Final Blue

By Kate

A little darker in spots than I normally write. If anyone is familiar with my Starsky & Hutch fanfic, a handful of scenes might seem familiar. I decided not to reinvent the wheel. In my Voyage universe, this story would take place during the second season, after Masquerade but before A Change of Plans. Thanks as always to Theresa and Liz. Comments can be sent to veniceplace12@verizon.net

The house was old. Not just decades, but centuries old. The kind of house historical societies fought to preserve even when the walls were crumbling. If Lee had to guess, he would have placed the timeline as early 19^th century, possibly late 1700s. Imposing and formal, it squatted on an incline, liberally dotted with clusters of sycamore and box elders.

The driveway sloped with the ground, butting up against a small embankment to the left of the house. No garage. That would have been sacrilege - - or at the very least, a sure-fire way of destroying the integrity of the property. Lee parked his Cobra then stepped from the car to stand staring up at the house.  

As striking as it was, it had plainly seen better days. The red brick was discolored, heavily encrusted with vines, the paint on the covered porch chipped in numerous places. Despite that neglect, it retained a regal air inspired by wooden shutters, double chimneys and a Palladian arch above the door. To the rear, he could see the protruding edge of a summer house, the view making him feel like he’d stepped into a snapshot of the past. Currier and Ives couldn’t have done it better.

He had no idea why Nelson would want to meet him here, of all places. The house was a good hour and a half from Santa Barbara, tucked among cliff-side roads and dense pockets of trees. Initially, the plan had been for Lee to meet the admiral at the Institute in order to review details related to Seaview’s next voyage. All of that had flown out the window the moment Nelson called. 

The admiral had been short and brusque, instructing Lee to meet him at the address he provided. When Lee questioned the unusual change, Nelson had told him he’d explain everything when Lee arrived and curtly terminated the conversation. As they’d barely been speaking to each other lately, Lee hadn’t been overly surprised by his terseness. Matters had not been good between them for several days.  

He’d attempted to call back but received no answer at Nelson’s home or the Institute. Without delaying, he’d grabbed his car keys and headed out the door. He desperately needed to clear the air with the man he’d come to think of as a substitute father and was willing to drive anywhere Nelson ordered if only for the opportunity to do it. His professional demeanor hadn’t changed, but Lee had been miserable over the abrupt deterioration of their friendship.

He knew it all boiled down to those cursed letters and the mess he’d made.

For the past several weeks, Nelson had been acting strangely, his agitation coinciding with the arrival of several mysterious letters. The last had arrived just three days ago when Lee was in Nelson’s office reviewing the latest updates to Seaview’s equipment list. Angie had intruded long enough to drop the admiral’s mail on his desk. Lee had continued with his work while Nelson sorted through the envelopes, his expression intent as though he were searching for something specific.

His jaw clenched almost immediately. Frowning, he’d ripped into one of the letters, giving it a brief glance. Within seconds, he’d balled the paper into his fist. It seemed to Lee he hadn’t even been aware of his reaction until he leaned back in his chair and refocused on the task at hand. The wad of paper got shoved into his pocket.

“Something wrong, Admiral?” Lee had asked.

Nelson gave a terse shake of his head and readdressed the equipment list. But he grew noticeably fidgety, distracted and clipped with his answers. Eventually, he’d suggested they call it a day and ordered - - not sent - - Lee from his office. 

It hadn’t been the first time he’d acted in such an inexplicable manner. Lee had mentioned it to Chip in passing and was told the exec had also seen the admiral react in a similar fashion to a letter he’d received the previous week. Lee had been concerned enough to query Angie about it, but she hadn’t been aware of anything unusual arriving in the admiral’s mail. There were always pieces of correspondence from names she didn’t recognize but nothing that had stood out in her memory.

Unfortunately, Nelson had gotten wind of his prying and had hit the roof. Lee couldn’t ever remember seeing him so angry, a feat in itself, given Nelson was notorious for his highly volatile temper. Lee had tried to defend his concern, but Nelson wanted nothing to do with excuses. He’d summoned Lee to his office, lighting into him with disturbing vehemence.

“You will keep your nose out of my business, Commander Crane, or you will find yourself in need of a new employer. Do I make myself clear, Mister?” Nelson’s eyes blazed with blue flame, his face flushed by unhealthy color. “Just because I grant you certain allowances doesn’t give you the right to inquire after my personal mail. If I ever catch you doing anything remotely similar again - -”

“Admiral, will you listen to yourself?”

“Do not interrupt me! Hang your insolence! Jiggs Starke is right. I’ve given you far too much freedom and familiarity. Beginning today, beginning now, that ends here!” Nelson jabbed a finger toward the floor as if he’d chalked out a line between them.

Lee felt something cold burrow into his gut. Yes, he’d been stupid. Maybe he’d overstepped his bounds, but was a casual inquiry to Angie really worth the wedge Nelson was driving between them? It wasn’t like he’d personally sorted through the admiral’s mail. He’d simply inquired as to whether Nelson had been receiving anything from a hostile source. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d gotten letters from an organization or individual who viewed Seaview and their work as some sort of threat to mankind. Crackpots came out of the woodwork on a fairly routine basis. He’d just wanted to make sure one wasn’t teetering on the line of fanaticism where Nelson was concerned.     

“Sir, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have - -”

“You’re damn right you shouldn’t have! And in case you misinterpreted my comment about insolence, let me clarify - - you will stay silent unless otherwise addressed. I do not recall giving you permission to speak.”

Lee stood at attention, his heart hammering against his ribs.

“Is that understood, Mister?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Lee wanted to sink through the floor. He and Nelson had butted heads before, even taken a few missteps in their intricate relationship, but the admiral had never spoken to him with such finality and belligerence. It was on the tip of his tongue to try one last appeal, but Nelson’s look stopped him cold. It made him realize just how freely he had spoken in the past.

Nelson turned away, his shoulders hunched with tension. “Dismissed,” he spat.

Lee hesitated, unwilling to let their relationship degenerate into such a horrid mess. If he opened his mouth, he’d be breaking Nelson’s orders about speaking, yet how could he let the man he held in such high esteem harbor blatant hostility toward him?

“Do not make me tell you again, Captain,” Nelson said coldly.

And so Lee had left, angry and miserable as he’d strode down the hall to his office. He had no one to blame but himself. Regardless, Nelson’s reaction was out of character, his rage extreme even for him. Lee had given him the night to calm down then tried to speak to him the next day. The anger was gone but Nelson was blunt and chill, informing him that unless he had something related to Seaview or N.I.M.R to discuss, they had no reason to communicate. He’d made a point of avoiding Lee the remainder of the day, treating him coldly whenever they briefly crossed paths.

Bewildered, Lee had made one last attempt that morning, but Nelson’s phone went unanswered. Several hours later, he’d received the call that sent him dashing out the door to the present address. Maybe it was somehow tied into the admiral’s strange behavior.

Standing now in front of the old house, Lee sighed and laced a hand through his hair. The weather was warm for late October with a bank of clouds huddled on the horizon. He removed his khaki officer’s coat and left it in the car along with his cap. Based on his mood lately, Nelson might just trounce him for being “out of uniform,” but Lee felt he could take some liberties, given they were meeting at a backwoods country retreat.

Sunlight angled through the trees, splashing leaf-shaped patterns and broad patches of shade over the ground. If Nelson had driven to the house, his car was mysteriously absent. From an initial glance, the property looked deserted. The address matched up, but he was beginning to wonder if he was at the wrong place.

Puzzled, Lee started up the walk toward the house. The cement was cracked in places, shot through with weeds, crumbling in others. A light breeze tugged at his collar then danced away to rifle through the grass. It carried the promise of rain as afternoon crawled closer to evening.

The floorboards creaked as he stepped onto the porch. Rapping on the door brought no answer so he tried the knob only to find it locked. Frowning, he bent to peer through the nearest window, but the house was shadowed and dark within. Thinking perhaps Nelson had gone around to the back, Lee headed for the summer house, tucked to the rear of the property.

Connected by a cobblestone walkway, the smaller structure had the same brick façade as the main house. Most of the windows were shuttered, the few that weren’t, heavily caked with grime. Once, long ago, the covered porch had sported summery shades of blue and white, but the paint was peeling now, the wood beneath rotting and neglected. Even the chimney was crumbling. 

Lee stepped onto the porch and tried the door. It opened with an audible creak.

“Admiral?”

The air inside was musty, smelling faintly of paint thinner and cleaning solvents. A single work table was shoved against the far wall, a fluorescent light suspended loosely overhead. Various tools hung from pegs, a few bright orange electrical cords looped among them.

Lee frowned, disturbed by a restless nerve of warning. Why would Nelson call on the spur of the moment and insist they meet at some derelict property, buried in the woods, almost two hours outside of Santa Barbara? Was this just another example of his increasingly odd behavior?

He started to turn back to the door when he caught a flash of movement from the corner of his eye. Before he could react, something clipped him under the hairline, splitting his skin with a searing flash of agony. The world exploded in a conflagration of stars. He felt his knees buckle, the room telescoping around him. He was vaguely aware of his shoulder hitting the floor, blood gushing hot and fast down his temple. He groaned, fighting to cling to consciousness. A baseball bat clattered near his head, the end splattered with blood. Just that quickly he realized what had struck him.

“W-Who?” The word stuck in his throat. He blinked groggily, trying to keep his eyes open, but the pounding in his head was merciless. Someone stepped closer and he focused on a pair of steel-tipped work boots, the laces browned and frayed, looped through tarnished eyelets. The scene waffled, grew muddy, then slowly settled again. Lee tried to raise his head.

“Looking for Nelson?” a voice asked in mild amusement. Hands grabbed him and roughly rolled him onto his stomach. A knee wedged into the base of his spine, and his arms were wrenched behind his back. He felt his wrists lashed together, bound by a length of coarse rope. His head was twisted to the side, long enough for a sour-smelling rag to be stuffed into his mouth. He started to gag, but another cloth was forced over it, tied securely behind his head, sealing the foul rag in place. 

Lee moaned, fighting dizziness, his breath rapid and quick through his nostrils. The room was still spinning, fading in and out of focus as his fragile consciousness waned. Rough hands pried at his fingers, and he felt the onyx ring he habitually wore ripped free. The weight on his back receded. A second later, he heard footsteps moving away. Desperate, he rolled onto his side, trying to catch a glimpse of his attacker, anxious for anything that might help.

Pallid light streamed through the gritty windows overlooking the porch, falling far short of where he lay on the dirty floor. He choked on the gag, fighting nausea, the rancid cloth making his stomach convulse and contract. The fear of vomiting and choking to death made his breath come faster, bordering on hyperventilating.

Hearing the heightened hitch in his breathing, his tormentor turned. For the first time, Lee got a good look at his face and realized he was wearing a mask. The visage was nightmarish, heightened by a macabre death grin, chalky flesh and red-veined eyes. A thick wig of black hair sprouted from a rubbery scalp diseased with oozing sores. Laughter rumbled from behind the plastic countenance.

“You’re curious about who am I, aren’t you Captain Crane? Let’s just say I do a very good impersonation of your admiral - - especially over the phone.” 

Lee tried to concentrate on the voice, but the pain in his skull boomeranged into his jaw and neck. He could barely keep his head up, the room spinning like a cheap, plastic top. The man returned, prodding him with a work boot, easily rolling him onto his back. Lee caught the glint of a syringe and tried to recoil. A knee wedged into his gut, pinning him to the floor. He struggled to get his feet under him, bucking upward to dislodge his tormentor, and almost succeeded in squirming free.

“Sonuvabitch!” A fist cracked across his face, driving his head to the side. “You’re not going anywhere, Commander. Get used to it.” The man pinioned his hips, straddling him bodily. “I’ve waited far too long for this.”

Again, Lee fought to twist free, the gag making him choke for breath, the room one step shy of plummeting into utter blackness. A hand gripped his chin, forcing his head back until his throat was exposed in an arc. From the corner of his eye he saw the flash of the syringe and tensed involuntarily. The needle sank into his neck, jammed with such shocking brutality, he screamed through the muffling gag. 

“Ah, it’s not so bad.” The leering mask above him laughed softly. 

Lee felt a light pat on his cheek. A second later the pressure eased, and the needle was withdrawn, a thick trickle of blood oozing in its wake. Hot nausea rocketed through his gut, leaving him weak and sweating. 

His head slumped to the side. He could still feel the weight of the man on top of him, but it was distant now, a phantom pressure, barely substantial. There was a loud whining in his ears, the bitter tang of blood on his tongue. In a distant part of his mind, he realized the gag had cut into his mouth, cracking his skin in the corner. He rolled his head on the floor, trying to fight off the sudden rush of crowding darkness.

“Don’t fight it,” the voice above him crooned. “Just go to sleep. It’ll be over soon. I promise.”

Lee cracked his eyelids. A hand rose and tugged away the mask. He tried to focus on the face swimming before him, but there was no true substance any longer, just a garish jumble of color and light. The weight departed, and he felt his body jostled, rolled listlessly to the side. For a moment he floated, aware of nothing, feeling nothing. Then there were hands on him again and something tightened over his chest, looped around his arms and hips, binding his legs together. He groaned, trying to make sense of the unwelcome restriction. It gleamed bright orange, a thread loosely binding him from shoulder to ankles. Electrical cord.

The realization came with a shocking moment of clarity, gone all too quickly. His attacker had bound him with one of the orange electrical cords, securing his arms to his chest, looping it down around his legs, hampering his movement. No chance of standing now.

He felt himself dragged backward toward the corner. The floor beneath him smelled strongly of earth and browning leaves. A hand touched his face, his consciousness fading fast.

“We’ll finish this later,” a distant voice promised. Then something was thrown over him - - a canvas drop cloth, reeking of paint thinner and cleaning solvent - - covering him from head to foot, concealing him like a body in a burial shroud. 

The light rolled into his head, and he knew only darkness.

**********

Harry paced, his mood seesawing between anger, regret and worry. Lee was three hours late for their meeting, unreachable by phone and seemingly nowhere in the vicinity of the Institute or Seaview. Always dependable, it wasn’t like his responsible commander to be late and inaccessible. 

Harry had attempted to work up a healthy anger, telling himself Lee was just acting out of character by deciding to skip the meeting altogether. But he knew better. Lee might speak his mind with little reserve, but he’d never do anything so boldly insubordinate. That left car problems, traffic detours or - - what?

The damn letters.

It was bad enough they’d argued about them. Now he was starting to give credence to buried fears. 

He’d spent fifteen years trying to silence his guilt over Elliott and Owen Cable. He didn’t need Lee digging up details or asking questions. He valued his young commander’s friendship far too much. More so their unspoken connection, as strong as father and son.

He’d put a horrid dent in that bond, courtesy of his damn combustible anger. He knew he’d reacted badly when he’d overheard Lee’s casual inquiry to Angie about the letters. Fortunately, he’d controlled himself long enough to order the captain into his office before he’d exploded. It would have been far worse if he’d unloaded on Lee in front of witnesses.

It wasn’t so much anger as fear that had driven him. Fear that Lee would discover the truth and think differently of him. Or worse yet, become involved. The idea made him sick to his stomach.

Rather than think rationally, he’d reacted on impulse, his stress level already stratospheric thanks to Elliott’s letters. He hadn’t been concerned when the scrawled missives rambled aimlessly, but the last one had been different, the threats no longer directed at him.

I’ve waited fifteen years to avenge Owen’s death, Harriman. Killing you wouldn’t be satisfying enough. You wouldn’t feel the pain I live with daily. I only wish you had a brother.

Or a son.

Harry’s gut contracted as he recalled the finality of that letter. It relayed nothing more, just those few scrawled lines on a piece of plain typing bond. He hadn’t been concerned enough to send the first three letters to the police, but he was beginning to think he should have immediately forwarded the last, consequences be damned. So what if the whole thing was dredged into the open again? Lee was missing.

He’d taken great care to distance himself from his commander over the last few days, fearing Elliott was monitoring his activities. He didn’t want any semblance of emotional connection between them and so had maintained an icy front. After the threat in the letter, it was imperative Elliott didn’t realize how much Lee meant to him. He knew his captain was bewildered by his behavior, but it couldn’t be helped. 

Elliott’s letters had been postmarked with four different cities throughout California, Arizona and Nevada. No name, no return address and no easy method of tracking him down. He was clearly covering bases, brilliant even in his psychosis. He’d served his time, released from the psychiatric institution where he’d been incarcerated for the last fifteen years. 

Harry had been notified of his release prior to the date. It had come three years premature of his actual prison term, but all of Elliott’s psych profiles were reportedly good. As a result, the evaluation panel had recommended he be reintroduced to society. For eight months he’d been a model citizen, and Harry had heard nothing from him, convinced his old colleague had moved on and was ready to forgive. At the very least, to forget.

And then the first of the letters arrived.

He’d done nothing, convinced he owed Elliott the opportunity to ramble and spew his pent-up hate. Those first three letters had been disturbing, but nothing that prompted him to notify the police. Stupid maybe, but he’d wanted the past kept under wraps, the fewer people who knew about it the better. Bringing the police into it would have put a spotlight on it all over again. 

He just wanted to forget. And he certainly never wanted Lee to know he’d been that driven, that unforgivably reckless.

It was the fourth letter that made him edgy. It had arrived three days ago when Lee was in his office reviewing the details of Seaview’s upcoming voyage. They’d had another meeting scheduled for 1530 today, but that was already three aggravating hours in the past. It was probably just coincidence that Lee was late. Maybe there’d been an emergency with his mother. He’d call soon, they’d sort it out, and things would go back to normal. Or as normal as Harry intended while he maintained a façade of stiff aloofness with Lee.

He heard footsteps behind him and turned as Chip Morton entered his office.

“Well?” Anxiety made his voice clipped and unfriendly. He’d sent Chip to Lee’s beach house to check on him over forty-five minutes ago. He, like Chip, had his own key to Lee’s home, but he hadn’t wanted to leave for fear his missing commander might turn up.

Chip shook his head, his expression tight. “He’s not there, Admiral. And his car’s missing. Everything in the house seems fine. I know it doesn’t seem like Lee, but maybe he just forgot about your meeting. He was originally scheduled off today.”

“He’s not that forgetful.” He waved off the suggestion, grimacing as a ball of acid bludgeoned through his gut. Chip didn’t know about the letters, much less the line that had his mind in hyper-drive. 

Or a son.

Elliott didn’t know Lee. Couldn’t know Lee, incarcerated as he’d been for so long. But it was plausible he’d spent the last eight months educating himself about N.I.M.R., Seaview, and her personnel. Was he really that sick, that unbalanced to cold-bloodedly hurt Lee as retribution for Owen’s death?

