Her Master Defender

by Karen Anders

  “Damn, Amber.” His voice caught on a gasp as she bit his lip.

  He pressed her back against the wall. It was so incredible, the sensations so intensely sweet, the rush of emotion overwhelming.

  He swore softly as she ran her hands up the length of his arms. He felt so good, hard and male beneath her hands. He threaded his fingers through her hair again. The whole thing was amazing—the heat, the scent of him, the hardness of his body. It seemed like forever since she’d been with a man like this.

  All he had to do was breathe to turn her on.

  He sealed his mouth over hers and sucked on her tongue and just flat-out filled her whole body with the sensation of sex, from the top of her head down. Everything. Consuming her.

  He moved one arm down around under her bottom, holding her tight, lifting her hips into his...

  Her cell phone rang and she broke away from him, looking up at him for a startled moment. He groaned and rested his head into the hollow of her throat while she dug and fumbled for her cell phone.

  “Dalton,” she answered, her voice breathless.

  “Agent Dalton, this is Corporal Morgan. I’m calling because I know Randall Mayer. He and I had a loose friendship since we worked together in this office. The colonel instructed me to speak with you about him.”

  “Yes, that would be very beneficial. Tris...” She cleared her throat. “Sergeant Michaels and I are at his apartment right now, and I want to check out the local hunting chapter for Sportsmen Unlimited, where he was a member. Ken Marshall is listed on the renewal notice as the local chapter president. We could be back to base in about an hour. Would that work?”

  “Absolutely, ma’am. I will be expecting you.”

  She said goodbye and tucked the phone back in her pocket. Tristan had retreated, setting his clothes right, and she remembered pulling his shirt out of his pants numerous times.

  He was looking out of the window, but as she’d hung up the phone, he turned back to her.

  “Amber...”

  She held up her hand. “What happens between us happens. You can say it was a mistake or that we shouldn’t be indulging ourselves during our investigation or that we are completely out of our minds, but the bottom line is we’re attracted to each other. Stuff’s going to happen. You are much more uptight about it than I am. And if anyone should be uptight about it, I think that would be me. After all, I was dumped only days...ago.”

  “Dumped?” He stepped forward. “What the hell? You’re kidding me.” His face showed his disbelief and he shook his head. “Who would be such an idiot?”

  Okay. What was she supposed to do with that? It was clear he was interested in her, but she didn’t want to push him into something he wasn’t ready for or didn’t want to pursue. The fact that she wanted him was clear and she wasn’t going to analyze that. Not a bit. It was embarrassing that she’d blurted it out. But she couldn’t get that cat back in the bag.

  “What happened?”

  “Tristan...”

  He took another step closer. “Amber, what happened?”

  “Really none of your business.”

  “I’m aware of that and I don’t give a damn. If we give in to this...craziness between us, I’d like to know who hurt you and why.”

  She didn’t back down. She might not be the most experienced person in the world when it came to relationships, but what Pete had done to her was definitely rotten. Tristan wouldn’t judge her—that wasn’t what held her back. It was that he would have a piece of her if she spilled about it. Not that she necessarily worried about power in a relationship, because she knew she could hold her own. It was...almost...too intimate for him to hold this information about her and she knew virtually nothing about him. Well, except for the fact that he wasn’t attached.

  “I get it. You don’t really trust me.”

  “It’s not that. It’s just that I hardly know anything about you.”

  “I told you, Amber. I don’t do long-term relationships... Wait, do you think I might be involved with someone?”

  She shrugged. “Men lie about that all the time.”

  “I’m not lying.” He stepped closer still and her breath got trapped in her lungs.

  Pete’s duplicity had hurt her pride more than anything else, but she realized all of a sudden she was wary about getting into the same emotional situation she’d just experienced. She wanted to make it about the physical because that was easier. She would hate to think that she could come in second again. God, that would kill her. It was already the corps with him. A hidden girlfriend, fiancée or wife added to the mix just didn’t sound like fun.

  “I sleep around, but I’m choosy, Amber. I don’t do commitment and I don’t have anyone on the side. I don’t think I could handle juggling two women. I have enough just handling one.”

  She smirked at that and the corners of his mouth curled. “So, tell me what happened now that you know a bit about me.”

  “That’s not enough,” she said, tipping her chin up slightly as he shifted closer. “How about where you’re from and favorite color?”

  He stepped closer still. It was a small apartment to begin with. He was definitely invading her personal space. Again. “Alaska and green, exactly the shade of your eyes.”

  His eyes were so intent, so deep she swore she could fall right into them and never find her way out. “Alaska... I’ve never been there. Your coloring might indicate you are a native Alaskan. Are you?”

  “My mom is Inuit, my dad white. I really take after my dad more.”

  He was launching a full-out assault on her senses and it was working. “You’re stalling.”

  “Lieutenant Peter Savich, US Navy Intelligence. He and I were in what I thought was a committed relationship, but he was in Germany and I was in DC. He was supposed to come with me to Aruba, but I found out only hours beforehand that not only wasn’t he coming, a trip we planned three months ago, but he’s engaged and had been for six months out of the eighteen that we were together.”

