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* * *
“I swear, she’s getting on that plane if I have to carry her there myself,” Max groused to Crusty while pacing a bare spot in the industrial carpet of the base security police office.
He’d spent the past two hours watching Darcy scan images on the security police computer screens in hopes of identifying their attackers while DeMassi, Lowry and Perry compiled intel in the next room. He’d looked at the same pictures without any luck, and Vinnie still wasn’t changing his story.
Crusty tipped back in the office chair, digging through a bag of mooched sunflower seeds. “Pitch her on the plane? That I’ve gotta see. The whole John Wayne woman-over-the-shoulder routine will definitely go over big with Wren.”
“I don’t care, as long as she’s off the island.” He watched her frown as she studied another photo. Only thirty-six hours after their ordeal and already Darcy’s flight-suit-clad body hummed with restless energy. Vitality. No lingering effects slowed this woman.
Her finger crooked in her dog tag chain, sawing back and forth. What he wouldn’t give to hook his finger in that chain and draw her closer.
Maybe they should talk afterward, when she was safe at home in Charleston and he’d put the whole investigation to rest. If only that nagging voice in his head didn’t keep insisting he was messing up by not settling things between them now.
Friend.
He rued the day he’d used that word with her. She was killing him with friendship, treating him like one of her crewdog buds, taunting him with how very much was lacking and how much more they’d had before.
Crusty creaked back in his chair. “Why not let her spend a few days looking through mug shots until she returns to flying status? She might actually come up with something.”
Max grunted.
“Too bad you were so all-fire-bent on the he-man ‘little woman go home’ tactics.” Baker rattled the bag of seeds, digging for another handful. “If you’d just let her do her part, this could have been so much more pleasant. She can’t leave until she’s cleared by the flight surgeon, anyway. She has her old man watching over her 24/7 like a Rottweiler.”
Max ignored the pinch of guilt. He’d done the right thing to keep Darcy safe. The general had a grade-A warrior spirit, the kind that would teach his daughter real survival skills and keep her alive. General Renshaw’s mindset seemed to go beyond just bloodying a kid’s nose with kung fu crap to teach him that surfing was for bums. Of course, Max had made sure his old man met the mat before heading out to catch the next wave.
Except he didn’t need the past crowding his brain. A waste of brain cells and energy, anyway.
Max scooped the sunflower seeds from Crusty’s hands and started pitching them into his mouth. He crunched and paced. “It’s not Vinnie.”
“I know.”
He almost hated having his gut instinct confirmed. “I’ve already sent in my recommendation we dismantle the tap. Scrap the whole disinformation idea. This is bigger than that. Someone’s playing us.”
“And that someone’s getting desperate, reckless even.”
Max dropped into the vacant office chair across from Crusty. “All the more reason to play it cool. Make like we’re content until we have control of the situation.” He worked the chair in a lazy half spin from side to side, the spartan government chair squeaking. “The last thing I want is whoever’s behind this getting fired up.”
“Okay, run with that thought. Let’s bounce some ideas back and forth.” Crusty waggled his hands. “Brainstorm with me, partner.”
Partner? Max paused spinning mid-creak.
Brainstorming? Him? What was that all about? More of Darcy’s socialization plan. Max stared at her across the rows of steel desks. Intent and focused, she cocked her head to the side to study one photo closer, then waved for the next picture.
She hadn’t spared a glance his way, other than another one of her overbright “buddy” smiles when he and Crusty had stepped into the office. She’d nodded politely, of course, then looked away. He’d botched things with her on so many levels with no hope in sight for fixing it. He could talk and jam back sunflower seeds until the end of time and he would never have the “socialization” skills to do things any differently.
She was so incredible, Max could almost see the stars that would one day gleam on her shoulders. And he was proud of her.
Not that he would let it stop him from seeing her off the island. Rule players like Darcy didn’t stand a chance against boundary pushers like himself. It was only a matter of time before he would be standing on the runway watching her takeoff.
His need for solitude didn’t mean a thing next to his determination to keep Darcy safe.
Max pitched the sunflower seeds to Crusty. “Time for more of your brainstorming.”
* * *
Robin fed coins into the sandwich machine in the security police break room, selected tuna salad, and snatched the cardboard meal from the slot with impatient hands. There was no denying the obvious, no more time left. Everything was crumbling.
So much for the promise of caviar and champagne. A lifetime of tuna salad mocked from cellophane. The final payment wouldn’t be wired for a cushy retirement, since the tap had been shut down.
