Web Spinner

By Kate

This story takes place in season three. Although it references characters and events from several of my previous stories (A Thousand Yesteryears, Flight Check and Midsummer), it is not necessary to have read any of those. The relationships are explained within. This was my attempt to write a “Chip Story” although, as always, Lee Crane holds a sizable role. I also used it to further several ongoing plot threads developed in prior stories.

Thanks to Theresa, Liz and Diane K. for the wonderful beta work and suggestions. Comments welcome at veniceplace12@verizon.net.

Friday night.

It should have been a time to unwind and relax, but Chip Morton was irritable and on edge. He couldn’t put his finger on the reason for his mood but couldn’t shake it either. Seaview had been in dock for almost three weeks, leaving him, Lee and the admiral to deal with several loose ends at the Institute. Nothing drastically out of the ordinary, but more than enough to keep him occupied and buried in meetings. He’d dealt with the usual deluge of paperwork, prep for their next mission and the addition of an interim secretary while his regular AA was on maternity leave. 

The girl, a perky redhead named Carrie, was efficient and friendly. Unfortunately, she was also extremely pretty which had proved distracting for most of Seaview’s crew, many of whom suddenly found reason to drop by his office. His girlfriend of the last two months had taken an immediate dislike to her and repeatedly asked when Megan was coming back. He supposed he should be flattered by her jealously if, in fact, it was jealously. Sometimes it was hard to tell with Beverly.

“Come on, Lee. You’re not doing anything anyway.” Chip leaned against the railing at the top of the loft, unconcerned by the two-story drop to the foyer below. He was used to Lee’s home, liked the openness of it and its location along a private stretch of beach with a sprawling view of the Pacific.

“That’s where you’re wrong. I’m paying bills. With Alyssa out of town...”

“You can pay bills anytime. With Alyssa out of town you can spend the evening with Bev and me.”

Seated at his desk, Lee paused long enough to shoot a glance over the top of a utility receipt. “And be a third wheel? No thanks. Besides . . .” He flipped open his checkbook and picked up a pen. “Bev and I aren’t exactly the best of friends.”

Chip scowled. “She’s trying. You could too.”

Lee grunted something unintelligible, bending his head and scrawling a figure in the register.   

To Chip it was equivalent to slamming the door on the conversation. He knew Bev had issues, but Lee needed to cut her some slack. He’d been open-minded about Alyssa and didn’t understand why Lee couldn’t be the same about Beverly. So she was an over-achiever and expected others to be the same. She pushed him to want more and want better. She thought he should change his image and had talked him into trading in his Chevy Blazer for a new Trans Am. She understood prestige and, as a defense attorney for a top law firm, why shouldn’t she? Lee certainly couldn’t point fingers. Not when he was sitting in a private oceanfront chalet, driving a pricey toy and dating a celebrity model.

Stuffing his hands in his jeans, Chip braced his hips against the railing. He’d changed into civilian clothes earlier, heading home briefly after packing it in at the Institute. He’d known Alyssa was out of town on a photo shoot with a client and had thought to distract Lee with an evening out. His friend was getting no closer to marrying Alyssa, his mostly live-in girlfriend of over a year. “Ask her!” Chip had bellowed several times when Lee complained about wanting to make the arrangement permanent. But his friend refused, certain Alyssa would turn him down because of the difference in their ages.

Chewing on his bottom lip, Chip decided to try another track. If he stuck with the conversation about Bev, he’d probably just end up growing irritated with Lee.

“So what do you think of Carrie, my temporary secretary?”

Lee continued to scribble in the checkbook. “She seems a little scattered but I guess that’s understandable. It’s probably hard adjusting to the Institute.” He paused to consult another bill without looking up. “We’re not active military, but we’re not civilian either. A lot of people have difficulty treading that line.”

“The crew seems to like her. Riley and Patterson keep finding excuses to deliver messages in person.”

“So I’ve noticed.” Lee sat back with a grin. “You’re suddenly the most popular person at the Institute. I’m surprised Ski isn’t camped out at your door.”

“Now that you mention it, I haven’t seen him. After Riley, he’s usually the first one to make a play whenever a pretty face shows up.” Chip frowned, puzzling it through. “He didn’t show any interest in the new lab tech who’s working with Nicole either. Remember? The blonde who started a couple of weeks ago?”

“Maybe Ski’s hooked up in a steady relationship.”

“I would have heard about it. The crew talks.” Chip glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to run. I still have a few errands before I go home, change for dinner, and pick up Bev. Sure you don’t want to come?”

“Thanks, Chip. I’ll be fine. Alyssa made sure there are leftovers in the refrigerator.”

“Okay . . .” Chip hovered, hesitating. The restlessness was back, along with a flicker of annoyance. There was a time when Lee wouldn’t have thought twice about accepting an invitation, a time when the women in their lives weren’t a divisional issue. Thinking about it made his aggravation spike higher. 

Bev always said he conceded too easily where Lee was concerned, that he should put his foot down and stop settling for second best. He’d never really thought about it until she’d pointed out how Lee had to be first in everything he did . . . that Lee didn’t know how to settle for second and Chip shouldn’t either. She’d even started hinting he needed to find a submarine command of his own, that he was every bit as competent and experienced as Lee and Seaview should have rightfully been his.  

He didn’t want Seaview. Hell, he didn’t think he even wanted a captaincy, but he was beginning to see what she meant about Lee. He’d always known his friend was driven to excel, that there was no “second-best” to Lee Crane. In the past he’d seen that as something admirable - - it was part of what made Lee such an exceptional commander - - but Bev suddenly had him thinking it was a character flaw.

“Look. About Bev...”

Disgusted, Lee threw his pen down. “Chip, I don’t want to talk about Bev. Just go and enjoy dinner with her. I’m sure she doesn’t want me tagging along anyway.”

He felt a surge of anger. “Probably because she knows you don’t like her. You think you’re the only one who can have a steady relationship?”

“I didn’t say that!” Aggravated, Lee shoved his chair back and stood, flattening his palms on the desktop. “I just don’t like her pushing your buttons. The woman talked you into buying a new car after only six weeks.”

“I happen to like the Trans Am. Maybe you’re just worried about the competition. Bev and I are moving ahead in our relationship while you and Alyssa are stalled. Be honest, Lee - - that’s why you don’t like Beverly.”

He was surprised he’d said it given it was equivalent to a gut shot. Lee stiffened, his expression closed and cold. He turned away, picking up a few envelopes from the desk, randomly sorting through them. “I’ve got to take care of these bills,” he muttered.

Disgusted with himself, disgusted with Lee, Chip turned without a word and stormed down the staircase. What a stupid freaking argument! He slammed the door on the way out just to make sure Lee knew he was ticked. Yeah, the comment hadn’t exactly been the most sensitive, but it was time for Lee to do some conceding. It seemed to Chip that their friendship had grown lopsided lately with him doing far more giving than taking. 

He popped the door on the Trans Am and slid into the soft leather interior. Bev had pushed him to get rid of the Blazer, but the sleek sports car had been his idea. Bev had been trying to steer him toward a Benz. He shifted into gear and floored the gas pedal shooting down Lee’s driveway with a squeal of rubber. He didn’t know why he’d even extended the invitation in the first place. Lee and Beverly were like oil and water. He just wanted the two of them to get along. He knew Bev had flaws, that she tended to be too image and status conscious but, hell, he was thirty-six years old heading to the downside of forty. He wasn’t a kid anymore and seeing Lee and Alyssa together made him realize that he was starting to crave a permanent relationship of his own. He just hadn’t found the right woman.

He still wasn’t certain that person was Bev but, until he decided differently, he felt Lee should respect his choice. Irked, he shifted gears and pressed down on the gas. Both the driver’s side and passenger’s window were cranked open, flooding the car with cool air. It helped ease his temper from boil to simmer. He knew he’d been short with Lee, but Bev kept putting ideas in his head. Even when he dismissed them and told her to stop thinking like a corporate piranha, they stayed there rattling around.

 “You shouldn’t settle for being an executive officer. You’re every bit as competent as Lee.”

“Lee doesn’t know how to be second, Chip. He has to be the best at everything. Everything! Don’t you see how damaging that’s been to you over the years? Why are you so willing to take a backseat?”

“If Lee were a real friend, he wouldn’t hold you back. He’d recommend you for a captaincy instead of trying to keep you on Seaview. He wants you there because you make him look good. He wouldn’t get half the accolades he does if you weren’t the one backing him up.”

“Damn it!” It didn’t help having her voice bouncing around inside his head. Bev simply didn’t ‘get’ his relationship with Lee. Few women did. Alyssa was an exception to that rule, but even she wasn’t off limits to Bev. Tall, cool and poised, his upper crust blonde girlfriend had thought nothing about taking potshots at the former fashion model. 

“I bet she’s had work done. Probably a couple face lifts and a tummy tuck. A woman that age just doesn’t look that good without cosmetic surgery. She must have dumped a fortune into her looks.”

“He’s probably only with her because of her celebrity status. I bet he likes being in the limelight and having his picture crop up in the society page now and then.” She sniffed disdainfully but Chip could sense she was jealous. “I think it’s disgusting they’re sleeping together. He’s thirty-five and she’s...”

“Don’t!” It was where Chip had finally drawn the line. He could still recall Kevin Brenner making similar comments. He hadn’t stood for it then and wasn’t going to now, especially from a woman who supposedly cared for him.

Of course, everything was said out of earshot. Face-to-face, Beverly wouldn’t dream of dissing Alyssa, hoping the high-profile model would refer her friends and business associates to her when they were in need of legal advice. And she was utterly clueless if she thought Lee liked attention and being romantically linked to a celebrity. That had been one of the biggest hurdles for him to navigate in his relationship with Alyssa. By nature, he was intensely private.

When Chip stopped to think about all the ugly things Bev said, it made him wonder why he was still with her. Was he simply hanging on because he didn’t want another failed relationship behind him . . . because he was tired of playing the field and Beverly was certainly an acceptable choice on the surface? She was beautiful and had a professional career but since when did he care what kind of car someone drove, how much money they made, or where they vacationed? If he stripped away his job, his car and his salary, would Bev even give him a second glance?

Sobered by the thought, he spit out another curse and fiddled with the radio. He needed something to distract him. To get his mind off Beverly and Lee. He was still scanning through the stations, flying around the curve when he realized there was a car stopped on the road ahead. Reacting on impulse, he downshifted, slamming the clutch and brake to the floor. The car fishtailed, its rear end sliding wide, all four tires squealing across the sun-heated asphalt. He caught a flash of blue paint, heard the loud blare of a horn and skidded sideways into the opposite lane. Fighting the wheel, he ping-ponged back, barely missing an oncoming pick-up truck. The left front of the Trans Am dipped off the shoulder, throwing him forward against the seatbelt. His breath caught at the impact, but the belt saved him from going through the windshield. In the next second, the car came to a complete stop, angled half off the road behind the disabled vehicle. It took a moment to realize all motion had stopped, that somehow he’d survived the near-wreck without a scratch. The relief gave way to anger as his earlier aggravation found an outlet to explode.

“Of all the stupid, idiotic...” He shoved from the car, giving the door a vicious slam as he stalked toward the front. He did a quick glance-over but didn’t see any damage.

“My God, are you all right?” A woman with long black hair rushed toward him, her face drained of color. “I thought you were going to...”

“Is that your car?” Chip stabbed a finger at the blue coupe.

The woman glanced over her shoulder, then back. “Yes, I...”

“You nearly got me killed, lady! Why the hell would you leave it sitting in the middle of the road?”

“I didn’t. I...”

“Of all the stupid, inconsiderate...”

“Wait a minute!” Sudden heat crept into her voice. “It’s not sitting in the middle of the road. It’s on the shoulder. And if you hadn’t been flying around the corner like some speed-crazed demon you would’ve had plenty of time to stop.” She turned around, apparently deciding he was fine if he could bellow, and started back to her car. 

Still seething, Chip trailed after her. “I wasn’t speeding!” Was he? A Jeep and a car blew by in the other lane, and he realized he’d been fortunate the road was lightly traveled. Winding from the Pacific to downtown Santa Barbara, traffic tended to be sporadic rather than steady. It did nothing to ease his bruised temper or make him anymore forgiving to the black-haired woman who seemed to think he was the one at fault.

“Look lady, you need to get that hunk of junk off the road.” It wasn’t really junk, but Chip wasn’t feeling generous. An older model Nova, maybe mid 60s with a few aging rust spots, it amounted to scrap metal in his present frame of mind.

“What do you think I’m trying to do?” The woman spun, glaring up at him. She wasn’t very tall, but with her chin thrust forward, her face flushed with angry color, she looked more than capable of holding her ground. Chip guessed her age somewhere in her mid twenties, noted distractedly that her eyes were an odd blue-violet and her hair every bit as black as Lee’s. It was long and hung practically to her waist, pulled back in a pony tail. Dressed in jeans and hiking boots she wore a baggy gray sweater with a purple bandana around her neck. “The tow truck is already on its way, thanks to someone making the call for me. And if you’d been paying attention, you’d have noticed the flashers.” She speared a finger at the Nova, and Chip saw that the four-ways were indeed blinking steadily.

He squared his jaw, no less conciliatory. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Do I look like a mechanic?” 

He scowled, thinking she looked a lot like a vagabond. A pair of black sunglasses perched on top of her head, and there were splotches of paint on her jeans. A bumper sticker on the back of the Nova said “Save the Whales” while the inside appeared to be piled with tarps and canvases. Beverly would have crinkled her nose and called her pathetic. Sometimes Beverly could be catty as hell.

The thought of Beverly soured an already acerbic mood. If he spent any more time blowing off steam, he’d be late for their dinner date. There was no damage done, and a tow truck was already on its way. And, he grudgingly acknowledged with a clenched set of his jaw, he had been going a little fast. If he’d been paying attention he would have seen her in plenty of time. 

“Get in and I’ll push it to the side of the road.” Command tone. Morton tone.

The order didn’t fly. “It’s on the side of the road,” she snapped.

“Not far enough. If you don’t want to pop it into neutral, I’ll do it.” He wasn’t going to walk away and let someone else side-skate into the other lane.

Disgusted, she gave an annoyed toss of her hair and reached for the door. Rather than slide into the seat, she released the brake and eased the car into neutral. With Chip pushing from the rear, she kept one hand on the wheel and steered the vehicle further onto the shoulder as she walked in the gap between the opened door and the seat. When they had eased the Nova further off the road, she put the brake back on and closed the door.

“Don’t expect any thanks,” she told him pointedly.

“I’m not looking for any. Just trying to keep someone else from doing a donut across two lanes.”

As he stalked back to his car, a black tow truck came around the curve. It slowed then pulled off in front of the Nova. Let the driver deal with her. The woman had the temperament of a viper. She’d already moved off, dismissing him as a nuisance, focusing on the tow-truck driver. Chip didn’t doubt she had precise opinions about how her piece of scrap should be hooked up to the winch.  

He shook his head and climbed into the Trans Am. The spinout had kicked up a good deal of road dust, leaving a thin film of dirt clinging to the silver paint. It would need to be washed, but at least there were no scratches or dents. 

He wondered how Beverly would react when he picked her up for dinner in a dirty car.

**********

Lee muddled through paying the rest of his bills then packed it in and decided to go for a drive. Chip had blown out of his house like a maelstrom but, given time, Lee knew he’d eventually cool down. Beverly was all wrong for Chip but, short of telling him that directly, Lee knew he’d have to tough it out and wait for Chip to come to the realization himself. He rarely formed a negative opinion on first introduction, but Beverly Cole had been an exception. She had an overly high opinion of herself and tended to look down at anyone she considered beneath her social level.

Lee was surprised Chip hadn’t seen that trait in her but, also knew, it was easy to be blinded to someone’s flaws when you thought you were in love. The problem as Lee saw it was that Chip wasn’t in love. Not even close. Beverly was convenient, certainly attractive and steady, but she wasn’t the kind of woman you made a life with.   

He gave a mild snort and dragged a hand through his hair. Who was he to talk? He was too afraid to ask the woman he loved to marry him for fear she’d refuse.

Not going there.

It was Friday night, he had time on his hands, and he wasn’t going to spend it dwelling on problems. He had the top down on the Cobra, the air pleasant and mild as evening gave way to twilight. Overhead, a few stars were visible, the pale curve of a slipper moon inching above the horizon. The Pacific lay to his left, a sprawling expanse of blue and gray with a ragged hem of white where it rolled against the shore. He spent a good forty minutes driving up the coast, away from the city, enjoying the view. When a tavern appeared on his right, he decided to stop for something to eat and grab a beer or two.

Small and quaint, the place had a rustic look to it and a sign that proclaimed “Driftwood.” The interior was a blend of mahogany and brass with rope accents and some nautical décor. It wasn’t crowded, even for a Friday night, and Lee had no problem getting a table near the door. The waitress brought him a beer while he looked over the menu. He hadn’t eaten despite all the healthy stuff Alyssa had left in the refrigerator and eventually settled on a New York strip with a baked potato for the side. While he waited for the order, he decided to hit the head. He was halfway to the back where he’d spied a sign proclaiming “restrooms,” when a couple seated in a booth near the bar drew his attention.

Lee did a double take. “Veronica?”

Chip Morton’s youngest sister glanced up, startled. “Lee?” Her look of shock broke into a wide grin and she giggled. “Oh my God, what are you doing here?”

Lee eyes shifted to the man slouched beside her, his arm draped over her shoulder:  Rick Kowalski. He bit back a mental groan. Not good. When Ski and Veronica had engaged in a brief flirtation several months ago, Chip had not been happy about it. 

“Uh, hi, Skipper.” Kowalski straightened up, looking like a man caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He dropped his arm to his side, firmly putting space between him and Veronica. Seated on the same side of the booth, it was obvious they hadn’t run into each other by chance.

“Kind of far from Santa Barbara, aren’t you?” Ski asked.

“I decided to take a drive.” Lee looked between the two, dead certain his favored senior rating was going to end up on a collision course with Seaview’s executive officer. No wonder Ski hadn’t been interested in Chip’s temporary secretary or Nicole Rook’s new lab assistant. Lee had joked that maybe he was in a steady relationship but, from the looks of it, the observation wasn’t far off base. “Chip didn’t mention you were in town,” he said to Veronica.

She rolled her eyes theatrically. “That’s because he doesn’t know. Do you think I tell him everything? Besides, he would have gotten aggravated if I’d told him I was seeing Ricky.”

Ski had the decency to look embarrassed, cleared his throat self-consciously and dropped his eyes. Lee fought the urge to grin. He had a hard time thinking of Ski as ‘Ricky.’

“I take it this isn’t the first time the two of you have hooked up,” he said. Forty minutes out of town - - it made sense. If Veronica had flown from Sedona to see Ski she wouldn’t want to stay in Santa Barbara and risk the chance of running into Chip.

“Maybe you should sit down, Sir,” Ski suggested.

Lee sighed and slid into the empty booth seat. “How long have you two been a couple?” he asked, not entirely certain he wanted to know.

Veronica and Ski exchanged a glance. She hesitated a beat, then blurted the truth:  “Since the Institute’s Midsummer party.”

Lee balked, surprised. He’d known they’d met that night and had quickly taken a liking to each other, but he hadn’t thought... 

“So all this time?” he asked incredulously.

Ski nodded. “I went to Sedona whenever I had shore leave or Ron would fly in, visiting with Mister Morton while she saw me on the side. Other times...”

“Other times he didn’t know she was in town,” Lee inserted with a scowl. “Like now.”

Kowalski took sudden interest in his beer bottle, picking idly at the label. 

“What Chip doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Veronica said, noting Lee’s sour expression. “I can already hear him telling me it’s a rebound relationship and it won’t work. Just because I met Ricky after my break with Mason shouldn’t count as a strike against us.”

Lee rubbed his temple. He remembered how shattered Veronica had been after her split with Mason Weller, camping out in Chip’s apartment for weeks, sobbing on his shoulder day and night. The only uncensored thing Chip had been able to say about Weller was that he was a jerk. Lee knew his friend was extremely protective of all three of his sisters, but had a special bond with Veronica, the youngest. At twenty-five, she was a jewelry artisan like her mother, and every bit as free in spirit. Lee had known her since she was seven. She could be a little flighty at times but had a heart of gold. Over the years, he’d become like a second brother to her. He knew she had a tendency to fall hard and fast but, in truth, he couldn’t say a single bad thing about Kowalski.

