Some running mate. Jade had been pawning him off every opportunity she could. First, she'd seated him next to the Captain and then abandoned him for a spot on the far side of the table next to Lieutenant Coffey—the same officer who'd checked his bag. Afterward, she'd dumped him on her chief.
Following a lengthy tour of the ship—except the areas he'd really needed to see—they'd settled in the chief's mess. He'd spent the rest of the day in the lounge, fielding questions about famous actresses. While the chief's were a friendly, jovial group, they didn't seem prone to the kind of gossip he was interested in.
At least not with outsiders.
Investigation-wise, the day had been a bust. He hadn't learned a single thing he could use to accomplish the job he'd been sent to do. And now he'd managed to blow it with Jade—so far his only obvious, albeit reluctant, bridge to the inner sanctum.
Way to go, buddy.
Well, he couldn't take the words back now. But he could apologize. "Jade—"
"DCA? The Command Duty Officer can't find the draft report again."
Damn.
Reese backed away from Jade's cluttered desk and retreated to the naked one she'd assigned him as a young sailor breezed up and passed her a slip of paper.
Jade glanced up as she scrawled her signature at the bottom of the sheet. "Let me guess, Lieutenant Dillon is Command Duty Officer today, isn't he?"
Dillon? The same Dillon he was here to investigate? Reese forced his body to relax.
The sailor grinned as if she and Jade shared some private joke. "How'd you guess?"
"Tell Lieutenant Dillon I said the next time he loses the draft report, he should look over the side of the ship. If it's still floating, we're okay."
The sailor laughed as she retrieved the paper. "Yes, ma'am." She turned to Reese and handed him another slip of paper and the pen. "Do you mind?"
Mind what? Oh, right. He grabbed the paper and scratched the name he was using onto it. "Here you go, hon."
"Thanks, Mack."
He took the invitation in her smile as a compliment, even if it was a bit zealous. No doubt it was more than he'd get from Jade. At least until he figured out how to repair the damage he'd done—and turn the conversation back to that draft report. And Lieutenant Dillon.
He turned back as the sailor left, smiling as Jade sat down and shoved a stack of papers around her desk, then rearranged a mug of pens. That had to be a good sign.
Especially the pink highlighting her cheeks.
"Jade, we need to talk."
She slapped the mug back onto the corner of the desk and stood. "Sorry, Macbeth, no time. Got a meeting to attend."
His jaw set again at the nickname she'd baptized him with. It hadn't bothered him as much yesterday—until he'd figured out she was the only one using it.
He rounded his desk before she could slip past without him. He'd just have to apologize on the go. "I'm ready, running mate."
Her brisk wave stopped him. "No can do. Some of the information's classified." She smiled. "Sorry."
That smile didn't look sorry. It looked relieved. There was something else in there, too, and whatever it was, he wasn't sure he liked it.
"Don't worry, Macbeth, you won't even miss me. I've got a nice character-building experience lined up for you today."
He was sure now; he didn't like it. The wariness in his gut crept into his voice. "What kind of experience?"
"Petty Officer Swanson will tell you all about it when he gets here." She stepped over the lip of the watertight door and turned back. "Oh, and one more thing? Don't forget your toothbrush."
* * *
Jade adjusted her oxygen mask and hunkered down into the darkened corner of the nearly empty lube oil tank before she cracked off the ends of her last hydrocarbon tube and shoved it into the handheld bellows. She forced the ambient air through the thin glass and then pulled a flashlight out from under her arm and checked the results to see if the air was breathable.
It was.
She squished her way back to the access port and gave her tether three good yanks. Two large, beefy hands slipped through the hole to claim her gas-free gear, then came back for her.
Finally free from the tank, she ripped off her mask and took a deep gulp. "God, I hate canned oxygen."
"You and me both." Her chief nodded down to the access port. "How's the air?"
"Fine. It's breathable." She handed him the slim tubes. "But tell Callahan to drain the tank better next time."
Chief Haas grinned at her white paper suit. Only it wasn't white anymore. Thick yellow streaks of oil clung to her from her shoulders down to her toes. "Yeah, I've seen turkeys with less basting."
