44 Cranberry Point

Bob considered mentioning his own fears, but remained silent.

"I felt it was important to finally confront the past. I'd spent all these years living with what I'd done. I was up for a Congressional Committee appointment, and I knew that my background would be investigated. What I discovered shocked me and it'll shock you." He gazed out at the cove again. "The massacre was documented in the files of Army Intelligence."

Bob's mouth fell open. "How could it have been? We were alone—no one knew. Someone talked?" Bob refused to believe it. Dan hadn't, and he'd kept his own mouth shut all these years.

"No. A reconnaissance group was there, hidden in the jungle. Snipers had been deployed to the village because of reported Viet Cong activity."

"Just a minute." Bob held up his hand, stopping the other man. His mind was racing, and he actually felt dizzy. This was more than he could take in all at once. "Are you saying someone actually saw everything that happened and reported it?"

Samuels nodded. "A sniper and his lookout. And," he added, "they're both dead. One died later in a helicopter crash, and the other had a heart attack about five years ago."

"The army knew all along what we'd done?"

Again the other man nodded. "As you can imagine, the authorities were eager to bury it as deep as possible, although the army's Criminal Investigation Command had the details." He still hadn't looked at Bob but kept his eyes focused on the water view.

Still Bob didn't fully comprehend everything Samuels was telling him. "The village was controlled by Viet Cong?"

Samuels forcefully expelled his breath. "In some ways I think it might've been better if I'd been killed that day. I've never forgotten what I did, or the sight of the women and children I murdered."

"I haven't forgotten, either," Bob added, struggling to retain his composure.

Samuels brushed a hand over his face. "We were doomed the moment we set foot in that village."

The murders of those men, women and children had shaped all four men forever afterward. They could no more go back into the jungle and alter the events of that long-ago afternoon than he could shrug off this load of shame and remorse. Knowing there'd be no official reprisals didn't make any difference to how he felt. Bob sipped his coffee and let it moisten his dry mouth.

"For years I suffered from flashbacks," Samuels confessed. "I was on antidepressants and sleeping pills. I didn't sleep through an entire night for ten years after I got back from Nam." He shrugged. "Often I still don't."

"For me it was nightmares," Bob said.

They were both quiet for several minutes after that, and Bob thought about those other two men, the sniper and his lookout, and what they'd seen. They'd reported it to army intelligence but obviously had never gone to the press. Was that on orders? Or out of loyalty to soldier comrades? He wondered how that experience—and that secret—had affected them. Bob decided he couldn't think about that anymore, not right now.

He broke the silence. "A friend of mine has a couple of questions regarding Russell. I'm hoping you wouldn't mind talking to him."

Samuels's eyes narrowed, and Bob saw his hands clench. "Who is it?"

"A private investigator I hired shortly after Max died. For a while there, I was afraid I might somehow have been involved with his death."

Samuels relaxed his hands. "If I can help, I will," he said simply.

Bob knew Roy was counting on that.

Forty-Seven

"Rachel, phone! Line one," Valerie shouted from the reception desk at Get Nailed.

Smiling apologetically at her client, Rachel reached behind her and grabbed the phone. "This is Rachel."

"Rachel, it's Nate."

Instantly her heart flew into her throat and she blinked wildly, trying to stay calm. "Hi," she said as casually as she could, but her voice was barely more than a whisper. They'd seen each other twice in the last month, at the same time she'd been seeing Bruce. She enjoyed Brace's company and adored Jolene, but he was more of a friend than a love interest. With Bruce she remained cautious; he seemed to enjoy their dates as much as she did, but there wasn't any deep romance between them and they both knew it.

"Can I see you tonight?" Nate asked urgently.

Rachel frowned. "This isn't a good time for me. Could we talk later?"

"It can't wait. Word just came down that we're shipping out."

The aircraft carrier George Washington was leaving the Bremerton shipyard!

"When?"

"Soon. Listen, I know you told me you're seeing this other guy."

"It's not that—"

"I'm involved with someone else, too, but I couldn't leave without at least saying goodbye."

Rachel closed her eyes, not knowing what to say. Before she could decide, her heart answered for her. "All right. When and where?"

He hesitated, and she leapt into the silence.

"Meet me at my place at seven, and we can figure it out then," she said and immediately wanted to kick herself. Was she crazy? This man made her feel weak with longing every time he touched her. Now he was about to leave for what could easily be several months, and she'd just invited him to her home. Even as she spoke, she knew that once Nate was in her front door, neither of them would want to leave.

"Seven. I'll be there," he said, sounding relieved.

"Okay." The line was disconnected.

Rachel's co-workers knew something was up and started questioning her. When she told them Nate was being deployed, it seemed all the girls had advice they wanted to impart.

