The Marine's Temptation

by Jennifer Morey

  After a brief pause, Whit said, “Finding out about Jackson does change how you see him, doesn’t it?”

  “A little.” A lot. He was glad to hear Whit was dealing with the same emotions over their dad’s death.

  After another brief pause, Whit asked, “How are you liking the office? Getting settled in?”

  Recalling his interaction with Abby and the meeting he’d asked her to arrange, he struggled with a moment of angst. Was he getting settled in? It had felt good to start injecting some of his influence in this company. To make it better than his dad had. Maybe that was where he got his satisfaction. It was a form of rebellion. But did he want to take the helm of this monster?

  One step at a time. He had to track down Stephen Chow. Jackson had to be found. And a murderer needed to be brought to justice. The rest would have to wait.

  “I talked to my commander today,” he said, a perfect segue.

  “Change the subject if you want. I know you’re loving it there.”

  Ignoring that comment, Carson told him about his conversation with Copeland and what he was going to do.

  “Be careful,” Whit said, not worried. He knew Carson was capable. “And enjoy your day at work.”

  “Next time you ask me to cover for you, I just might say no.” Because his brother was doing this on purpose, acclimating him to the corporate world.

  “All you have to do is make it yours, Carson. You don’t realize it yet, but you were made to be a leader of a company like AdAir.”

  “I don’t see how you can say that.” He was a marine, not an executive.

  “You came to the company with Dad when you were a kid, up until you were a teenager, and saw him for what he was. Then you ran. It’s in your blood, Carson.”

  Remembering the days he’d come with his dad to work, Carson resisted the truth in what his brother said.

  “I’ll talk to you later, brother.” Carson ended the call, but he couldn’t shake what Whit had made him start thinking.

  He’d idolized Reginald. What innocent child didn’t look up to their parents? He’d loved the corporate machine. He’d watch everyone do their job and when he was older, he’d seen how each one contributed. But then he’d also seen how his dad kept pushing for more. More, more, more. Always more. Revenue never rose high enough. That was a screwed-up way of running a business.

  He looked down at the desk and stared at the bowl.

  Carson sat down, wondering if Whit was right. He could run this company differently than how Reginald did. Whit had brought back pride in the service they provided. Carson could continue doing so, not skimping on resources to make revenue look better, but by taking action with honesty and integrity.

  Carson picked up the bowl and studied it some more. It was a beautiful piece. Had his father appreciated that about it? Or had the price been right?

  He knew someone who’d appreciate this art. Georgia. He imagined giving it to her and smiled. She’d put up a fuss and then secretly cherish it. It was perfect for her and her dream of owning a cottage-style house someday. He wanted her to have this. He wanted her to have it and many others like it. With him. The idea of that rocked him so much it shook him. How good it felt.

  Getting up, he left the office and stopped at Abby’s desk. “Could you please look in my office for some papers on the ceramic bowl that’s on my desk? Anything you can find that will provide proof of its worth and heritage.”

  “Of course.” Abby stood.

  From there, he headed back down to the SCIF and badged through the door. A security administrator got up from her desk.

  “Can I help you, Mr. Adair?”

  “Just here to pick up something from the SIPRNet.”

  She made sure he signed in before going into the room where the secure computer systems could be accessed.

  He went to a computer terminal and logged in. Finding the email from Copeland, he opened it and began to read.

  Stephen Chow lived in Albuquerque before moving to California. In Albuquerque, he worked for a technology company unrelated to nuclear, but he had a girlfriend who was a physicist at Hendricks Laboratory, renowned for its cutting-edge, top-secret weapons research. It was believed that was where he obtained the information he tried to sell to the North Koreans. He had been married and had a daughter. The affair with the physicist must have ended that. The ex and the daughter now lived in Kansas City, Missouri. As a child, he grew up in the slums of New York and, judging from his arrest record, belonged to a gang. Assault. Resisting arrest. Theft. He’d done a year in prison and got out on parole. There were photos of him from previous investigations involving drugs and gun sales. Another file told all about one of his close friends, a drug dealer who was shot and killed two years ago during a raid.

