by Lori Wilde
“Oh?”
“Yeah, growing up I didn’t have much of it.”
“That nomad thing you were talking about.”
She nodded. “My mother had wanderlust and a kid. It’s not the best combination in the world. What about you?”
“My family moved around a lot, too.”
“What’s the story there?”
“Military.”
“Ah, that explains a lot.”
“It does?”
“Explains why you’re so self-possessed. Most military brats I’ve known vanquish their social neurosis at a young age, if they ever had one. I think it’s more than just moving around. I mean my mom moved around but I never felt comfortable in one place for very long. Not until San Diego. Military people seem to have the ability to just pick up and go and make the best of whatever situation they land in. It always took me forever to settle in and make friends and then, poof…” She snapped her fingers. “Angie would be up and gone again.”
“Angie?”
“My mom. She’s only eighteen years older than I am and she likes for me to call her Angie.”
“She sounds like an interesting person.”
Eva tossed the remainder of her ice cream cone in a nearby trash bin. “She used to be pretty avant-garde. Now, she’s a normal mom.”
“Why the change?”
“My stepfather. He’s the anchor to her bobbing sailboat. They’re good for each other. He keeps her grounded, she keeps him from being such a stick-in-the-mud.”
Eva stopped walking. They’d arrived at their apartment complex. He could just leave things as they were, say good-night and hightail it to his apartment. Or he could gallantly offer to walk her to her door, as he would have under any other circumstances.
“Well,” she said. “That was entertaining.”
“C’mon, I’ll walk you to your door.”
“I’m perfectly okay to climb the steps on my own.”
“I know you are. I just want to make sure you get home safely.”
“You live just across the courtyard.”
He took her elbow and for a moment he thought she was going to jerk away from him, but instead, he felt her relax into his grip.
“Okay,” she said. “Fine. If you get your jollies over being a gentleman, I’m not opposed to being walked to my front door.”
“Good.” He guided her up the cement walkway lined with long stem red flowers that swayed in the breeze.
Their sneakers made muted sounds that echoed softly throughout the courtyard. A few people were in the pool, laughing and talking, but no one was near the staircase leading up to Eva’s apartment. They reached her door. She inserted her key, opened the door, and then stepped over the threshold. She turned around, paused.
Adam had an irresistible urge to kiss her, but he would not. He had to draw the line somewhere. He had to—
Before he could even finish the thought, Eva leaned over and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. “Good night, Adam Mancuso, you odd man, you.” Then she shut the door.
A hundred different feelings, none of which he could rationalize or fully identify, rushed over him. Chagrin, longing, desire, foolishness, disappointment, relief.
He turned and hurried down the stairs. Strangely, it seemed wings were attached to his shoes and he didn’t even register the journey from her door to his. Her lip print was branded on his cheek, his skin tingling from where she’d touched him. He hadn’t been this befuddled since high school. What the hell was going on? He was a Navy officer in the ONI. He wasn’t some nerdy geek infatuated with the prom queen. He had to get control of himself. This had to stop.
Fully expecting to be taunted and teased by Rogers—he knew his coworker had been watching Eva’s place—he turned his key in the lock, his mind already spinning excuses for his behavior, only to pull up short at what he saw in the living area.
It wasn’t Tim Rogers seated on the stool beside the telescope; it was his boss, Commander Higgins.
7
AFTER SHE CLOSED THE DOOR behind Adam, Eva floated into the kitchen. She kicked off her shoes and opened the refrigerator door, then took out a bottle of orange juice, twisted off the top and took a long drink. Her lips still throbbed from where she’d kissed Adam’s cheek, it had been faintly shadowed with beard stubble.
Why had she kissed him? Resisting the man was difficult enough. She was playing with fire, asking for trouble and yet she couldn’t seem to help herself.
Eva put the cap back on the orange juice, and headed for the shower. She tried not to think about Adam, but she could still smell him on her skin, masculine and clean. She could still feel the grip of his hand around her elbow, strong and protective.
She gulped. She was moving too fast, reading too much into the dangerous pull between them. Having naughty sexual fantasies about him.
Calm down. Take a deep breath. Stabilize yourself. You don’t even know this man.
Okay, all right. Snap out of it. She was snapping out of it.
She shed her clothes, dropping them in a trail as she made her way to the bathroom. She wondered what had motivated him to come to yoga class. Was he interested in her? Or was he serious about yoga? Maybe it was both. He did say he’d moved out here to make a fresh start. Try new things in his life. Maybe she was one of those new things.
You don’t have to be one of his new things. Just because you’re both interested doesn’t mean it has to lead anywhere. You could just be friends.
What a novel concept. She’d never been just friends with a guy. She wasn’t sure how to go about it.
She took a shower and then went to the living room to pick up her clothes and stuff them into the laundry basket. She made herself a snack of Wasa crackers and low-fat cheese and perched on the couch to watch television. Her eyes kept straying to the open window.
From her peripheral vision, she could see the window of Adam’s apartment. What was he doing? Was he thinking of her as she was thinking of him?
Why was she thinking of him? Sure, he was good-looking with a body to die for, but come on. A lot of guys were good-looking with killer abs.
