A Question of Honor

by Lindsay McKenna

  Cordeman continued to glower at Noah, but his tone admitted defeat. “You’ve got balls, Trayhern.”

  “See that Kit gets those three weeks,” Noah repeated grimly.

  “If it will make you feel any better, I tried to get Kit off this assignment.”

  Noah was sure his eyes indicated his distrust. He had worked with Cordeman from a distance on several occasions in the past. He knew the man’s reputation for integrity and an unwavering attitude toward drug smugglers. Cordeman also ran one of the toughest narc divisions in the country. He was good at his job and had a decided talent for getting the best out of the people who worked under him. Maybe a little too good, Noah decided. Kit had returned to work instead of taking time off to adjust to the death of her partner. “Just how hard did you try?”

  Cordeman motioned him toward the chair. “Sit down,” he growled, his blue eyes narrow. “You’re gonna find out, Trayhern, that I do take a great deal of interest in my people.” He paused as Noah sat. “I had plans to force Kit to take a leave of absence from the department before Operation Storm was created by DEA. I knew she was hurting, and I tried a number of times to persuade her to talk about it. But she wouldn’t. She kept insisting she was all right. About six months ago, she began to make mistakes. It was little things, but she realized as well as any of us that in this business details can get you killed. Finally she came and asked me for a transfer out of the department.”

  Noah frowned. “Out of narc completely?”

  “Yeah. Kit admitted to me that she’d had it. She wanted a desk job—anything to get her off the streets. I promised her I’d do my damnedest.”

  “With her record of commendations, it should have been easy,” Noah pointed out tightly.

  Cordeman met his glare. “I went straight to the captain with it. I told him she was at the end of the line emotionally and needed the rest. That was when he told me about Storm.” He shook his head sadly. “You know how important Kit is to the success of this operation. If we can get Garcia out of the picture, the Colombian government will cooperate with us in prosecuting him. Garcia’s smart—he stays out of the limelight. Anybody trying to take a photo of him can kiss his life goodbye.”

  Noah rubbed his jaw. “So what kind of deal did you wrangle for her?”

  “A lateral transfer to your ship as a liaison observer.”

  “And after that?”

  “After Storm’s completed, Kit gets her wish. She gets a cushy desk job as a detective in homicide upstairs.”

  “Maybe I’ve misjudged you, Cordeman. And maybe I haven’t.”

  The supervisor sank wearily back into his frayed leather chair. He mopped his brow with a limp white handkerchief. “I’ll get Kit those three weeks. Somehow.”

  Rising, Noah muttered, “Call me as soon as it’s official.”

  Chapter Four

  Noah had barely gotten back to headquarters to finish up some paperwork, when Cordeman called. Sitting down at his desk, he took the call.

  “Coast Guard. Lieutenant Trayhern speaking.”

  “This is Cordeman. I’ve got some bad news for Kit.”

  Automatically Noah placed a clamp on his emotions. “What’s wrong?”

  “Plenty. Emilio Dante was just released from prison. Kit was the one who put him away, Trayhern. And he swore that when he got out he’d settle the score with her. Well, he’s out, and our snitch just told one of my undercover officers that he’s planning to go after her.”

  Cold fear washed through Noah. “How in hell did that happen? Dante was supposed to be put away for fifteen years.”

  “His lawyers got him out on bail due to a technicality. There will be another trial. Until then, he’s walking around free and vowing revenge. With him out, Operation Storm takes on new importance.”

  “That’s the least of our problems,” Noah shot back, irritated. His mind whirled with options on how to protect Kit. She’d have to go into hiding. She was a sitting duck at her home. His heartbeat quickened at the thought of Kit in danger.

  “Listen closely, Trayhern. There’s not much time. The captain, DEA and IOIC have decided Kit has to go underground. We don’t have the manpower to provide her twenty-four-hour protection. She’s going to have to disappear completely.”

  “Of course.”

  Cordeman’s voice grew aggravated. “You still don’t get it, do you? Kit’s your responsibility now. I just talked with your commander, and we’re all in agreement on the action to be taken.”

