“I’ll try to change that.”
Relief swept through Kit. There was something in his voice that said he was telling her the truth. “All I want to do is catch Garcia and survive this year with you, Lieutenant. I don’t want any battles. I’m tired of fighting.”
“I don’t like to fight, either. Well,” he amended, “only druggies. I didn’t call you because I didn’t want to disturb you.”
Kit remained on guard. Noah was a man of incredible insight, and it unnerved her to suspect that he probably knew as much about her as she did herself. “If we’ve got business to discuss, come on in the house. I’ve got some sun tea made. Would you like a glass?”
“Sounds good. And yes, we’ve got business to discuss.”
She nodded, seeing the undisguised hunger in his face. It rattled her badly. “I’m ready to work. I’ve had my fill of soap operas and crossword puzzles.”
He walked easily beside her, and Kit admired his aura of confidence. It gave her a sense of stability when she had none left within herself. Somehow Noah Trayhern made her feel safe. Right now she didn’t want to probe the reasons why too deeply.
“You needed this time, though,” Noah reminded her.
“Maybe,” Kit hedged, walking into the cool interior of the small, neatly kept house. “The kitchen’s that way,” she instructed. “I’ll change into something more appropriate and be out in a minute. Why don’t you pour us some tea?”
Noah busied himself in the kitchen. When Kit emerged from the bedroom ten minutes later, she was dressed in a pair of pale pink shorts and a sleeveless blouse. Its pink-and-fuchsia print with burgundy accents highlighted her golden skin. He found it difficult not to stare. Picking up her glass of tea, he met her halfway.
“I like what you’ve done to your hair,” he noted, handing her the cool glass. Their fingers met and touched.
Kit fingered the wispy bangs over her brow. She had coaxed her black hair into soft waves around her face. “Thank you,” she muttered nervously, and took the glass, barely able to endure Noah’s examination. Heat rushed into her face. My God, was she blushing? Touching her flaming cheek, Kit was at a loss for words.
Noah fought himself, but he lost out to the driving need to touch her. He placed his hand beneath her chin and gave her an approving look. “No circles under your eyes, either.” Her flesh was soft and far too inviting. It was the shock in her eyes that forced him to drop his hand back to his side. He wasn’t behaving professionally, and that irritated him. What was it about her that invited this kind of familiarity?
Kit’s skin tingled where Noah’s hand had fleetingly rested. Despite an initial hesitancy, she found herself responding to him like a flower parched for water, drawn helplessly to him. He seemed to put her in touch with her own vulnerability and restore the sense of femininity that had long been buried by her undercover career.
“Come into the living room,” she said, shaken. She took a chair opposite Noah. The coffee table acted as a barrier between them, allowing her to relax slightly. Clearing her throat, she said, “I still don’t know what to make of you, Lieutenant.”
Giving her a wry glance, he selected several groups of papers from his briefcase and spread them across the coffee table. “Call me Noah.”
“Even in front of the DEA, FBI and CIA people?” Kit taunted. Every second spent with him was dissolving her barriers. Noah was too much like Pete, she admitted to herself. The Coast Guard officer appeared driven, probably a superachiever, just as her partner, Pete, had been. Noah reminded her too much of the recent past, but she had no way to stop his encroachment on her life, either professionally or, even more frightening, personally.
“Even with them,” he agreed affably, hearing the disbelief in her voice. Glancing up, he said, “My crew and I work well together, Kit. They all know who’s boss and we know our responsibilities. I came out of a very tight-knit family myself, and I know the benefits of one. I apply that same philosophy to my crew.”
She gave him a strange look. “Family?” His last name struck a memory chord within her once again.
Noah looked up. “Why not?”
“Wait a minute…” Kit snapped her fingers, finally remembering where she’d heard his name. Her eyes rounded. “My God, you aren’t from the Trayhern family with the traitor, are you?” Kit saw Noah’s eyes go dark with hurt, then anger, and she instantly regretted how she’d framed her question.
