“See? I bet he eats sushi,” Ceci teased.

“Yeap. And it made his parts fall off, so’s he kin ride that thing like that,” the ex-SEAL stated. “Whoa. Hold on a minute.” He steered Cecilia up a short flight of stairs into a nondescript building. “Lemme get one little thing here out the way.”

“Sure.” Ceci looked around at the plain walls. “What is it?”

“Gotta sign my divorce papers from Uncle Sam.” Andy glanced at her. “Make me a private citizen fer the first time since I was sixteen years old.” His eyes dropped for a moment. “Thought maybe you’d want to be there fer that.”

That plain, drab office with faded bulletins on the walls, and cracked folding chairs around the edges suddenly took on a patina of wonder for her. “You thought right.” She took a breath as the uniformed attendant behind a small, scarred wooden desk looked up and smiled, evidently recognizing Andy.

“Evening, sir. I’ve got some mail for you.”

Andy walked over, pulling Ceci with him, and took the rubber band wrapped package. “Thanks.” He glanced at a small door behind her. “He in?”

She nodded. “We’ve got the papers all ready. I think you just have to sign them.” Her eyes moved to Ceci curiously. “Ma’am.”


264 Melissa Good

“C’mon.” Andrew led the way to the door and knocked on it, then pushed it open at a grunt from inside.

The office turned out to be an oddly adapted space, evidently converted from its original use as part of an old hotel kitchen. There was a screened back door and a high ceiling and shuttered windows all painted in a dull blue. A desk was squarely near the rear of the room and seated behind it was a huge man with a bull neck and a sparse crew cut. He looked up from under lowered, pale eyebrows as they entered.

“’Lo, Andy.”

“Keith.”

“Who’s your pretty lady friend?” The low voice was almost a growl.

Half a grin flickered on and off Andy’s face. “You never did meet mah wife, Cecilia, did you?” He glanced to one side. “Ceci, this is Keith Hawkins, he sorta took care of things here for me.”

The man behind the desk stood, towering over even Andy’s tall height, and stuck a hand the size of a loaf of bread out at her. “No, ma’am, I never did have the pleasure. But I’m damn sure glad I have had it now.” A grin shaped his craggy face. “This damn barnacle didn’t mention he’d met back up with you. Just sent me a note asking for mustering out rags.”

Ceci took his hand gingerly and pressed it, since shaking something that big didn’t seem to be a good idea. “Nice to meet you…and thanks, for helping Andy out.”

The giant took a folder from a tray on his desk and opened it, then reversed its direction and pushed it across the desk surface. “Sign.”

Andy pulled a pen out of his back pocket and sat down on the corner of the desk, blue eyes flicking over the document quickly. Then he looked up at Hawkins in surprise. “Ah didn’t ask fer this.”

The bigger man chuckled softly. “Andy, shut the fuck up and sign it, willya?” Andy gave him a look. “Sorry for the language, ma’am.”

“I’ve been married to a sailor for over thirty years,” Ceci replied dryly. “I’ve heard the term before.”

“I never talked like that in front of you,” Andy protested indignantly.

“No, honey, but all your friends did.” His wife patted him on the knee. “It’s okay.” She leaned over and studied the papers. “What is it?”

“You make it long enough to get retirement benefits, you need to take ’em,” Hawkins replied quietly. “’Specially if you done it the way Andy did. Not spent the time behind some damn desk.” Andrew carefully signed his name to the bottom. “And while you’re at it, gimme a goddamned address for you so I can have the Department of the Navy, which is crawling up my butt, send you all those frigging decorations you refused to go pick up.”

“Ah don’t want them,” Andy said fiercely.

“Too damn bad,” Keith shot back. “Give ’em to your kid, if you don’t like the colors.”

Andrew scowled. “What in the hell would she do with the damn Eye of the Storm 265

things?”

Ceci put a hand on his arm. “Treasure them.” Their eyes locked.

“This is the child who bought and made a scale model of every ship you sailed on, Andy.”

“Aww.” Keith grinned. “He never told me that. Ain’t that cute?”

“Son of a biscuit.” Andy sighed in exaggeration. “Fine, fine. Here.”

He scribbled down Dar’s address on the paper. “Send the damn things there if you have to.” Long, scarred fingers pushed the papers back across the desk. “Lemme go get my kit.” He got up and ambled out the back door, leaving them in silence.

