Honor Bound (Honor Bound 1)

“Why don’t I drop you at the Belgrano Club?”

“If you did that, my parents would hear about it within the hour. You’ll have to think of something else.”

I already have. I put you in a taxi and send you to the Club. That would solve the problem neatly.

What the hell. There’s nobody in the house.

You’re thinking with your dick, pal.

You look for the first taxi and put her in it.

“My father’s having you, your whole family, to dinner on Tuesday,” he said.

The Princess shrugged.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” he said. “Jesus, I loved it.”

The Princess shrugged again.

“If you liked it, we would be going to your house.”

The Buick entered a wide, sweeping, tires-screaming U-turn.

“If you think I am going to move next to you and do it now, you are mistaken.”

“How about when we get to the house?”

“Perhaps,” the Princess said. “Perhaps not.”

She resolved her indecision in the affirmative the moment they were in the basement garage of Granduncle Guillermo’s house.

First Lieutenant Cletus H. Frade, USMCR, was therefore in an understandable state of excitement when—his arm around the Princess, her arm around him, his face smeared with her lipstick—he walked into the kitchen and found Chief Radioman Oscar J. Schultz, USN, in full dress-white uniform, gold hash marks from sleeve cuff to elbow, gleaming, full-sized medals dangling from his breast, sitting at the table drinking a beer with Suboficial Mayor Enrico Rodríguez, Argentine Cavalry, Retired; Second Lieutenant Anthony J. Pelosi, CE, USAR; and Staff Sergeant David G. Ettinger, AUS, all of whom were in civilian clothing.

“We got a problem, Mr. Frade,” Chief Schultz said. “Dave here, it turns out, can’t take code worth a shit. And Chief Daniels, the Ordnanceman, says Mr. Pelosi’s going to blow hisself up if he tries to take apart an illuminating round by hisself.”

“What is he talking about?” the Princess asked. “Darling, who are these people?”

“Jesus, Mr. Frade, I didn’t think she’d speak English,” Chief Schultz said, sounding genuinely contrite.

“You didn’t see the lady, understand?”

“Aye, aye, Sir.”

“I’ll be with you in a minute,” Clete said.

“Take your time, Mr. Frade,” Chief Schultz said understandingly.

Cl

ete led the Princess from the dining room to the foyer. As he boarded the elevator, he heard Chief Schultz’s somewhat gravelly voice pass on a bit of Naval lore to Lieutenant Pelosi and Staff Sergeant Ettinger.

“Them Marines are all like that. They don’t let nothing get between them and their squeezes. Not a goddamn thing.”

He had, Clete thought, a certain touch of admiration in his voice.

XX

[ONE]