Melissa Good - Tropical Storm

I know we’re just one small piece of a cog in your giant machine, and that you really don’t care one way or the other about any of us—and I understand that I’m one more in a series of problems you have to deal with. I guess it must get monotonous for you after a while, but for me, this is a situation I never wanted or dreamed I’d be in. I don’t like having my world, and that of everyone around me, torn apart. But I guess you’re used to that.

I know you’re just doing your job, and I’m glad it’s yours and not mine. We did get started off pretty badly, and I think that’s partly my fault too, because I took my frustration at what was happening out on you, and maybe I shouldn’t have been so quick to do that. I realized afterward you could have just fired me right there, so it probably wasn’t the smartest thing I ever did.

She stared at the screen for a long moment before she continued, debating with herself. Finally she completed the message, then hit Send. “So much for that.” She nodded briskly, then dusted her hands off and went to the closet, Tropical Storm 41

retrieving her dark purple mountain bike and checking the tires. She glanced at her helmet, on the high shelf above, and decided the short ride down Kendall Drive didn’t need it.

DAR STOOD QUIETLY, her hands behind her back, gazing out the window. She was doing her best to ignore the frustrated ranting and raving of the man behind her, who was pacing up and down and throwing his hands around.

“Look, Peter, just shut up,” the tall woman finally said, turning around.

“Let me go in there and do my job. We’ll argue about it afterward, okay?” She gave the man a look. “I didn’t ask to get sent here, I didn’t ask to have to break up your little party, and I certainly didn’t ask to have you blowing hot air at me for forty-five minutes.”

“Everything is under control,” the man stated, through clenched teeth.

“I’ll be damned if you’re going to walk in there and take the credit for something I’ve broken my ass for.”

Dar walked over and looked him right in the eye. “You don’t have a choice.”

“Like hell I don’t!” Peter shouted. “I’ll call Alastair!”

A brilliant smile slapped him in the face. “Who do you think sent me?”

His breathing was suddenly loud in the silence. “You’re lying, you frozen ass bitch.”

Ignoring the insult, Dar picked up the nearest phone receiver and held it out to him, her eyebrows raised and a mocking smile on her face. “Come on, call him.”

The tall man’s nostrils flared, and his lips writhed into a snarl, but he made no move to take the phone.

The receiver dropped back into the cradle with a click. “Now get out of my way and just keep your mouth shut.” Dar brushed by him as the door opened; two tall military men stepped into the room. “Hello, General.” Her voice dropped a pitch and took on a seductive tone as she stepped up next to the older of the two.

The man’s eyes focused on her, and his eyes lit up. “Ms. Roberts. It’s always, always a pleasure.” He took her hand and kissed the back of it with a courtly bow, then spread his arm towards the door. “Come on in, let’s talk.”

His eyes drifted to Weyhousen. “Thanks. We’ll see you later.”

Dar, her face hidden by her position, bit her lip to keep a laugh in, then cleared her throat as the door shut behind them. “That wasn’t nice, Gerald.”

The elderly general chuckled. “He’s an ass, Dar.”

She shrugged a little, then took the proffered seat in front of his desk and leaned back, as the military man settled in his thickly stuffed chair. “He’s not Tropical Storm 43

that bad. He just hasn’t been around the big stuff like I have,” she explained wryly. “You soldier boys freak him out.”

Gerald Easton smiled at her. “Dar, you look good,” he mused, studying the tall woman across from him.

She inclined her head. “So do you. How’s the Pentagon treating you?”

“Eh.” He made a hand gesture. “Biggest pile of horse droppings east of the Potomac. And now they want us to repaint everything. Did you hear that?

Some idiot kid came in and did a study, told some damn politician that the camouflage we’ve been using since nineteen aught eight doesn’t work. We gotta paint everything shades of pink and beige.”

Dar made a face. “Ugh.”

“Yeah, ugh is right.” The general turned to his aide, who had been standing quietly watching them. “Eileen, can you get Ms. Roberts and me a pitcher of something cold, please?” The aide nodded briskly and disappeared.

They looked at each other in comfortable silence for a moment. “Dar, you look more and more like your daddy every time I see you.” The older man sighed, a gentler expression in his eyes. “Same nose, same chin… Damn, girl.”

He paused. “I miss him.”

Dar’s eyes dropped to his desk, and she exhaled softly. “So do I.”

