by Karen Anders
As she set her dirty dishes into the bin and watched Tristan stride angrily from the building to his jeep, Amber took a deep breath. This case was turning out to be much more than she’d expected.
It was time to get tough, whether Master Sergeant Tristan Michaels liked it or not.
She was betting he wouldn’t.
Chapter 4
The man’s phone vibrated softly and he answered.
“What’s the situation?” the voice said on the other end of the line.
“The woman—that NCIS woman. She’s going to be a problem and Michaels is suspicious. It’s clear to me.”
“Mayer screwed up, bad.” He heard the clink of a cup. The man did like his tea.
He felt calm. He never panicked like the others when something went marginally wrong. He figured he was hardwired that way. In a hushed voice he said, “Hypothermia is a strange thing with victims removing all their clothes. Mayer froze to death without a scratch on him. I’ll accidentally find his body when all this crap is over.”
“You’re a scary son of a bitch. Well, do what you need to do to protect our operation or I’ll have your ass. Talk to Carl,” the man on the phone said.
“He’s not going to like it.”
“Persuade him. You’re good at that.”
He chuckled. “I enjoy it.”
The man chuckled back. “That’s why I keep you around. We get what we want and we make good money, so status quo. Squash this or we’re all going down, hard.” His words weren’t sharply spoken, but he felt their bite.
His eyes tracked an Apache helicopter as it took off from the field. The Marine Corps thought that he wasn’t soldier material. He hadn’t passed the psych test. Every branch of the service he’d applied for gave him the same answer. “I’ve got an idea. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure this doesn’t blow back at us.”
Who was smarter now?
* * *
“I want a name,” Tristan said as Amber opened the door and settled into his jeep.
Amber looked at him, her expression registering the lethal sound of his voice, the promise of violence in every syllable.
“I want a goddamned name!”
He gripped the wheel, his hands curling into fists. His gut churning, thinking that it was possible that someone could have deliberately ended James’s life. Someone could had pulled the trigger on that kid and taken him from the corps, from the service of his country, from his family and his girl, from the world he should still be living and breathing in.
“We’ll find out who did this. I’m not leaving until we do.” She pushed her hair back and said, “One look at that kid’s face and I was resolved to find out what caused his death. If he’s been murdered, someone will have to pay for that.”
James’s face so cold and still in death. Tristan braced his back against the leather seat, and the memory came at him like a demon, painfully sharp and so bright. He squeezed his eyes closed against it. He held himself rigid until every muscle quivered with the effort, but nothing stopped the memory from coming. It broke over him like a wave, washing away the present and dropping him back in time.
His breathing was harsh as he looked down at the row of dead lined up on the floor in the lobby of the bombed-out and bullet-riddled consulate in Banyan. He dropped down to one knee and removed the sheet from the face of the man beneath it.
He might not have failed his duty, but it felt as if he goddamned had. The ambassador was dead.
“Looking at your handiwork, marine?” A man loomed over him in an NCIS vest, his eyes cold and calculating. It was the beginning of the accusation that would haunt him for a year until the corps had conducted their investigation and exonerated him. Given him back his stripes, his dignity and his sense of duty.
The hand on his arm jarred him back to the present. “Tristan,” Amber said softly.
He didn’t want to be placated. He turned to her and bit out, “I won’t have them railroaded into anything. They’re all good boys and they have nothing to be ashamed of or to be blamed for. They were serving their country, learning new abilities to keep the US safe from harm. All those shots are accounted for. I have also been cleared.”
“I’m just going to question them.”
“Sure you are. I’ve heard that before.”
“Would you like to elaborate on that?”
“No, I wouldn’t. I’m sure you’ll read something into that, too!”
“Tristan, don’t make me go over your head. I want a good working relationship with you, but if you don’t cooperate, you’ll force my hand.”
That tough-girl tone made him look at her, at her hard, heartbreaking green eyes, her just-as-heartbreaking, soft-looking lips.
He swung his gaze away from her, realizing that looking at her would only weaken his resolve. “Negotiating with me now. I bet you’re really good at interrogation.”
“I’m not negotiating. So don’t make me say words like obstruction and uncooperative.”
He laughed without mirth. “Nice. That’s going to help.”
“What is going to help? You don’t even know me, yet you don’t trust me. How do I warrant that when I’ve given you no reason not to trust me?”
“I have my own reasons.”
“Put them aside for James. I’m here to make sure he gets justice, and I won’t give up when it gets tough. Don’t give up on me already.”
There was something quite...naked in the expression that crossed her face. But the way he’d been treated was hard to forget. He’d reserve his judgment, then. But trusting her wasn’t on the table just yet.
That open look hit him and stuck. He had to wonder what was going on in her head, but he’d be damned if he’d ask. No. Keeping her strictly in the adversary club was what he was going to do as long as she didn’t disarm him any further. He wasn’t sure if she used manipulation in her job, but with his past NCIS experience, he couldn’t rule it out.