The rating had always been a player, eager to impress the next pretty face but, now that Lee thought about it, Kowalski hadn’t done any carousing since the Midsummer party. At least none that he was aware of. He was a little too quick to speak his mind, but his loyalty and leadership qualities had always impressed Lee. There was only five years difference in age between them and, whereas at first that had been a stumbling block for Ski given Lee’s rank, it hadn’t taken the younger man long to move past his prejudice. Kowalski was one of the few people Lee felt completely comfortable with to the extent of allowing an occasional vulnerability to show. Ski had gotten him out of a jam more than once when he’d been sidelined with an injury in the course of a mission. On Seaview the rating was his chosen dive partner and regular back-up in FS1. True, he could be a bit too outspoken, but Lee was much the same and Seaview wasn’t a Navy boat. If he’d had a sister he would have considered Kowalski good brother-in-law material.

Then again, he wasn’t Chip Morton.

“Uh, Sir . . .” Kowalski was still picking at the label on his bottle of Molson, but he glanced up. “Maybe you could help us out.”

“How?” Lee had a suspicion where the conversation was headed.

“You’re Mister Morton’s best friend.”

Veronica nodded eagerly. “Like a brother to him.”

“If you talked to him,” Ski continued. “Explained how we feel about each other, he’d probably listen. We’re getting tired of all this sneaking around. We’d like to be able to see each other without having to treat the whole thing like a covert ops mission.”

Lee couldn’t help but grin at the description. From experience, he knew patience was not one of Kowalski’s better traits. That he’d continued to see Veronica, jumping through hoops when necessary told Lee the relationship was serious. In one respect, it surprised him. He’d never known Ski to stay with a woman for more than a week or two. He and Riley had always been the top ‘predators’ of the crew. Then again, love caught up to everyone sooner or later. He just wished this one didn’t have to be so complicated.

“A long distance relationship isn’t easy to maintain,” he said, pointing out the obvious. “It’s a nine hour drive from Santa Barbara to Sedona. Even with flights cutting that distance, how are you going to keep that up?”

Veronica wet her lips, once more exchanging a glance with Ski. “I’m thinking about moving to Santa Barbara.”

“What?” Lee was shocked to think she’d do anything so drastic after only a few months. Hard and fast. “What about the gallery?”

“It’s only part mine. Mom owns the other half and is completely capable of managing it on her own. I’d have to find new space in Santa Barbara, but I have enough regular customers via shipping to carry me through the transition. It would be great to buy into an existing gallery if I could find someone looking for a partner; otherwise, I’ll probably just sell out of an apartment for awhile and do everything by mail. The cost of living is higher in Santa Barbara, so I’ll have to allow time to establish a new customer base to make up that difference. I’ve already started scouting apartments, and I think the whole thing is doable, especially given Ricky has offered to help.”

Lee bowed his head, rubbing his temple. It was too much to assimilate in one conversation. He’d just got done thinking how Chip was moving too fast with Beverly and here was Veronica talking about uprooting her home and her business to be with Ski.  

“Do your parents know?” he asked Veronica.

She squirmed, taking sudden interest in her hurricane-shaped cocktail glass. The drink inside was pink and fruity with a maraschino cherry and pineapple wedge floating on top. “I told Mom - - she likes Ricky - - but I haven’t said anything to Dad. I’m afraid he’ll say it’s going to cause problems on Seaview given Chip’s rank and position.”

A retired Air Force major, Nathaniel Morton would see the potential problems with a rating dating the executive officer’s sister. Seaview had a good crew, a close crew, but there was always the possibility of someone stirring up a rumor of favoritism.

“I’m afraid I’d have to agree with your father, Ron,” Lee admitted.

Her face crumpled. “But that’s not fair!”

“You don’t realize how awkward it would be. Chip could be accused of giving preferential treatment. He’d constantly have to safeguard and monitor even minor interactions with Ski. As executive officer, he assigns duties and rotations. All it would take is one time for Ski to pull a light duty and accusations would start to fly. And that’s just one example.”

“No disrespect, Sir,” Ski said quickly, “but I don’t think anyone on the crew would react that way. We’re a tight group, you know that, and...” Uncomfortable, he dropped his eyes. “We’ve already got a few unorthodox relationships on the boat.”

Lee was surprised to have it pointed out so directly. “You mean me and the admiral, and me and Mister Morton?”

Ski kept his eyes lowered. “No disrespect, Sir,” he mumbled.

He couldn’t deny it. That’s what he got for having a boss who was as much a father to him as a superior officer and an exec who’d been like a brother since he was seventeen. He’d tread those lines lightly in the beginning, but after three years on Seaview the closeness he shared with both men had become common knowledge. “That’s different Ski.”

“Why?” Kowalski’s eyes flashed to his face. “Because all three of you are officers?”

“Yes.” Lee shook his head, dragged a hand through his hair. “Look Kowalski . . . I’ve already singled you out. We both know that. The crew knows it; even my JO’s know it. How’s it going to look if you suddenly have an ‘in’ with both the captain and the exec?”

“Who says I do or I will?” Kowalski spread his hands. “I’m not asking for favoritism, Skipper. All I want to do is date Mister Morton’s sister without having to sneak around, looking over my shoulder every time I do it.” He clenched his jaw, sat up straighter. “If it means being transferred off Seaview, I’ll put in that request.”

“What?” Lee valued Kowalski far too much to let him ship off the boat.

“No, Ricky!” Veronica clutched his arm, her eyes bright with a sudden prick of tears. “I won’t let you!”

“Just slow down.” Lee held up a hand, sensing impending disaster. As much as he loved Veronica, he also knew she had a tendency for drama. A highly emotional person, she could turn on tears at the drop of a hat. He was surprised, knowing how weepy she could become, that Kowalski was patient enough to deal with her. Had to be love. “Maybe we’re all over-thinking this. I’m not saying it doesn’t have the potential for trouble, but I also know Chip would never allow personal feelings to influence any directive he gave or decision he made. Ski, you’ll get some flack but, if there’s scuttlebutt, it’s going to be on Chip’s head far more than yours. You have no idea the amount of guff the admiral takes from peers because of his relationship with me.”

“But you both tolerate it, Sir.”

“We do.”

“Then you’ll help us?” Veronica pressed.

Kowalski flashed an eager grin. “You’ll talk to Mister Morton, Sir? Explain that Ron and I want to be together as a couple?”

Lee sighed. “Yes,” he said just as Veronica and Ski’s dinner arrived. “I’ll do what I can.”

**********

Chip was off Saturday but decided to swing by the Institute anyway. Seaview would be heading out on Tuesday taking a friend of Nelson’s along. Cecil Honeywell wasn’t a scientist, but he’d dedicated his life to conservation. He had no affiliation to any research facility and, as far as Chip knew, didn’t even have a degree behind his name, but a sharp intellect and personal passion had propelled him far in the marine preservation field. 

During WWII, Honeywell had served as a master gunner. Later he’d taken up diving, supplementing the newfound hobby with income from a fishing charter. Six months after starting the operation, he’d stumbled over the shipwreck of an 18^th century frigate during a routine dive and was able to obtain the salvage rights. The haul made him a rich man, allowing him to indulge a growing passion for marine preservation. He’d since become renowned for breathtaking underwater photography, articles in naturalist magazines and ongoing conservation efforts. He’d even turned up as a guest ‘expert’ on a few televised science documentaries.

Chip’s mother, Grace - - whom Lee fondly referred to as a ‘tree-hugging radical’- - knew immediately who Honeywell was when Chip mentioned him in a passing phone conversation. She’d praised him for five minutes straight until Chip finally had to cut the call short, running late for a meeting. He’d only met Honeywell once, but on first impression had to agree with his mother’s assessment of the man as ‘down-to-earth.’ He was looking forward to the cruise which would involve shadowing a pod of blue whales among other tracking forays.   

He swung the Trans Am into a parking space near the door, surprised when he saw Lee’s Cobra in its customary spot. Probably killing time with Alyssa out of town. It saved him the trouble of having to pick up the phone or drop by Lee’s house later that day. He regretted the way he’d left things the previous night and had planned on owning up to his foolishness.

Having dinner with Bev hadn’t helped. She’d complained about the dirty car, complained because he was late, then spent the whole meal talking about Bain Lachlan, an artist she and her friends had recently discovered, saying how she desperately wanted one of the man’s paintings. She’d had a few snapshots from a gallery opening, taken by a friend who was supposedly an art critic - - Beverly tended to surround herself with the snooty and elite - - gushing non-stop as she’d shared them with Chip.

“Don’t you think his work is extraordinary?”

Chip looked at the smears of angry paint splattered across several canvases and couldn’t make heads or tails of anything. “I don’t get it,” he’d admitted. “It doesn’t resemble anything. It looks like someone threw a bunch of paint on a piece of canvas.”

She crinkled her nose. The nose-crinkle thing was starting to get under his skin. “It’s not supposed to look like anything. It’s about mood. Anger, passion, jealousy. This one is called ‘Insanity’.” She pointed a tapered red fingernail at a photo of a canvas streaked with broad brushstrokes of plum, scarlet and black. Splatters of vivid yellow and deep blue added to the chaotic swirl of color.

Chip frowned. “Insanity . . . anger, jealousy. Doesn’t this guy do any feel-good emotions like loyalty or happiness?”

“Never mind.” Beverly snatched the photos back and stuffed them into her purse. “I should have known you wouldn’t understand.” Sitting primly, she sipped at her Cosmopolitan. After a brief second of pouting, she favored him with a sideways glance. “Are you going to tell me what happened to your car? It needs a bath, Charles.”

Chip felt a muscle tick near his temple. She’d started calling him Charles about a week ago because, according to her, ‘Chip’ was far too casual and simple a name for anyone with professional ambitions. At first he’d thought it was cute, thinking she’d drop it after a day or two. When she persisted, even after he’d repeatedly told her he much preferred ‘Chip,’ he found his tolerance slipping.

“Chip,” he corrected tightly.

She took another sip of the Cosmopolitan. “Do you see that woman over there?” She went off on another track, oblivious to his irritation. “God, who would wear such a gaudy blue scarf? Someone needs to give her some fashion sense.” She sent him an impatient look. “What happened to the car, Charles?”

Chip was starting to seethe. He wasn’t sure what set him off more . . . being called Charles yet again, having Beverly diss the woman with the scarf - - whom he noticed was a very attractive brunette, her attire quite becoming - - or being asked about the car. He knew the vehicle was dirty but having Bev point it out for the third time that night made her seem shallow and materialistic, not to mention her remark about the woman. Maybe Lee was right. What the hell was he doing with someone who valued possessions and image above people? Before he could ponder it further, Beverly grew bored and switched tactics again.

“You know an original Bain Lachlan would make a great gift. Don’t we have a two month anniversary coming up or something?” She waved a hand flippantly, as if it made no difference to her what the occasion was, so long as she got a painting out of it. “Bain has a gallery downtown.” Opening her clutch bag, she withdrew one of her business cards and scribbled an address on the back with a gold pen. “You’ll have to take care of it before Seaview leaves. I’m hosting a girl’s luncheon next Saturday, and I want to be able to show it off to Shannon and, especially, Deb. They always think they’re up on the latest trends. I can’t wait to see their expressions when they walk in and see a Bain Lachlan hanging over my sofa.” She pushed the card in his direction. “Buy me something expensive.”

Chip rubbed his temple, starting on a headache. He flagged the waitress down. “Can you get me two aspirin please?” He stuffed the business card in his pocket, inwardly nauseated by the prospect of ending yet another romantic relationship.   

Lee would be happy, he thought as he walked into the Institute. He’d waited until after dinner before telling Bev they weren’t suited. It was a spur of the moment decision but, if he were honest, the desire to end things had been building for a long time. He’d taken her home, then told her they had to talk when she’d invited him inside. As expected, the discussion had deteriorated into a shouting match. Beverly Cole was not used to getting dumped, which told Chip she’d dated a lot of self-serving jerks in her life if she’d been the one to do the dumping. She’d screamed and shrieked, told him he’d never amount to anything, and if she never saw him again, it would be too soon. When she started throwing things, Chip backed out the door.

He thought he’d wake up the next morning feeling guilty or remorseful but, surprisingly, felt rejuvenated like he’d turned a critical corner. That feeling stayed with him as he walked into the Institute and detoured to Lee’s office. He rapped on the door, heard the command to enter, and stuck his head inside. “Got a minute?”

Lee glanced up from behind his desk, surprise giving way to a grin. “It’s Saturday, Chip. A day off. Why aren’t you somewhere with Bev?”

“Because Bev and I are a thing of the past.” He plopped down in front of Lee’s desk. “I broke up with her last night.”

“What?” Lee stared, shocked. “I hope this doesn’t have anything to do with what I said.”

“Damn right it does. You didn’t like her, so I dumped her.” Chip dusted his hands together. “End of affair.”

Lee stared, dumbfounded.

Chip held his composure a moment longer, then burst out laughing, unable to maintain a straight face. “You’re off the hook, Crane. I value your opinion in certain areas, but my love life is not one of them. I just opened my eyes and realized she was more interested in what I owned, and what I did for a living, than in me. I’ve known it for a long time but kept trying to convince myself there was more to Bev than a self-centered, materialistic nature. Last night was the last straw. We went to dinner and all she could talk about was some artist who’s suddenly popular with her friends and why was my car dirty.”

“What happened to your car?”

Chip waved a hand. “Wrong turn on the way home. I’ll tell you about it sometime. I’ve got to finish up on paperwork then I was going to head into Santa Barbara . . . spend the day doing nothing. Thought maybe you’d want to tag along, and I’d spring for lunch since I acted like such a jerk last night.”

Lee grinned. “I knew you’d get over it, Chip . . . being angry.”

Chip shrugged self-consciously. He and Lee had butted heads more than once during their friendship but the rifts never lasted long. They’d spent too many years as almost-brothers to let pride and stubbornness get in the way. “I just had to cool down and think everything through. What about you?” He was anxious to change the subject. Beverly was history but there was no sense dwelling on it. “What did you end up doing last night?”

Lee dropped his eyes, his expression abruptly guarded. “I went for a drive.” Anyone else wouldn’t have noticed the change, subtle as it was, but Chip could tell he was trying to dance around something. 

“Any place interesting?”

Lee shook his head. “I drove up the coast and grabbed dinner at a place called the Driftwood . . . ran into an old friend I hadn’t seen in awhile.”

“Male or female?” With Lee you could never tell.

Lee frowned openly. “Female. And she was attached. Celebrating a new relationship. The old guy was a jerk.”

Chip reclined in the chair, lacing his fingers together over his knee. “Good for her.”

“Yeah. It made me think how sometimes two people are perfect for each other. People you might not even expect would be suited as a couple.”

Chip raised a brow, certain Lee was fishing but couldn’t figure out why. His friend had glanced down again, idly tapping the eraser end of a pencil against an open ledger book. “She’s a little older than Veronica,” Lee continued. “It got me thinking about your sister. I remember how broken up she was after her split with Mason Weller. I guess she’s doing okay now?” He left the sentence hang as a question.  

“Sure.” Chip shrugged again. “No more Mason Weller the last I heard or even a steady jerk.” 

Lee frowned. The conversation was not going as planned. He’d promised Ski and Veronica he’d smooth the way into discussing their relationship but, for as long as he’d known Chip, his friend hadn’t managed a kind word about anyone who dated his youngest sister.

“Chip. Not everyone Veronica dates is an idiot.”

“Close enough.”

“What are you going to do when she finds a guy she really likes?”

Chip snorted. “Isn’t going to happen. Not any time soon, any way. If she ever gets sucked into a relationship to the extent she did with Weller, I’ll disown her.”

“She could meet somebody who really cares about her.” Lee countered, running out of objections. “What if she hooked up with someone in the Navy or even someone on Seaview? What would you do if she took a liking to say  . . . Patterson, Saunders or Kowalski?”

Chip narrowed his eyes. “She doesn’t live around here so it isn’t going to happen. Plus she got Kowalski out of her system months ago. Couldn’t happen soon enough for me.”

“What’s wrong with Kowalski?”

“The guy’s a player, Lee. He’s a good rating, probably the best on the boat, but he goes through women like toilet paper.”

Lee balked, surprised by such a crude remark. “Where the hell did you hear that?”

“Scuttlebutt.”

“And we know how reliable that is.”

Chip spread his hands. “I’m just repeating what I heard. You asked why I didn’t like the idea of him and Veronica together and I’m telling you. Now . . . do you want to go downtown with me or not?”

“No.” Lee knew when to back off. He’d try again later after he thought of a way to work around Ski’s reputation. He shouldn’t have gotten involved in the first place but he had too good of a rapport with Ski to look the other way. And he sort of owed Veronica after she’d been dragged into complications with his own love life at the Midsummer Celebration. “I’m going to finish up here,” he told Chip, returning to his paperwork. He grinned. “Eat a Sno-cone for me.”

Chip patted his flat stomach. “I’ll eat two.”

**********

He felt surprisingly good for a man who’d just broken off a relationship. Chip puttered around his office for an hour, stuck his head in the door to say goodbye to Lee then headed into Santa Barbara. He hadn’t taken a day to lounge around in a long time and enjoyed walking the city streets, simply appreciating the views. Sometime near noon he stumbled across a small shop called Web Spinner. Strange name, but it intrigued him enough to pause and glance in the windows. His mother and Veronica would have loved the place. A gallery for local artisans, it catered to everything from pottery, glassworks and jewelry, to oil paintings, watercolors and sculpture. 

Thinking about the Bain Lachlan that Beverly had wanted, Chip pushed open the door and stepped inside. A brass bell suspended above the frame announced his presence to a heavyset woman behind a wooden counter. “Hello,” she called pleasantly. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Uh, no. Just browsing.” Stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jeans, Chip wandered through the shop, pausing every now and then to study something in more detail. Bead and glasswork displays hung from the ceiling with other items presented in cases, still more artfully arranged on intricately carved shelves or tables. The walls were lined with paintings, metal-workings and an assortment of colorful masks adorned with gems and feathers. Clay sculptures were scattered throughout, standing upright from the floor or positioned on pedestals. He passed a stone gargoyle then, further along, a porpoise arcing from a froth of ceramic waves. The air smelled of dried herbs and candle wax with a faint undertone of linseed oil. A soothing symphony of flutes and pipes flowed from hidden speakers.

Chip wandered through and was turning to leave when the painting of a seascape caught his eye. He paused, hands in pockets, appreciating the artist’s use of color and detail. If he had to guess, he’d say the setting was Alaskan, possibly further north, the sky a combination of gunmetal and steel bleeding across a storm-tossed ocean. A newly emerging moon hung low on the horizon, filtered by clouds. Rays of pale light splintered through the cloud cover, spilling onto the churning waves below.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” The heavyset woman had left her position behind the counter to join him in front of the painting.

He gave a slight start, and smiled appreciatively. “Beautiful and realistic.”

“The woman who painted it, Deyanne Montgomery, is my partner. We own the shop together.”

“She’s talented,” Chip said, meaning it. He couldn’t believe the difference between this painting and the photos of Bain Lachlan’s work that Beverly had shown him. He didn’t know the first thing about art, but he much preferred a realistic seascape to a bunch of random brushstrokes thrown on a piece of canvas. Deciding to show off his newfound knowledge of the art community, he asked about Bain Lachlan.

“Oh, dear!” The woman gave a small laugh and patted her throat, drawing attention to a chunky beaded necklace. “I’m afraid Mr. Lachlan is out of our league. He has a large gallery on Oceanview . . . displaying only his paintings, of course. Then again...” She leaned close, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret. “I’ve heard the Hollywood crowd likes his work. He can afford to be exclusive.”

Chip glanced back to the oceanscape. “I like this better.”

“I’m partial to it too. Dey is very talented; she just hasn’t had the breaks Mr. Lachlan has. Have you seen this one?” She steered him a short distance away, pointing out a different painting. “The boat is an actual lightship, decommissioned a few years ago.”

Chip felt his jaw drop. “How much?” he blurted. 

