Waiting... On You (Force Recon Marines)

by S A Monk

  “Sometimes.”

  “Why?”

  “Oh, Nick, don’t make me answer that.”

  He reached for and caught both her hands in his, staring pensively at her a moment. His mouth eased into a gentle smile when she glanced up at him again. Before she could look away, he caught her chin with one hand. “Do I make you uneasy because you think I want to kiss you?”

  “Do you?” she ventured bravely. “Want to kiss me?”

  “Oh yeah, I do...a whole hell of a lot.” He let that sink in, then asked quietly, “May I?”

  She responded with a breathless little ‘yes’.

  He didn’t wait for her to change her mind. Slipping his arms around her, he folded her tightly against his long length, one big hand pressed to her lower back and one between her shoulder blades. His mouth swept down to settle over hers in a hot, greedy, fiercely possessive kiss. Her lips parted beneath the pressure of his, and his tongue plunged inside to mate with hers.

  Sucking the very breath from her, he made her feel dizzy and light-headed. Her fingers curled into his shoulders, and she rose up onto her toes to better reach his mouth. A ribbon of desire snaked through her body. Her knees wobbled, and his embrace shifted and tightened further.

  Lifting his mouth from hers, he moved it along her jaw to the shell of her ear, then dipped his head to nibble along her neck, stopping finally to take a gentle bite. Hanna couldn’t help herself. She rubbed herself against him to ease the voracious ache between her legs.

  With a groan, his mouth returned to hers, his tongue filling her mouth, devouring her. She gloried in it. She was pressed so tight against him, she could feel his heart slamming against her chest and the hard edge of his sex grinding against her own.

  Lord, he was so intoxicating, so heartbreakingly special! She was his and always would be. Even thousands of miles away, he was the center of her world. Did he have any idea she felt this way? That she was so incurably in love with him? She simply didn’t have the courage to tell him with words. Could he tell by how she returned his kiss?

  On her grandmother’s porch, there wasn’t any better conclusion to the kiss than simply to bring it to an end. Finally, they moved apart, each reluctant, each breathless, but resigned to it. Hanna lifted her hand to stroke his cheek and whispered a rather ragged ‘good night’.

  “Dress for a motorcycle ride tomorrow,” he warned with a big crooked grin on his face.

  “But what about my boat?’ she called out to him as he all but hopped off the porch.

  “We’ll get to it. Sweet dreams, pretty Doctor,” he called back before he disappeared into his brother’s Jeep.

  Inside, in the living room, her grandmother was watching television. The second Hanna stepped into the room, Christine hurried away from the front window.

  Hanna gave her a suspicious look. “Were you spying on me?”

  “Not the whole time,” her sister-in-law defended herself sheepishly in the darkened room. “But I did see that torrid kiss, Doctor Wallace.” Softly uttering the word ‘torrid,’ she shook one hand like it had gotten burned.

  Hanna immediately glanced at her grandmother.

  Colleen laughed. “You don’t have to answer to me, young lady. You’re old enough to know what you’re doing.”

  Hanna could feel her cheeks turn scarlet. “Neither one of you had to wait up for me.”

  “We weren’t.” Colleen hadn’t removed her eyes from her television program. “Just watching the idiot box for a bit.”

  “I think I’ll go on up to bed,” Hanna said lamely.

  “Sweet dreams.” Christine echoed Nick’s directive. “Or maybe I should say hot dreams.”

  Hanna shook her head and headed for the stairs.

  “Better not let him get away if he kisses that well, girl!” Colleen called out as Hanna ascended the stairs. Behind her, she heard both her grandmother and her sister-in-law laughing.

  CHAPTER 12

  HANNA WAS STILL IN HER PAJAMAS when Nick pulled up to her grandmother’s house on his fancy new Harley the following morning. She was in the kitchen making a pot of coffee as the roar of the motorcycle’s engine announced to all inside that he was out front.

  Colleen McHenry came into the room and looked out the window over her granddaughter’s shoulder. Nick was in the process of cutting his engine and swinging off his bike. “Better go get your leathers on, sweetie,” the older lady teased.

