That last possibility bothered her the most, though of course it was probably true. What kind of wife took off to the other side of the world, giving everything to her career and feeding leftovers to the man she loved?
Loved? Holy cow, where had that thought come from? Hannah turned abruptly toward the shower and cranked on the hot water. She wouldn’t waste another moment thinking of her and Luther.
He was standing at the window when she reemerged wearing a mauve pantsuit that was a decade out of style. In the guise of Rebecca Lindstrom, she felt considerably less exposed.
“I think we found Ernie’s lover,” he drawled, glancing at her briefly.
Hannah crossed to the window to peer outside. Magnolia Manor stood on a hill overlooking a line of cedar trees and a wide, snaking river. On the opposite shore stood a large, clapboard warehouse.
The building boasted a substantial pier, wide enough for loading and unloading cargo. Half a dozen men milled about, enjoying cigarette breaks in the early morning sunshine.
“The water looks deep enough for big boats,” Luther observed. He glanced at her sidelong. “They rent canoes here,” he added. “I think we’ll take one out.”
“Yes,” she said, eager for exercise.
He turned toward the bathroom, making no comment on what had happened earlier.
Grateful, Hannah turned to straighten up the bed. If he could forget about her behavior this morning, then so could she. If only this lingering yearning would go away also.
Luther had just discarded his shirt when his cell phone rang. He dug in the rear pocket of his jeans, careful not to disturb the balance of the canoe.
At the other end of the craft, Hannah shaded her eyes against the noon sun as she glanced over her shoulder. Her gaze touched briefly on his naked chest, then jumped away.
“Lindstrom.”
“Sir, you look pretty conspicuous without a shirt,” Westy drawled, telling Luther that he was close by.
“Yeah, well, it’s hot,” Luther countered. Not only that, but he had a perverse desire to see Hannah blush the way she’d blushed that morning.
Once out on the canoe, she’d become an uncomplaining helmswoman. They’d forged the river for hours, studying the activity at the warehouse. Luther acquainted himself with the water’s temperature and tidal current. There was a chance he’d have to swim across the river tonight to get a closer look. Hannah wielded her paddle with the same skill and determination that she did all things. She’d retreated behind her disguise, leaving him feeling confused and dangerously aroused.
“Where are you?” he asked Westy.
“In the woods, a hundred yards upriver. Look for a sock on a tree branch.”
“Be right there. Out.” Luther slid his phone back into his pocket. “We need to talk to Westy,” he said to Hannah. “He’s waiting upriver.”
Without a word, she swiveled in her seat and stuck her paddle into the muddy blue water. So much for unsettling her. He wasn’t even sure exactly what he wanted—a civilized discussion as to why they shouldn’t get involved . . . or more of the same.
“Do you mind watching the canoe?” he asked, pulling one end of it ashore a minute later.
She looked put-out but resigned. “Fine,” she said.
Luther left her glaring after him as he stepped into a deserted bit of forest, leaves crunching under his tennis shoes. It was broad daylight. He was determined to spot Westy before the man had a chance to scare him, which was how he got his kicks.
Aside from a darting squirrel, the forest appeared deserted. Luther turned in a slow circle and nearly jumped out of his skin when Westy materialized beside him, having stepped from behind a tree. “Jesus!” he swore.
Westy, who was wearing a khaki-colored T-shirt with the sleeves ripped off, clicked his tongue in mock disapproval and handed him a piece of paper.
“What’s this?”
“Sketch of the warehouse. I just finished my interview. Don’t think I got the job, though. They’re leery of outsiders. But at least I got a look around.”
“Did you see anything? Take any pictures?”
Westy shook his head. “There was nothing to see. I drew this, though.” His idea of a sketch was an elaborate drawing with details that only an artist would notice.
“This is great. Any chance we can walk in?”
“Nope. The locks on the doors are complex, and there’s an alarm system. We’ll definitely have to swim in.”
