FOR HIS EYES ONLY

by Candace Irvin

  The tension even seemed to seep from Jade's shoulders as she pulled off her helmet and tucked a wisp back into her tight French braid. "What do you say, Macbeth. Can I interest you in a cup of coffee while we wait for the debrief?"

  He swallowed his disappointment as she pulled that damn red hat from the back of her waistband and capped her hair. "Lead the way, DCA, lead the way."

  * * *

  Jade kicked her boots up onto the edge of her desk and leaned back in her chair, sighing as Reese poured a cup of coffee from the steaming pot at the other end of the space. "You're a prince, Macbeth."

  He tossed her that heart-stopping grin—the one she'd been trying to ignore for over a week—as he balanced the mug so the swells hitting the ship didn't end up sloshing it over the rim. "Yeah, I bet you say that to all the guys who bring you caffeine. Besides, Macbeth was a king."

  She nodded as he reached her desk. "You're right—on both accounts. But that doesn't—"

  She glanced up as the watertight door to her office undogged and opened. It figured. She bit back a groan as she claimed her mug.

  "Well, well. Isn't this the picture of domestic bliss. She got you fetching slippers yet, Mack?"

  Reese stiffened. "Shut up, Dillon."

  Shut up? Weren't they supposed to be pals? Okay, so she hadn't actually seen them together since that night outside the NSF, but it was a big ship. At any rate, she didn't need Reese defending her from this moron. She'd handled him quite nicely for three years by herself.

  She refused to give him the courtesy of standing as he closed the door and strolled in. "What jarred you out of your coffin, Mike? We've still got a couple hours of sunlight left."

  For some reason, Dillon didn't rise to the bait, he just smiled as he meandered around Reese and hooked his hip on the corner of her desk, inches from tainting the soles of her boots. He crossed his arms and glanced over at the mountain of work covering her desk. "Got an extra report chit somewhere in that mess?"

  Her gaze narrowed instinctively. "If you have a point to make, make it."

  Dillon flicked up the cover to the latest revision of the Nuclear, Biological, Chemical Warfare Doctrine and pretended to study it. Pretended, because she knew reading was at the bottom of his favorite activities—unless the material was about himself.

  She kicked her feet off the desk and slapped her mug onto the NBC Doctrine, cutting him off from his stalling tactic. "You've got exactly two seconds of my time, Dillon. It's been a long day and I'd like to finish my coffee in peace. Before the sight of your face curdles it."

  Apparently, that was enough to force him to get the point, because he shot off her desk and loomed over her. "Where the hell do you get off ordering an enlisted guy to dress me down in the middle of a drill?"

  Oh, he wanted to play rough today, did he?

  Fine.

  She'd taken just about all the crap she could handle from him. Drawing herself up on pure fury, she met him nose to chin—three nights' sleep deprivation more than made up the rest of the difference. "I'll tell you where I get off, buster. On your head. If I ever have to send down a multiple request for backup to your locker again, you will regret it."

  Dillon took a step back and sneered down at her. "Don't get your panties in a wad, honey. You weren't desperate. I heard you send for help from the mess decks' pool."

  She felt more than saw Reese rise up over Dillon's shoulder. She cut him off with a sharp jerk of her chin, closing in on Dillon herself, hunting him down until she was breathing up his neck.

  "You arrogant ass. The safety of this ship should never have to depend on a group of inexperienced sailors who've never worked together before when I have an expert hose team at my disposal."

  She stabbed a finger into his chest. "And while we're on the subject, honey, let me explain something to your feeble, radioactive little brain. This ship doesn't play at damage control and neither do I. If today's scenario had been real, that stunt you pulled could have cost lives. If you don't believe me, just ask the crew of the USS Iowa or the Stark. Or maybe, you should just ask Petty Officer Erickson. Have I made myself perfectly clear?"

  His curt nod was almost nonexistent—but she took it.

  "Good. Because if I'm ever tempted to have this discussion again, I'll haul your butt up to the Captain's cabin and pound it into your skull right then and there. Now, get out of my office."