"Don't do anything stupid," Jane said.

Rachel rolled her eyes. "I'm not going to bed with him, if that's what you think."

"It's exactly what I think," Terri said as she sidled up to Rachel's station. "You're nuts about this guy."

"I don't know what I feel," she insisted, and it was true. Okay, there was a mutual physical attraction, but a relationship needed more than sex. If all she was looking for was physical, she could have it any night of the week. Even in this age of frightening consequences, she knew women who changed sexual partners as often as they changed their shoes. Rachel didn't want casual sex; she wanted an emotional connection and a sense of genuine intimacy.

By the time she finished at the salon, Rachel was totally confused, torn between caution and wild desire. Her last appointment showed up late, so she didn't get home to her small town house until almost six-thirty. The first thing she did was jump in the shower and then change clothes. Her hair was still wet when the doorbell rang. As quickly as she could, she added styling gel to her curls, ran her fingers through them and dashed to the door.

Nate stood there waiting. His eyes widened with appreciation when he saw her. "Hi."

"Hi," she said. "Come on in." Before he could move, she held out a hand, stopping him. "Maybe that's not such a good idea. What do you think?"

Nate grinned. "I'm thinking if I come inside, it could be dangerous." He stared down at his feet and sighed. "To tell you the truth, I don't know if I should be here, but I couldn't stay away."

Rachel had no answer to give him, but she silently rejoiced at his words.

His eyes held hers. "I've got a girlfriend back home. You know that."

She nodded.

"You're seeing that widower guy."

"I am." They'd been honest with each other from the beginning.

He continued to stand there, his eyes directly on hers.

"I'll miss you when you go to sea," she murmured.

"I'll miss you too." He jerked his fingers through his hair in a nervous gesture. "Listen, we could go to dinner if you want. Talk."

"Sure." He seemed as aware of the sexual energy between them as she was. It was best to avoid temptation, she told herself, but she could still enjoy an evening with him— which seemed like a reasonable compromise. "Let me put on a pair of shoes and get my sweater."

"Okay."

He waited by the door as Rachel hurried into her bedroom, got what she needed and returned a moment later. Locking up, she followed him out to his car.

They ate at the Taco Shack and fed each other pickled ja-lapenos. Nate was the only man she knew who liked food as spicy as she did. They laughed and talked and seemed to have a million things to say to each other. The evening flew by and before Rachel realized it, the restaurant was closing.

"I guess I'd better take you home," Nate said.

She reluctantly agreed. When she'd told him she was going to miss him, she hadn't been flirting; she'd been telling the simple truth. They drove back to her place in silence.

"I'll e-mail you, all right?"

"I don't have a computer," Rachel said. She'd never dated a guy in the navy before, so this was all new to her.

"Oh. That might make it difficult to stay in touch." He was clearly disappointed.

"How long do you think you'll be away?"

"No idea. The navy doesn't let me help with the decision-making."

She smiled at his sense of humor. They arrived at her house, and he pulled alongside the curb but kept the engine running.

They sat for a few minutes, neither speaking. "Rachel, I really enjoyed tonight. Every time I'm with you, I come away wanting to see you again and then I remember.

She turned and pressed her finger to his lips. "Don't say it."

Nate hugged her, and leaned his forehead against hers.

"I've never wanted to kiss a woman more than I want to kiss you right now. I can't, though, because I know what'll happen next."

Rachel knew it, too.

"But I don't think I can stop myself." Groaning, he closed his eyes, then gently, sweetly, touched his mouth to hers. His arms tightened around her and he sighed. Slowly he withdrew his lips from hers before their brief kiss could develop into anything more. "I'll walk you to your door," he said in a low, husky voice.

"You don't need to. I can see myself in."

"No," he insisted. "My mother would have my head if I didn't."

"Okay." He certainly wasn't making this easy.

He held her hand as they walked to her door, which he unlocked. When he'd finished, he handed her back the keys.

"I'll wait to hear from you," she said.

He nodded.

"Be safe, Nate."

He nodded again, his expression somber.

Rachel lightly touched the side of his face and, unable to resist, brought her lips to his. Like him, she didn't give the kiss a chance to become anything more than a quick farewell. She walked hurriedly inside.

Nate returned to his car and once she'd heard him pull away from the curb, Rachel opened the front door and stood looking down the street. The tears that burned her eyes shocked her a little. She hardly knew Nate Olsen. They'd gone out a grand total of three times, and at the end of every one of these dates, she'd had the impression she wouldn't see him again.

Sniffling, Rachel went into the bathroom and grabbed a tissue. If she was going to fall in love, the least she could do was be smart about it. Oh, no, not her. She had to complicate everything and fall for a sailor who was as good as engaged to another woman.