“He’d be proud of you, that’s for sure.” A gentle twinkle entered the general’s eyes. “Imagine him seeing you practically running that joint. I can just imagine his face.”

Blue eyes drifted. “I don’t know about that, Gerry.” Dar shook her head.

“I don’t think he’d see it as very honorable. You know what we are.” She paused. “He was always looking out for the little guy. We make a corporate policy of eating them alive.” She gave him a wry look. “But here I am…so what’s the score?”

Old eyes studied her for a long moment, then the general pulled a file folder out from his desk drawer and tossed it over to her. “All yours, rugrat.”

He chuckled fondly at the look on her face. “Naw, it’s not charity. You were pretty close in the bidding, and…let’s just say I just felt more comfortable awarding a defense contract this large to someone I trust.”

Dar drew the folder over and looked through the contents. Her brows rose.

“Yeah, I threw in a couple others, and that damn IRS website support contract. Please, Dar, get them off my back, will ya? They can’t keep that thing running to save their lives.”

“I’ll do my best,” Dar replied, with a shake of her head. Peter was going to go completely insane when he saw this. She hid a smirk. Arrogant ass. “I’ll make sure you get taken care of.”

“I know it,” the general said, then hesitated. “Hear from your mother?”

A faint flinch tugged at Dar’s face. “No,” she replied quietly, with a faint shrug. “Not since the funeral. I don’t think I ever will.”

“Bitch,” Gerry muttered under his breath. “Like it was your fault he decided to put his hand in the field one last time.”

Dar stared at the carpet, a sturdy maroon tweed. “They were inseparable, Gerry. I remind her of him too much, I guess.” Her voice was quiet and even.

“He was her whole world.” And all Dar had left, really, was pictures—eight or 44 Melissa Good ten treasured photos of her tall, dark-haired father, mostly in fatigues, one with his arm wrapped around her shoulders, the two of them looking more like brother and sister than father and daughter.

She remembered the solidness of him, the sturdy, powerful body whose shoulder she’d dampened with tears on more than one occasion. She tried not to remember that last goodbye, not often. Not unless she was alone with the stars, or the endless stretch of the water.

The general exhaled, then he got up and moved around the desk, holding his hand out to her. “Come here, rugrat.” He tugged on the hand she extended to him and pulled her up into a hug. “Your daddy was one of my best friends.

You know that, right?”

Dar allowed herself the luxury of accepting the embrace, feeling the scratchy wool of his uniform against her cheek. The smell, a mixture of dry cleaning and leather, brass and starch, was very familiar. “I know that.” She gave him a pat on the back as he released her. “He was a good man.”

The general leaned back against the desk, studying her. “He was a very good soldier,” he acknowledged. “I always half expected you to follow in his footsteps.” His hand patted her arm. “You’ve got his strength, you know.”

Dar let a tiny smile shape her lips. “I save my battles for the boardroom, Gerry.” She held up the folder. “It can be just as dangerous, but lacks the bullets.”

The aide returned, and handed them each a glass of frosty ice tea, already sweetened. Then at a hand signal from the general, she discreetly left. They silently toasted each other, and Dar felt herself relaxing a little as the cold beverage slid down her throat. It was always hard, seeing Gerald Easton, but it was getting easier with time, and she knew one day she’d see the old general and not think of her father first. “Well, I’d better get going. I need to be on the noon flight back into Miami.”

Easton set his glass down and folded his arms across his chest. “Why not spend the night over, Dar? Mary would love to see you, and Jack’s in town.”

His eyes twinkled again. “You know he’s madly in love with you.”

Dar gave him a rueful grin. Gerald’s husky, blond son certainly did flatter her with gentle, almost hesitant attentions when they were together, and she really didn’t mind doing things with him. They’d spent a great time last year touring the Civil War battlefields in the area, and the thought of just relaxing in Jack’s peaceful presence was tempting. “Gerry, I have to admit to you, if I was going to marry anyone, it’d be Jack. He’s the sweetest guy I know.”

Easton beamed. “Welcoming you into my family would be one of the bright points in my life, Dar. You know that.” He shook a finger at her. “Don’t be so fast to wave off marriage. I know you’re tied up with your career, but you should give it a chance sometime.” He put a hand on her arm. “Give yourself a chance. C’mon, stay over.”