Blue Forever (Men in Uniform) (4 page)

6

He actually laughed.

DeAnne wanted to kick the obnoxious man in the shin. Instead she lifted her chin. “Is there something funny I’m not aware of?”

He stared at her for a second. His smile faltered. “You’re serious.”

Why was it that men never took her seriously? It was maddening. She wasn’t even a blonde!

“Do I look like I’m joking?” She tried to keep the annoyance from her voice but failed.

He sobered quickly. “No. But the idea is ludicrous. You can’t come with me. It’s much too dangerous.”

“And being arrested and thrown into a Chinese prison isn’t?”

He shifted his rucksack a little and walked onto the road, limping slightly. “That isn’t going to happen.”

She followed after him. “Really? I could have sworn you just said—”

“Even if that did happen,” he cut her off, “
which it won’t
—do the words ‘diplomatic immunity’ ring a bell?” He stopped to peer down the road for a moment in the direction of the checkpoint. Apparently satisfied, he did an about-face.

She stepped into his path before he could start walking away from her. “That won’t help when they put me in front of a firing squad for aiding and abetting a traitorous spy.”

No, she didn’t actually believe they would go that far. But he obviously had a skewed idea about how diplomacy worked.

He looked at her impatiently. “Why the hell would you want to come with me, anyway? I’ll be moving nonstop, hiding from the entire population of China. It’ll be exhausting during the day, cold at night, and—”

“You see? Right there”—she emphasized her point with a finger poke to his chest—“that’s exactly why you need me to come with you.”

He blinked down at her, and she could practically see his mind fastening on the cold night part.

She gave him a withering look. “What I
mean
is, your natural response to this situation is to run and hide. To sneak away without being caught.”

His eyes narrowed. “I prefer the term ‘covert,’ or ‘off– grid.’”

She held up her hands. “No insult intended.”

“Fine.” He started to limp around her. “But your point is . . . ?”

“There are other ways to handle this. Better ways.”

He shook his head and kept walking. “You’re talking about using your words again, aren’t you?”

She hurried after him. “Is there a problem with that?”

“Yeah. Words don’t work.”

“Spoken like a true Marine,” she muttered. Using words had never been big on her father’s agenda, either. Maybe if he’d tried it once in a while instead of—

Llowell spun around and scowled down at her, his hands fisted on his hips. “You’ve got something against the Marines, lady?”

Telling him the truth was not going to advance her cause. “I have nothing against you personally, Major Llowell—”

“For Chrissakes, it’s
Kip
,” he ground out.

She held up her hands. “Okay, okay.
Kip
. I’m just saying maybe we can solve this without you having to run . . . go
off-grid
, and maybe get yourself killed in the process. Those guys chasing us were not shooting over our heads.”

“You noticed, huh?”

“Let me call my boss at the State Department. Get him to set up a dialogue with the Chinese government about letting you out.”

He moved in closer and laid his hands on her shoulders. “Listen, DeAnne. I appreciate the thought. I really do. But I’m a fucking
spy
. The Chinese know that, somehow. There’s no way in hell they’ll willingly let me off this island. Not while I’m still breathing.” She must have flinched because his expression softened. “I’ll be okay. I promise. This is my job. It’s what I do.”

“I’ve no doubt you’re good at what you do. But so am I. Give me a chance,” she said earnestly. “It’s
my
job to protect American citizens in trouble abroad. What have you got to lose? I’m not asking you to turn yourself in. Just one phone call.”

He hesitated. “Even if I thought it was a good idea—
which I don’t
—there’s no cell reception here.”

She smiled, triumphant. “But there will be further up the mountain, where you’re headed anyway. Let me come. Just far enough to make the phone call.”

His fingers tightened on her shoulders, leashed strength radiating through them. “And when the State Department says, sorry, their hands are tied, have a nice day, you promise you won’t interfere anymore? You’ll go back to your embassy and leave me to do what I have to do? Right?”

She nodded. “Right.”

But State wouldn’t say that. Her boss would see to it. Because a quiet, successful rescue of an American spy right from under Chinese noses could be used as a trump card in the intricate game of diplomacy with China, which often shifted on the merest suggestion of superiority, or losing face. Let alone the actual fact.

Probably best not to tell Major—er,
Kip
—that the government would be using him as a pawn. It shouldn’t matter, though, as long as he received the help he needed and got off the island in one piece.

“This is such a bad idea on so many levels,” he muttered, and glanced down at her clothes, looking even more pained. “How do you expect to hike through the jungle in a damn business suit?”

