Awaken to Danger (24 page)

the facts.

Or was he? Had they all been wrong to assume Reis was top-notch at his job?

The door swung open, Nikki stepping through in a borrowed jean jumper from the proprietor, Claire

McDermott, the dress a couple of inches short on Nikki, but dry.

And tempting with that extra stretch of exposed leg.

Reis straightened from the desk, his interrogator-perceptive eyes ping-ponging between the two of them.

"Ms. Price, I assume you're all right."

She pulled up alongside Carson, fidgety, but understandable given their ordeal. "I'm running out of those

nine lives, but otherwise okay." Her gaze skipped around the room full of spice plants. "And, uh, I think I

remembered something on the boat right before all of this happened."

What? Carson's attention snapped as taut as the lines right before they'd popped.

"It wasn't a full-out memory like the other times, more of a mishmash dream. But I'm certain of one

thing." Her restlessness settled into steely resignation. "There was another person in the room with Gary

and me that night. A man. A blond man."

The implication sucker punched him. No wonder she'd gone tense after their nap and then asked him

about blackouts. She thought he'd gotten drunk, gone after Owens and then forgotten.

His alibi only lasted until two in the morning with the emergency on the flight line that had called him away

from his meeting. So he had no way of accounting for the in-between hours—except for a freaking zoo

of origami animals he'd folded through the night to distract himself from thinking about seeing Nikki at

Beachcombers, knowing she was dating another guy.

Reis pulled out his Palm Pilot again. "That Watkins kid has dark hair."

Nikki winced. "Which he colors according to his mood."

"His father has gray." Reis clicked away while Carson's mind churned through this latest revelation.

"Could the man you're remembering have had silver hair instead of blond?"

"It's possible, but I don't think so. And the clothes didn't seem right for Billy Wade. Jeans and a flight

jacket."

Which gave her all the more reason to doubt Carson.

Reis shoved off the corner of the desk. "That could still be the father since retirees keep their leather

jackets. But are you sure it was a man? Women have short hair, too."

One of Owens's old girlfriends on a jealous rampage?

Reis's talent for thinking beyond an obvious assumption was promising—and frustrating. How the hell

could they rule anyone out? A military man or woman, active duty or retired, blond or gray, who

happened to be right-handed. That could be half the flying community.

Nikki closed her eyes as if trying to recapture the image on the back of her lids. "If it's a woman, then

she's really tall. It's all fuzzy, but I'm almost certain it's a man." Her lashes fluttered open as she shook her

head. "I'm sorry. That's all there is."

Screw keeping his distance. Carson looped an arm around her waist, so grateful to have her warm and

alive against him, he didn't bother to hide his feelings for her. "I think that's enough for one day, Reis. The

medics wanted to admit her, but acquiesced if she would promise to rest."

The OSI agent pocketed his PDA again. "I hear ya." Halfway to the door, he stopped. "She's still staying

with her parents, right?"

"Hello?" Nikki stiffened.
"She
is right here—"

"Major," Reis continued, "how about once you take her home we meet back on base and go over some

personnel files to see what we can dig up?"

With the horror of Nikki almost dying still pounding through his skull, there was nothing he wanted more

than to keep her in his sight. But with her stiff in his arms and her avoiding his eyes, he couldn't help

wondering if she needed space, and God knows he wanted to dig in with Reis and find something,

anything, to nail the bastard who'd done this to Nikki's life.

Besides, after hearing the truth about him she might well decide to steer clear of him and he would have

to love her enough to let her go.

Love?

Damn.

What a helluva time to figure that out.

Her feet would never be warm again. Nikki wasn't so sure about her heart, either.

Sitting at her parents' kitchen table, she shook the can of whipped cream and squirted a hefty swirl into

the steaming cup of hot cocoa her dad had made. What a crazy—confusing—afternoon. Finally, Carson

was being open and honest with her, or at least he had been until the boat nearly killed them. He'd

switched into protective mode again, dropping her off at her parents' with a toe-curling but too-brief kiss,

before meeting up with Reis.

In her soul, she longed to grasp this new chance with Carson, but her emotions were all so surface level

and exposed. She had to get this right—for both of them. She wanted to trust what he said about having

his drinking under control, but he'd tossed so many negatives about the situation her way. She needed to

be responsible enough at least to think through them.

Her lumbering father dropped into the chair across from her, silently drinking from his mug. Even more

quiet than usual as he studied her across the wooden expanse, a new piece of furniture she'd helped her

dad varnish after he'd bought it at the bare-wood store.

For an overprotective parent, these past days couldn't have been easy for him. She passed him the can of

whipped topping. "Are you okay, Dad?"

"I should be asking you that, baby girl." His gaze rested on the raw ring around her wrist where the sail

lines had immobilized her underwater.

"And I'm betting that because I'm your daughter, today was tougher on your ticker than it was on mine."

She cupped her hands around the warm porcelain.

"You might be right." He set his World's Best Dad mug down slowly, his hand shaking ever so slightly but

oh so tellingly. "I owe Scorch for saving your life."

"Are you okay with me seeing Carson?"

He nodded, suddenly overly preoccupied with how the can of whipped cream operated. "I'm not sure it

would matter to you if I wasn't."

She sifted that around in her mind while sipping, chocolate and cream flooding her senses with childhood

memories of other shared cocoa and late-night chats with her dad. She loved her father, no question, but

she wasn't his little girl anymore. "It wouldn't change my mind, but it would matter."

