Code Name: Bundle!

by Christina Skye

  “What—”

  “We’re alone. Let me touch you.”

  She started to speak as his callused fingers pushed past lace, edging her heat. She gave a soft gasp. “Trace, I can’t—”

  “Sure you can. I’m good with my hands. Let me prove it to you.”

  Her head turned and she found his face, pulled him close to meet her kiss, tongue to tongue.

  “Shh.” She was damp, shuddering blindly, but Trace took his time touching her, learning her. The moment was rich, filled with his yearning as much as hers. His focus was absolute as he slid deep and felt her open to his slow fingers.

  He knew the second her senses clouded and muscles tightened.

  Her skin was hot velvet as he slid a finger inside her, stroking in spirals until she whispered his name brokenly.

  She bit his mouth, drawing his lip between her teeth. “Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t stop—”

  Watching her, Trace had to have more. With the counter to hide them, with the room silent and empty, he teased through hot, slick folds until she moaned.

  Moaned his name, moaned the way he’d imagined she would. Beautiful in her desire, she strained for the thing he had to give. The thing he gave freely.

  And then she shuddered and came apart in his hands, her body driving against him while she closed around his fingers that were still moving inside her.

  Color flared over her cheeks, and her legs gave way. Silent and protective, Trace caught her with a steadying arm.

  “Gina.”

  The name melted on his lips. Her warmth had touched him, marked him.

  He wanted to give her pleasure, make her forget the future. He needed to hear his name on her lips when she crested against him again in blind passion.

  She took a shuddering breath. Her eyes fluttered open. She looked dazed. “We can’t…”

  “We just did,” Trace said roughly. He caught her mouth in a kiss that searched for answers to questions he’d never asked before. The quiver of her lips and the husky catch of her breath made a powerful beginning. Maybe in five years he’d have the measure of her.

  Maybe in fifty.

  He turned her to face him, watching the color fill her cheeks. Act and performance were no more than empty words now.

  The buzz of his watch alarm made Trace stiffen.

  Tobias, checking in.

  Twenty minutes gone.

  But before he could move, Gina pulled away, smoothing her clothes with shaky fingers. “I have to go.”

  Trace saw her tension, saw the way she avoided his eyes. “You’re done here?”

  She nodded, still avoiding his eyes.

  “Fine, then you go with me. Your cabin or mine.” His voice was cool and impersonal. “You agreed.”

  “That was before.” She leaned back, her knuckles white on the counter. “I can’t pretend one minute and forget the next. I’m not like you.” She took a long breath. “I’ll do what you need and play the game out. But the rest—what just happened…” She shook her head. “No.”

  Because he wanted to reach out for her, Trace stood motionless.

  Because his blood was heavy with need, he kept his face blank.

  He shouldn’t have touched her, shouldn’t want to touch her again, but he did. Instead he drew on training and experience, ruthlessly locking away his feelings.

  “Your call.” He picked up her white apron from the floor and laid it carefully on the counter. “It won’t happen again. Now we’d better go. You need some sleep and I have calls to make.”

  For a moment there was something haunted in her eyes.

  She started to speak, then stopped. “I have to write a note for the morning crew. And I should wait for Andreas. I want to tell him about setup for the midnight wedding event.”

  “Leave him a note,” Trace said flatly. “I’ll have Tobias send one of his people over here to keep watch until Andreas gets back.”

  “But—”

  Suddenly Trace gripped her arm, shaking his head. Something rustled out in the corridor, lighter than a footstep, and he pulled her around the corner out of sight behind the big refrigerator and touched her lips, motioning her to silence.

  She nodded tensely.

  The rustle came again. As Trace moved soundlessly around the counter so that he could see outside, a white form streaked past. Trace caught the cat with one hand and carried him inside.

  “The culprit,” he muttered. “Sunny’s stowaway.”

