A Question of Honor

by Lindsay McKenna

  “Don’t sound so unhappy about it. They like what they’re doing.”

  He shrugged, wanting, unsuccessfully, to keep their talk impersonal. “I wasn’t thinking about them. Take a look at you—I think family pressure pushed you into a career you really weren’t cut out for.”

  Kit studied him for a long time before answering. Noah had made the comment with feeling, not hurled it as an accusation. “Lately I’ve been thinking about that possibility,” she admitted quietly. “What about you? Are you happy in your chosen career?”

  “Yes. I put in long hours to keep my record spotless. You get ahead in the Coast Guard by making yourself outstanding in some way. I’ve had to work extra hard because of what happened to Morgan.”

  “You work at your job twenty-four hours a day, leaving no time for a personal life.”

  “You’ve done the same thing,” he parried.

  Kit got up and went to the drain board, leaning against it, coffee cup in hand. “Maybe we’re both like Pete Collins and don’t want to admit it.”

  “Maybe you project Collins on every man you meet.”

  “Touché. Maybe I do.”

  Disgruntled, Noah rose and arranged the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. Why did he get nettled when she compared him to Collins? He was nothing like him!

  “What’s on the agenda for tomorrow?” Kit asked, realizing he was upset.

  “It’s the weekend,” he snapped.

  “I didn’t know it made any difference to you.” Kit saw the anger flash momentarily in his eyes and knew she’d blundered into sensitive territory. Wearily she said, “I guess it does.”

  “I try to work five days a week, Kit, not seven. But I’ve had to prove myself. Other times we’re at sea for an extended period.” Noah felt some of the anger drain away as he noticed Kit struggling to smooth over the tension between them.

  “So what do you usually do on weekends?” Kit knew that since she was in hiding, she would have to remain solely at the house or on the Osprey.

  “If I haven’t taken on any extra projects at headquarters, I work with wood and make furniture, or take my boat out to a cove and snorkel for dinner. What do you do?”

  She shrugged and set the cup on the drain board. “Lately I’ve watched too much television. This is the first time I’ve had a series of weekends off in years. I guess I’ll find out, won’t I?”

  The sudden unhappiness in her eyes bothered him. He rested his hands on his hips, studying her. “I was going to plant those seedlings tomorrow along the front of the house.”

  “I like the idea of you planting flowers. Need some help?”

  There was life in her eyes, and Noah found himself drowning in their soft dove-gray color. Jerking himself back from his spiraling attraction to Kit, he muttered, “If you want to help, you can.”

  “I’d love to. It’s been a long time since I’ve dug my fingers into the earth, or even sat in the sunshine doing something like that.”

  He heard the enthusiasm in her tone and was unable to stop a smile from curving the corners of his mouth. “Get some sleep, Kit. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Cordeman’s call at eight in the morning rousted Noah out of sleep. He turned over, groping for the phone.

  “Trayhern,” he muttered.

  “This is Cordeman. I’m calling from a pay phone because I don’t want our conversation tapped by the wrong parties.”

  Noah sat up, instantly alert. The sheet fell away, exposing his naked chest. “What is it?” He wiped the sleep from his eyes, his heart taking on an urgent beat.

  “Nothing’s wrong, Lieutenant. I’m just calling to make sure your house guest arrived safely.”

  Eyeing the clock on the dresser, Noah bit back a curse. “She’s fine,” he ground out.

  “Good, because word is Dante’s out lookin’ for Kit. Another one of our snitches brought us the news late last night. I don’t want her to show her face in Miami. You understand, Trayhern? She’s not to make phone calls, or answer your phone, either.”

  Pushing strands of hair off his brow, Noah dangled his legs over the edge of the bed. Sunlight streamed through the windows. “Look, Cordeman, I know standard operating procedure on this, so don’t lecture me like I was some rookie cop.”

  “I just want to make damn sure she’s safe. The only place she goes is to and from the dock.”

  “I’ve got a boat at a marina outside Miami. Some weekend I plan to take her out on it for the day. Any problem with that?”

  “Just keep her low profile, Trayhern. I have a DEA agent who is in position to retrieve info on Garcia—if he’s able to get it back to us. Operation Storm is officially initiated as of now. That three weeks you wanted for her is out of the question with Dante loose.”