“Sorry about that.” Westy’s distaste for diving was no secret, but as a SEAL he’d learned to deal with it. What made this particular dive so dangerous was the fact that they didn’t know the river well at all. Neither one of them had swum in it before. Doing so in broad daylight would only draw suspicion, which meant that it was going to be a night dive.
Fortunately, they had their diving gear with them. Their wet suits, complete with Draeger Rebreathers, were crammed into the back of Westy’s car.
“Meet me at the Manor, down by the canoes, at zero three hundred hours,” Luther decided, “ready to dive. Put your stuff in the car first in case we have to take off.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Questions?” Luther asked.
Westy peered off in the direction of the river. “How’d it go at the lovers’ retreat?” he asked, that devilish smirk on his face.
The memory of Hannah’s lusty palm on his joystick brought heat to Luther’s face. “Fine,” he said shortly.
“Have we heard from Valentino?” Westy asked, astute enough to change topics.
“He’s still out of the country.” Luther had tried to reach the agent several times. “Presumably on a very hot lead. Wouldn’t it be great if Lovitt and his boss could go to jail together?” he mused.
Westy muttered something about Lovitt getting it up the ass for the next twenty years.
“Keep your sketch, Chief. Use it to come up with a COA.”
“Yes, sir,” he said, content to plan their course of action. “So, what’s Hannah going to do?” he inquired.
When had Westy started calling Hannah by her first name? “She’ll sit tight,” Luther replied, disliking the jealousy that nipped at him briefly.
“She won’t like that.”
Luther’d already guessed as much. “Well, unless the CIA trains their people on how to dive, she’s not coming with us,” he countered.
Westy just looked at him.
“I’ll see you at zero three hundred hours, Chief,” Luther said, releasing him. “Call me if something comes up.”
“Yes, sir.” Westy turned and melted into the forest.
Swear to God, the man hadn’t taken five steps before he disappeared.
Returning to the canoe, Luther found Hannah swatting a fly from her head and flapping air under her knit top. Her face was flushed from the heat, and she looked more than just a little irritated. “What’s the plan?” she asked.
“Westy and I have to swim into the warehouse through the berthing area,” he said, pushing the canoe off the shore. “All other points of entry are secured.”
Hannah faced forward. “And what am I going to do?” she asked over her shoulder.
He pushed the boat into the water, stepping in at the last second. It kept him from having to answer.
Hannah didn’t paddle. She waited, one ear cocked in his direction as she sat there with the paddle on her lap. “Luther,” she said on a warning note.
“We have to swim in, Hannah,” he repeated, “using Draeger Rebreathers.” He doubted she even knew what they were—special diving gear that eliminated bubbles, allowing for more clandestine insertions.
“That doesn’t mean I can’t take a canoe out. How are you going to bring the camera over?”
“It’s waterproof.”
That silenced her, at least for a moment. She sat there in her ash-brown wig, scratching an itch under her sweat-stained top, glasses fogged with perspiration. And she still looked gorgeous.
“You left me in the car at Quanti
co,” she said, her voice taut with frustration. “You left me in Westy’s house to chase down my would-be assassin. Now you want to leave me at the Manor twiddling my thumbs?”
“Hush,” he urged. “Sound carries over water.”
She growled at the reprimand. Luther swallowed a chuckle. He found her temper as interesting as everything else about her. Most women would be grateful to be shielded from danger. Not Hannah. She wanted to be right there in the thick of things. His respect for her crept one notch higher. “I’ll let you help next time,” he promised.
“Next time?” She sent a glare over her shoulder. “If we find what we need, there won’t be a next time!”
He was counting on it. “Look,” he soothed, still paddling alone, “Westy and I do this kind of thing all the time. We can read each other’s minds. We don’t need any added distractions.”
“Now I’m a distraction,” she said to the cloud-ridged horizon.