  Nick came through the back door just as Colleen was sitting down. Hanna set three mugs of coffee on the table and grumbled under her breath about him being too early.

  Nick arched a dark eyebrow and gave her a visual once-over. “Still wearing flannel p-jays, I see.”

  Hanna tossed him a grumpy glare as she sat down next to her grandmother.

  “Not a happy camper this morning?” he teased.

  Colleen chuckled and motioned for Nick to take a seat and a cup of coffee. “What are you up to with my grumpy granddaughter today, Nicholas?” she asked as she passed cream and sugar to Nick.

  “We’re going to see my FBI friend in Seattle. Hanna hasn’t met Kurt yet, and I’m hoping he’ll have some information for us by now.”

  Hanna scowled at him again. “You said we’d take my sailboat to Seattle. I don’t want to ride on your motorcycle.”

  Enlightenment finally dawned. “I thought we’d take the bike over on the ferry.”

  “I don’t like motorcycles.”

  “Have you ever been on one?” he asked her, taking a sip of his coffee.

  “No.”

  “You might like it.”

  Hanna shot him a mutinous look over the rim of her mug. “I doubt it. They aren’t safe.”

  When she set her mug down, Nick saw the stubborn set of her wonderfully kissable mouth, recalling how much he had enjoyed it last night. “That’s not true. And I can see I’m going to have to bribe you to get you on my new bike.” His eyebrows wiggled in a wickedly challenging expression. “You ride on mine first, then I’ll ride in yours.”

  Colleen chortled. “Oh my! That sounds naughty.”

  “Nick!” Hanna shot him a look of embarrassed ire.

  “Ladies, I’m referring to my motorcycle and Hanna’s boat,” he stated in complete innocence.

  Colleen and Hanna both rose from the table simultaneously. The older woman shooed the younger one away. “Go upstairs and get dressed, sweetie, while I fix Nicholas some breakfast.

  “Did you eat already, Colonel?”

  “No, but don’t go to any trouble, Colleen.”

  “It’s no trouble. What time does the ferry leave?”

  “Nine.”

  “Hurry up, sweetheart.” Colleen gave her unhappy granddaughter a little push. “Wear your leather jacket. It will make you feel like you belong on the back of a Harley.”

  Hanna rolled her eyes as she left her grandmother alone in the kitchen with Nick Kelly, wondering if that was the smartest thing to do, especially when she heard them laughing. Even at eighty, Colleen McHenry enjoyed a bawdy sense of humor. Hanna knew Nick did at times, too. The two of them were probably laughing about that “You ride mine, and I’ll ride yours” comment!

  Nevertheless, a half hour later, Hanna was indeed riding on the back of Nick’s big, black, chrome adorned Harley Davidson. She was wearing jeans, boots, a sleeveless turtleneck sweater, and a short, butter-colored, leather jacket. Scared to death, her eyes squeezed shut, she couldn’t stop shivering. Nick’s broad chest caught most of the wind, and she was dressed warmly enough, but her hands felt like ice cubes.

  They were clenched around Nick’s waist as she clung on to him for dear life. Every time they rounded a corner, she pressed her helmeted head to his shoulder blades, certain she was going to fall off. Her equilibrium was completely off-kilter!

  Nick took one hand off his handlebars and covered hers with it. “Put your hands under my jacket,” he advised her over the short wave radios in their helmets.

  Hanna did as he suggested and slid he
r hands under his waist-length jacket, but they kept slipping out.

  He caught them a second time and tucked both inside the waistband of his Levis. “Better?” he asked over the radio. “Warmer?”

  Her hands were now trapped between his waistband and the bare, hair-roughed skin of his abdomen. She couldn’t resist rubbing her cold fingertips back and forth a little against his heated flesh.

  She heard him chuckle and immediately started to withdraw her hands from inside his pants, but Nick stopped her by clamping one of his hands over hers. “Relax, Doctor. You’ll get there alive and in one piece. I promise.”

  Hanna groaned in reply and opened her eyes just a bit to peek out at the countryside whizzing by at what seemed like a frightening speed. It felt like they were flying, and if every muscle in her body wasn’t so tense, she might actually have been excited by the ride.