"No kidding." She ripped off the soggy booties and slipped into her boots. "Speaking of turkeys, how's our boy?"
"Fine, last time I checked."
She peeled off her hood before snatching her ball cap off the air compressor and shoving it on. "You mean he's actually doing it?"
"Doing? Hell, he's almost done."
"No way. This I gotta see." She rounded the electrician's station and headed up the ladder. When she reached the top, she broke the air lock on the swinging door and struck out across the machine shop.
She really hadn't expected to get away with it, but it was just too darn tempting not to try. All afternoon she'd kept one ear cocked toward the 1MC, expecting to be ordered to the Captain's cabin so he could chew her up and spit her out on the carpet. At the very least, she'd expected Reese to throw a tantrum.
She passed the last drill press and stepped into the midships passageway and stopped short. She'd expected fallout, all right. What she hadn't expected was this.
Her jaw dropped as she stared out over the forty-foot passageway—a glistening, spit-polished, scrubbed - so - hard - you - could - eat - off - it passageway. On the other side, in a jungle of brooms, mops and buckets stood Reese, buffing the heck out of the brass bell at the opening to the midships brow.
Not only was he oblivious to the steady trickle of sailors boarding and disembarking the ship around him, he didn't even look up until she was almost on top of him.
Reese finally glanced up as she cleared her throat. He slapped the cotton rag over his shoulder, grinning as he tipped his ball cap to her. "What do you think, DCA? Will I make a convincing sailor?"
She didn't know what to say.
Midships was the ugliest, dirtiest, busiest passageway on the ship. With the post office and mess decks off one end, and the engineering and berthing compartments off the other, all nine hundred and fifty-five sailors had to pass through here at least a dozen times a day.
And he'd cleaned the whole thing by himself?
There was only one thing she could say.
She crossed the last couple of gleaming tiles and stuck out a hand. "Not bad, Macbeth. I'm impressed."
It was a mistake.
She realized it the second his hand enveloped hers. Whatever had sparked between them when he'd touched her on the quarterdeck yesterday hadn't been a fluke. She tugged her hand back and tried to ignore the tingling in her palm.
Apparently it was time to add one more rule to her growing list concerning Mack Reese. Don't look at his smile. Don't stare directly into his eyes. And, for God's sake, don't touch him.
She covered with a laugh and swept a hand around. "Let me guess, you worked as a janitor to put yourself through acting class."
"Nope, dishwasher." He reached out and seared a finger down her cheek, chuckling as he held up a smudge of lube oil that had transferred to him. "Looks like you could use a good washing yourself. Care to take advantage of my expertise?"
Jade evaded the suggestive gleam in his eyes as she tried to scrub the image of the two of them, naked and slick, from her mind. By the tune she'd glanced back, his gaze had smelted to dark blue.
She took a deep breath, amazed she still could. "I think I'll pass, for now."
"Feel free to take a rain check—anytime."
The decadent image
slammed into her again. Yes, it was definitely time to change the subject.
He must have thought so, too, because he took a deep breath right along with her that time. "So what is that gunk?"
"Oil."
He chuckled. "That, even I can tell. Why are you soaking in it?"
"Believe me, I wasn't trying to. I had to gas-free a lube oil tank—test the oxygen—so it could be entered and cleaned."
"Didn't you guys used to use canaries for that?"
Jade grinned. "We still do. I'm the canary." Her admiration for Reese grew as she stacked that knowledge atop his precision movements on the quarterdeck. "When you research a part, you go all the way, don't you?"
Something flickered in his eyes—almost as if he was uncomfortable with her praise—but as quickly as it came, it was gone. He shrugged. "I try."
An actor who couldn't take a compliment? Odd. Shouldn't he have the opposite reaction? Shouldn't his ego be swelling right about now? Maybe she'd misjudged him more than she'd thought.
"Listen, Macbeth—"
"Hey, Mack, what's up? You finish cleaning for the Wicked Witch of the Pacific?"
