A Powerful Thing
Sunday Evening - 2000 Hours
Hank and Val had enjoyed each other's bodies immensely. They had also enjoyed each other's company. Hank was a little startled at how attracted he was to her. Val was more than a little shook up at how attracted she was to the bald and hunky commanding officer. Both had been sure they were going to share a tumble in the hay and move on. Neither would have believed that what they shared would survive the dawning of the sun. But here they were, forty-eight hours later and wondering when they could meet again.
"When you comin' back this way?" he asked as they finished their evening meal.
"Don't know for sure. Might have to go back to Norfolk in a couple weeks to verify some lab work."
"You can't do that from Memphis?"
"No, but I might be able to do it at Bethesda," she said softly. "That a little more convenient than Norfolk for you?"
"Much more convenient," he murmured, pulling her into his arms. "If you spend the night, you could stay here. "If you come on a Friday, you can spend the weekend. "If you don't finish everything on Friday, you could stay over till Monday or Tuesday and..."
"How long you been a horny sailor, Admiral Willhaven?" Val laughed softly, her arms around his neck, her breasts pushing into his chest.
"As long as I've known you, Commander Fletcher."
"You've known me for a while now, cowboy."
"I meant biblically," he grinned.
Two weeks later
Norfolk Naval Base
As luck would have it, Hank was on the other side of the country when Val came back to DC. He was on urgent Navy business and they were both disappointed he had to be out of town while she was there. They quickly agreed to set up a time to be together when Hank was back on the East Coast. "Gonna' miss you, cowboy," she told him.
"Gonna miss you more, sugar," he assured her.
Since Hank wasn't in town, there wasn't any reason to go to Bethesda. Val was sure she could finish what needed to be done at Norfolk and requested transport there. She worked steadily, belatedly realizing that the lab techs were leaving early to jumpstart their weekend. By 1600 hours, she was alone with one technician.
"Going off duty, Ma'am, going to call it a day," the tech announced, standing and removing his latex gloves. "Any last minute thing you want me to do for you?"
"No, you go ahead," Val murmured, her concentration focused on the microscope's lens. "Almost done here."
"Yes, Ma'am," he replied, going to the door when he heard the knock.
Val forgot about him, unaware that he hadn't left for the day... unaware that his life's blood was seeping out of his jugular... unaware that his body was seconds away from death... unaware that the killer stood behind her, a bloody screwdriver in his hand.
"How many, Matthews?" AD Wallace barked at his special agent as they furtively made their way across the massive naval yard.
"Eight undercover in uniform and four of us, sir," Matthews said quietly, the tension thick enough to suffocate a platoon. Or a squadron or whatever the hell the Navy calls a bunch of their specially trained forces.
They both felt it and nodded to each other. There was something in the air and they knew they were close. "How many good guys know we're here?" his boss asked, releasing the safety on his gun, his eyes scanning the immediate perimeter.
"Base commander and his immediate staff, don't know who else, Sir," Matthews replied, also releasing the safety on his gun.
"Okay, what's left?"
"Just that warehouse over there," Matthews pointed, "and the temporary medical labs. If he's on base this afternoon, he's nearby." "If we don't apprehend that son of a bitch today, we're dead in the water until the next full moon. I WANT HIM TODAY!" Wallace hissed.
"Yes, Sir," Matthews swore. "Today."
"You take backup and search the warehouse. I'll take some men and cover the med labs. No heroics, Matthews!" his boss warned. "Go NOW!"
Mark Wallace scurried behind the last of the buildings just as the felon he was hunting stuck his screwdriver into the lab tech's neck and disappeared into the medical lab.
Commander Fletcher was tired. She had been bent over a microscope most of the day. Her back hurt, her eyes ached and she wanted a warm bath, a glass of wine and a place to put her feet up. Brushing the hair out of her eyes, she suddenly shivered. Lord have mercy, I swear a goose just danced 'cross my grave. Somethin about this place feels downright evil. Knew I should have done this at Bethesda. She rolled her head from side to side, stretching the kinks out and arched her back, straightening her arms over her head.
"Oh, that feels good," she said quietly.