  Dillon stabbed her with an unholy glare just before he spun around and stalked out.

  A full minute later, blood was still roaring in her ears and she was still seething, viewing the world through a haze of red.

  A hand came down on her shoulder and squeezed gently. What the—? She jumped back, trying to douse her fury long enough to figure out where it had come from.

  "You okay?"

  Reese?

  She nearly groaned aloud. Oh, God, how could she have forgotten he was here? Great. So much for maintaining a healthy professional defense—uh, distance—from the man. Taking a deep breath, she sank into her chair. "Just peachy."

  He didn't look convinced.

  She faked a better smile. "I guess I'm going to have to tell Karin that Dillon skipped his Prozac again."

  He didn't laugh.

  Damn, why the hell did he have to look as if he could see right through her? Way down deep. Right down to the part of her that wasn't smiling.

  He crossed his arms and kept on staring. "So, you want to tell me what's really going on between you two?"

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  « ^ »

  Reese studied Jade as she seized her cup of coffee with both hands. One by one, he noted the telltale signs as her tension returned. First, the steady stare. Next, the blink. And then … yup, there it was—the clincher. The way the side of her cheek tucked in, as if she was biting down. Hard.

  Whatever was between Jade and Dillon was personal. Any idiot who took the time to look, listen and think could tell that. He should know. He'd already spent far too much time there himself.

  But how personal? That he didn't know—and he wasn't sure he wanted to, either. Unfortunately, it was necessary.

  He pulled up a chair beside her and sat down. "How long did you two date?"

  "What?" Coffee sloshed onto her desk.

  Okay, so that wasn't it. He grabbed the mug before she dumped out the rest, mopping up the spill with a couple of blank papers as she slumped back in her chair. He mopped up the relief seeping into him as well before it got any ideas "Sorry, my mistake."

  Her gaze came back to his, dark and solemn. Then again, maybe it wasn't a mistake. He sucked in his breath, holding it until his lungs began to blister, only releasing it when she sighed.

  "Don't apologize. You weren't far off."

  Damn.

  "We never dated, but it wasn't because he didn't try."

  He welcomed the relief as it swamped him again—for a moment. Then he shoved it aside. "What happened?" He waited for her to continue.

  But she didn't.

  "Jade—"

  "Look, Macbeth. I admit we've gotten along pretty well lately, but let's not push it, okay? I'm not searching for a father confessor, and even if I was, you don't seem the type."

  So much for the direct approach.

  He was already reexamining his options when she closed her eyes and groaned. "I did it again, didn't I?" She peered over at him. "That was out of line, wasn't it?"

  Surely she didn't expect an answer?

  "Sorry." She sighed again, and this time it seemed to come from deep inside her. "Don't take this the wrong way. But frankly, you wouldn't understand."

  "Because I'm a man?"

  She shook her head.

  So it wasn't a case of smoldering sexual attraction—on her part, anyway. There it was, that damn relief again. Only this time, it was choked off by a noose of dread. "Because I'm not Navy?"

  Her gaze focused in on his sharply—too sharply, and he covered with a quick smile. He held his breath as she studied hi
m, releasing it only when she shook her head.

  "You know, sometimes I get the feeling you are Navy."

  Holy sh—

  "I know it's insane, but sometimes you have the lingo and the moves down a little too well."

  He gripped the mug in his hands tightly and forced his smile to deepen. "Thanks, glad you noticed. I've been working pretty hard on my characterization."

  "No, it's more than that. Like your cover." She leaned over, her fingers, smooth and warm, touching him where his blue cap met his temple. "I've spent years trying to retrain my guys how to wear it and they still cock it back like they're out on the baseball diamond. But the second you don yours, it's there. As if by instinct."

  He laughed.

  But she didn't—and the noose cinched in a little tighter as she continued, "Then there's the way you say bulkhead, overhead and deck—consistently. Almost as if the words had been drilled into you."

  They had. But there was no way in hell he was telling her that. He met her steely gaze and held it. "Isn't that what they're called?"