“I’ll manage,” she said, easing out from his grasp. Thank goodness she’d worn her walking shoes today. “What about your leg?”

He scowled. “What about it?”

Touchy
. “Nothing at all. We should get going. So. What’s the plan?” She took off up the road at a brisk pace.

She could feel his eyes on her back. After a brief moment of hesitation, his boot-steps crunched up unevenly behind her.

“No plan. Just get up the mountain and don’t get caught. But we need to be off this road, ASAP.”

“Agreed.” They definitely did not want to be seen by anyone, and this was the main thoroughfare over the mountains. The problem was the steep incline going up from the shoulder of the pavement. Only a mountain goat could climb that.

He moved up beside her and matched his pace to hers. “There should be a dirt track that branches off pretty soon.”

That was the second time he’d known what was coming up ahead. “You have a GPS hidden in that backpack or something?”

“Nope. The enemy could locate my position by tracking it. I do everything old-school.”

Good grief. He must have memorized the map.

Sure enough, about a mile later, a narrow, deeply rutted path veered off into the mountains, following a small, tumbling stream up into the thick forest. They took it, and were soon immersed in the cool, damp dimness under the jungle canopy. The path was only wide enough for one, so Kip took point and she fell in behind him. The track wasn’t goat-steep, but steep enough to require all her breath and prevent them from chatting.

Which was just as well. She had enough to do to keep from tripping over her own feet.

Not because of the uneven path, but because her gaze kept fastening on Kip’s very attractive posterior. Even under the rough cotton homespun of his peasant pants, she could see the impressive muscles of his thighs and backside flex and bunch as his legs worked. It was tough to keep from drooling. The man was in amazing shape.

DeAnne’s male colleagues at the embassy ran to analysts and intellectuals, more at home behind their desks or in a tuxedo than pumping iron at the gym or hiking through the wilderness. The Marine guards were always fit and toned, of course, but they tended to be young, fresh-faced kids right out of school who were too cocky and full of themselves to be attractive. In her opinion, anyway. But the major was a grown man in every respect of the word. The whole package—mature, handsome, strong, and capable. And obviously intelligent.

If he weren’t so completely and utterly wrong for her, she’d be crushing on him big-time. Good grief. She hadn’t had these kinds of butterflies since high school. What was wrong with her? She was smarter than this. She knew better.

Boy howdy, did she ever.

The man was nothing but pure unadulterated trouble.

T.R.O.U.B.L.E.

But oh, man.

Major Kiptyn Llowell was nothing less than pure walking temptation.

And DeAnne had the sinking feeling she was getting dumber by the minute.

7

Darcy and Jaeger had set up their laptops in the wardroom where everyone had finally gathered for a hot meal. They desperately needed some shut-eye, but the whole team was too wound up to sleep. The Russian, Romanov, and his fiancée, Julie, were having afternoon tea with the ship’s captain, but Clint Walker had joined them—after making a phone call to his wife.

“She worries,” he’d said with a little smile. He seemed like a good guy.

They’d all been arguing over the best way to steal a thousand-pound, ten-foot-long, torpedo-like object from a highly secure army transport or an even more secure navy base without the Chinese noticing.

But Darcy had overheard a couple of the ship’s officers talking excitedly at the coffee urn about some alleged American spy who had the Chinese authorities’ knickers all in a twist over on Hainan Island. Which just happened to be where the team was supposed to be stealing that AUV sometime in the next few days.

Now, there was an interesting coincidence.

Except Darcy didn’t believe in coincidences.

So between interjecting her opinions on the various outlandish operational proposals being tossed around, she was scouring the Internet for information about this supposed American spy.

Turned out the Chinese somehow knew the guy’s name, and had gotten hold of his passport photo, and they were plastering it all over the Chinese media in hopes a conscientious citizen would spot him and turn him in.

She dug further, and learned that—

Je
sus. Kiptyn Llowell was a major in Marine Corps Intelligence—the MCOIB. What the hell was a
Marine
doing in China? She was pretty sure Marine Corps Intelligence concerned itself almost exclusively with war theater recon. And as far as she knew there were no impending U.S. battles in China.

The whole thing smelled fishy to her, start to finish.

“I still say we hijack the transport,” Alex Zane was saying, continuing the debate on mission strategy, “before the AUV reaches the navy base. It’s the only reasonable option.”

“I agree,” Walker said. “Once it passes through security at Yulin, kiss it goodbye.”

“There’s not enough time to prepare,” Quinn argued, shaking his head. “The truck has already left the factory.” He held up a hand to forestall Zane’s response. “Yeah, it’s up north near Shanghai. It’ll take another day to get to Yulin, but that’s still too short a time to put together a plan with any chance of success and getting away alive.”

