Navy Orders. Geri Krotow
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felt safe having; with worldwide missions that took him away often and unpredictably, he hadn’t wanted to settle down. He especially hadn’t wanted to worry that he’d left a widow or, heaven forbid, orphan behind.
That was then, this was now. He’d had some time to think about his life and the fact that he wasn’t immortal. He’d known he could die while he was out on deployment—half expected it. It was part of the package when he signed on for explosive ordnance, and then again when he’d joined efforts with the SEALs on his last set of missions.
He’d faced the possibility of his own death head-on.
He sped the bike past the fir tree-lined streets in Ro’s neighborhood and eased them onto the main highway that bisected Oak Harbor and the island. They were headed north to where Petty Officer Perez had lived with his wife and two young children.
Miles turned on the motorcycle’s communications system and filled Ro in on the brief meeting he’d managed with the CACO.
The Perezes lived off-base. Mrs. Perez was a nurse and had a good job at the base hospital, so they could afford to purchase their own home. This wasn’t the case for most navy sailors who, once they had families, had to live in base quarters just to make ends meet. Living on base meant no rent, no utilities other than telephone, cable and internet. Quarters were often cramped but very livable, especially on Whidbey Island with the abundant natural scenery. It was easy to enjoy most weekends outdoors year-round, which made up for the tiny homes.
The Perezes had done well for themselves.
He pulled the bike into a small cul-de-sac in the Perezes’ neighborhood, then took his helmet off and motioned for her to do the same.
They were still on the bike.
“Why didn’t you just pull up to the house?” Ro’s voice was low and he liked how he could feel the faint timbre of it.
“I could have—they’ll assume we’re here for a condolence visit either way. But I’d rather not run into anyone who knows us if we can help it. Discretion being the better part and all that, right? I thought it might be a good idea to walk around the neighborhood and get a feel for the area first. Plus we might get some information out of their neighbors.”
“I really hate that we have to do this like we’re creeping around.” In his peripheral vision he saw her raise and then lower her helmet onto her thigh.
“We aren’t ‘creeping around,’ Ro. We’re officially nonofficial, working for the commodore.”
“You never call him ‘boss’ or ‘Captain,’ either, I notice.”
“No, I don’t.” He wasn’t going to elaborate. It was rare for him to respect any leader as much as he did his EOD colleagues, but that wasn’t what was at issue here. The reality as he saw it was that Commodore Sanders was, plain and simple, out for himself and his promotion. Miles didn’t let his own opinion take up too much space in his head, though. The commodore stayed out of Miles’s business and always made it clear that he respected Miles’s weapons expertise.
“Can you slide off first, please? It’ll be easier for both of us.”
“Oh, I’m sorry—of course.” He regretted the loss of her body heat so near his the moment she broke contact with him and slid off the bike.
“Nothing to be sorry about.” He took off his helmet, then accepted hers and put both of them in the storage area under the seat. He pocketed his keys and looked around.
“I get it.” She sighed softly.
“Get what?” He saw her expression and held up a hand. “No, wait. I haven’t said anything about the commodore. My opinion is just that—mine, and it’s irrelevant. He’s our boss, we’re following his orders. Did I miss anything?”
She smiled at him.
“Nothing at all.”
Damn, her smile made him forget what she’d asked. Why they were here, his own freaking name...
“Let’s go.” He turned and headed up the street, away from the cul-de-sac. Perez’s family home was just around the bend, on the other side of the woods that separated the neighborhood streets.
“Aye-aye, Warrant.” Ro mock saluted him as she fell into step.
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