The Marine's Temptation

by Jennifer Morey

  With the subtle but dubious lift of her eyebrows, she said, “But you said you can’t be a marine anymore.”

  She was fishing for something. “I’m still not an executive.”

  “Have you ever worked at your father’s company before?”

  “Oh, yeah. He forced Whit and I to work there as soon as we turned sixteen. When I was eighteen I didn’t have to do what he told me anymore.” Looking back, he was frankly amazed his dad hadn’t cut him out of his will. And then again, not. Now that he knew about Jackson, he could understand how his father would choose not to turn away from his kids, no matter how distant he’d been. Somewhere inside him had been a father who’d loved all of his children.

  “And you’ve been helping Whit, haven’t you?”

  “Occasionally.” He’d stepped in and helped after Reginald was murdered. He knew the business. He’d grown up around it. But being an executive...just like his father... It just ate at him. Maybe it was residual from when he was younger. Rebelling had become habitual. Or maybe he still hadn’t forgiven his father for not being a father. It wasn’t his or Whit’s or Landry’s fault that Jackson had been taken from him. Hadn’t he realized that his new children needed love, too?

  Carson felt weak for thinking that way. So his dad hadn’t shown them love. Was he going to cry about it?

  “You seem really upset over it,” Georgia said.

  She was going to have to stop being so intuitive.

  “Do you regret not being close to your father before he died?”

  “My father wasn’t close with anyone.”

  “And that’s what upsets you.”

  This was getting too personal. “It upsets me that he didn’t tell us about Jackson.”

  “You wish you knew your father better?”

  Yes. And he wished he would have been kinder on the phone the last time he’d spoken with him.

  “I didn’t know my mother,” Georgia said. “I can see how you’d be upset. It seems like your relationship with your father was like not having one at all.”

  “You had Ruby.”

  She smiled, a radiant, toothy smile that lightened his mood in an instant. “Yes. I do have Ruby.”

  Carson heard the attendant announce that it was time for first-class passengers to board.

  “That’s us,” he said, standing.

  She looked up at him, smile fading, completely caught unaware. She hadn’t guessed they’d fly first-class. She hadn’t thought of it until now. She was accustomed to flying coach and not boarding first. He grinned, and she frowned at him as she stood up, more of a smirk.

  They were the first to board.

  * * *

  Georgia had never flown first-class and she was pretty sure Carson had done this on purpose. Of course he’d get first-class tickets, but he was enjoying this far too much. It was a nice introduction to the benefits of having money, which she suspected was his intent. Show her that having money wasn’t bad.

  She sat on the spacious, comfortable seat next to the window, watching him bring down the tables in front of them and begin to spread out the papers he’d gathered on the people they’d question once in Raleigh, North Carolina.

  “Have you ever flown coach?” she asked.

  “No, but I flew in military planes. Is that common enough for you?”

  He hadn’t asked in a mean way. His tone was teasing. “Doesn’t your family have a private jet?”

  He stopped sifting through the papers. “Yes, but I thought you’d be more comfortable flying commercial.”

  “This is first-class.”

  “You’re not comfortable?” He surveyed her seated form with animated flare.

  She had to suppress a smile. How could she be enjoying this? He was taunting her.

  “I’m comfortable.”

  “You look comfortable.” He surveyed her again, only this time some heat made its way into the play.

  Ever since her last relationship, she hadn’t been eager to seek out a new man. Actually, she hadn’t even thought about finding anyone. It hadn’t ended well and she wasn’t anxious to start over. Besides, Ruby needed her right now. She paused. Why was she thinking in terms of a relationship with Carson? She had just met him. Were these sparks she felt leading to something? She wouldn’t allow it. He was the son of the man who’d broken her stepmother’s heart. Reginald and his rich family hadn’t accepted Ruby. So why would they accept her? Why would Carson? He was just having fun teasing her.

  “Uh...” She looked down at the table in front of him. “Maybe we should...” She indicated the papers there. She couldn’t possibly be interested in Carson. He was putting on a good face now, but who was he, really? Reginald’s son.

  “Right.” He picked up the first report. “Penelope Johnson was Ruby’s neighbor. She’s moved since then. At the time of Jackson’s kidnapping, she was going through a divorce. She took her son with her. Problem is she lost custody of him in the divorce.”

  “She took him?” She took the page he held from him. “Where did you get these?”

  “From Whit’s assistant. They were among Dad’s things, but we don’t think he’s checked into them yet.”

  “Wouldn’t the police already have talked to them?”

  “I’m sure they did.”

  She searched the document but didn’t see anything significant.

  “Penelope had just moved in a week before Jackson was taken. Police caught her and she was arrested. The charges were later dropped. She still lives in Raleigh.”

  “Why did she lose custody?” She handed the paper back to him.

  “Drug addict. She did go to rehab, though. Two years after she lost her son.”

  Penelope didn’t seem like a very reliable witness. If she was wigged out on drugs, what would she remember? And she’d essentially kidnapped her son. Would she have kidnapped Jackson? It didn’t seem likely, but probably best not to discount the possibility.

  “Who else is there?” she asked.