  “Sounds like he oughta find another line of work. Intelligent, he ain’t. Is he the guy that keeps calling you and you press Ignore?”

  “Yes. I can’t imagine what he wants.” She laughed and it felt good, leaving Pete in the past because that was where he really belonged. “You seem to think that you would somehow be taking advantage of me. You wouldn’t be. Just chill about it.”

  “My head tells me we should cool it.” But when he lifted his hand, barely brushing the underside of her jaw with his fingertips, and tipped her head back a bit farther...she let him.

  “Right. It would probably be smart.”

  “Trouble is, beautiful Amber, I think about you,” he said, his voice nothing more than a rough whisper. “Much too often. In a wholly distracting way.”

  “Ditto,” she whispered back. “So, let’s give ourselves a break and go talk to this Ken Marshall and see what he has to say about Randall Mayer.”

  “Are you always so straightforward?” he said, letting her go and stepping back.

  She started walking backward toward the door. “Yes. I find beating around the bush just so annoying. It’s best to talk plain.”

  He followed her as she made her way back out to the cold afternoon. The sun was getting low in the sky and the temperature was still frigid. She thought fleetingly of the warm sands of Aruba.

  “You really aren’t what I expected for an NCIS agent.”

  “Maybe I’m growing on you.”

  He settled in the driver’s seat. “Maybe you are.”

  She leaned back against her seat and took a deep, steadying breath as she replayed, truthfully, what had just happened here. It had been good fun between two consenting adults. Nothing more, nothing less. Certainly nothing to get all worked up over. Fortunately, she’d pushed the situation and it wa
s solid as to where she stood. So it was crystal clear. She was back in control, if not of him, at least of herself. She was sure he knew she was no pushover he could do with whatever he pleased.

  She clenched her jaw at that. Her body was already responding to even the merest thought of him doing what he pleased. Right, you’re in such control. Does a hand down his pants ring a bell? She closed her eyes, willing herself, almost desperately, to take a quick moment to gather her wits. In his smile had been a sure promise that if he ever let loose, he was the man who knew how to keep those promises.

  The drive to Ken Marshall’s real-estate office took about ten minutes. Inside they found him behind a desk, his white shirt and red tie paired with a dark pair of jeans. His white hair was brushed back off his face. He had a hawk-like nose and pleasant features and was as tall as Tristan.

  He rose and stuck out his hand. “Hello, folks—in the market for a house?”

  “Not exactly.” Amber flashed her badge instead of taking his hand. It dropped as Ken peered at it. “NCIS.”

  He mouthed the acronym for a moment, and then his face brightened. “Like the TV show?”

  The office smelled like just-brewed coffee and mint gum. A printer was spitting out paper in a soft whirring, the only sound in the room. “Yes, just like that.” She introduced Tristan. “I’m here to ask you about Randall Mayer.”

  The open look on his face never wavered. “What about Randy?”

  “Were you friends with him? We’re aware he is part of your local Sportsmen Unlimited chapter,” she said.

  “Yeah, he’s been with the chapter since he moved here, oh, about two years ago now.” He frowned. “Did he do something wrong?”

  “He was found dead on the mountain this morning.”

  “Holy God,” Ken said with what sounded like genuine shock in his voice. “What can I do to help?”

  “What exactly is your chapter about?”

  Now he looked more wary. “Everything sportsmen, but mostly about hunting and fishing. We share the best places to hunt and fish, about dogs, ammo, guns and scopes and bow hunting. Our members come from all around here.”

  “When was the last time you saw Randy?”

  “Last week at our regular Thursday meeting.”

  “Anyone you know who might not have liked Randy very much? Would want to do him harm?”

  “Not a one. He was an amicable guy, excellent skeet shooter and a seasoned hunter. How did he die?”

  “Looks like hypothermia.”

  “Hypothermia. Hmm.”

  “Is that a surprise to you?” Tristan asked.

  “Yeah, it is. Randy has been all over that mountain hunting and fishing. He is well aware of the dangers of hypothermia.”

  “It doesn’t take much to muddle your thinking,” Tristan responded. “Just one degree.”

  Ken nodded in compliance. “True, but I just find it hard to believe that Randy got caught up in that. But I guess it can happen to the best of us,” he said, his voice more sad now. “I think I’ll plan to talk about hypothermia for our next chapter meeting as a refresher.”

  “Tristan is an expert in it.”

  “Are you?”

  He gave her a sidelong glance and said, “I teach cold-weather survival to all branches of the military, including international forces.”

  Ken’s eyes brightened. “Would you mind presenting some of your tips to our group? We could pay you a modest speaking fee.”

  “No need for a fee. When is your next meeting?”

  “This coming Thursday evening at seven.”

  “I can swing that.”

  As they walked out, Tristan looked pensive. “Should I have kept my big mouth shut about your skills in cold-weather survival?” she asked.

  He glanced at her and smiled. “No, I don’t mind speaking if it can save even one life. That’s not what’s bothering me.”

  “What is bothering you?”

  “Ken’s comment that he was surprised that Randy could have died from hypothermia.”

