Withholding Evidence (5 page)

“Right. I forgot you studied history.”

What the hell? They’d met through her work. As an
historian
. She searched for a response but was more than a little taken aback. Finally, she said, “What’s the topic of your lecture?”

“The role of cartographers in World War II.” That made sense, given that the mission of Hill’s Institute was exploration and mapping—and not just underwater. Perry launched into his subject. “In this day of GPS, many people don’t know how important mapmakers were during World War II. You probably don’t know some of our most important spies were cartographers.”

She must have entered some sort of alternate dimension. What had she ever seen in this guy? “Actually, I did know that.”

“Really? Are you interested in military history?”

She took a step back. Was this party being held in Alice’s rabbit hole? Drunk or not, his words didn’t make sense. “You could say that. I do have a PhD in military history.”

“You do?” His eyes—slightly glazed—focused on the cleavage she’d crammed herself into a torturous bra to achieve. She regretted that choice now, because instead of his appreciation triggering a jolt of desire, it left her cold.

She frowned.
Be careful what you wish for.
“Perry, I’m confused. You’ve been to my office. Where I work for the navy. As an historian.”

“Well, yeah. But… Don’t take this the wrong way, but I have it on good authority you were a token hire. NHHC needed a woman historian.”

Wow. Okay, he’d earned one point for using the word woman instead of girl (but it was more a sign of how screwed-up the men in her world were that he actually
earned
a point for something that shouldn’t even warrant notice). But token hire? Minus ten thousand points. No, a million.

Dammit. His “good authority” had to be Walt. The sexist jerk probably even believed his own fabrication. She’d worked damn hard to earn her spot at NHHC and was probably a better historian than many of her male counterparts—especially myopic old bastards like Walt.

Unfortunately, Perry’s attitude was nothing new, but for some stupid reason she hadn’t expected it from him. Perhaps he was guilty of the same thing she’d done, seeing what he wanted to see—and he’d wanted to see a woman who was too dim-witted to realize she was a token hire.

That so was not her. On so many levels.

She turned to leave. She was done talking to him.

He grabbed her arm. “Wait, Trina. Are you mad? I didn’t mean to cause offense. If I did, I’m sorry.”

“You’re only sorry
if
you caused offense? Because if my feeble woman’s brain can’t grasp how sexist you are, then you don’t have to feel bad?” She wanted to add
for being a pig
but refrained. She was classy that way.

Perry’s grip on her arm was firm. She tried to pull away but couldn’t break the hold. “Hey, I’m sorry if you didn’t know—”

“Is everything okay, Trina?” Keith asked, stepping up beside her.

Trina closed her eyes, trying to decide if she was mortified or thankful Keith had witnessed Perry’s douchebaggery. The last thing she needed was to be rescued, but at the same time, Perry
did
have her arm in his tight fist, and she had no clue how to get him to let go without causing an embarrassing scene. The mermaid’s breasts could only hide so much.

Plus, if Perry claimed she was a token one more time, she might just slug him.

“This is between Trina and I,” Perry said. “Go away.”

“Trina and me,” Keith corrected, then he leaned in close and dropped his voice so only Trina and Perry could hear. “And you need to let go of Trina right now, or it will be between you and
me
.”

Perry released her and she rubbed her arm. His grip had slowly tightened, and she wondered if she’d have a bruise tomorrow.

Perry glared at Keith. “Who are you?”

“I’m the guy who’s taking her home.” Keith turned to Trina. “Dollface, you ready to go?”

She’d say yes to almost anything to get away from Perry Carlson, so much that she wasn’t even ticked off by the implication she was going from here to Keith’s bed. “Sure.”

“He calls you dollface, yet
I’m
the sexist one?” Perry asked.

Trina frowned. He had a point, sort of. Both men had been condescending to her at one time or another today. But Keith—he’d apologized. A real apology, taking the onus of his behavior on himself. Whereas Perry’s apology had been conditional—he was only sorry if she’d taken offense.

Plus, she had a feeling Keith only called her dollface when he was playing the role of cocky SEAL. That wasn’t all there was to Keith. At least she didn’t think so.

Hell, what did she know? If someone had asked her this morning which man would bore, insult, and offend her, and which one would apologize, rescue, and intrigue her, she’d have guessed wrong.

She shrugged and took a step toward Keith. Perry caught her by the other arm. “Wait, Trina. After last time… I thought…maybe there was something between us. Admit it, you wore that dress for me. Not this asshole.”

She hated that he was right about the dress, but he’d never hear that from her. She tried to jerk her arm from his grasp and failed. “Sorry, Perry. Not interested.”

Keith stepped closer to Perry. “Don’t do this, man. This isn’t the time or place.”

“You think I’m afraid of you?”

“I don’t give a shit if you’re afraid of me. I’m not the one with something to lose here.”

Perry released her arm. She rubbed her bicep, certain she’d have matching bruises tomorrow. “Let’s go,” she said to Keith.

“Uptight, dippy bitch. Hell, you aren’t my type anyway. I prefer women with curves.”

Keith stopped and closed his eyes as if seeking patience. He opened them and said, “Trina, can I hit him?
Please?
”

“He’s drunk. And an ass. Not really worth the trouble it would cause.”

Keith nodded and took a step toward the game room.

“Pussy,” Perry said.

