Take Over at Midnight (The Night Stalkers) (17 page)

“They’re in our spot.”

“They are. Should we have them shot?”

Lola looked up in surprise to see Major Beale and Major Henderson standing just a few steps below them, profiled with the Capitol Building peeping up between their shoulders.

Despite their civvies, jeans, and T-shirts, there was no mistaking their military bearing. They looked good together, as if they’d always stood side by side. The broad-shouldered man and the stunning blond. As if they belonged side by side.

“Well,” Beale answered her husband as if Lola and Tim weren’t sitting right there listening, “officer and enlisted. Holding hands. Not good. Not good at all. Firing squad might be too kind.”

Lola tried to shake her hand loose but be subtle about it. Tim didn’t move. They were too close, and her elbow was caught inside of his.

“Right.” Henderson aimed his mirrored Ray-Bans at them like twinned miniguns. “We, at least, were the same rank. We had some respect for the military code.”

Beale elbowed her husband.

“Okay, we were eventually the same rank.”

So, they’d been different ranks when courting. At least they’d both been officers.

Lola knew the Majors could hang both of them out to dry. Fraternization was forbidden. It sometimes fell under the “Don’t ask, don’t tell” rules like the one the gays had served under until 2012, and sometimes it didn’t. Depended on the commander. Commanders.

Everyone ignored Lola’s efforts to disentangle herself from Tim’s grasp, until she finally stopped for feeling too damn foolish.

“I don’t know, dear,” Beale continued as if Lola and Tim were just specimens under a magnifying glass. “I’m off duty. How about if we convene the court-martial some other day?”

“I could get us ice cream instead.” Henderson nodded toward the rolling cart at the base of the steps.

“How did they do it, sir? Kee and Archie?” Lola had blurted it out without intending. Without even knowing where the question came from. Sure, she’d wondered as they were an officer and enlisted couple, but she and Kee weren’t exactly on close speaking terms so as to hunker down and have a friendly girl chat on the subject.

Lola also couldn’t figure out why she was so interested. Having now started it, this was not a conversation she wanted to be in. For one thing, it implied that it was part of a conversation she and Tim would be having. For another, she didn’t want to care about Kee but was finding that she did. For all of the woman’s in-your-face nastiness, she was an amazing soldier, a devoted wife, and an amazing mother.

Major Henderson continued speaking to his wife rather than to them. “The youngsters these days, no respect. That should be Sergeant Kee Stevenson and Captain Archie to them. How did they pull that off anyway? I missed it until they invited me to be the best man opposite my wife.”

Beale patted her husband’s shoulder with the hand he wasn’t holding. “You’re sweet and they were discreet. Mostly. Though there was one morning at Bati… I’ll just say that Captain Stevenson has very cute knees.” The woman’s smile was huge and wicked. Lola would give some fair chunk of her next paycheck to hear the story behind that smile.

Her husband harrumphed at that.

Beale stared down at them for another long moment, considering. Long enough for Lola to start squirming again before she spoke.

“Orange Creamsicle.” Major Beale spoke as if passing final judgment and life sentence.

“Fudgsicle!” Tim piped up.

“Didn’t ask you.” Henderson aimed a finger at him. “Wasn’t I about to court-martial you?”

Lola couldn’t help smiling. “I’d—”

“Ice cream sandwich,” Henderson finished for her. “You’re definitely an ice cream sandwich kind of girl.”

She nodded. She was. And even if she wasn’t, she’d have said yes so that he could be right.

“C’mon, Maloney. You can help carry.”

Tim rose to follow the Major down the steps. “As long as you’re buying.”

“Damn! Should have court-martialed you while I had the chance.”

Major Beale sat beside Lola and they admired the two men descending the broad marble stairs.

“Damn, but they look good, don’t they?”

Lola could only nod in response. They certainly did. Though she hoped her face didn’t look quite like the Major’s. There was a palpable look of true love across her features.

Time for a subject change. She faced Major Beale. “Have you seen a doctor yet, Emily?” It felt strange to say the Major’s first name. But asking a commanding officer about her baby was a little too strange. It was easier to ask a woman.

By the way she slid her hand over her belly, Lola had the answer to her question.

“What are you going to do?”

“Knowing, really knowing,” Emily whispered to her, “changes the world.”