I’m overreacting. It’s only been three hours. 

Too early for the police to give a missing captain credence, but he could call out Institute Security. He heard a frazzled sigh from Chip and saw him rake a hand through his hair. 

“Admiral, I know things haven’t been the best between you and Lee for the last few days…”

“All the more reason he would be here on time, damn it!” His temper was turning elusive again, his nerves raw. Thinking about how badly he’d treated his captain wasn’t helping. He saw Chip press his lips together and was immediately certain Lee had discussed their blow-up in detail with his friend. 

“You disapprove,” Harry said tersely.

Chip stood rigidly, his expression tight. Rarely one to let emotion show, he couldn’t stop distaste slipping through in his voice. “It’s not my place to approve or disapprove, Sir. Lee works for you. So do I. You don’t owe either of us an explanation.”

Suspicions confirmed. The ice dripping from that answer clearly indicated they’d talked. And by the sound of it, Lee was falling back on the employee/employer habit he tended to favor when hurt or confused. Small wonder, given how Harry had treated him.   

He knew Chip only had his friend’s welfare at heart. The older of the two, the executive officer  tended to be protective of his captain even when Lee chafed at his impulsive safe-guarding. From experience, Harry knew Lee only tolerated it so far before exploding. Still, that never stopped Chip from falling back into the same role all over again, if only discreetly.  

He also recognized Chip’s frequent propensity to be irritated with him for the way he treated Lee. The exec was well aware he felt fatherly toward Seaview’s captain but grew resentful when he was forced to shift gears. Circumstance often dictated he interact with Lee solely as superior officer or boss, personal feelings aside. Career Navy, Lee understood that. Chip, on the other hand, couldn’t help feel slighted on his friend’s behalf. In a fit of anger, he’d once told Harry it would be far easier on Lee to be treated solely as an employee and a subordinate officer. It wasn’t fair to waffle back and forth and expect Lee to adapt as Harry’s disposition changed.

Like now. With the letters.

It was on the tip of his tongue to set Morton straight and tell him exactly how he felt about his moody young commander, but that would destroy the distance he’d worked to uphold the last three days. Until he knew Elliott wasn’t a threat, he needed to maintain a façade of stiff correctness where Lee was concerned.

Knowing Chip was ripe for an argument, Harry ignored the younger man’s comment and refocused on his present concern. “Where else would he go?” To the best of his knowledge, Lee wasn’t involved in a relationship at present, but there was always the possibility he’d spent the night with a female partner. There was also ONI and the chance he’d become entangled in something unexpected. A man as skilled as Lee in espionage had plenty of ruthless enemies who wanted him to fall. It was always possible someone from the other side had tracked him down.

Chip shook his head, annoyance filtering from his expression as worry crept into his eyes. “I can’t think of anything off hand, Sir. Maybe you just need to give him more time.” 

Harry knew Chip was mentally trying to convince himself three hours wasn’t anything to grow overly concerned about. Lee was a grown man, perfectly capable of taking care of himself. But Chip was troubled too. Lee was reliable to a fault. If Harry opened up and shared what he knew about the letters, his executive officer would careen headfirst into full-blown worry mode.

Exasperated, he sighed. Before he could work up a suitable grumbling outburst, Rick Kowalski stuck his head around the corner. Angie had left over an hour ago, and Chip hadn’t bothered closing the door to his office when he’d entered.

“Sir?” Kowalski hesitated on the threshold, a brown envelope in his hand.

“Yes, what is it?”

Unfazed by the sharpness of his tone, Kowalski stepped inside. 

Most of the crew had encountered his temper at one time or another, some more than most. Ski was resilient enough that he rarely took anything personally and good-natured enough that he let most of it roll off his back. “Sir, I was just coming onto the grounds when I found this outside the gate.” He stretched forward to pass over the envelope. “It’s addressed to you, so I thought you’d want it right away.”

Scowling, Harry took the proffered envelope. Standard 6”x 9” office stock with a clasp on the back, flap sealed. The front had a single white label with H. NELSON typed out in block letters. Nothing else. Puffed out in the center, the envelope felt as if something of bulk was tucked inside. At the very least, something other than papers or a letter.

“Stay there,” Harry said, feeling a prickle of misgiving. Crossing to his desk, he retrieved his opener and slipped it under the flap. He upended the envelope to reach inside, but before he could complete the task, something heavy tumbled onto his desk. Cold burrowed into his gut as he stood staring at a square-cut onyx ring.

“Damn.” 

Chip was across the room in an instant. “That’s Lee’s ring!” He moved to grab it and immediately stopped, his eyes flashing to Harry’s face. “Damn it, Admiral. What’s this all about?”

Harry knew he was thinking about fingerprints and thus left the ring where it had fallen, but his agitation crackled on the air. Confused, Kowalski joined him at the desk.

“Did something happen to the skipper?”

Harry looked from the ring to the envelope in his hand. A single piece of paper was folded inside. This isn’t happening. Elliott can’t be that vindictive, that far gone, to go after Lee. He didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until he opened the sheet for Chip and Kowalski to see. Two words stood out in large block letters, emblazoned over the paper:   

F-I-N-A-L  B-L-U-E.

Harry spat a vehement curse. There was no question now. But where would Elliott take Lee? After all this time, after so many intervening years, would Cable’s mind still be trapped in the past? Fixated as he was on Owen, would he choose a place familiar to him? There was only one Harry could think of . . . one remote enough for secrecy. He knew he was grasping at straws but it was all he had to work with, and Lee’s life was on the line. 

Chip looked bewildered. “I don’t understand. Admiral, what is Final Blue?”

But he didn’t have time to explain. Briskly, he wrenched open the bottom drawer of his desk, fumbled through several folders to the back, then yanked out Elliott’s letters. “Chip, call the police. Tell them Lee is missing. Show them the ring and these.” He shoved the letters at the exec, already brushing past him as he headed for the door. “Tell them the man they’re looking for is Dr. Elliott Cable, a chemist. He spent the last fifteen years in Fairhaven Psychiatric and was released eight months ago.” Snatching his jacket from a brass coat-tree, he hastily shrugged into the garment. “Kowalski, round up some side-arms and flashlights then meet me at my car. You’re coming with me

“Wait!” Chip exploded, his expression thunderous at the information overload. Frazzled, he shook his head. “Exactly where are you going? Who is Dr. Cable, and what does he have to do with Lee?”

“Just do as I told you!” Harry snapped, his brain on short-circuit. “I don’t have time to explain. Read the damn letters and you’ll figure it out. All I’ve got is a hunch. If it pans out, I’ll let you know.” His gaze swiveled back to Kowalski. “Was there anyone around when you found that envelope?”

The rating shook his head. “No, Sir. It was wedged by the gate.”

Harry nodded grimly, overcome by a heinous sense of foreboding. 

Final Blue.

Elliott had really gone off the deep end. Harry only prayed he could stop him before he turned all that hatred and dark insanity loose on Lee Crane.

He bolted out the door, Kowalski on his heels.

**********

Lee groaned, only half aware someone was tugging at him. The hands were insistent, jarring him roughly. He tried to twist away, but he was groggy and the imprisoning electrical cord hampered his movements. He became aware of the gag in his mouth at the same time nausea ballooned up from his stomach. He moaned against the repugnant cloth, trying to free his hands, but the rope binding his wrists held his arms pinned securely behind his back. His surroundings were dark, muddled with the drape of impenetrable black shadow. A presence loomed over him. 

“Time to finish things,” a voice announced, but it was far away, muffled by the fog in his head. Now that sensation was returning, he grew aware of the cramping ache of his muscles, restricted from movement for so long . . . the abraded skin on his wrists where the rope had chafed it raw . . . even the choking dryness of the gag in his mouth, making him feel like he couldn’t breathe. The left side of his face was caked with dried blood, dribbled in gory streams from the oozing cut under his hairline. It felt like someone was digging against his temples with a knife. He moaned before he realized what he was doing, alerting his attacker to the pain he was in.

“Hurting, aren’t you? You can thank your boss, Harry Nelson, for that.” A hand fisted into his hair, yanking his head back. Panicked, he tried to separate darkness and light, but there was only blackness above him, lined with a faint distortion of gray that may have been a face. 

“Just a little more to keep you under . . . until we get where we’re going, and the real fun begins. I call this ‘Final Blue.’”

Lee felt a needle slide into his neck, but he had no breath left to scream. His body quaked as pain spiked through him, the sudden release of the unknown poison burning nova-hot in his veins. Blood sluiced from the hole in his throat as the tip was withdrawn, twining with dried ribbons already encrusted there. The hand stayed knotted in his hair, the face above him drawing closer, swimming in a distorted mass of fleshtones and writhing fog. 

“You’re fighting it, Commander. If you just surrender to the drug, it won’t hurt so badly. Yes, it’ll make your muscles useless and put you under. But if you fight it the drug grows stronger, and with that increase in potency comes pain. We never did resolve the side-effects. Harry killed Owen before we had a chance to correct the problems.”

The words made no sense. The hand in his hair gave a brutal shake, and Lee felt his head jarred to the side. Agony flamed from the gash under his hairline, minimal compared to what the drug did to him. Don’t fight it, the voice had said, but he was blinded by pain. The toxin crept through his body, bringing on instant lethargy, turning his muscles to useless gel even as it plundered him with scalding fire. The shock boomeranged into his head, made him try to suck desperate breaths through the gag. He twisted in the grip of the hated orange cord, fighting the punishing fingers and the restriction that held him. 

“You’re only making it worse. Didn’t you hear what I said?” The hand left his hair and cracked sharply across his face. The sting was inconsequential compared to the agony the drug brought. His stomach convulsed, pushing hot bile into the back of his throat. He swallowed on instinct, terrified he would suffocate on his own vomit. Prodding hands manhandled him onto his back. A knee wedged into his abdomen, the crush of solid bone grinding into flesh, making him gasp and pant against the hated gag. “Stop fighting and it’ll put you back under. Do you hear me, Crane? You’re only hurting yourself.”

Lee tried to talk against the gag... to explain that he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, that it hurt so bad, he couldn’t help but fight it. But he only moaned against the clotted cloth, his voice stolen from him as terror and pain drenched him in a cold sweat. He squeezed his eyes shut, futilely trying to silence the agony. He didn’t understand what had happened . . . why this man - - whoever he was - - was torturing him with a lethal toxin. Why he’d mentioned the admiral by name. Why he was imprisoned in a nightmarish hell with no explanation he could fathom.

“Enough now.” A hand tapped the side of his face. “Don’t make me give you another shot, Captain. I don’t want to kill you that way.”

No, you want to freaking drag it out as long as you can.

Lee’s muscles were all but useless, sapped by lassitude and the bubbling white fire of the drug. Even as he twisted against his captor, a hot streak of pain rocketed through him, so viciously brutal and terrifying, he screamed against the gag. The pain spiked higher and hotter, his veins gored from the inside out. 

“I told you to stop fighting it!” An enraged voice roared above him.

Something descended and clipped the side of his head, igniting fresh splinters of pain. Darkness came just as quickly, sucking him down into a world where the agony receded into a distant ache, and the threat of dying thinned into an insubstantial fog. 

With a final groan, Lee blacked out.

**********

Harry kept his hands locked on the steering wheel, his eyes riveted to the road. Rain had moved in an hour ago, leaving everything sodden and damp. A heavy fog clung to the ground, the headlights of his sedan barely penetrating the thick, vaporous haze. He tried to stay focused on the present, but his mind kept shifting to the past and the ugly circumstances surrounding Owen Cable’s death. He should have been less ambitious, more accountable. If he’d only refused when Owen demanded they go into that underwater cave. He’d known it was unstable. Damn it all to hell, it was one thing to take the risk himself, another to play tour guide when the very walls threatened to tumble down.

“Sir?” Kowalski’s voice shattered the silence. “Do you mind telling me where we’re going?”

Where indeed? To madness and back if Elliott had his way. Fifteen years! Why couldn’t the man just let it go? He’d never meant for Owen to die. Killing Lee wasn’t going to solve anything.

“The outskirts of a small town called Lickdale. Are you familiar with it?”

“Of course, Sir. It’s about an hour and a half northeast. But what does that have to do with the skipper?”

A loaded question if he let his imagination take hold. Instead, Harry fixated on the crowding darkness beyond the windshield. The clock had inched past 2000 hours, making Lee’s absence all the more notable. Between the dense fog, patchy moonlight and his growing guilt, it was all he could do to stay focused. How to explain the whole wretched mess had really started fifteen years ago? If anything happened to Lee because of him, he’d never forgive himself.

“There’s a house,” he said slowly. “Just outside of Lickdale. It’s a long shot, but we might find Captain Crane there.” It had belonged to one of Owen’s friends. Harry knew it had been deserted for years, but he also knew Owen and Elliott had frequently used it as a summer retreat. He’d been to it once or twice in the glory days of their association. Before everything soured. Before Owen died.

He felt Kowalski’s gaze on him. “Sir, I don’t understand. You think something has happened to the skipper . . . that he’s being held against his will?”

Wasn’t that much obvious? “I’m afraid so.” He couldn’t find it in him to hope he was wrong. He was too convinced he was right. And it’s my fault. All of it.

“But why, Sir?” Kowalski persisted.

He shook his head, unable to share the truth. All he wanted to do was find Lee and make sure he wasn’t hurt. He already had Owen’s death on his conscience. The thought of his captain’s was far too traumatic to contemplate. He’d give his right arm before sacrificing Lee so needlessly.

“It doesn’t matter,” he answered tersely. “We just have to find Captain Crane before it’s too late.” The thought stayed with him the remainder of the journey, crowding all other thoughts from his head. What if they were too late? What if Elliott had already enacted some sick retribution by killing Lee in retaliation for Owen’s death? 

What if Lee was gone, and he’d never taken the time to tell his commander exactly how he felt about him? It was one thing to think of Lee as a son, another to admit it out loud. He’d always lacked that courage. He was such a damn skinflint with his emotions, too proud to expose any hint of vulnerability or need. Even to Lee - - to the man who meant most to him in the world.

Why was it so freaking hard to own up to his feelings, and spill his guts? He was a Nobel Prize winner, a Ph.D. multiple times over. Yet for all that brilliance and enviable genius, he couldn’t figure out how to say what was foremost in his heart. He’d always believed Lee had known, even though he’d never said it aloud. When it came right down to it that was just so much unabashed cowardice. He wanted Lee as captain, subordinate and son - - as it suited him - - but didn’t want to take the time to sort out the wherefores and whys. He just expected Lee to adapt, to accept.

And what made it all the worse was that Lee did. Continually.

Anyone else would have put up fences, would have stopped trying, but when it came right down to it, Lee needed him just as much as he needed his commander. Possibly, more so. 

Skilled beyond his years, Lee was the perfect candidate for needing no one. If he’d been raised without feeling, that may have been the outcome, but his father, Grayson, had taught him differently. His underlying vulnerability dictated he couldn’t go it alone. As a result, he was a study in contradictions - - steel, poise and distance, overlain by sensitivity and caring. A wholly unique individual who connected with Harry on a level no one else had ever come close to touching.

And still he didn’t have the courage to tell Lee he loved him as a son.

Grimacing, he tightened his hands on the wheel. He’d worry about his failures later. All that mattered at the moment was that Lee was alive and safe.

The fog had broken into patches, still heavy and dense by the time he reached the old house, but spotty now, weaving between the trees. He pulled his car to the crest of the drive, his heart lurching into his throat when the headlights swept across Lee’s Cobra.

“Sir, that’s the skipper’s car,” Kowalski said.

His throat was too tight to summon a response. Harry grabbed a flashlight, leaving the keys dangling from the ignition as he stepped from the vehicle. Gravel crunched under his shoes as he walked closer to inspect the sporty red convertible. Even in the darkness, he could see Lee’s jacket and cap strewn over the passenger’s seat. Anxious, he cast a glance toward the house, the windows black and still as the night around him.

He drew his gun. “Kowalski . . . go around the back. I’ll take the front.”

The door was locked but it didn’t take him long to pry it open, even less time to move throughout the shadowed rooms within. Dusty and long-neglected, the house was like a tomb. He uncovered nothing, just must and mold and creaking floorboards. Back outside, he and Kowalski turned their attention on the rear of the property and the summer house. It didn’t take long to decipher a struggle had taken place within the dilapidated outbuilding.

Harry’s heart beat faster as he thought of his commander at Elliott’s mercy . . . as a victim of Final Blue. “Kowalski, take the car. There’s a gas station a few miles down the road. Call Mister Morton and let him know what we’ve found. Have him send the police.”

“But, Sir, what are you going to do?”

Harry stepped from the summer house, looking to the dense pockets of trees surrounding the property. His mind was in overdrive, conjuring a plethora of ghastly scenarios. Owen had been buried alive in an underwater cave. Surely, Elliott wouldn’t carry things that far.

“I’m going to scout around the woods,” he replied. And pray to God I’m not too late. He grimaced, tightening his fingers around the stock of his pistol. Elliott had pumped a bullet into him fifteen years ago at point-blank range. It would be ironic if he ended up returning the favor with a slug from his .45.

For Lee Crane, he could do no less.

**********

Lee woke up shivering. The ground beneath him was sodden, soaking through the light weave of his khaki shirt and saturating his pants. His awareness of cold was quickly overshadowed by an awareness of pain. The fire still nipped and prickled through his veins, but it was muted now, eclipsed by a throbbing ache in his head, the cramping stiffness of his muscles and the agonizing pull of ruptured skin on his throat. Sensation returned in bits and pieces - - the muddy smell of rain-soaked earth, the press of tiny stones and twigs digging into his back and thighs, the obstructing swell of the thick cloth wedged tightly in his mouth. He heard a rasping hitch and realized it was his own labored breathing. Shivering, he struggled to silence the barbed pain knifing through his body. With effort, he focused on his surroundings. 

Trees loomed above him, blocking all but a few weak slivers of light from a bloated orange moon. Coils of mist seeped across the ground and curled around his legs. The sight and scent of the woodland told him he was deep in a treed thicket. Disoriented, he glanced to the side and spied an open pit, its edges creating a stark, black rectangular hole in the earth. Loose soil and dirt were mounded near the rim, just scant inches from where he lay. With a shudder, he realized the open chasm was a grave - - his grave.

Ice lanced through him, poisoning and swift. 

He was still twined in the hated electrical cord. Twisting, he tried to see past his limited field of vision. He could hear someone walking through the woods, drawing closer. Fearing his abductor was returning, Lee strained against his bonds, fighting the rope on his wrists, the cord wrapped around his body. His movements were sluggish, hampered by the restraints and the unknown drug polluting his veins. He could barely move, his weak attempts at struggle heightening the cramping agony of his muscles. 