Heck, yeah. It was bad enough that he couldn’t get this morning’s interlude out of his mind. Her temper right now was turning him on. It made him want to prove to her just how much of a distraction she really was, how much of a woman. He thought of the hours they had left before tonight’s planned insertion.
Time for a marathon of afternoon sex, came the undisciplined thought.
Hannah tossed a glare at him. “Is that really all I am?” she demanded. “A distraction?” Her gaze dropped to his gleaming torso.
He decided to go with honesty. “You distracted me pretty well this morning.” He watched with satisfaction as her cheeks flamed pink.
She faced abruptly forward, for once at a loss for words.
Luther’s pull on the paddle lagged. He realized suddenly that his arms ached, so he laid the paddle across his knees and let the current carry them.
The scent of brackish water filled his lungs. An osprey winged overhead, eyeing the river for darting fish. A breeze set the leaves to flutter on the approaching shore. It was lovely. But thunderclouds piled high on the horizon, promising foul weather.
Luther wiped the sweat from his brow and started paddling again. As they approached the other side, Hannah joined the effort, sending vicious strokes through the water as if she couldn’t get to shore fast enough—or away from him.
She said nothing to him as they dragged the canoe onto land and turned it over.
“We need to stow our stuff in the car this afternoon,” he said, “without being seen.”
“We’re leaving tonight?” she asked, glancing at him quickly.
“If we have to. It’s just a precaution.”
“If we stay, you can sleep in the chair,” she announced. And with that, she hurried ahead of him, knit pants clinging damply to her thighs as she all but ran for the entrance.
You’d better run, little girl.
He tamped down the impulse to chase after her; to throw her onto the bed and prove how thoroughly distracting he found her. That was what Veronica would have wanted. Taunting and running were standard operating procedure for her.
But not for Hannah. He didn’t know exactly how he knew that, only that he did.
Entering the room in her wake, he heard her in the bathroom, showering. Her knit top and wig were on the bed; her clothes lay in a heap on the floor.
Luther’s heart beat thick and heavy.
He tossed aside his shirt and kicked his own shoes off. His fingers settled on the zipper of his jeans.
Stop, he commanded of himself. Think. Are you ready for this?
He knew his weaknesses even better than he knew his strengths. Once he made Hannah his, he wasn’t going to want to give her up.
So, no, he wasn’t ready. This wasn’t going to happen.
His relationship with Veronica had taught him a lesson he couldn’t afford to ignore. Finding the right woman was crucial. Until he met a woman whose goals in life meshed with his, right to the names of their unborn children, he wasn’t going to get involved. What was the use of making mistakes if you failed to learn from them?
He’d done a lot of tough things in his three years as a Navy SEAL. Walking away was one of them.
It was a perfect night for insertion. Thunder rumbled continuously as thunderheads swept over Sabena, drenching the landscape. Lightning stabbed fiery fingers toward treetops and the roofs of buildings. No one in his right mind would go out on a night like tonight.
Hannah hung over the balcony rail, watching Luther disappear into the dark as he jogged toward the river. Supposedly, Westy was waiting down by the canoes, wearing the second diving rig. Luther had donned the first here in their bedroom, giving Hannah a fascinating glimpse of how the rebreather worked, recycling the diver’s own air to eliminate bubbles.
Dressed in a wet suit with his gear slung over one shoulder, he’d left, dropping over the balcony, into the silvery rain. Hannah quivered with the need to follow. But as Luther had bluntly pointed out, there was nothing she could do.
She sighed, rubbing away the goose bumps that prickled her skin. Temperatures were plummeting, bringing a distinctly autumnal chill. Sometimes, it was the woman’s destiny to wait, she reasoned. Or was it?
Her spirits rallied as an option occurred to her. Actually, there was something she could do, she realized, turning toward the room to find her shoes. Luther had underestimated her capabilities for the last time.
Chapter Ten
25 September ~ 14:15 EST
“Here, sir.”