***

They had lunch at a hot-dog vendor’s cart after going up the Washington Monument and peeping out the small, grimy windows toward the four points of the compass. They happily paid tourist prices for that and a snow cone covered in Blue Dye No. 1. Lola shared her snow cone with Tim, both of their tongues turning bright blue, which they made a point of sticking out at each other like a couple of kids.

They all strolled through D.C. together. Sometimes walking as couples, but more often two men together and two women. Lola felt that was a little clichéd, but she was discovering that in addition to respecting the Major, she also was coming to like Emily Beale quite a bit.

They talked about nothing much, at least nothing much that stood out as important. They spoke of their first flights: Lola’s during a ROTC recruiting event which had inspired her to be a front-seater, Emily’s on one of her father’s business flights. They spoke of first battles, that moment that proves the chosen path: Hurricane Katrina and the Opium Triangle respectively. At first boyfriends, Emily went coy and Lola didn’t want to talk about it anyway.

They circled back a dozen times to the regimen suggested by Emily’s doctor. A civilian doctor, because a military one would have grounded her immediately, had been horrified at what she did for a living and told her she had a maximum of four weeks to get off the chopper if she wanted to keep the child due to the g-forces alone, never mind the possibility of being shot.

Knowing that, Mark and Emily had decided that whatever happened as a result of their trip into the desert and this morning’s escort flight, this would be her last mission until after the birth.

Lola didn’t ask what would happen then. Neither of them was ready to face that question: Emily to stop flying, Lola to fly without her.

“Do you have any dinner plans?” Tim broke in on a discussion of jungle-flying tactics. “Ma’s lookin’ to feed some people.”

“Sounds great.” Emily considered for a moment. “Though I was thinking of dropping in on Peter.”

Tim busted out a big grin and a wink that Lola didn’t understand but that made Viper Henderson smile most evilly. “Invite him along. More the merrier.”

Emily stepped aside and pulled out her cell phone.

“Your ma doesn’t mind feeding us in her kitchen? We won’t be in the way?”

Tim pointed down the street.

Lola knew they’d come full circle through D.C., but she didn’t quite know where they’d started. Before, they’d arrived at an anonymous back kitchen door in an alley. Now she saw a building with a broad glass frontage and elegant wood-carved sign naming one of the hottest restaurants in D.C. Its reputation reached far and wide. Pauley’s Island had made Caribbean food one of the newest foodie trends.

It took her heart about three more beats before she made the connection. A side of beef, a whole swordfish, the freshest ingredients.

“That’s your family’s restaurant?”

“Ma’s the head chef, Dad’s the marketing and business guy.” His smile shone huge.

Viper Henderson was also clearly enjoying her complete discomfiture.

She jabbed Henderson in ribs, not even horrified that she’d just poked a superior officer hard enough to hurt.

“Hey, he’s the one who hoodwinked you.” He grinned down at her and didn’t even bother to rub where she’d hit him.

“I’ll make him pay later,” she managed to growl out.

“Too bad, I’d be glad to hold him for you.”

“No need.” Lola made a fist with a slightly raised knuckle and pounded her fist into the nerve nexus where Tim’s deltoids met biceps. It was like punching a brick wall, but still it elicited a very satisfying “Yowtch!” as he clutched at his upper arm.

Emily came back over, clearly trying not to laugh at what she’d just witnessed.

“Peter?” Lola mouthed at Tim.

“Sure.” He turned to Lola. “Old friend of Emily’s. They grew up together. That’s the only way we refer to him out in public.”

Lola narrowed her eyes at the last cryptic remark. Tim just grinned at her. She considered punching his arm again, but he dodged away behind Major Henderson who raised his hands palm out to show he wanted no part of this.

Emily interrupted before Lola could offer chase, one hand over the cell’s pickup.

“Room for Daniel? Alice is out of town.”

Tim shrugged a “Sure.”

Emily finished the call, “See you at seven?”

“I’ll tell Ma.”

Lola glanced up at the clock tower that loomed above a building labeled “The Old Post Office.”

As the Majors left, she observed to Tim, “Any suggestions on what we should do with the next four hours? Other than a hot bath.”

“Oh.” Tim’s smile bloomed, again proving he was quick on the uptake. “Oh yeah!”

Tim swung through the kitchen of Pauley’s Island and waved at Becca and Bobbi. Everyone else was too busy serving late lunches to stop for even that. He grabbed his and Lola’s gear. He reached for the key to the apartment, but it wasn’t there. Crap!

