, we are working," Webb says for the fiftieth time today, coming
back into the conversation. Tiff steps back away from us when he makes
that pronouncement.
"What are you? How'd you get on the list? I bet you're a record producer
or something, right?" Tiff says, staring Webb down. He makes what can only
be described as some sort of click of disgust with his tongue and gives
Tiff an icy cold stare.
"For your information, I'm far more important than a record producer
. . ."
"Speaking of work, is there any chance that you have seen this woman?"
I ask, pulling the picture of Amber out of my pocket. Tiff barely looks
at it before taking yet another step back from us.
"Are you vice cops?" she asks, looking over her shoulder.
"Yeah. The original Crockett and Tubbs. Have you seen her or not?" Webb
asks, taking the picture from me and holding it up in front of her face.
It requires him to stretch a little but he manages.
"Maybe. Maybe not. If I have, I haven't seen her for the last few days.
But who knows. She might be one of those girls who only shows up here on
Fridays trying to catch sight of the rich and famous," Tiff says, pushing
the picture back out of her face.
We have finally made our way to the front of the line and watch as Tiff
gets sent to another line to wait. That makes Webb even more nervous and
I begin to wonder if a girl dressed like that can't get in, how are we
going to be able to?
"Rob Barnham and Walt Cobbney," Webb says, pointing at me and then to
himself. The doorman looks at us as if we are insane to think we're getting
in. Hell, I wouldn't let 'Walt' in either. A look of shock crosses the
man's face as he does indeed find us on the list that gets us right through
the door. I look back at Tiff and she just shrugs her shoulders at me and
blows me a little kiss. Maybe later I'll catch up with that.
We pass through the tunnel-like entrance that leads us toward the main
bar and the noise coming from the lower level. Webb clenches his jaw and
I think something in his head is about to pop.
When he catches sight of the floor show going on, I'm sure of it.
"Ever been sent on a mission that included leather chap-clad muscle
boys riding rocking horses?" I ask, talking as loud as I can so he can
hear me over the house music.
He doesn't say anything. Just stands there with his mouth hanging open.
**************
South Beach,
Damn, it's hot.
And for the first time all day, I'm not talking about the weather. It's
the kind of heat that comes from being in a room with too many people in
close proximity. Body heat and it's stifling. It's making me sweat all
over again.
Where the hell is Rabb? I swear I can't turn my back for one second
without some nubile young co-ed picking him up. My eyes scan the mezzanine
area, which is enclosed by walls of glass and it makes it a little easier
to see. He was just here a second ago. I fight my way through the bouncing,
pulsing crowd in search of him. I'm starting to get tunnel vision because
my headache has now reached migraine proportions. They call *this* music?
What I wouldn't give for a little Puccini right now.
Why couldn't Chedwiggen have sent me here with Mac? I could have handled
three days of Mac in South Beach Miami. Her 36-24-26 perfect figure would
have been much more fun to dress up than Rabb's lanky ass.
Finally, I spy 'Rob Barnham' over in the back area. It's even more garish
there, all awash in shades of green and lit with matching silk chandeliers.
Sure enough, he's on the arm of yet another semi-naked girl. This one has
on a shimmery halter-top and a tight black skirt that barely covers a thing.
I put my hands on my hips and tap my foot impatiently until Rabb feels
my eyes on him and he looks up.
"What?" he mouths.
I point to my watch, then draw my finger across my neck signaling him
to stop it. I swear he's like a dog in heat here and every second we're
in this cesspool of sin it gets worse. Rabb gets the picture because he
walks away from the girl and joins me in one of the little enclosed areas.
God only knows *what* goes on back here. You couldn't pay me enough to
sit on that couch. I don't want to know what those stains are.
"What is it now, Walt?" he asks, frowning at me. He puts his hands on
his hips too and stares down at me. I can smell something fruity on his
breath and his eyes are just a little glassy. Women keep buying him drinks,
too and of course Rabb can't say no.
"Any progress?" I inquire, yelling loud enough so he can hear me. I
swear I'm going to be deaf by the time I leave this place.
"No," Rabb shouts back, pulling Amber L'Ecaudey's picture out of his
pocket. "I've shown this to everyone I can in the last two hours and no
one seems to have any information. How about you?"
"Nothing," I reply, shaking my head in disgust. I close my eyes and
my head throbs even harder. "I think it's a dead end, Rabb."
"Maybe, maybe not," Rabb yells, motioning back to his little friend.
She's making eyes at him. "According to that girl, this place doesn't even
get hopping until 3:00 a.m."
"You want to stay here *another* two hours?" I ask incredulously, raising
both my eyebrows.
"Is that past *your* bedtime or something?" Rabb says, reaching to straighten
the collar of my silk shirt. I smack his hand away. We got our "club" attire
at some shop called the Pink Flamingo and a festive guy named Freddie picked
out our ensembles. "Lighten up, Walt. We just need to mingle some more."
That's it. I've had enough of his frat boy antics.
"We're not supposed to be mingling, Rabb!" I shout, scowling at him.
I wave my hands frantically back and forth for effect. "I wish you'd take
this seriously. We can't afford to waste ANY time looking Ms. L'Ecaudey.
Every hour that goes by, the SECURITY of our nation is at stake. Who knows
what she's been telling her captors all this time. Let me tell you, if
ANYTHING happens between the United States and Cuba in the next few days,
that's going to be on your head, Rabb! And I'll make sure everyone knows
it too."
Rabb just stares at me.
"Are you done with your temper tantrum, Walt?" he asks, with a casual
little shrug. "Because if you are, I'm going to go back to working the
room. Which is as you so eloquently put it, is what we are here to do."
I summon every ounce of composure I have and just walk away. I'm not
wasting my precious time with Rabb. I can feel his eyes staring at me as
I walk back across the dance floor in search of a quiet spot. Quiet spot?
What the hell am I thinking? There is no quiet spot anywhere in this hellhole.
I'd go in the men's room, but I'm afraid I'll be accosted by the leather
chap-clad muscle boys.
I spy an empty table in the corner and quickly claim it before anyone
else can. I sit on the stool and lean over the table in disgust. I raise
my hand and rub my aching forehead over and over again.
Where does he does get off telling me he's working the room? He's using
this as an opportunity to flirt and get a little action on the side. Pathetic.
Absolutely pathetic. He's the type that propagates the myth that all men
do is think below their waistline. No class. No demeanor. No self control.
Some of us, unlike Rabb, are in *complete* control of our senses and
we don't fall to pieces every time some slinky girl in platform shoes bats
her eyes. No. Some of us are better than that.
"Excuse me?" asks a soft, sexy voice in my ear. "Is this seat taken?"
"Look, I just want to be left..." I start, raising my head. Then my
jaw hits the floor.
Oh. My. God.
I find myself nose to nose with a woman who is covered in body glitter
and little else. Her short brown hair is slicked back off her face and
two tiny silver chains hold up a scrap of fabric that ends just past her
hips. Sure enough, her shapely legs end in a pair of silver platform shoes.
"Do you have a headache?" she inquires, reaching up to smooth my hair
back into place. Her fingers linger on the nape of my neck, sending a delicious
shiver down my spine.
"I-I-I...yeah," I stammer, my mouth going completely dry as I realize
she's not wearing anything underneath that. Doesn't anyone in Miami own
underwear?
"You know what's good for a headache," she purrs, cupping her hand over
my ear and whispering something so dirty that I do a double take just to
make sure I heard her right.
"You'd do *that* to a total stranger?" I squeak. My eyes widen with
shock as she pulls backs and nods. I'm beginning to see why Rabb likes
this town so much. Maybe South Beach isn't that bad after all. I might
have been a bit hasty in my previous assessment.
"With you I would," she promises.
"You...would?" I repeat hopefully, then clear my throat. No, I can't
be tempted like Rabb can. I'm better than that. I'm better than he is.
I'm...
Her hand is on my thigh and she's stroking it upwards.
"Want to dance...first?" she offers, leaning in and I jump off the barstool
before her hand reaches its goal. "I like a little foreplay first, don't
you?"
"Foreplay is...nice," I say, completely flustered and suddenly I'm starting
to sweat. I know I should probably whip out that photo of...of...damn.
What's her name again?
"I think so, too," she says, taking my hand in hers and pulling me out
on the dance floor before I can get another word out. I face her formally
and offer my hand like I do with Mother right before we do the Tango. She
smiles at me and shakes her head. "Not like that. Like this."
In one quick movement, her arms are around my neck and her hips are
pressed into mine. I let out a nervous little laugh, just before she starts
bumping and grinding herself against me. Sure enough, her mocha-colored
skin smells like coconuts.
"Relax," she purrs, moving in time to the music. My hands rest on her
hips and she quickly repositions them so I'm touching something lower.
"Why are you so nervous?"
"I'm *not* nervous," I say, trying to keep up with her little motions.
I force my body to relax and soon my hips are rocking in time to hers.
She hits all the right spots and watches for my reaction. She bites her
lower lip and smiles, picking up the pace just a little more. I smile back.
Oh, this feels good. Really good. Too good.
"How's that headache?" she asks, her tongue flickering out in the most
suggestive way.
"Fading fast," I reply, really getting into this...dance. And I use
the term loosely.
"I knew it would," she says. I smile smugly to myself. See? I was right.
Women want me. Women want me just as much as they want Rabb.
"I'd just love to kiss you," she moans, bringing her shiny red lips
close to mine. She grabs a handful of my hair and draws my mouth to hers.
Without a second thought, her tongue slips past my lips in search of mine.
I open my mouth a little wider to give her better access and they meet
in the middle, swirling around and around. Damn, she's talented with her
tongue. Before I can appreciate it further, something sharp pokes my shoulder.
"Mind if I cut in, *Walt*?" asks an all too familiar voice.
Son of a bitch.
****************
South Beach, Miami
Doesn't he ever quit pacing?
Sure, he's pissed I interrupted his dance with his little Tinkerbell
all covered in magic pixie dust, but it's not like I didn't have a good
reason. It's even a better reason than saving him from certain embarrassment
upon being arrested for lewd and lascivious acts performed on a dance floor.
At least I managed to keep such acts contained to the back room where it
was dark and no one could see what was going on.
"What is it, Rob. . . I mean, Rabb. Rob. Whatever. What in the hell
do you want?" Webb hisses in anger, even though I didn't think it was possible
to hiss my name. My mom used to try. So has Mac. He must really be angry.
At least he stopped moving.
"I think I have a lead on Amber L'Ecaudey," I say, and Webb looks as
if he's never heard that name before. I shake my head in disgust. Some
men just can't handle their women without it going to their head. "You
know, the woman with all the secrets that could end western civilization
as we know it."
He finally shakes himself out of his female-induced stupor and a moment
of recognition flashes across his face. It disappears the second his own
private dancer brushes up against his arm as she leans in to whisper something
to him. Then I notice that Webb is covered in her body glitter, too. He
looks like a disco ball on legs.
"You know Amber L'Ecaudey?" he says incredulously, looking at the girl.
She nods her sparkly face twice as she brushes her hand over her short,
sleek brown hair. Doing that leaves another trail of glitter behind. One
could probably figure out how many men she's tried to pick up tonight by
looking for the ones who sparkle. Like Webb.
"How?" I ask, leaning in closer to the pair so I can hear better. I
appreciate good music, but doesn't the DJ ever take a break? I'm beginning
to get tired and I don't want to have to read any more lips tonight.
"She comes in here a lot. But I haven't seen her for a week or two.
I know she goes up to the panhandle often because of some guy up there,
but usually Amber is back here by Friday nights. It's her favorite party
to attend," the woman says.
"What's your name?" Webb asks and I'm taken aback that he didn't know
this already considering he was grinding into her on the dance floor.
"No . . . no names," she says as if this is some big game. Then it dawns
on me what she is. Oh, Webb's going to die when he finds out.
"I don't have time for any more games, Miss . . ." Webb starts but brushes
the whole thing off with a quick wave of his hand. "Do you know where Amber
L'Ecaudey goes to when she's not here or up in the panhandle?"
I bet Webb would make the time for some of her games.
The woman looks from Webb to me as if she's trying to size the situation
up. I give her an easy going smile, hoping that will get her to spill her
guts about whatever it is she could possibly know.
