Gwyn sipped her coffee and attempted to laugh along with the group around the New York’s wardroom table after dinner. Un-rated lads and lasses cleared the dishes and she could hear the clatter of pans and cutlery through the open door into the nearby officers’ galley. Philip’s friend, Sky, had landed his helicopter on board that afternoon and now held everyone’s attention as he re-told the story of the Highwaymen.
“And then the rain started and that’s when we crawled under the overpass.” Sky smiled at the memory and handed over his dishes to the sailor clearing the table.
“Which was when our uniforms started to smell like wet dogs,” Philip added.
Everyone laughed, including Gwyn’s new roommate, Cate Hawkins, a Marine Corps pilot who had flown her MV-22 Osprey on board that afternoon, too. Cate seemed a bit standoff-ish, but Gwyn sensed insecurity rather than rudeness in the pilot. The woman seemed to be wearing some kind of emotional armor, but all that mattered was that they be able to coexist in their tiny cabin.
And that Cate not catch Gwyn talking with ghosts.
She was surprised Cate had remained at the table once the meal was complete and the other Marine officers had departed. Something was up with her, a certain tension Gwyn could not put her finger on. Perhaps she could be a friend and help Cate relax a bit, although Gwyn already had plenty on her plate.
Right now it was all she could do to follow the conversation. She’d only found out a few hours earlier that the firefighter with the sad eyes was the uncle of Trudy’s Yank. But then the plot had thickened when the Yank’s younger brother, Mike, had flown on board with Sky in their Navy Seahawk helicopter. And now Gwyn watched as “Uncle Frank” stalked his nephew. To add to the poignancy, the spirit stood in front of the mural, with New York City’s skyline as his backdrop and the Twin Towers peeking over his shoulder. Clearly Gwyn was the only one who smelled the smoke that emanated from the ghost’s uniform. She dug out a tissue and dabbed at her nose.
She realized how difficult it must be for the spirit to see the young pilot and not be able to communicate with him. But then she remembered Trudy’s Yank had been on board New York for two years. No wonder the man looked so sad. To be able to see his nephews, but not talk with them? And why was Gwyn Pritchard privy to all of it? How did she figure into the equation?
She mulled it over as she finished her pudding and tried to pay attention to the conversation. Even without the distraction of the firefighter ghost, it had been a very long day, getting underway and embarking the Marines and their equipment. God, she could use a drink. Damn these Yankees for having dry ships.
Sky broke into her thoughts. “So, Gwyn, what do you think of the American Navy?”
“I was just this second thinking about how I could use a drink, if that answers your question.”
Sky laughed. “Yeah, me too, but I bet Nick’s having one for all of us on your side of the pond. It’ll be good to get together next week in Plymouth. What do you think of the New York?”
If he only knew.
“I’m enjoying it immensely. Although smaller, it’s similar to HMS Atlantic, so it’s not like learning a new language.” She smiled at all of them. “You Americans do need to learn to speak proper English, though.” They all laughed over that. Gwyn turned to Philip. “And, of course, I find it a privilege to work with and learn from your fellow Highwayman, Lieutenant Johnston.”
“By the way, good job on the LCAC recoveries this afternoon, Gwyn,” Philip said. “I’m learning from you, too.”
“Thanks, Philip. Trust me, I’ve done my share on Atlantic.” Gwyn’s heartbeat quickened as her peripheral vision took in Uncle Frank walking around the group, never taking his eyes off young Mike. She babbled, trying to ignore the ghost, and turned to the tall pilot. “So, Mike, my friend, Trudy, tells me you and your brother played basketball at your Naval Academy.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Mike replied.
“Well, I can certainly understand that, given your height. I understand your brother is tall as well.”
Gwyn registered Uncle Frank’s height in her peripheral vision. He was not as tall as the helo pilot, but tall nonetheless. At least six feet. Hard to tell with him slouched over with sadness and the weight of his firefighting gear.
“Nick and I are both six-foot-four.”
“Trudy measures close to six feet herself. As a matter of fact we were chatting on Skype the other day and bounced around an idea of a basketball competition when we arrive in Plymouth. You know, maybe USS New York vs. HMS Atlantic. I’m only five-foot-seven, but I shoot a mean lay-up.”
“Oooh, I like this idea, Gwyn,” Sky said. “Too bad Nick deserted to the Redcoats’ side.”
Philip chimed in. “I’ve been known to land a three-pointer now and then. Besides, we’ll have Mikey.”
“What about you, Cate?” Mike said. Then, without taking his eyes off her, he announced to all present. “Cate was a stellar athlete at the Naval Academy.”