It had always hung next to the back door, unless someone else was using it. This couldn’t be happening. Who could possibly be using the upstairs apartment in the middle of a Monday afternoon? Occasionally his parents slept there if the restaurant closed late. Grandpop had lived there the last few years of his life. If one of the kids partied too hard downtown, better to crash upstairs than on the road.

After the third time he tried unsuccessfully to slow someone down long enough to ask about the key, his ma came in through the back door dangling it from her finger. “I made it all nice and clean for you. Some nice roses from this morning’s arrangements.”

Tim hugged her, making sure to secure the key first. “You’re the best, Mama. The very best.”

“I am. You remember that always,
sí
? I like the girl who you leave outside waiting. She’s very nice.”

Tim could only nod. Lola was very nice. And that Ma liked her was about the best thing that could happen. She had a great sense about people. More than one girlfriend had not passed the kitchen test. And he’d learned the hard way that no matter what he and his hormones were convinced of, if Ma simply shook her head, the truth would turn out that the girl wasn’t worth the trouble. He was often accused during breakups of being a “mama’s boy.” He wasn’t. She just kept being right.

And she liked Lola. Made his heart hurt a bit, got caught in his throat somehow.

His mother turned him toward the door and slapped his butt to send him on his way, exactly as she’d been doing since he was able to walk on his own.

Half out the door, he remembered. “Ma, can we have a table for six of us?”

“Sure”—she waved him out—“next week.”

Their game continued. He’d always done this to her. Before the Army, his lousy sense of procrastination had made most planning short notice. After the Army had cured him of that, the very nature of his visits had caused the same situation. He couldn’t help smiling.

“No, tonight. Seven o’clock.”

Fists on hips, jaw grim, she faced him. “You idiot. We are booked solid for three weeks. No stupid table for no stupid son who doesn’t even call to say he’s coming home. You want a table? You eat right here.”

She thumped a palm on the big family table, presently covered under tubs of iced fish now broken down into fillets and cutlets.

He considered for a moment. Some battles were better not to fight. Besides, he’d rather eat here than out front. He just hoped the others felt that way. He shrugged.

“Perfect, Ma. You’re the best. Though some flowers would be nice.”

“Flowers?” She glared at him, but it didn’t quite work.

He waited half in and half out of the kitchen door. Finally she turned away, but not in time to hide her smile.

“Seven,” she called out loudly enough to be heard over the busy kitchen. “You and your friends be on time.”

Tim slipped out to the woman he’d kept waiting far longer than intended.

His mother had done more than put out a few flowers in the apartment above the kitchen. She’d placed little vases in a half-dozen places. Folded back the sheets on the bed. Slid the gauze curtains into place so that there was light as well as privacy. In the bathroom, fresh towels and a new bar of soap—and more roses.

“I think my ma likes you.” He turned to Lola, who hadn’t moved from the center of the little living room.

“It’s not much. We don’t use it very often.” It had a living room big enough for a couch, chair, television, and a bookcase of cookbooks and trashy novels. Two bedrooms, neither big enough for more than a queen-size bed and a dresser. No real kitchen, but with the restaurant downstairs, just a couple burners and a mini-fridge were plenty. He pulled the fridge door open to see fresh juice and a bottle of bubbly. He looked down at the floor that separated them from his ma’s kitchen and sent a thank-you.

He slipped up behind Lola and did what he’d been dying to do all day. He slid his hands around her waist and across her belly, slowly pulling her back against him until she filled his arms.

He could feel her loosening up. Whatever was bothering her, she started to let go. She laid her head back against his shoulder, and he slid a hand up to rest between her breasts, over her heart.

“I—” Her voice sounded strained.

“Shh.” He made it soft in her ear. “It’s just me. Just us.”

“Oh.” She laughed a little, a ripple where her back lay against his chest. “Like that isn’t scaring the shit out of me.”

Tim puzzled over that, letting his hand that wasn’t over her heart rub back and forth across her belly, like soothing a child with an upset stomach.

“I’m scaring you?”

“No. Yes. We—” Again she stopped. Then she reached up and back, sliding a hand behind his head. She turned her head enough and pulled him into a kiss. A long, slow lingerer of a kiss.

With her other hand, she took his hand from her heart and set it over her breast. Even through the sports bra he could feel her growing arousal.

As she continued to kiss him, not releasing her hold on him, he slowly explored the front of her body. Her hands sometimes just rode along on his arms, other times guiding him with the slightest pressure, first over her shorts, then under. Her long fingers riding smooth over the backs of his own.

