by Elle James
Her gaze dropped to where his hands rested on her arms. God, she liked how strong they were and how warm and safe they made her feel.
She stiffened, hating that she could so easily have leaned against him and forgotten the burden she bore from her past mistakes. Emma stepped out of his arms. “Let’s make a deal. I’ll tell you about the Anna Maria when you tell me the truth about why you are really here?”
His hands dropped to his sides. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You know I came looking for a boat that went down. We found it.”
“And you’re sticking to your story about being an insurance adjuster?”
For a long moment Creed stared down at her. She could almost see the lie poised on his tongue, as his lips pressed into a tight line. “That’s my story.”
It didn’t explain the vibe she was getting. The man seemed too disciplined, too sure of himself to be just an adjuster. “And the job you were fired from?”
He glanced away, a dark shadow clouding his gaze. “I was a navy SEAL.”
Her head shook side to side. “No wonder you knew so much about diving.” She laughed, a short, sharp burst that lacked any humor. “I feel like you’re playing me for a fool.”
“Never.” He gripped her arms again.
She shook her head. “Oh please, don’t spread the lies thicker.”
“No really. I think you’re a great diver, smart and too pretty for your own good.”
Butterflies fluttered in her belly at his words. He thought she was pretty. “If we’re going to be dive buddies, don’t lie to me.”
He grinned. “Does that mean you’re going to let me dive with you again?”
“You’re a SEAL. You don’t need me to dive.”
“I need Dave’s boat.”
“Why?” She stared up into his eyes. “You found your boat.”
“I need to see if it or anything in it is salvageable.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Why should I help you?”
“Because you know where to look and you know this area. And, admit it, you kind of like me.” He reached out and brushed a thumb across her cheek.
“I wouldn’t go that far.” Her insides warmed. Was she that transparent?
His grin disappeared. “I have a favor to ask.”
He stood close enough that she could smell the salt of the sea on him. She swayed toward him. “Yeah?”
“Could you not tell anyone about finding the yacht?”
She straightened. “Why?”
“I suspect it was carrying stolen or illegal property, and someone might want to recover it.”
“But you want to get to it first.”
“That’s the idea.”
“How do I know you’re not the crook?”
“I guess you’ll just have to trust me.”
“What if I don’t?”
“That would be a shame.” He gripped her arms again, his head dipping close to hers, his mouth within kissing distance. “Then I’d have to steal this kiss.”
“Oh, no, you’re not.” Her heart raced, her breath seizing in her lungs.
“If I’m not stealing it, then you’d be giving it to me freely.”
“Never,” she swore, her gaze firmly fixed on his descending lips.
“Oh, sweetheart, never say never.” He bent to capture her mouth with his, pressing down hard.
She gasped, her teeth parting enough that his tongue slipped through, stroking the length of hers, wiping away all thoughts of lies, subterfuge and treachery. Emma couldn’t think past how incredibly wonderful his lips felt against hers, his chest pressing against her breasts and the hard ridge of his fly nudging her belly.
When he came up for air, he whispered, “You’ll keep our secret?”
She scrambled for a brain cell and what to say next. “Why is it so important?”
“It could get really dangerous if you don’t.”
“For you, or me?”
“Both. Can you pretend I’m on vacation and you’re my dive master, taking me out to dive the reefs?”
“That would be lying.” She couldn’t drag her focus off the way his lips moved to form words.
“I don’t want the danger to come to you. Please,” he said, the word a puff of air tickling her mouth, a soft reminder of how his kiss stirred her.
“Okay,” she whispered, though she suspected the danger was not in the yacht or what it held, but with the man holding her in his arms.
Emma climbed into her Jeep and drove away, her head lost in a fog of lust and longing. When she neared town, her gaze fanned out over the harbor, and she spotted a shiny white yacht resting in the center. She wondered if anything Creed had told her held a grain of truth. It was still early in the summer season for the yachts to start filling the cape, and how coincidental was it that this one showed up the day after the other yacht sank?
For that matter, how likely was a former SEAL like Creed to take a job as an insurance adjuster? Not likely. If not an adjuster, what was he and why had he lied to her?
Chapter 4
Creed didn’t stay at the B and B long. Once Emma left, he gathered binoculars, his cell phone and his computer and headed back into Cape Churn, determined to find out who owned the yacht anchored in the bay. If it was Phillip, the race had begun and he didn’t have much time to find what cargo was on board the Pelageya.
Nearing town, he hit the speed dial for headquarters. On the first ring, Royce picked up. “Thomas, what did you find?”
“The yacht and a body.”
“The cargo?”
“Not readily obvious. I’m diving again tomorrow to look a little closer.”
“The body?”
“Appears to be the captain, from what I could tell.”
“Died because of the wreck, or did he wreck because he was dead?”
“Someone killed him. I found a bullet wound hidden in his hair.” It had been hard to spot, and there had only been an entrance wound. The shell probably bounced around the inside of the man’s skull, scrambling his brain.
