Cliff Ryder - Aim And Fire

“Yeah.” She slipped off her pumps and hugged him for several seconds, then slipped free and walked into the living room. “Late enough for a beer, I think.”

“Come on, you need something to eat, too. I kept a plate warm for you.”

“Is that the scrumptious aroma in here? Smells heavenly,” Tracy said.

“Just shrimp scampi with linguini and steamed veg-etables. Nothing fancy.”

Tracy raised a skeptical eyebrow. Paul was an avowed foodie, and a “simple” dish for him often involved hand-made noodles, seafood caught less than twelve hours ago and fresh herbs from his own garden. As usual, she marveled at how he found the time to do all that and work his day job, as well.

Sitting, she allowed him to serve her with a flourish, capping the simple yet elegant meal with a cold Heineken.

“This is wonderful,” she said between mouthfuls. “I almost feel like I don’t deserve it.”

“Why would you say that?” Paul turned a chair around, sat and clinked his beer bottle against hers.

“Oh, I baited Gilliam again.” She summarized the day’s events to him as she polished off the pasta. “But he deserved it, dammit, no matter what he claimed he was going to do.”

Paul shook his head. “Sweetheart, you’re never going to get anywhere looking for trouble and butting heads like that.” Seeing her head come up, he held up his hands. “Not that I’m saying it wasn’t justified, but really, don’t you think you should pick your battles more carefully?”

Tracy rose to take her plate to the dishwasher. “Yeah, but I’m just so tired of the whole thing. I know we analysts are supposed to be behind the scenes, but still, when the behind-the-scenes people don’t get the credit for a job well done, what else is there? Even though a lot of people would consider that a little thing, it was the thousandth little thing, and I’ve just had enough.”

Paul got up, as well, moving behind her to rub her shoulders. “Well, if it’s that bad, like I’ve said before, you could always come to work for Globeview. With your experience, we could have you briefing units in the field in about two weeks, and actually making a difference where it counts, instead of battling the inexorable DHS bureaucracy.”

Tracy leaned back into him, trying to remain focused on the conversation but becoming more relaxed under his ministrations. Paul was a lawyer for Globeview Security Systems, one of the new wave of private security companies that had sprung up in the wake of the expanded global war on terror that was stressing America’s armed forces to their limits. Ever since they had met at a military defense convention in Las Vegas two years earlier, he had been working on bringing her over to the company, and although she couldn’t help but feel a distinct dislike for what was essentially a mercenary outfit, there were times—like now—where it sounded better than heading back to the office in the morning. That thought also brought a stab of guilt with it.

With an effort, she pulled away from him. “Paul, we’ve been over this before, and you know how I feel. There are just some things I think our government should handle, instead of outsourcing them.”

“It’s the wave of the future, Tracy. You of all people should know that there will never be a standing army large enough to cover all the potential conflict areas, and there are plenty of other areas where the U.S.—or other countries—will want to have influence without being directly involved.”

“You mean carrying out whoever’s orders, no matter what the consequences are to the indigenous people and country. That’s how coups are carried out, Paul, as we both well know.”

“So you would rather have hundreds of thousands of people suffering every day, while some insane dictator subjects millions to countrywide hell?”

“Of course not! But what I don’t want to see is corporate boards of directors profiting from going in and toppling those governments, either, and then double-dipping by providing security to the personnel of the private companies awarded the ‘no-bid’ contracts to rebuild these places. After all, look at the Middle East, where contracts were just handed out to anyone who knew the right people.”

It was an old argument between them, and Tracy knew her comment hit Paul where it hurt—his company had landed several lucrative reconstruction projects, all fairly bid for—through their connections on Capitol Hill. However, the no-bid scandal had tarred all of the PSCs with the same suspicious brush, and Globeview was feeling the pressure, as well. “Paul, it’s too late to get into this right now, and besides, we both know where the discussion is going to wind up anyway.”

Paul sighed. “I just wish you’d be a little more flexible in your thinking. We’re doing a lot of good in Iraq—helping where the military can’t, and taking on considerable risk while doing so.”

Crossing her arms, Tracy leaned against the table. “I’m not saying they’re all bad, but it’s an unregulated industry, and there are more than enough examples of PSCs overstepping their bounds and even participating in criminal behavior—I know, I know, not Globeview.”

“Damn right not Globeview.” Paul was fiercely proud of their spotless record—while his company had been investigated for several instances of wrongdoing, no charges had ever been filed, and none of their employees had ever been tried by an international court of law. Several had either been killed or imprisoned in some of the Third World countries they had been working in, however, and Paul had been involved in assisting with their defense in those cases, facing kangaroo courts and bribed judges. “Tracy, the future belongs to—”

“Well, it’s not a future I want to face tonight!” she snapped.

“Tracy? Is that you?” A small voice came from down the hallway leading toward the bedrooms.

Exchanging an accusatory glare with Paul, she peeked around the kitchen door into the night-lighted hallway.

“Jennifer, sweetheart, what are you doing up at this hour?”

The little girl tottered into the room on sleepy legs, her eyes fighting a losing battle to stay awake. She clutched a ragged blanket as she headed to Tracy. “I heard you talking with Daddy, and you sounded mad.”

Tracy bent down and hugged her tightly. “Oh, no sweetie, your daddy and I were just discussing work. Now come on, it’s time for you to get back to bed. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.” She picked up the seven-year-old, managing not to grunt with the effort, and carried her back down the hall to her bedroom. Tucking the girl back into bed, she pulled the horse-emblazoned comforter up to her chin and kissed her on the forehead.

Jennifer’s eyelids were already drooping. “You’re gonna come to the recital, right?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, sweetie.”

“You know I’m playing the fairy queen, right?”

“Yes, and I’m sure you’ll be magnificent. I’ll see you onstage with your wings tomorrow.”

“Okay. Night.” Her eyes closed, and her breathing deepened into the regularity of sleep. Tracy gently swept a lock of blond hair off her forehead and watched her for a minute. While she cared deeply for Paul, and knew she loved him, her feelings for his daughter went far beyond a simple stepparent-and-child relationship. Jennifer had been terribly hurt by her parents’ divorce, and Tracy had taken care to let their relationship grow slowly, trying not to pressure the girl or to grow too attached herself. But the strategy had backfired on her, and now she loved the impish child’s every move. Indeed, she had bonded with Jennifer more quickly than she had ever thought possible—which frightened her sometimes. Although Paul and she were engaged to be married the following spring, and she was certainly committed to it and him, enough doubts niggled at the back of her mind so that she wasn’t absolutely sure it was the right decision. But where Jennifer was concerned, there was no hesitation at all.