Merline Lovelace - A Question of Intent

With her troops’ break room right outside her office, Jill couldn’t help but overhear their vivid descriptions of the sexy hurricane hunter. A chance meeting with the woman outside the dining facility where the cadre was gathering for the in-brief proved her troops hadn’t exaggerated.

“Major Bradshaw?”

At the sound of her name, Jill turned to see the tall, leggy redhead weaving her way through the crowd. Since her Navy-style rank of lieutenant commander was the equivalent of Jill’s Army rank of major, the two women shook hands instead of saluting.

“I’m Kate Hargrave. I understand we’re going to be sharing a bathroom for the next few months.”

Hargrave’s crisp, tailored khaki uniform in no way disguised her hourglass figure, but her cheerful smile drew the eye as much as her curves. Jill’s eye, anyway. Most of the males going by kept their gazes well south of her nameplate.

“I haven’t shared a bathroom with anyone since I dumped my jerk of an ex,” the weather officer confessed with a grin. “I hope you don’t spend as much time in there reading the newspaper as he did.”

Jill couldn’t help but respond to that infectious grin. “Not to worry. I doubt any of us will have time to read a newspaper in the next few months.”

“Good. I like to keep busy. From the little I’ve been told about this project so far, we’re all going to have our hands— Whoa!”

The woman’s green eyes widened and fixed on something just over Jill’s shoulder.

“Things just got interesting,” she murmured in a low, throaty purr. “Very interesting.”

Jill turned and saw at once what had snagged her attention. Dr. Cody Richardson was striding across the compound. Public Health Service Officers also wore Navy-style uniforms. Jill had to admit Dr. Richardson wore his khakis extremely well.

The man could have modeled for a recruiting poster. His pants were knife creased, his short-sleeved shirt tailored to maximize the effect of his muscled torso. Black shoulder boards carried the broad gold stripes denoting his rank. The insignia on his cap featured a caduceus crossed with a fouled anchor, denoting the Public Health Service’s original charter to provide medical care to America’s sailors. Beneath his cap, Richardson’s eyes gleamed a killer blue against his tanned skin.

“Who is that?” Kate Hargrave breathed.

“Commander Cody Richardson,” Jill answered. “Public Health Service.”

“That’s the doc who’s going to be taking care of our every little cough and stubbed toe? Well, well.”

“I believe his primary duty will be to test the nuclear, biological and chemical defenses installed in Pegasus.”

Jill had no idea why the response came out sounding so stiff. It wasn’t any skin off her nose if Kate Hargrave wanted to fall all over the man.

As he approached, both women acknowledged his senior rank with a salute. Richardson returned it, gave the redhead a smile, and addressed Jill.

“Good morning, Major.”

She dipped her chin in a polite nod. “Good morning.”

“Sleep well after our little tussle last night?”

From a corner of her eye, she saw her new roommate arch an auburn-tinted brow. Jill kept both her voice and her smile even.

“As a matter of fact, I did.” With a nod at her companion, she performed the introductions. “Have you met Lieutenant Commander Kate Hargrave? Or do you prefer Dr. Hargrave?” she asked the weather officer, mindful of the string of initials after her name.

“In uniform, I use my rank.” Smiling, she offered the doc her hand. “But among friends and cohorts, it’s Kate.”

“Kate,” he acknowledged, taking her hand in his. “I spent most of last night reviewing medical records. Yours were particularly interesting.”

Jill just bet they were.

“I’d like to hear more about your reaction to the vaccine you were administered after exposure to the Nipah virus in Honduras last year. Your records indicated you went into shock.”

Well, that was one of the more original pick-up lines Jill had ever heard. Evidently Kate thought so, too. She flashed Richardson a hundred-megawatt smile.

“Anytime, Doc.”

When he blinked, looking more than a little stunned, Jill checked her watch and suggested they continue their conversation inside.

Excitement hummed through the air inside the large, open dining area. Jill and the other two joined the group of officers at the front of the room. A petite brunette introduced herself as Lieutenant Caroline Dunn, Coast Guard. The buzz-cut marine beside her was Major Russ McIver. The senior Air Force rep arrived a moment later. Before he could make the rounds and introduce himself, a voice bellowed at the back of the crowd.

“Room! Ha-tennnn-shun!”

Eighty-two backs went blade stiff. One hundred and sixty-four knees locked. Chests out, arms straight at their sides, hands curled into fists, the entire test cadre stood at rigid attention while Captain Sam Westfall strode to the podium at the front of the room. Even the few civilians almost lost among the sea of uniforms squared their shoulders.

The captain kept the group at attention while his gray eyes skimmed the room. There wasn’t a sound. Not so much as the shuffle of a foot or the creak of a sagging floorboard. When it seemed he’d looked every man and women present in the eye at least once, Captain Westfall put them at ease and told them to take their seats. When the scrape of chairs and rumble of everyone getting settled had died, he gave the room at large a flinty smile.

“I think you should know up-front I’ve reviewed the personnel files on each and every one of you. Most of you I handpicked for this assignment. You represent the best of the best from each of your services, all seven of which are represented in this test cadre. For that reason, you’ll be issued a special unit patch during in-processing.”

With a nod, he signaled his executive officer to come forward. The Army captain carried a large poster, placed it on a metal easel, and flipped up the top sheet. Underneath was a classic shield-shaped design. The bottom two thirds of the shield was red. The top third showed a blue field studded with silver stars.

“Please note we’ve included one star for each of the seven uniformed services,” Westfall pointed out, reaching into his shirt pocket for a collapsible pointer. He extended the metal rod and issued a request. “I’d like the senior representative to stand as I name their service. In order of precedence, they are…”

The pointer’s tip whipped against a star.

“The United States Army. Founded June, 1775.”

As the senior Army officer on-site, Jill stood and acknowledged the chorus of hoo-ah’s that rose from the grunts in the audience. When the noise faded, the captain’s pointer whapped another star.

“The United States Navy, founded October, 1775. I have the honor of being the senior rep from the sea service.”

The squids responded with a stamp of booted feet.

“The United States Marine Corps, founded November, also 1775.”

Major Russ McIver, the senior leatherneck present, led a round of “Semper Fi’s.”

“The United States Coast Guard, dating back to the Colonial Lighthouse Service established in 1789 and the Revenue Cutter Service, founded shortly thereafter.”

Lieutenant Caroline Dunn stood. The only Coast Guard rep assigned to the test cadre, the petite brunette rendered a smart salute.

“Next,” Westfall continued, “the United States Public Health Service, which traces its origins to the 1798 act that provided for the care of America’s sick and injured merchant seamen.”

“That’s me,” Dr. Richardson said, standing to nod at the crowd.

“The National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Agency, established in 1870.”