Streamline (48 page)

“Should I count them, Leo?”

“If you want.” He shrugged. “I didn’t take any.” One eyebrow arched. “Considering you lied to me five seconds ago, I think I
will
count the pil s. Maybe someday I can take you at your word.”

As Ina dumped the bottle’s contents into her curved palm, Leo lowered his head and rubbed his hands over his shorn hair. He’d disappointed her. Again.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. He was supposed to join the Navy and turn his life around, becoming the best plebe the Academy had ever seen. Instead, he felt haunted by his past at every turn. Ina made periodic reports to Lt. Keaton about his progress in counseling, so he dared not mention his suspicions to her.

Apparently satisfied he hadn’t taken any pills, Ina tossed the bottle toward a garbage can across the room. It fell short and rattled across the floor.

Eyeing her crutches, Leo popped up. “I’ll get it, ma’am.” He leaned down and dropped the bottle in the can.

“So how’d Benito react to your request for his pills?” Ina asked as he returned to his seat.

“Kind of strange, I guess. He said he was glad I wasn’t so freaking perfect.”

Ina chuckled. “What makes that strange?”

“Well, I’m
not
perfect — but I’m
supposed
to be. Benito made it sound like a good thing I screwed up.”

“Who said you should be perfect?”

Leo hesitated, taken aback. “Everybody. Well, my father most of all, I guess.”

“And striving to be perfect — how’s that working for you?”

“
Working
for me, ma’am?”

“What are the upsides and downsides of trying to be perfect?”

“I guess it makes me work harder in school and swimming. Uh, the downsides? There aren’t any I can see.”

“Really? You seem to become quite angry when you fall short of perfection.”

“Yeah, I pretty much hate myself when I screw up.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way, Leo.” He chewed on his fingernail. “Doesn’t everybody hate themselves when they mess up?”

“Lord, no.” She shook her head. “I’d be hating myself twenty-four seven if I got mad at my mistakes. I mess up all the time. Case in point: I just made a horrible throw to the garbage can. Now, if I was sitting here beating myself up for what crappy aim I have, I wouldn’t be able to listen to you and enjoy our meeting. We’re human, therefore we make mistakes. When we accept that, we tend to enjoy life a lot more.”

Leo considered her words, but said nothing.

“Another downside of perfectionism is that it’s hard to get close to people,” she continued. “Benito told you he felt closer to you when he knew you weren’t perfect. Nobody wants to be friends with a cold, robotic machine who never shows any vulnerability or weakness. You shared some of your screw-ups in here, and now I think I like you even more. It makes me want to fight for you.”

“If it causes so many problems, why am I a perfectionist, then?

Why can’t I accept my mistakes?”

“Of course you’re a perfectionist. What happened if you weren’t perfect as a kid?”

“I was punished.” His voice sounded pathetically small.

“You were
abused,”
Ina corrected. “It was really smart for you to try to be perfect so your father wouldn’t hit you. It was a survival strategy as a child, but it doesn’t seem to be working so well as an adult. Many abuse survivors are perfectionists, thinking if only they can make their tormentors happy, they won’t get hurt. But it doesn’t work that way, because the abuse has nothing to do with you. It has everything to do with the abuser. You didn’t have any control over the violence — only your father did.”

“I
did
have control,” Leo insisted, remembering the altercation in Audrey’s kitchen. “When I fought back once, I made my dad stop.”

“Ah.” Ina nodded. “No wonder you hit your squad leader then…

You think being violent is the only way to feel in control. You think violence is the solution to your problems.” Whoa. That did sound like him. “And it’s not…?” he wondered aloud.

“What do
you
think, Leo?” Her eyes met his.

His heart thumped. What
did
he think? He had no idea! He felt unmoored, unanchored, drowned in doubt.

“I think…I think, um, I think I don’t know what I think,” he stammered.

“That’s okay,” she said. “I see that bruise on your face, and I know what
I
think. I want the violence to stop, Leo. No more bruises.”