"Amber likes to go to the Keys. She has some sort of a boat in Key West
that she goes to when she wants to get away from it all," the young woman
says, waving her hand in the air to indicate 'it all.' And what an awful
life it is. I can see why anyone would have to get away from it all when
their life is made up of shopping on an admiral's dollar and club hopping.
"Has anybody else come in here asking about her in the last few days?"
I ask. She just rolls her pretty brown eyes at me.
"Like I'd know. I can't get in here every night like some girls," she
says, giving me a shrug. She turns her attention back to Webb, the object
of her desire. He must look like he has money because I don't know what
else she'd see in him. Actually, I'm sure all she sees in him is money.
That platinum card does have some advantages.
"Do you know where Amber L'Ecaudey's . . . home in the Keys is?" Webb
asks, his eyes growing more mesmerized by her as she draws closer. If she
gets as close as she was on the dance floor, I'm sure we can forget all
about this case. At least for fifteen minutes. Maybe ten.
"I have no idea. She's not even a friend, really. Listen, do you want
to play twenty questions or do you want to . . . play?" she asks Webb,
dragging her tongue slowly across her lower lip.
"How much does he have to pay to play?" I ask, and Webb's face turns
in my direction so fast I'm surprised the glitter on his upper lip didn't
just fly off.
"What!" Webb howls, for lack of a better term for what happens when
his voice gets that high pitched.
"I'm sure he can afford me. I'm not that expensive," Miss No Name says,
her devil red lips pouting now. "You're not vice, are you?"
"What!" Webb says again, his voice even higher. That throbbing vein
on his forehead looks like it might go at any second and I don't want to
be responsible for the mess when it does. "You're a hooker?"
He mumbles that a few more times before I elbow him in the ribs, hoping
he'll shut up.
"The Keys?" I ask her again, just to make sure. She's now ignoring Webb
and focusing only on me.
"Yes, Amber likes to run to the Keys when she gets bored here. Maybe
she's there," she says, though it wouldn't make much sense considering
she was kidnapped. Since we've hit a dead end in Miami, we might as well
check it out.
Besides, it will do Webb some good to get out of the nightclub scene
for a while.
It looks like it's about to kill him.
**************
South Beach, Miami
Damn, it's hot.
I feel all feverish and sweaty. What if she gave me something? Should
get tested in the morning just in case? I lean in closer to the mirror
and check for any blisters or cold sores. Since when do hookers kiss? I
always thought that was some universal rule with them--no kissing. A hooker.
I shake my head in disgust. I can't believe it. How the hell was I supposed
to know she was hooker? I certainly couldn't tell by looking at her or
else I never would have touched her. She looked *exactly* like all the
women who have been hitting on Rabb. Only sparklier.
I squeeze the last of Rabb's toothpaste on my brush and jam it in my
mouth. I hate using his cheap brand, but I already used all of mine up.
I work it around in hard, fast strokes as I try to eradicate whatever hooker
germs I can.
*BANG-BANG-BANG*
"Hey Tinkerbell! When are you getting out? I've gotta use the head!"
pounds Rabb on the other side of the door. I ignore him, roll my eyes and
keep brushing. I hate sharing a room with him. He throws his clothes everywhere
with no respect to my personal space whatsoever. I feel sorry for everyone
who has ever had the misfortune of finding his dirty shorts on their bed.
It's disgusting. I classify it under the category of 'more information
than I needed to know.' I have to draw the line somewhere.
The doorknob starts rattling as Rabb tries to get it open. Great. Now
my head is starting to throb all over again. I take a sip of the horrible
sulfuric Florida water, swish it around and spit. I still don't feel like
my mouth is clean.
"It was *one* damn kiss for chrissakes, Webb. You'll live."
"What would you know, Rabb?" I shout back, patting my mouth dry with
a towel. I might have contracted only God knows what and he's worried about
taking a leak. And people think *I'm* an ass.
"I know enough to spot a hooker when I see one," he counters.
And why is that? Has Rabb ever been with a hooker? I must investigate
that when I get back to Langley. I can find out. I can find out anything
I want to.
I fling the door open before he can start pounding again. Rabb practically
shoves me out of the bathroom and unzips his pants. He doesn't even bother
to close the door and I move away before I learn even more about him that
I just don't want to know. I really don't care how much it's going to cost
to get him his own room for the next few hours. I just can't take this
abuse anymore.
"Did you use all my toothpaste?" Rabb says, coming out and holding up
the empty tube like it's Exhibit B or something. That annoying smile starts
creeping across his lips. "It's all sparkly like you are."
"*Enough* Rabb," I hiss, putting one hand on my hip and the other on
my forehead. It's no coincidence my headache intensifies whenever he's
around. He's never ever letting me live this down.
"Guess all those dance lessons come in handy once in a while, don't
they?" he teases, throwing the tube back against the counter and turning
off the bathroom light. Rabb starts peeling off his shirt and then sits
on the edge of my bed to remove his shoes. "Hey, how far were you planning
to go with little Miss No Name?"
"Excuse me?" I say, turning my head and glaring at him. He raises an
eyebrow at me.
"C'mon Webb," Rabb continues, unbuckling his belt so he can take off
his pants. "It's just us guys here. How far were you planning to go?"
"Far enough to find out about Amber L'Ecaudey," I retort, turning my
head away as he strips down to his boxers. "Who apparently has an address
in Key West. I've already called McBride and he thinks he's found her name
registered to a houseboat or something."
Rabb wads up his club clothes and tosses them into a nearby chair like
he's making a hoop shot. I motion for him to get his ass off my bed and
I sit down in his place. He flops down on his bed and sprawls out on his
side to face me.
"Let me redirect the witness, your honor," Rabb says, scrunching a pillow
under his head to prop it up. "If I hadn't stopped you, what would you
have let her do to you?"
"I really don't see what this line of questioning has to do with going
to Key West in the morning," I say, resting my elbows on my knees and cradling
my throbbing head in my hands. "Which is what we *should* be focusing on
here, Rabb."
"Has it been a while since you've had relations, Mr. Cobbney?" he asks,
sounding less like a JAG lawyer and more like a discount divorce attorney.
The kind that advertise on the back of the DC Yellow Pages.
"And why is that relevant?" I ask, raising my head up. I am getting
even more fed up with him. As if that's even possible at this point. I
start to plan my escape. As soon as he falls asleep, I'm going to sneak
out and head for Key West by myself. I don't want to deal with him and
his antics in that city. I hear it's worse that South Beach.
"Goes to state of mind," he answers smoothly, looking over at the dresser
like it's an imaginary jury. "If Mr. Cobbney hasn't gotten any action in
the last, I don't know? Six months?"
I stare at him. Keep it up, Rabb. You'll be sorry.
"Twelve months?" he asks, his voice rising just a little. He lifts his
eyebrow up higher at my silence. "Longer?"
I wonder if I can kill him, dump his body and make it to Cuba before
the sun comes up. I glance at my watch. Two hours until sunrise. I'll be
cutting it pretty close.
"Then it stands to reason that Mr. Cobbney might have had such a strong,
overwhelming need to do the wild thing that it may have impaired his better
judgment, thereby causing him to fall victim to the effects of the hooker
pixie dust. Which as you can see, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, my
client is still covered in."
I shake my head in disgust.
Key West is going to be hell.
*************************
Key West, Florida
Doesn't he ever quit pacing?
It's worse now that Webb makes that constant 'flip flop flip flop' noise
with every step. He puts his hands on his hips and turns around to look
at me with disgust. Like it's my fault the rental car got a flat tire in
the pouring rain? This is Florida, after all. A little monsoon-like rain
is to be expected in July.
He should just be glad we weren't on the bridge part of the ride but
that we were on Little Duck Key when it happened. Webb did expect me to
change the tire all by myself with him remaining in the car, staying nice
and dry. I could tell he was obviously worried about his suit. I told him
to get out and help or I was leaving him there and I would walk the rest
of the way. He told me he didn't care where I walked and something about
a long walk off a short pier and that I ought to be able to find one here.
I think the heat is getting to him.
We got to Key West and checked into the one hotel room we could find
only to discover that the trunk on the car leaked. Every piece of clothes
either of us brought with was soaked and the dry cleaner couldn't possibly
have Webb's suits back to him in time. He told me to go buy him something
to wear. We are in Key West. What did he honestly think I was going to
find on a limited budget?
He's not happy in his khaki cargo shorts, Hawaiian shirt and flip flops.
He looks at me, dressed almost exactly like him but looking far more comfortable.
"Jesus, Rabb. Will you stop acting like you're trying out for a part on
Magnum, P.I."
"That was in Hawaii. This is Florida," I say, in case he's forgotten.
He just gives me another unhappy look and continues flip-flopping his way
around, pacing until they'll let us through.
Not only is he dressed uncomfortably but it appears we walked our way
into the middle of a Gay Pride Rally that's part of the Hemingway Days
street festival, apparently an annual event here in Key West. It's making
him incredibly nervous.
"Webb, would you just stand still. It's not like any of these people
are going to try and recruit you," I say and if Webb didn't have on sunglasses,
I'm sure his look would kill right at this moment. A man dressed up in
a bizarre costume squeezes past us and I notice he's covered in glitter.
"Well, maybe that one would try."
"Not another word," Webb says, jabbing me in the chest with his index
finger. He then looks at it and bitches about coconuts. If we don't get
out of here soon, his head really is going to explode.
The short parade finally passes the street corner we're on and we have
to fight through the crowd to get anywhere. I attract a little less attention
dressed like a tourist than I did wearing my white uniform and I'm sure
Webb is thankful for that. His jealousy was getting the better of him.
I wonder if he knows how many parade participants are checking him out
from the backside?
"What are we looking for, Rabb?" Webb asks, playing with the open collar
of his shirt once more.
"A place called Sloppy Joe's Bar. From what I understand, it's the place
to be," I say, looking at a slip of paper with the address on it. 201 Duval
Street. We can't be far from it. Webb tries to peek at the address but
I tuck it away. He could have gotten his own tourist guide book.
The address this McBride person came up with for Amber's houseboat turned
out to be a bust. Either she moved it in the last few days or she never
really lived in that slip anyway. Webb has this person still working on
it, but I have a strong feeling it's just another dead end. So far, no
one knows anything about her.
We find the bar easily and the size of the crowd stops Webb in his noisy
tracks.
"You must be kidding," Webb says, turning to face me. The bar is really
the place to be today and half of the population of Florida seems to be
streaming into it. "It would be easier to find someone at Disneyland."
"World. Disney World is in Florida," I correct him, shouting over the
booming applause coming out of Sloppy Joe's.
"Does it matter?" he asks, pissed that I corrected him. He thinks he
knows everything. But can he fly an F-14?
"I'm sure it does to someone. Come on, Webb. This is a matter of national
security. We've got to go in there," I say, putting my hand on his shoulder.
He jerks away quickly, pulling off his sunglasses and giving me a scathing
look. Hookers are one thing. He lets them gyrate all over him. Me, on the
other hand, he finds offensive.
"Webb, I always wanted to ask you something. Those women in Australia?
What were they?" I ask and obviously I touched on a sensitive issue.
"Those women were work, Rabb. That's all I'm going to tell you," he
says, a smirk crossing his face.
"And how was that work? Did you find it pleasurable?" I ask, goading
him on. Sooner or later, I'm going to find out something personal about
Webb and his so called sex life. I'm not going to let him get off that
easily.
"It's none of your damn business. Don't pick up any women in there.
I mean it," he says, cramming his glasses into his pocket.
"You either," I say, giving him a smile. "I don't know if we could afford
it."
With that, he tries to turn on his heel but his flip flops hold him
up and he almost breaks his leg.
"Doesn't anybody here wear real shoes?" he complains as we try to make
our way through the front door of the bar. A blonde girl wearing a bikini
top and shorts ends up pressed against me as I try to get in and she gives
me a glowing smile.
"Shame I'm leaving," she says loudly, talking over all the noise.
"You can always stay . . ."
"Rabb, get in here now!" Webb shouts, pulling me by my arm. The girl
just waves and goes on her way. I love this state.
I step inside all the way into the bar to discover Webb standing there
with his jaw hanging open. At least this time it isn't men in chaps. No,
it's just about a dozen men who all look alike competing for some sort
of prize. I take off my Ray Ban aviator sunglasses to get a better view.
