Navy Rescue Read online

  The timing had been bad. She was to assume command when she returned from deployment and the squadron spouses were all acquainted with Drew—he’d played the perfect navy spouse. He brought the right mix of concern for each person, the squadron’s mission and the Oak Harbor community at large. His renowned sense of humor combined with his clean-cut good looks in a charming package. Gwen had been grateful to him, until that charm proved irresistible to one of her officers. An officer she’d pulled out of her ditched P-3.

  Lizzie.

  Don’t. Go. There.

  It could’ve been any other woman who’d turned out to be too interested in her husband. Their marriage had been a mess all on its own by then. She and Drew hadn’t had a regular sex life in months, and when they did it’d become cursory, a matter of doing the familiar, getting the known-and-needed release. She slowly stood up from the hospital bed and let her legs bear her weight. Thinking about Drew made everything hurt all over again.

  Gwen didn’t fight the shame. No marriage fell apart due to one person. It always took two, and theirs had been no exception.

  Her hands were still shaky. Lucas had told her it would take time for her system to settle back into a routine of regular meals, a safe place to rest, no constant need for vigilance.

  Her body didn’t realize that the threat she perceived today wasn’t from the jungle or a terrorist insurgent. It was from her fear of not getting her baby back, the child she’d saved in the jungle. It was from the fear of having to finally face her grief over her failed marriage. She had to go and live with her ex-husband. What wasn’t there to be afraid of?

  Their marriage had been good once. Drew had been her safe harbor, giving her the chance to grow—as a woman, a naval officer, pilot and wife. But the hours of study his Physical Therapy education required, combined with Drew’s need to live in Seattle for school during the week, meant they were hardly ever together. Her operational job as a department head, the last chance she had to prove she was worthy of the plum command tour billet, hadn’t helped.

  When Drew graduated and moved back to Whidbey they’d thrown themselves into setting up his new practice. With the onslaught of injured vets returning from Iraq and Afghanistan, his business had nearly tripled the first year.

  She was happy for him, but they never had enough time alone for her to really express her pride in him. Weeknights were filled with social obligations for her and long hours in the clinic for him. Even a few words before sleep became rare.

  Her record-breaking performance as the squadron operations officer made her a shoe-in for squadron command. Before she’d finished her department head tour, their marriage was over. She’d taken shore duty orders away from Whidbey, away from the emotional fallout of the divorce. It had been a tough time in Washington, D.C. She blamed it on missing Whidbey and their pets.

  As expected, she was awarded her own squadron. She asked for a billet in Jacksonville, Florida, but her detailer sent her back to Whidbey as the executive officer. The promise of commanding officer in one short year took her career to a new level.

  She and Drew had picked up where they’d left off—as the good friends they’d become since their divorce. Contact only when needed to facilitate her visiting the pets. A text here and there to check in, but no more than a couple of times a month, if that.

  It still bothered her that she’d failed at marriage. She’d run from the vulnerability needed to maintain intimacy in the middle of everything life threw at her—her job, Drew’s job, the long deployments.

  Couples drifted apart all the time.

  But the drift wasn’t what had brought the final blow to her marriage.

  The death knell to theirs hadn’t been finding Lizzie with Drew that awful night. Gwen believed Drew—nothing had happened between him and Lizzie. Not then, anyhow. What had cut deep was the realization that they didn’t have a relationship anymore. She didn’t have a husband, she had a housemate.

  “All ancient history,” she grumbled to her empty room.

  Just great. She’d been back only a few days and she was already talking to herself. Maybe the months in survival mode had forever changed her.

  * * *

  “WHICH VILLAGE WAS it, Gwen?” Navy Captain and Wing Commodore Buzz Perry, her boss on Whidbey, sat in front of her. He was the last one to question her. Yet because he was her boss, the closest in her chain of command, he thought he’d be able to ferret out what the past five days of interrogation hadn’t.

  “I don’t know the name. I don’t speak Tagalog, Commodore. I told you what I’ve told everyone else. Pax was the only survivor.” Tears scalded her eyes at the mere mention of the baby she’d saved. The child she now considered her own. “No offense, sir, but I’m talked out. The sooner I get back to Whidbey, the sooner I can report to the squadron.”

  Gwen refused to tell the commodore that she was afraid she’d never feel strong enough to go back to her job. She hoped it was her weakness from lack of decent nutrition and the overwhelming stress she’d dealt with for too long.

  A vulnerability that would heal with time.

  She’d survived the debriefings she’d been through with the State Department, Department of Defense, Department of the Navy, and now her boss, the wing commodore. He’d been flown down from Oak Harbor on the base C-2 airplane to meet with her before he escorted her back to Whidbey Island.

  “We’re here to help you, Gwen. We’ll help you adopt the baby you rescued, if that’s what you want. But you have to see the difficult position you’ve put the government in. We want to reward you for all you’ve sacrificed but you seem to feel that nothing less than this baby will be enough. It’s not so simple, Gwen. The needs of the navy and the country, not to mention diplomatic relations, have to come before any personal issues.”