What was it about this guy that seemed to have so wholly captured her imagination? She knew nothing about him, but maybe that was part of the appeal. Once she learned more about him, she’d probably grow bored. That’s how it usually happened for her. When a guy no longer held her interest, she dropped him.
Except for Keith, who’d dropped her before she’d had a chance to drop him. It was the first time that had ever happened.
Then again, he’d done her a favor. She’d been honestly able to say that they’d broken up when NCIS had shown up at her studio flashing their badges.
Remembering, Eva gulped. She’d dodged a bullet with Keith.
She was in the bathroom toweling her hair dry, when she heard her cell phone ringing. She padded to the bedroom where she’d left it on her bureau. Leaning over, wet hair slapping the back of her neck, she took a peek at the caller ID.
Unknown Caller flashed on the screen and she didn’t recognize the phone number, so she didn’t pick up. She waited a minute and then checked for voice mail. The automated recording told her she had one new message.
She punched Play but all she heard was a moment of male breathing, followed by a click as he hung up.
“COM-COMMANDER HIGGINS,” Adam stammered, immediately snapping to attention. “What are you doing here?”
This was it. He was about to receive disciplinarian action for going against his orders and making contact with Eva. He’d never blatantly disobeyed orders before and he didn’t know why he’d done it this time.
Eva was a wild compulsion he couldn’t seem to control. If he were smart, he’d ask to be taken off the case. Clearly, when it came to Eva St. George, he could not be trusted.
Commander Higgins got to his feet, his expression stern but unreadable. The man possessed caterpillar eyebrows that rested low on his forehead. “Sit down, Mancuso.”
&nb
sp; Adam sat, keeping his back tall and erect, his chin jutted forward, prepared to take whatever punishment was coming his way. “Sir, yes, sir.”
“At ease, Lieutenant,” Higgins said.
“Yes, sir.”
“I mean it, Mancuso, relax. You’re too uptight.”
Adam took a deep breath and remembered the yoga breathing Eva had taught him. To his surprise he felt the tension in his shoulders dissipate. Maybe there was something to this yoga stuff.
Commander Higgins paced the small area in front of where Adam was seated, his hands clasped behind his back. “It’s come to my attention that you’ve decided to make contact with the target.”
“Yes, sir.” He hated hearing Eva referred to as “the target,” even though that’s what she was. The term was dehumanizing, which was the point, but now that he’d gotten to know her, he couldn’t put her in that box any longer. Yet another reason he should ask to be taken off the case. He was losing his objectivity.
“There’s been a change of plans.”
Adam swallowed. Higgins wasn’t lowering the boom on him.
Yet.
Higgins had a reputation for taking his time meting out punishment. He seemed to enjoy torturing his subordinates. Although for the most part, Adam stayed on Higgins’s good side. Until the whole Barksdale fiasco, that is. He’d been in charge of the project, so he’d shouldered the blame with a stiff upper lip. And he did feel guilty. Somehow he felt as if he should have prevented the theft.
“Rogers has been reassigned.”
“He’s off the case?”
“No, he’s with Kilgore.”
“Doing what?”
“They’re in Iowa. Barksdale’s grandmother has been murdered.”
Fear took a sprint up his vertebra. He forced his voice to stay flat, emotionless. “What?”
“They thought at first it was natural causes. She’s been languishing in a nursing home for years. But upon closer examination it was discovered the old lady had been smothered with a pillow.”
“I thought we had a team watching Granny.”
Higgins winced. “That assignment seemed a dead-end, so I pulled our guys out.”
Adam said nothing. He knew Higgins was kicking himself over the decision.
“Kilgore and Rogers will be available for backup if you need them. For now, they’re putting the squeeze on the contact. We’re almost certain he’s the one who hired Barksdale to steal the documents. We’ll get him soon. In the meantime. I want all your attention focused on Eva St. George.”
“It is, sir.” That was the understatement of the year. All he could think about was Eva.
“You weren’t at your post this evening.” Higgins indicated the telescope with a nod of his head.
“No, sir,” Adam admitted.
“You made direct contact with the target even though you’d been expressly ordered not to do so.”
“I did.” No point lying about it. He was caught and prepared for the imminent dressing-down.
The commander nodded. “Good.”
He must have heard wrong. “Good?”
“I approve.”
“Sir?”
“Sometimes orders are just a suggestion.”
“Sir?” he repeated, wondering if he needed a hearing aid.
“When you’re on a stakeout you have to play things by ear. I know that’s not the military’s bottom line, but I’ve been in the field. I understand how fluid things can get. I think it’s wise that you decided to make the acquaintance of Miss St. George.”
“You do?” He couldn’t believe it. Not only was he not in trouble but Commander Higgins was praising him for taking matters into his own hands.
“I admire your initiative, Mancuso. You’re growing as an officer. I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“What? To disobey orders?”
“Frankly, yes.”
“It goes against my training.”
“And yet, you were able to make a judgment call.”
“I don’t fully understand, sir.”
“If I had listened to my gut instead of budgetary pressures from above, I wouldn’t have pulled the team off Barksdale’s grandmother. She died because I didn’t make the right call. So now I’m developing a new strategy because I don’t want the same thing happening to Miss St. George.”
