Secret Assignment (14 page)

A flare of anger burned up the back of her neck. “Excuse me?”

“I think you should go back home and let me handle things from here.”

She shook her head. “Like hell. Lydia hired me. She’s the only one who can fire me.”

Uncrossing his arms, he caught her shoulders in his big, strong hands and drew her closer. “If those guys who came onto the island the other night really are SSU agents, they’re not playing around. They may be trying to avoid open conflict at the moment, but if they’re pushed, they’ll kill. You should know that by now.”

She tried to ignore the shivery flood of attraction turning her limbs to jelly. It wasn’t merely physical, though she couldn’t deny the slightest touch from him could set her blood on fire. Gideon Stone was the real deal—hero material. Strong, smart, driven and fiercely loyal to the people who’d been kind and loyal to him. Shannon had grown up among such men, knew the value of them. The rarity.

“I know a lot about the SSU,” she said aloud, fighting for focus. “I’ve made it a point to learn everything I can about them so I’ll be prepared if I ever come face-to-face with one of them.”

“You can’t prepare enough.”

“I’m prepared enough to back you up,” she insisted, flattening her hands against his chest, intending to push away from his distracting grasp. But at his swift intake of breath at her touch, she lost her train of thought.

His eyes dilated until there was only a narrow rim of blue around the pupils. “Lydia’s not the only one who’s lost everything, Shannon. My job on the battlefield was to protect my fellow marines. That’s what we think about out there, you know? Home, family, country—those are abstracts. You fight and you die for the guy in the foxhole with you. That’s your goal. And I failed. I was already hurt. I should have been the one who covered the grenade. Ford should have been the one to live.”

She shook her head, horrified. “Don’t say that.”

“I came here to Alabama to help the general. I was supposed to protect him and Mrs. Ross, but I failed to do that, too. Now he’s gone and I have no idea if I’m going to be able to keep the wolves away from Lydia, either.”

“You just called her Lydia.”

He blinked, as if confused by her words.

“You don’t want to get close to her. You think if you get close to someone, you put them in danger. So you put up walls—”

“Stop.” He gave her a light shake, then jerked his hands away from her shoulders, looking appalled. “I’m sorry.”

She was shaking, she realized with some surprise. Trembling like a leaf. The sheer intensity of emotions roiling through her overwhelmed her—frustration, anger, pity, fear, and underlying it all, an unexpected, overpowering affection for this complicated, impossible man.

“Why are you sorry?” she asked carefully, although she already suspected she knew the answer. It was written all over his tormented, guilty face.

“I shouldn’t have put my hands on you.”

“You didn’t hurt me.”

He looked away. “I could have.”

Carefully, she touched him. He shook her hand away. “Let’s go find Lydia.”

They walked the rest of the way to the hair salon in silence, keeping a safe, careful distance from each other. Shannon hoped Lydia would be ready to go back to the island, where Shannon could distract herself with work.

But Lydia was in the middle of a manicure when they arrived, with a pedicure to follow. She smiled apologetically to them as they entered the small salon. “I’m afraid I couldn’t say no—Lori just got a new color in.” She waved her hands at Shannon, showing off a pearly pink polish. “The girls are going out for sandwiches from the deli down the street. I’ll get something with them.”

“We’ve been telling Lydia all the town gossip,” the manicurist, a blonde in her early thirties, told Shannon with a friendly smile. “We’ll take good care of her.”

Lydia made a face. “You make me sound like a toddler you have to babysit. I knew your mama when she was your age, Lori Jane.” She looked up at Shannon and Gideon. “Stay and have sandwiches with us, if you like.”

Shannon saw something like horror on Gideon’s face and stifled a laugh. “Actually, I promised my cousin I’d drop by to see a friend of his who runs a diner here in town. Gideon, you know your way around. Will you help me find Margo’s Diner?”

“Sure,” he said quickly, flashing her a grateful look. They waved goodbye to the women and headed back out to the street.

“You don’t have to show me the way there,” she said when they were alone again. “J.D. said once I find Sedge Road, I can’t miss it.”

He looked at her through narrowed eyes. “I don’t mind showing you the way. I go there for lunch most days when I’m in town. It’s about the only place left where you can get real home cooking.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Are you asking me out to lunch?”

His brow furrowed with consternation. “No.”

