JAG Headquarters
Major Sarah MacKenzie stood at ease in Admiral Chegwidden's office, her face filled with worry. "Sir, I don't like this. Harm's been under cover for two weeks now and he hasn't reported back. Something's wrong." Chegwidden pondered her concern as he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his desk. After a moment of careful consideration, he addressed the room's other occupant. "Webb, I want someone to go in and check up on him. Since it's obvious he can't get away to call, we need face to face confirmation that he's not in over his head." The special assistant halted midstride in his pacing and looked aghast at the CO. "No, no one else is going in. It would automatically blow his cover. How would he explain the sudden addition? These are militiamen we're investigating and in a small town everyone knows everyone else. Whoever you send in would stick out like a sore thumb." Silence descended as the admiral recognized the validity of Webb's argument. "But I wouldn't," Mac stated softly. Chegwidden's gaze shot up and pierced hers. "Sir, I grew up with people like this. Maybe not the militia part, but the drinking, the abuse-I've seen it all. I know how to handle myself." She paused and glanced from the admiral to Webb. "I'm sure there's a bar that all of the locals hang out in and Harm and the Knights of Freedom are probably among that group. I'll go in as a girl looking for a good time, meet up with Harm, and get out." She looked at Chegwidden, a plea filling her dark eyes. "One night, that's all I ask." "And if he's not there?" Webb asked from the corner. "Then I don't see him. But I'll bet money they'll be there on a Friday night." Silence descended once again and Chegwidden watched as the wheels turned in Webb's head. At length, the special undersecretary answered, "Alright. But I don't like it and if you get into trouble we can't get you out!" Mac nodded and inwardly sighed with relief. "We'll fix you up with the right car, and everything else," Webb continued reluctantly. A small self-deprecating smile flitted over her features, "Don't worry about the clothes this time. I think I've got that covered." *** Little Brown Jug
Mac sat in the beat up Ford Impala that Webb had found and tugged slightly at the hem of her skirt. It barely reached mid-thigh. When she was younger she'd worn them without a second thought. But now...Mac winced. 'I guess I've just gotten used to military dress,' she thought sheepishly. She glanced at her image in the rear view mirror and sighed; her make-up tonight was darker than usual. Not that it didn't look good, it was just, well, obvious. A kohl eyeliner brought out her chocolate eyes and the deep wine colored lipstick, which matched the simple mini skirt, made her lips look full and pouty. "No guts no glory, Marine," she reminded softly. Yanking on the door handle she steeled herself against the obvious screech of metal on metal and got out. Smoothing one hand over her hip, she willed herself to relax, to return to her former life, if only for just one night. Her stance softened and she felt her hips sway invitingly as she approached the door. Once inside, the bar was a carbon copy of the ones she had hung out in so long ago. Smoke crowded out most of the oxygen in the air and Mac quickly blinked back the involuntary tears that formed. Her gaze roved nonchalantly over the group and determined it to be like the people she'd hung out with in her youth. Heading for the bar, she nodded to a couple of truck drivers who eyed her appreciatively. About a handful of women were clustered around the bar. Each held a small tray in her hand and plucked various drinks from the hands of the large, shaggy haired man who was obviously the barkeep. "What'll it be, lady?" he asked gruffly. Mac pretended to study the taps and replied, "Gimme a Bud Light, bottle." The man grunted his assent and moved to a small cold chest. He returned a moment later and said, "That'll be $2.50." Mac pulled a few bills out of her bra and peeled off three. Turning to face the crowd, she crossed her legs and took what looked to be a deep swig of the beer. In reality though, she covered the opening with her tongue to block the liquid. At the first taste of the long-denied malt, she thought, 'Lord, this is gonna be hard. You'd better get here soon, Harm.' *** Little Brown Jug
Over the past hour, Mac had deftly fended off countless not-so-subtle innuendoes and withstood the roaming hands of a couple of leering good ol' boys. She was in the process of extricating herself from her groping dance partner, when the door opened. Mac glanced over and latched onto the lanky frame of one dark headed man. 'Harm,' she thought gratefully. As if he had heard her, his eyes shot up, surprise widening them only slightly. Harm steeled himself against the urge to rush over and knock the hell out of her partner. 'She's a marine,' he reminded himself. 'And she's been in situations like this before.' He followed his 'buddies' over to a table on the edge of the dance area and negligently ordered a beer from the waitress. The leader of the Knights yelled, "Hey, Trixie! His beer's on me!" "Sure thing, Mike!" she called back and left to fill the order. After the drinks had been passed out, Mike stood up and quieted the room. When all talking had dulled to a low murmur, he announced, "I'd like ya'll to welcome the newest member of our group! He's a great guy, and really cares about what happens this here country!" He punched Harm lightly in the shoulder and prodded, "Now stand up; these girls want to get a look at you." Harm complied and let his eyes trail around the room, almost aimlessly though only those who knew him would know his true purpose: to find Mac. "Let me introduce ya'll to Pete Harm!" A round of raucous applause filled the air just as Harm's eyes found their target. Mac leaned provocatively against the bar and tilted her beer bottle in his direction in a silent toast. His eyes narrowed with concern at the sight of the drink, but she tossed off an uncaring smile and turned back to the man on her left. Harm's gaze couldn't help but linger on his partner and his eyes unwillingly traced the hem of her skirt as it rose whenever she moved. He knew she had nice legs, but damn, these were worthy of a Las Vegas showgirl. Someone elbowed him and leered, "She's a looker, I'll give you that." 