“You think her life is in danger?”
Higgins nodded his head. “It’s possible. Here’s my theory. The buyer approached Barksdale—who is considered one of the best computer hackers in the world, which is why we hired him—to steal the prototype for the JK92. They also picked Barksdale because he’d racked up an overwhelming gambling debt and he was vulnerable.”
“Or who knows?” Adam said. “Maybe Barksdale used taking yoga at Eva St. George’s studio as a way to get to the contact and he offered to steal the plans for the JK92 in exchange for enough money to pay off his gambling debts so he didn’t end up in the Pacific wearing cement shoes.”
“That’s very possible. Yes. So, he manages to steal the plans—”
“Right out from under my nose.”
“Don’t beat yourself up about that, Mancuso. Barksdale is a genius when it comes to computer hacking and you followed every protocol. You’re not to blame for what happened.”
Adam clenched his fists at his sides. Even if Higgins did let him off the hook, he couldn’t exonerate himself. There must have been some way he could have been more diligent.
“But because you picked up on it so quickly, Barksdale barely had time to get off the base before we were on to him. I’m certain he downloaded the data to a microchip for his own protection. If he’d sent the file directly via computer, he had no insurance that they would pay him and they wouldn’t pay him without knowing he had the real deal.” Higgins shook his head. “No honor among thieves.”
“And he probably used a microchip as opposed to just downloading it to a flash drive because it’s much easier to hide.”
“Exactly. When we arrested him we went over his person with a fine-tooth comb and we tore his apartment apart. Nothing. We had to let him go.” Higgins sounded bitter. “He could have hidden it anywhere, but if he’d put it somewhere easily accessible and he’d already made the switch—info for money—the buyer wouldn’t still be in the country.”
“Following that line of thinking, he hid it somewhere he now can’t get at it because we’ve got the noose tied too tightly around his neck.”
“Exactly.” Higgins snapped his fingers.
“You think he hid it at Eva’s place?”
Higgins met his stare. “I believe so. But unfortunately, I can’t convince a judge to give me a warrant without more evidence that Barksdale involved Miss St. George. He won’t even give me a wiretap for her phone.”
“You want me to get close to her so I can search her apartment?”
“Not just that, you’d be protecting her, as well. Someone did kill Barksdale’s grandmother. Whether it was Miss St. George’s student and his cohorts who were putting pressure on Barksdale to fork over that microchip, or the goons who Barksdale owes serious money to, is up in the air. Either way, your girl could be in serious danger. Barksdale is desperate. He’s got to make a move and soon.”
“Just to be clear,” Adam said, anxious to make certain there was no misunderstanding here. “My new orders are to befriend Miss St. George, discover whatever I can about her intimate relationship with Barksdale while at the same time looking around her place for the microchip and acting as her bodyguard?”
“That is correct. Are you up for the challenge?”
He thought about how little control he had over himself around Eva. If he wanted out of this assignment, now was the time to voice his doubts.
Yeah, and never redeem yourself?
“Yes, sir,” Adam affirmed. “I can handle it.”
8
THE NEXT MORNING, AS HE SAT spying on Eva’s apartment, Adam saw her clamber down the stairs wearing a blue string bikini top
with denim shorts and carrying a surfboard. He’d been trying to think of a subtle way to get close to her and the surfboard gave him the perfect excuse. He hurried toward the door, hoping to catch her before she left the courtyard.
“Eva!” he called out from the landing.
She stopped, turned, set down the surfboard and pushed her sunglasses up on her forehead. She wriggled her fingers. “Good morning, Adam.”
“You going surfing?” God, what an idiotic thing to say. She was wearing a bikini and carrying a surfboard. Where else would she be going? For a ride on the space shuttle?
“Yes,” Eva said, politely ignoring his stupid question.
He rushed down the stairs, his eyes drinking her in. The woman was gorgeous. Long, tan legs, toenails painted cherry-red today. It made him want to buy whipped cream and snack on her. Her hair was caught up in a high ponytail.
“Hey,” he said.
She smiled. “Hey.”
They stared at each other for a moment.
“Listen,” he said. “Last night I got your message loud and clear, you’re not interested in dating.”
“Nothing personal.” She raked a lingering gaze over his body and her pink tongue flicked out to moisten her upper lip. “It’s not you per se. In fact, another time, another place, another life…”
“You’ve got this moratorium on dating.”
“Right.”
“I understand and respect that.”
“Thank you.”
“But you’re the only person I know in San Diego.”
“You’ve only been here a week. You’ll meet other people.”
He inclined his head toward her surfboard. “I’ve always wanted to surf.”
“They have surfing lessons at the beach.”
“I know, but I was hoping you could give me a few pointers.”
She looked as though she was about to say no, but then she let out her breath through straight pearly white teeth. Teeth he’d love to run his tongue over.
“You’ll need a wet suit.”
“Okay, could we go buy one?”
She laughed. There was that soft sound again that uncoiled something dangerous inside him. “You want surfing lessons today?”
“You are going to the beach.”