She laughed and slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Come on, big guy. Let’s go eat. No strings attached.”

* * *

E
VEN THOUGH
M
ARGO’S
Diner on Sedge Road was a hole in the wall, it was close enough to Terrebonne’s three marinas to lure pleasure boaters who ventured into town in search of old-fashioned Southern home cooking. Gideon and Shannon reached the diner around eleven-thirty, after a quick but futile detour to Bay Pointe Marina in search of
Ahab’s Folly.
They took a seat at the counter, where the proprietor, Margo, greeted Gideon with a welcoming smile and gave Shannon a curious, wary look.

“Wondered when you’d show up at my counter again, Gideon Stone.” Margo pulled her order pad from her apron pocket. “Good timing, too. We got a mess of fresh-caught red snapper in just this morning. I know you like Harvey’s blackened red snapper.”

Harvey was the diner’s curmudgeonly grill master. Not much personality but a genius touch on the grill.

“Sounds great—and I’ll take a side of turnip greens and some of your vinegar slaw.”

Margo handed Shannon a menu, glancing at Gideon as if she was waiting for an introduction. “Just let me know when you’re ready to order, hon. Can I get you some sweet tea?”

“I’d love the biggest limeade you serve,” Shannon answered with a friendly smile and a broad drawl that took the edge off Margo’s wariness.

Gideon put Margo out of her misery. “Margo, this is Shannon Cooper. Shannon, this is Margo Shelby. Shannon’s visiting Mrs. Ross,” he explained vaguely.

“Pleased to meet you,” Margo said with a genuine smile. “Cooper? You’re not kin to Natalie Becker’s new husband, are you?”

“As a matter of fact, that’s why I’m here,” Shannon replied. “My cousin J.D. told me to be sure to stop by and have lunch here before I left Terrebonne. He said to say hello and give you this.” Shannon reached into her purse and pulled out a small photo wallet. Withdrawing a photograph, she handed it to Margo.

“Oh, my goodness, would you look at that!” She showed Gideon the photo.

It was a wedding photo of a tall, smiling man in his early forties in a black suit, standing next to a slim, red-haired bride Gideon recognized as Natalie Becker, former Chickasaw County Sheriff’s Department deputy and oil money heiress.

“J.D. said to tell you thanks.”

Margo laughed. “I don’t think I had much to do with gettin’ those two stubborn folks together, but I sure am glad to see ’em lookin’ so happy.”

Gideon watched as Shannon easily charmed Margo, who, like many small-town denizens, harbored a native suspicion of outsiders. One small wedding photo had been enough to convince her that Shannon was good people, however, and by the time Margo brought Shannon her order—turkey club sandwich, sweet potato fries and an enormous glass of iced limeade—the two women were chatting like old friends.

“I grew up by a big lake,” Shannon commented as she unfolded a paper napkin and laid it across her lap. “My aunt and uncle own a marina there. But man, the size of some of the yachts I’ve seen at the marinas around here—they’re bigger than houses! I guess people must live on them full-time or something.”

“Some do, at least for the summer,” Margo said with a nod. “A couple of summers ago, a gentleman from Naples—”

“Italy or Florida?” Shannon asked with a cheeky grin.

Margo laughed. “Florida. Retired stockbroker, or so he said. Took me out on a night cruise on his yacht before he headed back south. We didn’t get out past Nightshade Island before I knew he was way outta my league, but mercy! It sure was nice livin’ the dream a little while.”

“I saw a gorgeous yacht at the Bay Pointe Marina the other day,” Shannon said. She slanted a quick, warning look at Gideon. “I think it was called—dang, what was it? Something to do with Moby Dick—”

“Oh!” Margo’s eyes lit up. “
Ahab’s Folly,
I bet.”

Gideon tried not to react. Shannon clapped her hands with delight. “Yes!
Ahab’s Folly.
Nobody was around, but it was such a big, pretty boat, I have to admit to wishing I could’ve stowed away to see where it took me.”

“Well, you’d have been surrounded by four big, good-lookin’ fellas,” Margo said with a wink. “They’re fishing buddies from Galveston.”

“Really? That doesn’t look much like a fishing boat,” Shannon said doubtfully. “I guess they could have taken that little dinghy out and fished, though.” She shook her head, looking genuinely regretful. “I didn’t see it when I was out there this morning. Too bad. Now that I know they’re fishermen, I could’ve played off my mad fishing skills to finagle a ride!”