"If Amber was a portly man with a thick white beard, we'd be in the
right place," I say, trying to scan the crowd for her. There are just as
many young women here as there was at Liquid and I think we are going to
have to approach this on a one on one basis.
"You go that way. I'll go this way. And Rabb, stick to business. We
don't have time to be sampling the native fare," Webb says, his eyes moving
quickly across the crowd. He wipes his tongue across his bottom lip and
for some reason, I think he's checking for sores from his one kiss with
a hooker.
I start to mingle with the crowd, looking for someone who might be a
local and would possibly know Amber. Most of the people here are already
drunk and just look at me with blurry eyes when I ask them if they can
identify the woman in the picture.
I'm about to ask another drunken group of people the same question when
I feel what has to be a female hand resting on my shoulder. I turn around
and to find Mac standing there dressed up like a Marine.
"Hey, Jimmy," she says, looking my outfit over. "I was sent down here
to investigate something at the naval base and I thought you boys might
need a little help."
************
Key West, Florida
Damn, it's hot.
I take hold of the front of what has to be the tackiest Hawaiian shirt
ever and try to fan myself a bit as I scan the crowd. What the hell was
Rabb thinking when he bought this? He knew I'd be more comfortable in a
polo shirt and I *know* they sell those in Key West. If we are doing shit
to piss each other on purpose, then it means we must be 'male bonding.'
What a scary thought.
I turn my nose up at the plethora of disgusting smells in this place.
Cheap beer. Cigarettes. Saltwater. And let's not forget my favorite--coconut.
It's making me sick and my headache is pulsing again. It's never going
to go away and it's all Rabb's fault.
It's crowded in here and everyone is laughing at the stupid Hemingway
look-a-like contest they've got going on. I can't believe one of our nations
most beloved novelists is being humiliated this way. I hate the state of
Florida. I hope Fidel Castro annexes it to Cuba.
Rabb. My eyes scan the crowd to find him. Those stupid Ray Ban aviator
sunglasses should make him stand out. My polo shirt wasn't in the budget,
but those sunglasses were. In lieu of his dress whites and gold wings,
he just had to find some way to make himself scream 'pilot' to the opposite
sex. Pathetic and insecure. Sure enough, I catch Rabb with some girl in
a dark corner. But my eyes light up when I see who the girl is this time.
Or Marine, I should say.
"Mac!" I call out, fighting my way through the crowd to get to her.
With any luck, the Admiral has sent her to relieve Rabb. I snap my fingers
to get her attention and she looks up.
"Webb?" she says, her brown eyes huge with surprise. I stop just short
of her and give her my most charming smile. I jam my hands in my pockets.
"Webb, is that you?"
"The one and only," I say, as Mac circles me. I shoot a smug glance
over at Rabb, who is wrinkling his face up at the attention I'm getting.
Mac likes me. I like Mac.
"Webb, you have legs!" she exclaims, checking them out.
"Yes I do," I say, sliding onto the empty barstool. I'm glad she noticed.
All that riding I do is good for toning. "Please tell me you are here to
save me from having to work with Rabb one second longer."
"I'm sorry to disappoint you," she says, sitting between us. Mac leans
in towards me, still captivated by the way I look. Take that, Rabb. "But
I'm here for an investigation at the naval base."
"Are you sure you can't trade assignments?" I say, leaning in against
the table towards Mac until her face is just inches from mine. I lower
my voice to a whisper. "I'm sure I could make a couple phone calls and
arrange it."
"I bet you could," Mac whispers back and for just a second, I think
she's actually considering it. Mac's eyes wander up to my hair and then
she raises her hand to touch it. I feel her long fingers sliding through
it and I glance over at Rabb. He is not happy. Good.
"Webb, what is all over your hair?"
"Excuse me?" I say, turning my focus back on Mac. Her lovely face breaks
out in a smile and she holds her hand out to me.
"Sparkles?" she says and sure enough, her fingers are covered with them.
Damn it. I thought I washed them all out. Must be that damn sulfuric water
again. "Why are you sparkly, Webb? Just what have you been up to in Key
West?"
"Not Key West," Rabb says, folding his arms and smiling. "South Beach.
Want me to tell her about Tinkerbell, 'Walt?'"
"Shut up, Rabb."
"Tinkerbell? Walt? As in Walt Disney?" Mac asks, shaking her head in
confusion. Her eyes darting from me to Rabb then back again looking for
an explanation. "I thought Disneyworld was in Orlando?"
Now Rabb is smiling even wider.
"Not another word, Rabb."
"C'mon, Webb," he says, sitting back and cocking his head to the side.
"It's just Mac. I'm sure she'd love to hear all about your little encounter
with. . .what was her name again?" He leans back even more and pretends
like he's trying to remember her name. He snaps his fingers a couple times,
then points at me. "Oh yeah, they don't give names."
Mac raises both her eyebrows and looks back at me, waiting for me to
elaborate. Now her proximity is making me uncomfortable and I shift in
my chair.
"You picked up a girl, Webb?" she asks curiously.
"No, not a girl..." Rabb begins, loving every minute of this. "A..."
*CHIRP*
Saved by my cell phone.
*CHIRP*
I reach deep in my shorts and pull it out. I flip it open and motion
for Rabb to be quiet. "Webb," I say, covering my other ear so I can hear
over the crowd.
"It's McBride," comes his scratchy voice. "A & B Marina."
"Is that where Amber L'Ecaudey's boat registered?" I say, taking a pen
out of my pocket and scribbling the name on a napkin.
"It was last week," McBride answers, breaking up. His voice disintegrates
in a burst of white noise. Great. I toss the phone down on the table angrily.
Mac and Rabb look at each other, then at the discarded phone.
"What was that all about?" Rabb asks, abandoning his torture of me long
enough to focus on what he should be focusing on instead of last night.
"McBride has another lead for us to check out," I shove the napkin his
way. "A & B Marina."
Rabb scoffs at it and shoves it back. "Another wild goose chase, Webb.
I think we'd be better off just asking around here. This is the place to
be in Key West."
"I don't think sitting in this bar watching you pick up women is going
to bring us any closer to finding Amber L'Ecaudey," I say, challenging
him with my stare.
"Oh, and running around to this marina will? C'mon, Webb. Every where
McBride sends up is dead end," he says, with a casual shrug. Accompanied
by the same damn casual attitude he's had since the beginning. What a slacker.
Wait until the Admiral hears about this.
I stand up and motion for him to do the same, but he stays put. I put
my hands on my hips and drum my fingers and still he doesn't move.
"Why don't we wait here a little longer, maybe get a bite to eat and
then head out the marina?" Mac suggests diplomatically. She's trying to
diffuse the tension between us. I guess she's used to Rabb copping attitude
around her because of Brumby. I'm sure he sulks around JAG waiting for
her to move that ring over to her left hand, too.
"Fine. Give me your tourist guide book and I'll go there myself," I
demand, holding my hand out and waiting.
"Should have gotten your own," Rabb answers, patting the pocket of his
shirt where he's got it tucked away.
I look to Mac for some support and she gives me none. Figures she's
side with Rabb. I've suspected for a long time there might be something
going on between them. I see the way they look at each other. Maybe that's
the real reason he doesn't want to go looking for the marina right now?
"Excuse me?" I say incredulously, narrowing my eyes at him. "You are
preventing me from doing my job, Rabb."
"I am not!" Rabb snaps, getting off the barstool. I hold my ground as
he stares down at me, using his height to try and intimidate me. It doesn't
work. "No one is stopping you from doing anything, Webb. Are you afraid
to walk around by yourself with no one to point out the..."
"Don't say it," I warn, giving him the coldest stare I can. "Now give
me the damn book so I can find out where the A & B Marina is."
"A & B Marina? I know where it is!" chirps a voice beside me. A
happy, cheerful voice. So cheerful, both Rabb and I stop posturing and
look at the source. Standing next to us is a pretty girl with shoulder
length blonde hair and a huge smile. She blinks innocently as her eyes
go from mine to Rabb's and then stop on mine. She smiles at me. "You did
say you wanted to know where A & B Marina is, didn't you?"
"Yes, I did," I stammer, looking her over good. She doesn't have any
body glitter on. Just a bikini top and a short, wrap around skirt that
covers her shapely hips. Her belly button is pierced. I expect her to have
on those clunky platform shoes that the hooker had on, but she doesn't.
She has on Keds. Keds? Nice, sensible Keds. Hookers don't wear Keds. "And
you are?"
"Andie," she says happily, sticking her hand out. Her fingers curl around
mine firmly. She gave me her name. Hookers don't give you their name. "And
you are?"
"Cl-Walt. Walt," I correct, clearing my throat. Rabb looks her up and
down as well and he smiles at her, but Andie is looking at me and only
me. "I'm Walt."
"Okay, Walt," she says, nodding her pretty little head. She adjusts
the strap to her neon green tote bag over her shoulders, folds her hands
together and shrugs. "Want me to show you where the A & B Marina is?
It's only about ten minutes away from here. I don't have a car and we'll
have to walk. Is that okay?"
"Fine," I say, smirking at Rabb. I snatch my cell phone back up and
drop it in my pocket. "Are you coming?"
"No, I'll think I'll just stay here with Mac and see what we can come
up with," he says, motioning back at Mac. "I'll catch up with you later,
'Walt.'"
At this point, that's fine by me. It'll probably do us good to get away
from each other for a while. I sigh and hold my hand out so Andie can go
on ahead. She winds her way around the bar and stops when she notices I'm
not walking as fast. The damn flip flops are slowing me down.
"Is something the matter, Walt?" Andie asks, her soft blue eyes full
of concern. She retraces her steps and stops in front of me.
"Nothing," I mutter, trying to smile. The splitting pain in my head
prevents it. "I just have a headache."
"You know what's good for a headache?" Andie asks and I tense up. Oh
great. Here we go again.
But instead of leaning into my ear and whispering something X-rated,
she rummages through her neon green tote bag and produces a bottle.
"Aleve!" she proclaims with a smile.
I'm not sure what Andie is, but I'm pretty sure Andie isn't a hooker.
********************
Key West, Florida
Doesn't he ever stop pacing?
I watch as that young woman he trotted off behind stops and pulls something
out of her bag. Damn. Webb has gone from picking up hookers to picking
up drug dealers. The man is a riff-raff magnet. She hands him something
and smiles at him, which makes him stop that constant pacing. He swallows
whatever it is dry and the two of them go out the door.
Free at last. I turn to Mac who's now sipping on her tonic water with
lime and I sigh a deep and peaceful sigh.
"Rough time with Webb?" she asks, practically having to scream to be
heard as her eyes watch the events unfolding around us. I think the judging
for the look-a-like contest is nearing completion. I have no idea how they
choose. They all really don't resemble Hemingway that much.
"You wouldn't believe what I've gone through. I hope you aren't ever
stuck with him for an extended period of time. I'm a pretty easy going
guy, but he can even get to me after a few hours," I say, and Mac looks
in my direction and smiles.
"You can be a pain in the ass, too, you know," she says, setting her
hand on my arm. "Everything here smells like coconuts. I love the smell
of coconuts. It's so . . . beachy."
"Webb hates it. And he hates the heat and the salt air and the afternoon
rains. I'm certain the board of tourism in this state is not going to make
him their next poster boy. He didn't even know that Disney World is in
this state," I say. A waitress wearing a Sloppy Joe's t-shirt and a pair
of shorts arrives at the table and smiles brightly at me. I look down to
see the longest, tannest legs I've seen in a long time. I feel Mac's fingernails
dig into my flesh as I do so. I think she might even have drawn blood.
"Can I take your order?" the tan woman asks, talking as loud as she
can to combat all the noise in here.
"Sure," I say, taking a quick look at the menu. "We'll have an order
of conch fritters to start and I'd like a frozen rum runner."
Mac just shakes her head no and indicates that she already has a drink.
"Thanks," the waitress shouts as she turns on her heel and heads toward
the bar.
"Rum? I thought you were working?" Mac asks, raising an eyebrow in my
direction.