"How does this feel, bitch?" the voice behind her rasped as his thick arm tightened around her neck.
Val couldn't answer. His arm was choking her and there was the coppery smell of blood as the screwdriver began to pierce the surface of the hollow in her collarbone. She was suddenly cold, all her body heat escaping through the narrow wound, her head dizzy from the sudden attack. Her body instinctively moved back, one hand clawing at the arm holding her, the other seeking purchase on anything that would help her maintain her balance.
He screamed when her hand found his testicles and squeezed hard, dropping her just as Mark Wallace crashed through the door. In his haste, the assistant director of the FBI tripped over the dead body of the lab tech and he fell to the floor, his gun still aimed at the felon's head. The other agents immediately took over, handcuffing and manhandling the man who had murdered half a dozen or more military personnel at the Norfolk installation every full moon for the past several months.
Mark automatically reached for the woman he thought was the latest victim, turning her head toward him and froze. "NO!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, recognizing Commander Val Fletcher. "NO!"
"Do you have to shout?" she grimaced, her skilled hand going to her shoulder, mentally assessing the damage.
"Don't you ever scare me like that again!" he growled, hauling her up into his arms. "What the hell are you doing here? Why aren't you in Memphis where you belong, where you'd be safe? How badly are you hurt? I'm going to whip your ass if you ever scare me like that again," he hissed, lowering his voice, belatedly remembering FBI agents were in the room.
"I knew there was a reason I never joined the FBI," Val groaned. "What are you doing on a Navy base, Mr. Assistant Director and thank you for showing up in the nick of time," she murmured before she passed out in his arms.
"As soon as I know you're all right," he whispered in her ear, "I'm going to... to... Christ, woman! You better be all right, or so help me... Over here," he snapped at the other agents. I need a medic... call 911."
The paramedics checked her out, stitched her wound, gave her a tetanus booster shot, and some painkillers. They suggested she take it easy over the weekend. Wallace snorted.
"I'll see that she does," he informed them, helping her to his car after informing Matthews to "finish up."
"AD Wallace," Val protested. "I need to lay down somewhere. I'm plum tuckered out. I need to..."
"You need to hush, sugar," he murmured. "I'm gonna' take real good care of you."
"Mark Wallace," Val argued, "You are the surliest and wickedest SOB I've ever..."
"Shared a bed with?" he grinned, tucking her into his car and buckling her seatbelt. "Lay your head back, sweet woman," he rumbled in her ear. "We have all weekend for you to remember how surly and wicked I really am."
Three months earlier
"AD Wallace," Val exclaimed when she opened her door. "What are you doing here?"
"Trick or treating," he replied, smiling at the beautiful woman in the witch's costume, her long blonde hair framing her face. He had been fantasizing about her lush round curves ever since he met her. They had worked a case together and for the first time, he had been grateful the Navy was involved in an FBI matter. This woman appealed to him in more ways than one - her intellect, her Southern charm, her blunt manner of speech and her very luscious body. His palms itched to feel every inch of her and he was instantly hard.
"I have wanted you since we first met, woman," he had told her, his words spoken gruffly as he pulled her close to his chest, her softness making him harder.
"Why?" she had murmured, her breath suddenly ragged.
"I like looking at you," he said simply.
"Lots of pretty fillies, Mr. FBI man. You gotta have a better reason than that."
"I like your round curves," he said, his hands sliding down her back and cupping her bottom. "I like your smart mouth and you have kissable lips." To prove his point, he lowered his head and kissed her - and kissed her again. "Very kissable," he murmured, pushing his tongue between her lips, demanding and gentle at the same time. "And you smell good, sugar," he told her. "I want to smell you all over."
"Is that it?" she asked, her voice barely audible, his rock hard erection already bruising her belly.
"You pissed me off when we were working together," he growled, pulling her closer. "You stood up to me; you didn't cave in to my orders. Very few people have the balls to stand up to me. I stayed away from you as long as I could." He tilted her chin up. "I want you, Commander Fletcher. Do you want me?"
"Do I want you?" she had sputtered. "Is a pig's ass pork?"