Blue Forever (Men in Uniform) (8 page)

14

Zane and Bobby Lee were still going at it, arguing over when was the best time to run the op—before the AUV arrived on Hainan Island, or after.

Darcy leaned back in her chair, sipped coffee, and wondered if they would ever agree. Not that there seemed to be any good solution to agree
on
.

Before he left to take care of other business, Commander Bridger had informed them he’d had word from the embassy that both that Marine decoy, Major Llowell, and the female foreign service officer he’d kidnapped were still alive. Apparently, the two had staged the accident to throw off their Chinese pursuers. Smart.

At her “death,” State Department had released her name as Ann Barrett, but Jaeger’s research had proved that to be a false identity, probably to give her a better chance of avoiding unpleasantness in case she had actually been detained.

Whoever she was, the woman had contacted the deputy assistant secretary in D.C. via cell phone, but then for some reason she’d quit her job. The DAS was convinced she was being threatened and coerced by Llowell. For leverage.

But that didn’t smell right to Darcy. Even though it might make sense on the surface. The FSO hadn’t called back, and her phone went straight to voice mail, so Llowell might have taken her phone away from her. Or she may actually have meant it when she quit and just didn’t want to talk to her former boss. Darcy’s vote was on the latter.

Still. That whole situation was a wild card the STORM team didn’t need.

She glanced around at the others.

Jaeger was busy on his laptop, doing a deep background on the Marine. Just in case he became a factor down the line. Too bad the consulate was being so tight-lipped about the attaché’s identity. It was always best to be prepared.

After that, Jaeger’d be looking for some kind of angle that would give them more than an ice cube’s chance at success. He generally didn’t share until he had something worth sharing.

She hoped he’d find something good. Failure wasn’t an option on this one. Not only because it was such a vital mission for the security of their country, but also because everyone on the team would do just about anything to avoid letting down the client. Or themselves. She’d been on a failed mission once. Just before she joined STORM. It hadn’t been pretty. In addition to not securing vital information on a terrorist, one of the guys, Marc Lafayette, had ended up in a Turkish prison for a year. She herself had been fired from her job at CIA. Well. Okay, she’d quit. But she’d seen the writing on the wall.

Of course, she’d also met Bobby Lee Quinn on that op, and within hours had been in bed with him having the most incredible sex of her life—up until that point, anyway—and the rest, as they say, was history. He’d gotten her a job at STORM, and she’d never looked back. Marc had gotten out of prison, not too much worse for wear, and was now a happily married man, off with his wife on a rescue mission somewhere in South America.

Hmmm. Marc and Tara’s wedding had been in November. The ceremony and celebration had been really nice, if a little chilly. Maybe November would be a good month . . .

Clint Walker drew her attention when he came back with more coffee and topped up her mug. He had been mostly silent this whole time. He sided with Zane in that he did not even want to try breaking into a secure Chinese military base like Yulin. He thought it would be the height of insanity. She agreed about that. But she also agreed with Bobby Lee that the less than twenty-four hours left wasn’t enough time to plan a foolproof hijacking in a hostile foreign country. Not with any certainty of getting away. This was not some Chinese orange team in a training exercise they were dealing with. It was the real McCoy. If they got caught, the Chinese would throw away the key. If they were lucky. The only speedy trial guaranteed in this country was up against a wall in front of a firing squad.

They had to come up with a workable plan.

But what?

She caught Chief Edwards watching her. She smiled and rolled her eyes, jerking her head at the heated discussion. He winked back at her. The man looked singularly untroubled. He was one cool customer, that was for damn sure. Either that, or he didn’t plan on leaving the ship with them.

She tapped a fingernail against her mug and idly wondered why Edwards had been chosen for the team. Obviously chill under fire, he seemed nice enough, and certainly intelligent, but at his age he was hardly a warrior. Not the boots-on-ground kind, anyway.