He remembered when the Seven Stars had been decommissioned. She’d been the last of her kind. He’d even attended a reception in her honor with Lee. His friend had an ongoing fascination with lightships, but the Seven Stars and another vessel, the Flying Reef, were of particular significance to him. His friend’s bond to the Seven Stars was almost spiritual, tied up with an alien creature struggling to return home. A creature that had nearly killed Lee in the process. Like the lightship, it had been the last of its kind.

The woman tilted her head, intrigued. “Do you like lightships, Mister . . .?”

“Morton.”

She smiled and held out her hand. “I’m Claire Vaughan.”

Still floored by the painting, he closed his fingers around hers. “I have a friend, a close friend, who collects everything he can about lightships. We attended the reception in Oregon when this vessel was decomissioned.”

“I remember. Dey and I heard about it but were unable to attend. She painted this a year before the Seven Stars was retired. Her uncle is involved in conservation efforts and took several snapshots of the vessel on a trip to Puget Sound. Dey painted it from the photos.”

“How much?” Chip said again.

“You’re really interested?”

“For my friend.” There was simply no way he was going to walk away from the painting, knowing Lee’s damn fixation with lightships, this one in particular. He thought it ironic Bev had wanted him to buy her a painting, and he was going to end up buying one for Lee instead.

Claire told him the price. Not cheap, but it wasn’t going to break him either. And he’d never gotten around to getting Lee a birthday gift when he’d turned thirty-five. Chip had been out of town at the time and hadn’t found anything worthwhile since. He’d told Lee he was going to treat him to a golf package in Arizona, but they’d never found the time to go. They could always do that later. Just thinking how Lee would react to the painting made him grin in appreciation. The freaking Seven Stars! What were the odds? It was like some kind of weird skewed-fate-cosmos-aligning-mumbo-jumbo-thingamajig.

He watched as Claire took the painting down and carried it to the counter. Already nicely framed and matted, it was going to make one hell of a gift. “You said the artist is co-owner of the shop?”

Claire nodded as she tore a piece of heavy brown paper from a roll beneath the counter and set to work wrapping the painting. “Soon to be sole owner I’m afraid, unless she can find another partner. I have family in Vermont and have decided to move home to be close to my grandkids. Dey’s just a young thing like you.” She gave him a friendly wink and he actually blushed. “Her uncle lives close by and she likes it here. She feels strongly about promoting local artists since she’s one herself.”

Chip took another glance around the shop. “My mother and sister are both artisans - - jewelry and pottery. They have a gallery in Sedona. What about you?” He nodded toward a display of scrimshaw carvings. “Any of this stuff yours?”

“Heavens, no!” She gave a fluttery laugh. “I’m one of those people with a head for business who wished she had a talent like painting or glass-blowing. I love anything artistic but don’t have a drop of creative blood in my veins. Hopelessly practical, I’m afraid. I just hope Dey can find another partner. The shop is too much for her to handle on her own. And she deserves a broader audience like Bain Lachlan.” She shook her head sadly. “It isn’t easy getting noticed in the art world.”

Chip thought about it a moment and realized he had a connection he would never dream of using. Still . . . if he gave the painting to Lee and he showed it to Alyssa, and she told a few of her high-profile friends . . .

He grinned, realizing with a nod from Alyssa Halston, Dey Montgomery, whoever she was, might well end up leaving Bain Lachlan in the dust. He couldn’t see Alyssa getting excited about clashing paint colors dribbled over a canvas square, but he could see her appreciating the mood in the painting of the Seven Stars. The artist had managed to capture both the fierceness of an unstable ocean and the battered majesty of the old ship herself.

He paid for the painting with a credit card and was turning to leave when the bell above the door tinkled.

Claire grinned broadly. “There’s Dey now.” Then to the woman who stepped inside:  “Deyanne, this gentleman just purchased your painting of the Seven Stars.”

Chip was fairly certain the look on his face mirrored that of Dey Montgomery. She started to smile but, as she drew closer, her pleasure gave way to shock, then finally a grimace of distaste. “You?” It was both an accusation and question.

Chip felt his mouth twist into a frown. “Thank God you paint better than you park.” There was no question - - Dey Montgomery was the same woman who’d nearly caused him to have an accident yesterday. The baggy sweater and paint-smudged jeans were gone, replaced by an ankle-length broom skirt in deep violet, flat sandals and a white peasant blouse. Her hair was loose, a waist-length waterfall, straight and raven black. She wore it tucked behind her ears, showing off a dangling pair of turquoise earrings. A wide belt of hammered silver cinched her small waist, and a soft leather bag was hooked over her shoulder. She looked like a gypsy or one of his mother’s yoga-practicing, health-food-conscious, fanatical-tree-hugging friends.

Dey brushed past him, heading behind the counter. “I’m surprised you have any taste in art at all,” she tossed over her shoulder.

“Why? Because I know the difference between a parking stall and the shoulder of the road?”

“No. Because appreciation of art requires a certain gentility.” She plopped the bag on the counter and began to rummage inside. “Of which you most definitely lack.”

Claire looked between the two, bewildered. “You know each other?”

“Not really. And I prefer to keep it that way.” Steeling herself, Dey shot him a grudging glance. “Thank you for buying the painting.”  

“It’s for a friend,” Chip said, needing to explain. He didn’t want her thinking he’d bought it for himself. Not that his opinion of her diminished his appreciation of her artistic ability. There was just something aggravating about her that got under his skin. He could feel himself clenching his jaw, automatically on the defensive. He felt badly for Claire who’d seemed like a lovely lady and was stuck in the middle.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Claire,” he said, dismissing Dey entirely. “Good luck with your move back home.”

He left the shop with the painting tucked under his arm, the brown paper crinkling slightly as he walked. As irritable as he was, he vowed not to let his dislike of the artist spoil his appreciation for the gift. Lee would love the damn thing. When he thought about it, Chip realized the coincidence was more than a little freaky. The Seven Stars and the Flying Reef kept entwining themselves into Lee’s life. Maybe it was time to suggest his friend get another hobby - - one that didn’t involve lightships, dying aliens or temperamental artists.

**********

Chip showed up at Lee’s house later that evening with the painting under one arm and a pizza box in the other. “I hope you’ve got beer,” he said, breezing past Lee, into the kitchen. He knew the layout of the home as well as his own, plopped the pizza on the counter, and opened the cupboard above the sink to rummage for plates. “I figured you haven’t eaten yet,” he said over his shoulder, hearing Lee approach from behind. “And if you have, I figured you’d at least spring for the beer.”

Lee nodded toward the refrigerator. “Michelob or Molson, take your pick.” His eyes narrowed on the flat parcel under Chip’s arm. “Is that a serving tray?”

“Funny.” Chip plunked some paper plates on the counter beside the red-and-white box from Leo’s Pizzeria and thrust the parcel at Lee. “Not sure what it is. Someone said I should give it to you.”

Lee blinked. “Huh?” He was wearing faded jeans and a dark blue sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up, NAVY plastered across the front in gold letters. Chip grinned, thinking he looked much like a kid. He might have turned thirty-five a few months ago, but he still had a youthfulness about him, especially when puzzled, that made him appear considerably younger.

“Okay, it’s a belated birthday gift,” Chip admitted, opening the refrigerator and helping himself to a Michelob. He found a bottle opener in the drawer and pried off the cap. “We never did get around to that golf thing.”

“Chip, I told you not to worry about that.”

He gave a soft snort. “You think I’m going to let my best friend’s birthday pass without buying him a gift? Open the thing, Lee. I want to see your reaction.”

That was an understatement.

Lee grinned. He grabbed a knife from a wooden block on the counter and used it to slice a piece of twine secured around the outside of the package. Chip watched, fascinated, as he peeled back the brown wrapping. A slow smile spread across as his face when shock registered in Lee’s eyes. He would have paid money for a snapshot of that moment. His friend had naturally expressive eyes even when he tried to conceal his emotions. When he didn’t it was like watching an eloquent kaleidoscope of color and glass. Seeing the look on his face now, Chip realized the painting was worth every penny he’d paid.

Lee stared, his eyes lowered   “This . . . um . . .” He cleared his throat, his voice quiet, almost reverent. “ . . . is amazing.” His gaze flashed to Chip’s face, eyes burnished gold and luminescent. “Where did you find it?”

“It’s kind of a long story. Do you like it?”

“Like doesn’t come close. This ship . . . the Seven Stars . . .” He faltered, trying to explain. “She...”

“I know, Lee.” The memory flirted at the edge of Chip’s senses, kindling an inexplicable flicker of sadness. He couldn’t really explain what had happened in that tent in the Alaskan wilderness, only that the experience had left Lee with a deep emotional scar. “I was there, remember?” It came back in a flash . . . Lee cradled in his arms, struggling to hang on after the alien had left him bleeding and desolate.

Worried, Chip dropped a hand to Lee’s shoulder, squeezing slightly to draw his attention. “How are you feeling?”

“Empty.” Lee’s eyes came back to him, grounded in reality. He grimaced, as if only now becoming aware of the latent sting in his arm. “It’s strange,” he murmured. “The whole time that thing was in my body, I wanted it gone. And now that it’s gone . . .” He shook his head. “I just feel empty.”

“It’ll pass.” Chip located a basin and poured water into it. Working gingerly, he began to swab the blood and pus clinging to Lee’s arm. He didn’t think the wound was infected. More than likely, the creature had left the unhealthy secretion behind. “Sorry, Captain, but I can’t conjure much sympathy for something that incubated in your body. Good riddance, I say. All that fuss, and what the hell good did it do?”

Lee exhaled tiredly. Raising his hand, he slipped his fingers through his short-cropped hair. “Chip, I don’t think that thing - - whatever it was - - had a choice. It had to get home. Kind of like salmon swimming upstream, only to die when they reach their destination. The difference is this creature didn’t make it. Worse, it was the last of its kind.” His voice faltered and his eyes flashed to Chip’s face. “Like the Seven Stars.”

Bingo.

There it was, the irrepressible romantic in Lee, rearing its idealistic head. The ever-practical, grounded in reality Captain Crane was not above a moment or two of starry-eyed dreaming. Was that why the creature had chosen to inhabit him over all the other people in the control room, when it first entered Seaview? Had it sensed a willingness on his part, to share in a life about to expire? 

“You’re not willing to let that old lightship go, are you?” Chip asked quietly.

Lee held his gaze for a long moment, then looked away. “I think I just did.”

Chip wet his lips, coming back to the present. Damn, if he wasn’t caught up in the same web as Lee, tied to an antiquated vessel that represented far more - - a way of life, a passage of time, an emotional connection to something prehistoric that had died broken and alone eons later. And all because of Lee’s unique fascination with lightships, a strange preoccupation for the captain of a nuclear submarine.  

“I couldn’t believe it when I saw it,” Chip said, moving to his friend’s side and staring down at the painting. “I was walking around Santa Barbara and came across this gallery called the Web Spinner. I started talking to one of the owners - - nice woman, by the way - - but she’s bowing out of the business to move back to Vermont...” Lee looked at him sharply “...when I spied that painting. What the hell are the odds? The freaking Seven Stars!”

Lee grinned. “Thanks, Chip. You buy a pretty good gift for a guy who was chewing my head off last night.” His eyes went back to the painting. “Wait until Alyssa sees this. Do you know who the artist is?”

Chip’s mood immediately soured. “Just some woman.” He waved off the question as if it wasn’t important. “She’s half owner of the Web Spinner and a local artist. Unfortunately, she’s the one who’s staying.”

“You say that like it’s a problem.” Lee set the painting down, propping it against his shin as Chip moved off to grab a slice of pizza. He was intuitive enough to sense something more than casual dismissal in his friend’s explanation. A hint of anger? Irritation? He couldn’t help thinking about Veronica and how she’d mentioned finding a partner who would open a gallery with her. If she were really serious about moving to Santa Barbara, Lee owed it to her to tell her about the Web Spinner. Seaview would be leaving in two more days and he wouldn’t have time to check the gallery out personally, but he could always mention it to Kowalski. With Veronica still in town, she could drop in and see the owner personally. “You sound like you weren’t all that impressed with her,” Lee said, referring to the artist.

Chip scowled. “She’s just some kind of know-it-all prima-donna with an attitude. Good artist. No people skills.”

Lee smothered a grin. “That’s pretty harsh.” His friend looked aggravated but also distracted, his mouth pressed into a tight line. If he didn’t know better he’d think there was a glimmer of something other than irritation in Chip’s eyes. Deciding to steer clear of pushing the wrong buttons, Lee set the painting aside and helped himself to a slice of pizza.

“You buy a good gift,” he said with a nudge of his elbow. “How about helping me decide where to hang it?”

**********

They killed the pizza, drank a few beers and, after some back and forth discussion, settled on hanging the painting above the fireplace in the family room. After Chip left, Lee lounged on the sofa simply staring at it, more than a little mesmerized. He had looked for the artist’s signature and found it in the bottom right corner. D. Montgomery.

He was sorry he wouldn’t be able to see Alyssa’s reaction to the painting first hand. She would beat him back to town, arriving two days before Seaview returned to port. He’d leave her a note. He usually did when their schedules conflicted and they weren’t able to say goodbye in person. He’d explain the painting in the note . . . add a bouquet of roses so she’d know he was thinking of her. White were her favorite, and the local florist was used to him ordering them by the dozen. It had gotten to the point where all he had to do was say who he was and they knew what he wanted. The only question that cropped up routinely was “Ms. Halston’s office, Captain Crane, your residence or her home?” That’s what he got for dating a fashion model.

He grinned, warmed by the thought of how far they’d come in the last year. If he could only find a way to make her more receptive to the idea of marriage. They’d shared so much. A few months into their relationship he’d even told her about the Seven Stars. And about the strange kinship he’d felt for the lonely prehistoric creature that had tortured him.

Damn.

He couldn’t look at the painting without thinking of the alien presence. What had Salem Kaida called it? A Void. The old lightship meant so much more to him than just another antiquated vessel that had been decommissioned. Chip had really outdone himself with the painting. His friend understood. He knew. He’d been there.

Lee blew out a breath and dragged a hand through his hair. Thinking of Chip made him refocus on the gallery, which led to Ski and Veronica. Shoving from the couch, he hunted up the phone and called Kowalski. The rating answered on the fourth ring.

“Kowalski. This is Captain Crane. I’ve got a lead on a gallery for you and Veronica to check out.” He passed along the information, waiting as Ski wrote down the shop’s name along with Dey’s. When the rating asked if he’d told Chip about his relationship with Veronica, Lee fell silent. He’d been hoping to avoid that particular hurdle just now. He sighed. “It wasn’t the time, Ski. I tried, but the opening wasn’t there. Give me a while longer.” Part of him hoped Veronica would check out the gallery, realize it wasn’t going to work, and decide to stay in Sedona. He didn’t see how she and Kowalski could carry on a romantic relationship with a state boundary line between them. Maybe the whole thing would fizzle on its own.

He immediately thought of Alyssa and the obstacles they’d had to overcome to make their relationship work, each willing to sacrifice for the other. As he hung up the phone his eyes drifted back to the painting of the Seven Stars.

Something told him Ski and Veronica were in it for the long haul.

**********

With Alyssa out of town, Lee spent Monday night on Seaview, something he hadn’t done in a long time. In the past, he’d routinely spent the night before departure on the sub, but all of that had changed from the moment he and Alyssa first made love. Since then, unless she was out of town, they always spent the night together and she saw him off in the morning. It actually felt strange to wake up alone on the narrow rack in his cabin and know that in a few hours the boat would be sliding from her subpen. Strange, but invigorating. After three weeks in port he was more than ready to return to the ocean he loved. 

Land was fine and he loved Alyssa with all his heart and soul, but the sea would always be his mistress, seducing him with her eternal siren-song. She was an enchantress, beguiling and majestic, but also a temptress he’d learned to respect. Seaview was his Lady, the ocean his lover. And Alyssa - - he smiled as he thought of her - - Alyssa was his life.

Lee showered and dressed then headed to the officer’s wardroom where Cookie was already aboard, serving up breakfast. A few of the JO’s had wandered in, bleary-eyed and slow before their first jolt of Cookie’s atomic morning coffee. Lee didn’t know if he’d gotten used to the flavor or his taste buds had simply gone numb with shock from prolonged exposure. He grabbed a cup and a plate of scrambled eggs with bacon then passed the time with Bobby O’Brien until Chip wandered in and joined them.

“Is the Admiral aboard yet?” Lee asked as Chip slid onto the bench beside him.

The blond exec shook his head. Despite the early hour, he looked focused and alert. His khaki uniform was crisply pressed as always, his short platinum hair groomed to precision. With a grin, Lee recalled how he’d looked on Saturday, lounging on the couch, stocking feet propped up on the coffee table, slice of pizza in hand as he’d directed Lee on hanging the painting of the Seven Stars. The image of his starched and coolly efficient executive officer often contradicted the relaxed and casual Chip Morton Lee knew as a friend. He couldn’t help but be entertained by the contradictions in the two men - - one respectful and organized, the other a ‘big brother’ who thought nothing of riding roughshod over him.

“I saw Admiral Nelson come aboard with Mr. Honeywell and Honeywell’s niece,” O’Brien said, breaking into his thoughts. “At least that’s who Honeywell said it was. According to the admiral she’s assisting her uncle on this trip.”

Chip paused, a forkful of scrambled eggs raised halfway to his mouth. He shot Lee a sideways glance. “Did you know we were going to have a woman onboard?”

Lee nodded, recalling his conversations with Nelson. “I have her in guest cabin B and Honeywell in C. There’s a film crew too - - three of them. Honeywell is shooting footage for a documentary.” He turned to O’Brien. “Was the crew with them?”

“They were still working through security,” O’Brien said. “They’re probably on board by now. Do you want me to check, Sir?”

“No, that’s all right. I’ll take care of it.” He needed to see the admiral anyway, welcome Honeywell and his niece aboard and make sure the film crew’s equipment was checked and properly stored. He knew Sharkey would have it under control, but thought he’d poke his head into the loading area and nose around before heading up to the control room. He passed a few ratings in the corridor before running into Ski and Jake Patterson rounding a corner.

The two close friends were laughing over a shared joke when they saw him and immediately stopped to acknowledge him and say good morning. Lee made small talk with them for awhile then asked Ski to accompany him to the loading area. Most of the ratings and even the JO’s knew Ski was often signaled out for special assignments by Lee. Patterson would think nothing of continuing on his way while Lee and Kowalski detoured to the loading area. Lee’s main reason for asking the rating, however, had to do with the gallery where Chip had bought his painting.

“Did you check out the Web Spinner?” he asked as he and Ski continued down the corridor.

Kowalski nodded. “Veronica went too and had a chance to talk to the owners. She really hit it off with both of them. We found out Claire’s been telling everyone who stops in that’s she’s relocating  - - hoping to find a partner for Deyanne - - so neither of them thought it odd we’d heard about it. It was a great lead, Skipper. Ron’s got to lay everything out on paper and see if she can make it work, but it looks good.” He paused for a moment and Lee sensed what was coming. “Sir . . . did you have a chance to talk to Mister Morton yet?”

Lee shook his head. “I will, Ski. Just give me some more time.”

Ski looked slightly disappointed, but then he grinned. “I’ll be patient, Sir. It’s kind of hard to complain when you have the captain running interference for you.”  

Lee had a feeling even that wouldn’t make a difference to Chip.

**********

The boat had cleared the harbor by the time Nelson brought his guests to the observation nose. Cecil Honeywell had been on board before when Seaview was in her subpen at N.I.M.R. and, like everyone else who’d ever toured the mammoth submarine, had been overwhelmed by the sheer scope of the herculite windows. Anxious to see how the seascape would look underwater he was eager to stand before the specialized glass. 

“Amazing,” he said to Nelson. “Simply amazing.”

Lee left the plot table to join them. “Mr. Honeywell, it’s good to see you again.”

“Captain.” Honeywell flashed a delighted grin as he stretched out his hand. “Don’t be so formal. Call me Cecil.”

Lee nodded, shaking his hand. For someone who’d carved his name near the top of the marine conservation field, Honeywell was remarkably unpretentious. Tanned, with a weathered face and a thick shock of hair that had been bleached sugar-white by the sun, he looked younger than his fifty-odd years. His blue eyes crinkled at the corners as he indicated a petite black-haired woman at his side.  

“Have you met my niece?” 