  “Tobias was supposed to be watching it.” Gina took the wriggling shape and cradled him against her chest. Immediately the cat began to purr, and she smoothed her cheek against the soft white fur. “I see why Sunny lost her head.”

  The cat burrowed beneath her jacket, meowing.

  Trace figured the cat was a lot smarter than he looked.

  They were halfway to the elevators when a light flashed on Trace’s wristwatch. He took Gina’s arm and raced toward the closing doors, pulling her behind him.

  “What—”

  Trace punched the button for her floor. “Does someone clean your cabin while you’re at work?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Then we’ve found your thief,” Trace said harshly. “Someone just unlocked the door to your room.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  HER LIFE WAS SERIOUSLY screwed up.

  Gina didn’t know whether she was coming or going, what she wanted or didn’t want.

  No, she knew that much. She wanted him.

  But she couldn’t want him. Everything was a mess since she’d run into him. She liked things neat and organized, her life like a well-arranged kitchen, but being around Trace O’Halloran was like a crash course in chaos theory.

  She closed her eyes, remembering the slow, careful way he’d touched her.

  No good thinking about that. She needed time and distance to sort out her tangled emotions.

  When she stared across the elevator, he was cool and alert, in full professional mode, reading a text message on the wrist unit that was clearly more than a watch.

  As he scrolled through a series of screens, Gina saw him frown. He had to have put some kind of monitor on her door without telling her, taking the whole sabotage issue seriously from the start.

  Gina prayed the thief was Blaine. Then she’d have the evidence she needed to clear her name and get on with her life.

  The cat meowed against her chest, and she slipped him inside the front of her jacket so he was out of sight.

  “Stay at the end of the hall until I see if everything is clear.”

  Gina didn’t want to wait. After all, it was her cabin that was being burglarized. She wanted to be beside Trace when he closed in.

  But she wasn’t stupid, and she didn’t insist. “Okay. But make it fast. I want to see Blaine’s face when you catch her.”

  “It may not be Blaine,” he said quietly.

  Gina didn’t have any doubt. Whoever had set up these attacks knew the ship inside and out. It had to be Blaine in search of trouble, pure and simple.

  The elevator doors chimed softly. Trace stepped out silently, motioning her behind him. As soon as he saw the corridor was empty, he vanished around the corner.

  Gina waited, her heart pounding. She expected to hear Blaine’s voice, raised in angry curses that exploded down the hall, but the silence held.

  There were no fleeing footsteps, no angry questions. She peeked around the corner and saw that the door to her cabin was open. Trace’s back was turned as he crouched on her floor, which was littered with what looked like all her books and most of her yarn and knitting needles.

  She shot forward, praying that Trace had caught Blaine at work.

  But when she reached her doorway, something red dotted the floor. Over Trace’s shoulders, she saw a body sprawled in her desk chair. His face and chest were covered with blood.

  Her heart hammered as she stared at the dead man’s face. It was John Riley from ship security.

  Two metal knitting nee
dles jutted from his neck.

  TEN MINUTES LATER Gina was leaning against the wall outside her cabin, trying to ignore the voices and the screech of walkie-talkies. Even though her head was turned, she could still see the dead man’s face in her mind.

  Eyes glassy and staring.

  Hands at his throat.

  Half-dried blood everywhere.

  Tobias came out to stand beside her. “How are you holding up?”

  “I’ve had better days.” She closed her eyes. “So did John Riley,” she whispered. “It still seems like a bad dream. Who would do this?”

  “I’m going to find out, believe me.” Tobias’s eyes were cold. “We’ve got another complication. Remember those needles you lost, the ones you mentioned at the meeting tonight?”

  Gina nodded, watching Tobias’s team cordon off the area.

  “I’ve checked the ones that were in the body,” Tobias said quietly. “I’m afraid that they were yours, Gina. I’m going to have to question you in the murder of John Riley.”

  All the warmth drained from her face. Tobias thought she’d done it? “I’d like you to follow me,” Tobias said, his voice carefully neutral.

