The Captains' Vegas Vows. Caro Carson
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cooling off period or morning-after annulments—”
“No, sir. We have to get a divorce.”
“That’s a nuisance... Well, looky here. They’ve got videos. Tell me there’s a video of this debacle. I have to see it to believe it.”
Ah, hell.
Colonel Reed was clicking his mouse with a little too much glee. “Look at this. You can watch anyone’s wedding. It says they keep it available for ten days—what a scam. They keep the video up so your friends and family can use the convenient links to send gifts to the bride and groom. Man, what an industry this is. They married someone every half hour this weekend. Every half hour! Was Elvis there? Did your bride wear showgirl sequins? Strategically placed feathers?”
“Oscar.” Shut up.
Tom hadn’t called the man by his first name in the three months he’d been under his command. Oscar had been his friend for almost twenty years, the big brother he’d never had. Colonel Reed was his commander.
It didn’t faze the colonel. He just waved a hand Tom’s way. “Okay, okay. Let me see this for myself.”
The laptop started playing familiar music, a contemporary song he and Helen both loved—of course. They’d been in sync about everything.
Tom cleared his throat, but he didn’t speak. He had nothing to say.
“Here comes the bride,” Colonel Reed said, shaking his head and laughing, like he couldn’t believe this was real.
It was real.
“Oh.” The colonel blinked at his screen. He glanced at Tom. “She’s a knockout. Not in a stripper-pole-dancer kind of way.”
Tom glared at him. What was he supposed to say? Thank you?
Colonel Reed was concentrating on the video, serious now. “Look at you. Look at you both.”
“No, thank you.”
“It’s like—It’s not what I was expecting. It’s like a real wedding. You had your blue mess uniform with you? Oh, right. From the Utah wedding. She’s very beautiful. Classy looking.”
The colonel finally fell silent, only that made things worse, because now Tom could hear Helen’s voice on the laptop’s weak speaker. She made him promises she’d had no intention of keeping.
She can’t remember. That wasn’t intentional.
She’d refused to stay and even try to remember. She’d cut and run.
Colonel Reed casually angled the screen so Tom could see it, the last thing he wanted to see. There was Helen, so beautiful in her white dress.
Stone. I’m made of stone.
The officiant spoke. “I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.” A handful of red rose petals were gently sprinkled over their heads, a blessing.
Tom looked away. He wasn’t going to watch this, but then there were the sounds of a scuffle on screen, and he looked back. The chapel doors had burst open, and young, rowdy men had come charging down the aisle. They’d been looking for a cell phone they’d left behind—they’d been part of the wedding a half hour before Tom’s. But they’d been drunk and loud and Tom had instantly pulled Helen behind himself to protect her. She was an army officer, he knew that, and she was in great shape physically, he knew that intimately, but she’d been wearing a floor-length, slim-fitting dress, not clothing for self-defense. And she’d been his bride.
Nobody would hurt his bride.
The video ended.
“I’m sorry.” Colonel Reed somberly closed his laptop and stood, causing Tom to come to his feet, as well. Captains didn’t stay seated when colonels stood, even colonels who’d said Call me Oscar to a kid in elementary school.
“Sorry for what, sir?”
“Tom.” He sighed as if he’d said much more and checked his watch. “It’s almost noon. Let me take you to lunch somewhere off post. We’ll talk.”
There were two knocks on the office door, quick, cursory. The door opened before Colonel Reed could say enter. A sergeant abruptly stopped short with the doorknob in his hand. “Excuse me, sir. I thought you had left for lunch. I’m sorry. I was just coming in to see if you’d left the papers on your desk for the incoming officer. I didn’t know you were—”
“Understood. Has she arrived yet?”
“Yes, sir. She’s right here.”
“Send her in.” The colonel glanced at Tom. “Stand by. This won’t take a moment.”
Tom walked away from the desk to stand near two wingback chairs in a corner, which meant he didn’t see the person who rapped on the frame of the open door, two firm knocks.
But he heard a woman speak. “Good morning, sir.”
Tom turned around, and his bride walked in the door.
* * *
Helen strode into her new brigade commander’s office and stood at attention in front of his desk.
Thank God for military courtesies. No matter how exhausted she was, she could function in this setting. She knew what to wear—her camouflage ACUs, or Army Combat Uniform—and she knew the brigade commander would be wearing exactly the same thing. Only their ranks and the sewn-on last names over their right pockets were different. She knew how to stand—heels together, arms straight at her sides, hands in loose fists, thumbs pointing downward. She knew to keep her gaze straight ahead, her chin level.
And, despite an eighteen-hour drive that had extended to twenty hours because of a lengthy detour around a massive wreck in Albuquerque, despite the gritty feeling of her eyeballs and the way her brain was clamoring for sleep, she knew what to say: “Good morning, sir. Captain Helen Pallas, reporting as ordered.”
She’d made it just before noon. Thank goodness. If only Tom Cross could see her now, standing at attention in uniform at the desk of the 89th MP Brigade commander and provost marshal of Fort Hood, then Tom would understand why she’d had to leave their little Vegas fantasy so quickly. Why she’d had to leave alone.
The brigade commander didn’t return her greeting.
She waited.
The colonel didn’t say anything. He did not tell her to have a seat or even to stand at ease.
Great. He was going to be one of those jerks who liked to toy with those in their command, putting them through all kinds of nonsensical tests.
Fine. She could stand here all day in silence.
With a soft curse that sounded suspiciously like “cheese and crackers,” the colonel dropped the papers he held and stabbed the space bar on his laptop. He looked at the screen. He looked at her. “Captain Pallas...”
What? At ease? Have a seat? Welcome to Fort Hood? What?
He looked to a corner of the room behind her. “Captain Pallas, I believe your husband is here.”
What? Good God, what was her ex doing now? She felt her blood run cold. There was no limit to the lows to which Russell Gannon would stoop. He was leaving Seattle to be stationed at Fort Hood, too, of course—their joint domicile had been set before they’d gotten their divorce—but he shouldn’t be moving for a couple of weeks yet, and he had no earthly reason to be at the 89th MP Brigade headquarters in any case. He was a chemical corps officer, not military police. The only reason he could be here was to stir up trouble for her.
When she’d been a company commander, spouses and ex-spouses of the soldiers in her command had come to see her, often to demand money, reporting a failure to pay child support or alimony. Twice, civilian women had come to Helen’s office,