Cold earth pressed against his cheek, wet grass the side of his neck where the needle holes still burned with the forge-kiss of fire. The combination of hot and cold made him shudder with rising nausea. He moaned against the gag, his attempts to free himself sliding into fatigued desperation. Then suddenly something bit into the ground near his head and he was staring at the blade of a shovel, bits of clumped earth clinging to its worn triangular tip.

“Take a good look, Captain,” a voice said from somewhere overhead. “That’s your grave beside you. Dug it myself.” A heavy workboot settled on his hip, stilling his feeble squirming.

Lee twisted his head, trying to look back over his shoulder. His vision was fogged and blurred, inhibited by darkness and drugs. At first he couldn’t distinguish the man’s features, but within seconds clarity returned and he recognized the rubber mask he’d seen in the summer house. His tormenter grinned through the macabre decoration. With a firm push, he sent Lee rolling face-first into the open pit.

Lee struck the ground with a thud, the wind knocked out of him, the heavy odor of dark earth rising to clog his head. Dirt bit into the open cut on his temple, sending stinging tendrils lancing into his jaw. He struggled to right himself, to twist onto his side. A shovelful of dirt struck the back of his legs.  

“You see, Crane,” the voice was clearer now as if the mask was gone. “It’s all about settling a score. Nelson killed my brother, and now I’m going to kill you. Owen died in a cave-in, so I’m going to bury you alive. After you’re dead, I’ll tell that bastard Nelson where he can find your body.”

Another heavy load of dirt hit Lee on the back of the legs, escalating the knot of cold panic in his gut. The cramps in his muscles were intensifying. Despite the pain and the cord hampering his movements, he rolled onto his back. 

A face he didn’t recognize loomed above the pit. The mask was gone. A man with blunt features and a wild mop of pure white hair stared down on him.   

“Harriman has to pay. That’s why you have to die. He’s attached to you . . . thinks of you like a son.” 

It wasn’t true. At least not lately. More dirt tumbled onto Lee’s legs. A shovelful of earth pattered against his hips, sliding helter-skelter into the open grave. The man was deranged, out of his skull.

“The drug is called Final Blue, in case you’re wondering,” his captor taunted him. “The name was Owen’s idea. It was a reference to identify various test stages - - beta, lab, clinical, final.” The man chuckled, the sound laced with the chill velvet of insanity. “Hurts, doesn’t it Commander? All that fire and cramping in your gut, stringing heat through your veins. I’m doing you a favor, burying you alive.”

A massive shovelful of dirt struck Lee in the stomach. He choked on the smell, on the horrifying mass of loose earth pressing down on his body. It couldn’t end like this - - not abandoned in a grave, suffocated by cold soil. He was beyond rational thought, struggling against his restraints and the lingering lassitude of the drug . . . of the mind-numbing horror that made him agonizingly aware of what was happening to him. 

He thrashed against the cord as more dirt fell into the pit striking him on the hip and shoulder, splattering across the side of his neck and face. It felt alive, heated and cold with the vulgar kiss of cloying death. He choked, panting for air, his heart hammering out a frenzied pulse of mortal fear. The cord fumbled loose from his legs. Kicking the clinging restriction free, he fought to get his feet under him. He could feel the dangling length of cord still hanging off his hips. With a groan of effort he struggled to his knees, nearly undone by the invasive pain, and wedged a shoulder against the side of the pit.

“No you don’t,” his captor growled. 

Lee looked up in time to see the shovel sweep toward his head. He lurched to the side but wasn’t fast enough to escape a glancing blow to the back. The spade scraped upward, ripping and tearing flesh, flaying open the side of his neck. Blood gushed from the wound, splattering his throat, greedily soaking into the dirt-encrusted edges of his collar. The impact sent him sprawling backward, his cry choked short behind the stifling gag. 

Dazed, he lay panting, his heart blood-thumping terror into his skull. The shovel descended a second time, brutally clipping his hip, spinning him forcefully onto his back. The shock coursed down his leg, rendering the limb useless and numb. Weakly, he tried to struggle upright, but there was little strength left in his tortured muscles. He was vaguely cognizant of a kiss of cold air across his face, the tart odor of rain and mud. Dirt tumbled on his legs and thighs, splattered in chunks across his chest. 

He tried to tell himself the gruesome night was only a dream, but the pain was too real, his fear suffocating. The dirt came heavier, faster, piling up against his knees, pinning his legs beneath the crush of oppressive weight. His chest heaved as he struggled to breathe against rising panic. He didn’t want to die. Not buried alive in the woods, not desolate and alone, not like this. The certainty of a long and brutal death left him shivering and spent. 

And then he heard someone yell. Heard the sickening rhythm of the shovel halt mid dig. A soft thud followed like the strike of something heavy against a cushioning bed of earth. The shovel? He heard the harsh report of a gun. The ping and whiz of a bullet, the pounding slap of hastily retreating footsteps. It took him a second to realize the dirt had stopped tumbling in on him. By then he was shaking with cold and the punishing tremors of delayed shock, barely conscious that he moaned against the gag.

“Lee!”

Nelson’s voice drifted from overhead. In his confusion, he thought he was dreaming. 

“Lee!” The shout came again, closer this time, and he felt a surge of hope that he wasn’t hallucinating . . . that the admiral was really up there among the contorted shadows and phantom-like mist. That his friend was no longer angry or upset with him, and that somewhere among the kaleidoscope of stupidly clashing feelings, there was room for forgiveness after all.     

He heard running, saw the narrow, yellow cone of a flashlight sweep across his legs. Someone knelt at the edge of the pit, angling a beam into the open grave, features eclipsed behind the bobbing shaft of light. 

“Lee?” 

This time there was no mistaking the admiral’s voice, and he groaned his relief, huffing out a strangled breath beneath the gag. Hastily, Nelson scrambled into the pit, carelessly dropping the flashlight in the dirt. Lee felt pressure and warmth on his legs as his friend straddled his body, clawing aside loose clumps of soil from his chest and hips.

“I’ll get you out of this. I promise.”

He felt a hand settle briefly on his cheek, the touch like a fleeting cushion of air. It sent a coil of heat spiraling into his stomach, displacing the nightmarish gloom of impending death. Nelson leaned over him, so close he could feel the warmth of his friend’s breath against his throat. Fingers fumbled with the knot at the back of his neck, ripping aside the punishing gag. The cloth blundered free, and he choked on cold air. Heat, fire and fear spiked into his head all at once. He tried to speak, but the words got tangled in his throat, his mouth bitterly dry from the gag. “Admiral…”

“Don’t talk.” Nelson’s hand traveled down his body, feeling for injury. He shifted slightly, rolling onto his hip to allow the admiral access to the rope binding his wrists. His friend ripped the electrical cord aside, yanking it free of his chest before unraveling the twine from his hands. The air stung his chafed skin as the coarse binding fell away.   

Once again Lee tried to speak, but the sound died on his lips. Adrenalin surged through his veins, the aftershock of near-death catching up with him all at once. Curling onto his side, he surrendered to a string of violent tremors. Nausea bubbled hot and fierce in his gut. Had he really come within inches of being buried alive by a madman?

“I…” But he got no further.

“Easy.” Nelson wedged an arm under his shoulders and levered him up against the side of the pit. Lee nearly toppled, the world reeling drunkenly askew as dizziness washed over him. His stomach knotted and convulsed. Grinding his teeth together, he struggled to suppress a rush of sickness. Beside him, Nelson shrugged from his jacket, tucking it around his shoulders. 

“Just take it easy, Lee. You’re trembling badly. I’ll get you out of here.”

He hadn’t even realized he was shivering, his body and mind on overload. Earth braced his side and shoulder, Nelson cramped close beside him. The stark odor of rain, autumn cold, and moldy leaves whisked down from overhead, clogging his throat and nostrils. It curled into his stomach, colliding with deeply-rooted tentacles of shock. Groaning, he shifted to the side. Acid ripped through his gut. With nowhere to go, he sprawled across the admiral’s lap, heaving up the contents of his stomach. 

In the narrow confines of the grave, Lee realized he’d fouled the seam of Nelson’s trousers. Mortified, he tried to pull back. “Damn. I-I’m sorry,” he croaked. “I…”

“Forget it.” The older man squeezed his shoulder, stilling his trembling and silencing the hot glut of shame that bubbled up from his stomach. “I’ve survived worse, Captain.”

An arm wrapped around him, holding him upright. Before he could think it through, he allowed himself to relax, muscles uncoiling as he sagged against the admiral’s side. It felt strange when they’d barely spoken a civil word to one another the last few days. Still, he was far too exhausted to care. “There was a man,” he tried to explain. 

“I know. Dr. Elliott Cable. Someone from my past.” Gingerly, Nelson touched his neck, his fingers drawing away stained with blood and dirt. “We’ll talk about him later.” He paused and wet his lips. “Tell me what hurts, Lee. Your neck looks awful. And that blood on your face…”

“Drugs,” Lee said, knowing the single word failed to explain the shock of a needle jammed into his throat or the fire of an alien substance ripping through his veins. He shuddered, wanting to forget the nightmare. “Help me  . . . out of here.”  

The confines of the would-be grave were abruptly suffocating. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, like the air was being force-fed into his lungs, compressed and clotted by mud. It made his skin crawl, his gut tighten up. Growing agitated, he tried to pull away from Nelson, but his limbs were stiff and unresponsive, deadened by the drug and the bite of returning circulation. He felt filthy, knew he reeked of blood, soil, and the sour stench of sickness. His pants and shirt were covered with dirt, festooned with clinging blades of wet grass. The realization that he’d almost become a permanent part of the earth, that he stank of earth, brought another punishing swell of nausea. His fingers dug into Nelson’s arm as his stomach spasmed, pushing bile into his throat. He swallowed hard and sucked down air, unable to stop a racking bout of dry heaves. 

“Lee, take it easy.” He felt the admiral’s hand on his back, heard the steadying drone of his voice, but couldn’t decipher the words through his misery. In another second it was over. Drained, he slumped back against the pit.   

“Hang on. I’m going to get you out of here.” The older man wedged his feet into the earth, bracing his knees and lodging a shoulder under Lee’s arm. It took a good five minutes of struggling, but eventually Nelson was able to help him climb free of the grave. 

Lee crumpled immediately, tucking a shoulder beneath him as he lay panting on the grass. The fire inside was slowly dwindling, but his lacerated neck pulsed with agony and his head thrummed with pain. Unable to control his trembling, he shivered in the grip of cold and misery. The dampness soaking through his clothes left his skin icy to the touch but blistering with fire. In some abstract part of his mind he knew he’d started on a fever. “How far . . .” His teeth chattered together as he sent a dazed glance around him. “. . . to my car?”

“Not that far,” Nelson said.

Lee sensed he was lying but didn’t challenge it. He tried to get up, only to have Nelson press a hand to his shoulder, holding him in place.

“Just stay still a minute. I want to look at your neck.”

Too dazed to protest, Lee withstood the inspection, patiently waiting as the admiral flicked on his flashlight and examined the caked gore on his throat. The fact Nelson was talking to him, appeared concerned and wasn’t treating him like a stranger, helped ease the trauma of what he’d endured. Even so, he wasn’t sure how open to be with a man who’d only days ago told him not to speak unless spoken to. As a result, he sat stiffly, his hands fisted into the wet grass.

Nelson scowled and shook his head. He flicked off the flashlight. “I need to get you back to the Institute and Jamie. You look like a Halloween nightmare, Lee. Between the dirt and blood, and this . . .” Fingers lightly grazed the blood-encrusted gash under his hairline. “You’d likely scare a vampire.” He grimaced, sudden anger turning his eyes to cobalt flame. “Of course, some sick bastard already put two holes in your throat with a needle. It’s going to be my pleasure to see Elliott locked up again.”

Chilled, Lee shivered, unable to concentrate on anything but his ratcheting misery. Still uncertain of where he stood with Nelson, all he wanted to do was find someplace safe and warm where he could crash into bed and sleep off the drug. “I’d like to get up now, Sir.”

 “Of course.” Nelson swore. Lee wasn’t certain if it was at him or life in general. He’d certainly been angry enough with Lee recently to have that anger tumble out in an oath over the mess he’d gotten himself into. He’d been stupid, responding to a phone call when he’d already had a meeting scheduled with the admiral at N.I.M.R. It was his own damn fault he’d almost ended up six feet under, and Nelson no doubt knew that. He was probably furious at Lee’s stupidity and the fact it had fallen to him to haul his captain’s butt out of a sling.

Before he could get his feet under him, a rustling broke the stillness. Nelson spun away, gun in hand just as a figure emerged from the trees.

“Kowalski.” There was a hard edge to Nelson’s voice, signaling relief tightly wrapped in exasperation. “Did you reach Commander Morton?”

“Yes, Sir. The police should be on their way. When I didn’t see you at the house, I thought I’d scout for you in the woods.” His eyes shifted to Lee, immediate shock washing over his face. “Skipper?”

What had Nelson said - - he looked like a Halloween nightmare? If he looked anything remotely like he felt, Lee knew his appearance had to be ghastly.

The admiral waved Kowalski forward. “Help Captain Crane back to the car. I’m going after Cable.” 

“Admiral…” Lee tried to stop him, but Nelson didn’t even bother turning. If it wasn’t obvious to him before, Lee had no doubt his superior officer was disgusted with him. The man took off into the woods without as much as a backward glance. It had fallen to him to clean up his commander’s mess, just one more strike in Lee’s rapidly growing list of failures.

Upset, Lee ground his teeth together. If anyone deserved to take a shot at Cable it was him, but he knew he didn’t have the stamina for a hunt. “Let’s get out of here,” he said to Kowalski as he struggled to his feet. Before he could draw a breath, his always-reliable senior rating was there, wedging a shoulder under his arm, helping him to stand when dizziness would have sent him careening off balance.

“Sir, it’s a long walk back to the car.” Kowalski eyed him doubtfully, his brow creasing when he got a firsthand look at the amount of blood on Lee’s face and neck.

“I figured that.” Nelson hadn’t owned up to the distance, but Kowalski didn’t think twice about minimizing it. He tried to stand upright, but it was useless, his legs too unsteady to take his full weight. Accepting Kowalski’s support, he leaned into his side. “Do you have a gun with you, Ski?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Keep it handy,” Lee said. “The man who did this to me is still out there in the woods. I don’t know if he’s armed, but there’s no question he’s insane.”

“Who is he?” Kowalski asked as they started forward. 

“I don’t know. Someone from the admiral’s past.”

Lee sensed, more than saw, the rating frown. “Why would he go after you, Skipper?”

Lee shook his head. “I don’t know.” His memory was spotty at best, hazed by pain and fear. He remembered someone named Owen, a drug called Final Blue and Cable’s sadistic delight at burying him alive. He shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut as a flicker of nausea returned. “How did you get drafted into this, Ski?”

“I delivered an envelope to the admiral. It had been left at the Institute gate, and had your ring in it, Sir.”

Cable flaunting his deed. He nodded, but found he didn’t have the strength to talk. He lost track of how far they walked after that, but there came a point when he knew if he didn’t sit down, he’d simply topple.

Kowalski sensed it too.

**********

It was rough going through the woods. Kowalski’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness, the beam of his flashlight cutting a path between the trees, but the hike itself was grueling. At least for a man in Crane’s condition. He’d been appalled at his first sight of the skipper, all that blood caked on his face and neck, his usual immaculate uniform filthy with dirt. The left side of his collar was dark with blood. It had soaked into the fabric then dried, stiffening the weave. And there were holes in his neck. Ugly, gory things that Kowalski knew could only have been made by a needle. Judging by the blood and damage, Cable had been brutal when he’d injected Crane.

Kowalski felt his stomach knot just thinking about it. They’d gotten off to a rough start when Crane had first come aboard, but it hadn’t taken long for him to shelve his resentment. His initial impression of the man who was replacing Captain John Phillips had been anything but favorable. He’d viewed Crane as arrogant, unapproachable and cold. Throw in the fact Crane wasn’t much older than him and he’d been convinced his new skipper was a kiss-brass, show-boater. 

It hadn’t taken Crane long to prove him - - and most everyone else on Seaview - - wrong. It had never been connections and political ass-kissing that got Crane his captaincy at such a young age. It was talent and dedication. No question about that.

Ski had worked with him long enough now to realize exactly how skilled and genuine his captain was. And far from unapproachable, he ran a relaxed boat with an easy familiarity that routinely ticked off visiting Naval brass. 

Somehow, after that first ugly meeting, he’d gone from being on the outs with Crane, to being the crew member Seaview’s captain depended on the most. Once Kowalski had dispensed with his resentment, he’d found he actually liked his new skipper and worked well with him. So much so that he’d become the captain’s go-to man for just about anything. If Crane was headed off the boat on a mission, Ski was his favored back-up. And if there was something on Seaview that needed special attention, Kowalski was the one who got called for it. There’d been plenty of occasions when protocol dictated Crane choose a junior officer to assist him, and still he’d called on Kowalski. Rather than brew resentment, that unusual favoritism had gradually become accepted until it was now seen as SOP. Mister Morton, in particular, always seemed relieved Kowalski was there to act as back-up whenever the Captain went ashore. He could almost read it in the exec’s eyes:  Watch his back.

He’d gotten used to doing it in clever and subtle ways. He’d learned early on his new young captain had a tendency to risk his neck without thought, frequently charging headfirst into danger and always placing himself in peril before any of his crew. Mister Morton never came right out and said it, but Ski knew the exec felt most comfortable if he was the one acting as back-up when the skipper went ashore or undertook a dangerous dive. Morton trusted him with Crane.

All of that aside, it had taught him to read his captain’s body language and facial expressions. That was how he knew, even now, Crane had reached his level of endurance.

“Sir, maybe we should take a break,” he suggested. His own breath was growing labored, his arm weakening with the strain of holding Crane upright. More and more he carried the load for both of them, the skipper’s knees faltering the further they hiked. Twice, Crane had nearly stumbled, his foot catching on the humped back of a protruding root. Even now, Kowalski could feel him trembling, his muscles strung tight with fatigue.

Crane nodded. He’d lost the admiral’s jacket several yards back, his skin burning hot despite the chills riddling his body. “A short one,” he managed through parted lips. He’d no sooner said the words than his legs folded.

Kowalski went down with him, kneeling at his side as he sank onto the wet grass. Overhead the moon had turned to brass, morphing from Halloween-tinged orange. Vibrant against the trees, it glimmered through the spiny branches of towering firs and spruce, splattering the ground with pockets of mustard light. Kowalski swept the beam of his flashlight through the trees, panning across gnarled trunks and roots, skimming the shadowed edges of rocks and ferns. It touched on a pair of glowing eyes, startling some small woodland creature before the animal scurried safely into the underbrush.

