Her Master Defender

by Karen Anders

  But his loyalty to the corps weighed on him. The corps was all he knew, and they had supported him and stood by him through that ordeal in Banyan.

  He disconnected the call and wandered back into the kitchen.

  Knowing that he was just asking for trouble, but wanting to know about her, he said, “Where you from that you don’t know it snows in California?” He was quite aware of his tone but didn’t moderate it to a friendlier one.

  She gave him a sidelong glance and a sheepish grin. “Vermont. Stowe.”

  He laughed and it felt rusty. He hadn’t laughed in a long time. “That’s good.”

  She simply stared at him and, for a second, dropped her guard. It unsettled him the way she looked at him. It could be something totally different than that she was attracted to him. Could be his wishful thinking, but he amended that. It would be better if her guard was up. It would make it easier on him. He was a grumpy bastard on a good day.

  Finally she said, “I didn’t say I didn’t know about snow. Just never realized it snowed here. But to be honest, I was pretty pissed when I left DC and my focus wasn’t on the assignment. You’re right. I should have done my homework.”

  “What were you pissed about?”

  She looked tired, as if she hadn’t slept, but if he wasn’t mistaken, she was also more than a little unsettled. Whether that was by what was going on here or by something else entirely, he had no idea. He didn’t know Amber or what was going on in her personal life. A salient point—he made a personal note.

  Her cell rang. She looked at it and then angrily pushed the ignore button. She dumped flour into the bowl and added milk, egg and other dry ingredients. “I’m pissed about being...ah...detoured.” She rubbed her nose and left flour there. She started stirring. “It seems I was convenient to send.”

  Yup. There was something she wasn’t telling him, all right, but since he kept his own counsel, he wasn’t going to push her. He shouldn’t even be doing this...casual conversation or getting to know her. He didn’t want to like her. She was an NCIS agent. Lust was a different thing altogether. He was too confused about where he was going and had too much emotion tied up in the corps to deal with any type of attraction. “I go where the Marines send me. I don’t talk back.” Jeez, she looked good in his kitchen. He’d been in lust before, had even come close to falling a few times in his life, but he’d never really much thought about domestication. His focus had been wholly on his military life. His liaisons were just that. Meager and spaced apart, usually opportunistic. He’d always had the need to get back to his own personal space more strongly than the desire to live under one roof with anyone.

  She snorted. “Really? I bet you do when you have something to say.”

  “You got me there.” He smiled again. She definitely had an effect on him. “Okay, so I don’t usually talk back.”

  “You been in for some time?”

  He shifted, the need to wipe that flour off her nose a compulsion, but he took a sip of his coffee instead. “Fifteen. Went in at eighteen. Have only known the corps,” he said, keeping his face expressionless, his tone of voice flat and professional. “It’s always come first.”

  * * *

  She scowled at that. Not that she had any dibs on him. He was potent. That was all. She was reacting to him with his tough-guy stance, tousled hair and beard-shadowed jaw, and the obvious required reality check she needed.

  He was closed. Buttoned up tight. Rude. Well, mostly rude. It was clear he was reacting to her as an NCIS cop. Of course he was. He certainly couldn’t be reacting to her as a woman. Gorgeous men like him went after women like her sister, Sammy.

  It was true she dealt with alpha men all the time. First during her tour with JAG, then working with Chris, Beau and Vin at her current job. She’d had her share of challenging men.

  It was also hard to believe that Tristan Michaels was thirty-three. He looked younger than that.

  She set the skillet on the stove and checked the batter while he watched her intently. It was unnerving to have so much power focused on her.

  While the skillet was heating, she poured herself some coffee. It smelled good. “Cream?” she asked.

  He gestured to the milk on the counter. “All I got. I drink mine black.”

  Grabbing up the container, she poured some into her coffee. “Used to it, I suppose?”

  “Yeah, not many amenities in the field.”

  She watched him over the top of her mug of coffee. He was beautiful, yes, in that rough-edged way that she was getting used to, but he looked tired, too, as though he hadn’t got any more sleep than she had got.

  James Connelly had kept her up long past bedtime as she pored over the report of his death. She wondered if the kid had kept him up, too.

  Looking out the window, she groaned. “There were supposed to be palm trees outside my window today. I wish I was in Aruba.”

  He rinsed his cup out in the sink. Without warning, he grabbed her chin and brushed his thumb over her nose. “Flour.” His mouth tightened and he whispered, “I wish you were in Aruba, too.” For a few seconds he stared down into her eyes, his fingers tightening on her chin. Then he let her go. He turned and left the kitchen. Minutes later she heard the shower start up.

  She glowered at the snow. I’m such a man magnet. He wished her away from here. That was no surprise.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, thinking about the trip she would have to spend alone. Suddenly it didn’t seem as appealing. She dreaded the rest of the day. Meeting with James’s parents and delving into his death was going to be tough, but she couldn’t imagine how hard it was going to be for the master sergeant—Tristan. Turning toward the skillet that was now sufficiently warm, she dropped in the batter. At least the pancakes would be good.