"Oh, let Webb find this woman," waving my hand and dismissing the whole
damn thing. "He knows everything. He ought to know where she is, too. We
aren't going to find her sunning herself in Key West. If Cuban Nationals
nabbed her, they didn't drop her off at a bar, but we have nothing to go
on. Admiral Page hasn't been forthcoming. The Pensacola police said the
kidnapper was Caucasian, Asian or Hispanic, which narrows it right down
there. I have no idea how anyone finds anybody in this state."
"I found you," Mac says with a smile. I smile back.
"Indeed you did," I say.
We don't even try to say anything over all the noise until the waitress
sets my drink down in front of me. I nod at the frozen alcoholic concoction.
"You don't mind, do you?"
"You've had drinks in front of me before. Why should this one bother
me? Because it has a little umbrella sticking out of it?" she asks, sipping
her tonic water. I pull out the tropical accouterments and try my drink.
A couple of these and a few hours of the hot afternoon sun and I won't
care about Webb, Amber L'Ecaudey or the United States Navy for that matter.
"So, why are you down here? Spying on Webb and me?" I ask, feeling the
influence of the alcohol almost immediately. What do they put in these
things?
"Spying on a spy? No, I actually am investigating something on base.
But Chegwidden asked for me to check in on you and see how your search
is going. Good thing you checked in with him this morning or I would have
never known you were in the Keys. We would have just passed each other
by," Mac says. She moves her right hand off of my arm and rubs it against
the rim of her glass, the band on her ring clacking as she goes. I just
stare at it. That's what she wants.
"Where is Brumby this weekend? I'm sure he would have loved it down
here. It would be kind of like home for him," I say, still watching the
diamond catch the sparkling reflection of the tonic water and glass.
"Why's that?" Mac asks. She finally stops doing that thing with her
hand when she picks up her drink and takes a sip.
"They have topless beaches here. You two would have had a great time,"
I say and she nearly chokes on her drink.
She sets the glass back down and strokes her index finger over my skin
as if she's examining something.
"I must say one thing about this investigation . . . you're getting
a nice tan."
"Thanks, but trust me - if I take this shirt off, you'll be able to
tell I've been working the whole time," I say, taking a quick look down
at my arm that is now a nice shade of golden bronze. I swallow hard before
I go on. I glance at her uniform, buttoned all the way up to her neck.
"How about you?"
She just laughs and I give her a nervous smile.
"I think we've been here before. Is that a request?" I don't answer.
I just watch her. Wait for the subject to change. It has to. "So, what
was the story you were trying to tell me about Webb? Something about the
sparkles in his hair?"
The tension between us evaporates just a little with the change in conversation.
I laugh at the thought of Webb and his mishap on the dance floor. It could
have happened to anybody. She wasn't a $25 street walker but a high class
call girl who only approaches men with money and she didn't look much different
than any of the other women in there. Just a little sparklier, but I don't
think that had anything to do with her being . . . what she is.
"Webb had a little run in with a prostitute when we were undercover
at a club last night. She was a very attractive woman and I'm sure she's
very nice, but Webb was taken aback at the discovery. I'm the one who told
him. He then spent the whole night brushing his teeth," I say.
"She kissed him? That's odd. How did you know she was a prostitute anyway,
Harm?"
"I, uh . . . I . . ." I have no idea.
"So how many prostitutes hit on you there?" Mac asks. She takes a sip
of her drink and swallows hard. I watch her throat and for a second, wonder
what she tastes like right there where her jawline meets her neck. And
that spot where her collar meets her skin. I shake myself out of it and
try to answer her.
"None . . . I think. I did get hit on by a man in chaps, though. That
was a new experience," I say, swallowing the last of my drink. I would
order another one, but if Webb came back, he'd just complain about how
I should be working and not sucking down tropical beverages. To hell with
Webb. It's better than what he was sucking on last night.
"And how many women who don't charge money hit on you?" she asks. Mac
looks away right after she asks, focusing on her ring. Why does she care?
I'm more confused then ever.
"One or two. I was able to defend myself," I say.
"I'm sure you tried your hardest," Mac says, looking at me with her
soft brown eyes. I've never been a big fan of that color eyes. Only Diane
and Mac posses brown eyes that could stop me in my tracks like two trucks
careening down . . . damn. What's in this drink? I've never sat and pondered
Mac's eyes before. Not while they were directly in front of me, anyway.
The waitress returns with the appetizer I ordered and asks is we want
anything else. Mac shakes her head 'no.' Suddenly, I find that I'm not
that hungry, either. Not for food, anyway.
"We'll split an order of coconut shrimp," I say, in honor of Webb and
his hatred for all things coconut. Then I look at Mac. "With french fries."
"Do you want another Rum Runner, darlin'?" the waitress asks, looking
at the glass I emptied rather quickly.
"I'm not sure."
"Do you like coconut? I can get you a Malibu Punch. It's made with Malibu
Rum. You'll love it."
I look at Mac and she just shrugs her shoulders, not caring what I do.
"Sure. I'll try it."
The waitress takes her long, tan legs back in the direction of the bar
and Mac clears her throat to stop me from staring.
"What are you looking at?" she asks with a knowing smile. She takes
a bite of one of the conch fritters and utters a noise of appreciation
for the local cuisine. She swallows what's in her mouth before going on.
"Not used to looking at women who could possibly be tan everywhere?"
"Haven't seen many since we got back from Australia," I say, turning
my attention from the waitress back to Mac. "So, about that tan of yours
. . . how far does it go?"
"Harm, I got that tan back in February. I've been working ever since.
Trust me. It doesn't go very far anymore," Mac says, brushing her hand
over her arm.
"I know some places around here where we can take care of that."
I continue to stare at her, watching as little goose bumps pop up all
over her flesh. It certainly isn't that cold in here.
*****************
Key West, Florida
Damn, it's hot.
I can feel my skin burning and I reach up to touch my face gingerly.
This little motion does not escape unnoticed.
"Do you need some sunscreen, Walt?" Andie chirps happily. She stops
and digs around her bag once again. My headache is almost gone. But I'm
not sure if that's because of her Aleve or because I have finally gotten
away from Rabb. I'm thinking it's the latter. This time, Andie whips out
a small jar. She sets her bag down and faces me. Andie is almost as tall
as I am, but she's all legs and arms. Nice long legs and tanned arms. I
put my hands on my hips as she unscrews the jar and dips two fingers inside.
"Here."
Before I can protest, Andie cups my chin with her hand and smoothes
whatever that is all over the bridge of my nose. Her brow furrows a little
as she concentrates on what she's doing.
"What is that?" I demand, seeing the reflection of something white off
my skin. Shit. Rabb would love this. Now I'm letting strange women slather
things on me.
"Zinc," Andie answers, with another big smile. Her fingers flutter across
my cheeks and forehead and she clicks her tongue with disapproval. "Where
you from, Walt? With skin this pale, you sure aren't from around here."
"D.C.," I answer, too tired and irritable to come up with a clever lie.
Now Andie is pulling out a bottle of something else. Banana Boat Aloe Vera
Gel? What is she going to do with that? We aren't too far from the marina
and if she weren't so damn nice, I'd tell her just to get moving.
"Are you here on vacation?" she asks, squeezing out more than the recommended
liberal amount and rubbing that on her fingers, too. She tucks the bottle
underneath one arm. Andie removes my sunglasses, sticks the end in her
bikini top between her breasts and lays her cool fingers on my cheeks.
Much to my delight, it doesn't smell like coconut and neither does Andie.
She smiles and I smile. It feel...good. Okay, maybe we can stand here just
a little bit longer.
"No, I'm working," I mutter, as she works the lotion up on my forehead
in little circles. The tiniest moan escapes my mouth as she rubs my temples
gently. That feels...really good.
"Would explain why you're so tense," Andie says, finishing up by applying
the remainder to the tips of my ears. She's thorough. I like thorough.
"How old are you?" I ask, trying to find something wrong with her. She's
at least twenty-one because she made it into the bar of Sloppy Joe's.
"Twenty-four," she pipes up quickly. "How old are you?"
"Older than twenty-four," I reply, not wanting to scare her off by telling
her I'm thirty-eight. I've had more fun with Andie in the last five minutes
than I've had with Rabb over the last five days.
"Works for me," Andie says happily, putting the lotion and zinc in my
front pocket. She's careful not to touch anything as her fingers dig deep.
"Here, you need these more than I do."
"I need these too," I say, reaching forward to retrieve my sunglasses
from between Andie's breasts. I manage to do it without touching anything
either. She smiles. Maybe after we find Amber's boat, I can buy her a drink.
Or two. I hear rum runners are pretty popular down here.
Andie picks up her bag and flings it over shoulder. Then, she slips
her hand into mine with yet another smile and pulls me down the dock on
the way to the marina. Looks like it's private. Damn. Are we going to be
able to get in?
"What are you looking for at the marina?" Andie inquires, swinging our
hands a little. She matches my steps only she's not making that flip-flop
sound I am. I hate Rabb. I'm getting blisters, too.
"Not what...who," I correct, looking over at her. With my free hand,
I reach in the pocket of my shirt and hand her the photo. "Amber L'Ecaudey."
"Oh," Andie says, stopping immediately. Her hand slips from mine so
she can hold the photograph with both of hers. Her pretty face scrunches
up and she suddenly looks a little sad or something. She hands it back
to me. "Men are always looking for Amber. Are you a friend of hers?"
"We've never met," I assure her, putting the photograph back in my pocket.
That makes her expression lighten up a bit. "She's missing, Andie."
"Are you vice, Walt?" Andie asks, raising her eyebrow.
"No," I shake my head and sigh. Why does *everyone* think we're vice?
"But I'm trying to find her as a favor for a friend."
"She's got a houseboat," Andie says, folding her arms around herself
and walking on ahead. "Amber throws parties on it occasionally and she
does dock it in the A & B Marina."
"Would you know her boat if you saw it?" I ask, wondering why friendly
little Andie isn't quite as perky now. Does she think I'm Amber's boyfriend?
Is that what's upsetting her? I can never figure women out.
"Why is it so important you find her?" Andie says, blinking back at
me and waiting for an answer.
I take hold of her arm and Andie shivers at the contact as I draw her
towards me to whisper in her ear. "It's a matter of national security."
"Are you a spy?" Andie says much louder than I am comfortable with.
I lay my fingers over her lips to silence her and nod. Her eyes get huge
with that special mix of surprise and excitement I always see when I tell
a woman I'm a spy. Yeah, Rabb might fly F-14s...but I'm a spy. Women like
that just as much. Maybe more.
I feel Andie's lips purse against my fingers in a soft little kiss.
They separate and then I feel her tongue flickering out curiously. I swallow
hard and slowly drop my hand.
"Let's go find that houseboat, Walt," Andie says, taking my hand in
hers again. The marina is private, but the guy at the gate waves exuberantly
at Andie.
"Hey Andie!" he says and lets us right in. Seems like Andie is a regular
here.
"Hey Eddie!" she answers back. "We're looking for Amber L'Ecaudey. Is
her boat here?"
"Nope," Eddie says quickly. "Her slip has been empty all week. You're
welcome to check it out if you want. It's number...hold on." Eddie wanders
into the little shack they must use for an office. "Number 325."
"Thanks!" Andie chirps with another of her little smiles. Jesus. I've
been picked up by Mary Poppins.
"How do you know where it is?" I ask.
"Because my dad docks his boat here, too," Andie answers. "He's in Number
114. I have the keys if you want to see it. She's a beauty."
Andie rambles on about her dad and the boat some more, but I tune her
out. This has got to be the worst mission I've ever been on. If we don't
find something here, I'm calling the Admiral and I am getting out of here
first thing in the morning. I hate the heat. I hate the salt air. I hate
the afternoon rains. I hate...
I stare at the empty slip.
I hate Amber L'Ecaudey.
"So what now, Walt?" Andie asks. I look over at her.
"Rum Runners," I say, with a sudden smile. "How about Rum Runners?"
********************
Key West, Florida
"Doesn't he ever quit pacing?"
I'm still complaining to Mac about Webb. My list of complaints are endless.