Lee would have certainly remembered meeting the woman who stared back at him. Dressed in jeans and a white cotton blouse she had a pretty casualness that was echoed in her easy smile. Her hair was waist-length and she wore it hooked over her shoulder, the long pony tail secured by a brightly colored silk scarf. 

 “Captain Crane.” She extended her hand. “I’m Deyanne Montgomery.”

Her grip was firm, her fingers supple and strong. He had a strange sensation he knew her name but couldn’t place it.

“Excuse me, Sir.” Kowalski approached at his shoulder, a piece of paper in hand. “You wanted these coordinates.”

“Yes. Thank you, Ski.” As Lee accepted the paper, he saw Kowalski’s eyes flash to Deyanne, widening in shock. Surprised by his reaction, Lee chanced a glance at the woman and caught a flash of recognition on her face. Kowalski gave a quick, barely perceptible shake of his head and she dropped her eyes. 

“I’ll just go back to sonar now, Sir,” he said to Lee.

As he walked away, the woman’s name clicked into place. “You’re an artist,” Lee observed quietly.

She looked startled. “How would you know that?”

“Because I have a painting you did hanging above my fireplace.” He raised a brow. “The Seven Stars.”

“You? You’re the friend that dreadful man bought my painting for?” 

Lee had to suppress a grin at her description of Chip. Fortunately Nelson and Honeywell had moved away to stand under the observation windows and looked to be deep in conversation.  

“Dreadful man?” Lee chuckled. The whole thing was too tempting to pass up. He had no idea what had occurred between Chip and Deyanne but, based on his friend’s grumbling, and Deyanne’s less-than-flattering remark, Lee had a feeling the cruise was going to be highly entertaining. “Mister Morton,” he called. “Would you come here a moment, please?”

Chip straightened from his position at the plotting table. His back had been turned and, as he pivoted glimpsing Deyanne, his face underwent a swift metamorphosis. Lee could almost spot the precise second when he retreated behind a wall of austere correctness, his posture ramrod stiff. “Sir?” he asked tightly as he approached. 

There was no question Chip knew exactly what he was up to, and Lee was certain he’d catch hell for it later.

“I wanted to introduce you to Mr. Honeywell’s niece, Deyanne Montgomery. Miss Montgomery, this is Lieutenant Commander Chip Morton, Seaview’s executive officer.”

She drew back slightly as if inspecting something distasteful. Chip maintained his rigid control, the severity of his posture and the cool blue ice of his eyes speaking volumes. The blond-haired man gave a slight inclination of his head. “Miss Montgomery,” he said stiffly.

“I believe you two have met before?” Lee prodded.

Deyanne ignored Chip completely, speaking directly to Lee. “Please call me Dey, Captain. And yes, Commander Morton was in my gallery to purchase the painting he gave you.”

“It’s a remarkable piece,” Lee said.

“Thank you.” She looked uncomfortable, and Lee guessed that unease had more to do with Chip than any discussion about the painting. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to see my uncle now.”

Lee shot Chip a grin as she walked away. The glare his friend gave him could have melted ice at fifty yards. “You knew,” Chip accused, his voice flat and low.

“I did not.” Still grinning, Lee steered him toward the plotting table. “I just met her. The whole thing is a coincidence, Chip. Pretty amazing when you think about it.” He picked up a slide rule, nonchalantly inspecting the instrument. “So are you going to tell me why you’re grinding your teeth or is that now SOP whenever you meet a pretty woman?”

“I am not grinding my teeth,” Chip hissed. A second passed before he registered the rest of what Lee said. “Pretty?” His eyes slanted to the side taking in Dey’s trim figure. Damn, but she was pretty! That incredibly long black hair and blue-violet eyes were enough to make a guy trip over his heart in an attempt to know her better. Fortunately, Chip didn’t have that problem as he already knew more than he wanted. Sure she was pretty, but she was also irritating as hell. “Flighty is a better description,” he grumbled, returning his attention to the plotting table. “Hotheaded. Opinionated. Stubborn.”

“You don’t mince words, do you?” Lee poked his arm with the slide rule. “Are you going to tell me what happened when you bought that painting?”

Chip shot him a look that coming from anyone else would have been considered insubordinate. “It’s got nothing to do with the painting. I met her before that when I was leaving your place the other night. She left her car sitting on the side of the road, and I almost plowed into her. She seemed to think the whole thing was my fault and copped an attitude.”

“So that’s what happened to your car. I bet you remained perfectly in control.” Lee grinned. “A veritable saint.” 

“You’re not helping any,” Chip said tightly. He refocused on the charts, grumpily aware Lee was getting a kick out of his frustration. But what were the odds that Dey would end up being Cecil’s niece? Fate was taking him for a ride again, dumping her on Seaview. Why the hell did their paths keep crossing? He’d been looking forward to an enjoyable cruise and now he had the Wicked Witch of the West to contend with. Bending over the table, he marked off a line on the chart. “Where’s Honeywell’s film crew?”

“Checking out their gear. Uh, Chip . . .” Lee hesitated, but the spark of humor was still in his eyes. “The admiral expects us to have dinner with him, Cecil and Deyanne tonight. The film crew too.” 

Chip sighed. It was SOP whenever they had guests on the sub. He should have expected as much. “I’ll be civil,” he promised. 

With any luck he’d be needed on the conn and could bow out early. Then again, the way his luck had been running, he’d probably get stuck sitting beside Deyanne through an overly long and torturous dinner.

**********

He ended up sitting across from her which was worse. Every time he glanced up he caught a glimpse of her, that strange blue-violet gaze skimming over him in cool dismissal. It wasn’t so much that she looked down her nose, more that she took special care to ignore him.

Maybe he was just being too damn cynical. It wasn’t like they were the only ones at the table. Lee was seated to his right at the head, with Nelson at the opposite end. Honeywell and the three members of the film crew were in between. Dinner took place in the observation nose under the large herculite windows. Beyond the specialized glass, Seaview’s outside lights cut a bright corridor through the black ocean waters. As Chip watched, a long-fin Mako passed into the illuminated tunnel and was swallowed by the darkness on the opposite side. He saw Deyanne blink, enthralled by the mesmerizing glimpse of ocean life.

“I think I could sit here and stare out those windows all evening long and never tire of what I see,” she said in awe.

Cecil chuckled. “My niece has an artist’s eye for the natural world.”

Nelson was intrigued. “You paint?”

Dey flushed and lowered her eyes. “A little.”

“More than a little,” Lee chimed in. He told Nelson about the painting of the Seven Stars. 

Chip stayed quiet, using his fork to prod a chunk of broiled crab on his plate. He was starting to feel a little freaky about the painting and the way everything had aligned so neatly. Thankfully, Nicole Rook wasn’t on the cruise or she’d be giving him some cockamamie spiel about Fate. He’d always thought Lee was the one tied to the Seven Stars, but there was no escaping that his life was intertwined as well. Through Lee, and now through Deyanne.

He flicked an inconspicuous glance across the table. She was still cool with him but respectful enough not to make an issue of the bad blood simmering between them. If he hadn’t already formed an opinion of her, he might have thought differently meeting her for the first time. She’d dressed in a soft black skirt for dinner with another peasant blouse, this one in royal blue. Her long hair was plaited into a single raven braid, the tip brushing her waist. She was chatty with Nelson, friendly with Lee, and casual with the film crew. It was clear Honeywell thought the world of her and she plainly adored him.

She couldn’t have been more than twenty-six or twenty-seven. Which to a thirty-six year old man amounted to a kid, and a snotty one at that. She’d been pleasant so far, but he’d gotten a taste of her attitude first hand. Clearing his throat, he decided to wade into the conversation while Nelson and Honeywell debated photography angles with the film crew.

“I don’t understand what an artist is doing on a cruise related to marine conservation,” he said to Deyanne. 

She blinked, surprised he’d addressed her directly. In the next second her gaze grew frosty, losing the warmth it had when she’d talked to Lee or Nelson. “Conservation has as much to do with public awareness as practical application, Commander. I grew up in an eastern coal town, hundreds of miles from the nearest ocean. No one gave a passing thought to endangered sea life or the damage industrial waste causes our marine ecosystem. If I can draw attention to the need for preservation through my paintings, I’ll be using my art for a purpose. My uncle has his medium and I have mine.”

“So you came to get a close-up view?” Lee asked.

“Yes.”

Chip hedged, uncomfortable. He had to admit what she said made sense. Not only that, it was an admirable ambition. It shook him up a bit when he realized Bev wouldn’t have wasted her time discussing such things, much less pursuing them. Deyanne Montgomery might be opinionated, but at least she wasn’t self-absorbed.

“I’ve worked with my uncle before,” she said more to Lee than Chip. “Of course, we’ve never had the resources of a vessel like Seaview. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity even if it meant closing my gallery for a day or two.”

The Web Spinner. Chip considered the gallery a safe subject that wasn’t likely to put them at cross purposes. “How’s Claire?” he asked.

Dey’s eyes flashed to his face, neutral this time. “Busy planning her move back to Vermont. I really have to find someone who wants to pick up part ownership or I’m going to be forced to look for smaller space. In Santa Barbara, that isn’t easy to do.”

“No takers?” Chip asked. However he felt about Dey he didn’t want the shop to close.

“Possibly. I’ve had some interest from a girl who lives out of state...”

Lee coughed into his hand. “Hopefully, everything will work out,” he said quickly, rushing the conversation along. The last thing he needed was for Dey to inadvertently mention Veronica. He was surprised she hadn’t already tied Ron’s last name to Chip’s, given she’d stumbled over Kowalski on the sub. He was going to have to pull her aside and clue her in on how important it was to keep the whole thing under wraps. He hated the idea of asking confidentiality from a stranger, but he didn’t need Chip finding out about the gallery and Kowalski during the cruise.

It wasn’t until later that evening that Lee had a chance to talk to her in private. He found her in the observation nose sitting in a chair by the windows. The dinner table and dishes had been cleared away hours ago, the lights lowered to a muted setting. It was the time Lee loved lingering in the nose best, the mood quiet and contemplative. The control room ran on a pared down crew. Chip was off shift, leaving O’Brien in charge of the conn, presenting Lee with the perfect opportunity to talk to Deyanne in private. 

“It’s late, Miss Montgomery,” he observed, sliding into the chair across from her. “Are you still enjoying the view?”

She smiled faintly. “I told you I could sit here for hours. And please - - you really need to can the formality. ‘Miss Montgomery’ makes me feel like some kind of old-maid spinster. I know you military types are all about respect, but I much prefer Dey.”

Lee laughed. “All right, I’ll remember this time. So . . . how do you like Seaview?”

Her face brightened. “She’s remarkable. I was worried I’d feel claustrophobic or, worse yet, a little panicky but she’s very roomy. I’ve been on submersibles before but only for short periods of time. I guess my image of a submarine has always been dark, dingy and cramped.”

“It’s a common misconception, at least where Seaview is concerned. We have Admiral Nelson to thank for the design.” Lee hesitated, trying to find an opening for what he really wanted to talk about. Leaning forward, he laced his hands between his knees. “How about the crew? I’m aware you know Kowalski.”

She blinked. “You don’t miss much do you, Captain?”

“I’m the one who told him to check out your gallery. In case you haven’t put the two together, Veronica is Commander Morton’s younger sister.”

“What?” Intrigued, Deyanne straightened in her chair. “You mean that talented, vivacious, girl is related to...”

“Careful,” Lee warned.

“I was going to say ‘your executive officer’.” 

“Sure you were.”

Grinning, she flopped back in the chair. “I suppose he isn’t that bad. He was decent enough at dinner, and I can’t help noticing how your crew respects him. If Chip Morton were a complete jerk, I think I’d have heard a lot of grumbling behind his back.”

“Chip’s invaluable to Seaview. Anyone will tell you that. I couldn’t run the boat without him. He was my roommate at Annapolis, and we’ve been best friends for eighteen years.”

Dey narrowed her eyes. “That’s a long time to maintain a friendship.”

“That should tell you something about Chip.”

“Or you.”     

“No.” Lee shook his head. “Chip’s had to do far more adapting than me. He’s older by a year and a half and has, um . . .” He grinned. “. . . a protective streak, for lack of a better explanation. Off the boat he has no qualms speaking his mind or telling me if I’m acting like a jerk, but on Seaview...-”

Dey understood. “You’re his boss. His commanding officer.”

Lee nodded. “It’s not an easy line to tread for either of us, especially him. I can fall back on rank and pecking order for any decision I make. He might push a little but, in the end, he’s the one who has to swallow his objections.” He wasn’t entirely sure why he was being so forthcoming, other than he felt a strange kinship to Dey through the Seven Stars. She’d put emotion and depth into the painting, not just brushstrokes and angles. When he looked at it he could feel the pounding of the sea and the lash of wind and rain on his face, smell salt-encrusted metal and brine.

“You got off to a bad start with Chip but I think you should give him a second chance.” He paused, deciding to lay everything on the table. If she was as considerate as he imagined, she’d respect his wishes. “Most importantly, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention Veronica’s interest in your gallery. Chip isn’t ready for the thought of her uprooting from Arizona.”

“Or dating a member of his crew?” Dey guessed with a knowing tilt of her head. She smiled slightly.

There was no sense denying it. “It could become complicated.”

“They seemed happy together. Rick was the perfect gentleman with her.”

“I wouldn’t expect any less of Kowalski. But Chip  . . . ”

“Older brother syndrome.”

Lee nodded. The girl was perceptive. She presented an interesting combination of talent, conscience and intuition. He had a feeling Chip was going to have his hands full if he continued to behave coolly around her. He guessed she was somewhere in her mid-twenties but she seemed older, poised. Maybe that came naturally from owning and operating a business.  

They talked a while longer, then Lee offered to escort her to her cabin given the late hour. She declined, saying she wanted to linger in the observation nose. Eventually, he said good-night and headed off on his own. He thought about dropping by Chip’s cabin to broach the Kowalski/Veronica issue but decided against it given the hour. Maybe tomorrow. Then again, maybe it was just better to wait until they docked, and Kowalski wasn’t under Chip’s thumb. If the exec reacted badly, the crew would sense something wrong. Lee didn’t need a cause for contention on the cruise especially if it was something he could prevent.

He knew Kowalski would be edgy, wanting to know if he’d broached the subject with Chip. How the hell had he gotten himself sucked into the mess to begin with? He sighed, rounding the corner to his cabin, drawing to an immediate halt. One of the members of Honeywell’s film crew was paused outside his door, hand wrapped around the knob, his ear pressed to the wood as if listening.

“Murphy?” Lee stepped closer. “What are you doing?”

The man gave a startled jerk, wrenching backward. “Uh, Captain Crane...” He flushed, his cheeks a bright shade of red beneath his wavy flaxen hair. He used an index finger to bump a pair of black-framed glasses up his nose. “I . . . I’m sorry, I just . . .” He swallowed audibly and fidgeted, a man who appeared socially inept by nature. “I got lost,” he blurted. “Somehow I ended up here. I didn’t want to disturb you, but I thought if you weren’t sleeping you might get me turned in the right direction. All the corridors look alike.”

Lee smiled, hoping to put him at ease. It wasn’t the first time a guest had gotten lost on Seaview. The size of the sub and its interconnecting passages could be bewildering to the uninitiated. “Come on. I’ll walk you to your cabin.”

Murphy breathed a sigh of relief, promising to pay attention this time. They talked briefly along the way with Murphy relating how this was his first shoot with Honeywell. He’d worked underwater photography for the last five years but had only been with Honeywell for three months. He had a great deal of respect for the conservationist and wanted to make sure the shoot was everything Honeywell expected. 

“Richards and Intosh have been with Cecil for years, so they’re calling the shots. I’m just taking direction,” he said as they neared the guest cabins. His face brightened as they turned another corridor. “Ah . . . this looks familiar. That’s my cabin at the end of the hall.” 

Lee nodded. “Next time you can check the diagrams along the corridors.” He indicated a layout of the sub attached to the bulkhead at eye level. Only non-classified and non-critical areas were marked given their location in a guest cabin corridor. “Good-night, Mr. Murphy. We made good progress today and should be able to begin scouting locations tomorrow for Cecil.”

Murphy thanked him again, asking if he’d keep the mishap to himself. “I’m the newbie on the crew and don’t want to come off looking like an idiot.” 

As he trotted away, Lee thought he seemed an odd fit for his occupation. Part backward and nervous, but with a hint of something decisively calculating underneath - - that bit about keeping the mishap private. Lee couldn’t put his finger on it, but he had a curious feeling Murphy wanted people to see him as unassuming. Maybe he really was just anxious, being new to the crew and having to adapt to the submarine. Underwater photography was not for the faint-hearted, but being on a sub surrounded by thousands of tons of water and pressure was another matter entirely.

Lee yawned, heading for his cabin. In the morning, maybe he’d run the whole thing by the admiral. Murphy probably had been lost, but a single nagging thought continued to ping around inside his head. 

He flashed back to the image of Murphy standing outside his cabin door. If the photographer had really been intending to knock as he’d said, why had he been holding onto the doorknob like he was readying to enter?

**********

It was rare for Chip not to get a good night’s sleep on the sub unless there was some out-of-the-ordinary complication that required his attention. Being at sea put him at ease and helped him relax. He knew if it ever came down to it, he’d adjust to a land-bound desk job far easier than Lee, but he much preferred the ocean and Seaview.

Beverly had prodded him to buck for promotion and assume a captaincy on another vessel, but he wasn’t certain he could ever leave Nelson’s elegant Gray Lady. He didn’t have the near-spiritual connection to her that Lee did, or the creator-connection of the admiral, but he was every bit as partial and protective. He knew every square inch of her, each nut and bolt and instrument panel. Lee might understand her soul, but Chip knew what made her tick and when to diagnose her.

He woke restless after a night plagued with unusual dreams. Deyanne Montgomery appeared in several which left him confused and irritated. He didn’t know why he’d be dreaming about her. Even more disturbing, he recalled feeling a strong pull of attraction toward her in the dreams. Baffling . . . except that it probably had a lot to do with the way she’d behaved at dinner. Her views on marine preservation and art had been difficult to dismiss as anything but admirable. Maybe she wasn’t such a condescending harpie after all. If she’d just stay the hell out of his way - - and his dreams - - he might even decide to cut her some slack.

The engines were another matter. He could tell the port engine was running sluggish. Probably just a mechanical glitch, but he wouldn’t sit easy until he poked his nose around and got an accounting of the problem. He was on shift before Lee and wanted to have something to report other than the obvious malfunction. With Cecil and his film crew onboard, the last thing they needed was a mechanical breakdown.

Fortunately, the problem turned out to be minor and engineering was able to give him a repair time of two hours. It would be resolved before Lee even made it to the control room. He left and detoured to the missile room, deciding to do a quick once-over before starting his shift. As he entered, he spotted Kowalski and Patterson engaged in a routine equipment check. Patterson was busy running through the diving gear while Ski marked off compressed air canisters on a clipboard.

“Kowalski.”

The rating nearly jumped from his skin, hastily shoving the clipboard behind his back. His expression morphed from shock to guilt before settling into an air of forced casualness. He smiled nervously. “Uh . . . good morning, Mister Morton.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Sir.”

Chip scowled, noting the anxious glint of Kowalski’s eyes, the faint sheen of perspiration collecting under his bangs. He’d been awfully quick to conceal the clipboard. Must be a gaffe he wanted to cover up. Chip held out his hand. “Give me the clipboard.” 

Ski hesitated. He flashed a laid-back smile, often enough to get him out of a jam and let him skate by on innocence. “W-why, Sir?” 

“Since when do you question an order, sailor?”

“I don’t.” Kowalski looked mortified. “I didn’t. I mean...”

“Give me the clipboard.” Something was definitely going on. 

Kowalski swallowed audibly and passed it over. He winced as if expecting a backlash of anger. In the next instance, Chip understood why. His eyes dropped to the standard form Ski used to run through compression ratios. This was no equipment blunder. Clipped on top of the report, wedged beneath the metal hinge of the board was a wallet-size photo of Veronica.  

“What the hell are you doing with this?” 

Hearing the outrage in his voice, Patterson turned to stare. Chip didn’t give a damn. He thought he’d squashed the whole Kowalski/Veronica thing back in June. That Ski had held onto a picture of his sister all this time made his blood boil. There was no way in hell Ron was going to end up as another notch on Ski’s girl-of-the-week belt. Veronica had probably given him the photo shortly after the Midsummer Celebration. If the rating thought he stood a chance with her, Chip planned to set him straight in a hurry.

