Under Fire: The Admiral
blurting it out. He had so many questions.
    Why had she left? There was no way Gemma
would have been into anything illegal. Yet, he couldn’t dismiss the
gun, knife and her apparent ability to handle herself.

Chapter 4
     
     
    Ben dozed off and on until the rain stopped,
then he shifted and scooted, bringing Gemma with him, until he
could lean against the tree without fear of letting in rain. He
watched her reclined against him, face pressed into his chest, one
hand tucked under her chin, the other under her shirt gripping the
butt of the gun. A coconut thudded to the ground and she sat bolt
upright, gun in hand searching for a target.
    “Morning.”
    She looked at him, blinking sleep away.
    “Unless you’re worried about killer coconuts
you can put the gun away.”
    She surveyed the body configuration and
squinted suspiciously but didn’t move away.
    “My fault. It stopped raining. I scooted
against the tree to get comfortable and brought you with me.” He
shrugged. “You made yourself comfortable.” He smiled. “I didn’t
mind.”
    She disappeared the gun and ran the back of
her hand over her mouth.
    “Since you made this magnificent shelter,” he
said and looked around, “that kept us dry and safe from coconut
bombardment, alien lightning bolts, and killer tree branches, let
me fix breakfast. I was thinking of protein bars, jerky and
fresh-trapped rainwater.”
    She squinted at him suspiciously but sucked
in her lips to contain a smile.
    “I see Madam is not a morning person. Or is
it she would prefer coconut water? I’ll see to it immediately.” She
stared at him as if overnight he’d grown another head. He pushed
away the tarp and the fresh ocean air broke through, displacing the
warm still air around them. They both breathed deeply. He used his
free arm to point in the direction of the opening. “Shall we move
to the great outdoors?”
    She smiled one of those smiles that makes a
man feel good and that you have to return. He fought the
urge to kiss her. Not some horny tongue-and-tonsil-dance kiss but a
nice gentle good morning kiss on the forehead. Her expression
clouded like she was reading his thoughts.
    “We need to eat, pack up and get moving.” She
made to go out. He held her arm.
    “Thanks again for,” he looked around, “all
this and yesterday. Tell me what I can do to make things easier for
you today.”
    “That’s it. Hand over your Blowout pack.” Her
hand extended, fingers wiggling. “Now . ”
    Why the hell did she want the pack? She went to her knees. “Come on, Doc, hand it over. It isn’t nice
to be taking those meds when they aren’t needed.”
    “I didn’t take anything.”
    She pushed away part of the tarp, letting in
the morning light, leaned and checked his eyes. He smiled to
himself. His eyes were so dark even in bright light it was
difficult to tell if the pupils were dilated.
    “Follow my finger.” She moved it from his
nose to his ear, performing the low-tech field sobriety test. He
didn’t do it.
    “No. I didn’t take anything.”
    She sat back on her heels, hands resting on
her thighs. “Okay. Wanted to be sure you weren’t hallucinating or
getting delusional with the stress. ’Cause you’re way too funny and
charming this morning.” She looked around. “And it sure as hell
isn’t the accommodations.”
    “Go out. I’m fine.”
    She pushed her way out, dragging the packs
with her.
    “Funny and charming, huh?” he said, following
her out.
    Gemma said nothing, standing perfectly still
with a pack in each hand.
    “What’s . . . ?” Now he was standing
perfectly still. “Son of a bitch.” Around them looked like World
War II movie, after the Marines have stormed the beach. Coconuts,
large palm branches and downed trees littered the ground as far as
he could see. Gemma turned back to look at the shelter. He did the
same.
    “ We were fucking lucky,” she said, her
voice full of the awe he was feeling.
    The tree branch, his gaze climbed the

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