Crane lifted his head at the sound of rustling. “What . . . was that?” he asked distractedly, but it was obvious he didn’t have the strength or energy to care.

“Just an animal,” Kowalski assured. He wondered where the admiral was and why he hadn’t come back. The police would be arriving any minute. Hopefully, there would be a paramedic too. He’d seen the skipper hurt before, unconscious, and even banged up badly, but he was growing more and more alarmed as Crane’s condition continued to deteriorate. Mister Morton would have his head if he didn’t get the skipper back in one piece. He knew the exec had a close friendship with Seaview’s captain and had even roomed with him at Annapolis. They were tight - - like him and Patterson - - even more so.

And then there was the admiral. Everyone on Seaview knew exactly how he felt about his commander, but all of that had been weirdly out of skew the last several days. There’d been nothing but tension and stiff correctness between Nelson and the skipper. Kowalski knew they occasionally had rows, butting heads over something related to a mission, but this felt different. They barely spoke to one another any more, and when they did it was with clipped frost on the admiral’s part, chill formality from Crane.

Ski just wanted everything back to normal. Including his skipper in good health.

“That’s long enough,” Crane said, though he sounded just as winded as before. His eyes flashed to Kowalski’s face, glittering with the glass-glow of fever. “Help me up, Ski.”  

Kowalski knew with someone else he might have struggled on his own, unwilling to ask for, or accept, assistance. He was just about to hook the captain’s arm over his shoulder when he heard the wail of a siren in the distance. A grin of relief broke over his face. “That’s the police, Skipper. We must be close to the house.” 

He felt Crane slump against him. 

Surprised, he glanced down, shocked to realize the captain had passed out.

**********

Lee stirred restlessly, agitated by the pressure on his neck. He lifted a hand to shove away whatever was pawing at him and felt someone grip his wrist. “I’m almost done, Commander.” The voice was semi-familiar, tunneling deep into his subconscious, tugging him back to awareness. He caught a whiff of something sharp and medicinal and realized someone was using an antiseptic cloth to swab the gore from his throat.

The light stung his eyes, yellow and glaring, the room familiar in an abstract sort of way. He was in a bed, the mattress soft and cushioning against his battered body. If only he could get his wits about him he might be able to fit the pieces together. His eyes flicked to the side, and he caught a glimpse of thinning brown hair.    

“Jamie?” he asked weakly.

The prodding on his neck stopped, and his wrist was released. He blinked several times until he could clearly identify Dr. Will Jamieson. Seaview’s doctor stood at his bedside, a small silver tray with several instruments on a stand beside him. The top was littered with half a dozen blood-soaked squares of gauze, clearly used to clean his neck. 

“Welcome back, Commander.” Jamie gave his arm a pat. “It’s good to see you awake.”

He wasn’t so certain it was good to be awake. His back and shoulder ached from the blows he’d taken from the shovel, and his throat felt like it had gone through a cheese grater. No question he was going to be sporting several technicolor bruises when all was said and done. Given Jamie’s penchant for fussing, he would have expected to be doped to the gills with pain medication, but there wasn’t an IV in sight. Not that he wanted a narcotic, but the slightest shift of movement introduced a whole new level of pain.

Wincing, he forced himself to lie still. “Where…?”

“The Institute,” Jamie supplied before he could get any further. “You’re in the Med Bay. I know you’re uncomfortable, Lee, but try not to shift around.”

“I . . .” His mouth was dry, his thoughts snail-slow. All he could remember was the grave and the man who’d tried to bury him alive. “Cable?”

Jamie shook his head. “Still on the loose.” It was clear he didn’t want to part with the information. “The police are waiting to talk to you as soon as you’re able.”

He grimaced. There would have to be a report, details of what had taken place, a description of Cable. He knew from experience, as Jamie did, a report had to be made as soon as humanly possible. It ensured facts were still fresh before time and opinion had a chance to cloud their perception. Repulsed by the thought, Lee shifted. He squeezed his eyes shut, his head pounding. “Can’t the admiral talk to them?”

“He already has.” Jamie laid a hand on his shoulder. “A few minutes, Lee, then I’ll get them out of here. I have your neck mostly cleaned up and your scalp took stitches, but the drug . . .” He trailed off worriedly. “. . . it’s an unknown risk factor. It’s going to take a good forty-eight hours to work through your system, and until then I don’t know what the side effects are. I want to get you started on a saline flush.”

He nodded, not really listening. He would talk to the police, remember what needed to be remembered and get the ordeal over with. He’d been trained to shut off his feelings and view situations dispassionately. As an operative for ONI he knew the value in discussing circumstance matter-of-factly without tapping into pain. He’d been shot before . . . interrogated, beaten and left for dead. He’d just never been as helpless or as mind-numbingly vulnerable as when Cable had tried to bury him alive. It was one matter to face a man with a gun. Another to be bound and helpless, awaiting the finality of death and suffocation in a pit that was to be his tomb. Just thinking about it reawakened the pungent stench of soil and blood, the feel of earth raining into the grave. He ground his teeth together, biting back a reactionary stab of nausea. “Where’s the admiral?”

Nelson hadn’t been short with him in the woods, but he’d certainly left quickly enough, foisting Lee off on Kowalski the first chance he got.

“He was here earlier,” Jamie supplied, but there was something in his voice that didn’t sound right. He looked away, averting his eyes. “I’ll get the detective in charge,” he mumbled and moved to leave the room.

“Wait a minute.” Gingerly, Lee prodded a small white bandage just beneath his hairline. The pain in his head was increasing, splintering outward from the freshly-stitched gash. “Um . . . my head . . .” He rarely asked for any sort of drug, but it was hard to even raise his neck from the pillow. He had a feeling if he looked in the mirror he’d find a large bruise splayed above the corner of his eyebrow. The pounding against his temples was turning sadistic. “Jamie . . . could I get something to kill this headache?”

Jamieson blinked, caught off guard by such an out-of-character request. Lee didn’t care. He squinted against the pain, seeing no sense in pretending. Not this time. He was messed up badly, and they both knew it. 

“I’m sorry, Lee.” The doctor parted with a heavy sigh. “I can’t take a chance with that drug in your system. From what Harriman’s told me, it was highly experimental. He doesn’t remember the exact compound, but he has said it was a failure, not fit for human testing. We’re both concerned there may be residual effects you haven’t experienced yet. I don’t want to risk introducing another substance into your body without understanding how they’d interact. Even something as basic as aspirin. I’m afraid the admiral’s memory of the drug is limited.”

“Perfect.” Lee pressed his fingertips to his temple and sagged into the bed. The pain was spreading, spiking across his cheek and into his neck, making him irritable. “Exactly what does the admiral remember?’” he spat acidly, surprising even himself. Before Jamie could react to the outburst, he closed his eyes. “Just get the police,” he muttered.

It was seconds more before he heard Jamie’s footsteps finally retreat from the room. Tired, miserable and in pain, Lee exhaled a pent-up breath. After everything he’d endured that night, he’d really expected Nelson would have been there when he awoke. Was the man that angry with him he couldn’t even stick his head in the room to check on his welfare?   

He knew he should have used his wits. He shouldn’t have gone to the old house in the first place, and he certainly shouldn’t have had to rely on Nelson to bail him out. It was no wonder the admiral was furious with him, adding incompetence to the long lists of errors he’d found fault with recently. Even so, Lee couldn’t help feeling slighted and angry. He’d always thought their relationship was stronger, but apparently Nelson had decided it couldn’t be repaired.

Over a few lousy letters.

What could they possibly contain that would turn Nelson into such an unapproachable tyrant? Before he could contemplate it further, he heard footsteps and opened his eyes to find a middle-aged man with short blond hair standing by his bedside.

“Captain Lee Crane?”

He nodded and immediately regretted it, a new wave of agony cresting in his skull.

“I’m Sergeant Ryan Dawson, of the Lickdale police department. I have a few questions for you.”

In a very short time, after talking with Sergeant Dawson, Lee understood exactly how the admiral’s mysterious letters tied in to what had happened.

**********

Exhausted from the questioning, brief as it was, Lee fell asleep almost immediately. He woke hours later, surrounded by darkness, convinced he was buried in a tomb. He could feel chunks of dirt falling down on him, shovelful after shovelful, sealing him in suffocating mud and forever-blackness. He choked out a cry, trying to thrash aside the restriction, but the earth came heavier, pinning his arms to his sides, turning his legs immobile. Pain streaked through him, hot and lightning-quick. Someone was talking to him, telling him not to fight. Isn’t that what Cable had said? Over and over . . . don’t fight it; you’ll only make it worse?

But he couldn’t stop struggling any more than he could before. He bucked against the restriction . . . felt the burn of the hated electrical cord wrapped around his flesh. He imagined the gag in his mouth, choking the breath from his lungs. It was hard to breathe, hard to think, his mind and body flayed raw by a gluttonous burst of pain. Something snapped taut over his wrists, his ankles, his hips. He twisted and thrashed but the restriction kept him pinned in place, that same voice insisting he stop fighting. That he just lie still.

And die.

He couldn’t die. Not in the ground. Not buried alive in a rain-damp grave reeking of blood and earthworms. The pain burned brighter, flaring like a sun going nova, ripping a scream from his throat. And just when he thought he could stand it no longer, it tumbled away, ebbing into nothingness. 

Carried on the crest of that merciful tide, Lee slumped limp and unconscious.

**********

Chip paced back and forth. Not that it helped, but he had to do something. He could still hear Lee’s screams echoing inside his head, his friend driven out of his mind with delusions and pain induced by the drug Final Blue. He and Jamie had tried to hold Lee down but the captain had reacted violently, struggling against their efforts to help. When Chip had pleaded with him to stop fighting, he’d only thrashed more violently than before. In the end, Jamie had been forced to use restraints on him, cuffing his wrists and ankles to the bed with thick black straps, securing another over his hips. That one at least was covered by a blanket that had been folded back to his waist. Chip hated the sight of the ugly things.

Agitated, he paced to the bed and stood staring down on his friend. The top of the mattress was elevated at an angle, pillows plumped behind Lee’s back to support him. Jamie had managed to get him cleaned up and into a standard white hospital gown before the last attack, but there was little that could be done about the ghastly bruise beneath his hairline or the large square of gauze taped to his throat. Chip knew the latter concealed a gruesome chunk of abraded skin and puncture marks from a needle. He hadn’t been present when Lee woke the first time, overseeing the activity of the police on Institute grounds, but he’d gotten Nelson’s report beforehand. He knew about Elliott Cable, Final Blue and the all-too-grisly reality that Cable had tried to bury Lee alive. Just thinking about it set his teeth on edge. Nelson hadn’t said much, relaying the details in a clipped, almost clinical, manner. After that he’d disappeared, buzzing Jamie periodically over the intercom to check on Lee’s condition, but keeping a noticeable distance from his young commander.

Which only fed the flame of Chip’s anger. If anyone should be hovering over Lee, it was Nelson. The whole thing was tied up in his past and something that had happened fifteen years ago. Chip didn’t understand the full details and didn’t really care. All he knew was that Lee was hurt and the one person his friend needed most couldn’t be bothered with him. Damn, but there were times Chip thought of Nelson as a selfish bastard. It was amazing how his view of the admiral had altered since Lee had taken command of Seaview.

As John Phillips’ exec, Chip had seen Nelson as his boss and nothing more. He’d respected the admiral for his brilliance, sometimes didn’t agree with the decisions he made, but always supported him. They interacted as necessary, had a good working relationship, strictly professional, end of deal. 

Then Lee had taken over and suddenly Nelson was different. He still had the same demeanor, the same explosive temper and enviable intellect, but suddenly there was a crack in his armor. Having Lee aboard made Nelson more . . . human. Unfortunately, with humanity came flaws, and the more Chip was taken into a triad comprised of himself, Nelson and Lee, the more he saw other sides of the admiral - - most all of them directly or indirectly tied to Lee Crane.

And that was where his anger came into play.

His eyes swept back to the bed, his face tightening at the sight of the metal side rails and the heavy black straps securing Lee’s wrists to the frame. He’d argued with Jamie about the restraints, but the doctor insisted they couldn’t risk another seizure. 

“He’s liable to hurt himself as much as someone else,” Jamie had said. “It’s just until I know the drug is out of his system.”

It was almost dawn now, the sky lightening from black to gargoyle gray beyond the windows. The room was well equipped - - bed, intercom, TV, even a small furniture grouping with two chairs and a coffee table. Several magazines were scattered across the top of the table, the chairs padded and comfortable. Rather than sit, Chip continued to pace. Jamie was on call just down the hall, but he’d volunteered to stay with Lee for a few hours.

Something the admiral should be doing¸ he thought sulkily.

A soft moan drew him back to the bedside. Hopeful, he reached across the rail, instinctively gripping Lee’s forearm. The captain’s skin felt warm against his palm but, thankfully, not overly so. “Lee?”

His friend rolled his head to the side, his jet-black hair creating a stark contrast against the white pillow case. Chip saw his lashes flutter. A second later a sliver of hazel appeared under the heavy raven fringe. Lee’s Adams apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. It took him a moment but he eventually focused on Chip, a thread of uncertainty in his eyes.

“What . . . time is it?” His voice was hoarse and brittle.

Chip smiled, relief rushing through him to have Lee talking coherently and not hissing and spitting under the influence of the drug. “Just after 0500.” Hesitating, he watched his friend’s eyes. “What do you remember?”

Lee looked away. “Pain.”

The softly spoken word cut through Chip like a knife. Shaken, he tightened his fingers on Lee’s arm, needing the grounding reassurance of touch. If not for Nelson’s guess about the old house in Lickdale, Lee would have been lost to them forever, buried alive in a makeshift grave. He swallowed hard, acid bubbling through is gut. “I’ll get Jamie.”

“No. Just . . . just stay here.” Lee’s gaze swiveled back, his eyes clear but troubled. He tried to sit up and immediately balked against the restraints. “What the hell?” Alarm flashed over his face. “Chip, why am I restrained?”

“You don’t remember?”

“No. Get these damn things off me.”

“Lee, it was the drug - - you got violent. Jamie said you could have another seizure.”

“I don’t care what he said. Get these off me now!” Anxiety, anger and panic cracked in his voice. 

The latter was something Chip rarely, if ever, heard from Lee Crane. He could only guess the restriction resurrected memories of being buried alive. Lee hadn’t just been tied up according to Nelson, but ruthlessly bound in a cord, his movement constrained. Even now Lee struggled against the restraints, rising up off the pillow and twisting his wrists in an effort to wrench free. Chip didn’t want to go against Jamie’s orders, but he also couldn’t stand to see Lee so agitated. And the captain was clearly coherent. What harm could there be?

“Lee…”

Exhausted, his friend slumped into the bed, his face damp with sweat. “Chip,” he said quietly. “Please.”

Chip swore softly, irked to have forced that word from Lee. If he ever got his hands on Elliott Cable, the world would be less one deranged chemist. Suddenly, he couldn’t move fast enough. Stretching across Lee, he released the restraining strap over his hips then moved to undo the bands tethering his wrists and ankles to the bed. “Jamie is going to read me the riot act,” he mumbled, but there was a good-natured gripe to his voice. Even if it wasn’t completely steady. He was only too happy to have Lee awake and talking. He was just sorry he hadn’t thought to remove the restraints before his friend had awakened.

“He’s had you on a saline flush for hours…” With a nod Chip indicated an IV bag to the right of Lee’s bed and the clear tubing attached to a port on the back of his hand. “Which means you’ve got another unwelcome accessory stuck inside you. I guess you want that out too?”

Lee spied the tube for the catheter and made a vulgar sound. “I’m perfectly capable of walking to the head and back.”

“Jamie doesn’t think so.” Straps forgotten, Chip drew a chair close to the bed and sat down. “And let’s face it - - you haven’t gone for a test run. Maybe you should just fly on auto pilot for a while.”

“And maybe you should stop being so smug, Mister! Tell Jamie I want the damn catheter out!”

Chip chuckled. “Yes, Sir.” Still, he couldn’t help grinning. Lee grumbling was a lot better than Lee twisting and moaning in pain. That was a memory he’d just as soon forget. “How are you feeling? Really?”

Lee’s eyes dropped. “I don’t know.” His voice was quiet again. “I haven’t had time to think about it.” He paused, wet his lips. “Has the admiral been around?”

Chip felt his gut clench. He wished Lee weren’t so damned connected to Nelson. If they’d stayed captain and admiral, employee and employer, the truth wouldn’t hurt so much. 

When he was silent too long, Lee gave a soft snort. “You don’t have to answer that. I guess I really ticked him off this time.”

Chip balked. “You think he’s irked with you?”

“Isn’t that obvious? We’ve barely spoken the last several days. And now  . . . this thing with Cable…”

“This thing with Cable is his fault!” Chip exploded, scandalized by the idea Lee would find something to feel guilty about. “You can’t seriously blame yourself for what happened. Cable went after you because of something to do with the admiral. He’s got this twisted notion if he kills you he’s settling a score with Nelson for his brother’s death.”

Lee grimaced. “I know that. I just think there’s more to it than we realize. I should have been smarter, Chip. Cable impersonated the admiral with a phone call. I should have realized it was a hoax. The admiral never would have asked me to drive to an old house in the middle of nowhere to meet him.”

“Based on his behavior lately, I’d say that was right on track.” Chip wasn’t going to give. “Stop beating yourself up, Lee. If anyone has the right to be spitting mad, it’s you. I know you have a . . . connection . . .” He floundered over the word. “To the admiral outside of the Institute and Seaview but maybe it’s time you put an end to that. If you ask me it’s not worth the aggravation.”

Lee looked away. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Of course he knew. Everyone on the boat knew. The whole freaking Navy knew! Chip bit his tongue and counted to ten. He wanted to explode, but unloading on Lee wasn’t the answer. His friend was hurt and not just physically. He’d suffered a horrific ordeal. The last thing he needed was to have Chip berate him. No, the person who needed to have his head bitten off remained glaringly absent. Chip muttered something under his breath about Nelson hiding behind his rank but Lee ignored him.

The captain focused elsewhere, plucking a thread from the blanket, drawing it higher on his lap. He frowned openly, noticing his hand. “Chip . . . my ring . . .”

“The police have it. It’s being held as evidence.”

Lee’s eyes flashed to his face - - twin pools of vibrant gold strung with flecks of jade. “I want it back. Now. It’s my father’s ring.”