"I know about his history." He rolled the can back across the table to her, his rugged teddy-bear face so

compassionate she wanted to crawl in his lap and cry as she'd done during elementary school days.

Was it so wrong to seek his advice? Was that a step backward when more than ever she needed to add

years in wisdom to her adult resume? Still she couldn't stop the words. "Am I delusional to believe I can

handle a relationship with a recovering alcoholic?"

"You're too old for me to tell you what to do."

Was she? At the moment it seemed less mature to assume arrogantly that she had all the answers. "I'm

learning that you're never too old to ask your father for advice."

"Which proves you really don't need me after all." He patted her hand clutching the whipped cream can in

a death grip. "You're more than ready to leave the nest."

Parental approval sure did feel nice no matter what her age. She flipped her hand to link fingers with her

dad. "Does that mean I'm out on the sidewalk?"

"Not hardly, baby girl." He squeezed back with a familiar comfort that stung her eyes with tears at this

landmark moment.

She really was crossing into a new era of her life. Would it include Carson?

Nikki slid her hand away and took another warming gulp from her mug. "What made you and Mom stick

it out so long even though things were rocky?"

"But we did quit."

"After over twenty years of working at it." She hadn't been surprised when her parents announced they'd

seen a divorce attorney, but it still hurt even as an adult.

A rare smile creased her father's craggy face. "Your mother and I are particularly hardheaded. It took us

a while to get it right."

"That doesn't help me much."

"I assume this isn't a rhetorical question."

"I wish. He also worries about me being too young. And I think he puts too much stock in
your
certainty

that I'm not equipped for the stresses of being an Air Force wife."

"Whoa. Wait." He held up both palms. "Of course I don't want you to go through the struggles. This is a

tough life after all, but I've never doubted for a minute that you can handle anything that comes your way

as long as you go in with your eyes open."

"Who are you, and what have you done with my quietly looming overprotective father?"

His smile cranked broader. "Your mother and I are working on better communication. Never thought I

would buy into the notion of counseling, but it helps. What your mother and I have is worth fighting for."

She'd known they sought help to put their marriage back together. They'd even invited Chris and her

along for a couple of family sessions. Why not apply that to her situation with Carson?

He assumed the alcoholism was more than she could handle. He might be correct—a possibility that

closed her throat—but he might well be wrong. Either way,
he
had been making a decision that affected

both
of them. She should be a part of that equation, and to do that, she needed more information.

She'd been so set on protecting her heart, she'd let him shield her, as well, and that wasn't right. No one

had ever fought for Carson. Sure he'd sought out A.A., but as far as she could tell, other than a lone

English teacher, no one had offered help.

Yeah, she might get her heart pitched back in her face again, but she loved this man. Deep down loved

him, flaws and all. Damn straight she wouldn't be like her mother waiting around for over twenty years.

Nikki was ready to fight for her man.

"Do
you want me?"

Carson lost total track of whatever Reis was saying to him on the other end of the phone, stunned instead

by Nikki in his open office door.

From the determined look in her eyes, Carson suspected he had a fight on his hands. He just wished he

knew which direction to check for the ambush.

He held up a hand indicating a one-second-wait while he finished his call to Reis about tapping the civilian

police to do extra surveillance of the Price home. "Glad you're on top of this. I'll be in touch." He hung up

the phone and redirected his attention to the hot-as-hell woman in front of him. "How did you get here?

Please say you didn't drive alone."

"Dad's got leave since his return. He came in for some paperwork and I rode along." She lounged against

the door frame, a seductress in khaki. "So? What's the answer to my question? Do you want me?"

"Before I answer, you should probably close the door."

Nikki stepped across the threshold, one long khaki-clad leg at a time—and holy crap, those were black

heels to match her black silk shirt. Could her heels be the promised pair from their conversation a few

days ago in this same room?

Tossing her lightweight jacket on the mariner's hook, she clicked the door closed and locked at the same

time he instructed his secretary to hold his calls. Word was out about the two of them anyway, while he

was still reeling from the whole concept of being in love for the first time.

They were already in over their heads, so he needed to grit back his concerns and forge ahead unless she

said otherwise, because he wouldn't hurt her a second time.

He shoved aside the stack of files calling to him and wheeled his office chair back from the desk. "How

about ask me that question again?"

Nikki narrowed the distance between them with hair-swishing strides. "Do you want me?"

That was a no-brainer. He took her wrist, careful of the raw ring from the lines, and pulled her into his

lap. "So damn much."

Tunneling one hand into her hair and the other under her sweater, he kissed her until they both gasped for

breath. He wouldn't be in any shape to get up from his chair for a long while, thanks to the sweet wriggle

of her bottom against his crotch.

"Do you want to be with me? Not just tonight, but long term?"

He'd been prepared for her to walk, and now she was talking forever, something he couldn't deny that he

wanted, too. With her. For a man with an extensive vocabulary, words were suddenly in short supply.

He wouldn't run, but he couldn't blame her if
she
did.

"Damn it, Carson." She thumped his shoulder, then gentled her touch to skim tenderly over the bump on

his head from pitching out of the Catalina. "Do you know how hard this is for me to say? I'm making

myself totally vulnerable for you. The least you can do is give me an honest answer."

"Honestly?" There wasn't anything left for them but the truth. "I'm scared as hell of passing on my genes

and I'm more afraid I'll ruin your life. You're not sure, either. Admit it, you thought I was the one who

killed Owens."

That notion stung more than he would have expected even as she rested her head against his shoulder

with total ease.

"If we're embracing this total honesty deal, then okay, I considered the possibility that you'd done it to