Chapter 8

The next two days were uniformly strained, though Harm was having a hard time pinpointing exactly why. Mac was in a foul mood that didn't seem to have any obvious cause, Diane had grown suddenly reticent about that dinner she owed him, and Sturgis watched him with barely-concealed accusation in his gaze, though over what Harm couldn't have said. It was starting to drive him batty.

"Lieutenant Sims, a moment," he called, seeing the familiar blond head passing by outside his open office door.

Harriet stuck her head inside. "Sir?"

"Come in and close the door." Harm closed the file he'd been trying to read, detailing the investigation into several of Master Chief Zonne's cohorts.

Harriet did so. She settled primly in one of the chairs before his desk, an armful of papers clasped against her chest. "Is something wrong, sir?"

"I was hoping you could tell me." Harm leaned back in his chair. "I get the feeling both Mac and Sturgis are mad at me, but I don't have the faintest clue why. Is there something going on here that I've missed?"

Harriet's cornflower blue eyes widened in surprise. She blinked several times in rapid succession. "Isn't it obvious, sir?" There was just the slightest hint of censure in her voice.

Harm suppressed a snort. "Obviously not, Harriet. Enlighten me."

She pressed her lips together for a moment, then nodded. "All right, but just remember that I didn't get involved in this voluntarily."

Harm stared at her.

Harriet shook her head in a gesture of perfect feminine disgust. "It's all about Diane, sir. Now that she's back, everyone knows Colonel Mackenzie's not—" She stopped short, seeming to reconsider her words. "Well, it's just too weird, sir. You'd go crazy trying to maintain... whatever kind of relationship... with both of them." Cheeks flushed, Harriet looked away.

Harm bit his lip as a surge of anger welled up inside him. When he spoke, his voice came out in a dangerously even tone. "Lieutenant, are you trying to tell me that 'everyone'—very few of whom have any business speculating about my personal relationships in the first place—have arbitrarily decided that Diane's being alive means I have to choose between her and Mac?"

Harriet met his eyes without flinching. "Yes, sir, I'd say that's a pretty accurate summary."

"Is this your opinion, too, Lieutenant?"

Harriet drew herself up in her chair. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

Wary, Harm nodded.

"I think it sucks, sir." Her vehemence startled him. "I'm not going to claim to be objective because Mac is my friend and the godmother of my child, and I don't know Diane really at all. But Mac doesn't deserve to be hurt." Harriet stared defiantly at him. "She's followed you into war zones and into all kinds of crazy schemes that I don't even know the details of, and—"

"Whoa, Harriet." Harm held out a hand to stop her building tirade. In the sudden silence, he stared at her, feeling oddly betrayed. "Why are you assuming I'm just going to turn my back on Colonel Mackenzie?"

"Because you've been in love with Diane since before any of us knew you."

Her response left him speechless. Harriet seized the opportunity to excuse herself and hurried out of his office, leaving Harm staring blankly at the space where she'd been.

#

Harm wandered the confines of his apartment, his steps mimicking the restlessness of his thoughts. In love with Diane. The words had struck him like a thunderclap. He still felt dazed, his thoughts cycling endlessly through those four words.

The scary thing was, he didn't know if it was true.

Years ago, when Mac listened to his description of his relationship with Diane, she'd labeled it love, and he'd agreed. It had been such a relief to have someone take his scattered collection of hopes and memories and put a name to them—something simple by which he could forever recall that part of his life, and a person who'd meant a great deal to him. The thought had comforted him in the days following Holbarth's death and had helped him lay his grief to rest at last.

But was it real?

Suddenly, Harm couldn't stand it any more. He spun on his heel, went to gather his jacket and keys, and headed out of the apartment. Maybe it was time to start finding out.

He knocked on Diane's hotel door with a good deal more confidence than he felt. Some part of his mind was screaming at him to run away before someone saw him there and the word could get back to Mac—because hurting her was one of the worst things in the world. Another part argued that, no matter how it turned out, facing his feelings for Diane—figuring them out once and for all—was something he had to do. And a third part simply wanted to be there in the hopes of recapturing something wonderful that, a cynical voice in the back of his mind reminded him, had been mostly in his head in the first place. After all, Diane had been looking at NSA before Holbarth came along.