  "Yes but I've never met a civilian who doesn't say walls, ceilings and floors."

  She was good—really good. She ought to be working in his outfit; they could certainly use her. He leaned back in the chair as casually as he could, fighting the urge to rip his cover off. "Well, you'd never met me. Besides, I thought we were talking about Dillon."

  He had to bite back a smile as she blinked. It worked; he had her back on the defensive. "I told you, you wouldn't understand. How could you? You're an actor. Everyone you meet thrives on what you do, hangs on to your every word. How could you possibly understand what it's like to have someone condemn you simply because of what you do?"

  The noose snuck up and wrapped itself around his heart, nearly strangling it altogether. Damn, that was close—too close. Every nerve in his body warned him to change the subject. But he couldn't. It was a connection he could use. And he would use it—until he got to her.

  He leaned over, picked up the mug of coffee and took a sip of what was left, then another—not even caring it was cold. "Actually, I do understand."

  Yup, he'd snagged her interest now.

  He managed a shallow breath. He could do this. All he had to do was reel her in—carefully. "My father."

  "Your father? You mean he doesn't approve of your career?"

  He gripped the mug tighter and took another sip. "You could say that. He spent years trying to turn me into something I didn't want to be—couldn't be." Eighteen years, to be exact.

  She stared at him steadily for a minute and then startled him by laying her hand on his free one and squeezing it. "I'm sorry."

  "Why?"

  "Because it hurts."

  He stared down at her fingers, warm, gentle—and somehow, now linked with his. He tried to stop his hand from shaking as the truth socked into him. Jade was right. It did hurt. Even after all this time.

  "Do you want to tell me about it?"

  "There's not much to tell." He shrugged. "My father wanted me to follow him into the … family business. I didn't want anything to do with it."

  "You hated it."

  How…? He stared into her eyes—and swore she could see into his soul. "How could you know that?"

  Then he caught her rueful smile. "Because you're crushing my hand."

  "Oh, sh—sorry." He tried releasing her fingers, but she held on to him and laughed.

  "Hey, I'm tough, I can take it." She sobered. "Can you?"

  He should have made a joke then, he had a hundred of them elbowing their way up his throat. But before he could choose, the truth slipped quietly past. "I don't know. Maybe I was hoping this particular job would bring him around."

  He froze. Good God, how could he have said that? And how did he get the words back without calling attention to them? He opened his mouth, but she beat him to it.

  "I don't get it, how can portraying a sailor bring your dad around?"

  A joke, buddy. Crack a joke.

  To his horror, he couldn't think of a one.

  She glanced down at her khakis and chuckled. "Hey, this gorgeous uniform may stop hearts on the street, but I don't think it can work miracles." Seriousness returned. "Have you tried sitting down lately and just talking to him?"

  Get off this topic. Now. "What about Dillon? Have you tried talking to him?"

  She blinked, and then smiled. "Okay, I'll back off—for now."

  He squeezed her hand gently—doing his damnedest to ignore how right it felt in his—as he nudged her again. "Turnabout's fair play, you know. Have you tried talking to Dillon?"

  "Once. And believe me, it was enough." For a moment, he thought she was going to continue. But she just shook her head. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. I can handle Dillon."

  He wasn't so sure. If Dillon was running heroin, there was a chance he might have difficulty handling him. "Jade, the guy sounds like he's out to get you."

  "Yeah, I know. It's weird, he's never gone this far before." She shook her head. "But even so, Mike wouldn't really endanger me or the ship. At least not deliberately."

  "What do you mean, not deliberately?"

  "Nothing. Forget it."

  Reese was tempted, very tempted, to give her an extremely compelling reason to talk. But it was too soon. Both Coffey and Dillon had the necessary clearances and opportunity to run the heroin in. But even with his gut leaning toward Dillon, he still couldn't cut her in the loop.

  Because he didn't have proof. Without it, he was on his own awhile longer. At least until he'd had a chance to clear Coffey, and the rest of the sailors who worked in the NSF.

