really

her coffee.
“Sir, I don’t know the Captain the way . . . the way you do.”
“The way I do?” Tremaine smiled wryly. “Ms. Wolcott, I was an ensign myself the last time I served under Captain Harrington—and that wasn’t all that long ago. I’d hardly claim to ‘know’ her especially well. I respect her, and I admire her tremendously, but I don’t know her.”
“But you were in Basilisk with her.”
“So were several hundred other people, and I was as wet behind the ears as they come. If you want someone who really knows her,” Tremaine added, frowning as he ran through a mental list of Fearless’s officers, “your best bet is probably Rafe Cardones.”
“I couldn’t ask him!” Wolcott gasped, and Tremaine laughed out loud.
“Ms. Wolcott, Lieutenant Cardones was a JG then himself, and just between you, me, and the bulkhead, he was all thumbs, too. Of course, he got over that—thanks to the skipper.” He smiled at her, then sobered. “On the other hand, you’ve gotten yourself in deep enough now. You may as well go ahead and ask me whatever it is you don’t want to ask Rafe or Commander Venizelos.” She twisted her cup, and he grinned. “Go ahead—trot it out! Everyone expects an ensign to put a foot in his or her mouth sometime, you know.”
“Well, it’s just—Sir, is the Captain running away from Grayson?”
The question came out in a rush, and her heart plummeted as Tremaine’s