They’d gone around and around on that same argument at least ten times.

Commander Bridger had stayed silent for the most part, leaning back in his chair, ankles crossed, keeping one ear on the conversation while devoting most of his attention to his tablet. Darcy assumed he was getting constant reports on the other ops STORM Corps was conducting worldwide. It was highly unusual for Bridger to be out on a mission at all, let alone hanging about for so long. Especially with another STORM Board of Command member already on the team. She wondered about that.

Bobby Lee was coming up to his two-year mark as a commander. Maybe Bridger was here to do an eval on his performance.

Rand Jaeger was also staying quiet, but that was par for the course. The South African Jaeger was terse and more than a little mysterious. Like her, he was a computer geek of the first order and grand master of anything high-tech. Tall, rangy, and sandy-haired, he had wire-rimmed glasses framing eyes that missed nothing. If he’d spend more than five minutes a year outside and put a little color onto that pale skin, he’d be a great-looking guy.

For a com spec, Jaeger rarely spoke, just fixed it so others could. So when he suddenly sat up at his laptop and said in his quirky Afrikaans accent, “Hey. That spy. He drove off a cliff and got killed,” everyone turned to him in surprise.

“What spy?” Zane asked, clueless.

“He’s got a girl with him, too. Some woman from the State Department he kidnapped at a village market.”

“Is she dead, too?” Bridger asked, fingers poised over his tablet.

“Looks that way.”

“What fucking spy?” repeated Zane.

Just then, Captain Jenson strode up to the table looking annoyed. “He’s not a real spy. He’s an MCOIB operator we sent in as a decoy for your op. Some damn idiot in D.C. leaked his cover a day early,” he muttered, slashing a hand through his hair. “What a damn goatfuck.”

Stunned, Darcy didn’t even see Commander Bridger get to his feet. But all at once he was towering over the much shorter Jenson, scowling down at him.

Uh-oh
. Speaking of idiots . . .

Darcy kept her face scrupulously neutral. If she weren’t sitting, she’d be taking a giant step backward. Bridger had been her boss for more than six years and she knew the man did not suffer fools.

This guy was definitely a fool.

“Are you actually saying,” the commander said deceptively mildly, “that you sent a U.S. Marine into a high risk area inside enemy territory on a
ghost mission
? And then deliberately
blew his cover
?”

Bridger’s expression was so unreadable the oblivious idiot had no idea he was about to get an ass-whooping of epic proportions.

“You know as well as I do, Commander, that good military strategy sometimes requires sacrifices from the men on the ground.” Jenson waved it off. “Major Llowell volunteered for this mission. He knew the risks, Commander.”

She could see Bridger’s jaw work. Just a little. He said, “Apparently he
didn’t
know the risks.”

Jenson continued to dig his career grave. “The point is, his part of the plan was critical. He was creating a diversion. Drawing fire so your men could sneak in and do the real job.” The navy captain’s eyes narrowed, jumping to all the wrong conclusions at Bridger’s interrogation. “A job STORM Corps already took, along with the hefty government check that came with it. I trust you’re not trying to back out, Commander, now that you see how difficult it’s going to be.”

The sudden silence was deafening.

Darcy snorted into it. Aloud. She couldn’t help it. What a freaking ass-hat.

Bridger darted her a hard look.

“Sorry, sir. Just slipped out.” She knew better than to smile.

The job may be complicated, but the team totally had this. Hell, they’d only just started brainstorming. They were damn good at what they did. The best in the world. They’d get that AUV, there wasn’t a doubt in her mind. And the navy knew it, too, or she wouldn’t be sitting here now in the South China Sea getting the rundown on a mission the navy wanted to maintain deniability on.

“Would you come with me for a moment?” the Commander said to Jenson and strode out of the room without a backward glance. The captain huffed indignantly at being ordered around by a PMC, regardless of his rank, but stalked after him nonetheless.

“It’s not nice to annoy the clients, sugar,” Quinn said, no doubt referring to the escaped snort, but there was a steel edge to his slow drawl.

“The guy must not value his balls,” she muttered. “I’d hate to be him right about now. Or the brain trust who gave that order. When the Commander gets back to D.C. it’ll be soprano city.”

Zane and Jaeger singsonged in unison, “Dog-meat.”

Clint Walker looked positively grim. “Fuckers,” he growled. “Don’t know about you all, but I am now officially angry.”

“That makes five of us.” Bobby Lee turned to face them all, his tired eyes burning with purpose. “All right, people, time to get serious.”