“What about the rest of the crew?” Royce asked.
“The local police reported another body washed ashore this morning.”
“Condition?”
“I’m headed to the morgue to find out.”
“Still vacationing?”
“Working vacation. Us insurance adjusters can’t just fly from place to place without doing some work to claim our trips on our taxes.”
“Right.” Royce chuckled. “Still can’t picture you as an insurance adjuster. You have too much hair for the job.”
Creed ran a hand through his dark thatch of hair. “Should I shave it?”
“No. Then you’d look like the SEAL you were born to be.”
Creed’s foot left the accelerator, the old anger burning in his gut like acid.
“I know you only did what you thought was right. Sometimes what’s right to some isn’t right to others.”
“He couldn’t get away with blaming someone else for the death he caused,” Creed said through clenched teeth.
“I know,” Royce agreed.
“And what kills me is that I got kicked out and he’s still in the navy.”
“My selfish side is thanking the stars that it gave me the opportunity to snatch you up and make you a part of SOS.”
“And I’m still a part of defending the country I love against attack.” Though he missed the members of his SEAL team, his band of brothers, Creed had come to care for the members of the small team of agents belonging to SOS, an organization so secret, they were called in when the CIA and the FBI were too public to handle the situation.
He’d found a new home with Royce and the others, and he was st
ill working to protect his country, both from outside threats and internal decline due to terrorism or corrupt leadership.
Yeah, his life was that of a secret agent. Someone who never stayed in one place long enough to get involved emotionally with the inhabitants. He established only enough of a relationship to solidify his cover or gather information he needed to finish the job. Then he was off to another assignment, possibly on the opposite side of the world from the last.
“Steele is scheduled to fly back from St. Thomas tonight. As soon as she arrives, I’ll brief her on the mission and send her your way.”
Nicole Steele, aka Tazer, was a lethal weapon in SOS. Model-beautiful and skilled at self-defense, she brought men twice her size down before they knew what hit them.
“Good. I’m not sure how sticky it’ll get here, or how quickly. I called to let you know another yacht arrived in the cape today. I’ll see if I can get a boat name or registration letters so that we can find out who owns it.”
“Damn. You think Phillip’s already there?” Royce’s voice was tight.
“The yacht is big and flashy. It has Phillip Macias written all over it.”
“I can get Nicole Steele and Casanova Valdez out there by tomorrow, and as soon as I free up, I can come myself. I might even be able to snag Sean McNeal.”
“If Macias is really involved in dirty bombs, the more people we have out here the better. I can’t be everywhere at once. First things first, though, I’m going down tomorrow to find whatever’s on that boat before Phillip does.”
“You sure tomorrow will be soon enough?”
He stared out at the clouds rolling into the cape. “I think the Devil’s Shroud has me covered for tonight.”
“The Devil’s Shroud?”
“It’s what the locals call a fog so thick you can’t see the rocks before you hit them.”
Royce laughed. “Sounds like Phillip’s transport yacht got a dose of it. Any trouble establishing a convincing cover?”
“Insurance adjuster seems to be working fine. Tomorrow I’m vacation diving.”
“Good. I’ll have Tazer contact you as soon as she’s boots on the ground in Seattle.”
“Roger,” Creed acknowledged.
“Out here.”
The phone clicked in Creed’s ear, and he laid it in the console’s cup holder of the rented SUV. At the morgue, the M.E. had yet to identify the latest body, but both dead men had tattoos on their upper forearms with words written in Russian.
When he left the morgue, Creed drove to one of the high points in town overlooking the bay and parked.
He pulled out his binoculars and focused on the yacht, trying to catch a glimpse of a man rumored to have started wars, but too slippery to be caught red-handed. No government had the goods on him that would put him away for life or sentence him to a firing squad. He was just that good at covering his tracks.
Few people stirred on the deck of the yacht. The sun faded behind a bank of fog slipping over the shoreline, creeping into the little town. Before long, the fog surrounded him, blocking his view of the water.
Creed sighed, set the binoculars aside and drove into town, armed with Emma’s home address. He’d told Molly he wanted to thank Emma for her patience on the dive boat by taking her out to dinner. He really needed an excuse to go where the locals ate in order to get the latest gossip. If he had Emma with him he’d raise less suspicion and blend in with the natives more readily. Molly, the romantic he’d pegged her for, had happily handed over Emma’s information, including Emma’s personal cell-phone number.
Molly had only met him that day, but had determined he was a man she could trust. Her gullibility might get her killed some day. And that would be a shame. She was a good-hearted woman and pretty, with her strawberry-blond hair and green eyes.
But it wasn’t her face he was imagining as he drove through town searching for Sand Dollar Lane, where Emma’s quaint seaside bungalow overlooked the cape. Just as Molly had described, the sides were painted a soft, sea foam-green with pale yellow and white trim. There were colorful blooms spilling out of the window flower boxes, and a white picket fence surrounded the lush green yard.