“I know that.” Chip knew how important it was to his friend. Lee had been wearing it when he’d first arrived at Annapolis and, in all the intervening years, Chip had rarely seen him without it. Raised by a cold and callous step-father, the ring kept Lee connected to his real father, Grayson Crane. In a perfect world, Grayson would still be alive. In a perfect world, Lee’s friendship with Nelson wouldn’t have veered toward a skewed father/son mentality. “We’ll get the ring back, Lee. I’ll make sure Sergeant Dawson knows how important it is.”

“Just tell him I want it, end of discussion. It’s not optional.”

Chip raised a brow, impressed there were still some things that made Lee react with fire. If only he’d be that single-minded with Nelson. Unfortunately, his annoyance did nothing to belie the fatigue on his face or the strain gouged into his cheeks by residual pain. “Got it.” Chip stood, more focused on Lee’s health than the ring. “I’m going to get Jamie.” Leaning forward, he gave his friend’s arm another squeeze. “You look exhausted.”

Lee relented to the obvious, closing his eyes. “Tell him I want the catheter out,” he grumbled.

“Will do, but he’s going to make you prove you can walk to the head.”

“He can bring his stopwatch and time me.”

Chip chuckled. “Don’t be so stubborn. You’re going to need help.”

“That’s what I have you for.”

“The last I checked, escorting the captain to the head didn’t fall under the executive officer’s duties.”

“Check again.” Lee cracked an eyelid. “Article 12, Section 8b, subsection 2k.”

Chip snorted. “You’re full of hot air - - and that’s being kind.” Still, it was exactly the reaction he’d been hoping for. Lee playfully sparring meant he was on the mend. Chip grinned. “I’ll make him yank the damn thing out.”

Satisfied, Lee nodded. “Good. Just, uh  . . . no ‘yanking,’ okay? I’ve got enough pain to contend with.”

Chip laughed. With Lee talking so glibly, he could almost believe life was returning to normal.

Until he remembered Nelson.

**********

Harry bowed his head, scraping a hand through his hair. It was no good. No matter how hard he tried to concentrate on the paperwork scattered over his desk, he couldn’t focus. His mind kept wandering to the Med Bay and the man he’d been avoiding. He desperately wanted to talk to Lee, to see for himself that his commander was healing. But that was out of the question. He had no right. Not after everything Lee had suffered on his account.

It had been almost thirty-six hours since Lee had arrived at the Institute, bloody and unconscious, his veins polluted with Final Blue. The last update Harry had received from Jamie said the captain was awake and talking. The doctor had made a point of mentioning that Lee had asked about him several times.  

He probably wants to tell me exactly what he thinks of me.

Disgusted, Harry shoved from the chair. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he paced to the window and stood staring outside. Sunlight danced beyond the glass, sparkling on manicured beds of grass, ornamental shrubs and pristine sidewalks. From his vantage point, he could see Lee’s car in the reserved parking lot. Kowalski had driven it back to the Institute, a situation that might have been amusing if it weren’t for the circumstances. There were very few people Lee trusted with his prized ‘toy.’ For his part, Harry was sure Kowalski had thrilled at the chance to drive the flashy vehicle, even if he hadn’t been able to wind through all the gears. 

He’d thought about driving it to Lee’s beach house but there really wasn’t a reason, and maybe Elliott would think twice about returning if he knew Lee was safe on Institute grounds. Unable to stop a flood of regret, Harry balled his hands into fists.

Thirty-six hours and he still couldn’t erase the memory of how he’d found Lee. He’d been near insane with fear, discovering his captain half-buried in a grave, bound and gagged, covered in blood. He vividly remembered how Lee had slumped against him, his muscles trembling with fatigue, his clothing ragged and filthy. And what made that trauma even worse was the sickening knowledge that he was responsible. How could he ever face Lee again, knowing the younger man had almost been killed because of him?  

He owed it to Lee to tell him the truth . . . to sit down and come clean about what had really happened fifteen years ago. He’d been so terrified Lee would think differently of him, but that was just so much water under the bridge now. Surely, Lee hated him, blaming him for Elliott’s twisted cruelty. 

Harry knew he was at fault for what had happened to Owen, but when he’d found Lee, battered and bloody in that grave, he’d actually wanted to kill Elliott. He’d hated himself in that moment. He was responsible for Lee’s injuries and suffering, the nightmare he’d endured. He’d done what he’d needed to do, keeping himself as distant as possible while helping Lee from the grave. He couldn’t bear to see Lee so battered, fully aware he was the cause. When Kowalski had arrived, he’d been only too eager to disappear and take off after Elliott.  

Coward.

He’d stood up to Fleet Admirals, rampaging sea monsters and tyrannical aliens but he couldn’t face his own captain. Disgusted, he paced back to his desk and pressed the intercom button.

“Jamie, this is the admiral. Come in.”

Within seconds, the doctor’s voice crackled over the open line. “Jamieson, here. What is it, Admiral?”

He wet his lips, mentally prepping himself to ask the same question he’d asked repeatedly. “How’s Lee?”

“Sleeping.” Jamieson paused. “I think most of the drug is out of his system. He keeps asking about you, Sir.”

Nelson grunted . . . made a sound that may have been an acknowledgement of sorts then ended the transmission. He knew he couldn’t continue the way he was. Sooner or later he was going to have to face Lee and confront his own perverse fears of the past. 

Self-conscious, he rubbed his left shoulder. The ancient wound rarely troubled him any longer, but there were still days when the weather was damp or he was feeling particularly old that the ghost of Elliott’s bullet came creeping back. He’d almost died, or so they’d told him - - point blank range with a .38. All he remembered was the rage on Elliott’s face and the cold flash of bluing on the revolver. He’d wakened two days later in intensive care, listening to the ping of a heart monitor.

Lee might remember the incident, two years into Annapolis at the time, but not the cause. Everything had been carefully hushed up. Final Blue had been funded by some of the top R&D teams in the country as well as having government backing. When it soured and went south, the plug had been pulled quickly.

“I can fix it, Harry. One more dive and I can make it a legitimate compound.”

He should have known better than to listen to Owen’s last-ditch plea. They’d already lost the bulk of their funding after several failed test runs. Even Washington was making noise about pulling out. But Owen had been so damn sure, so freaking brilliant and confident. Harry had never met anyone with an intellect so purely genius, especially in someone so young. Elliott would never let him forget that Dr. Owen Cable, six time Ph.D. holder was only twenty-eight years old when he died.

Harry shook his head, pressing his fingertips to his temple. 

He was responsible for Owen’s death. Come hell or high water, he damn sure wasn’t going to be responsible for Lee Crane’s.

**********

Lee buttoned his shirt, anxious to be gone, fully aware he was stuck until Chip and Kowalski showed up. Another two days had tumbled past, leaving him restless and moody until he positively chafed at being confined to the Med Bay. The blows from the shovel had left him stiff and sore, his back and hip mottled with ugly bruises. His neck wasn’t much better, the skin abraded from the glancing scrape of the spade, a purple and yellow discoloration leeching outward from the needle holes like a spreading amoeba. Jamie had removed the gauze bandage in hopes exposure to air would speed the healing. He’d been granted release, but there was a string of stipulations attached:  straight home, no working, lots of rest and no driving for another forty-eight hours. Final Blue was out of his system but Jamie wasn’t taking chances.

“Your body underwent a tremendous shock, Captain,” Seaview’s doctor had patiently explained when he’d griped about the restrictions. ”Circulatory system, nervous system, motor skills, even your reasoning ability. Add the bruising from those blows you took and you need to give yourself a chance to heal. I don’t want you doing anything - - and I do mean anything for forty-eight hours. If you can stick to that, I might be inclined to clear you for light duty on Seaview’s next voyage.”

As much as he bristled over the limitations, Lee wasn’t foolish enough to risk clearance on a cruise. Seaview was set to sail in three days, and he desperately wanted to be onboard. He had a feeling Jamie would have granted him clearance anyway but wasn’t feeling chancy enough to gamble. He’d overheard Chip and the doctor discussing how Seaview was the safest place for him given Elliott Cable was still on the loose. Even so, Lee decided he was better off not tempting fate - - or in this case, Jamie - - and doing exactly what the doctor ordered.    

Presently, that involved waiting for a ride back to his beach house. 

Chip had stopped there yesterday, retrieving his mail and returning with a change of clothes - - comfortable jeans and a black and green windowpane shirt. The uniform he’d originally arrived in had been a filthy, bloody mess. If Sergeant Dawson hadn’t already confiscated it for evidence, Lee was sure it had been tossed in the garbage.

The thought of evidence made him frown and glance down to his bare left hand. He’d asked Chip about his father’s ring again yesterday, and his friend had promised he was looking into it. Something about Dawson needing to check with the DA to ensure all the forensic evidence had been secured and recorded. It was just one more thing that left Lee edgy and restless.

He paced from the bed to the window, oblivious to the warm spray of sunlight soaking the room. Another time he might have appreciated the butterscotch haze, but he just wanted to be in his own surroundings. Seaview was as much home as his beach house, but with the boat currently off limits he craved the comfort of his house on its secluded stretch of shoreline. He could relax on the deck overlooking a rag-tag line of dunes stretching to the sea . . . catch up on several months of paperwork in his den. Jamie didn’t have to know. Surely a few hours immersed in his files wasn’t going to cause a major setback. He just wanted to get out of the Med Bay, away from the astringent reek of antiseptics and medicinal compounds. He wanted to forget Cable and all that was associated with him - - dark shovelfuls of dirt sealing him in a grave, the stench of earth and fresh blood . . . pain . . . fear . . . failure . . . Nelson.

Lee swallowed hard. 

Four whole days and the admiral had been glaringly absent. He’d popped his head in the door yesterday evening. Just long enough to inquire after his health then vanish like a phantom once Lee answered he was fine. He could almost believe he’d dreamt it, except he could still recall the clench in his gut when Nelson had stepped into the room. There’d been so much he’d wanted to say - - to demand. But before he could summon a single word, Nelson had grunted something unintelligible and ducked into the hallway. 

It only served to reinforce Lee’s belief that their relationship had suffered irreparable damage. He was still struggling with that notion when Chip and Kowalski stepped into the room.

“Well?” Chip stood just inside the doorway, hands on his hips, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. “Taxi’s leaving, Captain Crane. Are you ready to jump this ship?”                

Lee turned, breaking into a smile for the first time in days. Chip’s voice was like a gateway to freedom. Four whole days confined to bed was the equivalent of slow torture. He couldn’t wait to get outside into fresh air and the ease to move about unimpeded. “Who’s driving my car?”

“Uh . . . I am, Skipper.” Kowalski lifted a hand, dangling the keys from his fingers. “Mister Morton is giving me a lift back.” He grinned crookedly. “I promise to keep it under 100, Sir.”

Lee staged a theatrical frown. “Just get her there in one piece, Ski. Got it?”

“Aye, Sir.”

There were few things he fussed over like his Cobra, but he knew Kowalski appreciated the power behind the vehicle almost as much as he did. Although it didn’t come close to matching the Flying Sub, it was still the land equivalent for him. He was reluctant to let anyone behind the wheel, but Kowalski would have been his first choice. Chip thought it was an overpriced toy and Nelson considered it an extravagant indulgence, but Kowalski valued it the way he did. The rating was his backup - - the crewmember he trusted and respected above all others. He was comfortable and relaxed around Ski. It was only fitting if he couldn’t drive the Mustang back to his home that the chore fell to Kowalski.  

“Let’s get out of here.” He headed for the door.

“Just a minute.” Chip blocked his path then turned his attention on Kowalski. “Ski, go tell the admiral we’re taking Lee home.” He hesitated, looking the rating directly in the eye. “And make sure he understands the skipper has been asking after him.”

Kowalski’s gaze shifted to Lee before returning to the exec. “Aye, Sir.”

Lee frowned openly at his friend once the younger man had left. “What was that about?”

Chip feigned innocence. “Just making sure Nelson knows where you are.” He shrugged, his expression guileless. “Who knows when he might have to contact you?”

“Why do I feel like you’re plotting?”

“Just doing my job, Sir.” Chip’s expression remained above suspicion. “Which at the moment happens to be acting as taxi. If you’re ready, we can get out of here.”

Lee nodded. He’d been ready days ago - - with or without an acknowledgement from Nelson.

**********

Chip didn’t stay long. Mainly because he wanted Lee to rest and reasoned the sooner he and Kowalski were gone, the sooner Lee could start recuperating. But there was also Seaview’s upcoming voyage and the excess work piling up at N.I.M.R. With Lee laid up, he was doing double duty at the Institute plus overseeing pre-cruise prep on the boat. He didn’t mind the extra duties especially as he knew it would lighten Lee’s load when he returned, but there were only so many hours in a day.

Which didn’t leave adequate time for plotting. He was determined to have Lee and Nelson talking again before Seaview set sail and had been scheming practically from the start. The problem was finding just the right catalyst to set everything in motion. Fortunately, Sergeant Dawson had graciously provided one earlier that day.

Chip knew Lee was miserable and that part of that misery was rooted in his unresolved rift with Nelson. The way he saw it the resolution was straightforward - - force the two men to talk and work out their differences. As he headed toward the admiral’s office, he fiddled with the onyx ring tucked inside his pocket. Dawson had returned it earlier that morning, a good two hours before Chip had taken Lee home. He’d had to sign a receipt for it, something Dawson normally wouldn’t have allowed anyone but the owner to do. 

Originally, Chip had hedged when Dawson asked for Lee’s signature, but he’d quickly spouted off a string of official-sounding Navy jargon giving him the authority to act on behalf of his captain. It had been a load of hogwash, but Dawson had bought it with some executive officer arm-twisting. Chip still felt guilty for not giving the ring to his friend, but some things were more important than following through on the obvious. Grayson Crane had eased the path between Lee and Nelson more than once, and Chip intended to see that he did so again - - through the ring he’d left behind.

“Hi, Angie.” He smiled at Nelson’s secretary as he rounded the corner by her desk. A vibrant, attractive woman, he’d always regretted they weren’t better suited. They’d dated several times but had walked away with the mutual realization they made better friends than romantic partners. She’d come to the same conclusion about Lee not long afterward. Chip knew she was currently involved with a real estate attorney, a relationship that had all the signs of turning serious after two months. It was only fitting one of them end up happily involved.

“Chip.” Her smile dazzled him as easily as it had the first time he’d seen her, a flood of warmth dancing into her eyes. “I thought you were busy overseeing the installation of new lab equipment on Seaview?”

“I was.” At least until he’d decided it was time to rattle Nelson’s cage. “Is the admiral around?” 

“Buried in paperwork. Let me buzz him for you.” 

He nodded, waiting patiently while Angie called over the intercom and informed Nelson that Commander Morton was waiting to see him. It took a minute, but he was eventually given the green light. Chip sent a breezy smile of thanks to Angie before opening the double doors to the admiral’s office. He knew the moment he stepped inside the man was in a foul mood, but it only made him square his shoulders and click the doors solidly into place.

“Admiral.”

“Can you believe the pencil-pushing fools who insist on duplicating all this garbage in triplicate for something as simple as a delivery date change?” Nelson snapped without preamble. He waved expansively at a stack of folders and papers scattered across his desk. The stub of a cigarette sent a coil of blue smoke into the air before he ground it into an ashtray already overflowing with half a dozen butts. 

Chip waited, hands clasped behind his back, certain the frustration he was hearing had nothing to do with delivery dates or a bureaucracy of paper pushers. He knew Kowalski had followed through and told Nelson that Lee had been asking about him. The reminder surely helped stoke a conscience already burdened with guilt.

Serves him right.

Chip kept his expression neutral, emotions carefully schooled and tucked away. “I understand your frustration, Sir.” His voice was toneless. Too toneless. Any blander and they’d both be able to hear the cage rattling. 

Nelson shot him a scathing glare. Shoving his chair back from the desk, he stood and braced his hands against the top. “Is there a specific reason for this visit, Commander?”

Chip hesitated briefly, just enough for it to be noticeable - - and aggravating. Lee and Nelson might not be talking, but the admiral hadn’t been exactly cordial with him lately either. No matter. He was used to keeping his expression nondescript even when he really wanted to vent. “I thought you might like to know Kowalski and I took Lee home earlier.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that.” Nelson’s face darkened, his gaze narrowing pointedly. “You sent Kowalski here to tell me. Or did you forget that?”

Chip ignored the ice in his voice. And the question. “Sir, I’m tied up with the boat and several problems here at N.I.M.R.”

“Your point being?” Nelson rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, striving for patience. 

“I thought maybe you could return this to Lee.” Playing his trump card, Chip pulled the ring from his pocket and crossed the room, extending his hand. “Sergeant Dawson dropped it off a little while ago.” Okay, so that was a distortion of the truth, but no one had to know the ring had been in his possession since shortly after dawn.

Nelson’s gazed dropped, his expression tightening. He made no move to take the ring.

Not to be outmaneuvered, Chip set it in the center of the desk. “We both know how important that ring is to Lee, Admiral. He asked me about it again this morning. I really think it should be returned to him tonight.”

“Fine.” Nelson looked away, his voice dropping to a mutter. “I’ll have Kowalski take it back. Or Patterson.”

“Considering Elliott Cable sent it to you, I thought it only fitting you return it.” Chip held his ground, straightening to attention when Nelson sent him a sharp glance. “Sir.” For a minute he thought the older man would explode, launching into a tirade. He was certain he’d pushed too far, too hard, his demeanor a little too snide even if his voice retained cultured professionalism.   

Nelson looked ready to take his head off. Then just that quickly, he deflated. He waved a hand in the air, dismissing the obvious. “You’re right, of course. I should take it back. Lee has a right to hear from me why Cable went after him.”

Chip held his breath, afraid to breathe. For the first time in days, Nelson was talking sensibly, owning up to his responsibility. Maybe he’d been too hard on the man. He knew beneath all the hype and bluster, Nelson really did care for Lee over and above the younger man’s position as captain of Seaview. When their relationship was on an even keel, it was great for both of them. What annoyed Chip was its tendency to blunder off course. ONI and Lee’s complex past required constant navigation. Toss in political machinations, naval brass, Mitchell Blake and a propensity for both men to clam up rather than say what they felt, and Chip frequently wanted to knock their heads together. 

Sensing a chink in Nelson’s armor, Chip moved in for the kill. “Admiral, given Cable is still on the loose, Seaview is going to be the safest place for Lee when she sails. The two of you can’t keep avoiding each other. The entire crew is aware of the strain between you. Whatever the problem is you’re going to have to resolve it before the boat sails, otherwise morale is going to end up in the gutter.” He paused, deciding to go for broke. “Do you realize Lee thinks you’re angry with him?”

