Tall, Dark and Devastating: Harvard's Education. Suzanne Brockmann

couldn’t believe he’d figured that out. She couldn’t believe she’d told him enough to give herself away. Steeling herself, she looked at him. “I can handle heights, Senior Chief. It’s not a problem.”

      She could tell from the look on his face he didn’t believe her.

      “It’s not a problem,” she said again.

      Damn. She’d told him too much.

      It was one thing to joke around about her dream house. But telling him about her problem with heights was going way too far.

      It would do her absolutely no good to let this man know her weaknesses. She had to have absolutely no vulnerabilities to coexist in his macho world. She could not be afraid of heights. She would not be. She could handle it—but not if he made it into an issue.

      P.J. rinsed her hands in the ocean. “We better get back if we want to have any lunch.”

      But Harvard blocked the way to where her sneakers and T-shirt were lying on the sand. “Thanks for taking the time to talk to me,” he said.

      She nodded, still afraid to meet his eyes. “Yeah, I’m glad we’re friends.”

      “It’s nice to be able to talk to someone in confidence—and know you don’t have to worry about other people finding out all your deep, dark secrets,” Harvard told her.

      P.J. did look at him then, but he’d already turned away.

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      “MAN, IT’S QUIET AROUND HERE TODAY,” Harvard said as he came into the decaying Quonset hut that housed Alpha Squad’s office.

      Lucky was the only one around, and he looked up from one of the computers. “Hey, H.,” he said with a cheerful smile. “Where’ve you been?”

      “There was a meeting with the base commander that I absolutely couldn’t miss.” Harvard rolled his eyes. “It was vital that I go with the captain to listen to more complaints about having the squad temporarily stationed here. This base is regular Navy, and SEALs don’t follow rules. We don’t salute enough. We drive too fast. We make too much noise at the firing range. We don’t cut our hair.” He slid his hand over his cleanly shaved head. “Or we cut our hair too short. I tell you, there’s no pleasing some folks. Every week it’s the same, and every week we sit there, and I take notes, and the captain nods seriously and explains that the noise at the firing range occurs when we discharge our weapons and he’s sorry for the inconvenience, but one of the reasons Alpha Squad has the success record it does is that each and every one of us takes target practice each day, every day, and that’s not going to change. And then the supply officer steps forward and informs us that the next time we want another box of pencils, we’ve got to get ’em from Office Max. We appear to have used up our allotted supply.” He shook his head. “We got lectured on that for ten minutes.”

      “Ten minutes? On pencils?”

      Harvard grinned. “That’s right.” He turned toward his office. “Joe’s right behind me. He should be back soon—unless he gets cornered into sticking around for lunch.”

      Lucky made a face. “Poor Cat.”

      “This is what you have to look forward to, O’Donlon,” Harvard said with another grin. “It’s only a matter of time before you make an oh-six pay grade and get your own command. And then you’ll be rationing pencils, too.” He laughed “It’s not just a job—it’s an adventure.”

      “Gee, thanks, H. I’m all aquiver with anticipation.”

      Harvard pushed open his office door. “Do me a favor and dial the captain’s pager number. Give him an emergency code. Let’s get him out of there.”

      Lucky picked up the phone and quickly punched in a series of numbers. He dropped the receiver into the cradle with a clatter.

      “So where’s everyone this afternoon?” Harvard called as he took off his jacket and hung it over the chair at his desk. “I stopped by the classroom on my way over, but it was empty. They’re not all still at lunch, are they?”

      “No, they’re at the airfield. I’m heading over there myself in about ten minutes.” Lucky raised his voice to be heard through the open door.

      Harvard stopped rifling through the files on his desk. “They’re where?”

      “At the field. It’s jump day,” Lucky told him.

      “Today?” Harvard moved to the door to stare at the younger SEAL. “No way. That wasn’t scheduled until next week.”

      “Yeah, everything got shifted around, remember? We had to move the jump up a full week.”

      Harvard shook his head. “No. No, I don’t remember that.”

      Lucky swore. “It must’ve been the day you went to Boston. Yeah, I remember you weren’t around, so Wes took care of it. He said he wrote a memo about it. He said he left it on your desk.”

      Harvard’s desk was piled high with files and papers, but he knew exactly what was in each file and where each file was in each pile. It may have looked disorganized, but it wasn’t. He’d cleared his In basket at least ten times since he’d taken that day of personal leave. He’d caught up on everything he’d missed. There was no memo from Wesley Skelly on that desk.

      Or was there?

      Underneath the coffee mug with a broken handle that held his pens and some of those very pencils the base supply officer had been in a snit about, Harvard could see a flash of yellow paper. He lifted the mug and turned the scrap of paper over.

      This was it.

      Wes had written an official memo on the inside of an M&M’s wrapper. It was documentation of the rescheduled jump date, scribbled in barely legible pencil.

      “I’m going to kill him,” Harvard said calmly. “I’m going to find him, and I’m going to kill him.”

      “You don’t have to look far to find him,” Lucky said. “He’s with the finks in the classroom at the main hangar. He’s helping Blue teach ’em the basics of skydiving.”

      Harvard shook his head. “If I’d known the jump was today, I would’ve made arrangements to skip this morning’s meeting. I wanted to be here to make it clear to the finks that participating in this exercise is optional.” He looked sharply at O’Donlon. “Were you there when Blue gave his speech? Do they understand they don’t have to do this?”

      Lucky shrugged. “Yeah. They’re all up for it, though. It’s no big deal.”

      But it was a big deal. Harvard knew that for P.J. it had to be a very, very big deal.

      When he’d figured out yesterday that she was afraid of heights, he’d known about the skydiving jump, but he’d thought it was a week away. If he’d known otherwise, he would’ve warned her then and there. He could’ve told her that choosing not to participate didn’t matter one bit in the big picture.

      The purpose of the exercise was not to teach the finks to be expert skydivers. There was no way they could do that with only one day and only one jump. When they’d set up the program, the captain had thought a lesson in skydiving would give the agents perspective on the kind of skills the SEALs needed to succeed as a counterterrorist team.

      It was supposed to underscore the message of the entire program—let the SEALs do what they do best without outside interference.

      Harvard looked at his watch. It was just past noon. “O’Donlon, is the jump still scheduled for thirteen-thirty?”

      “It is,” Lucky told him. “I’m going over to help out. You know me, I never turn down an opportunity to jump.”

      Harvard took a deep breath. More than an hour. Good. He still had time. He could relax and take this calmly. He could change out of this blasted