'Mike,' Harm recognized. For all his preaching about dedication to America and family, he still had his share of outside 'interests.' "Yeah, she is," Harm murmured appreciatively. At that moment, Mac looked over her shoulder and snagged her partner's gaze. "Hey, I think she likes you," Mike teased. "Why don't you go show her how the Knights treat a lady." Harm took a final swig of his beer and rose. "I think I'll do that." He sauntered over to bar, tossing a nonchalant glance back to the boys and sidled up to her. "So, what's a good looking woman like you doing here?" A teasing light flickered in Mac's eyes and she smiled saucily, "Oh just looking for a little fun. Think you can help out?" "Oh, I'll do my best," Harm promised, flashing his patented flyboy grin. "Come on, baby, let me buy you a drink." He looked pointedly at her bottle and found it still full. Reassured, he met her eyes and read the silent answer she offered. 'No way, flyboy, I'm not touching the stuff again.' She jerked her head toward the nearly empty dance floor. "Let's dance instead." Grabbing his hand, she pulled him close to her and whispered, "It's the easiest way to talk." He flashed her a bright smile and nuzzled her ear. "Good idea." Harm pulled her close and began a lazy two step as a slow song played over the juke box. Mac wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned up. She smiled softly as the tangy mixture of wood smoke, the outdoors, and Harm's own unique scent washed over her. Lord, how she'd missed him. "The admiral wants to know what's going on." She felt him nod and eased her head down to his shoulder so that he could whisper his answer directly in her ear. The dance floor was starting to fill up so they had to be extra careful. "Absolutely nothing's going on. Ensign Richardson was playing us. These guys aren't militiamen. They just like to get together, hunt, and trade lewd jokes. They call themselves the Knights of Freedom because they want to get away from their demanding wives." Mac shivered slightly as his warm breath danced over her ear. She had to forcefully drag her mind back to the task at hand. Harm caught Mike watching him and Mac so he slowly slid one hand from its position at her waist down to cup her hip. "Harm?" she gasped out. "Shh. We're being watched and I know nothing's going on, but I don't want to blow our covers. No telling what these guys might do if they realized they've been spied on," he cautioned. She nodded slightly and returned to the previous conversation. "We found out that Richardson had been dating one of the member's daughters. Her father broke it off so I guess he was trying to get even." "Makes sense to me," he replied. Mac raised her head, physically pulled by the look in his eyes. The song ended and was soon replaced by a sultry drumbeat. They continued to move together fluidly, as if one were merely an extension of the other. Harm's pulse quickened as his hazy brain began to recognize the words. [El-ec-tricity
Harm traced the line of her arm up to his neck and clasped her hand in his, drawing it down to his chest. [Stripped my senses
Slowly, anticipating the singer's next words, he dipped Mac over his right arm. As her head fell back, she lifted a leg and hooked it around one of his for balance, a searing heat branding his thigh. [You speak and I don't hear a word.] He pulled her back up and locked his glittering eyes to hers, probing their depths. She unconsciously ran her tongue over her lips, readying them for his own. [What would happen if we kissed?
All spectators vanished; only Mac, Harm, and the singer's sultry alto remained. Mac watched through half-lidded eyes as he gently brushed a lock of hair away from her face. [Mouth to mouth
He cupped her cheek and removed the scant inches that separated their faces. Their lips met as if destined and Harm gently brushed hers, waiting for the tell-tale sign that this was indeed fated. Nothing happened. No fireworks. His brow furrowed and he moved to deepen the kiss, but Mac pulled away and whispered, "Um, Harm. What just happened? Or should I ask, what <didn't> just happen?" Mindful of their audience, he shook his head imperceptibly, obviously confused by the turn of events. "Your guess is as good as mine. Wasn't the earth supposed to move?" The song was forgotten, though they still swayed slightly to the music. Mac chuckled, "From all reports, it goes something like that." "So this means...what?" he asked, nuzzling her ear for effect. "That we aren't destined to be lovers?" she offered playfully, a smile tinging her lips and brightening her eyes. Harm sobered instantly. "But we can still be friends, right?" "The best of friends," Mac promised as she squeezed him slightly. "Now, partner, what say we get you the hell out of Dodge? Based on our display, no one will think twice if we leave together." He clasped her hand in his and, lacing their fingers together, tossed a nod to the boys and led her out the door. The final strains of the song followed them to the car. [What would happen if we kissed?]
The End |
