* * *
"Fire, fire, fire. Fire in compartment 4-126-O-R, the NSF."
Jade shook off the effects of her nap, pulled on her boots and headed out of her cabin before the Damage Control Central Watch could repeat the announcement over the ship's 1MC system. She passed Reese's stateroom and glanced at her watch as she headed down to Central.
Zero three hundred hours.
By now Chief Haas already had Reese suited up in a Kevlar firefighter's ensemble, complete with a helmet, face shield and a breathing device. With a little help from the ship's glycerin smoke generators, he'd be able to walk up to his own mother and she'd fail to recognize him.
Which was exactly the way they wanted it.
Jade slid down the midships ladder and turned to undog the door to Central. Petty Officer Smith cupped the telephone receiver to his chest as she entered and announced, "DCA's in Central!"
She nodded a greeting to the three phone talkers already plugging headsets into the Baddager's sound-powered phone system as she flipped the ship's laminated schematic back to reveal the forth deck.
"Well, well. If it isn't Wonder Woman in the flesh at 3:00 a.m. Where's your boy toy, DCA? Still curled up, snoring in your rack?"
Jade stiffened. She should have begged Karin for a couple of pain pills—because a massive headache just walked in.
She rounded on Dillon, still rumpled from sleep and mindless of his audience as he unzipped his pants and tucked the tail to his khaki shirt inside.
"You're late."
"And Mack must not be any good, because you're on time."
Jade bit the inside of her cheek as Petty Officer Smith pantomimed snapping Dillon's neck behind his back. Dillon wouldn't have caught on, either, if one of the phone talkers hadn't let out a giggle. Smith jerked his arms into a yawning stretch and then winked at her over Dillon's shoulder as he turned back.
"So where is Mr. Hollywood?"
You'd spit uranium if I told you.
She took the first set of messages from her incoming phone talker and shrugged as she flipped through them. "Like you said, probably still snoring."
Turning her back on Dillon, she drew a black grease line out from the NSF on the charts, then scratched out a couple of symbols above it to track the progress of the drill. Electrical power was secured, fire and smoke boundaries set.
And any moment now, Chief Haas would break the first cipher lock and lead Reese through the second.
Even though she trusted Haas with her life, it'd taken a bit of convincing to get Reese to confide in him. But in the end, he had to—mainly because the plan wouldn't work without her chief. TPI stood for Two Person Integrity, not one. With her in Central, they were one body short.
Dillon skirted the phone talkers and leaned his forearm over the charts, obstructing her view. "You know, I could have sworn Mack would want to be here for this one."
Jade forced her hand to remain steady as she scratched out an order on the message blank and handed it to the outgoing phone talker. "Why is that?"
"Mack didn't tell you?" He laughed, grinning his cheesy grin. "It seems Mr. Hollywood has a thing for the cloak-and-dagger side of the Fleet."
Somehow, she managed to keep writing.
"Then again, maybe he's just bored." He paused for effect, as if waiting for her to look up.
Like an idiot, she did.
"But then, I guess you already know that. It's not like it's the first time you've had a problem keeping someone interested, now, is it?"
Jade shoved Dillon's arm out of the way, grinding her teeth as she updated the chart. One of these days she was going to hunt Jeff's big mouth down and seal it—permanently.
By the time she'd scratched out the symbols, she'd recovered enough to smile at Dillon. "I know it's standard procedure for you to show up when the NSF is on fire, but do you have to talk? You're using enough air as it is."
Smith mutated his guffaw into a hacking cough, and the phone talkers suddenly bowed their heads to study their notes.
"Very funny—"
"DCA, the hose team has accessed the NSF and has the fire under control."
Jade nodded to the phone talker and added another symbol to the chart, wishing Dillon would get tired of harassing her and head to the Chief Engineer's office to camp out for the remainder of the drill like he usually did.
"You know what else I wonder?"
No such luck. She rubbed her fingers above her stitches. "Believe it or not, Mike, I never lose sleep over what goes on in your head."
