A Question of Honor (8 page)

Getting out of the bath, Kit slipped into a silky lavender nightgown. Drowsy and feeling relaxed, she padded to the bed and lay down. As she tucked her hands beneath the pillow and closed her eyes, her last thoughts were of Noah and the miraculous effect he had upon her.

The sun was hot, making the humidity seem even higher than usual. Noah brushed a light film of sweat off his brow as he eased himself out of the Trans Am. He saw Tripoli at the picture window of his house as he sauntered up the walk. Glancing at his watch, he realized he was half an hour late. Kit was probably furious. Starving women made poor companions. Unlocking the front door, he was greeted by the Doberman. Noah leaned over to pet him, then took off his officer’s cap and dropped it on the small desk.

“Where’s Kit?” he asked. The dog leaped away, his claws clacking noisily on the wooden floor as he raced to the end of the hall toward the bedrooms. Noah followed him, steeling himself against Kit’s anger at his lateness.

To his surprise, Kit didn’t come out to meet him. He halted at the entrance to her bedroom, allowing his eyes to adjust to the gloom. The venetian blinds behind the green curtains had been pulled shut, and Noah felt his features relax. Kit lay asleep, a light quilt drawn up to her waist. Both cats were napping beside her.

Quietly entering the room, Noah stood over Kit and watched her sleep. He shouldn’t be standing here; he ought to pretend she wasn’t even in the house. But that was impossible, he admitted harshly to himself. While at dockside with the
Osprey
crew, he’d thought constantly of Kit being here in his home. Oddly, just getting to see her helped evaporate the confusion of his feelings. He narrowed his eyes with concern. Even in the semidarkness her skin was pale, drawn tightly across her cheekbones. The shadows beneath her eyes were still in evidence, and Noah tried to curb his worry. Her lips were parted, stress no longer drawing in the corners.
So,
he thought,
you really do want to laugh.
She looked like a lost, helpless waif on the huge expanse of the bed. Noah leaned over and pulled the quilt up around her shoulders, tucking it in so that she would remain warm despite the coolness of the central air-conditioning.

Straightening, Noah ordered himself to leave. He had to before he reached out to caress her cheek. Every time he got around Kit, he seemed to go into a tailspin. She must have taken a bath—her hair was slightly curled, easing the angular planes of her face and creating a softer look to her features. The powerful need to will away the pain she still carried caught him off balance.

He didn’t want to leave Kit’s room, but he made himself move. How Kit, as a woman, had survived five years in the narc trench warfare was beyond him. He kept the door to her bedroom open so that the animals could come and go as they pleased. As he walked down the hall to his own room, Noah admitted that Kit affected him deeply. No woman had ever reached out and unraveled him like this. Somehow, he was going to have to hide all those feelings from her. But how?

Kit felt the warm roughness of a man’s hand moving across her shoulder. Drowsily she forced open her eyes. Even in the darkness she was aware of the intensity of Noah’s gaze as he leaned over her.

“I thought I’d better get you up for a bite to eat,” he explained in a low voice. “Then you can go back to bed.”

She fought the drugged feeling of tiredness, slowly becoming aware of his presence. A fresh ribbon of emotion squeezed from her heart as she silently stared up at him. Noah gave her stability, and something more. “Wh-what time is it?”

“Almost 9:00 p.m.”

“Nine?” Her eyes widened and she struggled into a sitting position. It dawned on her that she was wearing a revealing gown with a low-cut neck, and heat rushed into her cheeks. What was he doing in
her
bedroom? And then, with a pang, Kit realized she hadn’t shut the door, so how could he knock and announce his presence? She pulled her knees upward. Sudden shyness gripped her when she saw the undisguised hunger in his eyes.

Noah placed himself in check. Gone were all of Kit’s defenses. She sat shyly before him like a child-woman just awakening from a wonderful dream. Grimly he forced himself to step away from the bed.

“I wanted you to get something to eat before we tucked you in for a good night’s sleep,” he told her, his voice gruff.

“‘We’?” Kit asked, her voice husky.

Noah gestured to the foot of the bed. “The cats slept with you.”

Kit laughed. It was a clear, uninhibited laugh, straight from her heart. And the rich sound coming from her filled her with an inexplicable joy. Her eyes crinkled as she met Noah’s green gaze. “I don’t believe this, Noah. I feel as if I’m in some kind of dream. Your animals are like little guardians.” Her smile died on her lips as she searched his shadowed face.