  “I thought the same thing. Randy lived here for two years, and according to Ken, he was a seasoned hunter. This case is puzzling because we have two dead bodies and don’t know exactly why either of them was up in the mountains. James without his weapon after he’d been missing for two days and Randy after he almost ran me down. It was a risky move when the investigation was just beginning. Unless he just got spooked because he did shoot James in error.”

  “There doesn’t seem to be a connection between James and Randy. At least not one we have found, anyway. So if we theorize that Randy did shoot James, there doesn’t seem to be a reason why he would want him dead.”

  “Well, so far, no. There’s no motive. But he did have means and it could have been an accident. I’m not sure that we will ever know since both Randy and James are dead.”

  “Strange we couldn’t find the rifle.”

  They pulled up to headquarters almost to the minute that Amber had given to Corporal Morgan. He was at his desk outside the colonel’s office.

  He stood when they came in, and Tristan said, “At ease,” indicating that Morgan should sit.

  Morgan settled back in his chair, and Amber and Tristan sat down in front of his desk. Amber said, “When was the last time you saw Randall?”

  “That would have been the day before yesterday.”

  “He wasn’t scheduled to work yesterday?”

  The corporal leaned forward. “No, he was. He called in sick, but it was late, like around nine or so. Randy was always punctual, and whenever he couldn’t make it in, he’d call right at the duty time.”

  “How was he acting the day before yesterday?”

  “He seemed stressed to me, like he had something on his mind.”

  “You don’t know what, though?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Anything out of the ordinary happen lately?”

  “Yes, ma’am. He left early because he got a phone call.”

  “Did he say what the call was about?”

  “No, ma’am, but the guy on the other side of the line was shouting as if he was very angry. I could hear him from my desk but couldn’t make out what he was saying.”

  “What time did that call come in?”

  “About three, maybe.”

  “On the office phone,” Amber said hopefully.

  “No, ma’am. On his cell phone.”

  “We didn’t recover his cell,” she said.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help, ma’am.”

  “No, that’s a big help. Thanks for your time.” She leaned forward. “Corporal Morgan, could you please pull together some stats for me?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, picking up a pen. “What are you looking for?”

  “MWTC AWOLs in the last two years. Every branch of the service.”

  “Will do, ma’am.”

  As she rose, her cell phone rang. “Dalton.”

  “This is Garza. We found Mayer’s vehicle at the base of the mountain. It’s being towed to Impound right now. Thought I should tell you before you chewed my ass again.”

  “And the autopsy?”

  “It’ll be ready in an hour,” he said.

  “Send it to my email.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “What about Mayer’s?”

  He huffed. “I asked the doc to rush it. He said he will have it for you tomorrow.”

  “We’ll be right there.”

  * * *

  Randy’s car yielded no clues. They didn’t find his rifle or his cell phone, and a previous search of his desk had also come up empty.

  They were cooling their heels in the sheriff’s department in Bridgeport, waiting for information from Garza on
his permits.

  A tall man ambled toward Amber. He was dressed in the requisite khaki uniform, with the distinctive star on his chest. “Special Agent Dalton?”

  “Yes.”

  He reached out his big, meaty hand. “I’m Sheriff Doug Stafford.”

  She took his hand and he engulfed hers in a firm handshake. “This is Master Sergeant Tristan Michaels. He’s my MWTC liaison.”

  The sheriff shook Tristan’s hand, as well.

  “We have those permits for you. Mayer was licensed for all the weapons you found in his apartment, including a rifle that seems to be missing.”

  “No leads there.”

  “If you’d like, the doc has finished with the body and could answer any questions you might have. He’s in Bishop. I can get you directions.”

  “Thank you, Sheriff Stafford.”

  After following his directions they ended up in a lab with the autopsy tables on the left. Amber shivered, the temperature seeming as cold inside as out.

  There was a balding man with a fringe of gray hair running around the side and back of his shiny pate. He was standing at a metal table with James Connelly’s prone body stretched out. Soon, his parents would be able to take him home. Her heart contracted.

  As they approached, the doc turned and she could see he had brown eyes with a pair of half-glasses perched on his nose. He was dressed in a white lab coat with a clipboard in his hand.

  “Can I help you?”

  Amber introduced herself and Tristan, and he nodded. “Yes, I’ve been expecting you. Dr. Carl Thompson,” he said.

  “The distinction of the wound is significant and answers one of your questions regarding the possibility of friendly fire. Rifle bullets fall into two general categories—hunting bullets and military bullets. Hunting bullets are designed to expand.” He fanned out his fingers in demonstration. “In the process at least some fragmentation of the bullet occurs. Thus, with this type of bullet, wounding is more extensive with tissues ending up being a combination of crushed and shredded.

  “Military bullets, by virtue of their full metal jackets, tend to pass through the body intact, thus producing less extensive injuries than hunting ammunition. Military bullets usually do not fragment in the body or shed fragments of lead in their paths, because of the high velocity of such military rounds as well as their tough construction. This is not the case for your victim. There is no exit wound and I found fragments that exhibited the characteristics of a hunting round. He had the requisite lead-snowstorm effect, which went in through the back but missed the heart. Your victim might have survived the gunshot wound if he had received immediate medical attention.”