Suzanne Brockmann – Tall, Dark and Devastating: Harvard's Education (страница 21)

As she watched, Harvard leaned against the table to look at the list. He supported himself with his arms, and his muscles stood out in sharp relief. For once, she let herself look at him, hoping for a little distraction.

The man was sheer perfection. And speaking of distractions, his shirt wasn’t the only thing that fit him snugly. His camouflage pants hugged the curve of his rear end sinfully well. Why on earth anyone would want to camouflage that piece of art was beyond her.

He was deep in discussion with Blue, then both men paused to glance at her, and she quickly looked away. What was Harvard telling the lieutenant? It was clear they were talking about her. Was Harvard telling McCoy all she’d let slip yesterday at the beach? Were they considering the possibility that she might freeze with fear and end up putting more than just herself in danger? Were they going to refuse to let her make the jump?

She glanced at them, and Harvard was still watching her, no doubt taking in the cold sweat that was dampening her shirt and beading on her upper lip. She knew she could keep her fear from showing in her eyes and on her face, but she couldn’t keep from perspiring, and she couldn’t stop her heart from pounding and causing her hands to shake.

She was scared to death, but she was damned if she was going to let anyone tell her she couldn’t make this jump.

As she watched, Harvard spoke again to Blue. Blue nodded, took out a pen and began writing on the paper.

Harvard came down the center aisle and paused next to her chair.

“You okay?” he asked quietly enough so that no one else could hear.

She was unable to hold his gaze. He was close enough to smell her fear and to see that she was, in fact, anything but okay. She didn’t bother to lie. “I can do this.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Yes, I do. It’s part of this program.”

“This jump is optional.”

“Not for me, it’s not.”

He was silent for a moment. “There’s nothing I can say to talk you out of this, is there?”

P.J. met his gaze. “No, Senior Chief, there’s not.”

He nodded. “I didn’t think so.” He gave her another long look, then moved to the back of the room.

P.J. closed her eyes, drawing in a deep breath. She wanted to get this over with. The waiting was killing her.

“Okay,” Blue said. “Listen up. Here’re the teams. Schneider’s with Greene, Farber’s with me. Bobby’s with Wes, and Crash is with Lucky. Richards, you’re with Senior Chief Becker.”

P.J. turned to look at Harvard. He was gazing at her, and she knew this was his doing. If he couldn’t talk her out of the jump, he was going to go with her, to babysit her on the way down.

“Out in the other room, you’ll find a jumpsuit, a helmet and a belt pack with various supplies,” Blue continued. “Including a length of rope.”

Farber raised his hand. “What’s the rope for?”

Blue smiled. “Just one of those things that might come in handy,” he said. “Any other questions?”

The room was silent.

“Let’s get our gear and get to the plane,” Blue said.

Harvard sat next to P.J. and fastened his seat belt as the plane carrying the team went wheels up.

Sure enough, P.J. was a white-knuckle flyer. She clung to the armrests as if they were her only salvation. But her head was against the seat, and her eyes were closed. To the casual observer, she was totally relaxed and calm.

She’d glanced at him briefly as he sat down, then went back to studying the insides of her eyelids.

Harvard took the opportunity to look at her. She was pretty, but he’d had his share of pretty women before, many of them much more exotic-looking than P.J.

It was funny. He was used to gorgeous women throwing themselves at his feet, delivering themselves up to him like some gourmet meal on a silver platter. They were always the ones in pursuit. All he’d ever had to do was sit back and wait for them to approach him.

But P.J. was different. With P.J., he was clearly the one doing the chasing. And every time he moved closer, she backed away.

It was annoying—and as intriguing as hell.

As the transport plane finally leveled off, she opened her eyes and looked at him.

“You want to review the jump procedure again?” he asked her quietly.

She shook her head. “There’s not much to remember. I lift my feet and jump out of the plane. The static line opens the chute automatically.”

“If your chute tangles or doesn’t open right,” Harvard reminded her, “if something goes wrong, break free and make sure you’re totally clear before you pull the second rip cord. And when you land—”

“We went over all this in the classroom,” P.J. interrupted. “I know how to land.”

