Chapter 8

Ryan

I sat at my desk and re-read the email that had just come through. Commander Shepherd wasn't big on fax machines, thank God. When he could, he used the net, and I appreciated the hell outta that. Nothing frustrated me more than waiting for a response.

The email had come through from a secretary. A scheduled call in five minutes. I brushed my hands across the top of the desk, then interlaced my fingers and rested them front and center on my desk pad.

Commander Shepherd was one man who intimidated me. He was my superior for a reason. He'd led more men than any other Commander I was aware of. He was a legend, a myth, and strict enough to make my asshole clench in fear.

The phone rang and I exhaled. "Calm," I said. This wasn't a big deal. It was a request to improve the lives of my soldiers. He would understand that.

I picked up the receiver and pressed it to my ear. "Lieutenant Baker."

"Lieutenant," Shepherd said. His voice was gritty chalk crushed into concrete. The legacy of too many celebratory cigars. Successful missions. "What's this about decorations?" The word sounded absurd coming from his mouth.

"Sir, I've requested permission for a temporary contractor's permit to have an interior designer assess the base."

"Yes, I'm aware of that, Baker. You requested the permission from my office. Care to explain why you need a decorator out there, in the Rocky Mountains?"

"Sir, I've noticed that the morale around here has dropped," I said, and grimaced at the phrasing.

"Whose fault is that?"

"I'm doing everything I can to stay on top of things out here, but the men and women under my command are isolated from their families, from their homes. The weather conditions are less than admirable and the combination of all of this is taking its toll."

Silence apart from Shepherd’s gravelly breaths.

"I want this base functioning at optimum capacity."

"Baker, you and I both know that's not what it's about," he said. "You can't cling to the legacy of Mission Hubert for the rest of your military career." He was a straight shooter, I'd give him that.

Sensitivity was at all-time lows, however. Mission Hubert - the reason my troops had died. "This is not about that, Sir. I believe that the sensitive material we're working with, and the training these men and women have to undergo up here is taxing enough as it is without being surrounded by the bland aesthetic of the base."

"Did you just say bland aesthetic?" Shepherd actually laughed - it sounded like rocks on a cheese grater. "Never mind. I took a look at this portfolio you sent along. The woman in question, this Chanel Scott, is she reliable?"

"Yes, Sir. She's the only contractor I have access to in Meek Springs," I replied. "May I say, Sir, that this may go a long way to improving the relations between soldiers and the townsfolk? If we let one of theirs in, the rumors may abate."

"Town rumors are the least of my concern, Lieutenant." Shepherd paused, cleared the pebbles from his throat. "But I agree with your sentiment on the morale. Happy, healthy soldiers are what we need for this operation."

"I have temporary approval, then, Sir?"

"Yes. I'll have my secretary fax through official documentation. You can bring this woman out to take a look at the base. Once she's assessed the situation, I want an exact report of what she plans to do, when and how, and how long it will take."

Then it would only be a matter of approval on his side. The thought of Chanel out here had me hot under the collar, but that wasn't the reason I wanted this to happen. This would be hugely beneficial for my soldiers, and for my military career. Anything I could do to atone for what'd happened.

Not that it'd ever be enough.

"Thank you, Commander Shepherd. I'll do my best to ensure the process proceeds without a hitch."

"Best that you do, Lieutenant. Best that you do. I'll be in touch." Commander Shepherd hung up and I let out a breath I hadn't realized was in my damn lungs.

Holy shit, the man made my balls curl right back up inside my body. But, this was good news. Chanel would have a chance to prove herself, and to get away from Meek Springs. I had a hunch that was the real reason she wanted to come up here in the first place.

I lifted the phone to call her, then rolled my eyes. I didn't have her damn number. I'd been balls deep inside her, made her come and scream, yet I hadn't asked for a number. What a guy.

A knock at my door and I put the received back in its cradle. "Come in."

Jack Whitmore opened the office door and entered, expression a far cry from the one he bore this morning in the motel. Perhaps, he'd had a little too much to drink after I left the bar last night.

"Jack," I said. I had an open door policy with most of the officers directly below me.

"Lieutenant," he replied, and saluted. It felt mocking, somehow. He didn't meet my eye. "How are you this afternoon, Sir?"

"I'm well, thank you. How are you, Petty Officer Whitmore?"

"I've been better. Mind if I shut the door?" Shutting the door meant he'd drop the formal act, so hell yeah, he could shut the damn door. We were humans, not soldier robots, for fuck's sake.

