A Question of Honor (11 page)

The thought of five months of this kind of feeling left Kit devastated. “You’re kidding me.”

“I’m not,” Noah promised.

“Two weeks,” Kit muttered to herself, rubbing her eyes as she sat on the edge of Noah’s bunk aboard the
Osprey
after waking from her normal afternoon nap. Well, two weeks had passed and she was still miserable with seasickness every day. It was wearing badly on her. She got up shakily and put some cold water in the small basin, feeling a bit better after she’d washed her face.

Patting her face dry with the towel, she reached into the purse she kept in the drawer of Noah’s desk and took out her makeup. Without it she looked positively ill. Well, wasn’t she? Applying it, she noted that the blusher gave her skin a rosiness, some liquid foundation beneath her eyes erased those ever-present shadows and the lipstick made her look halfway alive.

Out of habit, Kit donned her holster and revolver. The first two weeks had been fairly routine, except for interdicting three drug-smuggling boats. Duty aboard the
Osprey
was deadly boring with intermittent moments of high tension whenever a druggie’s boat was apprehended.

There was an urgent knock at the door and Kit opened it. Freddy stood there, struggling into the protective flak jacket they all wore when a boarding took place.

“Detective Anderson, we’re preparing to board a ship. The skipper asked that you come to the bridge right away.”

“I’ll be right there, Freddy.” Her heart began a slow pound, as it always did at these moments.

“Yes, ma’am!” and he ran down the narrow passageway toward the stairs.

Moments later Noah turned his attention toward the doorway. He saw the grim set of Kit’s mouth as she entered the bridge. “Get your flak jacket on,” he ordered. “We’ve got a hot-sheet yacht we’re pulling over to search.”

Shrugging into the heavy jacket, Kit walked over to him. Joe Edwards and the helmsman, Carter, were also on the bridge. “That’s a big yacht,” she commented.

“One of the biggest around. It’s the
Sea Devil
,” Noah said. “Do me a favor and take a look through the binoculars. See if you recognize any of the men aboard. We’ll be boarding the
Sea Devil
in about ten minutes.”

Her mouth grew dry as she scrutinized the four crewmen up on deck of the yacht. None of them were very savory-looking characters. As she scanned the cockpit at the rear, a gasp escaped her.

Noah frowned, focusing all his attention on Kit. She had paled considerably. “Kit?”

“My God, that’s Brett Davis on board.”

He watched as she placed the binoculars on the console, her eyes suddenly dark with real fear. “Davis? Who’s that?”

Kit tried to control the iciness flowing through her. “Davis is a contract killer,” she croaked. “He works directly for Garcia. When I was at Garcia’s fortress posing as a buyer, I met him a couple of times.”

Gripping her elbow, Noah guided her to the chair. He’d never seen Kit react so strongly. Wanting to put a hand on her shoulder but not daring to because of the situation, he soothed her with his voice, instead. “Take it easy. If Davis is one of Garcia’s hired guns this could mean Garcia’s closer to making a move to sell off his latest crop of marijuana.”

Turning his attention back to the bridge, Noah ordered Edwards to prepare the boarding party. The
Sea Devil
had lowered its sail and was now heaving to as the ensign had ordered. Within minutes, the
Osprey
would dwarf the yacht as it settled alongside it. Lines would be thrown across the
Sea Devil
, mooring it to the port side of the Coast Guard vessel. Once secured, the boarding party would leap to the other deck.

Trying to think clearly, Kit watched the unfolding drama. “You’re not going on board, are you?” she asked, her voice strained.

“No, it’s Joe’s turn.”

“Thank God…” Kit whispered, and averted her eyes from Noah’s sharp glance in her direction. Twice Noah had boarded boats with his team, and twice Kit had died an agonizing death, afraid that one of the smugglers might shoot instead of surrendering. No matter how many times he tried to persuade her that ninety percent of the boardings were safe, she was still left shaky in the wake of one.

“Relax,” Noah urged her, taking up the portable radio. He instructed the helmsman to stop all engines, watching as the
Osprey
was brought alongside the
Sea Devil
. “Stay in here out of sight until after we’ve secured the situation.”

Kit nodded, trying to get a grip on her rioting fears.

“Joe,” Noah called on the portable radio, “keep an eye on the bearded man in the cockpit. His name is Davis, and he’s one of Garcia’s contract killers.”