“Talking about it isn’t the same as doing it.”

She lowered her voice. “Daryl, I don’t need you holding my hand.”

Daryl. She’d called him Daryl again. She’d called him that yesterday, too. He lowered his voice. “Aren’t you just even a little bit glad I’m here?”

“No.” She held his gaze steadily. “Not when I know the only reason you’re here is you don’t think I can do this on my own.”

Harvard shifted in his seat to face her. “But that’s what working in a team is all about. You don’t have to do it on your own. You’ve got an issue with this particular exercise. That’s cool. We can do a buddy jump—double harness, single chute. I’ll do most of the work—I’ll get us to the ground. You just have to close your eyes and hold on.”

“No. Thank you, but no. A woman in this business can’t afford to have it look as if she needs help,” she told him.

He shook his head impatiently. “This isn’t about being a woman. This is about being human. Everybody’s got something they can’t do as easily or as comfortably as the next man—person. So you’ve got a problem with heights—”

“Shh,” she said, looking around to see if anyone was listening. No one was.

“When you’re working in a team,” Harvard continued, speaking more softly, “it doesn’t do anybody any good for you to conceal your weaknesses. I sure as hell haven’t kept mine hidden.”

P.J.’s eyes widened slightly. “You don’t expect me to believe—”

“Everybody’s got something,” he said again. “When you have to, you work through it, you ignore it, you suck it up and get the job done. But if you’ve got a team of seven or eight men and you need two men to scale the outside of a twenty-story building and set up recon on the roof, you pick the two guys who are most comfortable with climbing instead of the two who can do the job but have to expend a lot of energy focusing on not looking down. Of course, it’s not always so simple. There are lots of other things to factor in in any given situation.”

“So what’s yours?” P.J. asked. “What’s your weakness?” From the tone of her voice and the disbelief in her eyes, she clearly didn’t think he had one.

Harvard had to smile. “Why don’t you ask Wes or O’Donlon? Or Blue?” He leaned past P.J. and called to the other men, “Hey, Skelly. Hey, Bob. What do I hate more than anything?”

“Idiots,” Wes supplied.

“Idiots with rank,” Bobby added.

“Being put on hold, traffic jams and cold coffee,” Lucky listed.

“No, no, no,” Harvard said. “I mean, yeah, you’re right, but I’m talking about the teams. What gives me the cold sweats when we’re out on an op in the real world?”

“SDVs,” Blue said without hesitation. At P.J.’s questioning look, he explained. “Swimmer Delivery Vehicles. We sometimes use one when a team is being deployed from a nuclear sub. It’s like a miniature submarine. Harvard pretty much despises them.”

“Getting into one is kind of like climbing into a coffin,” Harvard told her. “That image has never sat really well with me.”

“The Senior Chief doesn’t do too well in tight places,” Lucky said.

“I’m slightly claustrophobic,” Harvard admitted.

“Locking out of a sub through the escape trunk with him is also a barrel of laughs,” Wes said with a snort. “We all climb from the sub into this little chamber—and I mean little, right, H.?”

Harvard nodded. “Very little.”

“And we stand there, packed together like clowns in a Volkswagen, and the room slowly fills with water,” Wes continued. “Anyone who’s even a little bit funny about space tends to do some serious teeth grinding.”

“We just put Harvard in the middle,” Blue told P.J., “and let him close his eyes. When it’s time to get going, when the outer lock finally opens, whoever’s next to him gives him a little push—”

“Or grabs his belt and hauls him along if his meditation mumbo jumbo worked a little too well,” Wes added.

“Some people are so claustrophobic they’re bothered by the sensation of water surrounding them, and they have trouble scuba diving,” Harvard told her. “But I don’t have that issue. Once I’m in the water, I’m okay. As long as I can move my arms, I’m fine. But if I’m in tight quarters with the walls pressing in on me…” He shook his head. “I really don’t like the sensation of having my arms pinned or trapped against my body. When that happens, I get a little tense.”

Lucky snickered. “A little? Remember that time—”