LITMIR.BIZ

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had been using the desk next to Ernesto, two NCOs doing their NCO thing, but the new platoon leader would be in Ernesto’s office now. Thane would have to get used to having his own platoon sergeant sharing this room again.

      He picked up his cell phone and unlocked the screen. Pink words awaited him. Something came up, and I won’t be able to be by the phone tonight. There goes our Star Trek marathon. I’m sorry. The best-laid plans of mice and men...

      They’d planned to write each other while watching the same channel tonight—so he knew Ballerina Baby lived in the United States somewhere and got the sci-fi channel on cable—but it looked like his evening was suddenly free. And more boring. The disappointment was sharp, but he had to play it cool. He wasn’t her boyfriend. He couldn’t demand to know why she was changing her plans, and he shouldn’t demand it. If Ballerina said she couldn’t make it, he believed her. Thane frowned. He also wasn’t sure who’d said the mice and men line.

      Shakespeare? That was right nine times out of ten.

      Gotcha. Robbie Burns. You’re not a fan of Scottish poetry?

      Damn. She’d gotten him last week with Burns, raving about how she loved her new sofa that was the color of a red, red rose. No, but I’m a fan of Star Trek and I’m a fan of you. Now I only get one of those two things tonight.

      His platoon sergeant came back in, pushing a chair with squeaky wheels ahead of himself. Thane turned his phone screen off. With all the pink and blue letters, it practically looked like a baby announcement. Lloyd would have a field day with that.

      Thane stood up. “I’ll help you move the rest of your stuff. You prefer the squeaky wheels, huh?”

      “No, sir. That’s why I just upgraded. I’m going to leave this chair here.”

      “You’re not moving back in?”

      Lloyd had that grin on his face again, the one Thane didn’t trust. “Well, sir, maybe an experienced lieutenant like yourself ought to show the new lieutenant the ropes. Maybe we should keep one office NCOs, one office lieutenants.”

      “No. No way. You’re not sticking me with some fresh college kid. He’s Ernesto’s problem to deal with, not mine. That’s what a platoon sergeant is for, to keep the rookie LT out of trouble.”

      Lloyd only grinned wider. “It’s not my idea. Seems like the CO thinks you’d be the best man for the job. He told the first sergeant who he wants in each office. He wants you to babysit Lieutenant Michaels. I mean, train Lieutenant Michaels.”

      Thane cursed and rubbed his hand over his jaw and its five o’clock shadow, suddenly feeling each one of the thirty-six hours he’d been working. He’d wanted a fourth platoon leader to come in to lighten his work routine, but he hadn’t wanted that new platoon leader to impact his daily routine this much. “That explains the grin on your face. I don’t suppose there’s any chance this lieutenant is OCS?”

      OCS stood for Officer Candidate School. It was the quickest way for an enlisted soldier who already had a college degree to become an officer. Thane had only had a high school diploma when he’d enlisted, so he’d applied for an ROTC scholarship. After he’d served two years as an enlisted man, the army had changed his rank from corporal to ROTC cadet and sent him to four years of college on the army’s dime. His prior two years as an infantry grunt made him a little older than most first lieutenants. He thought it made him a little wiser as well, since most ROTC grads were entering the army for the first time. If this butter bar was coming to them from OCS instead of ROTC, then he’d have some prior service, and he wouldn’t be as much of a rookie. But Lloyd was still smiling. Not good.

      “No, sir. Not OCS. Not ROTC, either. The word is that Lieutenant Michaels is fresh out of West Point.”

      “Are you kidding me?” The third way to become an officer was by attending the United States Military Academy at West Point, one of the country’s oldest and most elite schools. Elite meant there weren’t very many West Pointers in the army in general. Thane had worked with several, of course, and he couldn’t honestly say he’d ever had a problem with a West Point graduate, but anything elite was automatically met with suspicion by everyone else, including him.

      “Monday morning, sir, you get to share all your special secret lieutenant-y wisdom with a brand-new West Pointer. I’ll be over in Ernesto’s office if you need me.”

      “You’re so helpful.”

      “You’ve been up since yesterday morning, sir. The CO hasn’t. You should go home now.” But as Lloyd left the office, he stopped and turned around. “Oh, and one more thing. Your new butter bar West Pointer office buddy? Word is that Lieutenant Michaels is a girl. See you Monday, Boss.”

      * * *

      I wish I could sleep another four hours, but I’m burning too much daylight as is.

      Thane glanced at the pink words as he poured raw scrambled eggs into a cast-iron skillet. Ballerina was going to have to dig deeper than that if she was going to stump him today. He’d slept until noon. The duty schedule had finally coincided with the right days on the calendar, and Thane had a whopping forty-eight hours off. He’d left the office Friday evening and didn’t have to be anywhere until he took over at the police station on Sunday evening.

      He typed on his phone with one finger while he kept his Saturday morning eggs moving around with the spatula in his other hand. John Wayne. (Too easy. Really.) Why so tired?

      Late night.

      His flash of jealousy wasn’t easy to laugh off. A single woman out late on a Friday night? Thane knew, somehow, that Ballerina would have no shortage of interested men around her. He had no idea what she looked like, but she was so full of life, so fun and quirky, men must find her as attractive in real life as he found her online. She must laugh and smile a lot with her real friends; there was nothing more attractive. Or maybe she was shy, making intelligent wisecracks under her breath only to the one friend standing next to her. Also attractive.

      This old app had no photo features. It didn’t matter what she looked like, anyway. She was attractive to him in a way that went beyond blonde, brunette or redhead. Not only did it not matter, it would never matter. Other men would compete to get her smiles and hugs. He had no chance of being one of those men, the one who would pursue her until he was her favorite out of them all, until he was the only man she wanted to be with.

      He should be satisfied that he was the man who got her thoughts and words, at least for now. When she found someone to love, he wouldn’t even have that. Thane grabbed a fork and started eating from the skillet, standing up. Jealousy over a pen pal was stupid and he knew it. But...

      She hadn’t been able to chat with him last night, because she’d gone out somewhere.

      He stabbed the eggs a little viciously. All right, so Ballerina had a life. He could keep this in perspective. She’d said something last night about working off that bag of tater tots she’d eaten. Maybe she’d had a rehearsal or even a performance. If she wasn’t a ballerina, he still suspected she was involved with dance, maybe a dance instructor, or a choreographer. Like him, she often mentioned going to work out or being tired from a vaguely described workout.

      He shoveled in more eggs and began to type. Out late for work or play?

      There was a bit of a pause before she answered. Is this a trick question to see if I’ll give you a clue about what I do for a living? Do I work at night?

      Busted. Of course it was.

      Of course not. How about this—did you enjoy your late night or were you gutting it out?

      I loved it. I’m a natural night owl. I wish more of the world was. Even as a little kid, I hated going to bed for school. Kindergarten is misery for night owlets. Owlings. Whatever the term is. Why couldn’t school have been from 8pm to 2am, instead of 8am to 2pm?

      He put down the fork to type with two thumbs. You should’ve been a vampire. Do they have school-aged vampires? A kindergarten full of little ankle

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