What had they said his specialty was? Sonar. Of all the weird things. She supposed it made a kind of sense since they were dealing with an autonomous underwater vehicle. But the team wasn’t going to be underwater. And sonar wasn’t used on land. It was a puzzle.

She raised her mug to her lips. So why the hell did they need—

A sudden thought came to her, and she almost choked on her coffee. She darted a look back at Chief Edwards, but he was now studying the map of Hainan’s coastline that Bobby Lee had spread out on the table. She skimmed a look over at Walker. Edwards and Walker knew each other from before. They’d said they met a couple of years ago on a scientific mission in the Arctic.

What was Walker’s specialty again? She narrowed her eyes. They hadn’t said what his specialty was. He’d only told them he was retired navy, just like Chief Edwards.

She had a sudden feeling it was important to find out. She turned to him. “Hey, Walker. What did you do in the navy, anyway?”

Quinn and Zane paused briefly in their discussion to listen.

He answered without hesitation. “UUVs were my specialty. Both ROVs and AUVs.”

All things unmanned and underwater.

Okay. Again, it sort of made sense. “Any aspect in particular?” she asked.

He lifted a casual shoulder. “All aspects. Mechanical, programming, payload, pilot.”

She contemplated him for a long moment, then darted a glance at Chief Edwards, who was still fussing with the map.

She was starting to see a pattern here.

“Who put you on the team, Chief?” she asked Edwards.

He looked up. “Your Commander Bridger.”

That surprised her. “You know Bridger?”

He shook his head. “Nope. I understand Clint, here, recommended me to him.”

Bobby Lee shot her a questioning look, which she ignored.

“Who recommended
you
?” she asked Walker.

He pursed his lips. “I believe it was Captain Romanov.”

Which made total sense.
Not
.

But it did remind her . . . “Speaking of which. Would someone care to enlighten me as to what the freaking hell a Russian submarine pilot has to do with this mission?”

“Driver,” Walker said.

“Huh?”

“Submarine driver, AUV pilot.”

“Right. Whatever. But what is his role in all this? Or was that just a casual, meaningless introduction earlier?”

But everyone knew Bridger never did anything casual or meaningless.

By now, she had everyone’s full attention. Good. Something was going on here, and she wanted to find out what.

Walker blew out a breath. “I believe Bridger’s idea is to send him into Yulin Naval Base on a goodwill tour in full regalia, to split their attention when we launch the op.”

“Send him
in
? As in—”

“Through the gates. Right into the jaws of the tiger. Some sort of diplomatic exchange, or some such thing. Hopefully all those medals will keep him from being eaten alive.”

She wouldn’t count on it. The Chinese were going to be more than suspicious. First an American spy on their soil, then a sudden visit from a Russian dignitary? They wouldn’t buy that as coincidence, not if it came with hot fudge and a cherry on top.

“And Romanov’s fiancée?” she asked. “She going in as arm candy, or what?”

“Julie?” Walker grinned. “Nah, she just wanted to work on her tan. This is a tropical South Seas island, after all.”

“Uh-huh. And being with CIA had nothing to do with her tagging along, I suppose.”

He made a your-guess-is-as-good-as-mine-but-I-won’t- be-taking-any-bets face.

She wouldn’t either. But she was getting off track.

She contemplated Walker and Edwards. She could sense Bridger’s fine hand in this. The man was brilliant . . . and subtle. He would never tell his operators how to run their missions. But he’d provide the key ingredients if he saw a good solution, and just kick back and watch. And here these guys sat—an AUV pilot, and a sonar spec.

Earlier, did Bridger not seriously offer to get her a submarine? She narrowed her eyes. And then there was that Romanov dude . . .

Definitely
a pattern.

By now, Edwards was smiling inscrutably at her. Either he saw it, too, or he
was
the damn pattern.

All at once, all the pieces fell neatly into place.

Slowly, she smiled back.

Oh. Freaking. Yeah.

She tapped Quinn’s arm, interrupting the resumed debate. “Hey.”

