She is goddamn beautiful. I take a sip of my coffee and just marvel at the beauty before me, wrapped up in the warmth of my bed. Jingo watches me watch his mistress, his manner perky, courtesy of his morning walk in the brisk weather we're having.
Not only have I walked the dog, but I've also showered, put on the coffee, and am damn near dressed for work, and she's still lying peacefully in bed. I didn't have the heart to disturb her, to wake her at what would probably be her normal wake-up time. I barely had the heart to get out of bed myself, not when I was spooned around her soft, warm body. And dead tired from only three hours sleep.
Now, though, if I don't wake her she's liable to be late (well, late for Mac, which is still early for most everyone else—especially me). How does one wake a smart, sexy, sassy marine?
Very carefully, Commander.
Ah, throw caution to the wind, Hammer. I set my coffee mug on the nightstand and creep slowly across the bed towards her.
"Mac. . . " I whisper. She roles towards me, onto her side, a groggy but contented-sounding "hmm?" escaping past her puffy lips.
"Mac. . . " I say a little louder, deciding that luscious looking earlobe should be my first venue. I latch onto it and an arm automatically reaches out to wrap itself around my neck. Is she dreaming or am I? I could have swore I got up this morning.
Her slender, graceful neck has always held some appeal to me, and I direct my lips accordingly. "Mac. . ." I repeat, a slightly higher volume than before. I trace her neck down to her collarbone, and I'm tempted to move a bit further south than that, but there's a good possibility that the arm slung casually around my neck might tighten to a chokehold if I do, so I decide to head north.
To those puffy, inviting lips. Lips that are just begging to be kissed. I can't refuse them. She gently roles onto her back and I follow, locked into her two-armed embrace, as one hand slides slowly down my back and up, surreptitiously working my white T-shirt out of the waistband of my pants, while the other slips through my damp hair, holding my mouth firm against hers.
"Sarah," I whisper when I get a breath, and my sleeping beauty opens her eyes.
"Good morning," she murmurs with a restful smile.
"Morning. Time to get up, Marine."
"Hmm. . . I don't think so," she decides, pulling me closer, so that I'm lying on top of her, propped up on my elbows so as not to crush her. Her mouth meets mine, and I debate the merits of remaining here, in her arms, for the rest of the day.
But I made a promise to myself about Bud. I'm not going to let him down. There's a good probability that I could have helped him when he asked for it, but I let my emotions about Sarah distract me from work, and I'm not going to allow that to happen now.
"Mmmm—no," I say, finally breaking away. Well, one more kiss won't . . . shouldn't have done that, Commander. Her mouth opens up under mine, and now I debate the merits of both of us arriving a bit late for work. It would be just a tad bit incriminating, I think, but I also think I've gotten a bit paranoid about our whole burgeoning relationship.
Snap to, Commander, you've got work to do. I wrench myself away—completely away—with a groan. "I think that's enough of that this morning. Come on, let's go, up and at 'em, Colonel,"
"Enough of what?" she ask innocently. "I certainly haven't got my fill."
I have got to turn the heat down in here. Or take a cold shower. Actually, that would probably be most effective.
"You're going to be late."
"So?" She inches toward me with catlike grace, and I know I should move out of her reach, but my brain seems to have lost contact with all points out of its immediate proximity.
"Shower's all yours," I manage to say.
"You don't want to share?"
"I've already had mine this morning."
"You look like you could use another."
"I've got to get to the office early, remember?"
"Shame," she breathes huskily, trailing those puffy lips along my jaw.
Tell me about it.
"What time is it now?"
"You don't know?" I ask incredulously. "What happened to your internal clock?"
She flushes, and then plants a kiss on my lips, that deepens quickly. "That's what happened."
"Oh, really?" Score one for Rabb. Current tally: Mackenzie 196, Rabb 2. Maybe 3. There is my smile after all.
"It's ten after seven."
"What?!" She pulls away quickly and whips her head around to look at the clock behind her. "Why did you let me sleep so late?"
"Well, it's not everyday I have a beautiful marine asleep in my bed. I just wanted to admire the view."
"I've got to do my hair, my makeup, I need to walk Jingo. . . " she continues, and I don't think she's heard me. "Thank god I thought to bring my uniform over."