“Roger, Skipper. We’ll be real careful.”

Hands knotted, Kit watched from her vantage point on the bridge. Noah had moved out to the deck rail for a closer view, staying in touch with Edwards by radio. She saw Davis’s square features screw up in fury as Joe cautiously approached the man, the M-16 in his hands ready to be fired.

Without realizing it, Kit got to her feet and moved quickly outside. Noah had his back to her, unaware that she was near the railing, all his attention on Davis. “Be careful, Joe…” she whispered under her breath. Davis was an angry man, yelling curses at Edwards, backing up and out of the cockpit. He refused to raise his hands above his head.

The hair on the back of Kit’s neck stood on end. She turned to warn Noah that Davis wasn’t going to give up without a fight. The words never left her mouth. Davis screamed a curse and pulled out a .350 Magnum from his belt, firing off a series of wild shots. The bullets whined past the bridge, burying themselves deep within the skin of the
Osprey
.

Noah lunged forward, jerking Kit to the deck to keep her from getting hit. He saw Edwards drop to the deck and fire off several more shots. In seconds the showdown was over. Davis lay on the deck, unmoving.

“Joe, get the corpsman!” he shouted over the radio. Dammit! Worriedly Noah turned his attention to Kit. She was slowly getting to her knees.

“Stay down!” he commanded harshly. Turning, he ordered several more crewmen to force all five
Sea Devil
sailors to lie on the deck, hands behind their necks. This was an armed lot, and Noah didn’t want to take any more chances that they’d draw against his men.

Kit remained on the deck, breathing in gulps of warm, humid air. Her stomach turned violently, and she felt like vomiting. Had Davis killed anyone? She heard Noah’s voice, crisp with authority over the radio, and she closed her eyes. Noah could have been killed—any of them could have. Shivering with apprehension, Kit lay there until Noah told her it was safe to get up.

“You okay?” Noah asked, dividing his attention between the action on the
Sea Devil
and Kit.

“Y-yes. Fine, just fine.”

“I told you to stay on the bridge, dammit. Go below deck, Kit. I don’t want you anywhere near the action.” He glanced down at her. Her eyes were huge with horror. “Go on,” he said less harshly. “We’ll get this situation secured and then head back to port.”

Numbly Kit nodded. “Home sounds awfully good right now,” she admitted, her voice unsteady.

Kit clasped and unclasped her sweaty hands on the drive home. She was painfully aware of Noah’s gaze occasionally settling on her as they drove from the pier to his house in silence. Her uniform was drenched with sweat, and she longed for a long, hot bath to unknot the kinks in her neck and shoulders.

Noah pulled into the driveway and shut off the car engine. Then he put his arm around her shoulders, noting how damp the material of her uniform was. “How you doing?”

“Okay.”

He knew she was lying. Where did professional conduct begin and end? he wondered. Right now Kit needed to be held. The terror in her eyes told him everything. He sensed how close she was to exploding, five years of horror dogging her heels. Managing a slight smile for her benefit, he awkwardly patted her shoulder, then removed his arm. “Come on, let’s get inside.”

Kit escaped to the bathroom after greeting the animals, who met them at the door. With trembling hands, she stripped out of her uniform. Blips of past scenes involving Dante and Davis flashed through her mind. Why did this have to happen? Unable to cope with her turbulent feelings, Kit turned on the bathtub faucets and settled into the filling tub of hot water. But it was Noah’s arms that she wanted around her. Kit knew that within them she would find solace. Closing her eyes, she pressed the washcloth to her face, taking in a ragged breath.

Noah had changed into a pair of jeans and a chambray shirt and was preparing to get dinner on the table. Just the nightly routine around the house had calmed his nerves. Getting shot at wasn’t the norm, and as much as he himself had been shaken by the confrontation with the
Sea Devil
, he knew it had torn open a scar in Kit.

An hour passed, and he got worried when she didn’t appear as she usually did after her bath. Normally Kit would come into the kitchen and help him by setting the table and making them a pot of fresh coffee. Noah had just finished preparing their individual salads, when Kit walked through the entrance. Despite her tension-lined face she looked beautiful in a pale pink cotton gown that brushed her bare feet. He’d come to look forward to her companionship in the evening, when she shed her masculine work clothes for the simple cotton gowns she wore so well.