  After her shower and getting dressed in a heavy sweater, jeans and her new snow boots, she came back down to the living area. Tristan was sitting at the table in his camo, scarfing down a stack of her pancakes.

  That gave her some satisfaction at least.

  “You ready?” he said, getting up and setting his plate into the sink.

  “Yes.”

  “What’s the drill?”

  “I’d like to consult with the MWTC Police Department. According to the report, they were called in on the scene and sent the body off for autopsy. Looks like both the MWTC Police Department and the Mono County Sheriff’s Department were and are involved.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said and led the way out of the town house and back to his jeep. “The PD handles all law enforcement for the base, and the sheriff’s department handles suspicious deaths.”

  “I saw the PD at the gate. I want to go to the scene, as well. I could go alone if that’s—”

  “I’ll come with you,” he said flatly. “It’s quite a ways up the mountain, but we can go by helo. That will be faster. Hopefully the weather holds. I’ll clear it with the colonel.”

  “Thanks.” They backtracked out of the neighborhood and passed plows clearing the snow to the building that housed the police station. Once inside they met Officer Craig Mendez and he ushered them into the police chief’s office. Scott Werner rose as they entered.

  “Special Agent Dalton, we’ve been expecting you.” He nodded to Tristan. “Sergeant.”

  He was small, thin and balding, and when she went to clasp his hand it was soft as a grandmother’s. They settled into seats in front of the desk. “Sorry we had to meet under such circumstances, Chief Werner,” Amber said.

  “Agreed. We sent Connelly’s body to the Mono County Sheriff’s Department for autopsy with a rush request. We should have it within a day or two at the latest.”

  “I’d like that report as soon as it’s available.”

  “Of course.”

  “I want to see the scene.”

  “We
protected it as much as we could, and I’d like to head up there with you.” The voice was a warm, well-modulated baritone.

  Amber turned to find a man standing in the doorway. He was tall and long limbed, the personification of authority in his well-fitting brown-and-tan sheriff deputy’s uniform. His hair was black and short, not quite as short as Tristan’s.

  “Deputy Garza,” the chief said as he rose, suddenly looking very small in the man’s presence. “This is—”

  “Special Agent Amber Dalton, NCIS,” she said, rising and walking up to him. He was as imposing as Tristan, but unlike Tristan, there wasn’t an ounce of attraction even though his features were more smoothly handsome. She was almost nose to nose with him, as he was shorter than the master sergeant, coming in at just about six feet tall. She reached out her hand and he squeezed it just a bit too hard.

  “Sean,” he replied with a soft smile, his gaze capturing hers the way an eagle captured a small mouse, his eyes an odd, striking shade of pale blue and set deep above a strong, straight nose. “I can see why you’ve got ‘special’ in your title, Amber.”

  But Amber wasn’t a small mouse, and the tingle of wariness buzzed at the base of her neck. Just like Tristan, she’d dealt with these kind of alphas all of her working life. She kept her face implacable, ignoring his patronizing and intimate tone. He still held her hand and, with a concerted tug, she pulled it free. “Your assessment would be valuable,” she murmured, moving away from him and turning in time to see Tristan’s eyes narrow. So he didn’t like Garza, either. She wondered why and what his assessment was of the man who would have conducted this investigation if NCIS hadn’t been involved.

  Tristan’s gaze held hers, steady, unblinking, calm. Flat calm, like the sea on a windless day. He would be a formidable adversary if he wasn’t on their side. She knew it instinctively, could feel the power of his personality in his gaze even while he kept his thoughts shuttered behind his unusual eyes.

  Her attention returned to Garza as he said, “I’m sure my input would be valuable.” He smiled. “There are plenty of accidents that happen on that mountain with the weekend warriors and skilled hunters roaming around. As I told Colonel Jacobs, though, we could have handled this. Looks pretty clear-cut to me.”

  She brought her chin up a notch and looked at Garza hard in the eye. There were issues with this case already that were telling. It was anything but clear-cut to her. “NCIS has jurisdiction over any navy and Marine Corps personnel anywhere on the planet,” she said flatly, far from under what he thought was his charming spell. “Thanks for your help, but I’ll make my own judgments and come to my own conclusions.”

  Her tone didn’t faze the man a bit. His smile curled a little deeper at the corners of his mouth. “I’m just a deputy in a small town, so we’ll defer to you, Amber.”

  Damn right he would.

  “Officer Mendez can accompany you up there, as well. He was also on the scene. He is the one who is working with Deputy Garza on the death. We are ready to fully cooperate with NCIS,” the chief said.

  Tristan’s phone rang and he answered it and talked for a few minutes. “The helo is secured, Special Agent Dalton,” he said. “I would suggest that we go now while the weather is good.”

  She nodded, following Tristan out of the office. Deputy Garza and Officer Mendez followed behind her and they got into Tristan’s jeep and drove over to the airfield.

  A medium-sized gray helicopter with its single rotor blade whirring waited for them.

  When she went to step into the aircraft, Tristan clasped her arm to help her inside. She settled into one of the seats and he sat beside her, buckling himself in.