“Angry?” Nelson looked aghast. “What the devil for? Why in creation would I have any reason to be angry with him? Has he lost his mind?”

“In case you’ve forgotten, you jumped down his throat about those letters. Afterward, you made a point of keeping your distance.”

“You know why I did that. At least I hope you do. Lee’s out of his head if he thinks I’m upset with him. I’m the last person who has a right to be angry. I just couldn’t have Elliott thinking he meant something to me. Not after the threat in his letter. I was afraid he’d target Lee and he did. I should have been proactive about it from the start.”

“Well then, Sir, perhaps you should explain that to Lee. Tonight.” Chip sent a meaningful glance toward the ring. He was growing frustrated with excuses and knew that sooner or later his poise was destined to snap. Just when he thought he might say something he’d regret, the admiral nodded and slid the ring into his trouser pocket. 

“I’ll visit Lee after I finish up here. That will be all, Mister Morton.”

Chip nodded, fighting the urge to grin. Nelson wasn’t going to continue the conversation with him, but it didn’t matter. As long as he held it with the person who counted - - Lee - - Chip would be happy. It was only when he turned his back and headed toward the door that he allowed a satisfied smile to break over his face. 

Step one accomplished.

Step two was up to Nelson and Lee.

**********

Harry parked his sedan at the top of the driveway and stepped into the night air. He could hear the crash of surf rolling in the distance, smell the familiar tang of saltwater and brine carried on the breeze. Most of the homes in Lee’s area were situated on sprawling, oversized lots, each with a private ocean view. The first year he’d captained Seaview, Lee had been content in a modest condo situated close to the Institute. When he’d eventually purchased a three bedroom chalet on a glittering stretch of beach it was tantamount to admitting Santa Barbara had become his new home. Harry had always been convinced Lee bought the property with the intent of some day starting a family there, but so far his workaholic young captain had remained single.

Glancing up toward the house, Harry stood fingering the ring in his pocket. Light spilled through the front windows, creating a butter-churned haze against the gathering steel of twilight. He’d delayed longer than he should have at the Institute until he finally conceded he was avoiding the inevitable. Strange . . . he’d never had problems talking to Lee before. At least not to the point where he couldn’t even summon up the courage to knock on the front door. 

He’d always been comfortable in the past whenever he’d visited Lee at home. He had fond memories of sitting on the rear deck under the stars, talking over a few bottles of beer and grilled steaks. There’d been card games too - - Chip, Jamieson, O’Brien and several other officers trading off the deal with every round of poker. On other occasions, he’d shown up to check on Lee after some illness or injury. He was so comfortable at his commander’s home he had a key to the place, given at Lee’s insistence.

So why did he feel like an awkward stranger?

Disgusted with himself for the mental debate, Harry trudged up the steps and rang the bell. Waiting gave him longer to sweat things out. He should have explained his actions immediately the moment Lee regained consciousness in the Med Bay. He realized now, avoiding his captain was deplorable behavior. He didn’t think he could stomach seeing cool disdain in Lee’s expressive multi-colored eyes, but he certainly deserved nothing less.  

The door opened and he found himself blinking stupidly at the look of shock on Lee’s face.

“Admiral.” Dressed casually, Lee had changed into black jeans and a white button shirt, the sleeves cuffed back on his forearms. If Harry were to hazard a guess, he would wager Lee had fallen asleep on the sofa. His normally well-groomed hair was on the tousled side and the tails of his shirt hung untucked over his waistband. His skin was flushed, his eyes a little too bright. Final Blue was out of his system, but it would be several days before he no longer tired so easily and got his strength back.

“If I’ve come at a bad time . . .” Harry started.

“No.” Lee shook his head. He stepped aside to make room, one hand lingering on the door knob. “Come in.”

Harry moved past him, fully aware he radiated tension but unable to do anything about it. When he heard the door click in place, he turned around. “You look tired, Lee.” Jamie might have sent his patient home, but the captain still looked unsteady on his feet. “Were you sleeping?”

“Just resting.” Lee made a self-conscious attempt to smooth his rumpled curls into place. Stepping past Harry, he headed for the family room. “Would you like something to drink, Sir?”

“No. That’s not necessary.” Feeling like he was walking on eggshells, Harry followed behind him. The house was as neat and spotless as always, the décor a blend of coastal blues, greens and grays with lighter splashes of sandstone. The rooms were large and airy with a loft overlooking the main level. Lee had converted it into a den, reserving two of the three bedrooms for guests. The master suite was to the rear of the house with an ocean view, balcony, and a private rear staircase. Harry had helped Lee up the stairs on several occasions when the captain had been too ill to manage on his own due to some injury he’d suffered on Seaview. That first year with Lee as commander had been enough to give him gray hair until he realized it was Lee’s nature to take risks. Even the crew had balked, unaccustomed to a captain who habitually put himself in jeopardy. Now it was accepted as SOP. If something dangerous needed to be addressed, Lee was going to be the one to do it, or at the very least, the one to head up the mission. 

Unfortunately, with all those risks came injuries. There was no escaping the roll of the dice. This time, however, Harry knew he was wholly to blame. He tried not to stare at the gruesome holes in Lee’s neck, only partially concealed by his collar. “How are you feeling?”

Lee nodded as if realizing his standard ‘fine’ would be met with skepticism. “Well enough for Jamie to clear me when Seaview sails.” His eyes slid to the side, a prism of pine, chestnut and sunset-gold. Behind the dense fringe of his lashes, his gaze was guarded. “Unless of course you have an issue with that, Sir.”

Harry balked. “Why would I? You’re her captain, aren’t you?”

Lee stayed silent but held his gaze. Something deliberate entered his eyes, his demeanor controlled and chill.

“Well?” Harry prompted when he didn’t answer, tension making him appear brusque.

Lee never so much as blinked. “I was waiting for permission to speak, Sir.”

Harry’s mouth twitched. Oh, but his captain was damn good at treading a fine line between insolence and protocol! He abruptly understood why Jiggs Starke could never nail Lee on his attitude. For as young as he was, he knew exactly how far to push and precisely what he could get away with.   

Agitated, Harry ripped a hand through his hair. Leave it to Lee to pick at that particular bone like a vulture. “Damn it. Will you forget I ever said that?”

“That would be difficult, Sir, considering you vowed to have me looking for another job if I don’t comply. Given your ultimatum, I prefer not to speak until I’m sure I have leave.”

Harry bowed his head, pressing three fingers to the bridge of his nose. Paybacks were brutal when the ball was in Lee Crane’s court. He couldn’t really gripe given he deserved every frigid word Lee tossed his way. “Look, Lee . . . let’s just set aside what I said and - -”

“Wait a minute.” Lee circled around the couch confronting him face-to-face, all pretense of aloofness forgotten. Exasperation crept into his voice. “You want me to just forget that you’ve pointedly avoided me for the last several days . . . that you never talked to me in the Med Bay beyond a brief check-in. . . that you couldn’t wait to unload me on Kowalski in the woods or that you’re livid with me for screwing up…”

“Hold it right there!” Harry heard heat in his voice and felt his own temper spike in response. “Maybe I have been avoiding you, but the only reason I left you with Kowalski was because I went after Cable. And where the hell do you get the idea you screwed up?”

Lee drew back, narrowing his eyes. “You made that more than plain with the letters. Then I was stupid enough to drive to an old house in the middle of nowhere because I thought you’d ordered it.”

Harry sighed. “If I hadn’t been acting so erratically, you probably would have thought twice about that command.” He shook his head and stuffed his hands in his pockets, pacing before a double set of French doors. Beyond the glass, a large deck overlooked a barren stretch of beach wrapped in the silver smoke of twilight. “I overreacted about the letters, but I had my reasons.”

“And I should just accept that?” Lee scowled. “Don’t worry, Admiral. You’ve made our roles clear. As my superior officer you don’t owe me an explanation.”

“Maybe not.” Harry shot him a probing glance. He knew Lee well enough to sense the bulk of bitterness in his voice was channeled through hurt. “But as your friend, I was hoping you’d give me the chance to explain.” He motioned to the couch. “Sit down, Lee. I want to talk to you.”

“Is that an order, Sir?”

Harry ground his teeth, tightening his hands into fists. Blast, but the man was audacious, as irritating as a stuck thorn. “It is not, Captain. Given, however, that you don’t look particularly steady on your feet, you might consider it a reasonable suggestion.”

Lee held his gaze, unmoving.

Willful as sin.

Harry decided he had no reason to gripe. If anyone was responsible for Lee’s behavior, he was at fault. “All right, have it your way.” When it came to being stubborn there were few men who could match him, but Lee Crane was at the top of his short list. “Let’s start with Elliott Cable. Fifteen years ago he was a close colleague. And a good friend.”

That caught Lee off guard. “A friend?” Just that quickly, the tension melted from his face replaced by surprise. Without even realizing what he was doing, he eased to a seat on the sofa-back.

Harry bit away an impulsive grin, noticing the way he sat with one foot braced against the floor the other dangling free. It was same position he took whenever he parked on the corner of Harry’s desk. The man was a habitual “percher,” forsaking chairs in favor of the nearest non-traditional seating. If nothing else, falling back on that natural inclination implied he was growing less abrasive.

“Elliott was a chemist,” Harry explained, forcing himself to get the story into the open. “Brilliant in his own right but his younger brother, Owen, was in a category by himself. He was only twenty-eight when he died and had already achieved the accolades of men twice his age. I’ve never encountered anyone with such an amazing intellect.”

Lee watched him intently. “Elliott said you killed him.”

Harry hesitated. In the beginning he’d wanted to keep the truth from Lee at all cost. Now, he owed it to his commander to be up front about what had taken place. “In a way I suppose I did.”

“The drug . . . Final Blue . . .” Lee looked uncomfortable as if remembering the pain the narcotic had caused. “Did it have something to do with that?”

“Everything. God, I wish we hadn’t been so driven. That I hadn’t been so single-minded. We had four years invested in it. Most of the funding was private, but there was a good deal of military interest too. I had clearance from the Navy to invest my time. In the beginning, Blue looked promising, but with each test we made, we realized we were digging ourselves deeper into a hole. Nothing worked.”

“Admiral, why would you . . .” Lee shifted, unable to suppress a reactionary wince. “Why would you create a drug that induces so much pain?”

Harry swallowed hard, a tight fist squeezing his gut. He knew Lee was remembering the agony he’d suffered under the drug’s influence. Elliott hadn’t been satisfied trying to bury him alive, he’d had to pump Lee full of poison too. Shaken, Harry paced nearer. It took everything he had not to reach out and squeeze his friend’s shoulder . . . to lay a hand on his back. He wanted that reassurance of contact, but knew Lee would likely rebuke the touch.

“It was meant to be a behavioral drug,” Harry explained. “But despite calling the last phase ‘Final’ Blue, we were never able to eliminate the side effects. It was intended to make the subject relax, to modify mental perspective and physical impulse. Not a sedative exactly, but something that would induce calming effects.”

Lee frowned. “Cable kept telling me to relax. That if I didn’t fight it, there wouldn’t be any pain.”

Harry shook his head. “It wouldn’t have mattered, Lee. The drug was a complete failure. The application was intended for violent criminals and patients with severe psychosis. We wanted to produce a miracle drug. Imagine taking someone who’d been deemed criminally insane and turning that person into a fully functioning member of society. Blue was designed to suppress aberrant and violent behavior. In effect creating, even molding, a structured docile personality.”

“A chemical lobotomy.” Lee frowned. “I’m not sure I agree with that idea, Admiral. Isn’t that a little like playing God?”

Harry held up a hand. “I don’t want to argue the ethics. I’m not even saying I agree with it, but at the time I did.”

“Fifteen years ago?” Lee prompted.

“Yes.” Harry paused, thinking back to the intensity of those days. How Blue’s production had consumed them with a passion that was not altogether human. In hindsight, he realized how ugly the situation had been - - the drug, their ambition, the end result of the whole sickening mess. He would have given anything to erase that vile reality from his life.

“We were working with a protein found in an underwater cave,” he continued, feeling Lee’s eyes on him. It was time to admit the truth, to own up to his role in all that had gone wrong. He only prayed Lee wouldn’t turn away when he was done. “The area wasn’t entirely stable. I knew that. Elliott and Owen relied on me for leading the dives and coordinating the removal of samples. Neither were experienced divers. It was nearing the end of our funding, and there was noise about the government pulling out. Even our private backers were edgy. Everything we produced had devastating side effects, but we were convinced all we needed was more time. Elliott thought he could sway our primary backer and flew out to meet with the principals face-to-face. It was late and Owen and I were working in the lab.” 

He started to pace again, shoving his hands into his pockets. His fingers brushed against Grayson’s ring. What would Lee’s father think of him now, he wondered? Would he still want Harry looking out for the welfare of his son, or was he more apt to view him with disgust and remorse?

Lee said nothing, his gaze intent, those remarkable jade-toffee eyes never wavering. 

“Owen was convinced that if we went back to the cave and harvested deeper, we’d find a purer sample of the protein. He said he could make it work, that he’d had a breakthrough. I suggested we wait until Elliott got back, but he was emphatic, his insistence contagious. I realize it’s a lame excuse.” Harry shook his head. “I was older, knew the risks involved and knew the area wasn’t stable. I should have insisted we wait for a safer time, but I wanted Final Blue as much as Owen did. Maybe more so.”

Lee wet his lips. “Elliott told me his brother died in a cave-in.”

Harry nodded. “We weren’t far into the dive when it happened. I tried to get him out, but I couldn’t reach him. He was buried alive in there, Lee, his air tank crushed.”

The younger man looked away, visibly paling. Harry was certain he remembered the horror of having earth shoveled down on him in an open grave. Unable to resist, he slid a comforting hand onto Lee’s shoulder, giving a light squeeze.

Flinching free, the captain stood and paced to the French doors. “So Elliott blames you for killing him?” he said without turning.

Harry nodded soberly, saddened Lee felt the need to put distance between them. “I should have known better. Owen wasn’t experienced enough to undertake a dive in an unstable area. Elliott would have never let his brother do anything so rash. I should have gone on my own or insisted we wait for a better time.”

Lee looked over his shoulder. “Admiral, it could have just as easily been you as Owen who was caught in that cave-in. You weren’t the man’s keeper.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you can’t blame yourself for an accident. Maybe you didn’t use the best judgment, but neither did Owen. He was a grown man, accountable for his own actions. He knew the area was unstable. You just got through telling me he’d dived there before. Did you ever stop to think that by insisting on the dive, he put you at risk? Elliott has absolutely no right to blame you, and you can’t keep blaming yourself.”

Harry shook his head. “There’s more to it than that. At the funeral I tried to apologize. Elliott had refused to talk to me and I thought that maybe there, he’d at least let me express my condolences. But when I approached him . . .” He trailed off, still unable to make sense of what had happened that day. “ . . . I remember him turning to face me. I saw him reach into his pocket  . . . then there was a flash of sunlight off a gun. The next thing I knew it was two days later, and I was in the intensive care unit of the hospital.”

Appalled, Lee took a step closer. “He shot you?”

“In front of a dozen witnesses. It went to trial, and he was found mentally incompetent, driven to his actions by grief. He’d always been a little on edge - - quick to anger and react - - but I’d just assumed that went hand-in-hand with his brilliance. Owen’s death must have pushed him over the brink. He was sentenced to eighteen years in a psychiatric facility and ended up completing fifteen before he was released.”

Lee had a vague look of distraction on his face. “I remember at Annapolis . . . hearing you were in the hospital . . . that it was serious. No one really knew the details.”

“It was kept under wraps as much as possible.” Feeling relief at finally unburdening the tale, Harry exhaled and dragged a hand through his hair. “I was notified when Elliott was released. A review board cleared him and recommended he be reintroduced to society. For eight months everything was fine.”

“And then the letters started?” Lee guessed.

“Yes. Short rambling things postmarked from different states. I wasn’t overly concerned about them until the last one arrived. It was the one that came while you were in my office. The police have the original, but I made a copy. Here - -” He pulled a folded slip of paper from his pocket and offered it to Lee. “I want you to read this. Maybe it will explain why I reacted the way I did.”

Lee looked from his hand to his eyes before taking the letter. Harry watched as he unfolded the paper, unconsciously holding his breath. He’d read the damn thing so many times, he knew it by heart:    

I’ve waited fifteen years to avenge Owen’s death, Harriman. Killing you wouldn’t be satisfying enough. You wouldn’t feel the pain I live with daily. I only wish you had a brother.

Or a son.

When he was through, Lee folded the paper but didn’t relinquish it. Eyes still lowered, he tapped it against his hand. “So this is why you jumped down my throat?”

“Of course it is! Do you think I wanted that lunatic knowing how close we were - - are?” He floundered, hastily correcting his blunder. 

Lee looked at him sharply. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want you involved, damn it! You think I’m proud of what happened to Owen Cable? That I drove his brother to attempted murder . . . that he spent fifteen years of his life in a mental institution as a result? That’s my personal shame to bear. I didn’t want you finding out about it and  . . . and thinking differently of me,” he finished brusquely.

“Admiral, what makes you think I’d change my opinion of you based on something like this? Do you really have that little faith in my judgment?”

 

Harry winced. Put like that, it sounded dreadful. “Damn it, Lee, why do you always twist everything around?” Irked, he rubbed his temple. No matter how carefully he thought something through, his captain routinely tossed him a curve ball. “My reasoning may have been off base, but my motives had a purpose. I was curt with you because I didn’t want Elliott thinking there was an even a remote inkling of friendship between us, let alone how I really feel about you. When you asked Angie about the letters, I thought you’d find out the truth. I was afraid of you getting involved. I was afraid Elliott was monitoring my activity…”

“I’m sure he has been for some time,” Lee interrupted, no longer concerned about waiting for permission to speak. Despite that bluntness, he was clearly taken aback by Harry’s candor regarding their relationship.

“Blast it, don’t you think I know that? At least I do now.” Several days of pent-up aggravation and guilt tumbled through in Harry’s voice. “I should have been proactive from the start. If I’d contacted the authorities immediately rather than trying to keep the past hidden, none of this would have happened. You would have been safe, which was all I wanted in the first place.” He shook his head, repulsed by his failure to act. “God, Lee when I think that man almost killed you because of me! When I found you in the woods, half-buried in that grave, your veins pumped full of Final Blue…” He shuddered to a stop, unable to finish. 

