Are Men From Mars?. Candy Halliday
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small mirror above the sink.
Completely covered in dirt, Maddie decided she looked like one of those old Vaudeville comedians in black face makeup.
“God, I’m a mess.” She bent forward and ran her fingers through her tangled hair. The sand that peppered the basin made her yearn for a hot shower. The thought of stripping naked in the captain’s private bathroom, however, made Maddie more than a little apprehensive. Especially with the off-the-wall scenarios that seemed to spring to mind every time she thought about the handsome devil.
Like now.
Maddie could picture herself waterlogged and withered after spending hours waiting naked under a spray of water that had long since grown cold. Waiting. Hoping. Praying her mysterious kidnapper would finally burst into the bathroom to see if she had somehow managed to escape. He would throw back the curtain and grin wickedly when she only halfheartedly tried to cover herself. And then he would step into the shower with her and pull her naked, quivering body…
You, my dear, are a certifiable nut case!
Hoping to cool herself off from that mental image, Maddie jerked a towel from the towel bar, wet it thoroughly, then mopped it slowly over her dust-splattered face. The amount of grime and dirt she was leaving behind on his own personal towel made her smile.
After cleansing her injuries as best she could with a basin-type bath, Maddie studied the medicine cabinet above the sink. She had never been one of those nosey people who secretly went through other people’s medicine cabinets.
But under the circumstances?
Well, it was the captain’s own fault she needed medical supplies, she reasoned.
Boldly reaching out, Maddie opened the door and peered inside. The usual male toiletries stared back at her. His toothbrush and toothpaste told her even a big, strong soldier like him was just as concerned about the threat of gingivitis as everyone else. There was a can of shaving foam and a fancy-looking razor for that heavy stubble she had noticed earlier. And he evidently preferred aftershave to cologne, though his brand wasn’t cheap; Ralph Lauren would have been proud. Picking up the bottle, Maddie’s intention was to take a quick sniff.
She froze the second she saw the box of condoms.
Shoving the bottle back in place, Maddie slammed the cabinet door and stood staring into the mirror wondering how such a promising day had turned crazy on such short notice.
Instead of aliens, an overzealous Air Force Captain had snatched her out of the desert, destroyed her precious film and was holding her captive in his own private living quarters. Yet, was she fearing for her own safety? Was she worrying that her abductor might be summoning up just cause to put her behind bars?
Nope. She wasn’t even thinking up ways she might strangle Captain Hawkins for all the trouble he had caused her. Instead Maddie’s newly liberated mind kept flirting with the possibility of how much fun it might be to wrangle him out of those camouflage fatigues purely for her own pleasure and amusement.
“Who are you?” Maddie demanded of her reflection.
She hurried from the bathroom when the woman Maddie no longer recognized sent back an imaginary wink from the captain’s bathroom mirror.
BRAD STEELED HIMSELF against the long stream of curse words coming from his commander’s bared lips. With a grimace, Brad said, “With your permission, sir, I’ll beef up security. Now that the sister has involved the local authorities, it’s only a matter of time until the media starts questioning whether we’re really out here on routine maneuvers as we claim.”
“Well, let them question all they want,” Gibbons bellowed. “Just don’t let anyone step foot on this base.”
Brad nodded, feeling completely chastised.
The old man, as he was respectfully called by the men who served under him, had asked for Brad specifically on this final assignment that would take Gibbons into retirement at the end of the year. Brad knew the request had been made mainly out of respect for his father who had saved Gibbons’s life in Vietnam before being killed himself in a surprise attack. Brad had only been six years old at the time, but he’d been old enough to vow that, in memory of his father, he would become one of the best helicopter pilots the United States Air Force had to offer.
At thirty-four, Brad had achieved that goal by never allowing anyone or anything stand in the way of his mission.
“How soon do you think we can demobilize and move this operation?” Gibbons spoke up, jarring Brad back from memories he usually kept at bay.
“Three days. Tops,” Brad told him, still saddened that thanks to him, Gibbons’s exit from the military wasn’t going to be an easy one. “I’m just not sure how we’ll go about getting the Black Ghost out of here with a bunch of reporters watching our every move.”
Gibbons dragged a hand over his weatherworn face before his black eyes flashed in Brad’s direction. Though now in his sixties, he still resembled the young officer in the old photograph sitting on his desk. It was a photo Gibbons took with him everywhere he went. A group of young pilots, including Brad’s father, stood with arms slung around each other’s shoulders, squinting into the sun. Brad’s eyes rested fondly on the picture of his dad for a moment, then back to the photo of Gibbons. Same alert eyes, Brad noted. Same crew cut, though now the old man’s hair was completely gray. Same ability, Brad knew, to make split-second decisions without so much as the blink of the eye.
“We don’t have much choice,” Gibbons finally said, diverting Brad’s attention away from the photo and back to him. “We’ll take the Black Ghost out of here the same way we had to bring that spy plane back from China when we got our ass in a crack. We’ll dismantle and ship the sucker one piece at a time.”
“I’m really sorry, sir. About everything,” Brad said with a sigh of resignation. “Unfortunately we’re in an age of instant communication. Now that the sister is in Roswell yelling alien abduction, every news crew in the nation will pick up the story.”
“Bastards,” Gibbons swore. “Always shoving a camera in somebody’s face. Hell-bent on sensationalism.”
“I hate to say it, but the public is just as much at fault,” Brad mused. “Look at all those reality shows that have become so popular on television today.”
“Well, your damn reality is going to be keeping that professor quiet until we can get the hell out of here,” Gibbons said, suddenly angry all over again. “I’d intended to threaten those women with serious charges and send them on their way, but that isn’t possible now.”
Brad tensed. “Exactly what are you saying, sir?”
Gibbons pounded his desk in his usual pay attention style. “I’m saying we’ll have to keep the professor here until we can move our operation. After that, she can talk to the media all she wants. Once the evidence is gone, there’ll be nothing left to confirm her story.”
Keep her? Brad’s mind yelled in protest.
But that was crazy. They were on a temporary assignment, camped out at an old base that was virtually vacant most of the time. They didn’t have any military police here, much less any type of jail cell where they could house his accidental prisoner.
“But, sir, that’s impossible. If we keep her, then all hell will surely break loose. The local sheriff is bound to call in the FBI.”
“I’ll make a few calls to Washington,” Gibbons said, obviously unconcerned about the FBI. “It’s the damn media and the local-yokels who’ll give us a problem.”
“But, sir…”
Gibbons pointed a stern finger in Brad’s direction, and Brad didn’t miss the menacing twinkle in the old man’s eye when he said, “The way I see it, you grabbed her. Now, you baby-sit her.”
Under different circumstances, Brad would have shouted hallelujah at such an appealing opportunity. Baby-sit her? Hell, yes, he’d