“Explain yourself,” he snapped. “What is this?”

“It’s a compressed air tank report, Sir.”

“Do you have a death-wish, sailor?” Chip’s voice rose to a bellow. He shoved toe-to-toe with the younger man, crowding his space. “I’m talking about the photo! What the hell are you doing with it?”

“I, uh . . .” Ski looked ready to sink through the deck. Beads of sweat popped out on his face, and his complexion phased from red to white, then red again. He swallowed hard, trying to find something to say. Amazingly, he gave an abrupt sigh of relief and visibly relaxed.

Chip heard footsteps behind him. 

“What’s going on here?” Lee Crane asked neutrally.

There was no way in hell Lee was going to bail Ski out of this one. Still in a head-rolling mood, Chip steeled himself as he turned. “Nothing, Captain. Kowalski and I are having a private discussion.”

Lee’s expression gave nothing away. “About?” He was so damn casual his calmness wound Chip even tighter. The exec knew that despite his relaxed attitude, Lee had picked up on the tension in the air and wasn’t going to let it go until he had an answer. The matter was private, but Lee was still captain of the boat. They all knew he didn’t need to point that out.

Chip clamped his jaw. “About staying focused on duty.” He shoved the clipboard at Lee, letting Veronica’s picture provide the explanation.

Lee’s expression never changed. He slipped the photograph free and handed it to Kowalski. “I suggest you put this in your pocket and keep it there until you can return it to your locker. There’s a place and a time for everything, Kowalski. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that a lapse in attention could be critical to the boat and her crew.”

“No, Sir. And yes, Sir.” Kowalski snatched the photograph and shoved it into his jumpsuit. “It won’t happen again, Sir.”

“Good. I suggest you make a point of visiting Mister Morton when you’re off duty to explain yourself.”

Kowalski looked bewildered. “Yes, Sir. But I thought...”

Lee passed him the clipboard, ending the discussion by turning his attention on Chip. “Mister Morton, I’d like to talk to you please.”

Chip nodded stiffly, seething inside. He followed Lee from the missile room all expression shuttered from his eyes, his posture ramrod correct. He walked at Lee’s side, one step behind, a perfectly trained executive officer. There would be no outburst in the corridor, no outward show of anger or contention. But the moment they entered Lee’s cabin, Chip slammed the door and exploded.

“What the hell did you think you were doing? You had no right to interfere!”

“I had every right.” Lee remained calm in the face of his outrage. “I’m captain of this vessel.”

“You know what I mean.”

Lee sighed. “Sit down, Chip.”

“I will not.” He squared his shoulders defensively. 

Exasperation and anger flashed in Lee’s eyes. “Sit down, Mister Morton! That’s an order.”

Chip ground his teeth, dropping into the chair in front of Lee’s desk. He sat stiffly, his face a tight mask of suppressed rage. He wanted to snarl at Lee for pulling rank but knew better. Not on the boat. On the boat he might chafe at Lee’s decisions or orders but their roles were clearly defined - - CO and XO. He knew when not to cross the line. Three years of having his best friend as his commanding officer had not been without its share of ups and downs. This was definitely a moment he would not remember fondly. Forced into the role of subordinate officer, he went for Lee’s jugular in the only way he knew how. “Permission to speak, Sir?”

“Drop the ‘sir’ bullshit. You’ve made your point.”

Chip looked at him coldly, not ready to abandon his mood. “You gave me a direct order.”

Lee exhaled in frustration as Chip knew he would. He braced his hips against the front of the desk, reaching behind him to grasp the edge with his hands. “Chip, I want to talk to you about Kowalski and Veronica. They’ve been a couple since the Midsummer Celebration and, apparently, have been secretly seeing each other for the last several months.”

Chip’s anger gave way to shock. “You knew?”

“No. I just found out over the weekend. I ran into them at that restaurant I told you about. The Driftwood.”

“You knew since the weekend and didn’t tell me?” Chip rose to his feet. 

Lee stood up straight. “I am telling you. The first chance I had. They’re not trying to keep it a secret. They wanted me to talk to you about it, Chip.”

“Why? Kowalski isn’t man enough to face me on his own? He’s been running around with my sister behind my back, and now he needs you to pull rank?”

“I am not pulling rank!” 

Chip drew back, narrowing his eyes. “Then what the hell do you call it?”

Lee sighed, pressing his fingertips to his temple. Chip could tell he was striving for patience, that his frustration had started to flirt with anger. Too damn bad. Veronica might think of Lee as a brother, but he had no business sticking his nose where it didn’t belong.

“You’re not obligated to stay here,” Lee said as if attempting to be reasonable. “I just thought you might be open-minded enough to hear me out. I figured you’d want your sister to be happy.”

“Don’t give me that reverse-psychology garbage. I know what’s best for Veronica.” He jabbed a thumb against his chest, jutting his chin to emphasize the point.

“She’s not sixteen years old anymore, Chip. Whether you like it or not, she’s capable of making her own decisions. And she’s happy with Ski. You said yourself he hasn’t been interested in any of the women at the Institute . . . hasn’t even noticed them. That’s because he’s in love with Ron.”

Chip snorted. If he weren’t so damn angry, it would be comical. “Kowalski? In love?”

“Veronica’s thinking about uprooting from Arizona and moving to Santa Barbara.”

Lee said it so matter-of-factly, it took Chip a moment to digest the words. He couldn’t force the logic into his brain . . . couldn’t fathom how his favorite sister could behave so stupidly. “The gallery,” he blurted. “She has a business...”

“Your mother is going to continue to operate it. Ron’s already looking for space in Santa Barbara and has a good lead.”

Chip pivoted, ripping a hand through his hair. His sister was beyond stupid. It made him think she needed to be committed for her own protection. Kowalski was probably behind the whole thing, feeding her a line about how easy it would be and how he’d help. And then he’d dump her and she’d be in an even worse tailspin than when Mason Weller had ditched her. His sister was pretty, bubbly and talented. Why did she keep hooking up with men who were nothing but trouble?

He shook his head, pacing a few steps away. Sure  . . . just find another gallery in Santa Barbara like businesses grew on trees. How did she expect...

And then it hit him.

Claire Vaughen was leaving the Web Spinner, and he’d mentioned it to Lee. Lee had known about Ski and Ron, was part of the whole freaking conspiracy. “You told her about the Web Spinner, didn’t you?” The fury surged back, hotter than before. The more he thought about Lee butting in where he didn’t belong, the angrier he got. He’d always considered Lee a brother but that didn’t give him the right to counsel Ron or assume Chip’s place. 

Lee cleared his throat and glanced down at the desk, having the decency to look mildly uncomfortable. He tapped a finger against the edge. “Dey Montgomery didn’t know who Veronica was. I just told her last night.”

Chip exploded. “So you told a complete stranger about my sister and Kowalski before you told me? Are you deliberately trying to make me look like an idiot? Hell, Lee! I’m beginning to think Bev was right.”

“Dey already knew about Kowalski,” Lee shot back. “He went to the gallery with Ron. She just didn’t realize Ron was your sister.” His expression changed abruptly as he absorbed what Chip had said. His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean ‘Bev was right?’”

Still on an antagonistic high, Chip stalked forward, stabbing a finger under Lee’s nose. “That I’ll let you get away with anything. That you’ve got a freaking superior attitude, Captain! That even off the boat you don’t think of me as an equal. This proves it. You had the audacity to play big brother to my sister.”

Lee turned away but not before Chip saw him clench his jaw. “Don’t be a jackass,” he muttered. Quietly. Tightly. “All I’m doing is trying to make you see Veronica and Kowalski are in love. It’s not my fault Ron doesn’t feel comfortable enough to tell you . . .that she’s afraid you’ll turn into a tyrant and make life miserable for Ski. Maybe if you’d been more understanding she wouldn’t have come to me in the first place.”

“That’s damn low of you, Lee.” They both knew it.

When Lee said nothing, not even attempting to deny it, Chip’s anger turned corrosive. He felt betrayed by the man he’d long considered his best friend and brother. “You’re the last person who should be giving relationship advice,” he spat. “You’re in love with a woman who won’t marry you. Who probably went out of town solely to avoid you because she’s afraid you’re going to ask her. And that would put an end to everything wouldn’t it? If you weren’t so wrapped up in being ‘Captain Crane’ the jet-set’s newest celebrity, you’d find a woman your own age instead of sleeping with a model who was dating jocks when you were still soiling your diapers.”

Lee’s face went white. For a second he simply stared, his expression a combination of appalled shock and rage. A second later, Chip saw the hurt. Then just as quickly Lee shuttered all emotion away, dropping his eyes and picking up several papers from his desk. A muscle ticked in his jaw. “That will be all, Mister Morton.” His voice was soft but cold. “You’re dismissed.”

Chip didn’t need to be told twice. He stormed from the cabin, the conversation ping-ponging around in his head. He was tempted to round up Kowalski and tear into him but knew he needed to calm down. He was reacting on rage and adrenalin. He’d probably just screwed up the best friendship he’d ever had but he didn’t freaking care. 

This time, Lee had crossed the line.

**********

Lee felt like a heel.

Chip was right. He should have stayed out of it. Veronica wasn’t his sister and he had no right meddling in something that didn’t concern him. From Chip’s point-of-view, the whole thing must have looked like a conspiracy with Lee smack dead in the center. And, as captain, he should have steered clear of helping Kowalski in something so personal. That was common sense, not to mention standard operating procedure between officers and enlisted personnel.

Except Seaview wasn’t active Navy, he wasn’t a by-the-book captain, and, as much as their differences in rank allowed, Kowalski was a personal friend. When it came right down to it, Lee knew he’d blown the whole thing - - lock, stock and barrel. Chip remained cold to him the rest of the day and, for his part, Lee stayed tight-lipped and aloof, irked over Chip’s parting comments.

It didn’t take long for the contention between them to be picked up by the watch crew. Word of the rift filtered through the rest of the boat and, by the end of the day, Lee guessed it was common knowledge. Feeling responsible, Kowalski dropped by his cabin to apologize when they were both off shift. He looked as miserable as Lee felt, his expression glum. He explained that he had tried to talk to Chip but the exec had told him to take a hike before he drummed up a reason to put him on report. 

Discouraged, Kowalski sighed. “Sir, I heard things were really tense between you and Mister Morton in the control room today. I can’t help but feel responsible. Maybe I should transfer off the sub.”

“That’s not going to solve anything.” Lee rounded his desk to steer Kowalski toward the door. He’d already had Nelson hounding him, demanding to know what fiasco had set his two senior officers at opposite poles. Lee had managed to skirt the truth. He hadn’t wanted to discuss it then and didn’t feel like going into detail with Kowalski now. It was enough Ski knew he had talked to Chip and the discussion ended disastrously. “Even if you leave Seaview it isn’t going to change how Chip feels about your relationship with Ron,” he told Ski. “He and I have had our share of heated disagreements over the years. We’ll get through this.”

“But I’m the reason he’s ticked off at you,” Ski protested, halting as Lee opened the door.

“It goes a little deeper than that, Kowalski.” Lee gave him a nudge into the corridor. He knew the main reason Chip had reacted the way he did was because Lee had concealed something from him. Betrayal plain and simple. A stab in the gut. It wasn’t only that Veronica had chosen to confide in him over her brother, but that Lee hadn’t immediately turned around and told Chip the truth. He’d waited several days, even discussing the situation with Dey Montgomery, a virtual stranger, before telling Chip. And then he’d only done it because of the situation in the missile room. If not for that he probably would have waited until Seaview was back in port before working up the nerve. 

“Get some rest,” he said to Ski, knowing the hour was late. “This will work itself out eventually. And there’ll be no more talk about leaving Seaview. Understood?”

Ski managed a weak smile. “Aye, Sir.”

Lee closed the door, bowing his head against the wood. What a miserable day. Chip’s words kept rolling around in his head:

You’re in love with a woman who won’t marry you. Who probably went out of town to avoid you  . . .  If you weren’t so wrapped up in being ‘Captain Crane’ the jet-set’s newest celebrity, you’d find a woman your own age instead of sleeping with a model who was dating jocks when you were still soiling your diapers.

He swore softly, scrubbing both hands over his face. Chip had been venting out of anger but the slur cut deeply. He knew the same spiteful remarks were often made behind his back and printed in trash tabloids, but he’d never expected to hear them from his closest friend. It was probably Beverly Cole’s influence. He knew the woman had tried to turn Chip against him several times, poisoning his mind with insinuations and lies. Apparently, a few of her coarser remarks had stuck. 

He switched off the light, letting the dark wash over him. He wondered what Alyssa was doing, wondered if she really had left town to avoid him. The photo shoot was for a client. It hadn’t been necessary for her to go but she’d told him it was the first job for this particular client - - an up-and-coming model - - and she’d wanted to ensure her client’s image was maintained. He knew she loved him, but also knew she had strong reservations about marriage. They’d never openly discussed it but, whenever he dropped a hint, she quickly changed the subject or found an excuse to bow out of the conversation. 

Maybe Chip was right. 

Who the hell was he to meddle in anyone’s relationship when he couldn’t solve his own problems?

**********

Chip waggled a pen back and forth between his fingers, drumming the end against his desk. Tap. Tap. Tap. 

No good. The sound was getting on his nerves. Disgusted, he tossed the ballpoint on an open folder, propped both elbows on the blotter and raked his fingers through his hair. His cabin, every bit as spacious as Lee’s, felt confining for the first time he could remember. Maybe because it was so damn crowded inside with his thoughts bouncing off the walls. 

Veronica. Kowalski. Lee.

He sighed. The last one punched a hole through his gut. He tried to put himself in Lee’s shoes. What would he have done if Lee had a sister, and she’d confided in him and asked for help? Maybe Lee’s imaginary sister had a thing for Patterson. He thought about it for all of two seconds before deciding he was too angry to sort it out. Patterson wasn’t a roving wolf like Kowalski. Single, yes. Actively dating, yes. But he didn’t go through women like toilet paper. Where the hell had he heard that line anyway? Probably from someone on C watch. 

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. He was still spitting out the words “come in” when the barrier thrust open and Admiral Nelson stalked into the room. Chip could tell by the thunderous glower on the man’s face he was not in a good mood. 

Wonderful.

“Sir.” Chip stood.

Nelson’s scowl notched deeper, but he motioned Chip to sit. “Good. You’re still up. I want some explanations.”

“Sir?” Amazing the different inflections he could put into a single word. He knew where Nelson was headed but decided it might be better to play dumb. Then again, judging by the quicksilver flare of anger in the admiral’s eyes, it probably wasn’t the wisest decision. He cleared his throat, briefly averting his eyes.

Nelson paced closer, one hand stuffed in his trouser pocket, the other fiddling with an unlit cigarette. “What the hell is going on between you and Lee? I tried to get it out of him but all he did was send up smoke signals.”

Chip knew if he attempted one more “sir”, he’d likely get keelhauled. Sitting straighter he picked up the pen. Tap. “Nothing that won’t work itself out.” Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Nelson eyed the offending instrument, and Chip quickly set it down. 

“Let me tell you something, Mister Morton. This boat is supposed to run like a well-oiled machine. From her crew to her command team. I will not have discord, especially among my officers. It sets the tone for the entire boat. Good God, man, even Cecil’s picked up on the contention between you and Lee. He asked me if there was something he’d done to cause it. Imagine!” Nelson gave a disgusted snort. “A guest on my vessel witness to sudden frost between my two senior officers. Fix it. Now!”

Chip was tempted to ask why not Lee, but already knew the answer. The admiral would never be able to bully Lee. Partly because they were too close and partly because Lee was too damn stubborn and would refuse. 

“Sir...”

“I don’t want excuses, Mister Morton. I want it taken care of. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Nelson grunted and stomped from the cabin every bit as volatile as when he’d arrived. Irked, Chip sighed. He should have been more vocal. He could have remained deferential but still shifted the burden onto Lee. Why the hell was he stuck with clean-up duty when Lee had been the one to initiate the mess in the first place?

Then a sliver of guilt crept in. Had he really made that nasty comment about Lee’s relationship with Alyssa? He stifled a groan. He knew his friend loved her . . . was so far gone he’d never be satisfied with another romance. Nothing like taking a cheap shot at your best friend and the woman he wanted to spend his life with. Yeah he’d been pissed, but the cutting remark had been stooping to Beverly’s level. She probably would have applauded him for the way he’d behaved.

Damn.

It only served to reinforce the pang of conscience that told him he’d acted like a three-headed ghoul, hell bent on slaughter. With a disgusted sigh he shoved from his desk and headed from his cabin. It was late, almost zero-hundred hours, but Chip knew he wouldn’t be falling asleep any time soon.

Needing a distraction, he headed for the wardroom, thinking he’d grab some leftover dessert and something to drink. Given the hour, he expected to find it completely empty and was therefore surprised to find Dey Montgomery had the same idea.

**********

Dey wasn’t sure why she hadn’t been able to sleep. It might have been the excitement of being on Seaview or the knowledge they’d be testing various locations for footage tomorrow.  She already had a sketchbook full of images she’d captured while loitering in the sub’s extraordinary observation nose. The admiral’s herculite windows opened the underwater world in a way she’d never imagined. She already planned to turn several of the sketches into oil paintings.

Unable to sleep, she’d lingered in her cabin for a few hours, then collected the sketchbook and headed to the wardroom. The man they called “Cookie” had given her a slice of apple pie and a soothing cup of herbal tea. He’d even dropped a finger of brandy in it, telling her with a wink, it would help her sleep.

She still wasn’t tired but had to admit the pie had been good and the tea warmed her insides. Alone in the wardroom, she opened the sketchbook and flipped through several of the drawings. A faint grin curled her lips as she came across some character studies and shots of the control room. The underwater vista wasn’t the only thing that had caught her eye.

She heard the door open and glanced up in time to see Commander Morton enter. He saw her, frowned briefly, then paused to chat with Cookie and grab a slice of pie with a glass of milk. Dey glanced back to the sketchbook but couldn’t help watching from the corner of her eye. 

She still wasn’t sure what to make of the man. There was no question she’d formed a negative opinion of him on their first encounter, but his poise and the respect he commanded from the crew and other officers was admirable. She’d always been attracted to creative types - - free thinkers, poets, musicians - - still there was something about him that intrigued her. And that incomprehensible attraction only served to frustrate her further. Who would have ever thought she’d spare a second glance for someone who was so . . . so . . . military?

It didn’t make sense. Except he was handsome. 

Okay, more than handsome, she grudgingly conceded.  

On appearance alone he presented a bewildering combination of steely-eyed ruggedness and move-star glamour. Tall and broad-shouldered, with a lean build and short cropped coin-bright hair, he was definitely worth a daydream or two. And he held a critical position on Seaview, engaged in marine conservation, a field that was dear to her heart. Too bad he had such a damn superior attitude.

She sipped her tea, looking at the sketchbook. It was mind-boggling to think he was related to Veronica, someone who was clearly effervescent by nature, when he was so stoic and aggravatingly bullheaded.

“Miss Montgomery?” She glanced up to find him standing on the opposite side of the table a plate of pie in one hand, the glass of milk in the other. “Mind if I join you?”

She blinked, surprised. Her immediate impulse was to point out the entire room was empty so why bother her. Then she concluded he might be extending an olive branch and decided she should make a similar effort. Nodding, she bumped her sketchbook to the side making room for his plate. “No problem, Commander. But as I’ve told Captain Crane several times, I much prefer to be called Dey.”

He slid into a seat across from her. “I wasn’t sure if that same informality extended to me.”

She raised a brow but didn’t comment.

“If we’re going to be on a first name basis, call me Chip.”

“Is that short for something?”

“Charles.” He scooped up a forkful of pie and she couldn’t help noticing the way the light in the room reflected off his hair. It wasn’t just blond but tinted with threads of white-gold and platinum, pale as the winter sun. In every way that she was dark, he was fair. Except his eyes. Blue as clear river water, they had a way of looking through her that made her feel like she was being scrutinized. No doubt he kept the men under his command in line with a single frigid glance of those crystalline eyes. She found it interesting he and Captain Crane were so close, given she’d observed marked differences in their personalities. Crane appeared to be more reactionary while this man seemed tightly-controlled - - when he wasn’t mouthing off at stranded motorists.