  Trace moved in front of her, one arm steadying her shoulders. “Forget it,” he growled. “I was with her all night. I’ll swear to that, so you’ve got no case.”

  Tobias glanced at two security officers crossing the hall. “I have to take a statement from everyone involved.” He nodded at the two men. “Escort her to my office, please.”

  He didn’t meet Gina’s eyes.

  “This is crap,” Trace snapped. “You’re wasting everyone’s time questioning Gina.”

  Tobias turned sharply. “A man is dead. Do you expect me to ignore that?”

  Gina felt the touch of something cold at her neck. If the attack was meant to confuse and frighten, it was succeeding. If it was meant to destroy her career, it could do that, too.

  Down the hall a woman’s voice cut through the muted conversations. Blaine pushed past a senior staff member and several security officers. “What’s wrong? Why are you—”

  She stopped abruptly as the ship’s medical staff wheeled a gurney into Gina’s cabin. “I don’t understand. What happened?”

  “You’ll be alerted in due course,” Tobias said icily. “Please go back to your cabin and clear the hall.”

  “Not until I know what’s going on,” Blaine shot back. “I have a right to know if there’s a problem—” She looked past Tobias, frowning. “That’s Gina’s cabin. Isn’t that—” The question ended abruptly as she saw the gurney reappear, draped in black plastic. “Someone’s dead,” she whispered.

  If she was involved, she was delivering an Oscar-worthy performance, Gina thought.

  Blaine pressed one arm against the wall for support. “Who…who is it?”

  Tobias moved in front of her. “All of you, clear the hall. I’ll need statements from each of you. I’ll let you know when.”

  Sluggishly, as if in a dream, Blaine turned. When she saw Gina, she stiffened. “What did you do?” She charged forward, but Trace cut her off, holding her in place.

  “Time out, lady. Now get your ass out of the hall, the way Tobias just told you to do.”

  Blaine struggled furiously until she was escorted away by two of Tobias’s men. Like a woman in a daze, she walked away without looking back.

  “THESE QUESTIONS WILL BE recorded. Do I have your consent, Ms. Ryan?”

  “Of course.” Gina sat stiffly, staring forward. “I have nothing to hide.”

  “You should have legal counsel present. It’s the law.” Trace spoke from the back of the small room, his voice curt.

  “Lieutenant O’Halloran, if you continue to disrupt this meeting, I’ll have you removed.” Tobias sat with pen in hand, looking distant. “You are here at my sufferance. This is not a formal police investigation. That will be up to the FBI, assuming they choose to exercise jurisdiction. This meeting is strictly to identify the location and activities of all involved.”

  “She wasn’t involved. She was with me the whole night,” Trace said flatly.

  “You will have your chance to answer questions next. And may I remind you that your interruptions are slowing this process at a time when we all have other important things to do.”

  “Trace, it’s all right.” Gina glanced back at him, her eyes cool and glazed.

  A glaze he’d seen before in himself as well as others on his team. The glaze acted as a shield, blocking anything personal behind cool professionalism. Where had that skill come from?

  She was a pastry chef, not a soldier.

  “He has to eliminate possibilities before the truth can be reached,” Gina said. “You know that.”

  Trace crossed his arms. Point taken. He did know that, but how the hell was she managing to keep all her emotions in the background where they belonged, when he couldn’t?

  And the timing couldn’t be worse, creating distraction and confusion when they needed to focus on the security of Tobias’s safe. It was just the kind of thing Cruz was capable of doing to suit his own ends.

  Ruthlessly, Trace concentrated on the facts and what had to be done next.

  Emotions had no place here.

  He heard a small squeak from behind the door at his back. They’d had time to hide the cat in Tobias’s private bathroom, where he was now well fed and tucked up in a drawer lined with a towel. One problem solved. If only the others were as simple.

