A Question of Honor (3 page)

Kit shoved the handkerchief back across the table. “I’m not going to break down like some soap opera character. Women don’t always cry at the drop of a hat.”

“I’m not going to answer your sarcasm, Kit. How long has it been since you last cried?”

Her eyes clouded with pain as she looked up at him. “Stop it!” she whispered, wanting to escape. At the tenderness burning in his eyes she rasped, “Cut the pity. There’s nothing wrong with me!”

“Care is not pity,” Noah grated out. He sat back grimly, watching her struggle with the deluge of emotions he’d unwittingly triggered in her. Stunned that he was drawn to her, he could say nothing. Kit Anderson touched him on so many levels that words escaped him, and silence hovered heavily between them.

Kit found it sheer agony to sit through lunch with Noah Trayhern. She ate little, her fingers visibly trembling as she lifted the glass to finish her milk. Occasionally she would catch him staring at her, sadness evident in his green eyes. Finally she could stand it no longer. After the waitress had cleared away the dishes, Kit placed both hands on the table and faced him squarely.

“Look, Lieutenant Trayhern, I know you must think I’m some kind of—”

“First,” he interrupted sharply, “you’re a woman, something the narc division conveniently overlooked. They’ve used you up and abused your qualities. You’ve been sucked dry emotionally.” Noah’s mouth became grim as he held her embarrassed gray eyes. “I’m not the new boy on the block when it comes to the drug world,” he reminded her tersely. “I’ve been up to my neck in it since 1970. I’m one of two skippers who command the Bell Halter Surface Effect Ship. I interface with Drug Enforcement Agency headquarters, DEA agents in South America, the FBI, the CIA and local authorities to help halt drug trafficking. I’ve seen a hell of a lot of agents come and go in the past five years, and I know the narc type. I also know what working this dirty business has done to them.” His voice deepened. “You’ve got ulcers, your hands tremble and you expect danger when there’s nothing to fear.”

Kit sucked in a sharp breath, feeling as if he’d glimpsed secret places in her that no one else suspected. Shakily she started to rise, but Trayhern gripped her arm, and she sank back down again.

“No,” he ordered quietly. “First things first.” His green eyes bore into hers. “You’re taking a week off, Kit. Go home and get some sleep. And I mean deep, uninterrupted sleep. Lie in the sun. Learn how to relax. Consider this a minivacation in order to pull yourself back together again.”

She sat stiffly, unable to speak. Who was this man? He’d just probed her from top to bottom and discovered a truth she’d been avoiding for a long time. Drawing in a ragged breath, Kit became achingly aware of him as he released the grip on her arm. “And then?” she rasped, looking up into his face. Noah’s eyes glittered with anger and a frown creased his forehead. He was angry with her, she thought in confusion, and disappointed.

“I’ll call you sometime next week and we’ll go over the details of your new job. We’ll begin your integration into my unit slowly, provided we’re given the time.”

“I’ve never failed any assignment I’ve undertaken.”

His mouth tightened, as if he were experiencing her pain. “That’s not what’s at stake here, Kit,” he countered less harshly.

“Then what is?”

Noah’s eyes softened momentarily. “You.” He got to his feet. “Come on,” he coaxed, “I’m taking you home. You need the rest.” And then he added to himself,
I need time to think this thing through.
Maybe when he got back to the office, he could objectively evaluate Kit Anderson, her role and their assignment with each other. Like it or not, Noah had to acknowledge how powerfully he was drawn to her.

Noah had no sooner gotten back to his desk at headquarters than the phone rang. Muttering an oath under his breath, he picked it up.

“Coast Guard Headquarters, Lieutenant Trayhern speaking.”

“Noah?”

He sat down. “Aly?” It was his younger sister, Alyssa, and she sounded depressed.

“I’m sorry to call you at work, Noah, but I just needed to hear a friendly voice.”

“I know what you mean.”

“Thank God for our family,” Aly said fervently.

“Yeah,” Noah agreed. The Trayherns were as tight as a family could get. They had to be. Since the events of 1970, Noah had watched his own blossoming military career go sour. Alyssa, who’d just entered the naval academy in 1970, had been given the silent treatment. Now she was in flight school at Pensacola, in northwestern Florida. “So how’s it going, ace? Are you flying the wings off those planes up there?”

Aly’s voice was low. “I’m trying to, Noah.”

He gripped the phone a little tighter. “Pretty bad?”