Lee kept his eyes lowered, his voice quiet. “I won’t lie to you, Admiral. I still have nightmares about it. I’ve faced death more than once in my career, but . . .” Ill at ease, he cleared his throat. “Never like that.” Straightening, he immediately set aside the discomfort. “I don’t blame you for what happened, Sir. I realize now you were trying to protect me from Cable. I just wished you’d talked to me afterward when I was in the Med Bay at the Institute. I, um . . . I wanted to see you, Admiral.” Self-conscious, he looked away. “The same way I would have wanted to see my fa...” He caught himself before the word left his lips.  

Harry cursed, mentally filling in the blanks:  The same way I would have wanted to see my father. 

It made perfect sense. Lee had suffered a horrific ordeal. He hadn’t needed an employer or a boss, and especially not a superior officer with a glacial attitude. What he’d needed was someone he could talk to candidly, who’d help him through the torment. Someone he’d come to view as a surrogate father.

“I dropped the ball, Lee.” He was scum. Pond filth. Whale excrement. There weren’t enough epithets in the English language to describe his shortcomings. “I’m sorry.”

 Lee sent him a hesitant glance. “I assumed you were still angry.”

What was worse than whale excrement - - squid feces? He was a bottom-feeder, ten times lower than the foulest subterranean ilk. “I was never angry, Lee. Not with you. You’re the last person I had any right to be angry with. I was just ticked off over my own limitations and failures. And you’re absolutely right - - I should have talked to you. I can’t tell you how many times Jamie or Chip tried to prod me into it.” He shook his head, disgusted with himself. “After what Cable did to you, I didn’t think I had the right. I was sure you’d tell me to take a long walk off a short pier, and I wasn’t ready to hear that. Not from you.”

Lee raised a brow, the hint of a smile flirting around his lips. “So you misjudged me as much as I misjudged you.”

Harry gave a soft snort, relieved by the sight of his captain’s faint grin. “I’m afraid so. It’s a wonder Jamie and Chip can tolerate either of us.” Growing more at ease, he stepped to Lee’s side and slid a hand onto his shoulder. This time the younger man didn’t flinch away. “Maybe I’ll take that drink now, but I’ll get it myself. I really wish you’d humor me and sit down.”

“Do I look that bad?”

“Let’s just say if I hadn’t interrupted you, I have a feeling you’d still be sleeping.”

“I was resting, Admiral. There’s a difference.”

Harry grinned. “Very well, Captain. Go sit down and ‘rest’ while I make myself a Scotch.” He started to turn away, but Lee stopped him.

“Sir?” He passed the letter back. It was obvious he wanted to ask something but was having a hard time getting the words out. “A little while ago you said you didn’t want Elliott realizing we were friends . . .then you said something else.” He wet his lips, that expressive black-lashed gaze narrowing on Harry. “Exactly how do you feel about me?”

“I thought I made that plain when I asked you to read the letter.” Why was it just when he thought Lee was going to let him off the hook, his captain reeled him right back on? Hadn’t they just been discussing Lee’s need for a father when he’d awakened in Med Bay? “Why do you think I panicked when Elliott said he wished I had a son? Do I have to spell it out for you, Lee?”

“No.” The younger man smiled faintly. “Sometimes it’s just hard maintaining the balancing act we go through. I realize there are times you have to pull rank, and I respect that. Duty will always come first. But there are other times I second-guess myself and think you’ve yanked the safety net out from under me. I need to trust my instincts more where you’re concerned.”

“If you’re asking if my opinion of you will ever change - - no, lad, it won’t. Circumstance might mandate I act differently or treat you differently, but that net will always be there.” Ironic, that Lee was every bit as inhibited as he was when it came to saying what he truly felt. For as confident as he was in his role as commander, Lee often doubted his significance to others. It was therefore relatively easy for him to question his worth when Harry’s attitude headed south.   

Arguments were one thing. Lee stood his ground through each and every one of those but when circumstance forced Harry to pull back from their friendship, his introspective commander habitually saw himself at fault. Mitchell Blake was the cause of that. The same unhappy childhood that had driven Lee to excel in everything he did also made him question his value. He knew how to be the best. He just didn’t know how to be less than perfect . . . how to be vulnerable.

“You’re far more than Seaview’s captain, Lee. I hope you realize that.”

“Well, I certainly do,” a smug voice inserted into the silence. “I’ve hit pay-dirt. I couldn’t ask for a better father/son moment than if I’d staged it.”

Harry felt a bolt of cold rocket from his head to his feet. He hadn’t heard that voice in fifteen years, but it brought back a flood of memories - - Final Blue, Owen’s death, the pop of a handgun, the structured formality of a trial. He spun in the direction of the voice, instinctively stepping in front of Lee to shield him.  

Elliott Cable emerged from the hallway, a 9mm clutched in his hand. “Don’t be a hero, Harriman, unless you want me to pump yet another bullet into your chest.” His eyes flashed to Lee’s face. “You really should have that lock on your back door checked, Captain. Any old riff-raff might wander in.”

“Get out of here,” Harry spat. 

Lee moved to his side, placing himself in plain sight - - and into Cable’s direct line of fire. “Make it easy on yourself, Cable, and give yourself up. The police are looking for you - -”

“That hardly makes a difference, Captain. You and I and Harriman have unfinished business, and we’re going to settle it now.” He waved the gun to indicate the couch. “Sit down.”

When Lee didn’t move, he swiveled the barrel to zone in on Harry. “I suggest you comply, Commander Crane, or I might be inclined to test my aim out on Harriman. And unlike fifteen years ago, I guarantee I’ll make the shot count.” His lips stretched in a feral smile.

Watching him, Harry was convinced he was every bit as deranged as he’d been when Owen died and he’d plummeted over the edge of sanity. He’d had a gun then and pulled the trigger.

This time, Harry was sure one of them wouldn’t be walking away.

Slowly, Lee sat down.

**********

Lee tensed, acutely aware of everything around him. The admiral stood just off the corner of the couch, his body wired for conflict. By contrast, Cable was relaxed, his expression a combination of satisfaction and haughty superiority. Mentally, Lee kicked himself for not taking better precautions with the security on his house. He had standard locks on his doors but should have known Cable wouldn’t be put off by a few tumblers and bolts. The man was a certified psychotic. He’d experienced that firsthand when the chemist had trussed him up like a prized steer and tossed him into a grave with the intent of burying him alive.

With effort, he suppressed a shudder. He couldn’t go back there. Not to that nightmarish pit with black earth tumbling down, each patter of soil carrying the gruesome promise of suffocation. Few things in life terrified him, but he’d come close to losing his mind when he’d lain helpless and bound, his body writhing in the brutal grip of Final Blue, death just a few shovelfuls of dirt away.

The same horror had plagued him in the Med Bay, the lingering taint of toxins resurrecting the nightmare until he’d thought he was reliving it. It had all gone together in his head - - impressions, sounds, feelings, thoughts - - every terrifying nuance of torture he’d endured only hours before. He’d fought like an animal until Chip and Jamie had strapped him to the bed and the sheer agony of the drug had sent him plunging into unconsciousness.

He’d never needed assurance more than when he’d awakened. He was ever thankful for Chip. His friend had been a lifeline in a dark, obsidian sea. But more than Chip, he’d needed Nelson. He could still feel the cold clutch of remembered hurt when he’d realized the admiral hadn’t cared enough  - - or so he’d thought at the time - - to be there. 

It had been relatively easy to appear indifferent, as if that absence didn’t matter. He’d been pretending all of his life, was so adept at presenting a polished facade he could almost convince himself it was how he felt. He hadn’t needed anyone since he was eight-years-old and his father died. Why, as man in his thirties who’d achieved unlimited fame and success, would he suddenly become dependent on a surrogate father? Why, for crying out loud, would he need anyone?

But he did. 

He needed Chip. But even more than his friend, he needed Admiral Harriman Nelson.

Which was why he dug his fingers into the couch, his sole focus on protecting the man who’d become like a father to him. There was simply no way in hell Cable was going to pump a bullet into the admiral if Lee had anything to say about it. He gauged the distance between them, calculating his flagging health against the odds of grabbing the gun before it went off. He was in no shape to work miracles and knew it. If Cable would only step closer, putting him in easier reach . . .      

“I have something for you, Harry.” Cable withdrew a wooden box from the pocket of his jacket. Rectangular and fat, it wasn’t much larger than a standard pen and pencil case. “Catch.” With a savoring grin, he tossed it to Nelson who caught it by reflex. 

Lee heard something rattle inside the box and felt a knee-jerk tightening in his gut. He still didn’t understand why Cable insisted he sit while Nelson remained standing. Every nerve in his body felt wired for flight. He itched to be on his feet, the restriction of being forced to sit making him feel just as helpless as when he’d been shoved into a pre-made grave.

“Open it,” Cable said with a nod for the box.

Lee’s eyes were drawn to the wooden case as Nelson pried it open. A liquid-filled syringe lay nestled inside. Lee paled instinctively and heard Cable chuckle softly.

“Final Blue. A lethal dosage.” The chemist tilted his head as if happening on something intriguing, his smile inching higher. “What do you think, Harriman? Crane seems to have lost all color. Do you think Owen looked like that before he died?”

Nelson snapped the case closed. “What the hell do you want?”

“What I’ve always wanted - - retribution, revenge. You killed Owen, and now I’m going to watch you kill your captain . . . your son.” The emphasis on the word was snide and hurtful. “He’ll suffer first before he dies, the same way my brother did, gasping for air.” Cable nodded toward the case. “That dose is for Crane. Take it out and administer the injection.”

Lee tensed but, before he could say a single word, Nelson sputtered his outrage. “You’re insane, Elliott! I don’t care if you do have a gun. You’re out of your mind if you think I’m going to pump Lee full of something that will kill him. Pull the damn trigger. You’ll have to shoot me first.”

Cable sighed theatrically. “I never said this was going to be easy.” He swiveled the gun toward Lee, but it was Nelson he addressed. “I’m not going to shoot you, Harry. Your captain, however, is a different story. I’ve got nine bullets in this clip. Eight strategic shots to make your surrogate son writhe in agony before I unload the killing slug into his head. Or maybe I won’t even bother with that one. I’ll just let him bleed to death. I’ll save the last bullet to make you sit there and watch. The way I figure it, he’ll live for several hours. Trust me - - Final Blue will be far more merciful in the long run.”

Lee’s mouth twisted. “You sadistic bastard.”

“Did you expect any less, Captain? Maybe now you’ll realize the man you’ve singled out as a substitute father is no more than a murdering coward.”

“Your brother went into that cave of his own volition,” Lee spat. “Killing me isn’t going to change what happened.” 

“No, but at least it will bring the satisfaction of knowing Harry will have to live with the same grief I’ve carried for fifteen years. And his will be far worse, because he’s going to be the one to kill you.”

“You’re insane.”

“So they say. But would an insane man spend the last eight months researching the Nelson Institute, Seaview and even you, Commander Crane? You can’t imagine what a delight it was to learn how Harry feels about you - - equivalent to striking gold. Sad too, I suppose. You’re quite a remarkable young man. It’s a shame you had to align yourself with someone as despicable as Harriman Nelson.”

“Leave him out of this,” Nelson snapped. “What happened to Owen is between you and me. It doesn’t involve Lee.”

“It does now. Quit stalling and inject him.”

“The devil take you!”

Lee tensed, uncertain if Nelson’s defiance was going to earn him a bullet or a reprieve. There was no question Cable was unhinged and that it was only a matter of time before he exploded. Lee was ready to risk his neck for Nelson, but he couldn’t stomach the thought of having a needle jammed in his throat again. He’d rather take his chances with the gun. He tried to signal that intention from the corner of his eye and sensed a silent acknowledgement from Nelson. If the admiral could keep Cable occupied, he might just stand a chance of wresting the pistol away. 

“Have it your way.” Cable’s lips thinned in a sneer. He extended his arm, training the gun in a straight line on Lee. “Let’s start with a kneecap, shall we, Captain?”

And just that quick, Lee knew he was out of options. He heard Nelson swear loudly and launched himself from the couch. Something hurtled through the air past his head. He caught a glimpse of the wooden case tripping end over end, thrown with lethal precision by Nelson. It struck Cable on the arm just as the gun exploded, his aim jarred wide by the blow.

Lee gasped, thrown off balance when the bullet ripped into his shoulder. Pain streaked across his chest, a cold wave of shock buckling his knees. He stumbled forward, momentum carrying him into Cable before the chemist could get off another shot. Together, they plummeted to the floor, the impact clacking Lee’s teeth together. He heard Cable grunt beneath him and realized the gun had been knocked clear in the scuffle.

Dazed, he scrambled after it, half on his knees, his head reeling with pain.

“No you don’t.” Cable gripped him around the waist, trying to pin him to the floor. 

The case with the syringe burst open, spilling the deadly needle onto the carpet. Lee heard Nelson yell something . . . was vaguely aware of a frenzied rush of footsteps behind him. He saw Cable close one hand on the syringe, felt another knot savagely in his hair. Panicked, he extended his arm as far as he could, his fingertips just brushing the edge of the pistol. Pain plastered him to carpet and for one horrifying second he thought he would black out. Grinding his teeth, he forced another half inch of reach and closed his hand in a convulsive fist around the 9mm. He rolled, tucking the gun low and tight against Cable’s gut as his head was yanked back. The needle scraped across his throat but blundered free without breaking skin. Lee saw the chemist’s eyes widen in shock a second before he pulled the trigger.

Just that quickly, it was over. Cable slumped on top of him, blood and gore sluicing from a hole in his stomach. He could smell the powder-burn, knew the bullet had probably blown clean through the chemist’s back. He tried to catch his breath, but the agony in his shoulder spiked higher with each lurching beat of his heart. He knew his own wound was bad, likely messy. Cable had pulled the trigger at close range. Blood spooled onto his chest and back, sticky and wet, drenching his shirt. The sight of so much red against crisp white looked grotesquely obscene. Already his vision was growing fuzzy at the edges, his head swimming with pain.

“Lee.” Nelson shoved Cable’s body aside, folding to his knees. 

Time hung suspended as the grisly events caught up with him. Cable was dead, Nelson was unhurt, and he was alive. If the ringing in his ears and the fish-eyed distortions of the room were any indication, he was far from in prime shape. Sweat collected in his bangs - - fat, icy drops that trickled down his temples and left him shivering. Clasping his arm to his side, he bit back a low groan.

“Take it easy, Lee. I’m right here.” Nelson touched his face then gingerly felt along his shoulder and arm. There was such attentive care in the brief examination it was easy to forget they’d ever been at cross-purposes. 

Lee forced his eyes to focus and unglued his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “If  . . . if you hadn’t thrown that case, I’d be dead now.”

Nelson didn’t bother acknowledging the obvious. “Wait here.”

Lee considered pointing out he didn’t have the energy to go anywhere, but decided it would take too much effort. He heard the older man sprint from the room but was more concerned with the way the ceiling pinwheeled overhead. He blinked rapidly to keep from passing out, silently counting the seconds until Nelson returned.

The admiral knelt at his side, two thick kitchen towels draped over his knees. “We’ll get the bleeding under control then I’ll call the police.”

And the coroner. Lee kept the grim notion to himself, wincing as Nelson slid one of the towels under his arm. Pain shot into his damaged shoulder, igniting a torrid knot of fire. He tried not to think about the blood puddling under him, seeping beneath his back and gore-plastering his shirt to the floor. The floaty part of his mind wondered how hard it would be to get the stain out of his carpet, while the grounded part got tangled in physical pain and the remembered ugliness of Final Blue. Shaken, he moaned.

“I’m sorry, lad.” Nelson’s hands stilled immediately. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He tried to tell the admiral it wasn’t his fault, but the words got lost in a deeper groan. His shoulder felt like someone had used it for a battering ram.

Nelson settled a comforting hand on his hair. “I know it hurts, Lee. I wish this whole bloody thing had never happened. It’s my fault Cable involved you. I’d never do anything to hurt you intentionally.”

Lee swallowed the lump in his throat. “I know that.” He shifted, grimacing as a serpent-lick of pain cycled through him. A cough built in the back of his throat, and he dispelled it with a grunt. He was so tired of being tired, so sick of being sick. “Cable was psychotic. You’re not responsible for his actions any more than you were for Owen’s death.”

Nelson grimaced. He turned his attention back to the towel which was already saturated with blood. “We’ll talk about it later.” Adding the second towel, he carefully folded it over Lee’s shoulder, layering the end over the first. He reached behind him to snag a pillow from the couch and raised Lee’s head, easing the cushion underneath him. “Lie here and don’t move. I’m going to call an ambulance. And Jamie.”

More sirens, more prodding, more time in Med Bay. Lee nodded vacantly, succumbing to another round of coughing. He listened to Nelson’s retreating footsteps. Seconds later, he heard the older man in the distance, placing the promised phone call. Growing fidgety, he wedged his good arm beneath him, forcing himself upright and inching backward until he could brace himself against the sofa. The room waffled, teetering on a see-saw before ending in a mockery of stability. He closed his eyes and sagged listlessly to the side. 

“Lee.” An arm looped around his shoulder as a body settled beside him. “I thought I told you to stay where you were.” There was no real sting in the chastisement. The admiral gave a tug and Lee slumped against him. Somehow it felt right to be resting there with Nelson supporting him, the admiral’s arm wrapped around him, keeping him close.

“Sir?” It was hard to hold his eyes open. He knew he was getting blood all over Nelson’s shirt but didn’t have the energy to move. Still, it was hardly dignified for a four-star admiral to be sitting on the floor with a junior officer huddled against him. As content as he was, he gave the older man an out:  “Maybe you should cover Cable’s body before the police and ambulance arrive.”

“That would involve moving, Captain, and you appear to be comfortable at the moment.” Nelson raised a hand, brushing Lee’s sweat-soaked bangs to the side. His touch lingered longer than necessary, those extra few seconds unabashedly transparent to both of them. “Just rest, lad. You’re fine.” Dropping his hand, he curled his fingers around Lee’s wrist.

Despite the pain, Lee managed a faint smile. Police, ambulance crew, even Jamie - - he imagined they’d all walk in and find them sitting like that. If Nelson didn’t care, he wouldn’t either. If it weren’t for the bullet in his shoulder, he might actually feel content for the first time in days. 

He gave a grunt of acknowledgment, his head dipping lower against the admiral’s shoulder. “I suppose this means I’m not going anywhere when Seaview sails,” he mumbled.

Nelson chuckled. “Not if Jamie has anything to say about it.”

It was the last thought Lee had before losing consciousness.

**********

Chip whistled cheerfully as he strolled into N.I.M.R.’s Med Bay, a stack of folders tucked under his arm. “Well, I see Jamie managed to put you back into one piece again,” he announced as way of greeting to the man propped upright in bed. “Too bad he couldn’t improve your attitude while he was at it.”