Jade gritted her teeth and turned sharply.
"Hey, DCA. Didn't see you there."
Right. And she couldn't spot an aircraft carrier twenty yards off the bow. "Dillon." Her glare warned him to back off—now.
He ignored her and turned his cheesy grin on Reese. "So, how 'bout it? You up to a couple of beers after knock-off?"
"What?"
Crap. Reese almost uttered the curse aloud as Jade stiffened and turned to stare at him, disgust lacing more than her voice. Personally, he felt the same way about Lieutenant Dillon. And he'd only known him for two hours. Unfortunately, befriending the man was more than necessary—it was downright vital. But that didn't make stomaching the task any easier.
He just wished Dillon had better timing. Why did he have to show up now? Just when he was finally getting somewhere with Jade.
Reese shoved his loathing aside and nodded. "Sure thing." He cocked his head toward a still-seething Jade. "Just as soon as the boss lady gives the word."
He almost winced as Jade's eyes narrowed. He had a feeling he'd rather not hear the words she was burning to give.
But before she had a chance to let them rip, Dillon took a deep sniff of the surrounding air and shuddered as he eyed her oily garb. "What is that stench? Oh, sorry, must be eau de DCA."
Jeez, the man was an ass. Reese latched on to the mop leaning against the bulkhead, strangling it in lieu of Dillon's neck. He loosened his grip in surprise as Jade laughed.
"That's right, Mike. I'm not surprised you don't recognize it. It's the scent of good old-fashioned hard work." Reese almost chuckled as she leaned into Dillon. "Take another whiff. It's as close as you're likely to come, if you can help it." With that she turned on her heel and strolled down the passageway.
Dillon turned back to Reese, still scowling. "Did I say Wicked Witch? I meant Wicked Bitch."
Reese clamped down on the mop again, perilously close to snapping the smooth wood. "What's up with you two? You guys have some kind of mutual contempt society going?"
"Contempt?" Dillon laughed. "Yeah, you could put it like that. So, who's driving?"
Reese loosened his grip on the handle but kept it at the ready—just in case. "Why don't I just follow you?"
"Sounds good to me. See you tonight."
Reese waved back as the guy headed down the passageway, wishing for a fleeting moment he was meeting Jade instead. Unfortunately, Jade couldn't take him where he needed to go. At least not as easily as Dillon could.
Yeah, he'd have a few beers with the guy. He'd pretend to be Mike's new best friend and let the blowhard brag about his Hollywood connection all over San Diego if that's what it took. Hell, he'd even smile and laugh when he did it.
Because he knew from experience he'd get a heck of a lot further with the guy as Mack Reese, the actor, than he ever would as Reese Garrick, the undercover agent.
* * *
Chapter 3
« ^ »
Jade groaned and slumped back into the corner of their dimly lit booth. "Oh, Lord. What is he doing here?"
Karin jerked her head up from her strawberry daiquiri, scanning the entrance to the bar of the Officer's Club. "Ick, Dillon." She shuddered. "I have no idea, but it can't be good."
"I know it isn't." Like the nightmare that had plagued her for two days, Jade knew what—or rather, who—was bound to show next.
Sure enough, he did.
"Pinch me."
Jade glared at her. "Knock it off—and wipe your chin."
"Oh, come on, we both know you're drooling, too. You're just better at hiding it."
Jade glanced away from the truth—only to run smack into it again across the bar.
Reese.
It was bad enough he was here with Dillon; why did he have to compound the sin and look so damn good? It looked as though someone had skipped the loom and woven that white T-shirt and jeans straight onto his muscular frame. Good Lord, she could make out the definition in his broad chest from here.
She jerked her gaze back to Karin as the two men crossed the room and claimed stools at the bar—not more than fifteen feet away—and took a hasty sip of her soda. "What's to drool over?"
Karin laughed. "I hope you mentioned you were a pathological liar when they granted your security clearance."
Jade was about to stick out her tongue—then thought better of it. She shook her head instead. "You know, I just don't get it. Of all the people Reese could have hooked up with, why him?"