Darnell Keaton waited for Captain Tracker to speak. “Have a seat, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir.” She positioned herself on one of the leather chairs facing his desk, crossed her legs, and folded her hands in her lap.

“Other than a few social functions, we haven’t interacted much,” he said. “Tell me about yourself, Lieutenant.”
Okay, small talk
. “What would you like to know, sir?”

“Well, for starters, how ’bout you tell me your career path up to this point.”

“Yes, sir. I graduated from the Academy with a major in Aerospace Engineering, then I served on the USS
Normandy
for two years before heading to Naval Air Station Pensacola.”

“What were your duties in Pensacola?” asked the commandant.

“I served in Air Department V-Four, assisting with safety and maintenance protocol of various aircraft, as well as teaching engineering to recruits, sir.”

“Why’d you leave?”

Her heart raced. “It, um, it became too hot for me in Florida, sir.” He stared at her for a few moments. “That’s right. You started with us in July of last year. It must’ve been hot.”

“Sir, may I ask why you called me to your office?” She couldn’t stop squirming.

He looked directly into her eyes. “I think you know, Lieutenant.”

She felt a blush heat her face and broke eye contact. She’d been up most of the night mentally reviewing her altercation with the Scott plebe, desperate to figure out how to deal with the situation.

Flooded with memories from Pensacola, she couldn’t think straight.

Her worries for the future made it impossible to focus on the present.

Of course she knew. The moment she’d picked up the phone that morning and heard the commandant’s lieutenant’s voice, she’d known. “This is about what happened last night, when I, um, struck the plebe, sir.”

“Yes,” Captain Tracker confirmed, the pleasantries of their initial exchange long gone. “How on earth did that happen, Lieutenant?”

“Sir, I lost control. There’s really no excuse for my behavior, sir.”

“There
is
no excuse, Lieutenant. I was hesitant to put someone so young in charge of a company when you first arrived to the Yard, but I have to say, until now you’ve done an admirable job. You have yourself a fine company commander, and your midshipmen’s performance on academic and physical tests is near the top. However, you just opened yourself up to a boatload of trouble. Do you realize the plebe could sue you for assault?”

“Yes, sir.” Her throat was so dry she could barely swallow.

“You ordered Mr. Scott to attend counseling. Is it helping him?”

“Dr. Hansen sent me a report a couple weeks ago. Mr. Scott’s attending regularly, but progress is slow. Dr. Hansen was trying to build rapport with him. She said he’s been a difficult client. But he hasn’t had any further instances of violence to my knowledge, sir.” His voice rose. “Until last night, when he was the
target
of violence!”

Her frightened eyes never left her superior’s. “Yes, sir.”

“Given Mr. Scott’s past, I’m even more disgusted by your behavior.

Russell Payson, your former CO, contacted me about Leo Scott in June. Russell and I served together, and he asked a favor. He told me Leo’s father, a commander, had been disciplined for putting him in the hospital.”

Darnell’s eyes widened.

“Russell felt awful that the abuse had been going on for years without his knowledge, and he told me he’d promised Leo the Navy would make it up to him. Captain Payson asked me to look after Leo by assigning him to your company. He thought you’d do a good job taking care of him.”

Darnell covered her mouth. “I’m sorry, sir. I had no idea.”

“Perhaps I should’ve shared this information with you sooner, but I never expected you to
hit
him, Lieutenant!”

“I made a huge mistake, sir.”

“Yes, you did. Between your assault and your ordering him to march for twenty-four hours straight, I’m starting to wonder what you have against Leo Scott.”

Darnell felt cold fear. She simply could not answer that question.

Fighting for control, she felt herself slipping, overtaken by flashes of pain, flashes of shame. Swirling circles of hard hazel and soft brown swam haphazardly through her mind.