That was actually at my suggestion, that way she wouldn't have to get up early and go back to her apartment.
"I've already walked Jingo." She stops in mid-yank, her uniform swinging on the rod in my closet.
"What time did you come to bed?" she asks curiously.
"A little bit after three, I think."
"What time did you get up?"
"A little after six, I think. After my alarm went off."
"I slept through the alarm?" she asks in amazement. Yup, those vaulted marine reflexes and ready-at-a-moment's-notice training are obviously slipping. I decide not to point this out, though. I need to be alive in order to help Bud.
"I need to get rolling, Mac. I've got to talk to Bud before court."
She nods absently, apparently still in awe over her own fatigue. I retuck my T-shirt and grab my blouse and tie and put them on. "There's some coffee for you. Just remember to turn the pot off before you leave. And lock up. You've got a key right?"
This is a rhetorical question, as I know she keeps one on her key ring, next to hers. I finish with my uniform, and pack up my briefcase. Mac has regained her equilibrium and is now a blur of activity in my bedroom, hastily accumulating all items she'll need to get dressed and ready for work.
"I'll see you at work, Mac," I call, grabbing my cover off the shelf next to the door, patting my pants pockets to confirm I have my keys, and opening the door with my unburdened hand.
"Wait! Wait." She scurries out and screeches to a halt in front of me. Ah, a goodbye kiss. I like this new progression in our relationship. "Thanks, Harm." She smiles widely.
"Your welcome, Mac." I pop another kiss on her cheek. "See you at work."
*********
Da dee dum dum dum, la da dee . . .
I love someone in the (ba boom) navy . . .
Hmm . . . maybe I should put "U.S." in there . . .
"U.S." would make it flow better.
"U.S." before the ba boom or after? Or get rid of the ba boom?
My problem is I don't know any songs for sailors beyond "Anchor's Away" (and why should I—I'm a marine), and certainly not any love songs for sailors. The closest one I know is that one that goes Blue, Navy blue, I'm as blue as I can be, 'cause my steady boy said 'ship ahoy!' and joined the Nay-ay-vee.
Crap! I slam on the brakes and manage, thanks to my sports car's sporty brakes to stop in time before I plow into a Mazda. Pay attention to traffic, MacKenzie.
Unfortunately, once my mind has fixated on sailors—and particularly one JAG commander—my attention to traffic wanes a bit more than it should. He really is one incredible squid.
He can be such a cocky, arrogant, insensitive jerk and then other times . . . he can be so sweet, considerate, charming, and caring—a side he often keeps under wraps. Walking Jingo, letting me sleep in. Kissing me awake like some scene in Sleeping Beauty. An R-rated Sleeping Beauty maybe, but I'm certainly not going to fault him for it.
I float into JAG ops and into my office, still dizzy from my marvelous morning, and not caring about the curious looks I'm receiving for arriving past my usual time. I note with a tinge of disappointment Harm's empty office. Oh, well, he said he had to talk with Bud, and if I saw him now I'd probably do something incriminating, like press him up against a file cabinet and, ahem, wrinkle his uniform a bit.
Which reminds me, I have a weekend away with Harm to plan. Got my latest issue of Victoria's Secret to help me with the wardrobe matters. I will, of course, have to bring that white little number he loves so much. What else? I may have to break out the gold card and invest in some serious, heart-stopping, expensive lingerie. And maybe those Manolo Blahniks heels I saw. They were kind of expensive, though. Really expensive. But, combine them with a jaw-dropping dress over equally jaw-dropping negligee, with a smolderingly handsome, awestruck, slightly desperate, Harmon Rabb, Jr. and the results should make the effort a bargain.
Of course, if I go to all that expense, it's kind of wasted in an isolated cabin in the Smoky Mountains. Well, maybe not the lingerie. Of course, I could prepare us a romantic dinner, and get all dressed up, but I'm not a very good cook—not like Harm—and I want everything to be perfect. And kind of a surprise. I mean, we are going away for the sole purpose of having a romantic weekend together, but not everything has to be scripted.
So, we may have to pick a new location for our little getaway. So long as it's far away from JAG, nobody knows where we are, and we can unplug the phone.
So . . .
Hmm . . . what about New York, or something? That's kind of romantic. Oooh, maybe Boston. Nantucket Island.