  Carson handed her another report.

  She appreciated that he included her, but she needed time to read through these.

  “Evita Marrero was the housekeeper,” he explained for her. “She quit after the kiddnapping and according to my father’s report, not on friendly terms.”

  Georgia sat back against the seat. “Ruby told me about that. Reginald was hard on her. She hates him. She won’t feel like helping us.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “Why did Reginald want to talk to them? I can see the neighbor, because of the trouble she was in, but the housekeeper? Do you think he had an affair with her that ended badlly?”

  “No. He was faithful to Patsy, although I don’t know why.”

  “He wasn’t the same person back then, though, was he?” He was nicer as far as Georgia could tell.

  “No,” Carson reluctantly answered.

  She took in his perturbed face. It bothered him that his dad might have been different. “And if he was faithful to his wife, then he must have hung on to some of his principles.”

  “Yes.”

  “It is important that your woman stays faithful?” she asked. Those pesky sparks had compelled her. She was curious about him. Or was she hoping she was wrong about him?

  “Well, yeah. Who wants the person they’re involved with to cheat on them? Anyone who does has no respect for the one they’ve betrayed.”

  She told herself that she’d already started this conversation. She may as well finish it. “You talk like a man who’s experienced it firsthand.”

  A flight attendant stopped by and greeted them, interrupting and offering menus.

  Carson put the papers down and took the menus, then asked for a specific bottle of champagne with strawberries.

  Georgia eyed him as the flight attendant said, “Of course, sir.”

  They’d get into Raleigh well after dinner, so they’d have to eat on the plane. That hardly warranted champagne. Georgia saw what he was doing and didn’t comment.
>
  “Strawberries?” she asked.

  “Delicious with champagne. One of my favorite combinations.” He leaned closer. “And something we rich people love to indulge in.”

  Champagne and strawberries. Where was the caviar?

  “I’ve had it before.”

  He leaned back. “There you have it, then. You have rich tastes and I bet you never even knew it.”

  She couldn’t help smiling, and even breathed a laugh. “How much is that champagne going to cost you?”

  “More than you’ve ever paid.”

  Was he being deliberately pretentious? “I could let you spoil me. Use you for your money just for a good time.”

  His gaze floated all over her upper body and face. “You aren’t that type of woman.”

  “How would you know? I made a promise to myself never to get trampled by a wealthy man.” The way Ruby had. She’d stick to her own class. One never could predict the future. Ruby sure hadn’t been able to. “I could be using you.”

  He actually chuckled.

  “You barely know me,” she said.

  “I have a first impression. And I’m good at reading people. Your only hang-up is you don’t really know jack about rich people.”

  Georgia had no idea why she was enjoying herself so much. He’d be insulting if he wasn’t talking in such a witty tone. But then, so would she.

  “Oh, and is it your job, now, to teach me about them?”

  “I think it’s going to be the first thing I’ve had the privilege to choose to do on my own since I was forced to leave the Marines.”

  What did he mean by that? Before she could ask, the attendant returned for their dinner order.

  “Do you mind if I choose?” he asked Georgia, showing her the menus.

  She shrugged. He was playing some sort of game with her, and she discovered she didn’t mind. And he liked being able to choose on his own. He could try to prove rich people weren’t all snobs and the middle class had it all wrong. She wasn’t going to buy it. “As long as it’s not slimy or has tentacles, I’m okay with that.”

  “Right in line with my taste.”

  With another one of his sexy grins, he read the menu and then waited for the attendant to return. Then he ordered the filet mignon with grilled asparagus.

  Georgia let him have his fun, telling herself it was harmless as long as she was immune to him. And it could be worse. She could be on his private jet.

  When the attendant left, he said, “To pick up from earlier, I wasn’t speaking from experience. No one’s ever cheated on me, and I’ve never cheated on anyone. It’s up there with robbery and animal cruelty for me.”

  It was so nonchalant that she had to stop and think about what he was saying. Why was it so important to him that she know he’d never been cheated on? Because of her perception of him? Maybe he didn’t want her to think that rich people didn’t have morals. It wasn’t his fault he was part of a ridiculously wealthy family.

  “You feel strongly about it.”

  “Yes.”

  This wasn’t because of her perception of him. He really didn’t like cheaters. “You’re a real stand-up kind of guy, aren’t you?” Her surprise came out in her voice.

  “Has anyone ever cheated on you?” he asked.

  “No.” But that brought up thoughts she’d rather didn’t enter her conscience. She turned away from him.

  He angled his head as though trying to see her face. “Something I said?”

  “No.” She shook her head, shaking off the dark thoughts along with it.

  He watched her a moment and then didn’t ask her any more questions. He gave her space. He’d nudged, but he knew when to back off, and she appreciated that. More than he could possibly know, and more than she’d tell him.

  The champagne arrived, strawberries floating on the surface. Georgia took a glass from the attendant. The woman left and she met the play of mischief that had returned to Carson’s eyes.

  “Is this what you do when you fly on your family jet?” she asked.

  “No. Never.”

