Page 10 of Under His Command

“Good deal,” he said, with a clap of his hands. Like his voice, it boomed in the vast lobby and gave Cassie a start even though she was looking right at him. The man didn’t notice her reaction or seem to have an inkling that overall, he was noisy. “I’ll get one of the men to show you around.”

“No need.”Flynn reentered the conversation, his voice mellow and deep, not to mention many decibels quieter. “I’ve got some downtime before the new group arrives this weekend.”

“Excellent. Cassie, Commander Dalton is all yours. In fact, he can be your tour guide and gopher for the rest of the week, since he’s got daylight to burn.” She glanced over to see his reaction to this new assignment, but he seemed fine with it, gazing back at her with a gleam in his eyes. “Just remember,” the C.O. continued, oblivious to their interplay, “his free status changes when the new candidates arrive on Monday, so use him for your pleasure while you can.”

Flushing hotly at the sexual undertones of the captain’s statement, Cassie avoided looking at Flynn. Although, from the corner of her eye, she didn’t miss the way his lips tipped up in a grin.

Captain Hanson went on,oblivious to his suggestive remark. “I’ll leave you to it, then. I’m due on a conference call with the vice-admiral in Washington in five minutes.” He said nothing more—thankfully—and having dismissed them both, walked down the hall and into the office at the far end.

Left standing next to Flynn, she glanced up, giving him a small smile, and a belated, “Surprise!”

He gazed down at her a moment then laughed, the sound washing over her like a warm wave soothing her frazzled nerves. “Welcome aboard, Cassie.” He extended his arm toward the main doors. “Shall we begin the grand tour?”

She left her car in visitor parking and joined Flynn in his sand-colored, open-sided Jeep. He exited onto Bougainville Rd. and circled the block. It occurred to her as it had when she’d driven in that the base wasn’t self-contained like she expected. Instead, it was a mix of Navy buildings and local businesses in the middle of the island sandwiched between resort properties and residential neighborhoods. They passed a movie theater, a Panda Express, and when he turned down Guadalcanal Rd., he pointed out the Navy store, what he called the Exchange, and right beside it sat a Jack in the Box.

When she commented on it, he explained, “The base opened sixty years after the city was founded and grew around the existing community, becoming a part of it over the years. Naval Base Coronado now houses eight naval installations, employs thirty-six thousand naval and civilian personnel, and encompasses fifty-seven thousand acres, including the airfield on the north end and the peninsula that reaches into San Diego Bay.”

She glanced at him, impressed by his statistical knowledge.

He shrugged, flashing his killer smile without taking his eyes off the road. “I’ve played tour guide before.”

Flynn pointed out essential buildings like the base police and a medical clinic. Both she doubted she’d ever find again without GPS. He steered the Jeep through a series of turns and over Silver Strand Blvd to a restricted area. After passing through a security checkpoint, they continued farther west toward the beach, a fact she knew only because the morning sun was behind her.

At an intersection, Flynn slowed to a stop, and they waited while a squad of about forty men jogged in front of them dressed in boots, helmets, and bright-red life jackets. The lone man running alongside them, in charge she assumed, gave the commander a chin lift and a quick salute as he passed.

“I didn’t think you had candidates in training this week.”

“There are always candidates in training, but the instructors work on rotation. It’s one thing to keep this grueling schedule as an eager twenty-five-year-old, but another to do it as a trainer with a few extra years under the belt, month after month, and year-round.” As he explained, he casually hooked a tanned, muscular forearm over the wheel and twisted, aiming his Oakleys in her direction. “We have some built-in downtime for classroom instruction, recruitment, paperwork, and what have you. Since I’m the BUD/s officer in charge, I have administrative duties as well. We’ll all rotate through your simulator on our down weeks. Since this is mine, you won’t see me in class for another month.”

Cassie found this disappointing. She was hoping to see him more and get to know him better, liking what she learned about him so far. It would be her chance to prove she wasn’t the airhead he’d encountered at headquarters earlier, or the kid floundering around in the waves, as he’d thought at first.

As she watched the group of trainees proceed down an alley between two buildings, she glimpsed blue on the horizon once they were gone. The base wasn’t the least bit remarkable, but the setting was spectacular.

“They run on the beach,” she guessed. “What a beautiful place to train.”

“I doubt they’ll notice the scenery,” he said with a chuckle. “They’ll be spending too much time sucking wind or freezing in the surf.”

She shivered in recollection of the cold soaking she’d received last night.

“Nippy, wasn’t it?” He leaned in closer. “And we don’t use wetsuits.”

“How do you stand it in the winter?”

He shrugged as he drove on. “You develop a tolerance to it. And those that can’t aren’t meant to be SEALs. Missions rarely happen in ideal conditions. They’re lucky the base is here and not farther north, like Seattle.”

Her gaze wandered back to the blue waters of the Pacific now visible because of a wide break between the buildings. “Looks sure are deceiving when it’s eighty-five degrees, sunny, with a bright blue sky overhead.”

“The frigid water doesn’t keep the tourists away. And the water sports dealers do a bang-up business. Most of it comes from wetsuit rentals.”

She grinned, laughing softly.

“For the Navy’s purposes, it’s the perfect place for combat dive exercises. We get the best of both worlds, the calmness of the San Diego Bay, and the choppy, often rough Pacific. It can be treacherous, with waves topping eight feet. For a surfer, that’s nothing special, but it can be deadly for a weak swimmer. We also get a dangerous rip current occasionally.”

“You mentioned that, and the poor girl who drowned.”

His brow creased, no less handsome when he frowned. “It’s a real threat. That’s why we require our SEAL candidates to pass two months of BUD/s prep before they set foot on the island. To prove they’re up for the challenge and are strong swimmers.”

She frowned, trying to decipher the acronym, something she’d noticed in a short time was abundant in the military. “Can you translate BUD/s into English, please?”

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