  “Fine, I’ll go along with it. Just spell out the plan, Cordeman. Dante isn’t going to waste any time getting to her.”

  “Tell me about it. Okay, here are your new orders. Kit is to go underground at your residence for the duration of Operation Storm. Since I haven’t initiated the paperwork transferring Kit to the CG yet, that will be the ideal place for her to hide. It’s been decided to issue fake orders transferring Kit up to Atlanta on special assignment. That will throw Dante off her trail. I’ll be the only police contact with you and her. No one, other than me, the captain and your commander will know Kit’s true whereabouts. Your residence will become a safe house for Kit. From there, she can ride with you to the ship and home again. It dovetails perfectly with the operation.”

  His fingers tightening around the phone, Noah whispered an epithet. How the hell could he keep a professional distance from Kit when she would be in his personal life? “There’s no way you’re putting her on my doorstep, Cordeman.”

  The supervisor laughed sharply. “Tell that to your commanding officer, Trayhern. Listen, this is coming down fast. You can’t buck these orders. They’ve been approved all the way up the line. If I were you, I’d get over to Kit’s home pronto, pack a few of her clothes and get her out of there before Dante shows up.”

  Kit heard the doorbell ring. She wiped her hands on a towel and placed it on the kitchen counter. It had to be Noah. Why had he sounded so grim on the phone earlier? Opening the door, she looked up at his hard features. He appeared harried—and aggravated.

  “Come in,” she invited. Her heart began a slow pound of dread as she read some undefinable emotion in his stormy eyes.

  Taking off his officer’s cap, Noah moved into the living room. Kit looked achingly beautiful in the raspberry-colored floor-length cotton gown she wore. Her hair was tousled, framing her oval face, her gray eyes large with concern. As she approached, he said, “I couldn’t talk on the phone when I called you.”

  Kit tensed. “Something’s wrong.”

  Obviously agitated, Noah ran his fingers across his chin. “Very wrong. Cordeman called me half an hour ago. Emilio Dante has been sprung from prison.”

  Gasping, Kit stared up at him in disbelief and confusion. Dante was free…and he had sworn to kill her the first chance he got! She shut her eyes tightly, trying to fight through the flood of fear. “My God…”

  Noah saw her weave unsteadily. He reached out, gripping her arm. “Come on, sit down,” he entreated huskily, leading her over to the couch. He sat down next to her.

  “Dante’s free. But how?” she cried.

  Her fear became his. Until that moment, Noah hadn’t realized just how much Kit had started to become someone important to him in an emotional sense. The feeling made him reel. Struggling to keep his voice calm and neutral, he told her what Cordeman had said.

  “That means I have to disappear. I can’t stay here….” Kit looked around the room. She’d spent little time in this house over the past five years, yet within one week she had grown to love its quiet beauty.

  “I know. Cordeman and the DEA have already decided what’s to be done,” Noah began heavily.

  “They want me to go to a motel under a fictitious name?”

  “No. To my home. It will be your safe house for the duration of Storm.”

  “What?” Kit stared at him, her mouth dropping open. “You can’t be serious!”

  “I wish I wasn’t,” Noah confided, getting to his feet. “The DEA feels you’ll be safe at my
place. The paperwork transferring you to the CG was never processed. For once the slowness of bureaucracy is a blessing. Cordeman will issue fake orders sending you TAD to Atlanta. Besides, with you going out daily on the Osprey this will avoid a lot of transportation difficulties. You can ride to and from work with me.” He saw the shock deepen in Kit’s features.

  Kit looked down at her hands. Her fingers were trembling. She might be physically safe at Noah’s home, but her emotions were in danger. “But,” she began in a strained voice, “can’t you do something? Anything? I don’t think us living together under one roof is such a good idea. We can’t seem to spend an hour together without arguing.”

  “There’s nothing either of us can do about it,” he muttered. “Look, let’s get you packed and out of here. There’s no time to waste.”

  Rising, Kit turned to him. “This isn’t going to work, dammit!”

  All Noah’s aggravation and frustration dissolved beneath the desperation in her gray eyes. Why the hell was he acting like this? He could see she was badly shaken by the news. Kit needed his maturity and protection right now, not his anger. “We’ll make it work.”