  When they reached downtown Port George, they headed to the terminal and slowly drove aboard the waiting ferry where they parked the bike below deck. Once the engine was turned off, Hanna slumped against the backrest and blew out the breath she’d been holding. The muscles in her legs were so knotted with tension, they wouldn’t move.

  Nick shoved his kickstand down, stuffed the keys in his hip pocket, then swung one long leg over his Harley to dismount. When both feet were planted on the deck of the ferry, he released the chin strap of his helmet, then lifted it off his head with his gloved hands and hung it over one of the long-necked handlebars. Turning, he saw that Hanna was still seated on the back of his bike, rigid and unmoving.

  A deep frown wrinkled his dark brows. “Are you okay?”

  When she didn’t make a move to get off, he reached for her and lifted her off. As soon as her booted feet touched the ground, her legs buckled beneath her.

  “Whoa!” Nick grabbed her around the waist to steady her. “You’re shaking.”

  Hanna held onto him until she felt strong enough to step away on her own. “Oh Lord! We still have Seattle traffic to face,” she breathed as she removed her helmet and tucked it under her arm. Slowly, carefully, she headed toward the stairway that led to the upper observation deck.

  Nick took the helmet from her, put it on the other handlebar, then followed her. “You really never have been on a motorcycle before, have you?”

  She shook her head and grabbed the railing to climb the gangway. “No, absolutely not! I’m a doctor. I think they’re death machines. Have you ever seen a motorcycle accident victim after he got caught beneath a car or truck?” she demanded, glancing over her shoulder at him as she climbed the steps upwards. His grin fueled her anger. “It’s not a pretty sight, even with a helmet! The victims usually have head trauma, broken bones, and often need plastic surgery.”

  Up on the main passenger deck, Nick followed her to the railing. “I guess we’ve finally found something we don’t have in common.”

  Hanna swung to face him, annoyed at the laughter she heard in his voice. “Colonel Kelly, this is not funny! You risk your life enough doing what you do!” she scolded him hotly. “Now, I have to add riding a motorcycle to my prayers for you.”

  His scarred eyebrow lifted in surprise. “You pray for me?”

  “I certainly do! And I have for all the twenty long years you’ve been a Force Recon Marine. Why do you think you’ve stayed alive so long?”

  “I don’t know.” He laughed, amused by her spurt of temper, but touched, too. “I always thought it was my superior skill as a warrior.” Then he gallantly lifted her hand to his lips. “Guess it was my beautiful guardian angel instead.”

  That took the wind out of her sails. She didn’t have a response. He moved closer and hooked an arm around her waist. “I love my bike, though, Doctor. And I’m an experienced rider, so stop worrying that you’re not going to survive the experience.” Removing his arm from her waist, he intertwined it with hers as they leaned out over the railing, side by side, to stare across Admiralty Strait. A moment later, he caught her hand in his. “I promise you’re safe with me.”

  TRAFFIC WASN’T AS BAD AS HANNA EXPECTED. She managed to relax a bit on the ride through downtown Seattle. They got to the FBI building an hour before all the business people hit their lunch breaks, so they found a parking space in the public garage down the block. After locking up his bike and setting the alarm, Nick escorted Hanna the short distance to the building where Kurt Palmer worked.

  Nick wasn’t in uniform. He was wearing jeans, another polo shirt, black this time, and his brown leather bomber jacket. Yet everyone who greeted him addressed him as Colonel. Hanna was impressed with how many people knew him, especially by his new rank.

  “You’ve worked with these people before?” she whispered to him as she walked beside him to Agent Palmer’s office.

  “A few of them.”

  The office they were looking for was at the end of a long corridor. The door was open, but Nick knocked on it anyway to alert his friend, who was behind his desk, on the phone.

  Kurt Palmer appeared to be Nick’s age— tall, dark haired, well built, and good looking. As soon as he got off the phone, he had a friendly handshake for Nick and a ready smile for Hanna. He directed them to sit down in a couple of chairs positioned in front of his desk.

  Nick handed him one of the fishing rod cylinders that he and Hanna had recovered from their diving expeditions. “This is one of three that we found around the crab pots we inspected the other day. All of them were empty. Ring any bells?”