“Yeah, really bad. God, Noah, I’m getting the silent treatment from the students all over again. I’ve got one instructor who does nothing but scream at me for an hour in the cockpit. He’s trying to wash me out, make me quit. I—I don’t know if I can hold it together….”

His throat tightened. “Hang in there, Aly. The Trayherns are made of tough stuff. We’ve got a two-hundred-year family military tradition to uphold. There’s too much riding on both our shoulders to let go of that honor.”

“I’m getting tired, Noah. And I didn’t want to tell Mom or Dad what’s happening here at Pensacola. They worry too much about us, anyway.”

Noah tried to smile. “I’m glad you called. Any chance you might cut free for a weekend soon and visit me? Getting away from the name-calling and stares might help.”

“That would be wonderful, Noah. I really need a break. And I know Mom and Dad would die if they saw me right now. You know how they expect a monthly visit from each of us. I have dark circles under my eyes and I’ve lost a lot of weight since starting the flight program. These instructors really want me out, Noah. They want to disgrace me in retaliation for Morgan.”

“I know,” he said softly, hurting for her. “Look, you get down here at the first opportunity, okay? My house has two guest bedrooms, and one of them has your name on it.”

Alyssa’s tone was strained. “Thanks, big brother. I owe you one. I’ll drop in to see you just as soon as I can.”

“Do that, Aly.”

“How are things with you? Are they still putting pressure on you?”

Noah managed a choked laugh. “Yeah, same old stuff.” And then he told her about Detective Anderson and his latest assignment.

“Maybe this week off will get her in shape to be an asset instead of a problem for you,” Aly offered.

Rubbing his face, Noah said, “God, I hope so. If she screws up, my career will be torpedoed. I fought so damned hard to get this SES billet. And now I’ve got a woman with a chip on her shoulder toward men.”

“Just turn on some of that famous Noah Trayhern charm and she’ll come around. I know she will.”

He closed his eyes, buoyed by Aly’s teasing warmth. “I hope you’re right. I’m going over to her house on Friday and lay out the basic assignment to her.”

“She’ll be fine by then.”

“Oh? You a psychic now?” he asked, chuckling.

“I’ve got a good feeling about her, Noah. Don’t know why, but I just do. You’ll know Friday for sure….”

There was no answer at Kit Anderson’s bungalow door. Noah stood and listened, then rang the bell again. He’d tried to call earlier, but there’d been no response. Walking around the stucco one-story home, he spotted a high-walled wooden fence. Maybe she was in back, getting that suntan. Taking a chance, he opened the gate and moved quietly inside the closure.

Over the past few days Noah had tried to reconcile himself to the fact that Kit Anderson was going to be a part of his hardworking crew. Although still unconvinced that assigning a woman to this project was a good idea, Noah realized he’d treated her poorly upon first meeting her, and owed her an apology. Getting off on the wrong foot was no help to either of them. Gazing across the lawn, he spotted Kit in a lavender bathing suit, lying on a chaise lounge. His hand tightened automatically around the briefcase he carried.

The late-morning sun had lulled Kit into a twilight of peace. Fragrant oleanders ringed the yard, scenting the late-morning air. Idly she ran her fingers across her lower arm, amazed at how deeply tanned she had become. Closing her eyes again, Kit enjoyed the call of the birds that made their homes in those ten-foot-high flowery bushes. In the years she had spent living at night, she’d missed their melodic songs.

Her languor ended at the sound of approaching footsteps. Instantly alert, Kit jerked into a sitting position, on guard. Noah Trayhern looked devastatingly handsome in his light blue shirt and dark blue slacks and garrison cap. He carried a briefcase in his left hand. Kit searched his face for signs of anger but saw none.

“I called earlier, but there wasn’t any answer,” Noah offered. “I thought I’d take a chance you might be back here.” She looked slim and elegant in the revealing bathing suit. Puzzled as to why he hadn’t realized how pretty Kit really was, Noah realized she was no longer in the baggy clothes that hid her innate femininity. His heart thudded hard in his chest, and he felt that familiar stirring that was beginning to seem inevitable whenever her name or face came to mind. And that had been often. Too damned often.

Kit lowered her lashes, hotly aware of a strange intensity to his inspection of her. She reached for her light blue beach jacket, quickly shrugging it across her shoulders. “It’s better to get a tan in the morning,” she said. Tying the sash, Kit stood. “I thought you’d conveniently forgotten about me.”

Noah managed a crooked smile. “I had that coming, didn’t I?”

Nervous beneath his continued stare, she crossed her arms. “Yes, you did.”