She just smiles through most of them as she slathers sun screen across
her abdomen. My eyes follow as her hand smears around the oily lotion and
my voice and complaints drop off to nothing as she dips her hand under
the edge of her bikini top to get every inch of skin that might be exposed
to the sun. I love that bikini. I picked it out after we left Sloppy Joe's
-- it's an iridescent lime green and I'll have to remember to give Webb
the receipt. I'm sure he's off being bored. He'll be so jealous that I'm
spending the afternoon with a nearly naked Sarah MacKenzie.
She hands me the bottle of suntan lotion and rotates so her back is
to me. Without a single word spoken, I squeeze some on my hand and begin
to coat her back. I slide my hands under the tiny cords holding the top
up, making sure her shoulders are covered. Then I focus on her lower back
and she leans forward for me.
"Are you sure you are going to want to leave these strings here? Won't
it leave a tan line?" I ask, tugging at the end of one of the ties just
enough to loosen it.
"That's okay," she says, moving away from me and getting comfortable
in the afternoon sun. How nice of Webb to accidentally put us in a resort
with a clothing optional private beach. I wonder if he even knew it when
he got desperate to find a place to dry off?
I divert my eyes as an old man who's tanned like leather everywhere
walks by, letting it all hang free. Sometimes these clothing optional places
just aren't what everybody expects. Too bad Mac isn't going along with
half the other women and taking her top off at least. I guess I'm just
not worthy of the same attention as Mic Brumby.
I sit back in my surf chair and dig my toes into the sand, while Mac
flips through a magazine and drinks some of her bottled water, not paying
any attention to me. I take another sip of what has to be my third frozen
rum runner. Maybe my fourth. There's nothing like the hot sun beating down
on your face and a tropical drink in your hand to keep the spirits up when
one woman keeps escaping you. Then there's the whole thing with Amber L'Ecaudey.
I'm getting tired of this search. We aren't ever going to find her .
. . especially not here on a nude beach. . . but besides that, I'm beginning
to suspect that there's more to this whole affair then the Admiral is telling
us. At this point, the best thing we can do is hope she just turns up somewhere.
Hopefully, alive. That will make Webb happy. And if I'm lucky, keep him
the hell away from me.
"Are you thinking about Webb again?" Mac asks as she rolls into a different
position to tan the other side of her body. She pulls off her sunglasses
and stares at me intently with those brown eyes.
"No," I lie.
"You are and you know it."
"Why would I be thinking about Clayton Webb?" I ask, using my sunglasses
to hide from her gaze.
"Because he gets under your skin," she says, reaching for the bottle
of tanning lotion again and smearing a little more on. It hasn't even been
five minutes and it's SPF 15. I think she just likes to make me suffer
by having to watch her smear it across her skin, rubbing it in with small,
deliberate circles. It smells of coconuts and makes her skin shimmer and
I love it.
I could get used to this life. The sun. The sea. No where to go. Maybe
after I retire . . .
"You want to do my back again?" Mac asks.
"I just did your back," I say, still thinking about my retirement.
"Harm . . ." she says, and I actually focus on her. Sitting up, she
holds the front of her bikini top on with one hand and pulls the strings
in back. "I've changed my mind about those tan lines."
I set down my drink and take the bottle from her again and she moves
in close, snuggling in between my legs. I'm glad I grabbed a surf chair
now instead of one of the lounge chairs. This way she fits nicely up against
me as I cover her with the oil, sliding my hands over her rounded shoulders,
moving a little lower. She doesn't say anything or tell me to back off.
Mac just lets my hands wander.
"You know, you could drop your top all the way and from here I can't
see a thing," I say, leaning back in my chair and putting the cap back
on the suntan lotion bottle. It is the truth. I can't see anything. Or
at least not anything important.
"Then what would be the point?" she asks softly. The slick bottle of
Coppertone slips from between my oily fingers and hits the sand with a
thud.
"An even tan to go home with?"
Will she do it? I know we work together. I know that's all we are. Friends.
Partners. Whatever. Or so I keep telling myself.
"You promise not to look?" she asks. Actually, it's more like a dare.
When you have a topless woman between your thighs, it's hard not to try
to get in a peek.
"Scout's honor," I say, focusing over her head and out to the ocean
instead of directly at her. She puts her top to the side and begins to
get more comfortable between my legs. I wonder if she's going to put some
lotion on the newly exposed skin? I wonder if she needs help?
Mac wraps her arms around my knees in such a way that now the outer
edges of her breasts are brushing against the inside of my legs. I freeze
in place, trying to absorb every sensation around me at this very moment.
The hot sun. The gentle, salty breeze coming off the water. Sand stuck
between my toes. The slight buzz I'm getting from the alcohol. And the
roundness of her breasts. Yeah. That's the one I want to remember the most.
"What if someone sees us?" she asks. She tilts to the side to grab her
sunglasses and I get to feel even more. Damn shame it's with my leg and
not something far more sensitive.
"Who's going to see us? Webb? You and I both know he's off working.
He's too damn stubborn to take a break from his search for this woman.
Besides, what's he going to say?" I ask, snorting at the intrusion of Webb
into this moment.
"Are you both sharing the room?" she asks. She was already in it to
change into her swimsuit but due to the fact that we had our little incident
in the rain, the room is pretty stark. Webb's clothes are all still being
pressed, forcing him to wear the little outfit I picked out. That will
teach him for sending me out in the rain and being too vain to tell me
his size.
"Yes, we are sharing . . . why?" I ask, curious as to what she's getting
at. Does she want to do something in the room?
"Oh, I don't know why. I was just asking," she says, shifting between
my legs again. Now she's resting back against my crotch and snuggling closer.
I can just add that to another sensation I never want to forget.
"Damn, it's hot," I mutter under my breath, imitating my favorite spook
and Mac laughs.
"You sound like Webb complaining about the heat. Next you'll probably
start bitching about the suntan oil getting on your skin," she says, rubbing
her hand down my leg.
"No, I think this is a different kind of heat. And the proper application
of oils has never bothered me," I say. She doesn't respond to my comments.
"We could get in the water. You just can't look until we are out under
far enough," she says, continuing this game. What is this game, anyway?
I wish someone would fill me in because I'm lost.
"Okay. You go on in. I'll be out in a minute," I say and she unwraps
her arms from around me, takes off her sunglasses and gets up. I watch
her walk into the ocean, envious of all the heads she turns. They get to
look, but I can't. She is finally out deep enough that she can slip beneath
the gentle waves and I can't see a thing. Only then do I follow her in.
"Fancy meeting you here," I joke and she turns around towards me. I
can tell by where the water comes up on me that she's just touching with
her toes. Another few feet out and she's be treading water.
I look down into the water and she just shakes her head at me. "Scout's
honor, remember?"
"I wasn't ever really a Boy Scout," I say, and she looks at me quizzically.
"You're kidding, right? I always figured you to be one. All the way
up to Eagle Scout and everything," she says with a laugh.
"Sorry to disappoint you. I was just never into all that stuff. Badges
and honor and the like. Just wasn't me," I say, trying not to smirk.
"You liar!" she says, splashing water at my face. I wipe the saltwater
from my eyes with the back of my arm and she just bounces in the water,
getting ready to strike me again.
"Do that again, and I'll have to come get you," I say, and she wipes
me out with an even bigger wave.
"You have to catch me first in order to get me," she says with a laugh
as she takes off swimming.
"Sooner or later you'll have to go back to the shore. You can't stay
out here forever," I say, pushing off after her. I only have to take about
three or four good strokes until I can grab her foot, pulling her to me.
She ends up in my arms which is a good thing because it is now over her
head or at least her mouth.
Neither of us says another word. Mac wraps her legs around me as if
it were the most natural thing in the world and now her breast are brushing
up against my chest. I fight the urge to look down, focusing only on her
eyes. She dips her head back in the water, smoothing her hair back and
then her gaze returns to mine. There's a troubled look in her eyes, just
past being curious and onto already working this all out in her head.
"What are we doing here, Mac?" I ask, enjoying the feel her her arms
wrapped around my neck and the parts of her that are rubbing up against
me under the water too much.
"Something we should have done a while ago?" she asks, looking at me
with pleading eyes.
Come on, Harm. Do it right this time. Answer the question the right
way. But instead of giving her an answer, I can only come up with more
questions.
"What about Mic?" I ask, my body melting under hers as she holds on
tighter.
"That's not your problem, is it? Besides, it's not like I'm married
to him or anything. I'm not even sure if we're engaged," she says with
a laugh, showing me her right hand. "It's still over here, not knowing
where it's going next."
"How about back to Mic?" I ask right before I kiss her. Her mouth opens
immediately under mine, as if we've done this a thousand times before,
and I suppose between the two of us and whatever flashes around our head,
maybe we have. She tastes like the sun and the sea and I can't help but
to moan as her tongues passes my lips and sweeps through my mouth.
Mac grinds against me, her legs wrapping even tighter around my hips
and her hands moving from my neck up through my wet hair. This is going
way too fast and I'm not sure what the driving force is behind it, but
right now I don't care. I need her. Even if she decides to run home to
Mic after this, I need her now.
"People will see us," she says, pulling away from my mouth and looking
back to the beach.
"Do you care?" I ask. During the time I've spent in Florida, I've seen
more people doing it in public places such as the ocean or a certain night
club than I have during the rest of my adult life.
"No," she answers, one hand moving down from my hair to under the water.
It slides between our bodies and down my abdomen. She slips it into my
trunks, wrapping her fingers around my cock. We both just stare into the
other's eyes, not looking anywhere else.
"Am I allowed to look now?" I ask as she strokes me into hardness. That
elicits a laugh out of her and I do look down. Her breasts are floating
near the surface of the water, their roundness naturally buoyant and I
wish I could touch them or taste them but that would be a little too obvious
to those on shore.
"Ever do this in the water before?" she asks and I feel her wiggle out
of her bikini bottom and slip them into the pocket on my swim trunks.
"Yeah, but I was a hell of a lot younger than I am today," I say and
we both avoid looking toward the shore. It's just better not knowing who's
watching. I can only imagine Clayton Webb standing there with his hands
on his hips as that vein in his head explodes. He'd be more pissed that
I'm not working than that I'm having sex with Mac. I can almost hear him
-- 'Rabb, get your dick back in your pants and get out here! National security
is at risk and you're screwing around!'
"Stop thinking about Webb," Mac says again when I start laughing at
the image in my head. "I'm getting worried about you."
"No need to worry. I was just thinking how pissed he'd be if he caught
us doing this. I don't think Webb has been laid in over a year," I say
and Mac just shakes her head at me.
"One can never really tell," she says as she helps me tug my swimming
suit down just enough to have the proper access.
"Please say we can do this again later. When we have more time. More
space," I say, my body melting under her fingertips. The sun is still beating
down on us, but I can see afternoon storm clouds forming in the distance.
"I promise," she says, moving her hand to my shoulder. She rubs her
folds up against my cock and I swear the rest of the world has vanished.
It's just us. No missing women. No Webb. No heat. No rain. Just us.
Mac sighs as she maneuvers herself so my hard-on is in direct contact
with her clit. She uses the water to lift her up and down against me and
I can hardly think with all the sensations flying through my brain. Maybe
it's better that way.
"Is this going to be okay?" I ask. "I'm not exactly wearing a rubber
suit out here."
She smiles at me. "Yeah, it's fine. I'm on the pill."
Finally, just when I think I can't take it anymore, she lets me slide
in her body. The fit is perfect and I think I've drowned but that's not
possible because I can breathe so I know my head's not underwater.
We both just stare at each other, too stunned to move yet. How in the
hell did this happen so fast? Why in the hell didn't we let it happen sooner?
"If you don't move soon . . ." she says and before she can finish I
thrust up into her. We sink down further into the water, trying to make
this less obvious, but I know from watching on the shore that there's no
good way to hide it.
I just keep moving under the water while we just watch each other above
the water. The water moves past us as we grind into each other, our bodies
sliding against each other smoothly. I move my hand around from where I
was supporting her and skim it across her breasts, smiling at her. Then
I go down lower, finding her clit and circling it with my fingers.
She struggles to keep her eyes open, almost losing. "Look at me, Mac.
Look at me."
And she does. I'm not even sure the two of us blink, not wanting to
miss a moment of our first time together. I never imagine this. Not in
my wildest dreams would I be doing this with Mac in the ocean. It's actually
better than anything I ever imagined.
She bounces around until she's got her mouth on my neck, her tongue
flicking out against my warm skin. "You taste like coconuts. You taste
like summer."