She decided to pry a little. “Isn’t it kind of late for a midnight snack?”

He shrugged, chewing around a mouthful of pie as he glanced down at his watch. “It’s midnight. What better time? Besides . . .” he indicated her empty plate still littered with crumbs. “It looks like I’m not the only one Cookie was entertaining.”

“Why do you call him Cookie?”

He rolled his eyes. “Does your mind ever stay on one track?”

“Sometimes.” She offered up a slight smile. Maybe she’d deserved that. She couldn’t help feeling a little intimidated by him and that had her thoughts jumping all over the map. She’d already convinced herself she would not like this man but, when he wasn’t biting her head off, he wasn’t that bad.

Chip set his fork aside and nodded to her sketchbook. “Can I see that?”

She hesitated. There were a few drawings she wasn’t exactly sure she wanted him to see but in the end she nudged the pad across the table.

He flipped through the pages silently, Dey watching his eyes. She’d drawn the underwater landscape as she’d seen it passing within the cone of Seaview’s nose light . . . predatory sharks, graceful skates, whales and sea turtles. Schools of brightly colored fish, nimble porpoises, transparent jelly fish and exotic sea urchins. 

Chip cleared his throat. “These are . . . amazing.” She heard sincerity in his voice but something else too. Respect? “You’re really very talented.”

“Thank you.” She wondered how hard it was for him to part with the compliment. She had a feeling he didn’t give praise lightly.

He flipped another page and stopped. Dey bit her lip feeling a flush of color on her cheeks. She’d drawn him and Lee together, standing on opposite sides of the plotting table, heads bent as they marked up a chart. She’d been mesmerized by the contrast of dark and fair and, if she were honest, they certainly weren’t difficult to look at. She tried not to cringe when he flipped the page and found a close-up of a portrait she’d done of him.

Chip raised his eyes. “Were you planning on throwing darts at this?”

Startled, she laughed. “My God, you actually have a sense of humor.”

“I try not to let it get around.” A smile touched his lips and his eyes crinkled at the corners, warmth filtering through his winter-sky gaze. She was shocked by the transformation on his face, his icy control momentarily slipping to give her a view of the man behind the uniform. Then he flipped another page and his mouth tightened reflexively.

Dey’s eyes dropped to a sketch of Kowalski at the sonar station. Time to do a little fishing. She had really hit it off with Veronica and the idea of co-ownership was something that benefited them both. “Rick seems like a nice guy,” she said neutrally. 

His eyes snapped to her face. “You don’t have to monitor your words, Dey. I know Kowalski and Veronica talked to you about the Web Spinner. Lee finally came clean and told me about it.”

“Is that why you’re angry at him?”

He slid the sketchbook back across the table and returned to his pie. “Why would you think I’m angry?”

She squirmed slightly, not entirely sure how to point out the obvious. “I’ve heard some talk . . . among the crew. And my uncle has noticed a certain . . .distance . . . between you and Captain Crane. He was worried we’d caused it somehow.”

Chip didn’t say anything . . . just went on eating like she hadn’t spoken. But his eyes were lowered, his expression thoughtful. Was he deliberately ignoring her or simply taking his time in formulating an answer? Maybe she’d said something she shouldn’t have, mentioning the crew. She was an outsider, and he surely wouldn’t care for the fact she’d overheard the ratings spreading scuttlebutt. Hopefully, her comment wouldn’t earn them a lecture about professional protocol and keeping their mouths shut. She had a feeling Lt. Commander Chip Morton could lecture with the best of them.

“Captain Crane told me you’ve been friends since the Academy,” she said, trying another track. She wasn’t sure she had a full grasp of the problem but knew it was rooted in Veronica’s relationship with Kowalski. Somehow, that had also snared Lee Crane.

Chip nodded and she noticed a sudden tension in his jaw.

“That’s a long time to be friends.” She thought about what Crane had told her regarding their working relationship, how it was harder on Chip than on him. Firsthand experience had taught her Seaview’s executive officer was extremely strong-willed. It had to be hard for him to curb that part of his personality and defer to Crane on the boat. It was amazing they didn’t clash more often but, as Lee had said, rank settled matters for them.

“He said it’s hard on you.”

He blinked and raised his eyes. The overhead light filtered through his lashes and spiked shadows on his cheek. “What is?”

“Your position. He said he can resort to rank when you disagree, but you don’t have the luxury of speaking your mind when he does. And he said . . .” She wasn’t sure she should venture further but she’d seen a strong camaraderie between the two men when she’d first come onboard. She hated the thought of it deteriorating, whatever the cause. “He said you’re a bit older and that you have a strong protective streak.” For some reason the thought warmed her and made her see him in a different light. She doubted a man like Lee Crane needed anyone watching his back, but she liked that Chip did. True, men looked out for each other, but it was usually done without acknowledgement - -some kind of male code that only someone with Y chromosomes could understand. 

Chip snorted softly and shoved his plate away. She saw something flash through his eyes but couldn’t quite tell what it was - - regret tinged with fondness? “He counts on you a lot, doesn’t he?”

“No more than I do on him. Look - - we’ve worked together for three years. We know the ropes, and we know how it works. For the most part, we keep the boat separate from our friendship but every once in awhile the line gets tangled. Would it be easier having a different captain? Maybe. Would I want a different captain? No.” 

“You say that like there’s no room for doubt.”

“There isn’t.”

“But you’re still angry at him?”

“What I am, Deyanne, is tired.” He stood, picking up the empty plate and the milk he’d barely touched. “Can I walk you back to your cabin?”

She hesitated, her first inclination to say ‘no.’ He obviously didn’t want to talk about his friendship with Lee or the reason for his anger. But he was talking. Not snarling. Not snapping at her or rummaging up his patented icicle glare. He’d made a congenial offer. The least she could do was to take him up on it. Besides, it was late, and she was starting to grow tired. Maybe she’d finally be able to sleep now.

They left the wardroom together, and he walked her through the corridors, not saying much but no longer tense. At her door, he paused and gazed down at her. “Thanks for sharing a midnight snack. And your sketches. You’re very talented.”

Standing so close, she realized for the first time how tall he was. When they’d spouted off at each other on the roadway, she’d been too keyed up to notice how he towered over her. Looking up at him now, she realized his lashes were as pale as his hair, gold-tipped with the faintest whisper of ivory. Damn, if it didn’t make him all the more attractive. And the uniform . . . it was after midnight and he was still dressed tidily, every seam and cuff starched perfection. Her last boyfriend had slopped around in torn jeans, his hair long and unkempt. She’d liked that look, thinking men who were clean-cut and wore uniforms tended to be straight-arrows to the nth degree. But she’d never taken the time to appreciate the male physique in a tight, crisply-pressed khaki uniform. She hoped she wasn’t staring.

Realizing her pulse had quickened, she wet her lips. “What about the conversation?” 

“The conversation was pleasant too. Maybe we should try again sometime.”

She couldn’t resist meddling. “Talking or being pleasant to each other?”

“Both.” He grinned and she realized he appreciated her humor. “Goodnight, Dey. I have to admit I like you better when you’re not biting my head off.”

She smiled mischievously. “The feeling is mutual, Commander.”

As he walked away she couldn’t help admiring the view.

**********

Over the next few days, Cecil Honeywell and his film crew kicked into high gear keeping everyone occupied. Chip saw Dey several times and realized their initial animosity was gradually morphing into a squabbling friendship. She still managed to push his buttons - - do you ALWAYS have to be so annoyingly precise? - - but he had a sneaking suspicion she enjoyed doing it. He’d been steering clear of Lee as much as possible to avoid further contention and frequently found himself sharing meals and down time with Dey. 

Lee stayed busy with Honeywell, flying the conservationist in FS1 for aerial views of surfacing dolphins and whales, then overseeing departures from the missile room as Honeywell’s film crew began dive rotations. There was one potentially hazardous mishap when Murphy incorrectly loosed a tie-down on a stack of heavy equipment and sent the whole pile barreling toward Lee. If not for Chief Sharkey reacting quickly and shoving the captain out of the way, Lee might have suffered a grievous injury. Stricken and shame-faced, Murphy had bumbled through an apology and promised to be more vigilant in the future. Hearing the news, Chip stuck his head in the missile room long enough to personally ascertain Lee hadn’t been hurt. Dey spied him before he could back out and the look on her face told him she’d known exactly why he was there.

After that he’d made an effort to avoid Lee. He knew they’d have to talk eventually but right now it was easier to maintain a low profile rather than risk another blow up. In the control room, and in front of the crew, they were both professional, but he could sense a marked distance in Lee that wasn’t normally there.

Kowalski was subdued, doing everything possible to toe the line, going out of his way to make certain there was no infraction that would set Chip on edge. The rating had given up trying to discuss Veronica for which Chip was secretly glad. He didn’t need that headache on top of the one he’d inadvertently created with Lee. Better to concentrate on finishing the cruise and he’d deal with the Ski/Veronica situation when Seaview returned to port. Even Nelson seemed satisfied with the truce between his command team, though Chip was certain he knew nothing had truly been resolved.

He was finishing up duty for the night, logging off the final reports in the control room when Kowalski hustled down the spiral staircase then slowed to a more conservative approach.

“Mister Morton? May I speak with you, Sir?”

Chip stifled an irritated sigh, allowing a flash of annoyance to show in his eyes. He hoped Kowalski wasn’t going to bring up Veronica again. “What is it?” he asked tightly, pointedly keeping his attention focused on the reports.

Undaunted by his brusque attitude, Ski approached the plotting table. He cleared his throat, lowering his voice so it wouldn’t travel. “Sir, I just left Admiral Nelson’s cabin. He had me drop off today’s dive statistics as I was going off watch.”

Chip scrawled his name at the bottom of a report. “Was there a problem?” He knew he sounded terse, even argumentative, but couldn’t help himself. He’d always been adept at burying personal feelings when on duty, but the thought of Kowalski and Veronica together was something he just couldn’t reconcile.

“No, Sir. But I caught Lew Murphy outside Captain Crane’s cabin when I was leaving. He was at the door.”

“And?”

“And I asked him what he was doing,” Kowalski sputtered, a trace of frustration coming through in his voice. “He said he kept thinking about his mistake with the equipment . . . that he couldn’t sleep because he realized how badly the skipper might have been hurt. He said he knew the accident could have been fatal, and he wanted to apologize again to make sure the skipper understood how sorry he was.”

Chip clenched his jaw, striving for patience. It was late, he was tired, and Kowalski was currently tied with Lee for people he wanted to avoid. “You’re rambling, Kowalski. Why are you telling me this?”

The rating blinked, surprised he didn’t see the obvious. “Sir, it’s nearly zero hundred hours. Even if Murphy was still upset, don’t you think his apology could have waited until morning? He had to know the captain would be sleeping.”

Chip digested the information with a stoic stare. Of course Kowalski was right; he’d just been too damn aggravated to pick up on the oddity. “What did you do?”

“I told Murphy to wait until morning to make his apology then made certain he headed back to his cabin. Something just felt  . . . weird . . . about the whole situation. It didn’t wash with me. I thought you should know, Mister Morton.”

A flicker of misgiving rippled through Chip’s gut. “What do you think Murphy was doing there?”

“I’m not sure, Sir, but I don’t think it was to apologize.”

“Did you check on Captain Crane?”

“No, Sir. Like I said, I thought he might be sleeping.”

“Very well.” Chip gave a crisp nod, his mind already speeding ahead. Murphy was green around the gills, they all knew that. He probably thought nothing of roaming around the sub at midnight, as naïve to protocol as he was to the routine of Honeywell’s film crew. But as much as he was irked at Kowalski, Chip trusted the man’s instincts. If he thought something didn’t sit right with the whole scenario, then it merited investigating. Ski hadn’t come right out and said it, but he was plainly concerned about Lee.

“Carry on,” Chip told Ski. “I’ll check on the captain when I go off watch.” 

Kowalski nodded. He hesitated a moment longer, then wandered away, leaving Chip to finish up the reports. Ten minutes later, the exec found himself standing outside Lee’s cabin door. He knocked lightly, hoping Lee would be asleep. What the hell was he going to say if his friend answered - - I just wanted to check on you because I was worried? It was the truth, but he wasn’t ready to admit it. He waited a few seconds then pushed the door open and stepped into the cabin. 

It was dark inside. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dimness. He spied Lee, stretched out on his rack, one arm flung carelessly above his head, the other draped across his stomach. Chip wandered closer, waiting until he saw the steady rise and fall of his friend’s chest before feeling comfortable enough to back out the door.  

He was surprised to realize he needed that assurance for sleep.

**********

Chip never mentioned the incident with Murphy to Lee, but the more he thought about it the more it bothered him. The next day he made a point to seek out Chief Sharkey and ask exactly what had taken place in the missile room.

Sharkey shook his head, blustering over what he considered blatant carelessness. “Just green incompetence if you ask me, Sir. Murphy might be good with a camera, but he’s a klutz who doesn’t know up from down. The guy doesn’t use his head. Anyone with half an ounce of sense would have known not to pull that tie-down. And with the captain having his back turned...”

Chip nodded, unwilling to think about what might have happened. “It was good you were there, Chief.” He gave Sharkey a clap on the back, not wanting to call too much attention to the near-catastrophe. He was probably just being paranoid. Accidents happened and there was no question Murphy was still finding his way around the film crew and their equipment. It was probably just a classic case of ineptitude. If not for Sharkey’s fast reactions the mishap might have been fatal for Lee. “Good job, Chief. Carry on.” Amazing that he spent so much time worrying about Lee when they weren’t even talking. 

The rest of the day was uneventful, Lee once again busy with Nelson and Cecil while Chip oversaw the boat’s operations. Near the end of his duty shift, Chip dropped by the lab where the admiral and Honeywell were reviewing the day’s film footage. Pleased with the results, Nelson gave him the green light for the next location. Two more sets of coordinates and they would be returning to Santa Barbara. As he headed from the room he ran into Dey in the corridor.

“Hmmm . . . it appears we keep running into each other.” She smiled as he closed the door behind him. Her sketchbook was tucked under her arm, and her long hair was caught up in a high pony tail with a beaded leather cord. A few strands had worked loose and lay in random wisps against her neck. Coupled with her jeans, deck shoes and a baggy denim shirt, she reminded Chip a bit of his mother’s bohemian friends. This was the artist he had first run into on the road - - a little disorganized, a bit sloppy but, if he was honest, damn fine attractive.

“Are you headed to the control room, Commander?”

They had moved to a first name basis days ago, but she still liked to use his title now and then in a playful way. He had to admit he liked the lilt she put on it. Not superior or clipped as Beverly would have but with an affectionate, teasing edge. And still the respect was there.

“Missile room,” he corrected. “Final check before I go off duty.” He looked down on her, realizing once again how tiny she was. Without heels, her head barely topped his shoulders. “Let me guess. You’re on your way to the observation nose?”

“Good call, Mister Morton. I’ll walk with you a bit and take a detour.” Dey fell into step beside him, still grinning. “You know, you aren’t so bad for a guy who’s almost forty and doesn’t know how to drive.”

“I’m thirty-six and, if we’re going back to that, you need to learn how to park.”

She laughed brightly. “Truce. I could have done better, but the damn car just died on me. Claire’s been after me to buy something more reliable for awhile now. I guess I’ll have to.” She slanted a sideways glance in his direction. “Thirty-six. I bet you’ve bought a lot of cars in your day. You’d probably even know what to look for when it comes to all that garbage under the hood.”

Chip raised a brow. “Garbage?”

“I’m an artist, not a mechanic.” Dey shrugged, looking at him steadily. “So if I decided to buy a new car, would you be up to tagging along and giving your opinion? I don’t want to drive off the lot with a lemon.”

Chip looked at her, measuring her gaze. No teasing, no flippancy, just honesty. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was slyly asking for a date. “How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-eight. Is that some kind of prerequisite to buying a car?”

Okay, so she was older than he thought, but still only three years older than his sister. Why did that feel so terribly . . . young? Maybe it was more her attitude than her age. That free-spirit, artistic, take-a-gamble-on-life-outlook that his mother always ran with. He was tempted to ask if she liked Carlos Castaneda, granola and chanting at house plants, but silenced the thought. 

The woman was hardly flighty. She owned her own business, was conscientious, intelligent and enjoyable to be with. Worse, he was starting to grow attracted to her. Not starting - - was. It had been building for a while now. If he were honest, there had been a spark from that first initial meeting on the road. He’d just been too irritated to own up to it. Was he nuts for allowing such a strong pull of attraction to build after just splitting with Beverly? Maybe it was nothing more than classic rebound syndrome. 

“Call me when you’re ready to car shop,” he said. Time to change the subject before he read too much into her invitation. They rounded a corner, and he refocused on Murphy. “I heard filming went good today. Must have made Lew Murphy feel better after that blunder with the tie-down.”

Dey bit her lip, looking uncomfortable. Chip knew the uneasiness had nothing to do with her but rather her uncle’s employment of someone who’d made such a careless mistake. “It was a reckless error. Captain Crane could have been seriously hurt, possibly even killed, if not for Chief Sharkey. Uncle Cecil really lit into Lew when they were alone. He’ll overlook mistakes, but sloppiness and negligence are usually enough to get someone fired.”

“How long has Murphy worked for your uncle?”

“Not long. Just a few months. His references were out of date, but his sample work was impressive. Uncle Cecil decided to take a chance on him.”

“Then you don’t really know a lot about him?”

She looked at him strangely. “Uncle Cecil’s not Navy. He doesn’t run FBI background checks on employees or demand the names of their first borns.”

Chip gave a soft snort. “I just meant you haven’t worked with him long enough to form a good opinion. And from the sounds of it your uncle hasn’t either.”

“Okay, I see what you mean.” Dey backed off a bit. “If you want my personal opinion, I think Lew is very good at showing others only what he wants them to see. It’s like . . .” She trailed off, silently trying to rationalize her observation. “. . . when you look in a mirror. You see a reflection, not the person inside.”

“And that’s what you think of Lew? He’s a reflection?”

She pressed her lips together, struggling to make herself understood. “No. I’m not explaining it right. It’s just that I don’t think he’s as awkward as he makes himself out to be. Get rid of the thick glasses and out-of-date clothing, muss up his hair a bit, and I think he’d go from looking like a wide-eyed innocent to a predatory wolf. Every once in a while you can catch a flash of . . . something . . . in his eyes. I told Uncle Cecil about it once and he said I have an overactive imagination. Maybe the guy is exactly what he seems - - a gawky klutz - - I just tend to look past the surface.”

“Past the reflection,” Chip muttered thoughtfully. “In this case, you might be right. Has Murphy ever mentioned Lee?”

“Captain Crane?” Dey looked up at him surprised. “Only in general. Why?”

Chip told her about Kowalski finding Murphy outside of Lee’s cabin and Lew’s supposed reason for being there.

“Lew’s a little whacky, Chip. I wouldn’t put it past him to think nothing of trotting off and offering an apology at midnight.”

“Maybe.” Chip still wasn’t satisfied. He’d have to see if he could spend some time around Murphy and fish for his own impressions.

Dey read into his silence. “If you’re worried about Lee, why don’t you say something to him?”

Chip balked, his initial shock morphing into a frown. “Lee can take care of himself.”

“Is that why you ran down to the missile room yesterday to check on him?”

His scowl dug deeper. “He’s the captain of the boat. As his executive officer it was my duty to make sure he could function.”

“What about as his friend?”

Chip hedged, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking. “That’s irrelevant.”  

Dey held her sketchbook to her chest, wrapping her arms around it and looking straight ahead. “How typically male.”

“What does that mean?”

“Just that women would have talked the whole thing out by now and solved the problem - - whatever it is. And don’t tell me there isn’t a problem.” She sent him a sharp chastising glance. “That much is obvious.” Disgusted, she shook her head. “Men are such Neanderthals.” 

Chip was uncertain if he should be annoyed or amused. “You sound like my sister.”

“I happen to like Veronica. If she ends up moving to Santa Barbara, I have the feeling she and I will end up as good friends.” 

The thought of Veronica pulling up stakes for Kowalski immediately soured Chip’s mood. It was the whole reason he and Lee were currently on the outs. He felt a flicker of exasperation and came to a sudden halt, turning to Dey. “Okay, if women are so damn on the ball, you tell me how to fix it. I said something to Lee I shouldn’t have. Something pretty awful.”

