“The little one, right over there.” Liam pointed.
“I don't know, I-wait, what day?”
“Anytime this weekend.”
“I didn't get in until yesterday afternoon. Blew the goddamn drive shaft. And I'd like to get back to it, okay?” he added pointedly.
“Okay.”
Further inquiries proved equally fruitless. Liam plodded on up the gangplank. It was getting close to six o'clock. Time for dinner with Dad. Oh joy.
Force of habit made him check his uniform before he went inside, except he wasn't wearing his, which had him at an automatic disadvantage. No help for it. He squared his shoulders and pulled open the door.
Charles was already there. Seated across from him was Diana Prince, who had changed into civilian clothes herself. She looked very nice in a dark red sweater and a string of pearls. Her hair had been ruffled up from its neat, restrained daytime style in that way women do that indicates they are off duty and on the hunt.
“Yeah, well, being found not guilty of driving an oil tanker onto Bligh Reef while drunk is not necessarily the same thing as being innocent of doing the same thing,” Charles was saying as Liam came up.
Liam winced. The investigation of the grounding of theExxon Valdez,like the deaths in Denali the previous winter, was one of those cases troopers didn't like to brag about.
It apparently wasn't bothering Prince, who laughed. Before her time.
“Liam,” Charles said, looking up. “I've invited Diana to join us. I hope you don't mind.”
“Not at all,” Liam lied courteously, and, choosing the lesser of two evils, sat down next to Prince.
“You've had a busy day,” Charles said genially, signaling Bill, who sent Maria, the server who had taken Laura Nanalook's place, over to take orders. Maria was in her mid-twenties and looked like she practiced bulimia as a religion. Her clavicles held up her T-shirt like a hanger, and her blond hair was so fine you could see her pink scalp between strands. Her lips didn't have enough flesh to stretch over her teeth in a smile, but she took Liam's order, whirled to the bar and was back in two minutes flat.
Liam, who had the feeling he was going to require backup, had ordered a Glenmorangie, a double. Charles raised his eyebrows. Liam had always hated those eyebrows. “Bill keeps it in stock for me.”
Prince was nursing a glass of white wine, Charles a beer. “What did you find out?” Prince said.
“Not now,” Liam said, more curtly than he'd intended. He opened his mouth to apologize, and felt someone standing next to him. He looked up. It was Wy.
For the first time since he'd seen her again in May, her hair was loose, the same tumbled mass of bronzed blond curls he remembered from those days in Anchorage. She was wearing a teal-blue T-shirt tucked into her jeans and wide gold nugget hoops in her ears. His eyes lingered on the hoops for a moment.
Her glance, when she met his, was direct and somehow questioning. Liam was burningly aware of two things: his memory of their in-flight stopover on the gravel airstrip the day before, and that his hip was touching Prince's. Carefully, he edged away.
“Well, hello-Wy, isn't it?” Charles said. He looked from Wy to Liam and back again. “Are you meeting someone?” Wy shook her head. “Then why don't you join us?” He moved over and patted the bench next to him.
Still without speaking, Wy slid in next to him. Her knees brushed Liam's. They both jumped.
An awkward silence developed, broken when Maria appeared. “Uh… wine,” Wy said. “Red.”
“Cabernet or merlot?”
“Cabernet.” In an obvious move to make conversation, she said to the others, “Merlots are sometimes too sweet. Same reason I don't drink white.”
Prince looked down at her glass. “I guess I like sweet.”
Wy shrugged. “To each her own.”
Liam drained his glass in one gulp. Everyone reordered. Silence until the new drinks came.
Charles said, “What about-”
Prince said, “Charles, why are you-”
Wy said, “How is the-”
Liam said, “When are you leaving, Dad?”
A brief silence. “I don't know, Liam,” Charles said. “I'll be around for at least another week, I think.” There was a clear invitation in his smile when he looked at Prince, and a corresponding sparkle in Prince's eyes.
“What are you doing here, precisely?” Prince said. “You haven't said. Where are you stationed?”
“Florida,” Charles said easily. “Hurlburt Field.”
Really, Liam thought. Somebody tell Hurlburt.
“And I'm here to see what the Air Force can do about turning over some of our disused buildings to the local communities.” He ran the same spiel by them he had run by Liam the day before, and, as they were supposed to, Wy and Prince looked politely impressed by the Air Force's commitment to public service.
Another hiatus in the conversation. Liam was trying hard not to stare across the table at Wy, was trying even harder to pretend he wasn't sitting next to Prince, although Charles had made his interest clear. For the first time in his life Liam was grateful for Charles's invariable habit of chasing the best-looking woman in every town he visited. Liam abandoned any concern for Prince's tender feelings; Charles was right, she was a grown woman, and besides, Liam was not about to appear protective of another woman in front of Wy.
His legs, too long for the booth, cramped, and he stretched a little, bumping again into Wy's. Their eyes met. Hers widened. His mouth went dry. He alleviated the problem with single-malt scotch, but refused a refill when Maria reappeared to take their orders for dinner. Since the only thing on the menu was beef, and since the choices were New York strip, rib eye or T-bone, they all had steak. Liam and Wy chose New York and rare, Charles and Prince T-bone and well done.
Until their salads came, Charles entertained them with an account of his tour in the Gulf, with an emphasis on sand. “It got into everything, your hair, your eyes, your mouth, your shorts, you name it. Not to mention the engines. You haven't lived until you've tried to change out the engine on an F-15 in the desert.” Prince listened, rapt, Wy said something noncommittal about engine maintenance and Liam contributed an occasional grunt and tried to remember when he'd last seen a bird colonel in the Air Force change out his own engine. He greeted his salad with relief and kept his mouth full. It seemed like a strategic decision worthy of Alexander.
He felt a foot press against his, and he looked up sharply. The last time he'd felt her foot, it had been hard against his shin, right before she slugged him. This time, she winked at him. His fork remained suspended in midair as Maria arrived with the main course. She whisked away the salad plates and replaced them with metal plates in wooden frames loaded with red meat. Wy dropped her eyes, Liam dropped his fork and Maria, nothing loath, fetched him a new one.
In the meantime, Charles had shifted the subject to Alaska and his experiences in the air over Elmendorf. He missed the Cold War, it seemed. He told of the time he'd taken a rubber mask in the shape of Ronald Reagan and worn it on patrol.
“Could the pilots in the Russian planes see you?” Prince asked, grinning.
“Hell, yes, or what was the point?” Charles laughed. “Next time we went up, one of theirs was wearing a Brezhnev mask.”
Prince laughed, obviously enchanted. Charles wasn't sleeping alone tonight. Unlike himself, Liam thought mournfully, and looked at Wy, who was listening with every appearance of interest to Charles and Prince's conversation. Eventually Prince realized that they hadn't heard from the other two guests. “How long have you been a pilot, Wy?”
“Since I was sixteen.”
“When did you start your business?”
Wy glanced at Liam and back at Prince. “The one I have now? Three years ago. I moved to Newenham and bought out an air taxi service.”