You may have to break out the platinum card, MacKenzie.
What if the weather gets bad, though, and we're stuck on the island? (Oh, that would be a damn shame, MacKenzie. Golly, what would you and Harm do? HMMM) But if we can't make it to JAG on—
"Colonel? Just who I was looking for," Sturgis breaks into my musings.
"Ah, yes, uh—" come on, MacKenzie, focus –"what can I do for you Sturgis?"
"I need a favor."
*********
I stare in disbelief, first at Bud, then Sturgis, and then behind me at the doors to the courtroom, which part and indeed reveal Lt. Colonel Sarah MacKenzie.
Mac? My Mac?
This is unbelievable. Even worse, looking at her expression, I can tell I'm not going to like what she has to say.
"Your Honor, the defense objects to counsel's expert witness," I state, still not believing my eyes. I remind counsel that their expert witness was one Commander Leslie Stickley, not the marine I woke up with. I can't believe she did this. Prosecution knows their expert witness is a good friend of the accused, and anything she may say regarding the conduct of the accused, especially anything critical, is going to stick with the judge.
I try again to object, but Judge Blakely overrules and I exchange a look with Bud as Sturgis swears Mac in. Just as I thought, Sturgis starts establishing expert's relationship with the accused.
When she finally gives her answer in regards to Bud's conduct, I have to look away. Oh, God, this is going to kill us.
Hasn't she ever had an off day? I mean, what about that time . . . wait a sec . . .
"Commander, would you prefer that recess now?"
"No, your Honor." There may be a ray of light here for our defense. "Colonel, did you once receive oral surgery the morning of a trial?" Sturgis calls for an objection, as I figured he would. Hey, he brought in this expert witness, and therefore opened her up to this line of questioning. Sorry if she's well known to the defense counsel as well as the defendant. This could be your loss, Sturgis.
After Colonel Blakely overrules Sturgis's protest and administers a warning to me (an unnecessary one, I think), I continue. "Please, Colonel, answer the question."
"I had a wisdom tooth pulled."
"Did you receive anesthetic?"
"Local."
"Afterwards, did you come straight to court?"
"That's right."
"Were you feeling a little bit woozy that morning?" The answer to this I well know, as I had to walk her from the stairs to a bench in the hallway after she got particularly nauseous. I had told her to take a sick day, or at least come in in the afternoon—I could handle her morning court case, or she could request a continuance. But stubborn marine she is she didn't listen.
Skilled marine she is, she bypassed that attempt at discrediting like any expert witness would. Great. Thank you, Mac. You might just single-handedly have handed Bud his death sentence.
Unbelievable. And I'm in love with this woman?
And how is that going to look to Bud when he's in Leavenworth and I'm bedding down with the person whose testimony convicted him?
And where is she, anyway? Colonel Blakely recessed us five minutes ago for lunch and she disappeared.
"Commander?"
Ah, the captain. Right on schedule. And there's the admiral getting ready for lunch. Perfect.
"Uh, sir?" I indicate I'd like to speak to the admiral privately, noticing out of the corner of my eye the admiral catching Sturgis's eye, an inquisitive look on their faces.
I spin my little yarn about scheduling the luncheon with the captain and no longer able to keep it. He looks like he's buying it. Sturgis, you lost this battle. My phone buzzes and I step over and punch the speakerphone button, brushing aside a yellow post-it in the way.
"Commander? I just wanted to confirm the reservation—that's the admiral and Captain Fryar for lunch?"
Ohhh shiiiiit. Cringing, I turn back to the admiral, who definitely looks pissed off.
"My office now!"
I follow the perfunctory two steps behind, stopping when he gestures to Sturgis, "Turner. Join the Caravan." Sturgis looks quizzically at me, as the admiral informs Captain Fryar it's just going to be a bit longer.
"Sorry, ma'am," I add.
We march into the office and wait for the inevitable explosion.
"Since when did my office become a production of Hello, Dolly?"
"It's about a matchmaker," I offer, knowing Sturgis has an aversion to most musicals and particularly anything featuring Barbara Streisand.
"You think I live under a rock?" he retorts. Hmm, Bobbi must be working on him. Sucker.
"Lock it up!" The admiral barks. We snap to and fall silent.
"Commander," the admiral addresses Sturgis, "were you trying to fix me up with that architect the other night?"