She blinked, surprised he would confide in her. In the next instant, the corner of her eyes crinkled with amusement. “I can’t imagine you of all people getting angry and losing control.” He knew she was referring to their run-in on the road. She smiled to ease the sting of the observation, then shook her head. “Good friends get past things, Chip. Whatever you said, I’m sure Lee’s already forgiven you for it.”

“Well, look, it wasn’t entirely my fault. He shouldn’t have been involved in that thing with Veronica and Kowalski in the first place. I just blew a gasket.”

“Being a protective brother?” Dey raised an eyebrow. “Veronica confided in Lee rather than you, and that left you feeling usurped by your best friend?”

He nodded, his frustration deflating. She’d pegged it. He blew out his cheeks in a large exhale and decided it was time to own up to the realization his sister was capable of making her own decisions. Maybe Lee was right. If he’d been more open to Veronica’s feelings in the first place, she wouldn’t have felt the need to go behind his back and seek Lee’s help. He’d talk things out with his friend the next chance he had. 

He was about to thank Dey for her advice when Kowalski’s voice suddenly crackled across the intercom. 

“Doctor Jamieson  . . . this is Kowalski.” The rating sounded harried and short of breath. “I need you in the missile room. Captain . . . Captain Crane’s been hurt.” 

Already near the room, Chip pivoted and bolted down the corridor. There was a sharp rap over the intercom followed by a softer tapping as if Kowalski had dropped the hand mic and it bungeed on its spiral chord, thumping against the bulkhead. He heard Jamieson’s voice demanding the nature of Lee’s injury, but Kowalski never replied. A quiet tap-tap was the only sound echoing through the speakers. A few more steps and Chip was around the corner, Dey on his heels.

The hatch to the missile room yawned on its hinges. The guard who was normally stationed outside when visitors were onboard was nowhere in sight. Chip felt the hair prickle on the back of his neck. He shoved into the room and the stench hit him immediately.

Blood. And something heavier, putridly sweet. Something wretched he’d only ever smelled once before when he’d witnessed a fatal explosion during his first sub duty. Burned flesh.

He raised a hand to his mouth to stifle a gag.

That was when he spied Lee and Kowalski.

**********

The cruise had been trying for Lee. Initially, he’d been looking forward to being at sea again, but having Chip ticked off at him sucked the enjoyment out of the assignment. Nelson had been tied up with Cecil and, with Chip not talking to him, Lee spent most of his off-watch time roaming the boat or trying to immerse himself in paperwork in his cabin. It wasn’t just the coarseness of Chip’s remark that bothered him, but the buried truth behind it. 

He was starting to question whether he truly had a future with Alyssa. Had she really gone out of town to give him a break? She had to know marriage had been weighing heavily on his mind lately. He wasn’t sure he was ready to walk down the aisle, but he wanted to know her heart was in the same place as his. There was no question they loved each other, but did she love him enough to let go of her fears regarding her age?

He wished he could talk to Chip about it, but Chip was the one who’d started him thinking along the lines in the first place with his less-than-sensitive remark. He knew his friend had been pumped up on anger when he’d made the comment. He didn’t blame Chip. How could he when Lee had been pulling strings behind his back with Kowalski, Veronica and even Dey Montgomery?

Lee shook away the thoughts and stepped into the missile room, passing Lorrick on duty outside. Kowalski was crouched near the diving bell, a welding shield lowered over his face as he used an acetylene torch to reinforce a metal joint at the base of the bell. No one else was in the room, duty crews pared down for another night. Lee paused to pull Kowalski’s report from a clipboard on a nearby rack.

The rating shut off the torch, and stood, raising the shield of his welding helmet.

“How’s it going, Ski?” Lee flipped through the pages of the report. 

“Almost done, Sir. I know the admiral wants this bell ready for Mr. Honeywell tomorrow. I’ve just got one more weld.”

Lee nodded. “Okay. How about taking a break? This report says we’re short emergency breathing gear for the bell.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Go down to supply and make sure we have adequate stores. I’d like to have everything in place tonight.”

“I was going to do that as soon as I finished the welding, Sir.”

“I’ll wait while you do it. It will give me a chance to double check the bell if you break now.”

“Yes, Sir.” Kowalski pulled off the helmet and turned, setting the torch carefully aside. 

Lee watched him go then cranked open the hatch on the bell and climbed inside. He took the clipboard with him, manually running through the checklist, glad to have something to occupy his mind. Five minutes later, he backed out and braced the clipboard on a rack with diving equipment, scribbling a notation regarding the emergency stores. He heard footsteps behind him.

Lee kept writing, not bothering to raise his head. “That was quick. How’d you do in supply, Ski?”

He heard a short grunt of laughter, low and amused, and immediately felt his danger-instinct kick into high gear. Not Kowalski. Lee pivoted on his heel but wasn’t fast enough to escape the sharp pierce of a knife. The room swam as the initial shock washed over him. Lew Murphy pressed up against him, driving a 4 1/2 inch serrated switchblade into his side. Lee heard the wet suck of the wound, felt the cold metal flange of the hilt snugged tightly against his flesh. He tried to recoil and stumbled back against the equipment rack. The clipboard careened to the side and clattered to the deck.

Murphy sneered. His glasses were gone, his usually lackluster eyes malignant and dark. “Surprised, Crane? Mr. Wynter sends his compliments.”

Lee ground his teeth together. He wrapped both hands around Murphy’s wrist and tried to wrench the blade free. All the man had to do was rip the knife upward and he knew he was dead. He could feel sweat on his forehead, cold, fat drops mocking him for a fool. He should have known from the moment he’d caught Murphy lingering outside his cabin, the man wasn’t whom he claimed to be.

But a cohort of Wynter? Two years ago, the traitor had tortured him under the direction of the People’s Republic. If not for Lee exposing who he really was, Wynter would still be a captain in the U.S. Navy, feeding classified information to the People’s Republic and going by the name of Kurt DeWitt.

“You’ll never get off Seaview,” Lee grunted through clenched teeth. His heart was a loud blood-thump in his ears. His hands, tight and slick with his own blood, were clamped around Murphy’s wrist.

“They’ll never know I killed you.” Murphy pressed him back into the rack. Lee grunted against the pain, desperate now to keep the man’s hands locked in place. “I knocked out your guard and dumped him down the hall. He never saw me. By the time anyone finds you I’ll be in my cabin asleep.”

“You sonofabitch. Wynter...”

“... hasn’t forgotten you, Captain. You’ll be dead before anyone shows up here.”

“Don’t count on it,” a new voice said.

There was a split second of shock on Murphy’s face before Kowalski’s fist connected with the side of his head. The man dropped to the deck with a thud and Lee felt the knife blunder free. He staggered, unable to support his own weight, wrapping an arm around the rack to hold himself upright. For five disorienting seconds he didn’t know what followed . . . only heard the sounds of a scuffle as darkness crowded close and threatened to pull him under. He heard a soft thwack, followed immediately by a grunt and knew Kowalski had been struck. His legs gave and he fell to his hands and knees, conscious of the blood dripping from his side onto his leg and the deck.

Murphy and Kowalski were a few feet away, both struggling for possession of the knife. Murphy had Kowalski on his back, straddling him, their hands locked together as they fought for the blood-soaked switchblade. Lee could see a darker patch of red on the rating’s tomato-colored jumpsuit below his right shoulder, and knew his strength wouldn’t hold. 

Lee groped for the acetylene torch, slipping as his knee slid out from under him on the blood-slicked deck. The sound of his breath was a harsh rasp in his ears. He heard another grunt from Kowalski, caught the clotted reek of sweat and fear. Then his fingers closed on the torch, and he grasped the striker with his free hand, crumbling to his shoulder to light it. The torch burst alive with a narrow, high-intensity jet of flame. Shoving to his knees, Lee lurched forward and raked it across Murphy’s back. The scream that ripped from the man’s throat was a maddened tangle of shock, red-veined terror and pain. The smell of singed clothing and burnt flesh assaulted Lee, mingling with the sour reek of blood. Murphy jerked upright like a marionette on a string then toppled to the side. 

“Skipper!” Kowalski scrambled toward Lee and snatched the torch from his hands.  

Even down, Murphy still clutched the knife. He howled in pain as he crawled to his feet, his face a contorted mask of rage and agony. Senseless in his misery, he staggered toward Lee, swinging blindly with the knife.

“Damn you!” Kowalski shoved the torch at him.

The last sound Lee heard was Murphy’s tortured wail as the skin melted from his face.

**********

It took Chip only a second to assimilate everything. Murphy, or what was left of him, was sprawled on his back on the deck, his face a ruin of burned flesh, exposed bone and blood. Behind him, he heard Dey give a choked cry, but his attention was already on Lee and Kowalski. The rating was injured, kneeling beside Lee, trying to staunch a wound in the captain’s side. Lee sat with his back propped against an equipment rack, limbs lax, eyes half closed, his consciousness clearly fragile.

“Kowalski.” Chip bolted forward. “What the hell happened?” Crouching at Lee’s side, he immediately took over applying pressure to the wound. Kowalski had made a compress from a wad of rags grabbed from the nearest locker. As Chip pressed down on the bloody laceration, Lee’s lashes flickered and he gave a low grunt of pain.

“Murphy . . .” Kowalski was obviously having problems fumbling through the explanation. His face was drawn, his skin bleached an unhealthy shade like cooked cabbage. “. . . he tried to kill the captain.”

Chip muttered a vulgar oath. It was obvious Ski was in pain, blood plastering his jumpsuit to his shoulder. Before he could tell the other man to sit back and wait for Jamieson, Dey helped him lean into the equipment rack beside Lee. She’d grabbed a towel from among the diving gear and was in the process of wrapping it around Kowalski’s shoulder.

“Let me help you, Rick.”

He gave an exhausted sigh as he wiped sweat from his forehead. “Mister Morton, Sir, is the skipper going to be all right?”

Chip glanced down at Lee, worried by the blood spreading over his hands. Where the hell was Jamieson? “Jamie will be here. We’ll get him to Sick Bay, Ski.”

“I should have been here sooner,” Ski berated himself. “He sent me  . . . sent me down to stores, and by the time I got back...-”

“It’s not your fault.” Chip grimaced and looked over his shoulder at Murphy’s ruined face. “Who did that?”

“I did, Sir. He was going to kill the captain.”

“Good job.” Chip’s mouth tightened. “Do you know why?”

“No, Sir.” Ski’s eyes shifted to Lee. He clapped a hand to the makeshift bandage Dey had wrapped around his shoulder to hold it in place and attempted to sit up. “Sir, if anything happens to Captain Crane...”

Hearing his name, Lee roused and gave a soft grunt, focusing on Chip bending over him. He wet his lips and tried to move. “Chip . . .”

“Take it easy, Lee.” The exec raised one bloody hand to his shoulder, stilling his movement. “Jamie’s on his way.”

“Kowalski.” Lee looked around, still dazed.

“I’m here, Sir.”

Lee blinked, finding the rating. “You all right?”

“Doc will stitch me up. I’ll be fine, Skipper.”

“Lee, you need to stop talking,” Chip chided gently. “Conserve your energy.” He still hadn’t released his hand from over the wound. He felt Lee’s fingers wrap around his, squeezing weakly. His friend gave a weary sigh and closed his eyes, resting his head against the equipment rack. 

“Glad you’re here,” Lee mumbled.

Chip felt a lump form in his throat. If anyone should be mentally kicking his ass, it was him. He should have been more astute to Murphy’s treachery, and he would have been if he hadn’t been at odds with Lee. At the very least, he should have told his friend about Murphy’s midnight foray outside his cabin. Kowalski had known immediately the whole thing smelled suspicious. Hell, it stank like yesterday’s garbage! Why hadn’t he swallowed his damn pride and said something to Lee? 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said quietly. He raised his hand from Lee’s shoulder, grazing a knuckle across his friend’s cheek. It left a smudge of blood, but he knew Lee felt the affection in the simple gesture. 

Chip raised his eyes, looking at Dey. She was still crouched beside Kowalski, but her gaze met his and he got the impression she understood what he was feeling. Didn’t artists always read into the soul? She looked green around the gills, and her violet eyes were overly large, dark with shock. Her fingers trembled where they clutched the bandage on Ski’s shoulder, and her mouth had drawn into a tight white line. Between the stench of blood and boiled flesh, Chip was surprised she was holding up at all. 

Before he could say anything, Admiral Nelson burst into the room trailed by Dr. Jamieson and two corpsmen with a stretcher. Chip breathed a sigh of relief.

It didn’t take long for him and Dey to be hustled out of the way as Jamieson bent over Lee and Nelson demanded to know what had taken place. Chip supplied what answers he could with Kowalski, now on his feet and swaying slightly, filling in the blanks.

As Jamie worked over Lee, Chip called for a security detail to remove Murphy’s body. Within moments, the whirlwind of activity was over. Lee was taken to Sick Bay on a stretcher, Nelson aiding Kowalski and trailing behind Jamieson and the corpsmen. Chip stood in the sudden silence of the missile room, looking at the blood smears on the deck. The odor of crisped flesh still hung in the air, mingled now with something sharply medicinal. He’d have to get someone down here to clean up the blood and wash away the evidence that Lee had almost died. Again. Over the last three years, his friend had used up more lives than a cat. 

Nauseated by the thought, Chip pressed his fingers to his forehead. He could feel a headache forming behind his eyes, splintering to his temples. He’d have to get the boat turned around, put an end to the filming, and head back to Santa Barbara a day early. He didn’t know why Murphy had tried to kill Lee but he intended to find out. He’d take Dey with him and talk to Cecil, make sure no one else on the film crew had similar ideas. He’d...

The thoughts stopped abruptly as he spotted Dey. She stood in the center of the room staring at the open hatch, a blank expression on her face. She looked lost to Chip, a little shocky. Her skin was gray, her cheekbones lightly stippled with sweat. Once again he noticed her eyes were dark, overly large, as if she couldn’t comprehend what had just taken place.

Concerned, he took a step forward. “Deyanne?”

She blinked in his direction. “I think I’m going to be sick now,” she said, and promptly threw up.

**********

Dey moaned and curled onto her side, tucking her knees close to her chest. She was snuggled in the bed - - what had Chip called it . . . a ‘rack’? - - in her cabin, the malicious throbbing in her head reduced to a manageable ache. She wished Chip were there but knew he was in Sick Bay where he belonged. With Lee Crane.

She was embarrassed to have thrown up in front of him but the smell - - God, that abominable reek of burned flesh and blood - - had finally gotten to her. She’d tried not to look at Lew Murphy, but when they’d moved his body, the fire-ravaged flesh had slid from his face with a slurping sound. She’d turned away quickly, swallowing back bile, closing her eyes against a sudden fierce sting of tears. Chip had wrapped an arm around her, shielding her from the view, and she’d felt vulnerable enough to bury her face against him. Eventually he’d left, trailing Lee’s stretcher as far as the hatch before returning to survey the wreck of carnage on the deck. She knew there was blood. Had there been flesh too? 

That’s when he’d called her name, and the concern in his voice had sent all that buried vulnerability and terror burbling up from her gut. She felt like a fool for embarrassing herself in front of him. A complete and utter idiot. A stupid, helpless female.  

Damn.

The rest was mostly a blur. She remembered Chip offering her a handkerchief . . . wrapping an arm around her shoulders . . . helping her back to her cabin where she’d cleaned up. Afterward she’d crashed into the bunk, and he’d brought her a cold compress for her forehead with a glass of water and two aspirin. He said something about having one of the medics look at her since Jamieson was tied up with Lee and Kowalski but she’d told him it was just a case of nerves, that she’d be fine with some sleep. Strange how a traumatic event could make you so tired. She woke, thinking she’d slept through the night, but when she glanced at her watch, realized only three hours had passed. 

She sat upright, her body strangely stiff as if she’d suffered a physical blow rather than an emotional shock. It took her awhile to orient. Her hair was a messy tangle around her shoulders and back, the beaded cord for her pony tail having slipped free during her sleep. She finger-combed the heavy black veil away from her eyes and shoved to her feet. She wanted to find Chip, get the latest news on Crane and Kowalski. And what of her uncle? He was probably berating himself for bringing Lew Murphy onto the boat. How could he have been so wrong about someone? It was her uncle’s nature to give chances to the underdog - - in this case a mostly untried camera operator - - but the goodhearted gesture had backfired in his face. She’d always thought Lew a little strange, but why had he tried to kill Captain Crane?

Still disoriented, Dey made her way into the bathroom - - ‘head,’ she mentally corrected with a grimace - - stripped off her clothes, and climbed into the shower. Forty minutes later she poked her head into Sick Bay, not at all surprised to see Chip sitting quietly beside Lee’s bunk. He was partially turned away from her, the soft wash of ambient light in the room dimmed for sleep, haloing his profile with a defined edge of gold. Butterflies fluttered awake in her stomach as she recalled his arm around her and the way she’d unabashedly crushed her face to his chest. She’d been too upset at the time to think about what she was doing but, now that she had a chance to dwell on it, she felt a hot flush of color on her cheeks. He’d held her close, protectively. She’d felt safe in his arms as if the violence of what had taken place in the missile room couldn’t touch her. In a selfish way she wanted that feeling back. Wanted to forget the slick feel of blood on her fingers as she’d held the bandage in place over Kowalski’s shoulder . . . wanted to banish the idea that someone she’d known could hate enough to kill.

A small sound of distress slipped from her throat before she could stop it. Chip’s head whipped around in her direction and he started to stand.

“Stay there,” she said quickly, quietly moving forward. Her hand went to his shoulder, urging him to remain seated. She could feel strength in his muscles, tiredness too. He looked up at her, the ever-present edge gone from his remarkable sky-colored eyes. Instead, she saw a foggy kind of weariness that told her he was exhausted.

Dey glanced to the bunk. Lee was sleeping peacefully, his face turned toward the bulkhead. “How is he?” she asked, keeping her voice low so as not to disturb his sleep.

“Sedated. Jamie says he was lucky - - the knife missed any vital organs. He had to irrigate the wound and Lee needed blood. The sutures are going to give him grief when he wakes up, but I’ll take that over the alternative.”

She heard the terse edge in his voice. “You sound angry.”

“Do I?” He looked at her startled, then as if realizing his tone, stood and paced behind her, hands stuffed in his pockets. “He has too many close calls, Deyanne. You don’t know how many times I’ve done this . . . sitting at his side waiting for him to recover, thanking God because he didn’t die.”

The edge was still there, but it wasn’t as bitter. She knew he needed to vent but wasn’t sure Sick Bay was the place for it. She glanced around, realizing the rest of the racks were empty. Even Jamieson was out. She’d heard Chip and Nelson were taking turns sitting with Lee but, whereas the crew led her to believe it was usually the admiral fiercely glued to the captain’s side, this time it was his executive officer. Dey guessed that Chip was blaming himself for the distance he’d allowed to exist between him and Lee. Whatever harsh words he’d exchanged with his friend before the near-tragedy, she was sure they sat like a cold rock in his gut.

“What about Rick?” she asked. “His shoulder...”

“Jamieson stitched him up and sent him to the crew’s quarters. He’s going to be sore, and he’ll probably need a week of therapy, but he’ll be fine.”

“Did you talk to him?”

Chip glanced at her sharply. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t you think that kind of man . . . someone who would willingly risk his life, put himself in danger, and take a blow meant for someone else is a good prospect for your sister?” 

“He’s expected to defend his captain - - and anyone else on this sub, if necessary.”

Dey frowned. She stepped closer, nearer than she’d intended and tilted her head to gaze into his eyes. “Let me tell you something, Commander Morton. Your sister is perfectly capable of deciding for herself whom she falls in love with. You don’t get the option to sign off on her boyfriends just because you’re her brother.”

He winced. “I know that.”

“If you were my brother and you tried to pull that macho-protective crap with me, I’d tell you where you could stick your opinion.” Her face softened as she let him down off the hook she’d sharpened. “Then I’d tell you how every girl dreams of a big brother who acts like a knight-in-shining-armor. She just needs to know he isn’t going to separate her from her Prince Charming.”

Chip gave a soft snort, but couldn’t stop a grin. “Kowalski? Prince Charming?”