  The commodore’s eyes were steady but she knew the deal. His chain of command had put him up to this. The highest levels of government wanted to get as much information from her as possible.

  Fresh intel was always a hot commodity.

  She fought to keep still.

  “The difficulty I’ve caused? What about the difficulty of flying a forty-year-old aircraft that wasn’t fit for fair weather, let alone outmaneuvering a surface-to-air-missile during monsoon season? What about how I escaped from a terrorist training camp? What about the difficulty that serving my country has caused me?”

  The commodore stretched his arms across the worktable in the psychiatrist’s office and placed his hands over Gwen’s.

  “I’m not the enemy, Gwen. Neither are any of the doctors or officials who’ve questioned you this past week.”

  She sighed. Her body ached to lie down; she wanted to sleep for hours, days. Pax hadn’t been the only weight she’d carried through mile after mile of jungle. She needed a safe place to shelve her emotions before they got the better of her.

  “Then stop acting like one.” She clasped her hands and stared at the floor.

  Buzz shifted in his seat. This wasn’t easy on him, either, but she didn’t have the energy to muster any compassion.

  “Gwen, if I could’ve changed anything, I would have. That airframe would’ve been recalled before you left on deployment, and you would have had one of the new P-8s. Our funding’s been shortchanged by my predecessor’s actions.”

  Commodore Perry referred to the criminal deeds of the previous commodore, who’d falsfied the aircraft maintenance books. He was now doing jail time in Fort Leavenworth military prison. As a result, it was taking longer for the newer airframes to come on line in the wing and her squadrons. The plane Gwen had ditched in the Pacific Ocean hadn’t been up to the rigors of a deployment, much less being shot at by a modern missile. The crew would’ve had much more of a chance in one of the new P-8s. The former commodore’s crimes also included murder, but his punishment hadn’t helped the crews flying the aging
planes.

  He’d indirectly put aircrews like Gwen’s in danger.

  “The old frame was part of the problem, but we both know a surface-to-air missile brought her down, the same as it would have a brand-new P-8.” Not to mention the fact that the plane had checked out okay before deployment.

  Fatigue blew out her anger.

  “Face it, Commodore, it goes back to pilot error, doesn’t it? I should have abandoned the mission earlier.” Five minutes would have saved the navy an old plane, protected her crew from trauma and avoided her jungle adventure.

  “Gwen, you brought her down safely. You saved every life on that bird. The intel your mission captured prevented what would’ve been a massacre of tens of thousands of people in a sports stadium two weeks later. To top it off, you rescued a newborn from a burned-out village. You’re a hero to me, to the whole damned country, Gwen. But it would help everyone if you could remember more details about your captors. We want to prevent future terrorist attacks.”

  “Don’t you think it would help me to remember, too? Then our interview would be over. I’m lucky I made it ashore, Commodore. I was so afraid of the sharks in that warm water. The prison camp wasn’t fun, either.” She leaned her head back. The soft leather of the office chair was like cashmere compared to the old material that covered the P-3’s she was used to.

  Would her arms always feel this empty without Pax in them?

  As long as her baby remained eleven thousand miles away in the Philippines, yes. There was a possibility she might never see him again—slight but a possibility nonetheless. Still, her heart would never let go of him, of his smile, the way he clung to her through their struggles. If that happened, she’d have to accept it, as she’d had to accept her failed marriage.

  Drew.

  Friends. We’re friends with a unique history together.

  * * *

  GWEN DRESSED WITH care in the outfit Ro had sent her—dressy black jeans and a soft flowing grey cardigan. Her cream-colored Italian wool coat set off the ensemble. Leave it to Ro to understand that she needed to feel pretty again, more like the woman she’d been when she left Whidbey.

  This wasn’t a usual homecoming. No navy band would play upon her arrival; she wouldn’t be dressed in her uniform or flight suit. The squadron, at her request, wouldn’t be there. She wasn’t up to it yet.

  As she shakily applied the makeup Ro had included with the clothes, she ignored how pale her reflection in the mirror was, how chapped her skin, her lips. Whidbey was the best place for a sailor to do reentry. She wouldn’t be alone in her struggles, if and when they came. Other survivors were doing just fine, whether they were still on active duty like her or had transitioned to civilian life.

  A lot of the vets weren’t fine—they continued to suffer immeasurably. Would she be one of them?

  It felt odd to put on makeup again. What would Drew think when he saw her?

  “Nothing,” she muttered. “He’s going to think the same thing he did when Miles, Ro or any of our other friends came back.” Anger at her uncontrollable emotions sucked away the last of her energy, and she leaned against the hospital room’s sink.

  Where was the tough streak she’d always been able to rely on?

  She had no control over what she’d been through, or the fact that she’d returned from the dead, virtually homeless. Gwen slapped some blush on her cheeks. She didn’t have to look as if she’d been through hell, at any rate.

  They’d all thought she’d died, out on that ocean. So had she.

  Miracles still happened.

  * * *

  THE FLIGHT HOME TO Naval Air Station Oak Harbor was thirty minutes, tops, but Gwen felt as though she was on another endless journey.