They’d given the man every opportunity, and he’d squandered each one. Somehow, insulting Keith crested her breaking point. She twisted on her heel and took a swing, only to be stopped by Keith’s quick grasp. His hand curled around her wrist and gently pulled her back. “As you said, he’s not worth it.”

C
HAPTER
T
HREE

K
EITH WAS STUNNED
Trina had taken a swing at the prick. He’d managed to stop her on instinct alone. He shifted his hold on her forearm—far more gently than the guy she’d tried to deck—and led her through the garden to the house and out through the front door.

She shook her head as if just realizing her surroundings. “We can’t leave.”

“You sure as hell aren’t staying.”

“My friends—”

“Saw that you’re with me when we passed through the house.”

She glanced back at the front door. Nothing was going as planned today. “I can’t leave with you.”

He couldn’t let her go back. She was riding adrenaline, and he’d bet good money she wasn’t used to it, didn’t realize a crash was coming. Plus the last thing she needed was to explain the bullshit she’d put up with from whoever that prick was to her friends, especially since one of those friends was her boss.

She turned to head back into the house.

“If you come with me, you can ask me three questions about Somalia,” he blurted. It was the only thing he could think of to stop her.

She paused. “You have a car?”

He nodded and darted down the steps to the valet stand. “Black Toyota Land Cruiser. No top.”

The boy took off to get his rig, and moments later, Keith was behind the wheel with Trina in the passenger seat. He maneuvered down the twisting drive and pulled out onto the rural road on the outskirts of Annapolis. The late-afternoon summer sun shone down, he had the top off his Cruiser, and there was a beautiful woman in his passenger seat. He felt more anticipation for…
life…
than he had in months. Certainly since leaving the navy.

She flopped back in the seat, turning her face toward the sun. Her half smile lit an unfamiliar fire in his belly.

“Have you ever punched someone before?” he asked.

She glanced at him through the corner of her eye. Her mouth curved another fraction of an inch. “Yes.”

He did a double take. Trina was full of surprises.

“I was impressed with how you tried to defuse him,” she said. “That you didn’t rise to his bait. Sorry I blew it.”

He shrugged. “Better men than him have baited me. And I held back for you. I figured you didn’t want a scene. Not with your boss there.”

She lost the content smile and sat up straighter. “Yeah. I didn’t.”

“Odds are, no one saw you take the swing. There was a gigantic mermaid in the way. And the guy sure as hell won’t mention it.”

“I’m screwed if Dr. Hill saw us. He consults with the navy a lot, and Erica was trying to convince him to share some important mapping data. Perry is his golden-boy assistant. I may have to lay low in the history department for a while.”

“So what’s the deal? Were you into that guy?”

“I thought I was, until he drank too much. Good lord, he was so full of himself. I’ve written dozens of articles and a book on military history. Which I know he has a copy of because I gave it to him when he visited my office. Yet he thinks
I’m
a token. I may not be Doris Kearns Goodwin, but I’m no slouch in my field. As if the navy would pay me to sit in my cubicle and do nothing just because I have ovaries.”

Keith took his eyes off the road. Warm color lit her cheeks. Moral outrage looked good on her.

Everything looked good on her.

“Crap!” She bolted upright. “We have to go back.”

“Why?”

“I left my purse in Erica’s car. My ID, phone, keys, money. I don’t have anything.”

He pulled his cell out of his pocket and handed it to her. “Call Erica. Ask her if you can pick it up later tonight from her place.”

“What do I do until then?”

“I’m taking you out to dinner.”

“I suppose she could give it to Cressida—my roommate. After Cressida gets home, I could get into the apartment.”

“Perfect.”

Trina made the call and was grateful to leave a message on Erica’s cell. The last thing she wanted was to answer questions right then. She set the phone on the console and said, “We have one problem. I don’t have ID. I
always
get carded, and frankly, I would really like a stiff drink right now.”

Keith grinned. “Well then, you’ve just given me the perfect excuse to take you back to my place.” An image of her splayed out in his bed flashed in his mind. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “If that’s okay with you.”

She looked at him speculatively. “Can you cook?”

“Babe, I’m the youngest of four boys. It was learn to cook, or starve.”

“Good, because I can’t. Your place it is.”

He pulled a U-turn in the middle of the empty country road. The sun was shining, the top was off, he had a job offer on the table from Rav, and a beautiful woman had just agreed to go back to his place. Not a bad result from a party he hadn’t even wanted to attend.

T
RINA COULDN’T BELIEVE
she was back in Keith’s town house only nine hours after she’d fled this morning. It was a dangerous place to be, considering she’d come down from a slight adrenaline rush, and all she wanted to do was drag the man up to his bedroom and take advantage of him.

It didn’t help that his living room contained her ultimate aphrodisiac—one entire wall was loaded floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. She studied the feast, running her hands along the spines, realizing with a jolt that the nonfiction books were organized according to Dewey. She shifted to the fiction section and noted those books were organized by genre and author.

What kind of man did that?

The same man with a mudroom that lacked mud and a kitchen without crumbs.

She plucked a paperback copy of one of her favorite Truman biographies from the shelf and admired the gently worn spine. Either he’d bought it used or he’d read it.

She opened to the title page and felt a strange flutter to see the author had signed the book with an inscription to Keith. The soft thud of footsteps on the carpet told her he had entered the room. She turned to face him. Damn if he didn’t look even more appealing now that she knew he not only read biographies, he went to signings to meet the authors. Was there
anything
sexier than that?