Geri Krotow - Navy Orders

The commodore wanted her and Miles to cover his ass, period. So the wing wouldn’t be sullied by unfair comments in the press, sure. But she couldn’t help assuming that the commodore wanted to ensure that he made the next rank.

Wasn’t that what they were all aiming for, no matter where they were in their careers?

Wasn’t she?

* * *

“GOOD GIRL, LUCKY.” Miles scratched the boxer-mix behind her cropped ears. She rolled onto her back and bared her belly for a proper rub.

“It’s okay. Sorry I was gone so long today, gal.”

Lucky was staying with Miles while her owner, another staff officer, was deployed to Afghanistan. Brad had never stated it aloud but Miles knew that leaving Lucky with him had been more of a favor to Miles than anything else.

Miles’s explosive ordnance partner when he’d been in combat had been Riva, a Belgian Malinois. Riva had lost her life saving Miles’s when a land mine detonated in an area they were sweeping. She’d received a hero’s burial with honors, as she’d so valiantly and selflessly earned.

Her death had nearly crippled him emotionally. He’d known the odds were against both of them when he went into that godforsaken field but it didn’t make losing her any less painful. His counselor and doctors told him his extended grief for Riva was how his mind kept him from focusing on the loss of his leg and his operational career. On a mental level, he knew that. In his heart, however, there’d always be a special place for Riva.

He figured he’d get his own dog in time. He wasn’t ready yet. It wouldn’t be fair to compare a new pup to Riva.

“Woof!” Lucky gave him the sign that she needed more than a belly rub.

“Okay, let’s go for a little walk. You can’t come with me tonight, okay, gal?” The boxer possessed nowhere near Riva’s mental acuity but Lucky’s ability to perceive his mood changes rivaled that of anyone—human or canine—he’d ever met. He allowed himself to wonder what Lucky would make of Ro.

Miles never had a problem focusing on a mission—it was a vital result of the rigorous ordnance disposal training he’d had. Lose focus, lose your fingers, a limb, your life.

But today he’d been distracted by Ro ever since he’d seen her standing in the middle of Deception Pass Bridge. He’d instantly known it was her—he could recognize her petite, well-toned body, not to mention her wisps of sexy curls, even under a knit cap, anywhere. Although she’d turned him down when he’d asked her out all those months ago, he didn’t harbor a grudge. It wasn’t as though he’d been looking for anything serious. He found her attractive and figured it was mutual, judging from the way she got her back up whenever he was around.

He laughed as Lucky gave him a sharp bark.

“Hey, girl.”

Lucky butted her head into his thigh, seeking another belly rub.

As he rubbed her chest he thought about the animal shelter where he volunteered on weekends. He needed to call and let them know he wouldn’t be in tomorrow morning as usual. He had a feeling his time at the no-kill shelter was going to be limited until this investigation was put to bed.

* * *

THE CHILLY SPRING evening proved too much for Ro’s cotton sweater. She closed the sliding glass door behind her, cheered by the bright colors of her family room while she waited for the warmth of the house to chase away her goose bumps.

She didn’t remember when she’d started, but sometime during her carrier tour she’d begun knitting decorative accessories out of the brightest hues she could find. She’d collected skeins of lush yarns in fibers she relished and brought a box of them on her deployment. Her downtime on the ship was basically nil, but every now and then she’d find a moment to pull out the yarn and start a pillow cover. The bright colors perked up the drab navy-gray and olive hues of her carrier stateroom, and gave her mind a brief escape from the pace of wartime carrier operations.

Once she’d returned stateside, the pillowcases turned into afghans, and then she found herself working on the wall hanging that hung over her bed. Her knitting wasn’t anything she shared with others—she knew there was a group of knitters and crocheters that met every week in downtown Oak Harbor because she saw the flyers whenever she shopped for wool. But what if one of those women was the spouse of someone she worked with? What if it was another active duty person she saw every day? She valued her privacy and didn’t want to share her hobby with anyone else.

The guys at work would have the ultimate weapon to tease her with if they knew she knitted. This super girly side of her belied the warrior image she wanted to project at work. Regardless of how good-natured her colleagues were, she didn’t need them prying into the one thing that gave her peace of mind no matter what was going on around her.

She looked at her watch again. Still forty-five minutes until she had to check back in with Miles. Unless he called sooner, it was certainly enough time to get in a few rows on the chemo cap she’d started last night.

Last night.

It seemed a lifetime ago. Before she’d finally pitched the diamond. When Petty Officer Perez had still been drawing breath.

The repetitive motion of her fingers began to work their magic. Fifteen minutes was all she needed....

Her doorbell sounded through her reverie.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” She quickly finished her row and shoved the project back into the cloth drawstring bag she used to stash her works in progress. It was bright neon green and had an equally neon pink sheep printed on the side.

If Miles had found out from the wing roster where she lived and had come here early—instead of letting her meet him—he was going to be sorry. But then it occurred to her that something critical might have happened regarding the investigation.

She opened the front door.

“Miles, I—”

The words lodged in her throat.

“I’m leaving Richard. Who’s Miles?”

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