“They didn’t say how long they’d be sticking around,” Margo said. “But from what I hear, they’ve rented the boat slip through the end of the month, with an option to extend.”

Gideon looked from Margo to Shannon, realizing that the little computer geek from Gossamer Ridge had just gotten more from Margo in a couple of minutes, without raising her suspicions, than he’d have been able to manage in an hour of subtle interrogation.

“I wonder why they named the yacht
Ahab’s Folly,
” Shannon mused aloud. “Maybe one of them’s a Melville fan?”

Melville,
Gideon thought, a light flickering on.

“One of the fellows told me the boat used to belong to a former boss of theirs—he’s the one who named it.” Margo gave Shannon an apologetic look as the bell over the door rang again and new customers came in.

As Margo went to greet the newcomers, Gideon bent his head toward Shannon, speaking quietly. “Melville.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, then popped wide open. “Jackson Melville,” she whispered back.

He nodded. Jackson Melville had been the CEO of MacLear Security. He was currently awaiting trial in a federal penitentiary, having been deemed a flight risk and denied bail. But he might still be pulling strings from behind bars, especially if he had a lawyer willing to play go-between.

Margo came back to the counter after turning in the new orders. She poured more limeade for Shannon without asking and topped off Gideon’s iced tea as well. “If you really want a ride on a yacht, we do have a few regular customers who own some of the bigger boats. I could probably arrange something.”

“How do you know everything about everybody around here?” Shannon asked, sounding awed.

Margo smiled. “I just keep my ears open, darling.”

“Did you catch the names of the men from
Ahab’s Folly?
” Shannon asked. “I was just telling Gideon, I have some good friends from Galveston who are big into yachting. Wouldn’t it be a hoot if the people from
Ahab’s Folly
knew them?”

Gideon tried not to stare in awe. Shannon was good at this. Really good. She had a quick mind and a natural, disarming delivery of the most probing of questions. Why the hell hadn’t Jesse Cooper put her out in the field before now?

“Well, I don’t know any last names, but the big tall fellow with the quick temper’s name is Craig, the good-lookin’ devil with the blue eyes is Leo, the quiet black man is Damon and I believe the little fellow who needs a haircut is Ray.”

Little fellow who needs a haircut...
Gideon experienced a flash of memory, rocketing through his head so fast that he almost couldn’t catch it. But he held on, forcing the image in his mind back to the surface.

Hard eyes, glittering with loathing. A feral grin as he braced himself for Gideon’s reaction to being hit from behind. Sharp, narrow features that Gideon knew he’d seen before, although not with that long, floppy lock falling untidily over his hooded eyes.

Ray. Raymond.

Raymond Stephens.

He struggled not to react as Shannon and Margo continued chatting. His appetite fled completely, but he forced himself to keep eating, not wanting to attract Margo’s attention by failing to eat half his lunch.

Raymond Stephens was a bitter blast from the past, one of the few fellow marines he’d ever met who had given him a bad case of the creeps. Wiry and fit, Stephens had been able to handle almost any physical task that Gideon, at that time a Special Operations training evaluator, had given the young marine to do.

But when it came to evaluation time, Gideon had given him low marks, based almost entirely on his conviction that Stephens was a risk to the Corps. Some marines, a very few, weren’t emotionally or psychologically capable of the self-discipline necessary to temper violence with reason. Several incidents during training had convinced Gideon that Stephens was a war atrocity waiting to happen.

Stephens had washed out of Special Operations training, and he’d been livid. Threats, curses and finally a physical sneak attack on Gideon had led to the man’s dishonorable discharge seven years ago.

Gideon had no idea where Stephens had gone after that. But given what he knew about MacLear Security’s Special Services Unit, an ex-marine with good skills but no scruples might be exactly the kind of agent they were looking for.

Shannon finished her lunch and said her goodbyes to Margo in a tone that sounded genuinely regretful. Margo waved off her money when she tried to pay. “You brought me that pretty picture of J.D. and Natalie—I’m going to put it on my bulletin board out front and so many people in town will want to come see that Becker girl all gussied up and smiling, I’ll probably double my business for a few weeks.”