I keep thrusting into her body. Keep moving my fingers against her clit.
I know it won't be long. Not this time. She did promise we would do this
again, didn't she? She must have because this will never be enough.
She throws her head back as she comes, panting for air. The waves through
her body join the waves in the ocean and they all work against me. I'm
not sure I can hold off for another second.
I join her in release, feeling her muscles contracting around me. I
empty into her, my body jerking with each spasm that passes through me.
Then my legs give out and we both slip under the clear water, my eyes
burning in the saltwater. We hold on tight to each other as we break the
surface again, gasping for our next breath. I pull up my trunks and she
shimmies back into her bikini bottom.
Then we just hold on to each other, knowing that sooner or later we
have to leave the ocean. Leave the exact spot we first made love. And I
thought I loved the ocean before.
"What now?" I ask softly, almost afraid of the answer.
"Now we go back on shore. I go back to work on the base. You go find
your Amber whatever her name is and the rest will take care of itself,"
she says, her voice not much louder than mine.
"Will it?" I ask, my hands now free to roam all over her body.
'Yes, Harm. It will. Just as long as Webb doesn't kill you before this
is all over."
********************
Key West, Florida
Damn, it's hot.
I think it must be the third Rum Runner talking. Or maybe it's the fact
my head is cradled in Andie's lap and she keeps picking sparkles out of
my hair. We're sitting on the upper deck of her father's boat. The sun
went down half an hour ago and all around us, people are partying and carrying
on. I'm surprised Rabb isn't out here 'living la vida loca' with them.
He'd fit right in.
"It was an honest mistake," Andie says gently, referring to the whole
hooker fiasco. I have absolutely no idea why I am telling her any of this,
but I am. "There are a lot of hookers in South Beach."
"You're not a hooker, are you?" I ask with all seriousness and Andie
laughs.
"No, I'm not," she assures me, her fingers leaving my hair. She slips
her hand inside my shirt and rubs my chest instead. It feels so good and
relaxing. Just what I need after five days of dealing with Rabb.
"Just checking," I whisper, letting my eyes flutter close. "You know
what I really hate? More than sparkly hookers trying to pick me up?"
"What?" Andie says, unbuttoning my shirt some more so she can rub lower.
I'm not about to stop her.
"Coconut," I say, with an unexpected laugh. "I really hate the damn
smell of coconut. Rabb knows it and that's the reason he bought this shirt
for me."
"Then let's get you out of this shirt," Andie suggests and soon she's
got all the buttons unfastened. I get up and she pulls it off my body,
the hideous coconut print ending up in a hideous heap on the floor of the
boat.
Her hands glide over the bare skin of my back until they settle on my
shoulders. Her fingers knead at the knots and I lean back into it. I shouldn't
be enjoying this this much, but I am. A cool breeze passes over us and
a shiver runs down my spine. That shiver settles in my lower extremities.
"You're tense," Andie says and I swallow hard as her lips brush over
the sensitive skin on the base of my neck. "From keeping all those world
secrets?"
"Something like that," I say, turning my head and feeling her lips travel
up my neck and to my ear. My breathing becomes shallow and so does hers
and something inside me is stirring and growing in intensity with every
sweep of her lips.
Her arms slip under my arms and Andie moves so she is behind me. Her
hands flutter up to my nipples and she presses into them in tight circles.
I let out a little moan as she works them into hard peaks. This probably
shouldn't be going where it's going, should it?
"Walt," she whispers, her chin resting in the crook of my neck. She
presses her body against my back and it makes my pulse quicken even more.
I feel her breasts flatten and a little scrape against my spine from her
navel ring. "It's a little cold up here on deck. Do you want to go down
below?"
"My name isn't Walt," I say, wanting to set the record straight before
I answer her question. "It's Clayton."
"Clayton," Andie mutters and I feel her smile. Her fingertips leave
my nipples and she spreads her palms flat against my chest and runs them
down and over my abs. The muscles quiver beneath her touch. "I figured
Walt wasn't your real name. Is it Clay for short?"
"I prefer Clayton," I reply, slowly standing up and giving Andie enough
time to stand up with me. "Is Andie short for something?"
"Andrea," she says, as I move her around so she's facing me. Her long
arms wrap around my neck and I wrap mine around her slim waist. We sway
back and forth to distant music playing off another boat. This dance is
nothing like the one last night. It's slow and rhythmic and comfortable.
And I am aware of all the places our naked skin is touching. "I prefer
Andie."
"Andie is a pretty name for a pretty girl," I say, admiring just how
pretty she really is. The compliment earns me a kiss. This kiss is nothing
like the one last night either. It's soft and warm like she is. It's followed
by another one and this time, Andie's tongue parts my lips to deepen it.
Another breeze moves over us and this time it is Andie who shivers. I feel
her skin cover in goosebumps and her nipples harden through the thin fabric
of her bikini.
"Let's go down below," she suggests between kisses. "I can guarantee
it's warmer down there."
"I bet it is," I say, knowing she's not just referring to the boat.
Andie moves away from me long enough to pick up her green tote bag and
then reaches for my hand. We head for the lower deck. The boat shifts a
little and then steadies itself. There isn't much down here except a bed,
a few chairs, some furniture and a tiny shower. It's also warm and dark.
"Like it?" Andie asks, returning to my arms again.
"It's nice," I say as we start to dance again very slowly. My hands
run up and down the length of her spine. "Like you are, Andie."
"This isn't something I normally do," Andie whispers, pressing her forehead
to mine. She may not smell like coconuts, but she smells like sun and sand
and I like it. I like her. "And I don't want you to get the wrong impression.
I don't pick up strange men in bars and I never bring them back to my father's
boat."
"But you brought me," I state, still wondering why she didn't fall over
Rabb like all the others did.
"You're different," Andie says, her lips closing in on mine. She tastes
like Rum Runners like I do. Andie didn't even finish her first and I polished
off three. One kiss melts into the next until somehow, Andie is pressed
up against the wall of the little cabin. Her hands wander all over my body
as our mouths explore one another's thoroughly.
"Are we...?" I ask softly, just to make sure I'm not making an assumptions
I shouldn't be making. I am, after all, a gentleman. But the last three
letters of that word spell 'man' and I'm that too. My cock is reacting
to Andie and I know she can feel it pressing into her stomach.
"Yes, we are," Andie confirms, nodding her head between kisses. "I've
never made love to a spy before."
"I guess now is your chance," I mutter, lowering my hands to the backs
of her thighs and suddenly lifting her up against the wall. Andie lets
out a happy cry of surprise and wraps her legs around my waist. My hardness
settles against her soft core and the contact feels good even if fabric
separates us. In this position, we continue to kiss and each one grows
in fervor and intensity. I'm sure those three Rum Runners have something
to do with my lack of inhibition, but I am fully aware of what I'm doing
and I want to be doing it. I am an opportunist and apparently, so is Andie.
She stops kissing me and lets her head fall back against the wall. Andie
closes her eyes to enjoy the friction between us. I'll never admit this
to Rabb, but it has been a while for me. There simply isn't time for this
kind of thing in my life and sometimes I wish there were.
Her legs are wrapped pretty tightly when I'm certain she can support
herself, I move my hands off her thighs to the front clasp of her bikini.
Andie moans eagerly as I fumble with the clasp. We both sigh in relief
when it snaps free. In the low light, I can make out the outline of her
breasts. Full, round and firm. I take one in each hand and press up. My
thumbs flit over the hard peaks of her nipples and Andie groans, wanting
more. Her body bucks up and down against the wall and that arouses me more.
"Want to do it here?" Andie suggests, her voice raspy and shallow. "Standing
up?"
"If you do," I say, letting my right hand fall away from her right breast
and skimming across her stomach. I touch her navel ring with curious fascination.
My fingers wander even lower and under that little wrap around skirt to
her bikini bottoms.
"I do," Andie says, bracing herself against me and unlocking her ankles.
She stands up again on shaky legs and reaches for her ever present green
tote bag. She digs deep and pulls out a tiny, square box of condoms. A
little assortment pack. I swear she has everything in that bag.
"Do you have Amber L'Ecaudey in there, too?" I ask, putting my hands
on my hips while she tears the pack open. Andie smiles.
"I might. But these were free samples they were passing out earlier
at Sloppy Joe's," she replies, fanning the choice of three out to me. "Ribbed.
Ultra-Thin or Extra-Lubricated?"
I reach for the Ultra-Thin, set it on the dresser next to us, shove
the rest in my pocket and pull Andie in my arms. We kiss some more and
her hands wander down to my fly. Within seconds, she's got it unfastened
and she reaches in to touch my cock. A charge of electricity moves through
me the second she makes contact. Andie rotates her hand so her thumb can
stroke me hard and she can slide her fist up and down my length. It's incredible
and I can't help but thrust up into her.
"It has been a while for you, hasn't it?" Andie whispers. "Your job?"
"Something like that," I mumble, finding it really hard to concentrate
on anything else but her motions. "It gets..."
"Lonely keeping the nation's secrets?" she finishes, and all I can do
is nod. She is really, really a nice girl and I can't find one thing wrong
with her. Except for the fact she lives in Key West. Too bad she doesn't
live in DC.
"Something like that," I repeat, pulling myself out of my own arousal
to concentrate on hers. I skim my hands over her thighs and back underneath
the skirt. I take hold of her bikini bottom and tug it down and off her
body. She steps out of them and I notice her feet are still clad in her
Keds. My fingers return to that spot, only this time I find her damp curls.
I know exactly where to touch her. Sometimes, it's good to know so much.
My thumb sinks into her wet folds and I work it in tight circles around
her clit. We stand there for a while, just touching and exploring and arousing.
The only sound is random moaning and shallow breaths.
"I want you," Andie finally breathes, moving my hand off her clit. She
stops touching me as well and she reaches for the condom. Sweat is already
forming across her body and I know my forehead is damp. If I thought it
was hot before, it's going to get a whole lot hotter in about thirty seconds.
Which is all the time it takes for Andie to open the condom and roll it
down over me securely.
"Now where were we?" I ask, backing her into the wall again. I grab
her thighs and lift her up. Once again, those long, tanned legs wrap around
my waist. Her little skirt covers the space between us but I don't have
to see a thing to find my way. I press into her opening and wait for her
answer.
"Right here," Andie says and I push inside in her slowly. Oh God. She
is so wet and so tight that I practically lose it just from this. Her muscles
grip me tightly and suddenly I remember what it was like to be twenty-four
again. Her nails dig into my shoulders for support and I start moving in
and out of her. Fuck. It feels good. It feels wonderful. I smile and Andie
smiles. We kiss briefly and then I concentrate all my energy on my thrusting.
"Oh yeah," I hear myself mutter over and over again. One lock of hair
falls into my eyes and Andie tries to push it aside in vain. I need another
haircut soon.
"Oh. Oh. Oh," Andie cries, meeting each of my thrusts with one of her
own. She lets her head fall back on the wall and her lips part so she can
pant. Her tongue flickers out and her breasts heave up and down. I move
closer so I can feel them sliding up and down my chest. "Oh God, Oh God,
Oh God."
"Getting close?" I whisper and Andie nods, biting her lower lip to muffle
her sounds. They keep intensifying until finally she cries out. I feel
her quiver and contract around me and her cries die off into soft little
moans of pleasure. I slow down just a bit to give her time to enjoy it.
I smile smugly. Yes, she enjoying it.
"Oh God, that was great," she whispers and when I feel her relax, I
resume thrusting. As I do so, Andie's mouth catches mine for another series
of fast, hard kisses. She keeps moaning and crying out and her little sounds
encourage me on. I feel it all start winding tight and I close my eyes
and concentrate on pushing it over the edge. Andie holds on and I give
it everything I've got until finally I come. Hard. I sink deep into her
and feel the waves moving through me. Pleasure spiking up and down and
pulsing out. I jerk my hips just a few more times to ride it out.
Andie's hands leave my shoulders and come up to caress my face. I open
my eyes and we both stare at each other as we try to get our breathing
back to normal.
"I don't even know your full name," Andie exhales. Her face is all lit
up with a post-coital glow. Adrenaline is still coursing through her and
it's still coursing through me.