“Lieutenant?” She heard him ask. “Lieutenant?” She shook her head to clear it. “Yes, sir?” He looked at her with thinly veiled disdain. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, Lieutenant, but I’m concerned. I order you to attend counseling to regain control of yourself.” Darnell started to protest. “Sir — ”

“Are you able to continue carrying out your duties, or do I need to suspend you?”

“I’ll be okay, sir.” Her voice shook. “This will never happen again.”

“It better not. And I suppose it’s rather obvious that Midshipman Nevington reported the incident to me. If I find out you retaliate against her unfairly, you’l regret it. And, if you don’t make satisfactory progress in counseling, you’ll find yourself right back in this office, and you’ll be suspended. Am I making myself clear?”

“Yes, sir.” A bead of sweat trickled down her back, and she steeled herself for what lay ahead. She would never allow some counselor to tap into her secrets. There was way too much to lose.

“Ugh, stupid heat wave,” Audrey complained into the phone.

“Wait — let me angle this fan better.”

Leo heard her thump back down on her bed. “How hot is it?” He sat at his desk using a borrowed cell phone. It was one of those precious ten-minute windows of time when plebes were permitted to make calls, and he relished hearing his girlfriend’s voice.

“Eighty-seven today, and it doesn’t seem to be cooling down much tonight. I thought it wouldn’t be a big deal when the AC broke since it’s November, but it’s like an oven in here.”

“Yeah, without those ocean breezes, I bet Tallahassee can get pretty miserable. Here we’ve been in our winter blues for a week. I’ll freak when we have our first snow.”

“But you lived in Annapolis when you were a kid.”

“That feels like forever ago,” Leo mused. “I wasn’t exactly going on ten-mile runs then either. PT should be interesting when it gets really cold.”

“You must be in great shape.”

He exhaled. “Well, my running’s definitely improved, but my swimming sucks. You know how training has to be sport-specific to be effective.”

“I know all about sport-specific training. Nancy believes in a
lot
of that. I remember telling my dad there’s no way college practice would be tougher than Matt’s workouts. Boy, was I wrong.”

“How
is
your dad?”

Audrey sniffed. “He’s in solitary, actually. Just when I thought things couldn’t get worse. My mom hasn’t been able to find out why yet, either. He probably broke some stupid rule.” The familiar guilt tickled Leo’s heart. In his last email exchange with Jason they’d agreed not to say anything about the letter for fear of getting Audrey’s hopes up. They still had no evidence to implicate Lt.

Keaton. There was no way for Leo to get close to his company officer since every minute of the day was scheduled for him, and Jason and Cameron had no idea how to investigate her involvement. They’d scoured Cam’s house but hadn’t found anything else about the affair.

“I’m sorry, Audrey,” Leo said.

“Let’s talk about something else. How’s therapy going?”

“
That
sounds like a really fun topic.”

“I order you to tell me about your therapy, Mr. Scott.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He sighed. “Dr. Hansen wants me to tel her about the beatings.”

“You have to talk about it?”

“When I’m ready. She said it’d help me to tel my story.” His voice wavered, and he knew he sounded like an ill-tempered child. “But I don’t wanna think about it.”

“Do you trust her, Leo?”

“Yeah, she’s a really cool lady. But I still hate being forced to go to her.” Ina was highly skilled at extracting secrets, and he continued to worry he’d let his suspicions about the lieutenant slip out. Leo rubbed his cheek, touching the small groove left by her ring.

She
had
to be guilty as hell. Leo felt a stirring in his gut, a craving to expose her. He wondered what had happened after Nevington reported her. Las Vegas hadn’t let him forget she’d been bagged with weekend restriction for her role in the mess. He owed her.

“I don’t have much more time.” He paused. “Are you still hot?

Wait…of course you are.”

She giggled.

“I have an idea to help you cool down.”

“You do?”

“Sí. Quítate la ropa.”

“I can’t take off my clothes. Tatiana could walk in any minute!”

“Oh, c’mon. She sees you in the shower all the time after practice.” He harrumphed. “Lucky ho.”