  Never? She didn’t believe that. “This is just for me, huh? Have you ever treated a woman to champagne in a plane?”

  “No. Never.”

  She laughed softly. “I don’t believe you.”

  “I haven’t. I’ve been in the military. If I’d have been here all this time, maybe I would have. I didn’t use the jet in the military.”

  So, she was his first. She clinked her glass with his. “Here’s to trying new things.”

  “To new things.”

  She sipped some champagne. It was delicious. Sweet with a touch of dry.

  “Is it the best you’ve ever had?” he asked.

  She had to be honest. “Yes.”

  “Good. I’m going to give you a lot of those.” He focused on the pages on the table before him, as though what he’d just said was an everyday thing.

  “I don’t want you to spend money on me, Carson. I can pay my own way on this trip.”

  “Hmm.” He nodded. “I know. But you aren’t going to.”

  She twisted on the seat to face him more fully, still holding her glass. “No, Carson.”

  He turned his head. “Relax, Georgia. I want to spend money on you. You need someone to spend money on you.”

  Their meals arrived, and Georgia refrained from arguing with him. The dishes were gorgeous. She could forget she was on a commercial plane.

  She dug in, savoring the flavor of the meat and loving that Carson had thought of this.

  Carson stuck a forkful of meat in his mouth, all very not in a posh manner. He was more of a mountain man the way he ate the meat.

  She laughed but had to set him straight. “I don’t need any of this. I’m happy with my humble existence. In fact, I prefer it.”

  “You need to eat.”

  “You know what I mean.” She spread her hand over her plate and lifted her champagne glass.

  “Nobody needs it. But it sure is nice. Don’t you agree?” He waited while she debated how to answer.

  She couldn’t lie. “It is nice.” But what was nice about it—first-class or him?

  Chapter 4

  Stepping up to the old redbrick building with rows of narrow windows and a flag waving out front, Carson entered the lobby of the Marine Corps Base Camp Lejeune and told the receptionist he was here to see Major Sergeant Copeland. He’d left Georgia at their hotel. When he finished here, she was going out with him for ice cream, and not just any ice cream.

  Copeland appeared moments later, his green suit decorated with rows of badges, ribbons and medals above the left breast pocket and rank insignia on his arm. Carson walked toward him, ever aware of the limp he couldn’t hide.

  “Lieutenant Adair.” Copeland shook his hand. “Good to see you up and moving. You healed well.”

  “Better than expected.” Better than not walking. He had to keep telling himself that.

  “Come with me.”

  Copeland wasn’t a man who wasted words. Carson followed him down a hall, certain that the man would someday rise to lead MARSOC. Through a secure door and down another hall, they entered a windowless office area. A woman worked behind a desk there, her pictured badge marked with her security level in a code the military base had chosen.

  Through another secure door, they entered a conference room. There was a table to seat eight, a safe, a shredder and two computers at a desk in the back. A state-of-the-art computer monitor hung from the wall and there was a phone in the middle of the table. There were some papers lying out and some high-resolution satellite images.

  “We had the local police in San Diego send us over what they have on the shooting attempt,” Copeland said, reaching for the papers and handing them to Carson. “I’ve had our guys looking into it and passed the information over to our marine in South Korea.”

  Carson began to skim over the first report. “Is it Morris you’ve got over there?”

  “Yeah.”

  Morris
was one of his teammates. Only three of them had made it out alive on their botched mission.

  Copeland saw the grim change in him. “They all miss you. Hell, I miss you. You were one my best soldiers, Carson.”

  Unwilling to talk about it, Carson moved to the table where the photos lay. There were several of North Korean facilities that must be used for weapons research and development. The photos didn’t show much, only changes in vehicles parked there, but the same vehicles showed up, nothing new and no increase in number.

  “As you can see, there’s been no sign of unusual activity there,” Copeland said. “Nothing to indicate they’ve stepped up engineering efforts. There’s been no change in government activity, either.”

  That suggested the North Koreans had failed in securing the information Carson and his team had been sent to intercept. Their intel had exposed a group of terrorists who were talking to North Korea’s leader and would have accepted money in exchange for information on pressure transducer technology. That was all Carson and his team were able to glean. The terrorists in Myanmar were in contact with someone, presumably someone from the United States, who had access to technology that would help North Korea manufacture their own transducer.

  Transducers were used in gas centrifuges to produce weapons-grade uranium. That had been enough to send Carson and his team in to stop the transfer. They were never able to confirm success.

  They had never learned the identity of the person who was going to bring the technology, only knew through the terrorists that the meeting would take place. Somehow the terrorists discovered their presence and a gunfight had erupted. One of Carson’s teammates had gone after the man the terrorists were supposed to meet. But the man got away, and Carson’s teammate had been killed. The plan had been to capture the man and interrogate him, along with stopping him from transferring sensitive US technology to an arms-embargoed country.

  “They didn’t get the technology,” Carson said.

  “Right. But then why did someone go after you?”

  Why would the terrorists or the mystery man try to kill him if they didn’t have the technology? “Maybe the mystery man still had it and they’re waiting to arrange a new meet.”

  “So they think killing you would facilitate that?”