Noah’s hands stilled over the reports spread before him. He struggled with the grief and loss of Morgan, and then the anger that she or anyone would dare call his older brother a traitor. Kit was just one more person to parrot what she’d been fed by the press. She hadn’t grown up with Morgan, didn’t know how loyal he was or how much integrity he possessed. Wrestling with an avalanche of stripped feelings, Noah whispered tautly, “Yes, Morgan is my brother.” Funny, he never could say was. He didn’t accept that Morgan was dead. He couldn’t. And neither did anyone else in his family.
Kit placed a hand across her mouth, the huskiness in his voice tearing at her. “Oh, no…”
Noah misinterpreted her reaction as negative and sighed roughly. “We might as well hash this out right now.” He tried to prepare himself for her outrage at having to work with the brother of a supposed traitor. He’d gone through this scenario for five years now. Would it never end?
“No…I mean, I’m sorry. It’s just that the memory hit me so hard and out of nowhere,” Kit blurted. She desperately wanted peace between them, not more dissension. Some of the hardness left his eyes, replaced with grief. Kit ached for him, realizing the pain he’d carried because of his infamous brother. “It must be awful to have endured the names and blame for something you didn’t do.”
Noah searched her flushed features, her eyes soft and dove gray. He’d expected anger and accusations from Kit. Instead she was desperately trying to mend the fence between them. His voice came out low and tortured. “First of all, my family and I don’t consider Morgan a traitor. He was a captain in the Marine Corps in charge of a company of men in Vietnam. Something happened over there, and his entire company was wiped out, except for him and one other man.”
Kit bit her lower lip, feeling the magnitude of his anguish. “Everything I read in the papers and saw on television said he deserted his men, leaving them to die. They said he deserted to North Vietnam—the other survivor swore he ran away.”
Noah shook his head, as if trying to shake off an invisible millstone he carried. “Morgan would never desert anyone. Our family prides itself on taking care of those under us. He was raised to be loyal to a fault, and we feel he’s been made a scapegoat for something that went wrong. My father, who was a general in the air force at the time, tried to investigate, but he was stopped at every turn. That’s why we believe Morgan was somehow framed.” Raising his chin, Noah caught and held her gaze. “There’s no way to prove it. Besides, it’s the past, and we’ve got to work in the present.”
“I remember something about your family having a two-hundred-year military tradition. Every child of each generation went into one of the services.”
“That’s right. In my generation, Morgan went into the Marine Corps. I went into the Coast Guard and our younger sister, Alyssa, went into the navy as a pilot. She’s in flight training in Pensacola right now.”
Kit saw the pride in his eyes, heard the pride in his voice for his family and its name. “If Morgan didn’t desert, then your whole family must be bearing a terrible burden.”
“We’ve all paid for it in some way,” he muttered, unwilling to discuss it any further. “But I guess everyone has his or her personal set of problems to carry around.”
“Some have more than others,” Kit said softly, overwhelmed at the immensity of Noah’s load.
His eyes bore into hers. “Is my family history going to be a problem between us?”
Shakily Kit rubbed her hands together, unable to meet his gaze. “No,” she whispered tightly, “it won’t. It just helps me un
derstand you, that’s all.”
Noah wanted to say, Understand me how? But he didn’t. Kit looked genuinely apologetic for her outburst. Rallying because he believed her, he said, “Come over here. Let’s get this briefing over with.”
Slowly Kit rose. There was a dangerous edge to Noah Trayhern that triggered the flight mechanism within her. She sat down on the couch, far enough away to avoid any direct bodily contact. But she was less nervous now that she realized that she and Noah shared similar unhappy, gut-wrenching pasts. Pete had abandoned her. Morgan had abandoned his family. She had paid for Pete’s supercop heroics, and Noah had paid for his brother’s horrifying mistake.
Noah pulled out an eight-by-ten black-and-white photograph and handed it to her. “This is our ship, the Osprey. It’s an SES.”
Kit studied the photo, admiring the clean, sleek lines of the Coast Guard cutter. “She’s beautiful.” In an effort to lighten the atmosphere, Kit added teasingly, “I assume you still refer to ships as ‘she’?”