  Her gaze followed every curve of his face. Despite the harsh set of his mouth, she found compassion in his eyes and heard it in his voice. Her heart said yes to the plan, but her wary mind screamed no. “Noah…this is going to be disastrous.”

  “I don’t like it any more than you do.”

  Kit wanted to continue to protest, but she knew it was useless. Uncertain, she walked toward the bedroom. Too emotionally exhausted to argue further, she said, “Okay, but I’m not going to be your housekeeper and cook, Noah Trayhern.”

  He managed a curt nod. “You’re a guest at my home. I’ll treat you like one.”

  Kit swallowed against her constricted throat. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll be ready to leave,” she uttered tiredly.

  “I feel ridiculous,” Kit said to Noah as they drove toward his home.

  He glanced over at her, struggling to sound optimistic. “As soon as you get over the initial shock, you’ll be fine.”

  She had her doubts. The scenery along the freeway didn’t impinge upon her inner turmoil, and Noah’s closeness did nothing but emphasize her fragile emotions. She wasn’t prepared for any kind of relationship with a man—professional or otherwise. Kit stole a quick glance at Noah’s profile, lingering on his mouth. It turned up, and there were laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. The men she worked with didn’t smile often.

  “You know everything about me,” she began awkwardly, “and I know nothing about you.”

  His sea-green eyes lightened. “I’ll give you a hint—my friends refer to my home as ‘Noah’s ark.’”

  Her brows drew down. “I’m in no shape for guessing games today. Mind explaining?”

  “I’ll let that be a surprise. What else do you want to know?”

  Kit refused to yield to the implication in his husky voice. Further, she chose to ignore the word “home.” She had always lived in a house, never a home. “Tell me about yourself,” she insisted.

  “Twenty-nine, single, black hair, green eyes—”

  “Cut the stats. You sound like a sales pitch for some dating service.”

  “With my job responsibilities, I don’t date much.”

  “Are you complaining?”

  “Just a roundabout way of letting you know you won’t be a third wheel at home.”

  Kit sank against the car seat, and as she closed her eyes, she suddenly felt very tired. “The more I get to know you, Noah, the less I understand about men,” she admitted softly.

  “You’ve worked with men all your life,” Noah returned. The dark side of them, he thought. “Maybe I can show you a more positive side.” He saw a slight upward curve of her lips. That was enough for him. Even in the bright afternoon sunlight that cascaded through the car window, Kit appeared drawn. “Go to sleep,” he coaxed. “I’ll wake you when we get home.”

  Kit released a sigh, the warmth of the sunlight making her drowsy. There was an incredible sense of protection surrounding her and she knew it was due to Noah’s presence. Even with Dante free, she knew she was safe with Noah. His words were like balm to her exhausted state and Kit quickly succumbed to sleep.

  Noah glanced at Kit from time to time, keeping most of his attention on the traffic. In sleep she looked younger. It was hard to imagine that she was close to his own age; she looked twenty-four. Maybe that was why she had an ulcer: instead of allowing the tension of her job to show, she turned it inward on herself, like a dagger.

  Groggily Kit forced her eyes open after a third gentle shake of her shoulder. Noah’s male scent drifted into her sensitive nostrils and she inhaled it like a lost memory.

  “Kit?” he called. “We’re home.”

  Home…the word struck a responsive chord. If only she were really home…

  “Come on, or I’ll have to carry you in.”

  Viewing that as a threat, Kit forced herself to move, unbuckling the seat belt. She blinked, her lids heavy with sleep. “I feel as if I slept forever.”

  Noah opened the door to the Trans Am. “It was only about half an hour’s worth.”

  She suppressed a yawn. “That long?”

  “You needed it,” he growled softly, climbing out of the sports car.

  Kit was going to open her car door, but Noah got there first. “You don’t have to do that,” she protested, getting out.

  He gave her a patient smile, cupping her elbow as he guided her up the walk.