  No, he'd have to find another way to get to the bottom of this.

  He squeezed her hand again. "So the guy hates you because you wouldn't go out with him, huh?"

  Her husky chuckle swirled around him. "I think you misunderstood. Mike asked me out once, shortly after I came aboard. That's it. Trust me, this is not the face that launched a thousandships."

  He disagreed. The few times she'd taken off that damn hat, it sure as heck had launched his. He shoved his lust back in line and reviewed his mental notes—ah, there it was. "So who's Petty Officer Erickson?"

  Her hand twitched in his. A split second later, he knew he was on the right track when her gaze narrowed. "Who told you about that?"

  "You did."

  It narrowed even farther as disbelief entered her eyes. "I beg your pardon?"

  "Right now—or rather when Dillon was in here. You told him to ask Erickson if his delay could cost lives."

  "What, you have a photographic memory or something?"

  He grinned. "As a matter of fact, yeah. It comes in handy in my line of work." For a moment, he basked in the respect in her eyes—it didn't come along too often. And then he pressed her again. "So who is he? And why does the mere mention of his name rout the pit bull and send him scurrying off with his tail tucked between his legs?"

  She laughed. "Nice analogy. But I'm not sure your buddy would appreciate it."

  "Buddy? Not on your life." He squeezed her hand. "Now, answer the question."

  "Now look who's the pit bull."

  He squeezed it again—harder.

  She took a deep breath, then sighed heavily. "Oh, what the heck. I'm surprised you haven't already been filled in on the whole tawdry story. Erickson was an electrician. Two weeks after I checked aboard, I stumbled upon him shocking the hell out of himself while working on a transformer. I started CPR and managed to keep him with us until Karin arrived with her bag of magic. She did the rest to save him."

  "What?"

  She shrugged. "Believe me, no one was more surprised than me—except Dillon. He—uh—froze."

  "What?"

  This time, she squeezed his hand. "You're repeating yourself."

  He recovered enough to let out a long, low whistle. She'd saved a guy's life while Dillon stood by with his thumb up his rear? Hell, that explained a lot. But not quite enough. "Okay, I see why the guy might fe
el a bit put out in your presence. But there seems to be more going on here than a mild case of embarrassment."

  "There is. Apparently, Erickson's eighteen-year-old assistant was cowering in the corner when I arrived. Frankly, I don't remember. I was slightly occupied with breathing for Erickson and trying to get Dillon out of his trance long enough to alert Karin while I whaled on the guy's heart. By the time I got out of Medical, the seaman had recovered from his own shock and spread the tale all over the ship."

  Now, that explained everything. "So he's been trying to make you pay for his mistake ever since?"

  "That's what I always figured. Except about a week ago, things changed. Before that, he'd limited himself to a derogatory name every now and then, and some mild harassment. Only once did he step over the line. He involved someone who worked for me. But I slammed into him so hard, he never forgot the lesson."

  "So what happened last week?"

  "Heck if I know. Maybe he was ticked he didn't get assigned as your running mate—I know he wanted the job. But whatever it was, he just snapped."

  He'd arrived last week. The realization stopped him cold. But did that mean Dillon was the one and was now suspicious, maybe even on to him? Is that why Dillon wanted the job—to keep an eye on him? Or was it just jealousy over the fact that he'd been assigned to Jade?

  "Okay, Macbeth. I let you into Rumor Control, now it's time to pay admission."

  This time he blinked.

  "Coffee." She pulled her hand from his and pointed to the empty mug on the desk. "I need coffee—and you drank mine."

  * * *

  Jade stared at her cheeseburger and fries as her plate slid six inches to the right. A moment later, like the pendulum of a clock, the plate reversed its tack and slid back over to the left.

  "You should see sick bay. We've got gear all over the place."

  She glanced up, almost laughing as Karin attempted to navigate her way across the wardroom. She looked like a drunk trying to walk the line on a traffic stop—and she was having about as much success, too. Karin finally made it to the table and collapsed into the vinyl chair across from her.