He rallied beneath her obvious attempt to smooth things out between them. There was an endearing quality to Kit, Noah decided sourly. And it wasn’t helping him maintain his professional demeanor with her. “The day any ship quits behaving like a fickle, beautiful woman is the day I’ll start calling it ‘he,’” Noah admitted. “The Osprey will be your home for one to seven days at a time. We have cramped crew quarters, a galley and all the social amenities packed into a small space. Quite a bit of room is reserved for the boarding crews, rifles, ammunition. There’s also a hold for the storage of confiscated drugs.”
Kit’s eyes grew large. “Seven days?” She’d never set foot on a boat in her life.
“Most of the time it’s one-day missions, five days a week. But we’re going to be hunting for Garcia, so our trips will be longer in order to be in his backyard when he decides to do business with the smugglers. We’ll be off the coast of South America or in the Gulf of Mexico from time to time because of our assignment.”
Kit grimaced. “Chuck was right—I’ll turn into a sailor.”
“It’s better than being a narc patrolling back alleys.”
Sobering, Kit muttered, “You’re right, I suppose.” She tried to shake off the gloom of five years in the trenches and Pete’s desertion. “I’ve never been out to sea, Noah,” she warned him, unease plain on her face.
It was the first time she’d called him by his first name. Noah relaxed slightly. Maybe, with time, Kit would call a truce between them and they could both quit carrying a chip on their shoulders. “We’ve got Dramamine aboard,” he reassured her. “I’ll let you in on a little secret, though.”
“What?”
“Even the crew gets seasick sometimes. It gets pretty rough out in the Gulf and Caribbean at certain times of year. So you’ll be in good company.”
“This is like an unfolding nightmare. I’m a landlubber. And I’m not a great swimmer, either.”
“I’ll give you a tour of the Osprey and maybe that will help.” He handed her a report. “You’re going to have to learn what we do and where you fit into the scheme of things. Let’s get down to the business at hand.”
Chapter Three
How can I concentrate? Kit wondered distractedly. She tried to remain objective as the briefing continued, but Noah’s presence sabotaged her attempts. Pete had been dead a little less than a year now, and Kit was painfully aware of how much she missed having a man in her life. Not that she and Pete had been lovers. No, it had been strictly professional—but undeniably personal. They’d been an unbeatable team on the streets until…
Kit tried to squelch the horrible images that rose in front of her. She shut her eyes tightly, trying to control the sudden surge of grief and loss.
“Here’s the map of the territory we have to patrol,” Noah pointed out, interrupting her thoughts. He placed the chart before them on the coffee table, using his index finger to trace the areas of activity. “There are four major choke points where Garcia might appear. These are also where we tend to intercept most of the drugs en route to the United States. We’ve got the Yucatán Channel, the Windward Passage, the Mona Passage and the Anegada Passage.”
Kit managed to surface from the mire of grief. “What happens at those points?”
“Our chances of intercepting Garcia in a sixty-to two-hundred-foot class of mother ship are much greater.” Noah rested his strong chin on his clasped hands as he gazed over at her. “Mother ships carry the bales of marijuana, dropping them off by crane to small ships and boats that try to smuggle them into our waters. The Coast Guard plies 1.8 million square miles of open seas, but the DEA feels Garcia will show up at one of these choke points.”
“And we’ll be there?”
“Sometimes. It depends on weather conditions. It’s May now, and beginning in August we’re building toward hurricane season. No one knows when Garcia might make his move. We know it will be within a year, but not when.”
“And you need me on board to identify the bastard, right?”
Noah watched her face grow tense. “Yes. We could end up catching him, then turning him loose without even being aware of who he is. You were the only agent to successfully infiltrate his organization in Colombia and can identify him on sight. That’s pretty impressive when you consider Garcia can smell an agent ten miles away.”
Kit’s breathing grew harsher, and she tried to control the hatred welling up inside her. Running her fingers agitatedly through her hair, she whispered, “Don’t get me started on him. He’s the key man in all my nightmares.”