  Kit ignored the trace of irony she saw in Noah’s face, looking instead at the house he called a home. It was a single-story brick bungalow with well-manicured hedges and several palms gracing the yard. Towering hibiscus bushes surrounded the house itself, their profusion of multicolored flowers creating a look of Eden.

  Kit cast a glance up at him. “You do all the yard work alone?”

  “Will wonders never cease?” Noah drawled, opening the latch on the gate and allowing her to enter the front yard.

  “That tells me something about you.”

  Noah frowned. “What?”

  “You may spend a lot of time at sea, but you also like putting your hands in the earth, as well.”

  “I like putting my hands on any living thing,” he remarked cryptically as he fished the house key out of his pocket.

  “That sounds threatening,” Kit muttered.

  “Relax. Okay, brace yourself,” he warned, pushing the door open.

  Kit frowned and began to ask why, when a barrage of brown, black and gray furry bodies assaulted her. The joyous bark of a dog and the meowing of two cats blended into a cacophony of greetings. Kit’s eyes widened enormously as she was swamped by the cats running madly in circles between her legs. She heard Noah laugh and he gripped her arm, guiding her skillfully through the animals.

  The dog barked, leaping midair before them in the red tile foyer, and Kit realized with amazement that he had only three legs. A flood of compassion surged through her. Noah reached out, speaking in an authoritative, but nonetheless gentle tone. Immediately the black Doberman ceased his antics and calmly positioned himself in front of them, panting happily.

  Kit looked up at Noah. “What is this? A zoo?”

  He grinned, taking off his officer’s cap and tossing it on the small mahogany desk nearby. “Noah’s ark, remember?” He gestured toward the dog and two cats. “Meet my extended family. The dog’s name is Tripoli. He’s the general boss of my home when I’m not here and he’s an outstanding watchdog.”

  Kit barely heard Noah’s explanation, a pained expression on her face. “But look at him, Noah. He’s got only three legs! My God, that’s horrible…the poor thing.”

  Noah reached over to caress Kit’s cheek, then chastised himself at the instinctive gesture. Kit invited intimacy. Disgruntled, he growled, “Let’s look at the positives, shall we? No negatives. So his right front leg is missing. Tripoli gets around fine without it.”


  “But he’s crippled!” Kit protested, a catch in her voice.

  “He doesn’t know that,” Noah returned, catching her startled expression. “If you make him a cripple, he’ll become one for you, Kit.” He patted Tripoli affectionately, scratching a favorite place behind the dog’s ear. Then Noah gave her a serious look. “But if you treat him as a whole dog, he’ll be whole for you and won’t know the difference.”

  Noah’s philosophy rattled Kit. There was truth to his quietly spoken observation. She turned her attention to the cats, who milled about her feet, meowing out their own kind of welcome, begging for her attention. “It’s a good thing I love animals,” she groused, crouching in the hall to pet all of them.

  Noah knelt beside her, acutely aware of the tenderness in her expression. “I knew you would.”

  “Did you, indeed?” Kit replied, hiding behind sarcasm.

  This just wasn’t going to work. She was snapping and defensive over his every comment. He picked up the first cat. “You hear that, Calico? This beautiful lady thinks I’m pulling her leg. What do you think?”

  Calico promptly released a mournful meow as if on cue. Kit couldn’t help but laugh as she reached over and petted the animal. She heard the cat wheezing heavily with each breath.

  “Something’s wrong with her….”

  Noah nodded, placing Calico in her arms. “She came crawling up on my back porch last year during a hurricane. The vet diagnosed distemper. I thought she was going to die from it.”

  “And you pulled her through.”

  “Actually,” Noah admitted, “Calico pulled herself through. She’s got a good heart, and if you don’t watch this little lady, she’ll snuggle up beside you on the pillow at night. Callie prefers the softer things life has to offer.”

  Kit laughed helplessly, placing Calico on the highly polished red tile floor. Her heart softened as she stood watching Noah with his animals. Anyone who had this kind of devoted following couldn’t be all bad. Animals were said to be living mirrors of their owner’s temperament. “I wouldn’t mind a furry body sharing my bed.”

  Noah’s brow arched inquiringly.