  It was obvious that Nick had kept Kurt fully informed about what they had been up to. He took the tube, inspected the outside, turning it this way and that, then unscrewed the metal lid and looked inside. Just like Nick had done, he sniffed it. Then he turned a flashlight inside it and looked more closely.

  Hanna hadn’t seen anything inside. She wondered what Kurt was looking for. These tubes seemed to interest him as much as they had Nick.

  “I’ll send this over to our lab to have some tests run on it. Might be some microscopic residue left in here.” He secured the lid once more, then pulled out a large evidence bag and dropped the tube inside. “Tell me how and where you found these three tubes again.”

  “Hanna found the first one next to some of the locals’ crab pots in Discovery Bay. Then, she and I found the other two in a few miles north of the first spot, embedded in the sand next to more crab pots.”

  “So are these cages a permanent fixture in the bay?”

  “Pretty much. They aren’t permanently fixed, but the locals will leave them in the bay most of the year. They’re used so predominantly, no one pays them much attention. It’s a common sight around the area.”

  “You said you think you’ve seen these tubes before,” Kurt prompted Nick.

  “Don’t you remember reading about them? My team was assisting a DEA unit on some joint task force operations in Thailand, Malaysia, and Hong Kong several years ago. We raided a series of labs in each of those locations and found tubes similar to these, packed with plastic bags of heroin. A tube this size could hold several million dollars’ worth of heroin.”

  Hanna made a small sound of dismay.

  “I’ve read that the Chinese Triad has been known to ship their heroin in cans of aerosol deodorant,” Kurt replied. “But these tubes could triple the load, and they look like they’d be watertight.”

  “They are. That’s why sport fisherman like them. They keep their rods dry no matter what the conditions.”

  Hanna was fascinated by what they were discussing. She had begun to suspect drug issues herself, but she didn’t have the background to link the pieces together like Nick was doing. As both families had thought, his specialized training gave him the experience to look at things in ways they would never have thought of.

  “What do you think the rods have to do with the crab pots?” Kurt asked, moving a pencil around on his cluttered desk.

  Nick glanced over at Hanna. “This is just speculation at this point,” he warned her. “But I think someone is smuggling heroi
n into this country by packing it into the cylinders like these, then depositing those cylinders in the crab pots for pick up by local mules. The pots are already marked, and for the most part, go unnoticed by everyone, except the locals who fish with them. Because they’re anchored, they don’t shift much with the tide. They’re fairly stationary. So, the mules come in at night, look for the marker buoys, pull up the cages, and take out the heroin packed tubes. Because the delivery guys and the mules operate out of speed boats, probably equipped with radar scanners and electronic sensing devices, they don’t need their night lights on. Thus, they don’t attract any attention. They can deliver and pick up, without anyone ever noticing. Certainly, unless forewarned, the Coast Guard isn’t going to bother them in the dead of night. Most of the people who live along the shore are retired. They aren’t up that late, but even if they were, they wouldn’t be able to see a mile off shore without night vision scopes. I am a bit surprised no one has inadvertently picked up a full tube. The smugglers must have some way of preventing that or they’re just damn lucky.”

  “That sounds like a pretty slick operation,” Hanna interjected.

  Nick nodded. “I think it’s been going on a long time, it’s been so slick and undetectable. But some of the old timers, like Nat Simms, started to notice their catch was down and suspected poaching. That’s why he called the sheriff and made complaint after complaint. The night Dylan went out to investigate Nat’s last complaint, the old guy had finally spotted a strange boat near his pots. He thought he’d caught someone tampering with them. Dylan went out to question the boater, and probably ran straight into a mule making a pick-up. I think that’s how he died.”

  “Oh my lord!” Hanna was stunned. She could feel the blood drain from her face.

  “If the Triad is involved, we’ve got a bad problem here. They’re as violent and as ruthless as it comes,” Kurt added.

  Nick took Hanna’s hand. Her face was so pale, it was nearly white. “We still have to prove this. I may have it all wrong. That’s why I’ve been hesitant to say anything to the families. I was hoping to get more evidence. But we may get lucky with those wiretaps and bugs.”