“It must have been rough on you.” Instinctively Noah reached out and placed his hand on her arm in a gesture of comfort. Her skin was warm and smooth, sending an ache through him. There was something mysterious and primal about Kit that had nothing to do with her being a police detective. Noah had spent all week mulling over his unexpected attraction to her. She seemed unaware of her own sensuality. Yet he sensed it—still, powerful and profound. Reluctantly he released her arm and focused his attention back on business.
Shaken by the sudden intimacy Noah had established with her, Kit retreated inside herself—the only place of real safety she knew. “Garcia’s rough on everyone.”
“No argument from me. We’ve been wanting him a long time. The DEA is calling this ‘Operation Storm,’ because Garcia will, in all likelihood, take his mother ship out during hurricane season. But we can’t be sure. That’s why we need you with us on every bust. Only you’ve survived to make a positive ID. The only other person who knows his real identity is his accomplice, Emilio Dante.”
Kit’s mouth thinned. “Him,” she stated flatly, a cold shiver moving up her back.
Noah nodded grimly. Garcia was known for his cold-blooded murders of agents who had tried over the years to infiltrate his vast drug empire in Colombia. Kit had been the only agent to successfully accomplish it and live to tell about it.
Lady, you’re very special. And how I admire your courage, Noah thought, glancing over at her bent head. But her bravery had taken a terrible toll on her, and Noah sensed her fragile hold on her emotions. “You can read the report on Operation Storm between today and tomorrow. If you’re not doing anything tomorrow afternoon, I’ll take you over to the Osprey and you can get acquainted with the ship.”
“I’ll warn you right now, Noah, I don’t care for boats.” Kit tried to appear calm despite the adrenaline pumping through her. When Noah had touched her, she had wanted to melt into his arms. But her attraction to him wasn’t clear or simple. In fact, she wasn’t at all comfortable with these newly emerging feelings. Who was he, anyway? In her undercover work she met only the worst of men. Noah seemed like a knight in shining armor by contrast, incorporating Pete’s driven quality with a special underlying gentleness. How could she fight this attraction and still do her job as a cop?
Resting his arms against his long, muscular thighs, Noah managed a slight smile. “I think you’ll find the Osprey a solid vessel. Sometimes when we boa
rd the druggie boats, the action can get tight. More than one member of our boarding party has been pushed overboard and had to be rescued.”
“I guess it can’t be more dangerous than Dade County,” Kit ventured wryly.
“On a small, cramped boat there’s no place to hide from bullets,” Noah warned, his brows dipping. “You’ll be the DEA representative aboard our ship. We have radio com-nets with the Miami police, the air force, navy, customs and other CG units. Since you speak fluent Spanish, you can be our interpreter when we need one. You’ll also relay info to IOIC—Interdiction Operations Information Center—and help us identify suspects as we pick them up off boats.”
“Then I’ll be part of the boarding party?”
Noah firmly shoot his head. “No, you’ll stay aboard the Osprey until we’ve secured the boarding. No rough stuff for you, lady.”
In a way Kit was relieved. For five years she’d worked undercover without any kind of protection. If she’d carried a pistol, she would have blown her cover and been recognized as a cop. She’d lived by her wits and her ability to survive. “Then all I’ll need is my shoulder revolver.”
“You won’t need to carry one.”
Kit gawked at him. Was he crazy? She almost said it but caught herself in time. “Look, you’re painting a pretty dangerous picture. I want to carry a revolver on your ship, just in case.”
Noah gave her an unruffled look. “The only people who carry weapons on the Osprey are the boarding party. No one else has one. That’s the rule. Besides, I don’t intend to have you close enough to the action to get shot at,” he explained patiently.
“I hear male chauvinism talking, and I don’t like it. I’m not some helpless female who—”
“You’re under my command, Kit,” he interrupted firmly. “I intend to make sure you’ll be safe. My crew is specially trained for boarding procedures. You’re along as liaison.” Her gray eyes were glittering angrily and he tried to defuse the tension between them. “What’s the matter, don’t you think I’ll keep my promise?”
A Question of Honor Page 3