Diane answered the door in faded sweats bearing the Naval Academy logo. She gave him a surprised look that transformed into a smile before ushering him in.

"Welcome to my humble abode." She made a grand gesture that encompassed the tiny suite, which boasted a small kitchenette in addition to a sitting room partitioned from the bedroom area by a half wall.

Harm looked around. A book on the table beside the couch and a couple of dishes in the sink were the only evidence of occupation. Diane had always had an obsessively neat streak—even worse than his own—which her Navy training had only intensified. Harm immediately found himself comparing the room to the cozy chaos of Mac's apartment and told himself to stop.

He adopted a casual stance belied by the tension he could feel thrumming across his shoulders and down his back. "I hope you don't mind me just stopping by."

Diane shook her head. "Of course not." She paused, and he realized she was just as uncomfortable as he was. "Um... can I get you something to drink?"

"Actually, I was wondering if you wanted to go out."

The moment stretched. Diane gave him a thoroughly startled stare, but eventually the expression gave way to a bright smile. "Sure, I'd love to. Give me a minute to get changed." She turned toward the bedroom, most of which was visible from the living room. Harm watched her for a moment, then turned away.

"So, is this the infamous convertible?" she asked when they descended to the parking lot, where Harm's red Corvette waited.

He chuckled as he held the door for her. "That's the one."

"I'll bet it's no substitute for an F-14."

The hesitation in her tone gave him pause. He turned to study her. Gentle compassion filled her eyes, mixed with curiosity. It took him a moment to remember: mentioning fighters to him had been a dicey business once upon a time. The wounds had been too raw, even years after his ramp strike. Now the memories were only that—rough-edged scars, the only reminder of wounds long since healed.

He grinned. "Not even close."

And with that, the uncomfortable moment broke.

"How often do you get to fly?" Diane slid into her seat. Harm closed the door, then went around to the driver's side.

"Not as often as I'd like, but since I invariably get into some kind of trouble every time I do, I suppose I can't complain. I certainly get enough excitement."

"Every time?"

He started to laugh. "I'm not exaggerating. My last flight, I clipped a weather balloon. The time before it I got to play tag with a nuclear missile. Before that was a single engine landing due to battle damage."

Diane was staring at him.

"What?" He turned the key. The Corvette started up immediately, settling into its wonderfully masculine purr. "It's true."

She shook her head, chuckling. "I know. You've been a trouble magnet ever since the Academy. Didn't you think it was odd that a straight-laced kid such as yourself would fall in with a couple of practical jokers like Keeter and I?"

"Are you trying to tell me you guys didn't really like me, you were just being opportunistic?"

Her laughter filled the car. "Of course we were. But then we discovered there was really a kindred soul underneath all that no-nonsense seriousness—" She leaned her head back against the seat, her eyes dancing. "And that's when the fun really started."

Harm couldn't help but smile. His little adventure in Laos as a teenager had stripped away much of his innocence. Diane and Keeter, with their constant joking, pranks and all-around troublemaking, had taught him how to find the fun in life despite that.

For a moment, Harm took his hand off the gearshift and reached over to clasp Diane's fingers in his own. It was a wordless gesture of thanks, but she seemed to understand. She squeezed his hand in return, her smile happy.

"So, where are we going?" she asked after a bit. The lights of the capitol flashed by outside the windows, bright streaks across the glass.

Harm shrugged. "No place in particular. There's a street in Georgetown with a bunch of little clubs and restaurants and such. Lots of live music, pretty good food—it's near the university. I used to hang out there a lot while I was working on my degree. What kind of music are you listening to these days?"

"Do you know any place I could hear a good Celtic ballad?"

He looked at her askance. "You're kidding, right?"

The corners of her eyes crinkled. "Of course I'm kidding. Why don't you surprise me?"

"Okay."

