Mary said something about notes and the FBI and vindication.
“Mm.” He tried to concentrate on her words but failed.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Once again, she laid her hand on his arm.
Another chance, but he froze. “All right?”
“You look dazed. You’re not your usual sunny self.”
He shrugged. “Tired, I guess.”
“You poor thing. And we dragged you out. Let’s call a cab and get you back to quarters.”
“No!”
Mary pulled back her hand, her eyes round.
“I mean...” Jim scratched together what little dignity he’d retained. He stood and offered a smile and his arm. “Just need a chance to wake up. How about a dance?”
“Sure.” She gave him a quizzical look, but she rose.
Jim led her down the steps, over carpet emblazoned with piano keyboards and musical notes and the words “Totem Pole.” Suave had eluded him, but he could at least grasp for an impression of sanity.
Out on the polished dance floor, he swung Mary into his arms. The band played “Two Sleepy People,” a bit too appropriate, but slow enough to require a foxtrot rather than a full jitterbug. He savored the firm, warm curve of Mary’s waist.
“Have they found any more bombs?” she asked. “I assume they’ve looked.”
“We tore the ship apart—as much as we could at sea—and didn’t find anything. They’ll tear her apart even more at the Yard.”
“You’re not staying on board, are you?”
“No, they put us up in the officers’ quarters on shore.” Jim gave her a mischievous grin, determined to be the sunny man Mary seemed to miss. “Once again, Miss Stirling is asking all the questions and not talking about herself.”
“I told you I went to the FBI. Although you listened about as well as Agent Sheffield.”
He laughed. “I’ll pay better attention now, I promise. What else have you been up to the last two weeks? Did you follow the ways of Nancy Drew and get locked up in any towers or cellars or freezers?”
“No.” A smile twitched. “But I joined the choir at Park Street.”
“You did?” He twirled her in a big circle and made her laugh. “Good job. I knew you could do it.”
“Well, I’m only partway there. I’m singing at practices but not on Sundays yet. Someday I will. I’m determined to overcome my fear.”
“Nehemiah was afraid too.”
“Nehemiah?”
Not the typical dance-floor or wardroom conversation topic. “When the king asked him why he was sad, he was afraid. He wasn’t allowed to be sad in the king’s presence. In fact, he was ‘very sore afraid.’”
Mary’s lips bent into an appealing little smile. “Not just sore afraid, but very sore afraid? I know how he feels.”
“But what did he do? He prayed, and then he spoke boldly.”
“So I should pray ... and sing boldly.”
“Watch out, world.” Jim thrust Mary’s hand high out to the side, and he charged her down the dance floor as if doing the tango. “Mary Stirling is coming your way.”
Her bell-like laugh rang out, and at the front of the stage, Jim twirled her under his arm and back into his embrace. “I’m proud of you,” he said.
