Private Maneuvers

Too damned true.



"Coincidence or not." Perry tapped his day-planner against his palm. "There's no way to tell now. We just have to weigh the risks of pressing on versus shutting down. At the end of the day, it's your ass on the line, Max. That makes it your call."



Perry could claim it was Max's choice all he wanted, but that didn't change the facts. They didn't have any hard evidence on the snake issue to warrant even a call to his superiors, much less stand a chance of convincing them to risk his cover by any major change of plans. "We press on."



Max rubbed his thumb over the family photo resting on the dresser and couldn't shake the edgy feeling he'd made the wrong decision. Perry and DeMassi were dead right about a woman messing with a man's mind. Particularly a woman like Darcy Renshaw. But he'd be rational tomorrow.



For tonight he intended to make sure nothing and no one else came near her.



"Sirs, you've done your duty by the wounded copilot," Darcy said to Bronco and Crusty as they stepped out of the rental car. Fluorescent floodlights hummed in the 2:00 a.m. silence outside the three-story VOQ. She stifled a yawn. "Enough hovering. Scat. Go play Nintendo or something."



Bronco slammed the door on the Ford Tempo, activating the locks. "Enjoy it while it lasts, Wren. Do you need help walking?"



Laughing, she backed away before Crusty or Bronco could swing her up into some embarrassing fireman's carry. "No. Thanks, really. I appreciate you driving me back from the infirmary. But I'll be fine. Even Doc Clark says so, and heaven knows flight surgeons are infamous for being hard-nosed." She turned to Bronco. "No offense to your wife."



"None taken." He winked, stopping outside her room. "Put your leg up like Cutter said and get some sleep."



"Will do, sir." She twisted the knob behind her.



Darcy waited until they climbed the outdoor staircase to the second floor, and their footsteps thudded overhead before she sagged against the tan cinder-block wall. How could a few tiny bites sting so much? Her leg throbbed like hell. Doc Clark had pumped her full of IV antibiotics and antivenom until her arm throbbed, too. Then he'd released her with instructions to keep off her leg for the night.



At least he hadn't insisted she stay in the infirmary.



How embarrassing that would have been. Forget going down in a blaze of combat glory.



She'd been grounded by a snake.



Three days DNEF—duties not including flying. Nobody dared argue with a flight surgeon's verdict. She was stuck flying a desk and passing out mission packages. Probably for the best, since she couldn't stop her hands from shaking. She just wanted to peel off her clothes and climb in the shower before she crumbled. She'd worry later about how she would fall asleep again.



Darcy trailed a finger down the splintered wooden frame until her hand steadied.



A Renshaw warrior shows no fear.



Darcy tossed her shoulders back and plowed inside.



"Bet you can't name everyone from Gilligan's Island. ''



Darcy spun on her heel. Max lounged in a chair tucked in a corner behind the door. One leg slung lazily over the arm of the chair, the other stretched out. His sea-foam windbreaker was zipped halfway up his chest, clashing magnificently with his pineapple-patterned bathing suit.



"Actors or characters?" She reached behind her to close the door—and give herself time to slow her heartbeat.



"You've had a helluva night, so I'll let you off easy with naming the characters."



A simple, shared smile and the room closed in on her with warm intimacy. The jean shorts and T-shirt she'd yanked on over her ribbed tank and panties before going to the infirmary might as well have faded away. Max's gaze cruised a slow ride from her face all the way to her sandals. Those blue-green eyes held full knowledge of how little she'd been wearing earlier.



He'd noticed.



He hadn't forgotten.



And he liked what he saw.



Darcy forced herself to meet Max's probing gaze dead-on. No more backing down for her tonight. She scavenged for a smile and steady steps as she closed the space between them. Leaning against the table beside him, she crossed her ankles unobtrusively to ease the pressure on her leg. "Gilligan, Skipper, Professor, Mary Ann, Ginger and the Howells. To damn easy. Next time, no quarter, Doc. I can hold my own."



"Fair enough. Renshaw scores, winning back her gun." Max lifted a hand from his thigh to reveal her Beretta.



Damn. How the hell had she forgotten it?



He flipped it to hold by the barrel and passed it to her, handle first.



"Thanks." She tested the reassuring weight of her military issue Beretta M-9, the grip still warm from his touch. "The security police weren't too happy with me for discharging my weapon in the VOQ."



An understatement. But then the Base Commander had strutted into the infirmary interview and—surprise, surprise—smoothed things over for the daughter of his old friend Hank Renshaw. Darcy ground her teeth against a fresh kick of frustration over special treatment she didn't want or deserve.



Max nudged aside a shell casing on the floor. "Good thing you were on the first story in a corner room or someone could have caught a stray shot."



"I never miss." She took comfort in the familiar weight.



"Everyone misses sometimes."



"Not me." She pointed the gun away, pushed the release and ejected the clip. "I got my first gun for my fourteenth birthday. A Colt Woodsman, twenty-two caliber. Some fathers like Bronco take their kids to the zoo. Mine took me to the shooting range."



The General, then the Colonel, had wanted to make damned sure his little girl could defend herself next time trouble tried to snatch her away. He'd trained her well.



Darcy switched the gun to her other hand, slid back the action, locked and cleared the chamber. The familiar ritual soothed her tattered nerves.



