Countdown

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Annie almost had to laugh at Joe Donnally’s instant scowl. Trying to extricate her hand from Rose’s, she said, “Marines don’t look at each other that way, Rose.”

“Oh, pshaw!” Rose said with a good-natured chuckle. “Marines think they’re perfect. Well, they almost are, in my book, but they keep forgetting they’re human, too.” She looked at her watch. “It’s noon. How about we go over to the enlisted men’s club and grab a bite to eat? I’m dying to talk with you, and maybe I can fill you in on what we do around here to help ease you into your job.”

Annie could have kissed her in gratitude at that point. She glanced up at her superior. “Sergeant Donnally?”

“You do what you want,” he growled. “Just be back at 1300, and I’ll get you squared away with a desk assignment and your duties.”

His coldness hit Annie like a slap after Rose’s gushing warmth, but she merely nodded, suppressing her feelings. When Donnally turned and stalked back to his desk, Annie devoted her attention to Rose.

“I’d love to have lunch with you. Any help you can give me will be great.”

“Oh, wonderful!” The secretary clapped her hands together and grinned. “You don’t know how much I’ve heard about you, Annie! Your ability to track is legendary. You’re famous!”

“I just want to fit in here, Rose, and get along with everyone—despite my skills.” With a grimace, she glanced around, catching quick, curious looks from other brig chasers in the office, feeling their perusal of her. Her reputation generally preceded her, and Annie had gotten used to being minutely inspected. Too many times in the past she had met male marines with their noses out of joint, unwilling to believe a woman could be a tracker.

“Well, I’m gonna grab my purse, then I’ll drive you over to the club,” Rose continued excitedly. “They’ve got great hamburgers over there. Come on! I’ve got lots to tell you. I want you to know,” she said as she gestured for Annie to follow her into her office, “that you’ve got one of the finest officers in the world to work for. Captain Ramsey is such a sweet man.”

Annie waited in Rose’s office doorway, her hands clasped in front of her. Sweet wasn’t a word she’d use for any Marine Corps officer! But Rose obviously was an ebullient, vital force in this office, and Annie knew she worked directly with Ramsey. Glancing over her shoulder, she stole a look in Donnally’s direction. He was sitting at his desk, scowling as usual, the telephone receiver pressed to his ear with one hand, a stack of phone messages in the other.

It struck her that despite Donnally’s bulk and height, he had artistic-looking hands that spoke of a different side to his character. Was he an artist of some sort? she wondered. Perhaps he played a musical instrument? Painted? She tore her gaze from Donnally’s rugged profile and smiled to herself. Somehow, she couldn’t picture Joe as a painter—although he’d certainly displayed an artist’s stereotypical volatile temperament so far with her.

“You ready?” Rose asked, coming around her desk with her white purse slung over her shoulder.

Annie smiled and stepped aside. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Ma’am? Pshaw!” Rose wagged her finger in Annie’s face. “Young lady, you call me Rose or nothing at all! I don’t want any of that military jargon used on me! I’m a civilian, remember?”

With a laugh, Annie agreed, feeling welcomed, if only by the lone civilian in the office, to her new home for the next three years. The single fly in the ointment—and it was a considerable one—was the scowling Joe Donnally, who made it more than obvious that she wasn’t welcome at all on his turf.