"Webb. It's Clayton Webb," I say, without hesitation. She deserves to
know my full name and I deserve to know hers. I should have been up front
with her to begin with. "Yours?"
"Andie Page," she says innocently and I nearly choke on my next breath.
Andie Page?
Page?
As in Admiral Glendon W. Page?
She couldn't be?
Could she?
"Andie...what?" I ask, hoping in my own post-coital glow I heard it
wrong.
"Page," she confirms, kissing me again. My eyes wander over to the dresser
and I squint against the darkness. Sure enough, there is a picture of Admiral
Glendon W. Page with his arms around a younger Andrea Page. I swallow hard
and now I can't breathe at all.
"Is something wrong?" she asks, her hands on my face again.
"Page," I mumble, smiling nervously. "Page."
Thank God Rabb isn't here for this one.
********************
Key West, Florida
Doesn't he ever quit pacing?
I hear an all too familiar 'flip flop flip flop' behind me and I try
to ignore it. I'm drifting around the pool on one of those floating lounge
chairs and I really don't want to be bothered right now. I'm enjoying the
smell of the ocean air as it mingles with the chlorine smell of the pool
and the distant fragrance of night blooming jasmine. And all of that is
intermingled with my favorite scent. I broke down and finally bought a
cigar this afternoon after I took Mac back to the base and I just want
to sit here and take it all in. I shut my eyes, hoping that makes him go
away. It doesn't.
"Rabb, what in the hell are you doing? I spent the day out in the heat
looking for Amber L'Ecaudey and where do I find you? Floating around like
a damn tourist. Jesus, what's next? Is a waitress coming with a Mai Tai
for you?" Webb bitches. I open one eye to find him standing there at the
edge of the pool, still wearing his coconut shirt . . . only it's buttoned
wrong. Working, my ass.
"Actually, a Rum Runner," I say right as someone calls my name from
the shallow end.
I paddle over to the woman holding my drink and take the plastic cup
from her hand. "Charge it to room 135," I say and I can almost hear something
in Webb's head go pop.
"Thank you, sir," the waitress says and I put it in the cup holder and
paddle back closer to Webb, holding my cigar between my teeth.
"I don't believe this. I just don't believe this," Webb keeps repeating
as he rubs the bridge of his nose. His head must hurt again. Or maybe it
has never stopped hurting.
"What's the matter, Webb? Something happen with your little girlfriend,"
I ask and he lowers his hand and glares at me so intensely that I damn
near drop my cigar out of my fingers. That would be quite a waste.
"I'll tell you what happened. I spent the day looking for Miss L'Ecaudey
and she keeps escaping me. Everything McBride turns up on her turns out
to be a bust. I'm tired of this case and I'm starting to care less and
less who might or might not know any of our national secrets," Webb says,
sounding more pissed than I've heard him in a long time.
"Webb, you need to relax. Pull up a lounge chair. Get a drink. I haven't
seen you enjoy yourself for even a minute since we've been here. Have you
enjoyed yourself for even a minute?" I ask, wondering what the story is
behind the haphazard job of buttoning his shirt.
"That's none of your damn business, Rabb. Besides, one of us has to
do some work around here. I'm sure you and Colonel MacKenzie did nothing,"
he says, tapping his foot. The cheap sole of his flip flop makes a squeaking
noise against the wet pool deck and it's almost as annoying as he is.
"Colonel MacKenzie and I . . . did something. Just not the same thing
you were doing, I'm sure," I say, really not up to explaining my afternoon
with Mac to Webb right at the moment. "Webb, what's the problem? You look
like someone just punched you in the gut."
He pulls a patio chair up closer to the edge of the pool and sits down
with an exhausted sigh. Maybe I should have helped him out this afternoon
instead of spending it with Mac. Right. An afternoon with a topless Marine
Colonel or an afternoon with a Company man wearing coconuts and flip flops.
Hard choice there.
"We need to go back to Pensacola. I can't work on this limited information.
You're going to have to reason with Admiral . . . Page and get him to give
us more to go on," Webb says, his frustration evident in his voice. Maybe
things didn't go so well with his friend? He'll never tell.
"I have to reason with him? Why me? Why don't you go up there and I'll
continue looking here. You're far better at negotiating than I am," I say,
clamping my teeth down on my cigar again.
"You are a lawyer, Rabb. What in the hell do you mean I'm better at
negotiating? Isn't that your job? That's the crappiest excuse I've ever
heard," Webb says with an over exaggerated 'humpf' at the end.
I must admit that it's a crappy excuse. But I don't really feel like
running back to Pensacola NAS and acknowledging defeat. Even though I know
we can't do anymore here, I'd like to at least stay as long as Mac will
be here and she's not leaving for another two days. I certainly can't tell
Webb that for an excuse. I'll just have to go along with him.
"Then we'll fly out tomorrow. I'm sure I can get us on a hop out of
the base and we'll be there before noon," I say, relaxing again. There's
a couple of topless young ladies chattering over in the shallow end of
the water and Webb just noticed them.
"Rabb, don't tell me . . ." he says shaking his head. He diverts his
eyes immediately and glares at me.
"Yes, Webb. You need to be more careful when you select resorts to stay
at, though I must admit I didn't mind it being clothing optional too much
today," I say, enjoying the view. They smile at me, I smile at them and
then they turn coyly in the other direction. Damn.
"You didn't . . ." Webb starts to say, the tension rising in his voice.
"Please tell me you kept your clothes on?"
"Me? Yes. Yeah, I kept my clothes on . . . for the most part," I say,
thinking back to my afternoon at the beach. Our excursion out into the
ocean. The feel of Mac against my body. I'm not going to tell him about
it, of course. Not unless he tells me about his day with the blonde. I
put my hands back behind my head and just stare up at the night sky dotted
with a thousand stars.
I hear Webb groan again and I look up to see what caught his attention
this time. It's two men walking hand in hand toward the pier. I forgot
to tell him about that part of the resort. Not only is it clothing optional,
it's also an alternative adult resort.
"How am I ever going to expense this place off onto the Company? We're
sharing a room. Oh, hell," Webb says, rubbing his temples as hard as he
can. If I thought his head was going to explode before, now I'm sure of
it.
"The 'Company' must know you better than that, Webb. I don't think you
have anything to worry about," and he glares at me. "Do you? Or rather,
do I?"
"Go to hell," he says, gritting his teeth.
I just laugh. I like to see how far I can push him. I think I've got
him close to the edge now.
"What is that music, Rabb? I've heard it everywhere we've gone today.
Is it a law that they play that damn song at least once an hour in this
state?" Webb asks as the music of Jimmy Buffett flows from inside the resort's
lounge.
"Webb, you just don't know how to live," I say and he stands up and
takes on quite a defensive posture.
"I do to. You just . . . I'm not going to argue about this. I'm going
to bed. Goodnight, Rabb," he says as he flip flops off toward our room.
I just take another sip of my drink and stare up again at the cloudless
night sky.
*************
NAS Pensacola
Damn, it's hot.
I'm still sweating from the being crammed next to Rabb in the hop all
morning. Yeah, he got us on a flight all right. One that was packed full
of young, female recruits. Of course, one of them *had* to ask about the
gold wings. He then launched into his sob story about crashing his Tomcat
on a storm-tossed carrier, getting diagnosed with night blindness and becoming
a JAG lawyer. And naturally, my standard 'I work for the State Department'
paled by comparison. After the whole fiasco with Andie last night, I'm
keeping my mouth shut about being a spy. Andie. Andie Page. Dammit. I rub
my temples and try to just forget about her.
"Still got that headache?" Rabb asks, nudging me. We are sitting outside
the Admiral's office while his Petty Officer tries to track him down. I
left several messages for him this morning, but he hasn't returned any
of them. It is Sunday, after all. Nice to know someone is having a good
time this weekend. I certainly haven't.
"Yes," I mutter, scooting my chair farther away from him. I hate coming
back empty handed, but at this point we need to cut our losses. And speaking
of losses, it reminds me of something Rabb said last night and I groan.
"My expense report."
"Oh, thanks for reminding me," Rabb says, digging into his back pocket
and pulling out his wallet. I glare at him from behind throbbing eyes as
he removes a small slip of paper and hands it to me. "One more receipt
for you."
"What the hell is this for?" I say, squinting at it suspiciously. My
mouth falls open at the dollar amount. "What did you buy for $97.56 at
the...Wet 'n' Wild?"
Shit. Do I even want to know?
"Mac's bikini," Rabb replies calmly. I clench my teeth. He shrugs innocently.
"What?"
"You spent $97.56 on a bikini?" I scoff angrily. He can't buy me decent
shoes, yet he buys Mac a $97.56 bikini. And I didn't even get to see her
in it. Dammit. That is *not* fair.
"Oh, and it was worth every penny, Webb," Rabb continues, letting his
eyes flutter close like he's visualizing her in it. His fingers come up
and make little gestures like he's outlining something curvy. "It was green
and iridescent. All shiny and..." Rabb stops and opens one eye to look
at me. He smiles. ". . . sparkly."
I'm not even going to justify that with an answer.
"Just tell me she kept it on long enough to get $97.56 dollars worth
of wear out of it," I mutter, reaching inside my breast pocket and pulling
out my wallet to add it to the other receipts. He just keeps smiling and
I shake my head.
"That bikini is government property," I remind him, resting my elbows
on my knees. "Maybe I can arrange to see it privately."
"I doubt it," Rabb replies smugly, settling back in his chair. His long
legs extend out as he slouches back somewhat and gets comfortable. "But
maybe you can buy your little girlfriend one just like it."
I stiffen at the mention of Andie and stand up quickly, wanting him
off that subject immediately. I walk over to Petty Officer Ramirez and
put my hands on my hips. He looks up at me and cups his hand over the receiver,
where he is has been on hold for the last ten minutes.
"Any luck?" I demand. I look at my watch. On top of everything else,
I'm missing my Sunday riding date with Mother. She will not be pleased.
"No, Sir," he replies apologetically. "I'll keep trying."
I give him a cold stare and turn back to Rabb. He's got his eyes closed.
Whatever he and Mac did yesterday must have really worn him out. Either
that, or he's hung over from the tropical drinks I caught him ordering
at the pool. I pace back and forth and stare at the Admiral's nameplate
and more specifically, his last name. Page. Of all the women in Florida,
I would have to get picked up by his daughter.
"Stop pacing, Webb," Rabb says, without opening his eyes. "If I didn't
know better, I'd say you are pretty nervous about something."
"I'm not nervous about anything," I assure him, secretly hoping the
missing Admiral has nothing to do with me. What if Andie told him? I tap
my foot impatiently. Rabb stares at it and I stop. "Where do you think
he could be?"
"I don't know." Rabb shrugs again. "Relax, Webb. He'll turn up."
"First Miss L'Ecaudey and now Admiral . . . Page," I say, clenching
my teeth together. "Everyone just seems to vanish in the heat around here,
don't they?"
"What are you really pissed off about, Webb?" he asks, sitting back
up and staring at me.
"What I'm pissed off about is wasting the last six days of my life running
from one end of this state to the other with absolutely nothing to show
for it except a pair of flip flops and a headache," I say and Rabb starts
to snicker underneath his breath.
"What the hell are you laughing at?"
"Nothing," he says, but he's still laughing. I'm glad someone finds
this mess amusing because I certainly do not. After everything that's happened,
he's still not taking any of this seriously.
"I don't like failure, Rabb," I begin, drumming my hands on my hips.
I have to focus on my job because it's all that's keeping me going at this
point. I let myself get distracted last night and the less I think about
it, the better. "This isn't going to look good at Langley."
"And this is going to look good at JAG?" he says, giving me the once
over. "I'm the one who works with Chegwidden, not you."
*CHIRP*
"Maybe this is the Admiral." I hold my hand up to silence him while
I pull out my cell phone. "Webb."
"It's McBride," comes his voice on the other end. "Are you back in Pensacola?"
"Yes, we are," I say, as Rabb cocks his head and mouths 'who is it?'
"McBride," I tell him, cupping my hand over the mouthpiece. Rabb rolls
his eyes and goes back to slouching. I'm surprised he isn't smoking another
Cuban. "What is it?"
