“She’s fine,” Kim said. “This morning she asked when you were coming home.” She had to slip that in. “You think you’ll get leave anytime soon? I mean, they did keep you over there nearly a whole year.”
“I may get more time off than I want if they boot me out of the Air Force.” He couldn’t help himself. His stomach was in knots and he needed someone to talk to. It turned out to be a mistake.
“Would that really be so bad, Jericho?” You could come back home and spend some time with Mattie-”
“What about Mattie’s mom?”
“You know how I feel about you,” Kim said. She could be very guarded in her words now. He supposed he deserved it with the kind of life he’d put her through.
“And what if I did quit?” Quinn heard himself say. “I could get out and come back to Alaska. How would you feel about me then?”
There was a long silence on the phone. He could hear Kim breathing, as he’d heard her so many times as they lay beside each other in bed, touching but incredibly far apart, not saying the things that should have been said.
“Don’t do this to me, Jericho.”
“So it wouldn’t matter?”
“Of course it would matter,” she said. “Mattie needs you here.”
“And you?”
“You know I do.”
“All right, then,” Quinn said, feeling dizzy even as he said the words. “If they don’t kick me out, I’ll give them my resig-”
“What would you do?” Kim said, suddenly bent on playing devil’s advocate. “If there’s one thing I know about you, it’s that you’re not cut out for normal life.”
Quinn shrugged, gritting his teeth. She had to make things so hard. “I don’t know… I’d get a job with the Troopers or Anchorage PD.”
“You’re serious?” Kim said, her voice a breathless whisper.
“Dead,” Quinn said.
“Listen,” Kim said. “It’s nearly noon here. This is a lot for me to process. I’ve got to run to the store before Mattie comes home. Call me later.”
“Okay,” he said. “I love you.”
“I know you do,” she said.
Kimberly Quinn wasn’t much for good-byes. He’d left her so many times during their three-year courtship and eight-year marriage; he supposed she’d had enough of them.
Quinn flipped the phone closed and traded his leather riding jacket for the uniform tunic in the aluminum case. He took a moment to look around the manicured lawns and shrub-lined sidewalks of the base. He’d just told his ex-wife he would quit the very thing he was best at doing-for her and their daughter. Wasn’t that what good husbands and fathers were supposed to do? He was tempted to climb back on his motorcycle and ride as far as a tank of gas would carry him. Instead, he straightened his tie and walked through the yawning double doors of the red brick building-as a resigned man might walk to his own execution.
Lt. Colonel Fargo had gone in first. He still had the pulsing tendons in his jaw and fiery look of retribution in his otherwise vaporous eyes, but his intensity was muted by the post-sunburn peeling of his nose courtesy of his time in the desert-and the way he thought himself impervious to the rules of nature.
After the adrenaline of the rescue had faded and Quinn took the time to consider, he’d not expected things would go this far. His commanding officer appeared to like him-and they had saved two American lives. But, as Fargo was quick to point out, Lance Corporal Diaz had lost his foot, and right now the Monday-morning quarterbacks were using that foot to give Quinn the boot.
As it turned out, Fargo had enough political juice to reach across service lines and seriously screw with Quinn’s career-at least enough to get his boss to convene an official Court of Inquiry.
Waiting, Quinn did what he always did when the going got dicey. He took a dog-eared photograph of his five-year-old daughter from his wallet and stared at her big blue eyes. Poor kid, he treated her like some kind of worry stone. He supposed it was lucky he didn’t get to see her too often or she’d grow up realizing her dad was the biggest whack job in the Air Force… He wondered how much their relationship would change if he returned to Alaska and went to work for the Troopers. It suddenly occurred to him that if he was discharged he wouldn’t likely find a job anywhere in civilian law enforcement either.
Quinn looked up at the echoing snap of dress shoes on the polished tile floor.
“If it ain’t my ol’ buddy Chair Force.” A friendly Louisiana drawl yanked Quinn out of his self-pity. “That your bike out front?”
Quinn shook off his thoughts and reached to shake Thibodaux’s hand. “Yep.”
The Marine’s kettledrum chest came in handy as a billboard to hold the palm-size placard of service ribbons hanging from his green tunic. A red and blue ribbon signified he’d received the Bronze Star for Valor.
“A Beemer…” Thibodaux gave a low whistle. “Us lowly enlisted boys can’t afford the German stuff. My KLR is a good enough motorcycle, but I wouldn’t mind keepin’ your BMW exercised, so to speak, while you’re in the brig. It’s what friends are for.”
Quinn sighed. “Good to see someone has faith in me.”
“Corporal Diaz says to tell you hey. He’s pushin’ the envelope to stay in the Marine Corps when he gets his new bionic foot.”
Quinn shook his head, thinking of all the bureaucracy the poor kid would have to wade through on one leg. “Yeah, good luck with that.”
“Well, beb.” Thibodaux took a seat on the polished wooden bench next to Quinn. “I sure enough owe your ass. Only two months into my umpteenth tour in the desert-but thanks to you, I get orders to come back to the good ol’ U S of A and testify at your hearing. I got to stop off for a visit with my wife and play with the box the kids came in.”
Quinn chuckled. “How many kids?”
“Well, considerin’ how much I’m deployed, we got us a mess of ’em.”
“How many in a mess, exactly?”
Thibodaux winked. “Six… so far.”
Quinn pictured his little girl again, his dark hair, her mom’s blue eyes… If that’s what she needed, he would quit. He’d actually do it…
The heavy wooden door beside them creaked open and saved him from his thoughts. The most influential member of the general’s staff, a short, female Air Force major named Babcock peered over a pair of heavy, black- framed glasses-the kind they’d called birth control goggles or BCGs in the Academy. Most reverted back to their more comfortable-and vastly more flattering-styles of eyewear after training ended, but not Major Babcock.
“Captain Quinn,” she said, her face showing as much emotion as a bran muffin. “You’re up.” She gave Thibodaux a quick up-and-down from behind her BCGs. “You, too.”
“Both of us?” Quinn had assumed the general would want to question them separately.
Major Babcock’s heels clicked as she turned, apparently unwilling to use more energy than necessary to explain things. “Both.”
“She’s hot,” Thibodaux whispered.
Quinn looked at the big Cajun as if he’d lost his mind. “Well, you’re certainly not a credible witness.”
Base Commander Lt. General Ted Powers was a straight shooter, and it was common knowledge you didn’t want to be in his sights, especially when he was pissed-which, at the moment, he was.
The balding general slumped behind a raised wooden table scowling under a forehead furrowed with wrinkles. Lt. Colonel Fargo gloated at the table set aside for what would have been the prosecution had it been an actual trial court.
The general gave a cursory nod as Major Babcock led in her two charges. The clack of her stark, black shoes echoed off the tile in the cavernous room. Her perfectly creased blue uniform slacks swished as if she’d starched the polyester.
Quinn snapped to attention as he approached the commanding officer. He’d expected a colonel or even a