Sturgis wisely does what anybody would in this situation and invokes his Fifth Amendment rights. That doesn't deter the admiral, though.
"I should be angry, but I am so damn disgusted," the admiral rants, glaring at both of us in turn, before resuming his outburst. The whole tirade is only slightly less painful than I imagined it would be—after all, both Sturgis and I are still in the employ of the United States Navy, and still on the JAG headquarters roster.
For now. He may ship us out after Bud's trial though.
Speaking of Bud.
*********
I notice Harriet move away, and I decide it's now or never. Bud says something to Harm as soon as she's out of earshot, and Harm indicates his agreement. I can only imagine their topic of conversation. Basing my assumption on the uninviting look I receive from Harm, I guess I'm right.
"I'm so sorry, Bud. I was hoping to stay out of it."
"Can't fault you for expressing your opinion, ma'am," Bud says, equable as ever. Bud never ceases to amaze me. He's matured into a fine officer and lawyer.
"I can if it's the wrong one." Harm, on the other hand, has cultivated the fine art of holding petty grudges against the partner that doesn't see things exactly as he does in his years as a JAG attorney. "Why didn't you tell us?" he asks peevishly.
"I went looking for you, Harm. I even left a note on your desk." His lips twist slightly, and I know that look. He's irked and now I may have taken away his excuse to hold onto his anger. Good. Serves him right for being so petty. It's not like I enjoyed giving potentially devastating testimony about my friend. And he should damn well know that.
"How is it that Sturgis knew how you were feeling?" He demands. Before I can respond, Bud answers.
"Well, he sensed it in her attitude, same as I did." That astute observation won't pacify Harm. I feel my blood pressure rise as I start defending my conclusions, and Harm, ever the persistent attorney, cross-examines and belittles each statement.
"Why didn't you just say 'no'?"
Argghh. Why does he have to get so bent out of shape about these things? He says I'm the one who can't separate "work" from "personal"? Please, the only reason he's so upset is because he always thinks if I don't see things his way, it's a slight to him, or a mark on my character. I was just doing my job. There wasn't anything I could do—otherwise I would have! Bud, having years of experience with our temperaments and battles, in and out of the courtroom, cuts in before Harm and I really get aggravated.
"Could we just move on and assume we'll get through this?" he asks, looking from me to Harm.
I purse my lips. I'm not the one making such a big deal out of this.
"Can we?" I ask Harm pointedly.
"We're going to have to," he admits grudgingly, arms crossed over his chest.
"Would you like to be apart of the team ma'am?" Bud offers.
"I just testified against you," I remind him, touched he would want to include me after I nearly sunk him with my testimony. Harm seems a little surprised, too. He ought to take notes.
"Would this be okay with you?" I prompt sweetly.
He gives a small nod in which most of his annoyance drains away. "Yeah, in fact I have your first assignment: help us counteract the effect of that last witness."
He flashes a small smirk.
Smartass.
*********
"What a week," I sigh as I flop down onto the couch. I loosen my tie and wish for a beer to magically appear in my hand. Instead, Jingo magically appears and places his head on my thigh.
"Hey, Jingo," I say, patting him on the head. His mistress is banging some pans around in her kitchen. She seems to have forgiven me for, as she terms it, "my tyrannical defense attorney side."
I did apologize for reaming her out about her testimony. I know she was just doing her job. I'm still a little irked about the whole thing, though. No since dwelling on it, as it will just fester between us until it blows up. And I suppose it is a bit petty.
"Did you say something?" Mac asks, sticking her head out the swinging door between her kitchen and living room.
"No. You got anything to drink?"
"Yeah, I've got water, tea, coke, mountain dew, coffee."
"Tea would be good." Spiked with a couple shots of hard liquor, but obviously it wouldn't do to mention this.
"Coming right up."
"What's on the menu, tonight, Mac?"
I wait for a reply and don't receive one. "We could just order in, if you'd like, Mac. We don't have to do anything big." Still no response. It's then I realize it's awfully quiet in the next room.
"Mac?"
I brush Jingo aside and get up from the couch and move uncertainly towards the kitchen.
"Mac?" I call again. I'm starting to get really nervous. Why isn't she answering? I place my palm against the door and push it slowly open.
TBC . . .