Star Dust by Emma Barry & Genevieve Turner Page B

astronaut was enough. More than enough. “Commander. That is, Kit?”
    Despite the noise and the questions and all the people vying for his attention, when she said his name, he snapped up and looked right at her. “Ma’am?”
    She wet her lips with her tongue, needing a moment to work up to it even though she’d already decided to ask. “If Carruthers could be persuaded… I, that is we, would be honored to watch Bucky.”
    “Oh, Mom! Really? Can we?”
    “Yes!”
    “Anne-Marie, are you sure?”
    Again with their Greek chorus bit. Anne-Marie raked a hand through her hair, messing it up, but who cared? She was losing her grip on reality—a few flat curls were the least of her problems.
    “If Commander Campbell says it’s okay,” she ground out.
    “I’d appreciate that.” He offered it with a smile she could feel as much as see. A smile she didn’t want to return, but she knew that she did.
    The taste of it was stale, however. Kit might be—was, in fact—good at it. The charm. The convivial, public persona. But Doug had been, too. On a lesser scale, of course. In a minor key. But she’d seen that film, and once was enough. The kids might like him, and they might covet his dog, but she was keeping this friendly and remote. She was just going to watch his dog. She didn’t want to encourage his… inappropriate propositions, even if—especially if—they made her body tingle.
    “All right then. I’m going to go make something to eat. Freddie, if it’s a good time, why don’t you head over to the Commander’s house and see what…” She looked down. Bucky was snoring loudly against her shoe. “… what the dog needs for a few days. Take some notes. And be home in twenty minutes.”
    “Yes, Mom. I will. Absolutely. An astronaut’s house!”
    Imagine that.

C HAPTER F IVE

    The capsule hit the water with a mighty splash, the great hand of inertia shoving Kit hard into his restraints before throwing him back into the chair. He took a few deep breaths, waiting for his brain to stop jiggling as the capsule bobbed in the waves.
    “Reentry complete,” he said for the benefit of those listening on the radio.
    It wasn’t really a reentry—Kit and the capsule hadn’t been orbiting the earth. Rather, the capsule had been dropped from a helicopter so he could drill on egress procedures.
    Drilling, drilling, and more drilling. He hadn’t drilled this much even as a midshipman at Annapolis.
    He disengaged the tubing attached to him, then freed his head from the helmet, finally stripping off the awkward gloves.
    “Give me a few minutes to finish up my notes,” he said to the waiting helicopter pilot. The notes weren’t absolutely necessary; it was all part of trying to make it as real as possible. But Parsons never met a bit of data he wanted to leave behind, so Kit took readings, wrote his own impressions of the landing, and went through the dreaded checklist. God, he wished he had his Juicy Fruit. But no gum chewing was allowed.
    He made one last notation, opened his mouth to tell the chopper pilot he was ready—
    A loud thud rattled the capsule, followed by the glug and whoosh of water pouring into something.
    Fuck me.
    The hatch had blown. Much too early. He was supposed to blow the hatch manually, but only after the helicopter had secured the cable to the capsule. But whatever explosives Parson and his crew had put on the bolts had blown without him triggering it.
    And that rushing gurgling? The waters of the Atlantic Ocean filling the capsule.
    In the half second before his training kicked in, his mind brought forth the image of Anne-Marie’s hand clenched tight around the pocketknife, her injured finger starkly white. The snap in her voice as she’d said, But can you fit me in?
    Now what the hell made him think of that?
    Then his mind became nothing but one sustained instinct—release this, disconnect that, grab that other. All the while, tickling at the very back of his skull, was the continuing