Everything about the cottage screamed “home,” hitting Creed like a slug in the gut. He’d never really had a home. His father had run out on him and his mother when he’d been five. Without a man to support her, his mother worked two jobs at minimum wage to keep a roof over his head and food in his belly. He’d been a latchkey kid in one of the poorest neighborhoods of Los Angeles, fighting in gangs as soon as he was big enough to carry a stick.
If not for a lenient judge, he’d probably have been dead or in jail by now. Instead, he’d been given a choice to join the service or go to jail.
He’d opted for the navy. His mother had been so proud of him when he’d enlisted that he’d pushed to be the best sailor, and to be the best he had to be a SEAL.
Now here he was in Oregon, ten years later. His mother had passed away from breast cancer, and he’d been kicked out of the navy. Life hadn’t ended there. As a member of the SOS, he was still fighting the good fight.
But he’d never known the kind of cozy home Emma’s house represented. He pulled up in front, parked the SUV, climbed out and pushed through the gate.
The sun was hidden behind the fog, making the low-hanging clouds a pale shade of pink and gray.
A light shone through the windows, and the filmy curtains over the glass did little to block the view of the interior.
For a moment, he stood on the walkway leading to the front door, staring up into the windows—on the outside, looking in. The story of his life.
A movement in a hallway inside caught his attention.
Emma’s silhouette was outlined against the light pouring out of a room. She reached up to run her fingers through her hair, the backlight emphasizing her slender waist and the curve of her breasts and hips.
Creed’s gut tightened, and he had the confusing urge to run forward and backward at the same time.
Emma was the type of woman who didn’t need a man in her life, but if she had one, she’d want him to be full-time and committed to a relationship forever.
She deserved a forever kind of man.
That wasn’t him. He hesitated, hating having to get her involved, but his mission to save the west coast pushed him forward and he knocked on the door.
A dog barked at the back of the house and all the way through to the front where toenails clicked against hardwood floors, skidding to a stop behind the door.
Emma’s voice sounded through the solid wood. “Sit, Moby.” The knob twisted. She opened the door and her eyes rounded, her mouth opening on a soft gasp. “Oh, it’s you.”
He frowned at the short shorts and skimpy tank top she wore, exposing a vast amount of skin tanned golden by the sun. If possible, the tank top and shorts were even sexier than the bikini she’d worn under her wet suit.
Creed’s groin tightened automatically. “You really should verify who it is before you open the door to just anyone.”
“Excuse me.” Her hand found her left hip, and she looked down her nose at him. “I’ve been living on my own for eight years. I don’t need a stranger telling me how to open my door.”
A golden retriever slipped past her and barreled into Creed’s midsection.
Emma’s mouth twitched, and her frown eased. “Now, if you want to tell me that my dog is loud and unruly, I might be inclined to agree with you.”
As if he knew he was being talked about, Moby proved his vocal acuity. Woof!
With Moby’s paws planted firmly on his chest and a long, wet tongue angling toward his face, Creed had his hands full. He ruffled the dog’s ears and set him back on all fours. “Down,” he said firmly.
Moby glanced back at Emma, tongue lolling, then jumped on
Creed again, managing a long wet kiss on the side of his face this time.
Emma laughed out loud. “I’m sorry. Moby rarely has company, and I haven’t spent enough time teaching him manners.”
“That’s okay. I like dogs.” He set Moby on his paws again and moved around him. “One adopted me when I was growing up.”
“Oh, yeah? What kind?”
“If I had to guess, he was pure junkyard dog. Mean to everyone but me.” He hadn’t thought about that old dog for years. He’d named him Leroy, after an old Jim Croce song his mother used to sing out loud when she was in the shower. It brought back one of the few good memories he had of his childhood.
Emma grabbed Moby by the collar and hauled him inside the house. “Did you forget something? Or are you here to tell me you aren’t diving tomorrow?”
He glanced up and down the street, then into the house. “Mind if I come in?”
“I don’t let strangers in my house,” she said with a straight face, her brows rising in challenge.
“Touché.”
“You can come in as long as you don’t mind Moby. He thinks anyone who sits on the couch is furniture.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Once she had the door closed between Moby and the road, she turned to face Creed. “Again, why did you come?”
“I wanted to go out for a bite to eat and didn’t want to go alone. Since you’re the only person I know besides Molly, who, by the way, is busy serving dinner to her guests, I thought I’d see if you were interested.”
“I was just about to heat up a scrumptious frozen mac ’n’ cheese dinner. Care to join me?”
He shook his head. Although the idea of staying in her house sounded intimate and far more appealing than eating out, he needed to listen in on the gossip. “Much as I love mac ’n’ cheese, I’d rather eat something a little heartier. I’d hoped you could recommend a local restaurant.”
“That would be the Seaside Café.” Emma tugged the fringe on her cutoffs and stared down at her tank top, drawing attention to the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra.
Creed gulped. Soft brown nipples showed through the thin fabric, puckering as if a switch had been flipped.