Gwyn went on overload watching Mike’s gaze glued to the female pilot while Uncle Frank’s gaze was glued to Mike. Yes, a gin and tonic would do very nicely right about now.
“I’ve never played much basketball,” Cate said to him. She glanced around nervously, avoiding his eyes.
“But you’re a natural athlete.” Mike announced to the group, “Cate was a track star at Annapolis.” Then he turned back to her. “Come on, it’s just for fun.”
Was Gwyn missing something here? Apparently these two knew each other and, if she wasn’t mistaken, Mike definitely had more interest in Gwyn’s roommate than her foul shot capability. It was like everyone else had disappeared and the two pilots were left alone with whole unspoken paragraphs hanging in the air between them. Gwyn glanced up at Philip and Sky, who were trying to get a handle on the situation as well.
“Okay,” Cate said, looking at Mike now. “I’ll play.”
“Great.” He tore his gaze from the Osprey pilot. “Okay, we got our team.”
“Hey, what about me?” Sky added. “I know how to barrel through the opponents so the foul is called on them. All those years of playing linebacker pays off in a basketball game. You should be so lucky to have the Skylark on your team.”
Gwyn laughed along with the others. “Ah, yes, the Skylark. Trudy told me how you came by your call sign. Perhaps you know she received many demerits for skylarking at our Naval Academy, as well.”
“Aw, I’ve learned to focus much better.” He fisted his left hand and kissed his wedding ring. “I got married in December and Daisy has settled my ass down. Now Studley here…”
Mike blushed and protested. “Not now, Sky.”
“Can you guess how Studley got his call sign?” Sky waggled his eyebrows.
Gwyn’s gaze darted to each of them—all biting back smiles. She was not going to guess. Cate’s face registered something else. Disgust? She pushed back her chair and excused herself from the table. What was her problem? Was she offended by the conversation? Sky was obviously full of hot air.
Gwyn couldn’t worry about her roommate. She had bigger fish to fry, like ignoring the ghost who had walked over to stand at his nephew’s side. Uncle Frank raised his hand and reverently touched the young pilot’s face. Sky had asked her a question and was waiting for an answer. “I’d heard his call sign was Studley,” she said, “but I have no idea why he is called that.”
Philip jumped in and saved her. “Don’t worry, Gwyn. There’s nothing obscene about Mikey’s nickname. His middle name is Dudley.”
Mike took over, defending himself. “Trust me, the second my company mates discovered that at the Naval Academy, it was all over. I’ve been Studley ever since—whether I want to be or not.”
“And he’s been trying to live up to it ever since. Right, Studs?” Sky added, which brought on more laughter.
“Shut up, Sky. It’s a family name, that’s all,” Mike explained. “Dudley was my grandmother’s maiden name.” He sobered. “And you know what? It’s kind of cool talking about this aboard New York. See, my favorite uncle died on 9/11.”
Gwyn could not resist glancing at Uncle Frank, who gazed at Mike with longing as he reached up and stroked his nephew’s hair. Was a tear tracking down the firefighter’s ashy face? No, ghosts couldn’t cry, but Gwyn felt tears sting her own eyes.
Focus, Gwyn, focus.
“And his middle name was Dudley too, so I gotta tell you…” Mike cleared his throat, swallowed, and continued. “I feel especially close to my Uncle Frank tonight.”
* * *
It had been more than a week since Trudy and the Yank’s snog in the alley and he’d barely paid Trudy any mind. Everything remained above-board and such. He wouldn’t even look her in the eye. Trudy would bet her next month’s rent he wanted to pick up where they’d left off last Saturday night as much as she did, but was afraid for some reason. Probably, as he’d said, because she worked for him. And wasn’t it refreshing to find a solid sort of chap who cared about ethics? Unlike the rat bastard they both worked for. She looked up to see Simon across the engine room laughing with a couple of the lads. Probably talking about women if she knew him.
“Yank, I worked all last weekend, what say you to a weekend off?”
He looked up from the operations control panel. “Sure. I can handle it here. Going somewhere?”
“I thought I’d drive home tonight. I have a flat in Wiscasset about an hour north. Get out of these bloody coveralls for a change. Slip into something a little more comfortable.” She arched her eyebrows at him. He looked back at the screen. Had she made him blush?
“You know, like shorts and knee-socks?”
He looked back at her, unsure if she was joking or not.
“I’m kidding, Yank. Bugger if you’re not the most serious chap I’ve ever met. Care to join me for the weekend?” It was worth a shot.
He jerked his head up. “Join you?” He glanced around the room, then back at her. “At your flat?” Now he blushed for certain. “I don’t think so, Sub-Lieutenant.” His gaze returned to the control panel, but she could see the quickening of the pulse in his neck.
