“And how did you tie up with this latter-day Captain Kidd?”
“Via a couple of old books by Lowell Thomas that I found in my father’s library. Count Luckner, the Sea Devil and The Sea Devil’s Fo’c’sle. They were full of wonderful sea stories as told by my count, some of which might even conceivably have been true. I must have read those books a dozen times over, and I fell hopelessly and desperately in love. So much so that when Dad bought me this sloop, there could be only one name for her.”
“I see. And how did you get around the fact that the Sea Devil was on the other side during the Great War?”
Amanda chuckled lowly and nestled closer, tucking her head under Arkady’s chin. “That was the best part of the whole love affair. I constructed this elaborate fantasy involving a beautiful young American woman, who peradventure resembled a somewhat more mature and filled-out version of myself at the time. She’s captured by the dashing Count Von Luckner, and after a number of thrilling adventures together in the South Seas, she, in turn, captures the Sea Devil’s heart and wins him over to the Allied cause.”
Arkady exploded into helpless mirth, and Amanda retaliated with a firm pinch in a sensitive area. “Don’t laugh! The Count saved my life. If I hadn’t been able to escape with him to the South Pacific, I would have smothered to death in Mrs. Mendelson’s fourth-period social studies class several times over.”
Arkady chuckled again and eased back to his side of the cockpit. With deliberation, the aviator flipped the sleeping bag aside, laying Amanda bare to the starlight. For a long minute he studied each inch of her, the flow of tousled shoulder length hair sheening pewter in the faint silver glow, her fine planed features highlighted by shadow, her breasts, softened by mature womanhood yet still firm and high-riding, the smoothly curved lines of her dancer’s body, a strip of midnight slipping up between her thighs.
“I’ll have to thank him someday, babe,” he whispered. “Losing you like that would have been a tragedy.”
Amanda shivered for reasons beyond the cool breeze on her bare skin, and the spark of fire in her narrowing eyes came from something beyond the stars. Arkady covered her again, first with the sleeping bag and then with himself.
Time passed. The Seeadler rocked cradlelike in the wake of a passing boat. Night drew on, the air chilled from cool to cold, and the first hint of the morning fog formed. Nestled warmly beside her lover, sleep should have come easily to Amanda, but didn’t.
Even as the afterglow of her shared joy and passion had passed, that strange restlessness that had gnawed at her of late reasserted itself. And for the hundredth time she asked herself why.
It was a brand of self-analysis that had grown increasingly frustrating over the past weeks. At this moment, she was at the pinnacle of her career. She’d commanded the ship she’d wanted. She’d had success in her endeavors and even a degree of fame, for what that was worth. Right now, everything she could ever ask for was within her grasp: honest love, companionship, and a bright future for the asking. And yet…
Why not swallow the anchor? she self-argued savagely. Hang your medals up over the fireplace and tell this sweet boy beside you that you’re ready to marry. Have your child while you still have a couple of ticks left on your biological clock and then sit back in the sunshine and be content with all you’ve earned. Damn, damn, damn it, Amanda, what more do you want?
And that was the rub. She didn’t know, and it had been a long time since Amanda Garrett had last not known what it was that she wanted out of life. She didn’t like the sensation.
Arkady was asleep, his head resting on her breast. Lightly she stroked his dark hair and stared at the sky, watching the stately march of the stars around Polaris.
The doubts of the night lingered on into the day, keeping Amanda subdued as they got the Seeadler under way on the reach across the sound for Powell’s Point. Even the spanking breeze that put the placid little cruising sloop’s rail to the water couldn’t lift her spirits to their former level as they beat to the southeast.
As the morning progressed, Amanda felt Arkady’s eyes resting thoughtfully upon her. He had the knack of reading her better than any man she had ever known beyond her own father. And that had its drawbacks as well as its advantages.
“Any word yet on your next duty?” the aviator asked casually from his side of the cockpit.
“Not really,” she replied, easing the tiller a few degrees. “I haven’t really given it much thought yet. I still have a year to go aboard the Duke. There’s no rush.”
Arkady lifted an eyebrow at her. “A year isn’t all that long, babe. You always told us that with career planning, you had to start early to get the slot you wanted.”
Amanda shrugged with more casualness than she felt. “I suppose I did, and I suppose I was right. I just haven’t had the time yet. I guess I should get working on something.”
“So what are you going to be looking for?” he insisted.
“I’m not sure. I’m due for a tour on the beach, I know that. But beyond that point I’m just not sure.”
“Hell, you’ve got to have some idea.” Impatience crept into Arkady’s voice.
“Well, I don’t!” she snapped back. “I just don’t. All right?”
They both recoiled from her sudden burst of anger, and the only sound aboard the sloop for a time was the hiss of the waves and the working of the rigging.
“I’m sorry, Arkady,” she said quietly after a minute. “But I really don’t know what I’ll be doing next. Why is it important now?”
It was the aviator’s turn to shrug as he looked off at a passing cabin cruiser. “I just figured that we might want to try coordinating something. You know, so we could get the same duty station. You’re a great correspondent, babe, but it would be nice to at least be able to look at you once in a while.” A ghost of his old grad school grin crept back.
Amanda was grateful for the chance to smile back. “I know what you mean, love. I don’t suppose finding a slot in San Diego would be that much of a challenge. Come to think of it, I’ve even had a couple of civilian headhunters from out that way offer me a fat consultant’s contract from Lockheed Shipbuilding. No, come to think about it, it wouldn’t be much trouble at all to get on the West Coast.”
“Uh, that’s just the thing, babe. I might not be out on the West Coast for much longer. Well, there’s a chance of that, anyway. I’ve been offered a shot at the Fleet JSF Conversion Program.”
“The Joint Strike Fighter Program?” Amanda fell half a dozen points off her course. “Arkady, that’s fabulous!”
“Pretty neat, anyway,” he agreed, nodding somberly. “It’s for the operational workup of the Vertical Takeoff and Landing variant of the aircraft. The Navy and Marines both are looking for aviators who are both jet and helicopter rated, and I did finish my carrier qualifications before I transferred over to rotor-wing. There aren’t too many of us out here, and they seem really anxious to talk to me.”
“I imagine so!” Amanda fumbled with the tiller for a moment, re-aiming the Seeadler’s jackstay at the distant Powell’s Point lighthouse and easing her off from the drive of the wind. “Arkady, this is what you’ve always wanted, another shot at flying fighters.”
“Among other things, yeah.” He tucked his hands into the pockets of his denim jacket. “But if I take the shot, it’ll mean being posted to Jacksonville.”
“So?”
“So, babe, Jax is an aviation station, with damn few slots available for surface-warfare specialists.”