He did it again. Luther jumped at the sound of Westy’s voice, practically in his ear. The chief stood against the tree trunk next to him, camouflaged in his black wet suit.
Luther glared at him. He checked over Westy’s equipment, and the chief did the same for him, wordlessly and with efficiency that came from regular practice.
Westy’s favorite knife was strapped to his webbed belt. They would take no other weapons with them, their purpose being simply to photograph anything suspicious with the camera that was stowed in Luther’s belt pouch.
Securing their masks and popping the mouthpiece between their teeth, both men waded into the water at their insertion point. They sank into mud up to their calves.
Even in the dark, Luther noted Westy’s shudder. They walked in until the water was up to their waists, nodded, and went under.
Their masks were designed for nighttime dives and equipped with state-of-the-art infrared screening capabilities. What appeared from the surface to be a solid body of water was, in fact, a world of darting fish, sunken branches, hills and troughs, and shimmering organisms that were probably shrimp.
Luther consulted his underwater compass, and they struck out, crossing the creek that was surprisingly deep. After a hundred yards or so, they’d crossed the channel, and the complex network of pilings on which the warehouse was constructed. Neither man had surveyed the area from their current perspective.
They headed into the forest of sunken pilings, following the channel that had been dredged to allow big boats to dock inside. The muddy river bottom was only a few meters below them when they swam beneath the warehouse’s outer wall. They came up against a bulkhead, and they were in the berthing area.
To their mutual dismay, the interior of the warehouse was illuminated. They would have preferred operating in the dark. If anyone was up there, they’d be seen.
Luther signaled that he would surface first. Keeping close to the bulkhead, he poked his head out of the water and lifted his mask to look around. A dozen naked lightbulbs dangled here and there, casting a paltry glow over stacked wooden crates, dollies, and huge refrigerators.
Not a soul in sight. He signaled the all-clear to Westy and they moved to the only ladder. Removing their flippers, they stowed them behind the ladder and climbed out stealthily in rubber booties.
The warehouse was immense. This berthing area alone was big enough to house a boat of substantial dimensions. Luther glanced at Westy, who gestured toward the nearest wall. Their movements were muted by the drum of rain on the tin roof overh
ead.
Luther opened the door of the closest refrigerator. The smell of fish and oysters assaulted him. The place was an authentic seafood warehouse, no question of that. Imagine working here all day, Luther thought, finding the floor slippery under his booties.
He and Westy moved methodically along the wall, peering into each container they came upon. They found catfish, croaker, flounder, sea bass, and enough oysters to feed the entire population of Virginia, but nothing suspicious.
Luther moved to a mound of crates. Either they’d just been unloaded or they were left here in anticipation of being shipped off soon. He tried to tug one open but it had been nailed fast.
Westy found a discarded hammer and, at Luther’s nod, wrestled the nails free. One gave a squeak that echoed off the ceiling. Both men held their breath.
The quiet that followed reassured them enough to proceed. At last Westy was able to lift the lid. Luther pushed aside the straw stuffing. What he saw there made his scalp tighten.
Amid the stuffing lay a collection of AK-47s, just like the ones that had disappeared off a frigate bound for Somalia a month ago. Hot damn, they’d found Lovitt’s hidden stash! He brushed aside the stuffing, hunting for serial numbers, anything that would link these weapons to the stolen ones.
He had to break out a penlight to find the numbers. With a tremor of excitement, he took pictures of the weapons and several close-ups of the numbers etched into them.
They moved to another crate, taking less care to keep silent as they struggled to open it. A scuffling sound caused them to freeze like thieves and turn their heads. What they saw made Luther’s blood run cold.
A Doberman pinscher stood not twenty feet away, regarding him through eyes that glowed yellow.
Westy reached slowly for his knife. Luther knew the chief could peg the animal in the heart if he had to. They both eyed the distance to the water, gauging their ability to dive in before the dog could rush them.
In the Dark Page 12
