When he opened them again, Cooper was watching him, and he had the impression the AD was trying to keep a straight face. Cooper wasn’t too bad a guy, even if he did play it — every play you could think of — strictly by the book. He heard Varga out unemotionally, was not swayed an iota, and sent them on their merry way.
In the car — Varga’s car, which Varga insisted on driving — she announced, “I know you don’t want to work with me, MacAllister. For the record, I don’t want to work with you either.”
“Who do you want to work with?” Taylor asked out of curiosity. That seemed to take Varga by surprise.
She said shortly, “I’d prefer to work alone.”
Taylor nodded politely and settled in for what was sure to be a long, long week.
They had been assigned to protect Madame Sabine Kasambala, the very young and very lovely wife of a cabinet minister of the African island nation of Comoros. Comoros had about as screwed up a political situation as could be imagined, and it seemed to have revolutions about every fifteen minutes as far as Taylor could make out. Death threats were routine, even de rigueur, and Madame was far less interested in arrangements for her safety than possible diplomatic discounts the DS might be able to arrange for her with Beverly Hills boutiques.
Varga’s stony professionalism scored zero points with their charge, and it was left to Taylor to try and charm Madame into cooperating. He was not particularly good at working the charm; that was generally Will’s forte. In fact, Taylor had the uncomfortable feeling that one reason he didn’t like Varga was she reminded him a little too much of himself.
He did his best, though, and by eleven o’clock they were trotting Madame in and out of the famous shops along Rodeo Drive, a three-block obstacle course of palm trees, lampposts, flower urns, expensive cars, and self-absorbed people.
* * * * *
In or out of uniform, Lieutenant Commander David Bradley was a big, handsome bear of a man. He did look exceptionally handsome in his naval uniform. He had a silky dark beard, warm brown eyes, and a sexy growl of a voice.
“Good to see you, Will,” he said when Will was shown into his office at Naval Base San Diego just before lunch on Monday morning.
They shook hands, and Bradley’s grip lingered just a fraction of a second longer than strictly necessary. His smile was white in his tanned face, his gaze friendly if rueful.
“It’s great to see you, David,” Will said. He meant it. He was grateful that Bradley wasn’t being difficult about the awkward way things had ended between them. It wouldn’t have been unreasonable if he’d held maybe a bit of a grudge.
Will had broken their budding relationship off at the stem after Taylor had been shot. As much as he liked Bradley — and Will liked him very much — he had been guilt stricken at the knowledge that one reason Taylor had been shot had almost certainly been because he was distracted and upset over Will’s relationship with the other man.
The idea of ever doing anything to upset Taylor again had been unthinkable in those first few days when his life had been hanging by a thread. Then later Will had been preoccupied with hunting down the men (boys, as it turned out) who had shot his partner — and keeping up the spirits of that same partner while he was stuck in the hospital.
So he’d called Bradley and apologetically told him he just wasn’t at a place in his life where he could focus on a relationship, blaming the pressures of work and a sidelined partner. Bradley had been understanding, accepting Will’s decision with maturity and dignity. It had been excruciating, because Will really had thought he and Bradley might have something together. But by then Taylor was recovering, and Will’s attention and focus were on getting his partner back.
He had wanted Taylor back with a ferocity that surprised even himself. To this day the depth and power of his feelings for Taylor took him aback.
But seeing Bradley again, he couldn’t help thinking what an easy natural match they would have been. He and Bradley were a lot alike.
“How’ve you been?” Bradley asked as they took chairs on either side of his well-organized desk.
“Very good,” Will said. “You?”
He was disconcerted at the way Bradley was smiling at him. There seemed to be such a wealth of liking and understanding there.
“Good. Great. Busy time for us right now.” There was a twinkle in Bradley’s eyes as he added, “I never did get around to camping on Catalina.”
Will’s face felt warm. He and Bradley had planned a camping trip at Black Jack campground on Santa Catalina Island. Unlike Taylor, Bradley loved camping as much as Will, and they’d had nearly as good a time planning their trip to the pines and eucalyptus trees of Mt. Orizaba as they would have had making that trip.
If they had made that trip, Will was pretty sure their relationship would have reached a turning point, moved into deeper waters. But it was not to be. And Will had no real regrets.
Bradley continued to smile at him in the old open way. “Why don’t we grab some lunch and talk the case over?” he suggested.
Bradley drove them to an off-base steak house for lunch. They ordered prime rib sandwiches and got down to brass tacks.
Naval Station San Diego provided shore support and berthing facilities to the operating forces of the US Pacific Fleet. Over fifty ships called NAVSTA home, with more than fifty tenant commands at the NAVSTA. The base population exceeded thirty-five thousand military personnel and in excess of seven thousand civilians. Needless to say, security was an issue for a naval station that