Keith sat back down and regarded her. “So. You’re the missus, huh?”

“Yes.” Cecilia looked around, then glanced back at him. “Bet you didn’t know he had one.”

“Bet you’re wrong.” The man snorted. “Bet I know more about you and that damn kid of his than I do my own mother.” He gave a crooked smile. “Andy’s private’r then hell about himself, but damn, did he mouth off about the two of you.”

Ceci smiled and nodded, and they regarded each other in silence for a bit.

“He’s been through Hell,” Keith finally said quietly. “He lived through something woulda killed just about anybody else I ever knew.”

“I know.”

“Take care of him, ma’am. He’s a special guy.”

“I will,” Cecilia answered softly.

They turned as Andy came back in, with a simple, dark blue duffel bag. “That’s ’bout it,” he stated, holding a hand out to Keith. “Ain’t going far. Be seeing you guys ’round the docks.”

Keith took his hand and shook it with a quiet respect. “Keep in touch, Andy. You know where to find us.”

“Yeap.” With a brisk nod Andrew turned and captured Ceci’s hand, then headed for the door, walking calmly out of a chapter of his life and closing it firmly behind him. They emerged onto the sidewalk, into a wash of colorful sunlight and a blast of salsa music and started off down the street.

Ceci allowed the silence to go on for a while, as they passed trendy hotels and those in the process of becoming trendy. “How does it feel?”

she finally asked, as the marina came into view. “I know they were like a family to you.”

Andy walked along a few paces, visibly thinking. “Yeap,” he mused, as they mounted the steps. “They were that. But I’ll tell you, Cec. Having to choose all the time ’tween going and staying, that about killed me.” He paused, giving her an honest look. “I know you didn’t think so sometimes but climbing that gangplank again was so hard.”

Ceci studied him. “Watching you walk up it just as hard for me.” She held a hand out. “C’mon. Let’s go buy our own this time. We can run up and down it all day long together.”

A slow smile touched his face. “All right.” He took her hand. “But, 266 Melissa Good Cec?”

“Hmm?”

“No pink.”

She pointed a finger at him, and shook it. “Just for that, pink curtains.”

“C’mon now.” He pulled the door open.

“Pink seats on the head.”

“Cecilia Roberts.”

“A pink pennant on the masthead.”

“Oh mah god.”

Ceci chuckled. “So, what are we going to name it?”

“Pepto Bismol, at this rate.”


Chapter

Twenty-nine

“DAMN IT.” DAR thumped the side of the monitor in annoyance for about the twentieth time. “C’mon, you piece of…”

“Hey, Boss. Talking nice gets you more than beating up the stuff,”

Mark commented, from his safe spot across the floor. They were in the operations center, surrounded by mildly humming equipment and the hiss of high-powered air conditioning units. “Honey, vinegar, you know the story.”

“What?” Dar grumbled, as she initiated a command again. “What story?”

“That you can get more bees with honey than vinegar?”

“Why the hell would I want bees?” his boss muttered, engrossed in a startup script. “Ah, there you are, you bastard.” She typed in a set of commands, reviewed the results, and then restarted the unit. “Boot or die.”

Mark worked at his own project, keeping an eye on the tall figure hunched over the console. His mind drifted back a few years, remembering long hours spent in this very room in the company of a younger, much less polished Dar Roberts. A task made easier by the fact that the tall executive had changed into a pair of jeans and an untucked polo before she attacked the stubborn startup issues.

The pose was the same, too. Feet locked around the chair legs, one elbow propped on the desk with her head resting on it, the other hand skimming the mouse over the desktop with quick, precise motions. He could see Dar’s sharp profile, too, very still except for the eyes racing over the screen, small muscles alongside them twitching in response.

A twinge of nostalgia nudged him sharply. “Y’know, Dar. I kinda miss having you in the trenches here with us.” Mark had been a novice system administrator when they’d worked together, when Dar had just been made a local operations manager and took control of the data center.

It had been a shock, to say the least, but since he’d been new, he’d adapted to her style faster than the rest of the staff. “I really do.”

Pale blue irises dilated almost to black turned his way as Dar cocked her head to one side. “Why?” she asked curiously. “I was no picnic to work for.”


268 Melissa Good No, that was true. But one thing about working for Dar—you always knew where you stood. If you did something right, you heard about it. If you screwed up and she was pissed off, you sure as hell knew about it.