Now he had to figure out a way to do all that and not want to take her up against the nearest wall. He might actually survive this.
He started breathing evenly to alleviate some of the tension, remembering the counselor he’d seen after the Banyan screwup had told him that would help with his anger. It did, marginally, stemmed the avalanche of memories that threatened to bury him every time he let his guard down for half a second.
“I want to be present when you question them. I’ll answer your questions to the best of my ability. It’s important to me that we find out what happened to James.”
When she moved her hand again, he realized she was still holding on to his arm. He looked down. Her hand was delicate-looking, but he had no doubt that she knew how to use that weapon she carried in the small of her back.
As if she’d just noticed that she was touching him, she drew her hand back, rubbing her palm against her jeans-clad thigh.
He didn’t say a word as he started the jeep and put it in Drive.
Dammit, why couldn’t NCIS have sent a big, burly male agent? Not that he’d be more inclined to trust him, but he wouldn’t have this uncontrollable attraction to someone he wasn’t sure he could trust. With a male agent, he would be firmly in the no-trust camp, but with Amber, it was difficult not to succumb to her...what seemed like her sincerity. He realized if he had met Amber all those years ago and she’d treated him as if he was a person, he might have a totally different view of NCIS.
He drove toward the center of the sprawling base and parked in front of the bachelor enlisted quarters, the same sandy color as HQ, with the same red slate roofs in a slope to better control the heavy snowfall.
He got out, and as soon as he walked into the area where his men were housed, he said, “At ease.”
The men came around their bunks and stood at ease, eyes forward. The marine who recognized him first was
James’s partner, Lance Corporal Mark Sheppard. When Amber entered the room, there were some small sounds of appreciation. He let it pass, as these men hadn’t seen a beautiful woman in six long weeks.
“Listen up. This is Special Agent Amber Dalton from NCIS. She is going to ask you questions about Lance Corporal James Connelly. Answer these questions to the best of your ability. Rest,” he shouted, and the men relaxed their stances and collectively fixed their eyes on Amber.
Beside him she whispered, “Where should I talk to them?”
“In the locker room, there’s a bench you can use.” He turned toward the room again. “Fall in.”
They complied, and he motioned to the next guy in line and said, “As soon as Sorenson comes back, you’re up, Hackett.”
“Yes, sir,” he replied.
He led the way to the locker room and Amber settled on a bench. “Sit, Sorenson,” Tristan said.
“Yes, sir,” he replied, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
Amber said, “There’s no need to be nervous.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
For the next thirty minutes, she went through her questions that basically consisted of when was the last time they had seen Connelly, did they notice anything out of the ordinary on the mountain that night, and did they know why Connelly was alone on the mountain and not with the class?
All the answers were pretty much the same until they got to Sheppard. Even before he sat down, he looked pensive and Tristan got the feeling the kid knew more than he was saying. But he responded the same as the others. Tristan met Amber’s eyes and she gave him the same look. He’s lying.
When Sheppard left, Tristan put his hand out to Amber. “Let him go.”
“Tristan...he knows something.”
“I know, but browbeating him won’t get him to talk.”
The look on her face said she wasn’t going to listen, and it was important that he make her. When she made her move, he took her elbow and gently swung her back around to face him.
“I’m not going to—”
His gaze locked with hers. “Yes, you are.” He looked into her worried, determined eyes, and something turned over in his chest. He wanted to take that all away, but he was sure about this course of action. “Trust me on this and let it go for now.” He said it fiercely enough that her eyes widened.
She made a move to go around him, and he grasped her other elbow. “I know that kid.” He closed his eyes and let out a breath. He then opened them to look deeply in her eyes. “Just...trust me.”
“I guess that does go both ways.” She looked pointedly at his hands, and he lifted them, palms up.
“Thank you,” he said.
“I’ll give him some time, but not a lot.”
He nodded. “It’ll work better when he’s ready to talk. Keeping information to himself regarding the death of a fellow marine will eat at him.”
“Never leave a man behind?”
“You are very astute.”
“Be careful, Sergeant. That sounded like a compliment.”
He grunted and led the way out of the barracks.
“You tried to find him, didn’t you?” Her voice was soft and he didn’t want her to affect him this way. He didn’t want to talk about James, about how he’d felt like a big brother to him, how worried he’d been when he hadn’t shown up. That was too much emotion to cop to.
“So, Stowe,” he said. “You ski, then?”
She paused at the jeep, giving him a knowing look before she pulled open the door. “Like a boss.”
“Downhill?” he asked, settling into the seat next to her and starting up the jeep.
“Downhill, cross-country and snowboarding, baby.”
“Don’t tell me. You competed?”
“Yes, moguls. But I wasn’t really good enough to take it further than that.”
“You were a jock? In high school?”
“Yes, and in college. Played volleyball. You?”
“Track,” he replied.
“Marine Corps Marathon?” she asked.
“Three times. You?”