“What about next weekend?” She cut him off before he could protest. “Don’t worry. A group is going up for the Cabbage Rose Festival. We wouldn’t be alone. And we can come back Saturday night if you want. It’s all above board and proper.”
“We’ll see. The New York pulls in next week. I’ll probably be busy with my buddies.”
“But they’ll be gone by the weekend. Gwyn emailed me to let me know she doubted they’d still be here by Saturday. She always loved the Festival. But they’ll miss it by a day or so.”
“No, thanks.” He continued to monitor operations.
“Okay, then, if you’re sure I can’t interest you in some shorts and knee socks.”
That made Nick laugh. “Sorry, I’m used to my fellow officers wearing pants.”
Trudy flashed him her best smile. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I always wear pants, Yank.”
He indicated one of the lads. “We call those shorts.”
“We call them shorts as well. But you were talking about my pants—you know, my knickers? What you call skivvies.”
The Yank’s face reddened for certain this time. “Pants are skivvies? Oh, I am sorry.”
“Yes, you are sorry, Yank. But like I said, we’ll have you speaking proper English in no time.”
* * *
Gwyn couldn’t take it another minute. She had to talk with someone about Uncle Frank or she would bust. She’d be seeing Trudy in a week when they arrived in Plymouth, but that would have to wait. Now that they were underway, security was tighter and all emails were monitored. No way could she risk this information being intercepted by security. And, unfortunately, there wasn’t enough bandwidth to Skype at sea.
Helen was the only other one she could think to talk to, but Gwyn was a bit perturbed at Helen at the moment. Surely she’d known the connection between the firefighter and the Nikolopoulos brothers. She might have warned Gwyn. Besides, where exactly could Gwyn and Helen talk? Since Cate had arrived, Gwyn’s single cabin was now a double.
And wasn’t Cate an odd sort. Joining them for dinner and agreeing to play on their team, and then looking daggers at the handsome Navy pilot when they’d called him Studley. If she’d stuck around long enough, she would have learned he was harmless—and so was his nickname. Although they apparently knew each other from Academy days, so maybe there was more to the story than met the eye.
And hadn’t it been just a wee bit too woo-woo when Mike had said he felt close to his uncle tonight? Gwyn had shivered over the remark, because the uncle had been standing there stroking the young man’s hair and looking at him with such love and devotion she had had to turn away or risk everyone seeing the tears in her own eyes.
In an attempt to eradicate Adam Connor from her mind, Gwyn had purposely stayed out of the fitness center since returning from Jekyll Island. But it wasn’t working. She knew Adam would be busy with the rest of the bootnecks on board, but she had to chat with someone about Uncle Frank—and work out her angst. She’d jogged each day on the Navy base, but now they were at sea and that was no longer an option. So she dressed in her workout gear and headed to the gym.
Adam was coaching one of his Marines, but he became immediately aware of her presence. She could sense it all the way across the space. The way he’d turned, putting her on his right and then kept glancing sideways at her every few seconds. Which would be better? To talk quietly out in the open, pretending to ask for fitness advice or try to sneak time alone with him in his office—with its various and sundry windows?
She found an open spot on the mat and began her warm-up stretches, but she never took her eyes off Adam.
* * *
There were times when Adam felt like a magnet for people with problems. Didn’t they get it? He wasn’t their mother. But here was another one. He’d start out helping a young Marine with his bench press and the next thing he knew, the kid was sharing his woes about leaving his girl behind, worried she’d take up with his older brother. That had to suck.
Another reason not to have a girl. But just as that thought registered, his heart rate ratcheted up because none other than the lovely Lieutenant Pritchard entered the fitness center. Adam turned slightly so he could monitor her out of the corner of his good eye.
He said to the Marine. “Look, you can’t be worrying about this crap when you’re deployed. You gotta focus on your job and the mission.” Speaking of which, it was all Adam could do to pay attention to the pimply Marine, who had probably just seen his nineteenth birthday. Gwyn was off to his right, warming up, stretching her toned body while wearing skintight workout gear. What he wouldn’t give to slide his hands down the Lycra, taking in all her muscles and curves.
“I suggest when you’re done working out, you send your girl an email. Give her an ultimatum. Tell her you need her word.”
Gwyn was giving him the eye. Wouldn’t he love to sidle over to her and…maybe they could just talk together. Yeah, like that would be enough. And would they draw too much attention? Maybe they could duck into his office. Nah, it was all windows.
“Then write your brother and remind him this goes against the code. For any kind of brothers, friends, or Marines. You don’t horn in on a brother’s girl. Especially if the guy is deployed serving his country.”