He wasn't fazed. "I wonder how a guy who's supposed to have all the right connections ends up on a woman's ship?"
It was just too damn late for this.
She made a point to step into Dillon's personal space as she leveled him with a cool stare. "Gee, I don't know. You tell me. Just how does a smart officer with all his stuff together end up on a noncombatant and not on—oh, say—a nuclear-powered cruiser?"
She could tell by his scowl, he hadn't thought that one through, or at least hadn't arrived at an answer that satisfied himself. That was his problem. She glanced at her waist. Hers was her silent walkie-talkie.
What the heck was taking so long? Why hadn't Haas given the all clear? Did the delay mean Reese had found something?
She jerked her attention back to Dillon as he yawned. If she could just get him into the Engineer's office, she might be able to call down for an update.
"Well, DCA, you may get your jollies off sleep deprivation, but I don't. I'm outta here."
That was easy enough. But she couldn't afford to look too eager. She let her gaze narrow. "You're supposed to stay until the fire is overhauled. It's not even out."
"So what? I've got to stop by my office, anyway. If your guys are any good, by the time I leave the NSF, it will be." He had the audacity to grin as he dropped the bombshell at her feet. Then he shoved the door to Central open and stepped ever the lip.
She waited for the door to close and counted to ten before ripping her walkie-talkie off her belt.
Slow down and think!
"You there, Chief?"
Several agonizing seconds later, his gravelly voice crackled back. "Right here, DCA. What can I do you for?"
She turned back to the charts, pretending to study them intently. "Just wondering what the holdup was. You guys are taking so long Lieutenant Dillon decided to abandon ship."
She knew Haas's chuckle well enough to know that one was forced. "Can't have that, can we? Guess we'd better wrap—"
A loud crash, followed by an equally loud curse, drowned out the rest of his sentence.
Reese's curse.
"Gotta go, DCA." And then there was nothing.
Not even static.
* * *
Chapter 10
« ^ »
"Son of a—" Reese bit off the rest and ignored the metal boxes and cylinders crashing down around his feet. So much for Dillon and Coffey securing the storage cabinets in the NSF for sea.
"You okay?"
Reese nodded as Haas herded several canisters together on the deck and slapped them back up on the shelf, then braced himself against the next wave hitting the ship as he worked the lock in his hands. One more twist and he'd have it—there. He popped the lock and peered inside the metal box.
Once again, nothing.
He'd been at this for the better part of an hour now and he still hadn't found a shred of evidence to connect either guy to drugs. By the time he'd finished tossing the second room, he was beyond regretting that he'd started in there. He was royally pissed. Unfortunately, he didn't have time to vent. So he'd just sucked it up and moved back to the office and started on the cabinets in there.
Reese closed the box and reached for another, picking that padlock as well. Dillon was on the level about one thing, that second room was the most incredibly boring classified spot he'd ever searched. And he'd had the opportunity to search more than a few over the years. As far as he was concerned, Jade's job was a whole lot more
exciting.
Again, not a damn thing.
He reset the lock and pulled up yet another box as Haas shoved several more canisters up onto the shelf.
"That was the DCA, we've got to wrap it up. Lieutenant Dillon's on his way."
Reese nodded as his pick struck home. One quick twist and the lock was off. He jerked the lid up and stared inside. Damn. But something seemed different—almost off—about this one. Maybe it was his gut or maybe just his nerves. But to be sure, he reached inside and tapped the bottom.
Yes! He quickly trailed his fingers along the inside, locating the small metal tab and lifting up the false bottom. And there it was.
Heroin.
Still uncut, too, from the splotches of dark brown mixed within the lighter areas. Jeez, there had to be four units in here alone.
"Son, we've got to go. Now."
He held up a hand. "Another minute. I need—"
Too late. A loud, grating voice cut through the bulkhead. "I don't believe it. You idiots did it again!"
Dillon.
