She loved him.
Admitting it provided her a liberating release from the torturous mental dungeon she’d been imprisoned in for weeks. But she saw no reason to think her love was reciprocated or it ever would be.
Why him? She asked herself for the millionth time, even as her imagination wished she could wind the clock back a few weeks and for one more — awe-inspiring moment — feel his arms around her. What she wouldn’t give for that…
Kristen smiled softly, the scent of the sweet cigar he smoked tickled her nose as she imagined them together. Even for one night, dreaming of his hands on her, loving her tenderly; his lips, the lips she’d hungered for ever since the first taste of them, kissing her again; his body against hers. She could almost feel him behind her, and she reveled in the sweet fiction.
Kristen opened her eyes slowly as she heard the door behind her slide open slowly and then close softly, hardly making any noise at all. For a moment she thought she might be imagining it, but the scent of the cigar wasn’t in her imagination. It was in the air and although faint, she realized the scent was real and he was near.
Her heart began to race in her breast, and she felt her flesh tingling with excitement as warmth flooded her body. She heard the sound of his dress shoes on the stone patio directly behind her. A part of her was still afraid, but the rest of her was longing for his hands upon her flesh. She wanted to turn and fling herself into his arms and tell him to never let her go. But the small voice within her was warning her where it might lead.
They could never have a relationship and serve together. Kristen would be unable to stay aboard the Seawolf. The Navy could not afford to put him ashore — especially now — and she was nobody. A pain in the ass according to the Brass, and they would boot her onto the beach without a second’s thought.
Her left hand trembled as she felt the caress of his hand on her upper arm. Fear overwhelmed her. Fear different than the terror she recalled gripping her during her mission into Korea, but fear as palatable and nearly as debilitating. Could she tell him no?
Kristen knew the answer to the question even before she turned around to face him. The chill wind and all the rushing waves in the harbor could not extinguish the fire she felt welling up within her as she felt the caress of his hand, wanting him more than she imagined ever wanting anything.
But as she turned toward her would-be lover, instead of hot-blooded passion, she was repulsed. Her hand jerked free from his touch as if he were a poisonous snake.
“Hello, pretty,” Fitzgerald sneered, his eyes glassy from too much alcohol, his words slurred.
Kristen’s sweet dream was shattered by the cruel reality of Fitzgerald pawing her left arm with one hand while his other reached for her throat. She responded reflexively and raked her fingernails across his face, drawing blood.
“Get away from me!” She tried to drive her knee into his crotch as she’d done once before, but her long skirt made it impossible.
He lashed back, swinging his right hand around and backhanding her across the face. Kristen felt the blinding blow strike her cheek. Her head was spun clear around, and her body followed. The neat French twist came loose and her hair swirled about her head as she spun. Kristen staggered from the blow, feeling as if the side of her head had exploded. She grabbed the railing to stop herself from falling over. She tried to turn and defend herself, but her long dress and heels made any movement difficult. Before she could even turn to face him, he was on her.
“You’re not getting away from me this time, bitch!”
Kristen felt his powerful grip on the rear of her neck. His fingernails dug into her flesh cruelly as he viciously jerked her head back. His left hand went around her, grabbing her breast through her blouse. Kristen rammed an elbow back into his ribs and heard him grunt, but it wasn’t enough to weaken his vice-like grip. She struggled to free herself, but he was far too powerful, and in her long dress she didn’t have her normal agility that might have allowed her to escape.
Kristen felt his wretched claws on her, and the idea he might kill her was not nearly as unpalatable as the idea of him raping her. Realizing she couldn’t free herself, Kristen was about to scream for help, fearful no one would hear her through the thick glass. But before she could cry out for help, a sound like nothing she’d imagined struck like a thunderclap through the chill night air.
It was part growl and part roar, and whatever was making the sound couldn’t possibly be human. Kristen could feel Fitzgerald’s crushing grip biting into her flesh. But as fast as he grabbed her, his hand was torn away from her by whatever was now roaring in blood-thirsty rage right behind her. Kristen turned, gripping the railing to stop from falling to the ground and saw Fitzgerald flung into the heavy reinforced safety glass leading to the ballroom. He seemed to fly through the air, striking the glass as if thrown by a bear or a hulking gorilla. But she saw neither of these beasts.
Instead, she saw a man.
Except she barely recognized the man she loved any more. His back was to her, his hair raging in the wind, his hands clenched into fists seeming to crackle with energy as he charged at Fitzgerald with the insanity of an enraged bull.
In the large ballroom, most of the tables were empty, with only a few dozen officers and guests left. The Seawolf officers were still at their table, and Graves was with them, looking around for Brodie, wondering where his friend had disappeared to. Then he noticed Kristen was missing as well. Graves looked around, hiding his suspicion regarding where they might be. A part of him hoped his suspicion was true, but the professional in him knew it would be disastrous for both of them if they were to become lovers. He glanced at the men around the table. “Have you guys seen the skipper or Lieutenant Whitaker?”
Andrew Stahl pointed toward the patio. “I thought I saw Kristen go out about fifteen minutes ago,” he offered. “Want me to collect her, sir?”
“She’s on the patio?” Terry asked, standing up abruptly with a look of worry on his face.
Andy nodded. “I think so, what’s wrong?”
Terry stepped off toward the nearest door leading to the patio. “I saw that piece of crap Fitzgerald go out there a few seconds ago.”
No sooner had Terry finished this sentence then they all heard a loud crashing noise against one of the glass doors, and Graves saw a man’s body smash against it as a web-like crack appeared in the glass.
“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Graves whispered and bolted toward the nearest door.
Fitzgerald hit the glass door hard, hard enough to crack the heavy glass. But he wasn’t knocked out by it. Fitzgerald was not a small man, outweighing Brodie by at least thirty pounds, and he was several inches taller than the infuriated submarine captain. Fitzgerald also liked to fight; he’d always enjoyed bullying people and intimidating those smaller than he and had even boxed during his youth. So, fighting was something he was no stranger to.
Hitting the glass staggered him only briefly, and he stayed on his feet, seeing Brodie coming at him. But he didn’t recognize the murderous fury in Brodie’s eyes. If he had, he might have run. Instead, he came off the glass at Brodie and delivered a right hook to Brodie’s head. Fitzgerald felt his iron-like fist connect, taking sadistic pleasure in striking a telling blow. But, to Fitzgerald’s dismay, his “telling blow” didn’t affect the incensed beast who rammed his hands into Fitzgerald’s chest and lifted him up and back against the glass. No sooner did Fitzgerald hit the glass a second time, he felt a monstrous blow to his left lower ribcage.