“You’re coming out of a five-year tunnel of darkness.”

“I’m just beginning to realize how badly I buried myself in my work. You’re right. It was a horrible tunnel.”

“Life doesn’t have to be a dark, moody scene, Kit. There can be light and laughter in this crazy-quilt world of ours.” He managed a smile. “There can be light even in the worst sort of darkness.”

Kit shut her eyes and turned her head away. “At first I thought you were just like Pete.”

Noah shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Oh?” What she thought of him meant more than he cared to admit.

Kit rested her cheek against her drawn-up knees and stared blankly at the wall. “You’re driven just as he was. And you have something to prove because of your family tragedy. Pete was always striving to prove he was better than anyone else. His work was his entire life.” Releasing a broken sigh, Kit raised her head and gazed up at Noah. “Maybe I’m wrong about you to a degree. This house is lived in and cared for. All the plants are healthy and trimmed. I noticed you had a bunch of seedlings on the windowsill in the kitchen…. Your officer image doesn’t fit the Noah Trayhern who lives in this house.”

Relieve to hear she didn’t think he was another Pete Collins, Noah grinned. “Don’t take my officer image too lightly. Remember, I come from a family with a two-hundred-year tradition of military service.”

Although hungry for information about him, Kit quelled her curiosity. Even in the shadows, Noah had a kind face when he allowed that officer’s mask to slip. The man who stood relaxed in front of her was her boss. Kit couldn’t still the suffused happiness that surfaced unexpectedly within her. “Let me put my robe on, and I’ll join you in a few minutes,” she promised.

Chapter Five

K
it shuffled into the kitchen. Hands thrust deeply into the blue velour pockets of her robe, she stood uncertainly at the entrance. Noah had just placed a seafood salad at the table, and he motioned for her to come and sit down.

He saw a smile light her eyes, erasing the tension around her mouth. “Come on in,” he invited.

“Somehow,” Kit commented, sitting down and picking up the royal blue linen napkin, “I think I’ve got the better end of our deal. This is more than a safe house. This salad looks pretty good.”

Pouring her some coffee, Noah sat down opposite her. Funny, how Kit made the house feel warm and comfortable with her quiet presence. “My mother made all three of us kids learn how to cook,” he noted wryly.

Smiling, Kit picked up the fork. Suddenly she was famished. The combination of crab, lobster and shrimp on a bed of fresh lettuce was incredibly appealing. “Good for her.”

“Did yours?”

She grinned and scooped a forkful of crab into her mouth. There was amusement in Noah’s thoughtful green eyes. The rapport he established with her was molten, heating the inner fires of her heart. “Yes, me and my older brothers.”

“Good for her,” he repeated.

“I’ll help around here with house duties, Noah. I don’t intend to be a bad house guest.”

“This house is just like a ship. Every crew member has responsibilities. We’ll set up a system and share the chores. You’re not the type to escape duty, anyway,” he mused, sipping his coffee.

“You’re right. Noah, this is really disconcerting.”

“What is?”

Kit jabbed her fork into a piece of lobster. “You have an entire personnel file on me. I have absolutely nothing on you.”

“I’m an open book.”

Kit gave him a dark look. “Sure you are.”

He sat back, the silence pleasant despite her growling. “I figure with the time we’re going to have to spend with each other, you’ll probably find out more about me than you’d like to know.”

Kit wasn’t so sure. “To tell you the truth, I’m feeling bad about cluttering up your personal life by using your place as a safe house.”

Noah toyed with his cup, turning it slowly around. “I don’t have much of a personal life, except that I visit my parents in Clearwater once a month, or open up one of the guest rooms to my sister, Alyssa.”

Kit finished the salad and pushed the plate aside, then picked up her coffee cup. “It sounds like you’re close to your family, the way I am to mine.”

He snorted softly. “Believe me, if we hadn’t been close in these five years since Morgan disappeared, I don’t know how any of us would have survived.”

She nodded sympathetically, recalling the press about Morgan Trayhern’s defection to North Vietnam. Every time the topic came up, Noah’s eyes reflected grief and sadness. Kit hurt for him.