“What?” They all looked over at her.

“I do believe,” she said, a buzz of excitement starting to hum through her veins, “we’ve been going about this plan all wrong.”

* * *

The man surely loved to kiss.

DeAnne was floating on a cloud of bliss. They’d made love twice, but Kip was still holding her in his arms and kissing her. Not aggressively. Sweetly and sensually. And enjoying it. She’d never met a man who loved to kiss like this, after the sex was over.

Or maybe it wasn’t . . .

She, for one, could go on doing this forever.

She loved being kissed by him. And she loved touching his body, so strong and muscular, with its intriguing male planes and angles, and just the right smattering of coarse, curly hair.

He seemed to like touching her, too. His hands constantly roamed, as if memorizing every inch of her as his lips and his tongue made sweet love to her mouth.

He’d rolled her so she lay on top of him. His big body was warm against her skin, but the night was rapidly cooling.

As his hand caressed her back, he frowned. “You’re cold.” He wrapped his arms around her. “We should move into the hut where we’ll be sheltered.”

“Mmm. I don’t know if I can walk,” she mused, feeling wonderfully boneless.

His lips tilted, and he brushed them over hers. “From all the hiking, I assume.”

“Yeah, that must be it,” she agreed.

“It really was a long day, and a longer hike,” he said. “I’m frankly amazed you’re still awake.”

“I’m awake?” She feigned surprise. “I was sure this was all just an incredible dream.”

“If it was, then I’m dreaming, too, thank God.” He gave her another delicious, lingering kiss. “Come here.”

Eventually they stopped kissing long enough to rise and gather their clothes. When she hesitated to put back on her dirty skirt and severely wilted blouse, Kip tossed her a clean T-shirt he dug out of his backpack, then handed her his sturdy peasant pants. “They’re no cleaner than your skirt, but at least they’ll cover your legs.”

She took them gratefully. “What about you?”

“I had on jeans and a T-shirt under them. Those’ll do for me. As you pointed out, it’s not like I was fooling anyone with my clever disguise anyway.”

They quickly dressed, grabbed their other things, and made their way to the little hut Kip had scoped out earlier.

“Hang on,” he said, approached the door, and carefully peeked in. “Okay, it’s clear.”

Inside, it was cozy and not too stuffy. It smelled pleasantly of linseed oil and wood shavings. He pulled a space blanket out of his backpack and unrolled it to sleep on. He seemed to have all the essentials in that backpack. Obviously, he’d done this before.

“We have to be gone before dawn,” he warned as they settled down.

She nodded, snuggling up against him. “Mm-hmm.”

Lord, it felt good lying next to him, even on the hard ground with nothing but a micron-thin sheet of silver whatever-it-was wrapped around them. But being in his embrace was so much better than any wooly blanket. The sex had been incredible, but what she was feeling was more than just the happy contentment that came from good sex.

He made her feel cherished. And so . . . protected.

She let out a long sigh as she drifted toward sleep. Too bad it was all just an illusion.

This moment was fleetingly temporary. She knew that. Tomorrow he’d be dumping her by the side of the road—even if it was in the driveway of the Sanya Hilton or Ritz-Carlton with Roger waiting there to welcome her back to the fold—and she’d never see Kip again.

She told herself that was a good thing. A very good thing.

Because this Marine was just plain dangerous. Dangerous
because
of the illusion. She knew better—she did
not
want to end up like her mother!—but the temptation to delude herself into thinking Kiptyn Llowell was different,
must
be different, from her father, was perilously strong. Quite possibly strong enough to blind her to the consequences if she gave in to the allure of being with him for longer than one night.

The consequences to her heart
.

Her father was a strapping, handsome charmer, too . . . when he wanted to be. He could sweet-talk his way into anyone’s heart, or bed, and frequently did. But under all that smooth affability, he was a restless soul whose only real joy was the adrenaline rush of the fight, whether it be strategical on the battlefield, or physical at the local bar.