Reese shoved the false bottom back in place and snapped the lock on before sliding the box to the rear of the shelf.
"If I find one drop of water on this deck when I come out, there'll be hell to pay!"
Haas was a step ahead of Reese as he spun around, motioning him beneath Coffey's desk and waiting until he was wedged into the hole before he crammed a swivel chair into his face. Reese grabbed it and held it in place with his left hand as he tried to reach his boot with his right.
He froze as the cipher lock buzzed, admitting a scuffed set of black boots.
"Ah, damn, Chief. Not in here, too. Can't you guys ever run a drill without trashing a space?"
Reese could practically feel Haas's shrug. "Accidents happen, Lieutenant."
"Accident, my ass. The DCA put you up to this, didn't she?"
Haas ignored him as his hand came down to retrieve several more canisters.
"Whose gear is that on my desk?"
Crap! Reese closed his eyes, resisting the urge to bang his head on the legs of the chair. Dillon had to be referring to the fireman's helmet and gloves he'd left on the desk.
His gear.
There was no way Haas could pass it off as his own. Because Haas wasn't wearing the bulky Kevlar coveralls that went with it—he was.
Reese twisted his head down a bit to the right, down again, and then to the left. When he finished, his face was lower than his knees, with his left cheek and shoulder welded to the deck. The pretzel position was uncomfortable as hell, but at least he wasn't blind anymore. By staring just so, he could see out through the slit of daylight under the desk.
Haas grabbed the helmet off the other desk, stared at it, then slammed it back down in disgust. "Vega's. That boy would leave his pants down around his ankles if someone wasn't there to pull them up in the morning. Gonna have to have a talk with him again. Soon."
"Well, get rid of it—and the rest of that crap out in the passageway, too."
The deck pitched again—a bit too far forward this time—as another wave hit the ship.
Nice and slow, buddy. Breathe nice and slow. Now was not the time to turn green.
Damn! Reese clenched his fingers as one of the remaining canisters took off with the swell, rolling straight toward his hiding place under the desk. He stared the cylinder down, willing it to stop.
But it didn't.
It kept coming.
Five feet. Four. Three, two, one—
A split second before it slid under, Haas snagged it, lifting it away.
To hell with this. Reese let out a slow, painful breath. He hadn't felt this naked in years. Gritting his teeth, he practically dislocated his wrist as he shoved it up under the leg of the firefighter's ensemble and down into his boot, sweet success flooding him as his palm slipped around the familiar butt of his Glock.
Now he was dressed.
He eased the pistol from his boot as Haas ambled back across the space and shoved the canister into the cabinet.
Good thinking. Take your time. Maybe Dillon would get tired of waiting and leave.
"Ah, the hell with it, Chief. I'll clean up the mess. I'd like to see my rack before the Second Coming."
Then again, maybe not.
Haas ignored him and his hand came back down to the deck for another canister. "Don't let me stop you, Lieutenant. Go ahead, I'll have this cleaned up in a minute."
Evidently Dillon didn't have a minute. "I said out. That's an order."
Reese ignored the painful crick developing in his neck as Dillon tossed the helmet and gloves to Haas and then escorted him to the door. The cipher lock buzzed and he bit back a curse as Dillon nudged the guy out, none too gently.
He ran through his options again as the lock reengaged. Unfortunately, they were few and far between. In fact, the list was so damn short—it began and ended in the same spot.
He was trapped.
And hot. Between the firefighter's ensemble and the desk, he was beginning to feel like a pig in a blanket. One that was still in the oven. Sweat trickled down his shoulders and pooled where his arm crushed the deck.
Ah, damn!
He ground his teeth as yet another canister succumbed to the rolling ship and beat a path to his hiding spot. If he didn't know any better, he'd swear the blasted things were in cahoots, determined to flush him out.
Here we go again.