  After a quick drive from Madigan Army Hospital, they’d taken off from McCord Air Force Base in a C-12, the twin-engine turboprop owned by NAS Whidbey. She hadn’t been so keen to get on another plane after the long trip back from Manila, but at heart she remained a pilot, and a practical one at that. Twenty-five minutes in the air versus more than two hours in a car, longer if there was typical Seattle traffic, was worth any anxiety.

  Once her feet hit the tarmac on Whidbey, her healing could start.

  She closed her eyes and tried to imagine the feel of Pax’s little body as she’d held him, carried him through miles of jungle and through the crowded streets of Manila. His baby scent... These memories sustained Gwen in her hope that she’d be his legal mother soon. She’d gotten through the jungle, the journey to the American embassy and all she had left was this flight home to Oak Harbor.

  The experience of having the medical team poke, prod and question her to determine the extent of her injuries was over.

  The only hurt she continued to suffer was remembering the excruciating goodbye to Pax as she’d turned him over to the Philippine social service workers. He had to live in an orphanage pending his adoption.

  She squeezed her eyes shut against the vision of row upon row of tiny cribs, Pax one of dozens of babies.

  “Mama’s getting you out, baby.”

  The drone of the engines kept her words inaudible to the others. She opened her eyes and looked around. The commodore and his few staff members were reading, napping or staring out the windows. They’d be exchanging knowing glances if any of them had noticed her talking to herself.

  Heck, did Drew realize what he’d signed up for when he’d agreed to help her transition?

  He’d never believe she’d had a change of heart about her priorities, even when he found out she wanted to adopt a baby. He’d assume the worst of her as he always had those last fractured months of their life together. He’d assume she was in it for herself.

  You survived a ditch, war-torn terrorist country, turning over the baby you love. You can do this.

  When her life was threatened, it’d been clear that, of all her accomplishments, the one that mattered most was her marriage. A marriage that had failed. Gwen didn’t kid herself—she knew she was far from perfect.

  So she’d thought of her marriage during those long, traumatic days and nights. As she ditched her P-3C, as she floated at the whim of the ocean’s harsh currents, her thoughts had gone back to Drew and to the love they’d once shared. She was only human.

  CHAPTER THREE

  GWEN SAW HIM as soon as the plane stopped taxiing and pulled up to the hangar.

  Drew.

  He was the tall one with the sure stance, waiting for her with a small group of other people. Relief eased some of the tightness in her chest. She’d specifically told the commodore that she wasn’t ready to meet and greet her squadron. Not yet, not like this.

  Unstable.

  How did she go from constantly being “on” while in survival mode, to feeling like such a complete emotional wreck?

  “Gwen.” The commodore’s hand was on her shoulder. It took every ounce of energy she had left to take her gaze from Drew, to unbuckle and get out of the small plane. The squadron XO carried her bags. He’d had to fill in for her, be the CO, until she came back. Yet now he deferred to her.

  “Thanks, Bradley.”

  “No problem.”

  Both men looked at her, waiting. They wanted her to be the first off the plane.

  Gwen tried to grin but it wasn’t much of a success. She turned and walked to the main cabin door. The airman who’d opened the door stood back after he’d let the ladder down.

  “It’s all yours, ma’am.” He motioned for her to leave.

  She took a deep breath and ignored the immediate sharp pain that lanced through her left side. Her ribs were still bruised from the last fall she’d taken, tripping over a tree root on her way out of the jungle with Pax in her arms. Thankfully he hadn’t been injured.

  The day was bright and she squinted at the light as she grasped the railin
g and took the four steps down to the tarmac.

  As soon as her feet hit the deck she bent her knees, then sank to the ground and kissed the concrete. To hell with her fancy dress pants or what anyone else thought.

  There’d been many nights when she’d believed she’d never be on Whidbey’s tarmac again.

  She straightened and walked to the hangar. The open doors and the welcoming group were at least a hundred feet away, but Drew’s features were as sharp as if he stood six inches from her.

  His sunglasses hid his eyes so she only had his facial features and posture by which to judge his demeanor. He looked taller, his face more defined, more mature. Not as young as she’d remembered him for six long months.

  She’d fought to come back here alive.

  Her independence was still intact even though she had to accept help from the last person she ever wanted to depend on—Drew. It was only temporary.

  At least she’d be able to make amends to him, to tell him she finally understood that neither of them was more to blame than the other for their divorce. She’d played a big part by not recognizing her own need for independence sooner and wanted him to know she didn’t hold any ill will toward him. She truly only wanted his happiness.

  This would be a new start, a chance for both of them to move on like they should have done years ago.

  Before she could finish her train of thought Drew stood in front of her. She hesitated. Was he angry he’d been coerced to take her in?

  “Gwen.” He closed the distance between them and embraced her. She smelled Ivory soap and the hint of black licorice, his favorite snack. Licorice was Drew’s go-to stress reliever. He’d devoured it from big plastic bins after his return from the war, and again during his final dissertation and exams for his doctorate.

  He kept his arms tightly around her, and she relished the feel of his winter jacket against her cheek. By keeping her eyes closed she could almost convince herself she still had him to come home to. That this was real.