“I think he’s handsome.”

“You’ve got screwed up taste.”

“Then I guess it doesn’t do any good to say I think you’re handsome too.”

She knew she’d caught him off guard. She didn’t even know why she’d said something so inanely stupid. Maybe she was just feeling grateful over how attentive he’d been in the missile room, then later in her cabin. Or maybe it was the touchingly admirable concern he had for his friend, Lee Crane.

Hell, yes, he was handsome. His medallion-bright hair and winter-ice eyes were enough to make her heart skip a beat but, in the end, it was his strength of character and personality that had won her over. He really was like a knight of yore, holding to some ancient code of chivalry. 

So she’d stuck her foot in it. She’d said something she wasn’t ready to admit. During her first encounter with the man she’d shrieked at him like a banshee and now here she was telling him she thought he was handsome. Way to go, Dey. Muck up the water when he’s concerned about his friend.

To her surprise, Chip grinned. “A compliment. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

She pressed her lips together, trying for a scowl but the grin surfaced anyway. Before she could say anything she heard Lee moan softly and shift on the bunk. Chip’s face changed instantly, the lightness of his expression driven away by alarm. He was across the room at his friend’s side before she could so much as blink.

“Lee?” Chip bent over the rack, one hand cupping the back of his friend’s head. Dey caught the downward sweep of his lashes, the sharp intensity of his eyes as he focused on Seaview’s captain. “It’s okay, Lee. You’re in Sick Bay. Jamie gave you a sedative to keep you still. You’ve got fresh sutures, but you’re going to be all right. Do you have much pain?”

“I . . .” Lee’s eyes were a thin slit, the barest glimmer of toasted almond and pine visible beneath his heavy lashes. “How’s Ski?” 

Dey noticed he hadn’t answered Chip’s question, asked about Murphy or even himself. The first words out of his mouth were for his injured crewmember. 

“Jamie stitched him up. He’s going to be fine. He’s already back at quarters.” Chip was still bent over Lee, his eyes searching his friend’s face. “Do you want me to get Jamie . . . for the pain? He went to get some coffee.”

Lee gave a marginal shake of his head, slightly more alert. “No. I don’t feel much. He must have me doped up on some heavy stuff.” He looked up at Chip. “Murphy?”

“Dead.” Chip dragged a chair close and sat down. Dey abruptly felt like she was intruding. If she left, maybe they would talk out their differences.

“Thought so.” Lee’s lashes dipped, his eyes heavy. “Wynter sent him,” he whispered tiredly.

Chip blanched. Dey had no idea who Wynter was. She’d never heard Murphy mention the name, but it clearly meant something to Seaview’s executive officer. He muttered an angry epithet, his expression hard. Dey started to back out of the room but Lee was already drifting off again. She could see that his eyes had closed completely, and his breathing grew softer and deep. Chip realized it too and didn’t pry for more information. Instead he lifted one hand and tucked the edge of the blanket higher on his friend’s shoulder as if making sure he was warm enough.

Dey was still on the edge of leaving when Jamieson returned. Chip told him that Lee had awakened briefly and hadn’t seemed troubled by pain. Dey guessed the IV pole beside Lee’s bunk held a morphine drip and, once it was removed, he’d need oral medication to keep the pain at bay or, at the very least, tolerable. She’d seen firsthand the damage Lew Murphy had done and knew the dark-haired captain was lucky to be alive. It was no wonder Chip looked so emotionally drained.

He left after a short while, Jamieson shooing them both from Sick Bay. It was after 0100 and the doctor seemed to think the best place for them was in their respective cabins. Somehow they ended up in the wardroom again, sitting across from each other. 

Chip looked ready to keel over from exhaustion but Dey knew he was far too keyed up to sleep. She had no doubt she could crash back into her bunk with little effort but didn’t want to leave him alone. It didn’t require a mind-reader to know he needed to talk. He might not recognize that but, with a woman’s intuition, she did.

They sat in silence for a moment, the only two people in the room. Chip cradled a mug of coffee between his hands while she had hot cocoa. She’d tried to steer him away from the coffee knowing it would just keep him up, but he’d mumbled something about wanting to be alert enough to check on Lee later. 

At least he hadn’t touched the highly-caffeinated mud. He was, however, plainly in a funk, his expression brooding as he stared down at the dark liquid. She had a feeling it had something to do with the name she’d heard Lee mention - - Wynter. That somehow the revelation compounded whatever unfounded guilt Chip was already feeling. She knew asking about the name would only make him more despondent, so she tried something completely off track.

Dey took a sip of her cocoa and looked across the table. “Tell me about the Seven Stars.”

**********

Chip blinked, rousing from a mental slump. He stared at her blankly as if forgetting how she’d gotten there, then tried to assemble his thoughts. He’d been mentally beating himself up from the moment Lee had mentioned that most hated of names. 

Wynter. 

If anyone deserved to die a traitor’s death it was the man who’d ruthlessly tortured and brainwashed Lee, then set himself up to take Lee’s place on Seaview. How long ago had Wynter and Murphy planned the attack? It had to have been formulated months in the past given that was when Murphy originally wormed his way into Cecil Honeywell’s employ. Wynter - - or as he’d been known to the U.S. Navy, DeWitt - - was certainly patient in exacting revenge. It had been over two years since Lee had been his prisoner. And now . . .

If Kowalski hadn’t returned to the missile room when he did, Lee might very well be dead. Chip had dropped the ball, too pissed at his friend to be watching his back. To make his blunder worse, Murphy was dead, and they had no way of tracing the trail back to Wynter. How long before the man came after Lee again?

“Chip?”

“What?” He bit the word off sharply like he didn’t care for the taste. 

Why was he snapping at Deyanne anyway? He knew she was only trying to help. The woman deserved a break. She could have come completely unglued in the missile room the moment she’d stepped through the hatch, but she’d held it together until after the emergency had passed. Hell, she was a guest on the sub and she’d been thrust into the middle of an attempted murder, holding a bloody bandage on a crewmember’s arm, exposed to a corpse with the flesh seared from its face. Most women would have turned into a shrieking, blubbering basket case.

He’d been impressed by her strength and her coolness under pressure. Even now she could have ditched him and headed to her cabin instead of keeping him company. He knew she was exhausted. He could see the evidence of that fatigue in the smudges of shadow beneath her violet eyes. It was time for him to pull it together and stop being a jerk. Yeah, he’d screwed up, but he had no right to vent his frustration on her.

He cleared his throat. “What?” he asked, gently this time.

She hadn’t taken offense to his initial tone. “I asked you about the Seven Stars. Why did you buy my painting for Lee?”

“I told you. He likes lightships.”

“I think it’s more than that.” She was watching him steadily, challenging him to deny it.

Chip couldn’t. But how to explain Lee had almost died then too? That he’d been used by something so ancient it was a being with no name. That after it had left him, rather than feeling relief, he’d felt a profound sense of loss.

Chip had wanted him to hate it and, for a while Lee had but, in the end after it finished tormenting him, he’d felt a disquieting empathy for it. Like the Seven Stars, the creature had been the last of its kind, ultimately sacrificing its life for Lee. For that reason alone, Lee couldn’t think of one without recalling the other.

“Okay, you’re right. It’s more than that, but I wouldn’t feel comfortable talking about it.” The connection between the creature and Lee had been disturbingly intimate, and Chip didn’t think his friend would want that unnatural bond discussed. “It’s kind of private.”

Dey didn’t appear offended. “I respect that.” She lowered her eyes and took a sip of the cocoa. 

Chip could smell the sweet chocolaty aroma and was having second thoughts about turning it down. As tired as he was, he knew it would just make him sleepy and he wanted to go back to Sick Bay and sit with Lee. He looked at the coffee in his cup and grimaced. Any more caffeine and the acid would eat through his stomach lining.

“You must think I’m a pretty rotten friend to Lee,” he volunteered when silence had crept over them again. “I let this thing fester too long.” He glanced up abruptly, deciding a different perspective might help. “Before you came aboard Seaview, what did you know about Lee?”

Dey nestled back against the bulkhead, propping her shoulder against the corner. She lifted the mug of cocoa, cradling it in her hands. “Not much. I knew he was captain of the Seaview and, according to Uncle Cecil, held a key position at N.I.M.R.”

“What about your public impression of him?”

“Public?” Dey looked confused.

Chip sighed. “You must not read the society page.”

“Oh!” She seemed to grasp where he was headed. “No, I don’t, but I understand what you mean now. He’s dating the model, Alyssa Halston. I’ve heard that and seen their picture once or twice.”

“Ex-model,” Chip clarified, though he wondered if it made any difference. Once a celebrity, always a celebrity. “She runs her own modeling agency now.” Chip scowled, remembering the nasty comment he’d made. Alyssa would have bitten his head off if she’d gotten wind of it. “Did you know she’s Nelson’s ex-wife?”

Dey blinked, stunned. “Admiral Nelson?”

Chip nodded. 

“And the admiral’s okay with that?”

“His marriage to Alyssa ended a long time ago. They were both in their twenties. In the beginning, when he first found out about her and Lee, it was touch-and-go. After awhile I think Nelson came to realize how dedicated they are to each other. Some people are just meant to be together. Alyssa and Lee are like that.”

Dey sat forward, resting her cocoa on the table. “That’s very sweet, Chip. I don’t see what the problem is.”

He exhaled loudly, feeling the press of guilt and misery all over again. “Because I said something really rotten. Alyssa tends to get hung up on the difference in their ages. She thinks she’s too old for Lee and I rubbed his nose in that.”

“But she’s gorgeous! I’ve seen the pictures. She doesn’t look a day over forty and she’s probably got less body fat than I do.” Abruptly animated, she leaned across the table. “My God, I’d pay money to look like that at...” She stopped suddenly as the realization struck. 

Alyssa wasn’t as old as Nelson but she had enough years on Lee to make their romance titillating fodder for the tabloids. 

“Lee’s thirty-five,” Chip said quietly. He rolled the coffee cup between his hands. “I know how much Alyssa means to him, how much he loves her and . . . I still . . .” He couldn’t seem to get the words past his throat. “. . . said what I did.” He shook his head. “I should be writing trash gossip for smut sheets,” he muttered in disgust. 

Dey narrowed her eyes. “And you think that’s the reason he’s not talking to you?”

“I know it is.”

She shook her head as if trying to guide a slow-witted child. “Eighteen years of friendship. You must have been pretty ticked off to say something so terrible.”

“I was. I was furious with him.”

“Exactly.”

“Huh?” He gaped at her stupidly.

Once more, Dey shook her head. “Chip, Lee’s probably been avoiding you because he thinks you’re still angry with him. I’m sure he was upset by your remark but he’d also realize you said it out of anger. A thoughtless comment doesn’t ruin a friendship. He isn’t talking to you, because he thinks you’re still furious with him. He can’t change what he did anymore than you can take back what you said.”

Chip blinked, stunned by the idea. It took a second for the logic to sink in. “Hey, you’re pretty smart.” Suddenly his stomach didn’t feel so acidy. He was no longer bowed under by gloom but elated by the prospect he hadn’t done irreparable damage to his friendship with Lee. All along he’d thought Lee had been avoiding him because he was miffed by the comment but, if what Dey said was true, Lee was simply giving him room, waiting for him to cool down so they could put everything back on an even keel.

Dey smiled over her cocoa and winked at him. “I’m pretty too. Admit it. I think you owe me a compliment.”

Chip grinned. “Let me take you on a date when we get back to Santa Barbara, and I might rummage up several.” 

“You have to rummage?”

He shrugged then broke into laugher. “You’re beautiful, Deyanne, and not just on the outside.” He saw her blush and reached across the table to take her hand, folding his fingers over hers. “I have a friend at the Institute who would say our meeting on the road was fate. She believes in connections like that.”

Dey raised her eyes, the traces of violet a beguiling lilac-amethyst against deeper midnight blue. “And you don’t?”

She looked ragged and tired, her long hair a messy black tangle over her shoulders and back. Her features were drawn, strained by the events of the last several hours. Yet despite that bone-weary fatigue Chip thought she’d never looked more beautiful. Beverly who?

He squeezed her hand. “I’ve started to.”

**********

Lee was edgy. 

Seaview was three days into her journey back to Santa Barbara. Jamie had only recently released him to his cabin with strict orders for him to remain in bed. He was allowed short jaunts to his desk but, for no more than a few hours at a time, so he wouldn’t exhaust himself. Medication kept his pain manageable, and Cookie brought him meals in his cabin. He wanted to visit the control room - - just to observe, he’d promised - - but even Nelson had vetoed the idea.

“You’re not going to do anything but rest, Captain! Consider yourself confined to quarters for the duration of this cruise.”

Lee wasn’t happy about it but he understood Nelson’s penchant for overkill. He was normally able to get his way with the man he considered a surrogate father but, when it came to Lee’s health, the admiral tended to put his foot down.

They’d talked at length about Lew Murphy and Wynter, but even Cecil was unable to help much. Murphy’s references had been out of date, likely fabricated, but Cecil had found him earnest enough to take a chance on a mostly untried cameraman. Nelson and Chip went through Murphy’s cabin and belongings, but there was nothing to tie him to Wynter or even provide a hint of the traitor’s whereabouts. At least now Lee knew Wynter still held an active grudge against him. He’d grown lax after two years but would have to be more vigilant in the future, including watching over Alyssa. He wouldn’t put it past the vindictive S.O.B. to harm her in order to get to him.

He sighed, sitting up on his bunk, propping his shoulders against the bulkhead at the head of the rack. He wasn’t looking forward to explaining a near-fatal knife wound to the woman he loved. Alyssa understood his job was dangerous and that he’d amassed a cache of enemies over the years, especially as an operative with ONI. But that wouldn’t stop her from breaking down in tears when she realized she’d almost lost him.

Again.

Most women would have left him long ago unable to handle the emotional stress and constant worry, not to mention the frequency of how often he was away. But they were fourteen months into their relationship, and he held no doubts she was the woman he wanted to marry. If only she felt the same. If only she wasn’t so damn hung up on her age.

His musing gave way at the sound of a knock on the cabin door. Lee debated about getting up to answer it, but decided it would earn him a chewing out if Nelson or Jamie waited on the other side. “Come in,” he called.

The door swept inward and his blond executive officer stepped into the cabin. “Hey . . .” Chip’s smile was a little dimmer than usual, uncertain at the edges. “I’ve got some time before I go on duty and wanted to see how you’re doing now that you’ve been sprung from Sick Bay.”

Lee motioned him into the room. “Feeling cooped up already.”

Chip had been to see him several times in Sick Bay, always attentive and concerned for his health but they still hadn’t discussed the rift that had placed them at odds for most of the voyage. Lee wasn’t looking forward to it, uncertain how to fix the damage he’d caused but knew they’d have to address it sooner or later. Chip’s crudely uncharacteristic remark about Lee’s relationship with Alyssa told him just how furious his friend had been. Even under trying circumstances, Chip normally would never have said anything so cutting.

“Two more days and we’ll be in port.” Chip pulled a chair close to the bunk and sat down. “How’s the pain?”

“Tolerable. Jamie has me on something that knocks me out whenever I take it. He tried to tell me it’s a side-effect but I think he planned it that way.” 

Chip grinned. “Probably. If you’re zonked out he doesn’t have to worry about you roaming the boat.

“He doesn’t have to worry anyway. He already told me if he so much as catches me in the corridor he’ll drag me back to Sick Bay. The admiral backed him up and threatened to post a guard outside my door if necessary.”

Chip laughed. “Nelson would.”

They fell quiet for a moment, but the lapse felt strained and uncomfortable. Lee glanced down, clearing his throat self-consciously. After a second, he decided to plow ahead, his eyes snapping back to Chip’s face. “You’ve been scarce lately.”

Chip hedged. “With you out of commission, I’ve been handling the boat. Then there was that mess with Murphy . . . searching his cabin.”

Lee rolled his eyes. “Cut the crap. You know what I mean. I’m talking about before that.”

“Oh.” Chip folded his arms, rocking the chair back on two legs. He blustered through a shrug. “Yeah, I was kind of a jerk.” He thought about it a moment then shook his head with a ragged exhale. “Okay . . . not ‘kind of.’ I was, plain and simple. A certified moronic idiot. I screwed up, Lee.”

“So did I.”

Chip wasn’t listening. “I overreacted about the whole Ron/Kowalski thing.”

“If it weren’t for Ski I’d be dead.”

Chip grimaced, the thought paining him. “I know that. I’ve already talked to Ski. I told him he has my blessing as far as Veronica is concerned, not that it matters. She’s a Morton. She’ll do whatever she wants, regardless of what I think. I might as well help her instead of hindering her. According to Ski, she’s pretty set on moving to Santa Barbara. ”

“She didn’t want you making life miserable for him.”

“I won’t. It’s going to be a little dicey when the rest of the crew finds out, but Ski and I are both professional enough to keep our personal lives separate from what happens on the boat.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that.”

Chip exhaled, dropping the chair legs to the floor. “Wished I’d thought of it sooner.” He paused, glancing briefly at his hands. “I was an ass, Lee. What I said to you was really shitty. Not something a friend would say.”

“You were angry and had a right to be.”

“Maybe. But I know you’re not about popularity or the limelight, and I know how much you love Alyssa. I hope you know I didn’t mean it.”

“If I thought for a minute you did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” Lee grinned to ease the sting. “And next time I promise to include you when I’m stuck in the middle of Morton family business.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Chip smiled and raised a brow. “Besides, you’ve always been an honorary Morton. It’s that damn Crane charm. You’ve got my mother and sisters wrapped around your little finger, same as Lydia Starke.”

“Too bad it doesn’t work on you.”

“I know you too well. Faults and all.” Chip was silent for a moment. 

Lee could tell he was still uncertain the air had been cleared and tried to find a way to get him off the subject. They’d both screwed up. It was over, behind them, time to move forward. It was good to have his executive officer back, but he wanted his friend back too.

“I heard Riley grumbling because he struck out with Deyanne Montgomery. Word is she’s developed a soft spot for you.”

Chip grinned. The first true grin Lee had seen from him since the cruise started. “Yeah, it’s mutual. We’ve agreed to go on a date when we get back to port.”

“I thought she aggravated the hell out of you?”

“That was before I got to know her. I think you’ll like her, Lee. She’s nothing like Beverly.”

And then Chip started rambling, telling him about sketches and paintings, old Novas with rust spots, pie at midnight in the wardroom, and spinning webs. Before Lee knew it his eyes grew heavy, lulled by the comforting chatter of his friend’s voice. Content, he started to drift. He wasn’t sure when his eyes closed completely and his head dipped, but he was conscious of a sudden silence.

“You’re not listening to me, are you?”

Lee kept his eyes closed. “Yeah, I am,” he mumbled.

Chip snorted. “Sure you are.” Lee heard the chair creak as he stood. “Scrunch down on the bunk, Captain. You’re going to get a stiff neck propped up like that and Jamie will chew me a new you-know-what if I could have prevented it.”

Lee gave an obliging grunt, too tired to object. He slid down on the bunk, turning on his side and slipping a hand under his pillow. “Pills . . .” he muttered. “. . . tired . . . Jamie’s fault.” 

“Yeah, I know.” 

Lee heard the smile in Chip’s voice. He felt his friend tuck the blanket higher on his shoulder. “I’ll check back on you after watch. We can have dinner together if you feel up to it.”

Lee wanted to tell him to count on it but all he managed was another grunt, softer this time, already slipping under the veil of sleep. He heard the click of the light as Chip switched off the overhead, then the quiet tread of his friend’s footsteps as he left the cabin. A second later the door snapped in place. 

He felt a gentle brush against his cheek and sensed a presence he hadn’t in a long time. But as he drifted to sleep it wasn’t a slender white-haired ship’s spirit he dreamed of but a woman with fiery hair and storm-colored eyes. A woman who would be waiting for him when he returned home.

*****End*****

Other stories and characters referenced in Web Spinner:

The Seven Stars:  Appears in A Thousand Yesteryears

Wynter:  Appears in Flight Check (this is a WHN for the episode, The Saboteur)

Alyson Halston:  Introduced in Free Fall; appears in All that Glitters (one scene only), Midsummer, and Dinner at Eight. 

Veronica Morton:  Introduced in Midsummer

Seaview’s Spirit (Mae):  Introduced in Masquerade

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