She arched back against him, pressing his hands harder against her, breast and loins. She broke the kiss to simply lay her head back against his shoulder as Tim explored, massaged, reached.

He nuzzled her neck as his fingers entered her. She drove her hips back against him and used her own hand to increase the pressure he applied.

For a moment he opened his eyes and caught sight of her. The full-length hall mirror faced them, showed her front on.

He could see her writhe as he moved against her.

“You are so damned beautiful. I can’t even think around you.” He knew his voice was rough, as if the words were all he could throw forth.

Apparently past speech, she drove against his hands and he wrapped her tight in his arms as her body convulsed.

He’d never seen a woman come. Not like this. Beneath or atop him, yes. But never fully exposed like this. His hands moved as if they belonged to someone else, his arms and face the only part of him that showed in the reflection.

The rest was Lola, her head thrown back against him. One leg raised, the ankle hooked behind his knee to open herself further to his explorations.

Even as he watched, she reached her arms up behind his neck, clasped them together and held on as her body bucked.

A low, primal sound started where his hand disappeared inside her waistband and echoed upward. Not finding release, he could feel it roll up her body where it lay against his, past diaphragm and chest until at last it poured from her throat. The sound of a woman in pure rapture.

***

A sound Lola didn’t recognize ripped through her, shattering something deep inside. The sound of Lola LaRue coming alive. Her body bucking to a familiar and soothing rhythm, her heart doing something else entirely.

Slowly returning to herself, she managed to open one eye. One that was quickly followed by the other.

A mirror.

A mirror reflecting her well-ravaged self, limp with pleasure, held in place by a man’s strong arms.

He’d rested his head on her shoulder and was swaying her gently back and forth. Tim was a damned genius at making her feel totally incredible. She hadn’t felt this good since, well, just since. He’d known exactly what to do for her. Exactly.

She tried to identify the other feeling. The change. What was different, but it eluded her hazy consideration. She had tried using sex to bury the fear of how much she liked Tim, of how easily she could see herself living in a small, cozy yet elegant apartment like this one with him. A world of a perfect mixture of fine glass and cozy furniture, a hideaway nest that welcomed and protected. Lola had kissed him until she could forget. It had worked and it hadn’t. She’d forgotten the fear, but with Tim the sex was never just sex. It was something more. Something different.

As she became more and more aware of her body, she finally became aware of his body and how its need still pressed against her. That she knew how to solve.

The other feeling was unfamiliar, of being so exposed in the beveled-glass oval mirror yet so at ease. That was less certain.

Lola shoved her shorts the rest of the way off her hips, retrieving the foil packet she’d stuffed there before letting them slip to her ankles.

At ease in a man’s arms, that was new. Enjoying herself, sure. But at ease?

When he made to move his hands, she clamped them back on her. She liked how she looked in Tim’s embrace, one arm wrapped around to hold her opposite breast, one still between her legs, still reaching inside her. Holding her.

Sex was about fun. Or release. Or usually power.

She leaned forward against his grasp to open a little airspace between them, her languid body reawakening already against the slow-dance massage of his hands. She pulled his running shorts down, though they caught before she could finally get him free. With her hands slipped between their bodies, she managed to sheath him.

Sex with Tim was about something else.

He didn’t look down, he just watched her in the mirror. Watched her watch him.

Tim was about safety.

When he was ready, she moved his hand from her breast to her hips, then slowly bent forward. Bent until she could reach out to the side and hold on to the rose-patterned couch accented by the dozen bouquets scattered about the room in contrasting vases.

She’d never felt safety as a part of sex.

Still their reflections retained eye contact. She wanted to close her eyes as he slipped into her from behind, filled her like no one ever had, as he still cupped her in front. But she didn’t.

With Tim, she felt absolutely safe.

She kept her eyes open, her head tilted just enough to see his reflection as he took her with those strong arms and powerful legs. He drove into her, his eyes slipping helplessly closed, yet Lola remained transfixed by the image they made.

Safe was not a feeling she knew anywhere.

She kept her eyes open as they both peaked and flew.

Safe was a feeling she wouldn’t mind having more of. A lot more of.

She watched a woman in the mirror who she didn’t recognize. One whose body was flying upward, yet at the same moment was falling, tumbling out of the sky, right toward this man.

Right toward Tim Maloney.