"Go ahead."

Whitmore shut it, then moved to the chair in front of my desk. He tugged it back, and it scraped along the linoleum with an ear-splitting squeak. He sat down, didn't say a word.

"Jack?"

"I couldn't help overhearing your conversation on the phone," he said. "I was about to knock before it started. I - uh, yeah."

That was a vast invasion of privacy, but Jack's expression said there was more to it than that. "What's on your mind?"

"I also saw Colleen sending a fax earlier."

"Okay."

"You're going to bring that chick up here. The one you banged."

My brow wrinkled up. "That's inappropriate."

"Exactly."

"No, I mean what you just said is inappropriate. And what you're implying."

Jack folded his arms, biceps straining at his uniform. He would've been a threat to another man. That shit didn't bother me. My friendship with this asshole had started after a fight in training. We almost got kicked out of the SEALs for it.

I'd whooped his ass. Pity, I couldn't do it again. Oh, how the times had changed.

"You've lost touch," Jack said. "I was right about you. I mean, I heard whispers around the base that you'd gone soft, but you seemed fine to me. Hard as fucking nails, right? But now this. How am I supposed to take this, Ryan?"

"You're not supposed to take anything, anyway, because it's above your fucking pay grade, you whelp."

"That's how it is?" Jack shook his head. 'Man, you've got pussy on the brain. You really think this little bitch is going to come up here and transform the base into fucking Graceland? You'll be the laughing stock when this falls through. I wouldn't be surprised if you got a dishonorable discharge."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" I asked, because he'd brought my blood to a boil.

"This isn't about me. I'm trying to warn you before shit goes south, understand?" Jack squeaked forward in that chair, mock concern painting his features into a picture of 'lie.' "You bring that woman up here and the others are going to start talking. You say you're worried about morale? Watch what happens when this little ho appears."

"Call her that one more time," I said, and raised my finger. "And I'll have you transferred from this fucking base."

'You don't have the balls or the power." Jack hesitated, swallowed. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down again. "I'm not trying to fuck with you, bro. I'm warning you. That's all. This doesn't look good."

I didn't care how it looked to him. And I didn't believe for a second that he was really concerned about me. We'd been friends, sure, but he'd always had a competitive streak which bordered on self-destructive. It had to eat at him that I was higher rank. That I had a purple heart I didn't even want.

"This is your last chance, Ryan. You realize that, right?" Jack thumbed the underside of his nose. "You mess this up and you're out on your ass. You already killed your men once, they won't take kindly to it if you cause a mass exodus of soldiers from this base."

And just like that he'd crossed the damn line. "Get out," I said. "You're dismissed."

Quiet, and then Jack threw up his arms. "Fine," he said. "Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you. Don't say that I don't look out for you when shit goes down. And it will. It will go down."

"Is that a threat, Whitmore?" What a fucking cock. How had I tolerated this sleaze bag all these years? Thank God, he hadn't been deployed to Iraq with me. I would've cracked under pressure and throttled him.

Jack got up and moved to the exit. "Good afternoon, Sir," he said, dripping acid. He let himself out into the hall and slammed the door shut behind himself.

"Fucking asshole," I muttered. Insubordination at its finest, but Jack thought he could take chances with me because of our old friendship. Perhaps, I'd been too lenient with him. Perhaps, it was time to put him in his place. Stick him in the mess hall kitchens cleaning up after the chef.

I massaged my temples and considered his 'warning.' Did it have any weight? Yes, Chanel and I had slept together, and yes, I was drawn to her, but that wasn't what this was about. She was the only one in Meek Springs who could fix the gray and steel nightmare around here.

I picked up the phone again and called Information Services.

"Yeah, I'd like the number for Scott's Interiors?" I copied it down, then hung up and stared at the digits for a while. If I made this call, there was no turning back.

Chanel would come out here, and I didn't doubt she'd succeed in creating a design that would impress Shepherd. She oozed confidence while speaking about what she did for a living. And her out here, damn, that would be a challenge for me.

I didn't want emotional involvement with anyone, and fraternizing with her would be out of bounds. Could I handle the tension if she ended up on base for an extended period of time? This wasn't a one-night stand - I'd never been big on those - and she wasn't a regular woman.

"Do the right thing," I muttered. That was the mantra I lived by. It was the same one that'd failed me in Iraq. Rather, I failed it.

The right thing. I picked up the receiver again, and dialed her number.