They ended up at a little bistro that served superb penne rigate. The music for the evening turned out to be acoustic guitar, which pleased Harm immensely. They settled into a corner table, comfortably private but with a decent view of the stage. Their conversation ranged across innumerable topics, none of them terribly important. It served only as a medium of contact, a way to enjoy each other's company.

Eventually, though, Harm glanced at his watch and concluded that it was time to bring the evening to an end.

"I hate to say it, but it's getting late, and I, at least, have to get up in the morning," he told her. "Mac and I are going to try to interview some of the people Master Chief Zonne worked with in the Navy Exchange Command. We'll have to get on the road early. Virginia Beach is a three hour drive."

"Sounds like a long day."

He nodded. "Yeah. But I'm sure we'll be back in time to meet with you and Sturgis for a couple of hours, at least." They had scheduled the evening to go over various strategies for approaching Diane's reinstatement.

Diane gave him a hesitant look. "Um... right. Look, Harm, about that—"

He paused, surprised by her sudden reticence. "Is there a problem?"

"No, no." She shook her head a bit too quickly. "I just—I guess I'm starting to realize that the Navy isn't my only option." Her brown eyes held a wealth of information Harm didn't know how to interpret.

"I thought you wanted to be back at sea," he ventured.

"I do." She paused. "I mean, I love what I do. I love serving my country." Her eyes took on a faraway glaze. "But I was recently reminded that there are other things in life, too, and maybe I... I don't know—maybe I want to pursue those instead."

"What kind of things?"

She shrugged, her gaze darting to his before jumping away. "Haven't you ever thought of really settling down—having a house and... a family?"

With your looks and my brains... Harm cleared his throat self-consciously. "Um, yeah. Sometimes."

Diane gave him a wry, deprecating smile. "Well, I haven't. Not really. But now I have my life back and..." She sighed, looking down. "I want to make sure I do the right things with it."

Harm reached over to give her shoulder an affectionate squeeze. "You will." He released her, clasping his hands together on the table in front of him. "You don't have to make any decisions right now. A lot of what we've been talking about doing will serve to tie up loose ends with the Navy whether you decide you want to be reinstated or not."

She nodded. "Thanks."

"Any time."

The made the drive to her hotel in comfortable silence. Harm offered his arm as they walked up the two flights of stairs to her room. Diane accepted, tucking herself against him and resting her temple against his shoulder. At her door, they paused. Diane slipped her arm free of his grip, but then turned to face him.

"Well... goodnight," she said softly.

Harm stared down into her upturned face—bright, warm eyes, full lips, velvet skin. Memories swirled around him, and, almost without thought, he bent to kiss her. Diane responded immediately, sinking against him in achingly familiar surrender. For just a moment the world went away, lost in the scent of her hair and the passion kindled by her touch.

Harm pulled back after a bit, touching his lips first to her mouth, then each of her eyelids in feathery kisses. Her name hovered on the tip of his tongue, longing for release.

...Sarah.

Sarah... Mac. Horrified, he clamped his mouth shut before he could utter a sound. Diane's head rested lightly against his jaw, her hair catching in the faint stubble there. Her hands had knotted themselves in his shirt and he could feel the softness of her breasts where they pressed against him. Things were so complicated with Mac—so deep and powerful and frightening. His relationship with Diane had always been simple. He wavered. It would be so easy to ignore the urgent warning that clamored in the back of his mind and give in to the here-and-now.

So easy... but wrong.

He raised a hand to cup Diane's cheek, tracing the line of her cheekbone with his thumb. "This isn't the right time to be making this decision, Di."

Disappointment flared in her eyes, but she nodded. "You're probably right." She shifted away from him, bringing a much-needed bit of separation. Harm forced himself to complete it. He released her gently and tried to smile.

"I'll see you tomorrow night?"

She brushed a lock of hair from her face. "I'll be there."

He took another step back as she turned to unlock her door. She slipped inside, closing the door behind her. Harm stared at it for few seconds after it clicked shut. Then, shaking himself, he turned away.