“I’ll try to change that.”

Relief swept through Kit. There was something in his voice that said he was telling her the truth. “All I want to do is catch Garcia and survive this year with you, Lieutenant. I don’t want any battles. I’m tired of fighting.”

“I don’t like to fight, either. Well,” he amended, “only druggies. I didn’t call you because I didn’t want to disturb you.”

Kit remained on guard. Noah was a man of incredible insight, and it unnerved her to suspect that he probably knew as much about her as she did herself. “If we’ve got business to discuss, come on in the house. I’ve got some sun tea made. Would you like a glass?”

“Sounds good. And yes, we’ve got business to discuss.”

She nodded, seeing the undisguised hunger in his face. It rattled her badly. “I’m ready to work. I’ve had my fill of soap operas and crossword puzzles.”

He walked easily beside her, and Kit admired his aura of confidence. It gave her a sense of stability when she had none left within herself. Somehow Noah Trayhern made her feel safe. Right now she didn’t want to probe the reasons why too deeply.

“You needed this time, though,” Noah reminded her.

“Maybe,” Kit hedged, walking into the cool interior of the small, neatly kept house. “The kitchen’s that way,” she instructed. “I’ll change into something more appropriate and be out in a minute. Why don’t you pour us some tea?”

Noah busied himself in the kitchen. When Kit emerged from the bedroom ten minutes later, she was dressed in a pair of pale pink shorts and a sleeveless blouse. Its pink-and-fuchsia print with burgundy accents highlighted her golden skin. He found it difficult not to stare. Picking up her glass of tea, he met her halfway.

“I like what you’ve done to your hair,” he noted, handing her the cool glass. Their fingers met and touched.

Kit fingered the wispy bangs over her brow. She had coaxed her black hair into soft waves around her face. “Thank you,” she muttered nervously, and took the glass, barely able to endure Noah’s examination. Heat rushed into her face. My God, was she blushing? Touching her flaming cheek, Kit was at a loss for words.

Noah fought himself, but he lost out to the driving need to touch her. He placed his hand beneath her chin and gave her an approving look. “No circles under your eyes, either.” Her flesh was soft and far too inviting. It was the shock in her eyes that forced him to drop his hand back to his side. He wasn’t behaving professionally, and that irritated him. What was it about her that invited this kind of familiarity?

Kit’s skin tingled where Noah’s hand had fleetingly rested. Despite an initial hesitancy, she found herself responding to him like a flower parched for water, drawn helplessly to him. He seemed to put her in touch with her own vulnerability and restore the sense of femininity that had long been buried by her undercover career.

“Come into the living room,” she said, shaken. She took a chair opposite Noah. The coffee table acted as a barrier between them, allowing her to relax slightly. Clearing her throat, she said, “I still don’t know what to make of you, Lieutenant.”

Giving her a wry glance, he selected several groups of papers from his briefcase and spread them across the coffee table. “Call me Noah.”

“Even in front of the DEA, FBI and CIA people?” Kit taunted. Every second spent with him was dissolving her barriers. Noah was too much like Pete, she admitted to herself. The Coast Guard officer appeared driven, probably a superachiever, just as her partner, Pete, had been. Noah reminded her too much of the recent past, but she had no way to stop his encroachment on her life, either professionally or, even more frightening, personally.

“Even with them,” he agreed affably, hearing the disbelief in her voice. Glancing up, he said, “My crew and I work well together, Kit. They all know who’s boss and we know our responsibilities. I came out of a very tight-knit family myself, and I know the benefits of one. I apply that same philosophy to my crew.”

She gave him a strange look. “Family?” His last name struck a memory chord within her once again.

Noah looked up. “Why not?”

“Wait a minute…” Kit snapped her fingers, finally remembering where she’d heard his name. Her eyes rounded. “My God, you aren’t from
the
Trayhern family with the traitor, are you?” Kit saw Noah’s eyes go dark with hurt, then anger, and she instantly regretted how she’d framed her question.

Noah’s hands stilled over the reports spread before him. He struggled with the grief and loss of Morgan, and then the anger that she or anyone would dare call his older brother a traitor. Kit was just one more person to parrot what she’d been fed by the press. She hadn’t grown up with Morgan, didn’t know how loyal he was or how much integrity he possessed. Wrestling with an avalanche of stripped feelings, Noah whispered tautly, “Yes, Morgan is my brother.” Funny, he never could say was. He didn’t accept that Morgan was dead. He couldn’t. And neither did anyone else in his family.