"I've got something for you," he says and I sigh inwardly. What is he
going to tell me now? Amber has been spotted at Disney World? I'm sure
Rabb would find a way to make me walk around in mouse ears if he could
and knowing my luck, I'll probably get hit on by Snow White *and* the Seven
Dwarfs. Or Cinderella would give me a lap dance.
"Go ahead," I mutter, pressing my fingertips to the bridge of my nose.
I wonder if I can sue Rabb and get workman's comp for my headache.
"I found her houseboat. It's docked at the Mooring Marina, right here
in Pensacola Beach. And here's the deal. It just came in last night. Which
means either it was stolen..."
"Or Amber herself sailed it in," I say, perking up somewhat. I look
over at Rabb hopefully and he pricks up his ears at the mention of Amber's
name. "How far is that from here?"
"Not too far," McBride answers. I hear him shuffling papers about. "I'll
fax you the information right now."
I clap the phone shut and stand up. I head behind Ramirez's desk and
wait at the fax machine.
"What was that about Amber L'Ecaudey?" Rabb asks, getting up and following
me.
"McBride thinks he's found her houseboat," I explain, just as the fax
machine chirps and rings.
"Just like he found it in Key West," Rabb says, all skeptical. He makes
a face and folds his arms. "C'mon, Webb. He's just screwing around with
you again."
"And the Admiral is screwing around with us," I say, throwing a disparaging
glance at Ramirez. I wonder if the Admiral told him not to tell us where
he is. I refuse to believe he wouldn't know where the Admiral was at any
given moment. "He hasn't been very cooperative with us from the start.
Did you know he still keeps a boat in Key West?"
Rabb raises an eyebrow and looks annoyed. "And you're just now sharing
that bit of information with me?"
"Well, maybe if you had spend a little less time frolicking in the pool
and a little more time working, I might have said something," I say, snatching
the paper off the fax machine before he can.
"You weren't working *all* day, Webb," he says, trying to look over
my shoulder at the paper. He leans in closer and whispers in my ear. "Your
coconut shirt was buttoned up wrong when you came back last night."
Shit. Was my shirt buttoned up wrong last night? I left Andie in such
a hurry, it could have been. Figures he'd notice.
"Look, are you coming with me to the Marina or not?" I snap, moving
away from him. This is our last chance to recoup this mission and I'm going.
He can stay here if he wants to. He can even buy Ramirez a $97.56 bikini.
"I don't know, Webb," he teases, his eyes wandering down the front of
my vest. "You promise to keep your shirt on?"
I snort and push past him. "Only if you do."
**********************
Doesn't he ever quit pacing?
I think the motion of the boat is making Webb nervous. Then again, maybe
it's just his excitement that we have finally found the elusive L'Ecaudey
houseboat and he's not as big of a failure as he previously thought he
was.
I'm sure it's the motion, though.
It's softly rocking against its moorings, sending out small waves in
all directions. They lap against the dock with a gentle 'splish' and the
boat occasionally sways far enough over to creak up against the pilings.
Besides that and the occasional scream of a gull, the marina is quiet.
Too quiet.
"This isn't good," Webb mutters, still rubbing at his temples. He's
probably going to have to spend a few weeks in the Hamptons to make up
for all the pain he's endured since we began this mission. "You go knock."
A feminine sounding high pitched squeal comes floating out of the portholes
and it sounds like someone is murdering her, but I doubt it. Not until
Webb gets his hands on her.
"Glendon, God . . . I missed you . . . I'm so sorry . . ." flows out
of the boat next and I watch Webb's fists clench into tight balls. I just
lean against the dock railing and cross my arms in front of me. I know
I shouldn't, but I really can't help smiling. I'm not smiling at our situation
. . . no, I'm smiling at the look on Webb's face.
"You should know I would never let them hurt you, baby," the Admiral
says softly and that proclamation is followed by a lot of giggling.
"All right. I've had enough. I'll knock," Webb says and he boards the
boat swiftly like a man accustomed to hanging out at the yacht club. I
bet he was on the crew team back in his Harvard days, too. The constant
rocking motion stops as soon as his fist meets the door.
"Who's there?" the voice that must belong to Amber asks and I can hear
the distinct sounds of two people trying to cover up what they did. I know
that sound well. Webb looks back at me over his shoulder and motions for
me to join him on the deck.
"My name is Commander Harmon Rabb. Could you please come to the door?"
I ask, hearing some more hushed whispers.
"What's this about?" she asks. As if she doesn't already know.
"This is about finding you, Ms. L'Ecaudey. Open up the door, please,"
Webb shouts. He mops his brow with a handkerchief and squints his eyes
against the late afternoon sun. He's beyond pissed and maybe this will
mean we'll never have to work together again. I'm sure I'm just getting
my hopes up with thoughts like that.
The door opens and for the first time ever, we are face to face with
the woman whose picture we've carried around for a week. Her black hair
is a tangled mess and she has on a skimpy pink satin robe that barely covers
anything. Webb glances at her body quickly before focusing only on her
eyes.
"Ms. L'Ecaudey?" he asks.
"That's me," she says, smiling brightly at him. Her candy apple red
lipstick is smeared all over and she wipes at it with the edge of her thumb.
She leans forward and whispers softly to us. "If you two have an appointment,
you're going to have to wait a few minutes. I'm still a little busy with
my, um . . . last appointment."
After his jaw hits his chest, Webb and I fall completely still and silent.
It takes us a few seconds to get our thoughts together enough for at least
one of us to speak.
"You're a hooker?" he asks, his lispy voice rising as high as it did
the last time he asked someone that question. The look of shock on his
face would be priceless if it didn't mirror the look on mine so closely.
"You. Are. A. Hooker. A hooker?"
"I prefer call girl or professional, but whatever turns you on," she
says, still fidgeting with her lipstick. "But you're going to have to .
. ."
"Admiral . . . P-Page? Could you get out here? Now!" Webb shouts over
Amber's shoulder. It takes a while, but Admiral Glendon W. Page finally
does appear. He's wearing a robe similar to Amber's, only his is blue.
But it covers just as little.
"Would you care to explain what's going on here? Why Commander Rabb
and I weren't sent on this wild goose chase all week looking for a woman
who turns out to be a hooker . . ."
"Call girl," Amber corrects.
"Hooker," Webb says back to her and the Admiral steps between the two
of them.
"Could we take this inside before the whole neighborhood knows my business,"
the Admiral says with a blush rising up to his cheeks. He takes a step
back, pushing Amber to the side gently so we can pass. Before we can move
through the door, we hear the unmistakable sound of feet moving down the
pier and stopping right behind us. Webb and I turn around to find that
girl he met in the Keys standing there with a curious expression on her
face. It isn't nearly as good as the expression on Webb's face.
"Hey, Dad. Hey, Amber," she says, offering a little wave. I turn to
watch the Admiral tighten his robe a little more. Dad? Did she just say
'Dad?' Damn, this is getting good now.
"What are you doing here, Andrea?" Admiral Page asks, his voice a mixture
of embarrassment and anger.
"I came to tell Amber that someone was looking for her in the Keys,
but I see you already know that. Hey, Clay! I mean Clayton. What's up?"
the young woman I saw Webb disappear with says in a chirpy voice. Clay?
Did she just say 'Clay?' This is getting even better.
"Hello, Andie," Webb says between clenched teeth. He spins around and
faces Admiral Page and Amber. "Could someone please tell me what's going
on here and I mean tell me now."
"You sent people out to look for me? Oh, Glendon!" Amber exclaims, wrapping
her arms around the Admiral's neck. "I'm so sorry for what I did. I just.
. . oh, Glen. I just had to get away and it was the only way I could think
to do it without Jesse following me."
"Jesse?" Webb and I ask at the same time.
"Yeah, Jesse is my, um, business manager. He was riding my ass about
getting too friendly with Glen, so I thought I'd disappear for a few days.
Get out of the heat," Amber says, sounding as innocent as can be.
"What does any of this have to do with you, Andie?" Admiral Page asks
and Webb's face clenches up tighter than an oyster hiding a ten pound pearl.
"Oh, I met Clayton in Key West. I tried to help him find Amber's houseboat,
but obviously it was gone. I just thought I'd come up here and visit you,
Daddy, and see if Amber might have come home," Andie says, scuffing her
Ked-clad foot across the boards on the dock.
"So, what you're saying is you have been seeing a hooker. . ."
"Call girl," Amber, the Admiral and I correct Webb the same time.
" . . . a hooker for years, your daughter knows about it and you sent
us on a search for her when she tried to escape the clutches of her pimp?
Jesus, no wonder everybody kept asking us if we were vice cops," Webb finishes,
putting his hands on his hips and looking like a pompous ass who just figured
out Colonel Mustard bedded Miss Scarlet in the Conservatory with a lead
pipe.
"That seems to be the case. But I have to explain that Amber isn't my
call girl. She hasn't charged me in, well, in a long time," the Admiral
says, rather sheepishly. The boat dips down as Andie steps on board and
takes her place right next to Webb. Very, very close to Webb, as a matter
of fact. She touches him briefly but he pulls away. "I will express my
apologies to Admiral Chegwidden in the morning and fully explain what happened."
"You realize that I'm going to have to make a full report about this
incident?" Webb asks, looking like a big bad vice cop now.
"Oh, Clayton, couldn't you just let it slide this time. Please?" Andie
says to him and his face flushes as much as Admiral Page's did a while
ago.
"No, Andie. This is my job and . . . a-and it's m-my . . ."
She begins to pout. He begins to stutter. I begin to smile.
"Please, Clay-ton. I might be up in DC later this summer and I'll make
it up to you. I promise . . ." she says. No, she purrs. That was purring.
Clay . . . I mean Webb starts to shuffle from foot to foot. He's thinking
about it. She must be good.
"I'll leave my account of the situation in Commander Rabb's hands. Whatever
he wants to report to Chegwidden is fine with me," Webb says, cracking
under the pressure of feminine wiles. He looks in my direction and his
eyes are pleading with me to leave certain aspects of our investigation
the hell out of whatever I submit. Maybe I will. Maybe I won't.
"Commander? Is that acceptable?" Admiral Page asks me and I nod. "Okay,
it's settled then. I'd like to thank you two for all the trouble you went
through. I appreciate it a lot."
He puts his arm around Amber and pulls her close to him. I have no idea
how this relationship works or how I'm going to put that part in a report.
I just stand there smiling about the whole affair.
"Now, if you'll excuse me," the Admiral starts to say, pulling on the
tie of his robe again, "I must get dressed and return to work. There's
a lot to do before you resign your commission. I'll see you later, Andie.
Thanks again."
"Aye aye, sir," I say, stepping back as he shuts the door, disappearing
back into his little house boat of love. I face Andie and Webb and she's
digging through her little green bag for something.
"You look like you're starting to burn, Clay," she says, pulling out
something that looks like zinc. He's going to let her smear that on his
nose? Wow. He must like her. She opens the container and dabs some up with
her index finger. No one smeared sunscreen on me yesterday. I put it on
Mac but she never did me in return. Well, she didn't do me in that way.
"I'm fine, Andie," Webb says, grabbing her hand before she can get the
white stuff across his nose.
"Oh. Okay. Hey, Clayton?" she asks, as she begins to dig around her
bag again. "You wouldn't happen to have my Banana Boat Aloe Gel on you,
would you? I don't have anything else in here like it . . . and I know
how good you thought it felt last night."
Webb just squares off his jaw as he avoids my gaze. His mouth opens
and closes as he tries to think of something to say to her. Instead, I'm
the one who finally says something. It takes a while to hide my desire
to laugh, but I manage.
"Why don't we all just get out of the heat? Anybody want a Rum Runner?"
*****************
The End
NAS Pensacola
July 17, 2000
0200 ZULU
July 18, 2000
1200 ZULU
July 21, 2000
2040 ZULU
July 21, 2000
0330 ZULU
Miami July 21, 2000
0530 ZULU
July 21, 2000
0630 ZULU
July 21, 2000
0710 ZULU
July 22, 2000
1725 ZULU
July 22, 2000
1745 ZULU
July 22, 2000
1800 ZULU
July 22, 2000
1800 ZULU
July 22, 2000
1930 ZULU
July 22, 2000
2410 ZULU
July 22, 2000
0200 ZULU
July 23, 2000
1805 ZULU