Karin shrugged. "What's to get? He is studying how to be a professional sailor."
"From Dillon?" She laughed. "Right—and I've been known to drive a team of huskies across the Yukon."
But Karin wasn't laughing. "Maybe he's the only one who offered."
The gentle accusation stopped Jade cold. She stared over at the men. Though they were both turned in toward each other, Dillon seemed to be the only one talking. Nothing unusual there. He probably hadn't gotten past himself yet.
But as she continued to watch, she did notice something unusual—or was it her imagination? Each time Reese laughed at something Mike said, she had the distinct feeling he didn't mean it.
Oh, he looked amused.
On the surface.
But she had the strangest feeling he was just going through the motions. Maybe it was his hands. They hadn't moved an inch from their position on the beer bottle the entire time she'd been watching him. As she studied them closer, she could have sworn they were tense.
But why would Reese be socializing with Mike Dillon if he didn't want to be? Jade shook her head. Oh, hell. Even if she knew the answer, it wasn't any of her business.
She turned back to Karin. If Reese was willing to hook up to Dillon, bully for them. Unlike Mike, she didn't have time to play mentor to anyone, let alone some two-bit actor. Even if she did have the time, she had no business tutoring that particular actor.
Nope. No business at all. Not with the way her body reacted whenever he was around.
She'd worked too long and too hard to blow it now.
* * *
"Oh, man. How did she get in here?"
Reese knew exactly to whom Dillon was referring. He'd known since the moment they'd walked into the bar—he'd just had to search around a bit to home in on her precise location.
Jade.
He'd like to be able to chalk his instinct up to some psychic sixth sense. But he knew better. It was tied to something a bit more physical, a bit more concrete. He just wished it wasn't quite so concrete. Because he was having a hell of a time concentrating on anything else.
And he needed to concentrate. If he didn't, he'd never get Dillon past his life story.
Reese shrugged. "This is the Officer's Club. She is an officer."
"Barely."
He raised his brow at that. "What is it with you two? You got something against gorgeous w
omen?"
Dillon sneered without looking back at her. "Gorgeous, yes. Woman, no. Hell, I'm not even sure she's human."
Reese was inclined to agree with the assessment. Even two days of getting the brush-off hadn't changed his opinion. Jade was a goddess. But where was the crime in that? He sure as heck didn't mind working around stimulating scenery for a change.
"I'm serious, Mack. Look at her. What do you see?"
Oh, no, he was not going there. Not now. And certainly not with this moron. Those were confessions best left to the privacy of his own mind—and body. And only after the job was done. "I told you, she's gorgeous."
"No, look beyond that."
He didn't understand.
"The Navy, Mack, the Navy. That's all there is. That's not a woman sitting there, it's the Navy—all rolled up in one neat little package. And she's never gonna let you forget it."
Reese planted his boots into the rung of the barstool to keep from shifting against the declaration. Dillon had lit on the one thing that could still make his blood run cold—even after all these years. He diverted the subject out of self-defense. "You mean she doesn't date? No boyfriend?"
He resisted the urge to clap his hand over Dillon's mouth as the man's laughter barked out. "Boyfriend? Jade? Oh, excuse me—Lieutenant Parker. With her attitude? No way, man. No way, no how, no time. We're talking hard-core Navy. Hell, she's so gungi, she's probably got saltwater running through those veins."
No way. A woman like that, living only for her career? Dillon was exaggerating. He had to be.
Reese picked up his beer and tipped back a swallow. Heck, he oughta know; he'd spent an hour on the ship and another half hour here listening to the guy spin sea stories out of his rear. Stories he knew were fabricated—because he'd read the man's personnel jacket not more than seventy-two hours ago.
Dillon leaned closer, blasting him with beer. "Take a good look, Mack. It's 1900 hours—7:00 p.m.—and she's still in her uniform."
To tell the truth, that had bothered him, but not for the reason it seemed to bother Dillon. Reese just wanted to see her with her hair down. Small-enough reward for having to sit here and listen to this blowhard all night.
FOR HIS EYES ONLY Page 3