Adam rubbed his hand through his short-cropped hair and snuck another glance at Gwyn, but was distracted by a couple of female sailors giving him the eye from the ellipticals. They were obviously talking about him, if their furtive glances and giggling were any indication. He figured he’d let Gwyn see what she was missing and flashed them a come-on smile.
He turned back to the Marine. “Dude, you belong to the Corps now. If your girl can’t handle that, then something has to go. The woman or the Corps. You decide. Look, I gotta go. Looks like I got a damsel in distress.”
Adam sauntered over to where Gwyn had settled herself on the rowing machine. He slid his safety glasses onto the top of his head. “Left-tenant.”
“Gunny. How are things going with your mates on board?”
“That what you came down to ask me?”
“No. I have an issue and you’re the only person I can possibly discuss it with…Adam.”
Warmth flashed through his chest when she called him by his first name. “Might it concern stowaways?”
“It might.”
“We need to look busy here, Gwyn. Move back and let me check your chest pad.” Heat filled her eyes and energy crackled between them. “On the machine, Lieutenant, the chest pad on the machine.” She leaned back, allowing him to adjust the lever. He would have given his country at that moment to slide his hands across her chest pad and let his thumbs camp out on her nipples for an hour or two.
“There, try that, ma’am,” he said for anyone listening. Then he monkeyed with the weight levels and whispered the following, “Okay, what’s going on?”
“I discovered that one of the firefighter spirits is Frank Nikolopoulos. He’s the uncle of the engineer I traded jobs with.”
“Whoa. That’s weird.” Adam’s fingers continued to fiddle with the weights, but his eyes were on her.
“Everything’s weird, Adam. But that’s not all. Lieutenant Nick’s younger brother is one of the Seahawk pilots who flew on board today. He’s deploying with us—and his uncle—for the next six months. The spirit looked exceptionally upset tonight. Frustrated would be a better word. It was so poignant watching him.” She looked away and tried to compose herself before she continued.
“He touched his nephew, Adam. Sweetly and gently. He stroked his hair and looked at the young pilot with awe. It was so intimate, I felt like an intruder being privy to it all. You could clearly see the love on the firefighter’s face. And then it dawned on me that the spirit uncle must have been horribly frustrated for two whole years while the pilot’s older brother was stationed aboard New York.”
“Stand up a second, Gwyn. Let me adjust the seat.” He slid the seat in a notch and invited her to sit again. “I’m not sure what I can do about the uncle.”
“I know, but I can’t talk with Trudy until we get to Plymouth. And you know what, Adam? I feel better just talking to you. I know I said we shouldn’t see one another, but I miss you.”
Heat hit him low in the gut. “I miss you too, baby. But we can’t meet like this again.” He glanced around to see if anyone was watching them.
“We’ll be in Plymouth the middle of next week. It appears we’re going to stay for a few days. Could we do a run ashore and chat? It’s my homeport. I can probably borrow Trudy’s car.”
“If that’s what you want, Gwyn. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
“If I knew we could get away together for a little while, I would feel ever so much better.”
“Then by all means.” He looked into her warm, brown eyes while wild horses dragged him away from kissing her—or, at the very least, reaching out his finger to stroke back a strand of hair that had escaped the rubber band and trailed down her face. “Surely you know I’d do whatever you wanted if it would make you feel better, Princess.”
“Thank you.” She smiled tenderly at him, then must have remembered there were other people around. “Oh, also, several of the officers are challenging a group from my old ship to a basketball game while we’re there. They wondered if you’d be on our team. I told them I didn’t think so with your shoulder and all, but I see you’re no longer wearing your sling.”
“I probably shouldn’t play. You need a ref? I could do that.”
“Perfect. I’ll let them know. Tell me the truth, Adam. How is your shoulder?”
“Actually, not too bad.” He paused. His mouth relaxed into a smile. “My lips hurt, though.”
Gwyn blushed. “Mine do too, Adam.” She did a quick check to ensure no one was listening and added, “And I’ve an ache between my toes, as well.”
Desire knifed into him. Just what he needed. To be fully aroused in his workout gear. Jesus, the woman had no idea the power she held over him.
“What are we going to do, Adam? We can’t—”
“Shhhh.” He raised his index finger and came within an inch of touching her lips. “We’ll talk in Plymouth.” Then he walked away.
You’re playing with fire, Adam Connor. You meet her in port and all she’s going to do is stomp on your heart. You better get away while the getting’s good. But did he listen? Nope. Not when there was the slightest chance he’d get to kiss her again, let alone take care of that ache between her two big toes.