Kit avoided Noah’s searching look, going to the cabinet and pulling out the dishes to be set on the table. Her hand slipped, and one of the plates crashed to the tile floor, shattering.

With a cry Kit pressed her hand against her mouth, staring down at the broken earthenware.

Noah tensed, hearing the crash, and turned toward her. Kit stood with her back against the drain board. He walked over to her and pulled her into his arms. She was trembling, and he held her tightly against him. “It’s all right,” he murmured soothingly against her ear. “It’s over, Kit, and you’re safe.” He rocked her gently, whispering words meant to heal, wanting to draw from her the fear she had carried so long by herself.

Kit collapsed against him, burying her face in the textured cotton of his shirt, longing to hide forever in his strong arms. She felt Noah’s hand begin to stroke her damp hair, and she wrapped her arms around his waist, losing herself in his gentleness.

Noah’s heart was beating raggedly in unison with his breathing as he pressed a kiss to her fragrant hair. Right now, Noah knew he was strong and Kit was weak. “That gun battle brought back a lot of bad memories for you, didn’t it?” he asked.

Kit nodded once, realizing that their breathing was synchronizing. His arms were supportive, holding her tightly, the cranberry fabric scratchy beneath her cheek. “Y-yes.”

“Want to talk about it?” Noah reluctantly loosened his embrace so he could look down at Kit. He shouldn’t be holding her, because he wanted her too damn much. His body was tightening with hunger.

Fighting her own desires, Kit moved out of his arms, backing nervously away. This shouldn’t have happened. None of it. Touching her brow, she stammered, “Noah, I don’t feel well. I think I’ll go to bed.” And she fled the kitchen, hurrying down the hall toward her room before he could protest.

Dammit! Noah stood in the kitchen, staring at the entrance. He was torn between going after Kit and giving her the room she needed to work through her reaction to the shooting. Frustrated, he knelt and began retrieving the broken bits of plate. The phone rang. Rising, he picked up the kitchen extension.

“Trayhern,” he growled.

“This is Cordeman.”

“What do you want?”

“Considering you nabbed one of Garcia’s men this afternoon, you’re in a foul mood, Trayhern.”

Noah gripped the receiver. “What the hell do you want, Cordeman?”

“DEA wanted me to call you and tell you that Davis is gonna make it. I imagine Kit’s pretty happy about getting one of Garcia’s contract gunmen.”

Anger boiled up through Noah. “Kit’s not happy at all,” he ground out. “Seeing Davis and then getting shot at has really shattered her.”

“What are you talking about?” Cordeman demanded testily. “Doesn’t she realize what this means? Garcia putting one of his lieutenants like Davis in action means he’s gonna make his move. That hired gun never leaves the Colombian fortress unless something big is in the offing. We figure Davis was going to meet up with Dante for future planning.”

Hanging on to his temper, Noah snarled back, “I’m sure you’re all pleased as hell. Kit’s the one I’m worried about.”

“She’ll pull through for you, Trayhern. She always has in the past.”

“Cordeman, this phone call is boring the hell out of me. You got anything further about Davis, you contact my commanding officer. Right now, I’ve had a gutful of drug-busting activity.”

He slammed the receiver down, realizing how perfectly childish he probably seemed to Cordeman. But no one was worried about Kit’s emotional state or frame of mind. Running his fingers through his hair, Noah returned to picking up the pieces of pottery. What should he do? Go to Kit’s room and force her to talk? Or should he remain in the shadows, allowing her to come to him?

It was impossible to get their brief embrace out of his mind. Noah threw the pieces of plate into the trash. He wasn’t hungry, either. Shutting off the oven, which held a casserole, he went into the living room to pour himself a drink. Perhaps later, Kit would emerge from her room and they could talk. Somehow he had to get her to trust him enough to lean on him and release all those bottled-up fears that haunted her. Somehow….

Chapter Seven

K
it was on the bridge of the
Osprey
when Joe Edwards spotted a small boat with a tattered sail on the horizon.

“Looks like a Haitian refugee boat,” he said, handing Noah the binoculars.

Studying the boat for several minutes, Noah muttered, “Yeah, and not in very good shape. It’s sitting low. I can see people bailing water. Let’s pick them up.”