  He glanced at his watch. Izzy and the Foxfire divers had an ETA of 0300 hours, with a stealth entry via exterior cables. They would immediately scatter in arranged locations throughout the ship.

  Trace was fully prepared for more attacks before docking.

  “Please state your name and crew ID number.” For a moment Tobias’s face softened. “Job title also. Please speak directly into the recorder.”

  Trace stood impatiently and waited for his turn.

  Over his head the security monitors winked.

  THIRTY-EIGHT MINUTES.

  As interrogations went, Tobias had been clean and fast. Gina knew that with the rational part of her mind, but the rest of her was angry and shaken. All she wanted to do now was disappear, away from curious eyes. She sensed Trace beside her and knew without looking that his face would be set in the same mask she’d seen all through the proceedings in Tobias’s office.

  She looked up as he steered her around the corner. “Where are we going?”

  “My cabin. You’ve got to be exhausted.”

  “Where will you be?”

  “I’ll be in and out,” Trace said tersely.

  Something important was going on, she realized. John Riley’s murder had to be part of it. “You’re not going to tell me what this means, are you?”

  “I don’t know what it means.” His voice was cold. “Tonight could be a very long night. You’d better rest while you can.”

  They didn’t talk, walking through the quiet corridors with the familiar throb of the engines beneath Gina’s feet. But now there was menace in every shadow and danger in every stranger’s face.

  She shuddered, remembering the blood. Riley’s glassy stare of shock and fear. The killer was still here, among them.

  A hand gripped her shoulder and she jumped.

  “Steady. Just me. We’re here.”

  She was surprised to see they were already at Trace’s cabin. The bed was turned down. His clothes were folded neatly on a nearby chair. She fought back a yawn as he put a cell phone on his desk and checked his messages. When he looked up, she was still standing in the doorway, too tired to think.

  He pulled her inside, shut the door and slipped off her jacket, tossing it on the foot of the bed. “Get undressed or I’ll do it for you,” he ordered.

  No passion or desire now, Gina thought. Seeing a corpse had that effect on people. First the shock, then the denial. Then this frightening sense of detachment.

  She leaned over and tried to untie her shoe, but her hands were s
haking and she ended up making a knot. There had been so much blood…and her knitting needles in his neck.

  A small sound of horror built in her throat.

  She felt Trace’s hands on her shoulders. Quick and efficient, he stripped off her cotton shirt and slacks, then pulled her back onto his bed, with his arms around her.

  He held her until the shuddering stopped, until her body lost its deathly chill. And she slept.

  SHE HEARD FOOTSTEPS and then the sound of the shower.

  Gina sat up, wide-awake, and saw that she’d slept for barely an hour. In the second of waking, she’d realized how precious life could be, how easily lost.

  And how stupid it was to waste what time you had.

  Maybe she was a fool to make the decision she’d just made. Maybe it was simply the result of fear.

  But Gina didn’t think so. It would have been far simpler to turn away, close her heart and pretend to be asleep when the shower stopped.

  The bathroom door opened.

  It took all her courage to stand up and block his way. Her heart pounding, she ran her hands along his damp, naked shoulders and pushed him back against the wall.

  “You started something tonight, damn it. Now I’m going to finish it.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  HER HANDS WERE shaking.

  She’d never been so frightened. If he turned away, brushed her off—

  Not tonight. Tonight she wasn’t taking no for an answer.

  A muscle moved at his jaw as she pulled the towel off his rigid shoulders. It flowed through her fingers, snagged and then dropped to the floor.

  After his shower he’d pulled on snug jeans left unbuttoned at the waist, and she took her time looking.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Making up for lost time. Stop distracting me.” She took a deep breath and tugged at the waist of his jeans. The taut denim didn’t move.

  Was she going to mess this up? Would this be another regret, another chance left untaken in her life?

  She gripped his jeans, felt his fingers close over hers.

  “This isn’t a good idea.” His voice was rough.