“My father just retired from the Minneapolis Police Department,” she offered, not wanting to dig into something so sensitive. “I have three brothers who are in the highway patrol.”

“Family tradition runs strong in you, too.”

“Don’t sound so unhappy about it. They like what they’re doing.”

He shrugged, wanting, unsuccessfully, to keep their talk impersonal. “I wasn’t thinking about them. Take a look at you—I think family pressure pushed you into a career you really weren’t cut out for.”

Kit studied him for a long time before answering. Noah had made the comment with feeling, not hurled it as an accusation. “Lately I’ve been thinking about that possibility,” she admitted quietly. “What about you? Are you happy in your chosen career?”

“Yes. I put in long hours to keep my record spotless. You get ahead in the Coast Guard by making yourself outstanding in some way. I’ve had to work extra hard because of what happened to Morgan.”

“You work at your job twenty-four hours a day, leaving no time for a personal life.”

“You’ve done the same thing,” he parried.

Kit got up and went to the drain board, leaning against it, coffee cup in hand. “Maybe we’re both like Pete Collins and don’t want to admit it.”

“Maybe you project Collins on every man you meet.”

“Touché. Maybe I do.”

Disgruntled, Noah rose and arranged the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. Why did he get nettled when she compared him to Collins? He was nothing like him!

“What’s on the agenda for tomorrow?” Kit asked, realizing he was upset.

“It’s the weekend,” he snapped.

“I didn’t know it made any difference to you.” Kit saw the anger flash momentarily in his eyes and knew she’d blundered into sensitive territory. Wearily she said, “I guess it does.”

“I try to work five days a week, Kit, not seven. But I’ve had to prove myself. Other times we’re at sea for an extended period.” Noah felt some of the anger drain away as he noticed Kit struggling to smooth over the tension between them.

“So what do you usually do on weekends?” Kit knew that since she was in hiding, she would have to remain solely at the house or on the
Osprey
.

“If I haven’t taken on any extra projects at headquarters, I work with wood and make furniture, or take my boat out to a cove and snorkel for dinner. What do you do?”

She shrugged and set the cup on the drain board. “Lately I’ve watched too much television. This is the first time I’ve had a series of weekends off in years. I guess I’ll find out, won’t I?”

The sudden unhappiness in her eyes bothered him. He rested his hands on his hips, studying her. “I was going to plant those seedlings tomorrow along the front of the house.”

“I like the idea of you planting flowers. Need some help?”

There was life in her eyes, and Noah found himself drowning in their soft dove-gray color. Jerking himself back from his spiraling attraction to Kit, he muttered, “If you want to help, you can.”

“I’d love to. It’s been a long time since I’ve dug my fingers into the earth, or even sat in the sunshine doing something like that.”

He heard the enthusiasm in her tone and was unable to stop a smile from curving the corners of his mouth. “Get some sleep, Kit. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Cordeman’s call at eight in the morning rousted Noah out of sleep. He turned over, groping for the phone.

“Trayhern,” he muttered.

“This is Cordeman. I’m calling from a pay phone because I don’t want our conversation tapped by the wrong parties.”

Noah sat up, instantly alert. The sheet fell away, exposing his naked chest. “What is it?” He wiped the sleep from his eyes, his heart taking on an urgent beat.

“Nothing’s wrong, Lieutenant. I’m just calling to make sure your house guest arrived safely.”

Eyeing the clock on the dresser, Noah bit back a curse. “She’s fine,” he ground out.

“Good, because word is Dante’s out lookin’ for Kit. Another one of our snitches brought us the news late last night. I don’t want her to show her face in Miami. You understand, Trayhern? She’s not to make phone calls, or answer your phone, either.”

Pushing strands of hair off his brow, Noah dangled his legs over the edge of the bed. Sunlight streamed through the windows. “Look, Cordeman, I know standard operating procedure on this, so don’t lecture me like I was some rookie cop.”

“I just want to make damn sure she’s safe. The only place she goes is to and from the dock.”

“I’ve got a boat at a marina outside Miami. Some weekend I plan to take her out on it for the day. Any problem with that?”

“Just keep her low profile, Trayhern. I have a DEA agent who is in position to retrieve info on Garcia—if he’s able to get it back to us. Operation Storm is officially initiated as of now. That three weeks you wanted for her is out of the question with Dante loose.”