  “Dammit.” Noah rubbed the growth of beard on his face savagely. Cordeman was right. Dante would renew activity with Garcia now that he was out on bail. “I’m planning to get her on board the Osprey Monday.”

  “Fine. She’s got this weekend to rest up then.”

  Noah wanted to say that Kit needed a hell of a lot more than that, but it was useless. “Anything else?”

  “Yeah, one more thing.”

  “What?”

  “Keep all this stuff about Dante from Kit. She saw the bastard blow Pete away.”

  “Don’t worry, I intend to try to allow her a place to heal, Cordeman.”

  The supervisor chuckled. “Yeah, the word’s out on you, Trayhern—you’re a real in-fighter for your people. I oughta know.”

  Grimly Noah said, “I still want you to do everything in your power to make the next three weeks as easy as possible on Kit. She’s fragile….”

  “I’ll do my best. You two have a good weekend. I’ve got a feeling Kit needs a Sir Lancelot right now.”

  Sir Lancelot. Noah dropped the phone back into the cradle, his mood black. Grumbling, he got up, took a hot shower, shaved and then dressed in a pair of old, faded jeans and a red polo shirt.

  Opening the door, he waited for the rush of animals that always came. No one was in sight. The entire house was still. Frowning, he wondered where everyone was. Usually the cats were meowing at his bedroom door, with Tripoli nearby. Padding down the hall in his bare feet, Noah saw that Kit’s bedroom door was ajar. The scent of coffee wafted on the air, and he inhaled the delicious aroma.

  Moving to the kitchen, he saw that coffee had just been put on to brew. Kit must be up. Glancing out the back door, he frowned and drew to a halt. There in the yard was Kit, playing Frisbee with Tripoli. The two cats sat on the sidelines like little spectators. Dressed in a pink tank top and jeans, she was laughing as the Doberman raced after her, chasing her merrily around the huge yard, trying to grab the Frisbee out of her hand.

  Noah’s eyes narrowed as he watched Kit play tag with the frolicking dog. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes alive with joy, and her laughter was like music to his ears. He poured two cups of coffee and edged open the door, standing at the screen. Tripoli lunged at the Frisbee in Kit’s right hand, trying to tug it free. Startled by the dog’s unexpected move, Kit tripped over her own feet and fell.

  She hit the dew-soaked lawn with a thud, rolling to take any shock from the fall. Laughing as Tripoli raced around her, Frisbee in his mouth, Kit tried to snatch it back from the dog. Tears ran down her cheeks at Tripoli’s endearing antics. Finally he came and lay at her side, dropping the toy nearby. Panting happily, Tripoli licked her hand.

  “Oh, boy,” Kit gasped, sitting up and running her fingers through her unruly hair, “you are one tough dog, Tripoli.” She reached out, throwing her arms around his neck, pressing her cheek against the dog’s head. “What a love you are…I never realized how much I missed animals until just now….”

  Kit pulled deep drafts of air into her lungs. She wasn’t used to fifteen minutes of running and jumping like this. But Tripoli had brought the Frisbee to her while she was making the coffee, and she hadn’t been able to resist his silent plea. She closed her eyes,
running her hands down his sleek black back, thanking him silently for his companionship.

  Noah moved out into the yard, stopping just short of where Kit and Tripoli sat on the grass together. He was suddenly envious of the Doberman as he watched her stroke the dog with such obvious affection. “If I’d known you liked exercise, I’d have made plans to take you jogging with me.”

  Kit’s head jerked up and her widened eyes settled on Noah. She shivered, wildly aware of that green flame of hunger in his gaze once again. Tripoli left her arms, going to his master’s side. “Noah…” she began lamely. Again she felt as if she were invading his private life.

  He crouched in front of her, handing her a cup of steaming coffee. Did Kit know how pretty she was? She looked like a young girl right now, her hair tousled and eyes shining with happiness. “Do you always get up this early on a Saturday morning?” he demanded, sipping his coffee.

