Undetected by Dee Henderson

them.
    He planned to spend part of his month of R and R rehabbing the deck behind his house, then expected to spend two months attending classes and working on special projects for the Submarine Group 9 commander. It would be a very pleasant summer. He hoped to fit in as many fishing trips as he could arrange. He’d never bought a boat, figuring enough friends owned one that buying gas and helping swab the decks would get him a fishing partner or a set of keys when he wanted to go out. Catch some fish, get some sun, enjoy the water from above rather than below, see how a first date with Linda went—he had his core plan for his summer in mind.
    He pulled into the parking lot of the 7-Eleven on Ohio Street. Ice cream. Then finish preparations for the hand-over of the Nevada . When this day ended he’d be on R and R. It already had the feel of being a very good day.

    Mark noticed the security before he noticed her. A security officer was at the door of the 7-Eleven, standing by the spin rack of potato-chip selections, unobtrusively checking out those who came and went. Mark recognized him, was acknowledged in return with a brief nod, and with that recognition Mark came to sharp alert. He scanned the store, expecting to see the rear admiral who ran Bangor getting himself a sandwich, but saw no one in uniform among the fourindividuals in the store. Mark headed toward the back of the store, paused to see what bakery goods were left, considered a day-old donut, then talked himself out of it.
    She was standing at the glass doors of the freezer display, studying ice-cream choices. She finally reached in and selected a pint, the dark ribbing around the side of the container one he recognized as dark chocolate with brownie chunks. She wore an oversized Navy jacket in blue and gold, faded jeans, beat-up tennis shoes, her long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail.
    He glanced over a second time as she turned toward the checkout counter. “Gina?”
    She stopped and looked back at him.
    Gina Gray . It had been two years since he last saw her. She was working in Colorado, her brother Jeff was still at sea. There was no reason for her to be on the West Coast, and yet here she was, at Bangor, wearing one of Jeff’s jackets. She smiled when she recognized him.
    He had his reason for the security.
    He stepped in her direction. She looked good. Thinner than he remembered, but otherwise she hadn’t changed. She looked as young as some of his crew, and just about disappeared in the jacket—like a high school cheerleader wearing a football player’s letter jacket. She was . . . what?—he tried to remember—a decade or so younger than her brother? So 26 now? Or 28? He’d known her for four years before he realized there was a Navy department that existed because of her ideas. She’d created cross-sonar.
    â€œWhat brings you to Bangor?” he asked.
    She started to answer him, and her words froze. Her eyes closed as she fought the embarrassment of it.
    He relaxed, waited. He knew about her occasional difficulty with words. It was a kind of stage fright that people experienced before a speech with a large audience or when performing in front of a crowd. But for her it came and went in an unpredictable fashion. Much like a stutterer had moments when the words wouldn’t come, Gina had moments when her speech didn’t cooperate. Mark had his ideas for why it happened so often with him over the years, but he’d kept those thoughts to himself. She got embarrassed enough as it was.
    A minute passed. The words weren’t returning.
    He chose a pint of cherry chocolate chip ice cream for himself, picked up two plastic spoons from the basket beside the hot-dog relish, reached over and took her ice cream pint. He gently tugged her hand. “Come with me, Gina.”
    He paid for her purchase and his. He gave a nod to the security man as he directed her outside.
    Jeff had introduced