Lee Crane shot his friend a surly but surprised glance. “I haven’t even opened my mouth.”

“You don’t have to. I roomed with you at Annapolis, remember? It’s written all over your face. You’re bored, irritable and probably not cooperating with your doctor. Besides, the word’s already leaked - - you’re in a piss-poor mood.” 

“And you’re not making it any better,” Lee snapped.

Chip held up one hand in mock surrender. “You won’t be saying that when you see what I brought you.” He plopped the folders onto a roll-away table by the bed, deliberately positioning it within easy reach.

It had been two days since the incident with Elliott Cable at Lee’s beach house. Seaview would be sailing on the morning tide, a reality that had Lee sinking deeper and deeper into a bleak mood with every passing hour. Jamie had arranged for a ride to take him home the following day with orders for therapy and rest. One of the off-rotation corpsmen would be remaining behind to see that he stuck to the regime and to tend to any care the wound needed. The doctor hadn’t been particularly happy about releasing Lee but had relented after some arm twisting from the admiral. 

No amount of grumbling or pleading, however, could convince Jamie his captain was recovered enough to undertake the voyage. Stuck behind, Chip knew his friend would be climbing the walls with boredom - - if he wasn’t already. Which is why he’d brought the folders?

Lee eyed the stack suspiciously. “What’s that?”

“Something to keep you occupied. We just got word Cotterman’s is going to be closing up shop the end of the year.”

“But they supply the bulk of our hydraulic equipment.”

“Which is why we need a new supplier.” Chip indicated the folders. “Those are the leading candidates. Since you’re going to be sitting around on your rear end, I thought you could do some research, start making contacts and get some proposals in the works . . . suggested contracts, equipment lists, delivery schedules.”

Lee wrinkled his nose. “You want me to push paper.”

“I can always rummage up some word doodles instead. I hear there’s an annual tournament. If you start now, you might be good enough to qualify as a finalist next year.”

“You’ve got a nasty mean streak, Morton.”

Chip grinned sharply. Despite Lee’s complaint, he knew the captain was interested in tackling the folders. Especially when he pulled the nearest into his lap and lifted the top for a grudging glance inside. He couldn’t really fault Lee his crankiness. While paperwork was part of a captain’s daily routine, Lee had never made a secret he disliked it. By nature, he was action-driven. Too long away from sea and he grew moody and restless. Chip craved the ocean with a similar passion, but unlike Lee, could do long stretches behind a desk on dry land. To Lee, separation from water was equivalent to confinement. 

“Mean streak aside, I thought I’d say hello and see how you’re feeling,” the exec countered.

Lee shrugged, trying to shake off his moodiness. Chip had already received word from Jamie that Seaview’s captain had started the morning in a bad temper. He would have thought the knowledge of being discharged in twenty-four hours would have helped, but Lee was plainly miserable. Was it any wonder? In the last several days he’d gone through a rollercoaster blow-up with the man he looked to as a father, had almost been buried alive, had his veins pumped full of a drug that induced excruciating pain and gruesome flashbacks, been shot in the shoulder and forced to kill a man in his own home. The guy deserved a break.

When he didn’t answer, Chip sat on the edge of the bed. “So I hear Jamie arranged for a ride to take you home tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” Lee sighed, absently rifling his hand over the edge of the folders. “Probably one of the corpsmen. I think Mellick is staying behind to help with my therapy.” His eyes dropped to the sling supporting his left arm. 

It could have been worse. It could have been his right. Chip could still remember pacing the halls while Lee was in surgery. He’d done a lot of worrying. And cussing. He knew he was expected to hold everything together and present the cool, polished façade of a consummate professional, but it was easy to lose his perspective where Lee was concerned. 

He’d had a brother once, but Conner had been prematurely snatched away in childhood. He had three wonderful sisters and half a dozen cousins who were like immediate family, but he’d never felt that brother-connection with anyone again until he’d met Lee Crane. 

They hadn’t exactly clicked on first acquaintance. Lee had been almost too young for Annapolis and looked even younger. Serious as sin, he was perfection-driven to a fault. In other words - - there hadn’t been a whole lot to recommend him.

Except for those damn expressive eyes.

Chip realized early there was a lot more going on inside Lee’s head than he allowed to show on the surface. And all because he’d learned to read Lee’s eyes, a trick he still relied on to this day. 

They’d become close friends after a few initial bumps, and somewhere along the line Chip had fallen into the role of big brother. Lee bristled over his protectiveness on occasion but, for the most part, Chip liked to think Lee enjoyed having someone look out for him. He’d spent too many years fending for himself, if only emotionally. 

Chip had known from the start his friend was destined to succeed. The man didn’t know the meaning of the phrase ‘second-best.’ If Lee had one major drawback, it was his inability to accept failure. He was driven to excel in everything he did. The trait made him a great commander but also put him in harm’s way more often than not. As a result, Chip was frequently left pacing some corridor or haunting Sick Bay.   

He knew the confrontation with Cable wasn’t Lee’s fault, but it hadn’t loosened the knot in his gut while Lee went through surgery. He’d no sooner gotten his friend patched up and sent home from the incident with Final Blue than Lee was back again, this time with a bullet in him. 

He knew it wasn’t a joyride for Lee either. Surgery, pain medication, therapy, confined to a bed when Seaview was set to sail - - it was no wonder the captain looked ill-tempered. It was one matter to get stuck behind, another to be landlocked after the hell he’d gone through.

Disturbed by his friend’s gloom, Chip made an effort to soften the sting: “It’s a short cruise, Lee. Routine. We’re just delivering supplies to an underwater lab. We could do it with our eyes closed.”

“I know that.” By the sound of his voice, it didn’t make a difference. He reclined into the brace of pillows behind his back, his eyelashes sweeping toward the ceiling. “How is the admiral doing?”

A change of topic. Chip rated that an improvement. 

“There’s been a lot of scrutiny.” Cable’s death had opened a can of worms with roots stretching fifteen years into the past. All things considered, the spotlight wasn’t as glaring as it might have been. True, the admiral had been tied up juggling investigators, press, Navy brass and even representatives of the firms that had once funded Final Blue, but it wasn’t being trumped as a scandal. The downside was all the activity had kept Nelson from personally checking on Lee. Chip knew he’d sat by his captain’s bedside for several hours after Lee had come out of surgery, but the younger man had been sedated then and Nelson hadn’t been able to return since. Although their relationship was once again on an even keel, Chip knew it would mean a lot to Lee to be able to catch even a few short minutes with the admiral before Seaview sailed and Nelson was gone again. 

The boat’s impending departure had kept most of the crewmembers away, but Chip had learned from Jamie that Kowalski, Patterson and Sharkey had made a point of stopping yesterday evening to check on Lee. And knowing Kowalski, he’d likely be back again before Seaview left port. As free-wheeling as the rating could be at times, he could ride roughshod with the best of them. Especially when it came to Lee.

For someone who’d originally harbored such a strong dislike of his captain, the sonar operator had become one of Lee’s staunchest supporters. Kowalski was too accustomed to covering Lee’s back and making sure he stayed out of danger. When the captain invariably stumbled into a mess on his own, Kowalski was still there to play guardian, if only to make sure Lee had everything he needed. It probably helped that they weren’t far apart in age. Initially, that had been a stumbling block - - most of the crew had balked in shock over Lee’s age - - but now it factored into his favor. It hadn’t happened overnight, but he’d long past earned the loyalty of his men. Young or not, Lee Crane knew how to command. And the fact that he was so young made him - - and them - - special.

“So you think the admiral is doing okay with all the scrutiny about Cable and Final Blue?” Lee asked, drawing Chip’s thoughts back to the present.

He gave a self-conscious start, surprised to have drifted so far astray. Lee watched him intently, his expressive long-lashed eyes a little too guarded for Chip’s taste. “Stop worrying,” he ordered in his best executive officer voice. “The admiral is fine. The ironic part is I see you and you ask about him. I see him and he asks about you. With any luck, we might actually get the two of you together before the boat sails.”

Lee frowned, sobered by the thought of Seaview departing. If he weren’t so clearly miserable, Chip might have laughed. It was like watching a kid deprived of a toy. 

Lee dropped his eyes, fingering his left hand. “What about my ring? Did you ever talk to Sergeant Dawson about it?”

Chip gave a start, only then realizing Nelson had never given it back to him. He hedged, unwilling to let Lee know he’d had the ring all along and had used it as a ploy to get the two men talking again. “Uh . . . well . . .”

“Good morning, Gentlemen.” 

The timing couldn’t have been better. Chip stood, relieved to be freed from the spotlight as Nelson strolled into the room. “Admiral.” Maybe now Lee would cheer up a bit when he learned what Nelson had arranged. From the corner of his eye, he saw the captain smile faintly and realized Nelson’s presence alone was a step in the right direction. 

“How are you feeling, Lee?” Nelson’s eyes danced, his grin warm and affectionate. He stepped to the side of the bed and casually slid a hand onto Lee’s good shoulder. The man had a devil of a grin when he was in a good mood, uninhibited by restraints of position and rank.

“I’m fine, Sir.” Lee’s answering smile climbed a little higher in response. “It’s good to see you.”

Chip watched, surprised by how comfortable the admiral seemed. Given he’d been juggling bureaucrats, reporters and investigators for the last forty-eight hours, he would have expected Nelson’s mood to be a step shy of sour. Apparently, seeing Lee sitting up and talking had the same positive effect on him that it did on the captain. He shook his head, silently amazed by the connection the two men had. 

“Admiral, if you’re available to visit for awhile, I think I’ll bow out. I’ve got some work to do on the boat.”

“What? Oh . . .” Still grinning down at Lee, Nelson seemed to realize he was being addressed. He dropped his hand from the captain’s shoulder. “Oh, course, Chip. Whatever you need to do.”

Or in other words - - I wasn’t focused on you to begin with. Chip grinned, unable to feel slighted. He was friends with Nelson and he was as close as a brother to Lee, but the captain and the admiral together were in a league all their own. 

He squeezed his friend’s knee. “Take it easy, Lee. I’ll stop back later tonight. Maybe we can catch dinner together.”

“Bring me something edible,” Lee countered. “I could use a good burger and fries. And what about my ring?”

Chip shot Nelson a quick glance, but his words were for Lee. “We’ll talk about it tonight. See you then.” He gave a backward flip of his hand and headed into the corridor. This time he wouldn’t be pacing or cursing. If anyone could snap Lee from an emotional slump, it was Nelson.

Whistling cheerfully, Chip headed for Seaview.

**********

“About your ring.” Feeling guilty for not returning the item the first chance he had, Harry reached into his pocket. “Don’t fault Chip for that one. I was going to give it to you the other night after I’d had a chance to talk to you, but . . .” He trailed away, uncomfortable with the glut of ugly memories that bubbled to the surface. It was bad enough he’d had to explain his own deplorable behavior to Lee, but then Cable had shown up. “Here…” Taking Lee’s hand, he placed the ring securely in his palm and closed his fingers over it. “Chip made sure he got that off Sergeant Dawson for you.”

Lee’s smile was quick and genuine. “Thanks.”

Harry watched his lashes sweep downward as he slid the ring onto his finger. Such a simple thing, yet he could see the flush of pleasure on Lee’s face. He’d always known the ring was important to his friend and that it had once belonged to Grayson Crane, but he hadn’t understood the significance until a few short months ago when he’d learned of Grayson’s connection to the ill-fated Carlisle Maine. 

According to Chip, Lee’s mother had given Grayson the ring when he’d been promoted from uniformed officer to detective. He’d never been without it until the fateful cruise that cost him his life. Feeling it didn’t fit his undercover role, he’d left it behind when he’d boarded the Maine. When the ship had gone down, Ellen had passed it to her son. From that point on, the ring had become Lee’s way of keeping Grayson’s memory alive.

Harry pulled a chair to the bedside. The last time he’d been in the room, his captain had been unconscious, drugged from surgery. Amazing the difference forty-eight hours made. He nodded toward the folders on the table. “What are those?”

“A gift from Chip.” Lee put sarcastic emphasis on the word ‘gift.’ “He wants me to narrow down the field of potential replacements for Cotterman’s. Since I’m going to be stuck at home he thought it would keep me occupied.”

“Sounds reasonable. Could you use some help?”

“From whom”

Harry grinned widely, enjoying the upper hand. “From me. Didn’t Jamie tell you I’m your ride home tomorrow? Since Seaview’s run is so routine, I thought I’d skip it and leave Chip in charge.”

Lee blinked, caught off guard. He was silent a moment, a spectrum of emotion running through his hazel eyes. “Why would you do that?” he asked at last.

“Because, according to Jamie, someone has to look after you and make sure you stick to your therapy schedule.”

“I thought that was Mellick’s job.”

“Mellick is there to help with therapy. My role is to make sure you actually go and do it.” Harry looked at him pointedly but couldn’t keep a trace of fond affection from his glance. “I have an investment in you, Commander. We have another, longer voyage in two weeks, and I expect you to be recovered enough to helm it. Besides . . .” He shrugged, a twinge of discomfort slipping through. “After everything that’s happened, it will give us a chance to catch up. I thought you might be able to tolerate a house guest for a few days.”

“Sir, I . . .” Lee wet his lips, torn between gratitude, pleasure and chagrin. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“I wasn’t suggesting you do, Captain. But the road hasn’t exactly been clear for either of us these last several days. I thought maybe . . .” He hesitated, uncertain how to say what was on his mind. He felt Lee’s eyes settle on him, that same damn expressive gaze that had first caught his attention when the younger man was a plebe at Annapolis.  

“You thought what, Admiral?”

He shifted in the chair and cleared his throat. “I thought we could use some time away from Seaview and N.I.M.R., Lee. The two of us. Saying I’m sorry about what happened isn’t really enough for me.”

“Sir, I…”

Harry waved off his protest. “Sometimes actions are louder than words, lad. A few years ago I had a friend who nearly lost his son in a traffic accident. It was a large pile up, and there were several fatalities. Aaron survived with barely a scratch, but had his car arrived a few seconds earlier or later, he wouldn’t have walked away at all. My friend said he couldn’t let him out of his sight after that . . . that for several days all he did was hover, terrified by the thought of how close he’d come to losing his son.”

“Admiral.” Lee wet his lips. “I’m not your son.”

He didn’t like hearing the truth, but there it was in black-and-white. As close as they were, as strongly as he felt for Lee, there was no blood between them. He’d built a nuclear submarine that was a technical marvel and an Institute without equal, but he had no heir. Someday, he knew he would have to rectify that. Someday soon he had to make Lee understand his vision for him far surpassed the limited role of Seaview’s commander.

“I know that.” A twinge of somberness slipped into his voice. “But you are a very good friend and that makes me inclined to hover.” Leaning forward, he slid his hand onto Lee’s arm where it rested on the bed.

“Admiral, I just meant . . .” Lee faltered, unable to explain himself. A troubled crease appeared between his brows. “I didn’t express that very well. I just meant I don’t want you to feel obligated . . . about me.” He flushed, lowering his eyes. “Blood isn’t everything.” he mumbled. “I’d be more than happy to have you spend a few days with me, Sir.” 

“Then it’s settled.” Harry grinned. He was beginning to recognize which buttons to push to make his captain tongue-tied.

Lee smiled, the flash of his teeth hesitant and unsure. “If you don’t mind paperwork.” He nodded toward the folders.

Harry chuckled. 

“With two of us evaluating them, I think we can have a new contractor lined up before Chip returns. We might even have time to review the schematics on some changes I want to make to the diving bell.”

Intrigued, Lee raised a brow. “What kind of changes?”

“Nothing major. Some new enhancements for better stability at lower depths. I don’t have all the modifications worked out and could use a fresh perspective.”

“So between hydraulic suppliers and bell schematics, you and Chip have pretty much ensured a plan to keep me occupied until Seaview returns.”

“Don’t forget therapy. Jamie has his hand in there too, you know.”

Lee scowled, never happy at the thought of being incapacitated. “How can I forget? He’s already read me the riot act about what he’ll do if I don’t adhere to his treatment schedule. He’s worried Mellick is too new to stick to his guns if I say I’m not going to do something.”

Harry laughed. “Why do you think I’m hanging around? You might be able to pull rank on Mellick, but not on me.” He stood, pleased to have seen a glint of humor in Lee’s black-lashed eyes. “It should be an interesting few days, Captain. Enjoy your dinner with Chip tonight. I’ll check in later, just to see how you’re doing.” He gave Lee’s shoulder a companionable squeeze and started to turn away.

“Admiral?”

He hadn’t taken more than a step before Lee’s query drew him up short. “What is it?” he asked, hesitating at the bedside.

Lee looked down, absently twisting his father’s ring. It was an habitual reflex, one Harry had grown very familiar with. His captain often did it when he was troubled or mentally trying to sort something out. “If Chip got my ring from Sergeant Dawson,” he ventured at last. “Why did you have it?”

Harry paused, the ghost of a resigned smile touching his lips. “Because you have a very astute executive officer and friend who isn’t above manipulating circumstance when he thinks it plays to your benefit.”

Lee looked confused. “I don’t follow.”

“Chip brought me the ring because he thought it would be a good catalyst to get us talking again.” What a damn fool he’d been, putting Lee through hell with his damnable silence and glacial distance. “It’s an initiative I should have taken on my own, Lee. I promise from now on I’ll be more open about what’s bothering me.”

“I will too, Sir. At least I’ll try to be.”

Harry nodded. Lee was private by nature, but he’d made great strides since joining N.I.M.R. and taking over Seaview. He’d come to realize he had people he could count on, people who cared about him. It certainly hadn’t been an overnight adjustment - - especially for a man who’d gone through life fending primarily on his own - - but it was a rewarding one. For all of them.

“That’s all I ask. See you tonight?”

“I’ll be here, Sir.” 

“Don’t wait up.” Harry gave him a wink and headed for the door. “If Jamie offers you a sedative because he wants you to get a good night’s sleep, take it.”

“Admiral!” Lee protested, clearly disgusted. “I am not going to pop some god-awful pill just to appease Jamie and…”

But he never heard the rest. Harry knew Lee was working up to a full-steam rant. Ducking into the hallway, he grinned and quickened his step. If his captain was well enough to vent his fanatical dislike of medication, he was on the road to a complete recovery. When Seaview finally did return, Harry was willing to bet Lee would be all over the sub - - bouncing like a ping-pong ball from compartment to compartment, inspecting every nook and cranny to personally ensure his beloved gray lady had come through intact.

He had a feeling until all was said and done, he, Jamie and Chip would be the ones in need of a sedative.

He grinned broadly. That amounted to business as usual with Lee Crane, but he wouldn’t have his high-maintenance commander any other way.

*****End*****

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