  “Thanks,” she whispered, taking the cup. Lowering her lashes, she was unable to meet his disapproving gaze. “Uh…well, I usually sleep all day.” A nightmare about Emilio Dante had awakened her at six, but she didn’t want to tell Noah that. She forced herself to look up. Noah made her feel good about herself as a woman. No, he made her vibrantly aware that she was a woman. “It was just such a beautiful morning that I couldn’t resist Tripoli’s invitation to play Frisbee.” She grinned. “As you can see, he won.”

  “He’s a keen player.”

  “Like his owner, no doubt.”

  Noah nodded, enjoying the intimacy that had sprung up between them. “I play for keeps,” he said amicably. His gaze dropped to Kit’s parted lips, and he wondered for the hundredth time what it would be like to kiss her. She was so damned provocative and appealing, sitting there in the yard with bits of grass entangled in the ebony strands of her hair. Against his better judgment, he leaned forward and began to pick the green bits from her curls.

  Stunned by Noah’s gesture, Kit inhaled sharply. He was utterly male, his jeans hugging his lower body, effectively outlining his well-developed thighs. The polo shirt revealed just how powerful his chest really was. His arms were tightly muscled and covered with dark hair. Noah was built like a boxer: lean, tight and well proportioned, standing at least six-two. There was nothing to dislike about him physically, she decided lamely.

  “It’s nice to see an adult who can play like a child,” he teased, plucking the last of the grass from her hair.

  Shaken by his nearness, Kit said, “When you’ve got three brothers, you learn to tumble with them, not play with dolls and stay clean.”

  “A beautiful woman in tomboy’s clothes.”

  Kit had never thought of herself as beautiful—until now. “I guess growing up with brothers brought out the tomboy in me,” she murmured, getting to her feet. Noah was too close, too male for her ever since he had touched her hair. She had to keep her distance.

  Disappointed that Kit had scrambled to her feet, Noah rose and straightened. He saw her sudden nervousness and decided that she was right: this was a business arrangement, not a friendship or love relationship. “You make a good cup of coffee,” he said, trying to get on neutral ground with her once again.

  Kit brushed off the seat of her pants. “Coffee’s something I can’t live without.”

  “Makes two of us.” Noah smiled down at her. “Hungry? I make a pretty mean breakfast of whole grain pancakes with maple syrup.”

  Groaning, Kit fell into step with Noah. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those health nuts!”

  “Afraid so.”

  “I’m a junk food addict.”

  He caught her rueful smile, thinking how sweet her lips looked when they curved upward. “Opposites attract, they say.”

  Kit wasn’t sure what he meant by that enigmatic statement. “Opposites or not, I’m starved.”

  Her enthusiasm was infectious. Noah couldn’t recall feeling this elated. Even his step felt lighter. “Well, you’d better eat plenty, because I’m going to put you to work in the flower garden after breakfast,” he threatened good-naturedly.

  Noah chastised himself; he was getting friendly with her again. But how could he help it? There was a refreshing quality to Kit. She simply invited a man to lower his walls and be himself with her.

  “I can help you with breakfast,” Kit offered once they were in the kitchen.

  “No, that’s all right. Just sit down and relax.”

  Her mouth quirked. “Noah, I don’t expect to be waited on hand and foot.”

  Busying himself gathering the ingredients, he nodded. “Fair enough. You can clean up the dishes afterward and put them in the dishwasher.”

  The warmth they had shared dissolved as they fell back into their assigned roles. Dejectedly Kit sat down at the table. One minute Noah was like the warmth of sunshine around her, the next he was grumpy and defensive. Why was he shifting from one extreme to the other? Frowning, she asked, “Are you sure I’m not a royal pain in the rear for invading your personal space?”

  Pouring milk into the pancake mixture, Noah stirred the contents in a bowl. “Positive.”

  His guard was up and well in place again. Kit sighed. “Don’t you have a girlfriend who comes over here every once in a while?”

  “No girlfriend. The kind of life I lead doesn’t encourage many long-term relationships. Most women don’t like their men at sea three to seven days at a time.”

  Kit found that hard to believe, but didn’t say so. Besides, she felt an unexpected monumental relief at his admittance. Rubbing her eyes, she sank into silence. She didn’t have the strength to overcome Noah’s sudden retreat from her.