Five, four, three, two, one—
He sent up another round of thanks as Dillon grabbed the cylinder and slammed it onto the desk above him. Then promptly retracted it as he heard it wobble, staring in horror as it careered back down and smacked onto the deck right next to him. The damn thing executed a flawless, mesmerizing performance of spin the bottle, twirling smoothly around, coming to rest a fraction of an inch from his head—fingering him straight between the eyes.
Reese drew a deep breath, tightening his grip on the Glock as he took careful aim at the hand that made the mistake of following the canister beneath the desk.
* * *
Jade didn't bother cleaning the ship's schematics before she slammed them shut and flicked the latch. "That's a wrap, Central. Restow your gear and hit your racks."
Because I'm outta here.
"You okay, ma'am?"
No, she was not. She waved off Petty Officer Smith's concern as she passed. "Just tired. See you in a few hours." With that, she headed out of Central and made a beeline for the repair locker.
What the hell was going on?
It had been fifteen minutes since she'd lost communications with Chief Haas, but it felt more like fifty. He'd better have a damn good excuse for shaving a year off her life when she found him—or she'd leave him counting his seconds.
She rounded the corner and ran smack into her senior Petty Officer. "Vega, where's Chief Haas?"
His dark eyes widened. "I thought he was with you, ma'am. He never showed back up at the scene. I couldn't hail him on the walkie-talkie, so I debriefed the guys on station and had them restow the gear."
Haas was missing?
What about Reese? She glanced over at the locker; most of the gear was already back in place. Where was he?
He was really late. Unfortunately, she couldn't ask Vega about him because her Petty Officer wasn't supposed to know Reese was there. According to the plan, he should have skated into Central at the last minute, looking ruffled and apologetic—as if he'd overslept and missed the drill. But of course, he hadn't.
Cool, Missy, stay cool. They're around somewhere.
She forced a smile. "I must have just missed him. If you see him, tell him I need to talk to him, okay?"
"Will do."
She headed for the locker, dodging a stack of helmets and a rack of firefighters' ensembles as she closed the door and grabbed the phone. Four calls later, full-blown panic had set in. They weren't in the chief's lounge, Haas's office, his stateroom, or Reese's.
So where the hell were they?
Well, she
couldn't sit around here and wait, that was for sure. She was already going nuts. But where? Of course, her stateroom. With the drill over, it was probably the first place they'd check. In fact, they were probably already on their way there.
Her panic down to dull roar, she left the repair locker and repeated the rationale all the way through the ship. By the time she reached officer's country above the main deck, she was feeling her way along the passageway. She'd moved too quickly to acclimate her eyes from the bright repair locker on deck three to the dimly lit decks above. As she rounded the last corner, her hope faded and panic flared again.
Empty.
She stopped in front of Reese's stateroom, praying silently as she checked for the telltale strip of light beneath the door.
Nothing.
For some reason she couldn't explain, she decided to wait for Reese in his stateroom. Okay, so she could explain it, she just didn't want to. Not to herself or Reese. She didn't know what she'd tell him when he found her, but it sure as heck wouldn't be the truth. There was no way she was admitting she felt more comfortable in his stateroom than her own.
She jiggled the handle, but it was locked—just as she'd expected. Unhooking her keys from her waist, she located the DCA master key and inserted it.
Please, God, don't let Reese see this as a violation.
Because she really needed it. She nudged the door open and slipped inside.
What the—
Jade stiffened as a hand clamped down over her mouth, yanking her back so hard she almost lost her balance. She managed to right herself long enough to twist around and jab her knee up.
Unfortunately, her attacker anticipated her. He shoved her knee down between his legs and locked his thighs around hers. She stared blindly into the dark, cursing her still-nonexistent night vision as she tried desperately to catch a glimpse of the guy as she clawed at his face.
But she couldn't—it was just too damn dark.
She didn't know who the hell this was, but it didn't matter. Whoever he was, he was not getting the best of her. She had a few dirty tricks up her sleeve as well. And he was about to take notes.
FOR HIS EYES ONLY Page 13