was pale, but he didn’t see any tears on her cheeks. What kind of woman was she? Molly was a genuine enigma to him. Still, Cam knew without a doubt that they’d shred her in debriefing if she didn’t stand up for her programs—logic and diplomacy were the first to go in those heated exchanges.
Muttering to himself, Cam turned away, not wanting her to discover him still standing there. It would be the ultimate embarrassment to her if she spotted him. A huge part of him wanted to stay. Stay and do what? As he shuffled down the hall toward his office, Cam shook his head. Molly interested him. Maybe the word was fascinated. She was unlike any woman in the military he’d met or worked with.
“Too soft,” he said under his breath. “She’s too soft to stand the attacks she’s going to have to go through.”
* * *
Molly tried to dismiss the entire crisis that had taken place, but she couldn’t. Her stomach growled, but she wasn’t hungry. Glancing at her watch, she saw it was 2100. Time to go home and get some sleep. Unsettled, she logged her software program into the files of the computer and shut down the terminal.
Placing the yards of computer printout in her briefcase, she left the room. As she headed from the elevator to the main doors, she saw Captain Sinclair’s office door open, light spilling out into the semidarkened hallway. Hesitating, Molly felt the urge to stop and speak with him. About what? To defend her way of handling situations? He’d made himself perfectly clear about how he thought she should handle them.
It was obvious Sinclair didn’t think much of her, either. Leaving TPS, Molly decided to try to call her friends at Whiting Field. She desperately missed Dana and Maggie. Perhaps they could shed some light on her most recent problems.
* * *
“I think you should’ve decked Martin,” Maggie Donovan told her, anger in her voice. “That kind of jock only understands one thing, Molly, and that’s aggression equal to his own. What he puts out, he gets back.”
“I don’t agree,” Dana Coulter’s voice countered from the other phone. “You said Captain Sinclair broke it up?”
“Yes,” Molly admitted unhappily. She sat on her couch, her legs folded beneath her, the receiver resting against her hand and shoulder.
“He defended you,” Maggie said.
“No, he didn’t,” Molly countered. “I’ve already told you his view of the situation. Martin ripped me open, and he just added salt to my wounds.”
“I think he was trying to get you to see how you need to change your behavior to fit the circumstances,” Dana pointed out. “The fact that he came to your rescue means he’s on your side.”
“He sure didn’t look it. Gosh, gals, Sinclair is like ice all the way through. He could put holes in you with those eyes of his. You should have seen Martin back down. The guy was tripping all over himself, backpedaling.”
“Of course.” Maggie chuckled. “Martin isn’t going to take on his instructor. Martin’s smart for gigging you when you were alone. He’s trying to make you fail, Molly, before you even get a chance.”
“He’s a male chauvinist, that’s all.”
“No,” Dana argued passionately. “Martin’s more than that, Molly. He’s really dangerous to your career. You’ve got to show more backbone. Maggie’s right. That kind of guy only respects an equal response to whatever he throws at you. Sinclair was doing you a favor by telling you how to arm yourself against Martin.”
“Well, if that bastard Martin keeps it up,” Maggie shot back, “I’d hang a sexual harassment suit on him.”
“Sinclair was right there. He heard Martin chewing me out. If there were grounds for it, don’t you think he’d do something about it?”
“There is no man alive who’s going to stand in your corner on a sexual harassment charge unless you bring it to him in writing,” Maggie said vehemently. “Damn, Molly, you can’t be laid-back about this. At Annapolis, Dana and I were there to help defend you against goons like Martin. But we aren’t there anymore, as much as I wish we were. You have to start developing that backbone we both know you have.”
“Molly,” Dana begged gently, “Maggie’s upset at Martin, not you. We know you believe diplomacy and a more passive response can win the day, but sometimes it can’t. Take Sinclair’s advice. He wasn’t out to rub salt in your wounds—only to help bind them in the best way he knew how.”
Glumly, Molly nodded. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. If my father hears about this, I’ll just get another chewing-out. I don’t need a third one.”
“Hang tough,” Dana urged. “Sinclair could be your ace in the hole. If things get bad, go to him. Talk to him. I think he’s on your side.”
“And if that doesn’t work,” Maggie added, “deck Martin and tell Sinclair to take a flying leap.”
Laughing, Molly thanked her friends. She hung up and remained on the couch, thinking, the afghan tucked around her legs. Her friends had protected her at Annapolis, to a large degree. Maggie’s fierce confidence made her a guard dog of sorts. And Dana was at her shoulder to back up whatever Maggie put into motion. Between her two friends, no upper or lower classman at Annapolis had wanted to put her at risk.
Picking up her cup of tea, Molly sipped the hot liquid pensively. Dana and Maggie had been her buffer zone against the aggressive male world of the military, it was true. Yet she knew she couldn’t handle it the way Maggie did, with equal assertiveness—which was exactly what Sinclair had suggested. And she didn’t possess Dana’s deadly calm voice and bristling defenses that no man dared test.
Looking around her quiet apartment and seeing the clock on the wall tell her it was midnight, Molly sighed. Tomorrow a letter would arrive from Scott, and he would want to know every detail of her week. On Saturday would come the dreaded phone call from her father, who would wring every nuance of the week’s events from her with endless, probing questions. Rubbing her brow, Molly wondered how she was going to tell them about Martin. It was beyond her to think of lying. Perhaps she could avoid telling them.
With a grimace, Molly removed the purple and pink afghan and sat up. Every time she’d tried the ploy of avoiding a topic with her father, he’d ferreted out whatever fact she was trying to hide and made his verbal berating doubly harsh. Molly stood and took the partially filled cup of tea into her modern kitchen. She rinsed out the cup and set it in the dish drainer. How much she missed Dana and Maggie! They’d been such a happy threesome at Whiting Field, their apartment ringing with kidding, laughter and good times, despite the pressures on them.
Looking around, Molly left the kitchen and headed to the huge bathroom to soak in a tub of hot water. To her dismay, her thoughts revolved back to Cam Sinclair. God, but he looked forbidding, yet she was powerfully drawn to him. Why? How? Molly didn’t think Dana was right about Sinclair. He seemed to hate her as much as Martin did. So why was she so drawn to him as a man? What chemistry was at work? It was totally illogical.
* * *
Cam tossed restlessly in his bed, the sheet tangled between his long legs. Light from the street invaded the bedroom, filtering through the pale yellow sheers. He glowered at the clock on the monkeypod nightstand. It was midnight. Why the hell did Molly Rutledge’s vulnerable face hang in front of his eyes every time he shut