“Five.”
“That’s impressive. You run in addition to bending yourself into impossible positions.”
“It’s really good for the body, helps you to relax. You could use that.”
“I’m not uptight,” he deadpanned.
“Okay, sure,” she scoffed. “I could give you a few lessons if you’re interested.”
He grunted, then laughed. Once again it felt rusty to him. He wondered if he was in her presence for longer than a day or two whether it would come more naturally. “No. I don’t do pretzel.”
“You could learn to bend. It’ll be painful at first, but then you’ll start to loosen up. Believe me. You need to loosen up.”
“Why do I get the feeling we’re not talking about yoga anymore.”
“I can’t imagine,” she said as they pulled up to the town house. “I’m going to check on the autopsy.”
“In a hurry to get out of here to those white sandy beaches.”
She shivered. “I am, but not at the expense of James.” She got out of the jeep, then looked at him sharply as he closed his door and rounded the hood. “Are you in some way insinuating that I want to hurry through this investigation because I’ve got someplace better to go?”
“You’re dealing with an unknown and tragic situation. It’s freaking cold here. You have to put up with a grumpy bastard who challenges you every time you turn around. Yeah, I think you’d rather be somewhere else.”
She strode up to him and said, “You are mistaken if you think that I’m immune to this tragic situation. I looked at his face and I read about his life, about his service. He has parents who lost their only son to the service of his country. Just because I work in a civilian capacity, don’t presume to know what military service means to me. It is my intention to dig until I get to the truth. Until James gets his justice, no matter the cost. I grew up in one of the coldest states in the US, so it’s nothing new to me. Is a warm sandy beach appealing? You bet your ass it is. So don’t presume to know me or narrow me down into this little box you want to put me in because you don’t like NCIS agents. There is way more than just a badge and a gun here. There’s a passionate, hardworking, caring woman here.” Her chest was heaving. She grabbed the keys out of his hand and stormed up the walk. Unlocking the door, she threw it open, then came storming back.
“There is only one thing you got right!”
“What is that?”
“You are a grumpy bastard.”
The wariness was back in full force, and something inside him rejoiced at that because he was struggling with his distracting and disarming attraction to her. He hadn’t wanted to like James. See that James wanted and openly competed for his approval and attention. He hadn’t wanted to see the young man in the uniform so open and gung ho, so downright optimistic, mostly because it reminded him of himself. Before he’d lost his innocence in a blood-soaked day that had transformed him from a boy into a man.
Cynicism had its merits.
So, good. She was wary again. Why did that also piss him off?
When he had no answer, she poked him in the chest. “You asked me to give Corporal Sheppard the benefit of the doubt. Why don’t you try that with me?”
“My experience dictates otherwise.”
She threw her hands in the air and turned to go back into the house. “I’m going for a run.”
That suited him fine. Some more distance was good. He was the triggerman, used to setting off fear, confusion and uncertainty in all his targets. He’d been in the field most of his military career. There had been sleep and food deprivation, stress, danger, and one time his partner had been spotted and killed. Tristan had been wounded. It was a harrowi
ng experience to get back to base with not only his weapon and himself intact, but his spotter across his shoulders. Leave no man behind. He was certain the same principles had been instilled in Corporal Sheppard and he would do the USMC proud by relaying that information to them. It was a matter of time.
The chill permeated his jacket and propelled him into the warm town house. Amber was in her assigned room, cursing and mumbling to herself. She was some kind of spitfire. An NCIS agent, one who was on her own here, up against a tough investigation. He hadn’t been out there with a squad or platoon or with someone else in charge of telling him what to do. He got his mission statement from his supporting commander and accomplished the mission by his own wits and his own know-how. Same deal with Force Recon. He had to admire the same grit in Amber. She had the same traits and was NCIS’s trigger woman, and she’d solidly put him in his place.
And damned if he didn’t admire her for that, too.
She came out of her room dressed in a formfitting blue top that accentuated every damn thing about her that was female, from her beautifully formed breasts to her strong, shapely thighs to her slender calves. She was completely covered up, her hair in a ponytail, her face devoid of makeup, nothing really sexy about any of it. And yet he had a hard time keeping his eyes off her.
She went to the hall closet and opened it, grabbing his USMC windbreaker, shrugging into it even though it was too big for her.
She walked past him and out the door, evidently reining in her temper, because it only closed sharply instead of being slammed.
He stood there, his own sense of fairness warring with his fear of letting go of the control he’d used to keep himself severely in check, to survive his combat missions, cope after the Banyan incident.
But no matter how he tried to stay neutral, detached, that woman got to him.
“Dammit!”
He’d asked her to trust him and she had. She’d given Sheppard a chance to handle his own thoughts, his own loss and grief over Connelly. They had been tight. It was something that Tristan recognized and had shunned with his partners. He hadn’t wanted to ever get into a situation again where he would be betrayed by anyone. A guard that had stood heavy against any entanglements.