  As soon as everyone was seated, the helicopter lifted off and powered toward the mountains. As they flew, Amber looked down into the snowy meadow that gradually gave rise to tree-covered inclines and craggy, jutting rocks. The helo passed over a slew of marines digging out snow and setting up camp.

  Tristan leaned over to be heard above the rotor, his mouth close to her ear, his breath feathering her skin and sending tingles downward. “Let me know if you get a headache or feel nauseous. Some people can get altitude sickness. We’re not giving you enough time to ascend, but we should only be up here for less than half an hour. The site is about 8K up. Some people don’t experience any symptoms below 10K.”

  His face was close, so close to hers that she suspected her shortness of breath had nothing to do with the altitude. His cheek brushed hers as the helicopter banked and started to descend.

  He pulled away immediately, but the place where his skin had touched hers tingled. The scent of him lingered in the air.

  He pulled on his cap again and she followed suit. As she got out of the helo, she saw that the snow was deeper up here but had been packed down by a lot of feet. The whirling blades of the helicopter slowed, the engines making a whining noise as the blades stopped spinning and the engines shut down.

  She followed Tristan, who moved steadily through the snow. They followed a trail to the sight where a tent cover had been set over the spot where Tristan had found Connelly’s body. Garza and Mendez stood away from the site as Tristan lifted the tent flaps and exposed the scene. Amber walked closer. There was displaced snow on either side of his resting place, discolored with Connelly’s blood. She pulled a small camera out of her pocket and started to snap some pictures.

  “There’s not a whole lot of blood,” she murmured.

  “Most likely due to the cold. Doc said it would be difficult to determine the time of death. It was twenty below, and that kind of cold would constrict his veins and he would bleed very little,” Mendez said.

  “Which way was his head positioned?”

  “Horizontal to the mountain.”

  “Parallel?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at Tristan. Something wasn’t sitting right with her, and when she had that feeling, she rarely ignored it. “He was on his back?”

  “Yes.”

  She stood and stared at the spot.

  “Looks like the kid got caught in the path of sniper fire from one of his fellow classmates,” Garza said.

  “Unlikely,” Amber said.

  “How’s that?”

  “No exit wound, Deputy.” She looked at him and he still had the placid calmness around him that grated on her nerves. “Sergeant, sniper rifles use a full metal jacket, correct?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “The bullet at that velocity would most likely penetrate and exit the body, correct?”

  “Yes, ma’am.

  “Look at you,” Garza said, his brows lifted. “You know your sniper rounds.”

  “I was in the navy, JAG Corps. Learned a lot from my trials.” Dread filtered through her. This was looking even less like friendly fire to her and more like something...else.

  “JAG, huh? A lawyer, too. You’re a versatile woman. Hopefully the autopsy will shed some light.”

  The wind came whipping up, and her breath blew hot, steaming the air. She rubbed at her forehead and Tristan stepped up to her. “Do you have a headache?”

  She looked at him blankly.

  “Amber, do you have a headache?”

  The sound of her name in his deep voice sent a spiral of reaction all the way to the pit of her stomach, and it released a slew of butterflies. With the cap on his head, it hit her how really handsome he was. His eyes so darn blue and...full of concern. He might act like a tough guy, but there was a soft center in there.

  “No. I was just thinking.”

  He looked up at the sky and took her arm. “There’s another storm coming. We need to go. Getting caught on this mountain in a blizzard is not a good idea. The temperature is already starting to fall.”

  She nodded and waited while they secured the scene.

  Tristan rolled down the flaps of the tent and stak
ed them into the ground. “That’s about all we can do. Time to go.”

  The whole trip back she was quiet, her brain going a mile a minute. After they landed and Tristan dropped Garza and Mendez back to the PD, it was late afternoon.

  “I’m starving,” she said.

  “We can grab a bite at the mess.”

  She nodded.

  Inside the busy and crowded mess hall, after they got their food, Tristan said, “Something is bothering you.”

  “There are a couple things that aren’t adding up for me.”

  “Okay, what are they?”

  “If snipers only use full metal jackets—”

  “That bullet should have gone right through Connelly with about the same size hole as it went in,” Tristan said grimly.

  “But no exit wound.”

  “I said as much to Jacobs, and that’s why he wanted NCIS involved instead of leaving it up to the PD and sheriff’s department.”

  “Exactly.” His response only confirmed her worry that Connelly wasn’t killed by someone in the sniper classes. “The other thing is he was shot in the back. Was there any evidence that he rolled?”

  “I didn’t see any, but it snowed pretty heavily during the day and into the night.”

  “So it’s possible?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Where was he for forty-eight hours and how did he end up on that mountain if he intended to go AWOL?”

  “Again, I don’t have an answer. It’s been bothering me, too.”

  “I know. It’s something we’ll have to figure out.”

  “We’ll wait for the autopsy.”

  “I’d like to interview the men in your class.”

  He bristled. “Why? We just established that it wasn’t my class that killed him.”

  “I have to interview them and I should also formally interview you. I understand your protective instincts—”

  “No, you don’t. Don’t use that bullshit with me.” He picked up his plate and cup and deposited them noisily on his way out the door. Amber sighed and picked up her own stuff.