  After breakfast, which took place in stilted silence, Kit said, “I need to talk to Chuck Cordeman. I know the routine about not using the phone, but I’ve got to talk to him.”

  Scowling, Noah got up and poured himself another cup of coffee. “Why do you need to speak to him?”

  Girding herself, Kit met his troubled gaze when he came back to the table and sat down. “Look, Noah…this isn’t going to work.”

  “What isn’t?”

  “This,” she said, gesturing around the kitchen. “You and me under one roof together. Ever since I got here, I’ve felt this tension around you. I feel trapped. I feel odd about doing anything for fear you’ll disapprove. Like this morning, when I was playing with Tripoli. I felt as if I were somehow trespassing.” She shrugged, gripping the mug in her hands. “You’re one of those men with his life in a certain order, and you don’t like someone coming in and messing up the continuity. I understand that. I even agree.” Kit gave him a pleading look, noticing the turmoil in his eyes. “Let me go to some motel nearby and stay there. I can handle it. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to do a safe house routine.”

  Getting a grip on his emotions, Noah held her gaze. “Look,” he began in a low voice, “I don’t mean to make you feel you have to be a shadow here.” Noah couldn’t tell her the real reason for his abruptness: if he didn’t put that wall between them, he would pull her into his arms. A white lie was better than the truth in this case, he decided. Kit didn’t need any more pressure on her, and yet, he realized, he was unintentionally applying it to her. “I’ll admit that having someone here is different, but I’ll adjust, Kit. Just ride this out with me, okay? I’ll get used to you being underfoot.” He snorted. “Besides, there’s no way you’re staying in a dingy motel room like a trapped animal in a cage.”

  Searching his face hard, Kit sensed his ambivalence. Her voice came out soft. “I don’t want to intrude on your life, Noah. Neither of us expected to be thrown together like this. I—I just don’t know how to act around you.”

  Picking up her hand, Noah squeezed it. “Listen to me, Kit. You do what feels right for you. I promised Cordeman a place for you to heal, and I mean it.”

  Just his touch sent unexpected tears to her eyes. She hastily lowered her gaze so he couldn’t see them and pulled her hand out of his, poignantly aware of the warmth and strength of it. “Are yo
u sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure,” Noah said, getting to his feet. “Don’t take my change of moods personally, Kit. Right now, my sister, Alyssa, is under a lot of pressure at Pensacola. She’s got a flight instructor who’s trying to wash her out of the program. I’m worried for her.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to whisper that Noah cared a great deal about the people in his life. Looking up, Kit managed a wan smile. “If Alyssa’s anything like you, I know she’ll hang in there.”

  Relief washed through Noah. He and Kit had just surmounted a small crisis. Somehow he had to wall off his moodiness from her so she could relax and heal. “Aly’s going to be coming down here one of these weekends soon. I’m sure you’ll get to meet her.” He managed a genuine smile. “In fact, she’s a lot like you.”

  “How do you see me?” Kit asked, getting up to attend to her portion of the kitchen chores.

  “Loyal, hardworking and overresponsible.”

  “And Alyssa’s like that?” She picked up the plates from the table.

  Chuckling, Noah nodded. “Very much so. I think you two will have a lot in common.” Wanting to add that Kit had that same kind of vulnerability Aly possessed, Noah decided to remain silent. However, Kit didn’t have Aly’s bulldog attitude, he reminded himself. Their tenacity was a Trayhern hallmark. Kit had run out of emotional stamina and strength after four years with Pete Collins. There was nowhere else for her to pull that extra strength from in order to survive, as Aly had done in the past. As all Trayherns had done at some point in their lives, he admitted.

  After she finished loading the dishwasher, he said, “Let’s go plant those seedlings, shall we?”

  Kit nodded, wiping her hands on a towel. Whatever had been bothering Noah was now gone. His face was open and expressive once again. “You don’t know how much I’ve looked forward to this, Noah.”

  Noah’s heart wrenched in his chest at her quietly spoken admittance. Once again the desire to reach out and take her in his arms was excruciating. But Kit needed a little attention, a little care right now. Instead he squeezed her shoulder momentarily and then said, “Come on, let’s find out if you’ve got a green thumb or not.”