Nope. She hadn't worried about missing. Once she'd remembered her gun in her bag by the bed, she'd known she could take out the snake. If only she could have done it faster.



Bile burned her throat.



Darcy turned away from Max's prying eyes. She scooped up her flight bag from the floor and sank to the edge of the bed before her knees gave out. She tucked her gun inside. "Thanks for charging to the rescue."



"No problem."



"Your method for handling the snake worked much better than mine." Breathe in. Breathe out.



The past and present melded at a time when her defenses registered somewhere between nil and nonexistent. Max's voice echoed in her head with a faraway timbre.



"Local pest control will probably thank us either way, since the tree snakes have all but wiped out the bird population on Guam."



"It must have heard my call sign is Wren."



She blinked back the memory of a dirty hand draping a snake over her shoulders and reminding her that good girls listened. Good girls also didn't try to give hints about her captors during a phone call to her father.



Darcy swallowed. Hard. She had thirty seconds, tops, to get Max out of the room before she hurled. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but could you go now? I'm past ready to sleep."



Footsteps sounded just before Max eased into sight, kneeling in front of her. "I wanted to make sure you're okay before I turn in."



"As you can see, I'm all right." Four valuable seconds passed and still his fine butt stayed in her room. Twenty seconds left.



"Call me if you start feeling any ill effects from the bites."



She nodded tightly, her mouth firmly closed.



Fifteen.



She would not disgrace herself by tossing her supper on this guy's Teva sandals. With her luck today, the flyers would all pour back out into the hall, and she'd be stuck with a call sign like "Ralph" for the rest of her career.



"Okay, then. I'll let you get some sleep." Max stood. "But remember. Call if you need anything."



"Just listen for the warning shots in the air, Gunsmoke style."



Laughing softly, he pulled the door shut behind him. Leaving her alone with the rumpled bed and memories of fangs sinking into her flesh.



Darcy pressed a hand to her churning stomach and sprinted for the bathroom. Later she would ask Max why a marine biologist had been carrying a Glock 29 when he'd kicked his way into her room.



* * *



Standing on the deserted walkway outside Darcy's VOQ room, Max adjusted his Glock in the waist harness under his windbreaker and wondered what he was missing. She seemed her normal tough-as-nails self, taking the snakebite in stride. A slightly limping stride, sure, but better than ninety-nine percent of the world would have handled an attack from a ten-foot reptile.



Still, something didn't sit right about the way she'd shuffled him out. The shadows under her eyes hinted at more than exhaustion. He would know. He lived in those shadows himself.



He should leave before someone came out to find him hanging around her door. And he would go, as soon as he heard the new dead bolt click.



Two interminable minutes later, it still hadn't slid into place. Didn't the woman have any safety sense?



Max rapped his knuckles on the frame twice. "Darcy, I think my, uh—" he scrambled "—zinc oxide fell out of my pocket."



Smooth line, slick. No wonder she didn't answer. He tapped again. The door creaked open. "Darcy?"



He scanned the empty room.



"Over here."



Max followed her voice across the room...and down to the bathroom floor. Damn it, he should have trusted his instincts earlier and never left.



She slumped back against the wall, her knees drawn to her chest. Pale but upright, she reached to flush. "Shut the door, please. I really don't want anyone else seeing me like this."



"You got it." Max closed the door before crossing to Darcy. Stepping over her, he snagged a washrag from the rack and soaked it with cold water. Darcy thrust her hand up. Max passed the rag down as he dropped beside her on the cool tile. "Do you need anything?"



Darcy mopped the cloth over her brow. "A new day would be nice."



"How about I get someone to stay with you?"



"No!" She swiped the rag over her eyes. "No. Just what I need, Crusty waving a bologna sandwich under my nose to make all my troubles go away." She shuddered. "I'd never live it down. It's tough enough proving myself to these guys as it is."



"What about one of the other women?''



"No. I don't want anyone here." Darcy shot him a pointed look. "Anyone. I've had a really sucky day. So please find your zinc oxide and leave."



Hiking up onto her knees, Darcy grabbed the toothpaste from the sink. She fell back on her bottom. She squirted a stream of mint gel on her finger and swiped it across her teeth, all the while carefully avoiding looking at him.



Max clasped his hands loosely between his knees. "There's nothing wrong with being rattled by what went down here."



Darcy pitched the toothpaste in the sink. "If you're thinking about rolling out a story of how you once ralphed after facing a shark, don't bother. It won't make me feel any less embarrassed."



In spite of her bravado, he figured she could do without his Mako shark story, or the jagged reminder on his hip. And he could never tell her the top-secret details about how he'd received the scar on his shoulder.



Max pointed to two pin-size scars on his calf instead. "Actually, it was a sea snake, the first time I came to Guam. Just a juvenile one." Lucky for him since an adult sea snake could open its jaw wide enough to span a table. Max exhaled long and slow. "I don't care how long you've been working in the water, those are scary mothers. Damned thing got ahold of my leg and wouldn't let go."



His muscles had stiffened up within a half hour, his jaw locking. He'd have died without the antivenom, but she didn't need that much detail. "There's nothing wrong with being scared into worshipping the porcelain god over there as long as you don't let the fear immobilize you when it counts."