  There was nothing in the files that revealed any association with terrorism or anyone from North Korea.

  Carson wondered if going to talk to his ex-wife would be worthwhile. Police must have talked to her already, but had they asked her about his taste for terrorism?

  Picking up a small photo of Stephen, he studied the man’s face. His light brown hair was trimmed short and feathered to the sides from a middle part. Dark brown eyes held no emotion, no humanity. He read in the file that he was six feet tall and a hundred-ninety pounds. Trained in martial arts. He could probably use a gun. When he’d seen him in Myanmar, he’d worn a scarf over half his face.

  Carson flipped the photo over and put it on the desk so that he could write Stephen’s San Diego address and his ex-wife’s address there. When he finished that, he put the photo into his wallet.

  Hearing the door open behind him, he quickly minimized the screen showing the last of the information he’d read and turned his head. The security administrator stood there.

  “Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Adair. Security is in the lobby asking for you.”

  Chapter 10

  Carson reached the lobby to find four security guards surrounding a young boy of about thirteen sitting on a chair. One of the guards saw him and took him aside.

  “He claims a man paid him to come in here and deliver this.”

  Carson took a sealed envelope from him. “Get a plastic bag or something”

  The guard went to do as he was asked while Carson opened the envelope and took out a piece of paper. He read the note. Just two lines: I’m going to kill you for ruining my plans. If you care about the woman, you’ll back off.

  The last threat angered Carson. Why involve Georgia? She hadn’t done anything. She was a defenseless bystander, her only fault, if one could call it a fault, was being seen with him. That made him more determined than ever to get Stephen. The guard returned with a clear storage bag, and Carson carefully slipped the note and envelope inside.

  “Don’t touch these and don’t let anyone else touch them.” He handed the bag to the guard. “Have you called police?”

  “Yes, sir.” As soon as the man answered, Carson heard the sirens.

  “Give that to them.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Carson approached the boy, who looked scared out of his mind. He had light gray eyes and thick black hair that needed a good cutting. Carson knelt before him.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “He said his name is Rubin Gonzales,” one of the guards said.

  Carson looked up at him and the others. “Thanks for taking care of this. Would you mind giving us some space? The police will be here any minute.”

  The guards backed away, albeit slowly and reluctantly. Clearly, they would rather stay and listen.

  Carson faced the boy. “I’m Carson. I hear someone paid you to deliver a note to me.”

  The boy looked toward the front doors as though contemplating making a run for it before the cops came.

  “You’re not in any trouble,” Carson said.

  The boy turned back to him.

  “What you did isn’t illegal. All I need to know is who paid you.”

  “He didn’t tell me his nam
e.” The boy opened his damp palm to reveal a hundred-dollar bill crumpled there. “He just handed me this and an envelope and said the money was mine if I took the envelope in here and gave it to the security guards inside.”

  “Where were you headed?”

  “Home. My mom and I live in an apartment near here.”

  The apartments near here were pretty upscale. “Your mom must do pretty well for herself.”

  “She’s a lawyer.”

  “Are you going to be a lawyer someday?” As he talked, Carson retrieved his wallet and removed the photo of Stephen Chow.

  The boy made a face. “No way. I want to be a vet.”

  “You like animals, huh?”

  “Dogs. We can’t have any in our apartment.”

  “Yeah, that makes it hard.” Carson showed the boy the photo. “Is this the man who paid you?”

  The boy looked at the photo as Carson saw police appear outside the door, lights flashing as their cars came to a stop in the parking lot.

  “Maybe,” the boy said. “He wore a hat and a hood and sunglasses. But that looks like him.” The boy pointed to the photo where the man’s chin was.

  “His face looks the same?” Carson asked, to be sure.

  “Yeah. Who is he?”

  Carson straightened. “I’m going to give you some advice, Rubin. Don’t talk to strangers and don’t take money from them if you don’t know what they’re paying you for. You could get yourself into a lot of trouble, maybe even get yourself hurt.”

  “Yeah. I’m sorry. I told the guards I was sorry, too.”

  The police entered the building, and Carson stepped back as they surrounded the boy and the guard with the envelope handed it over to an officer. Another officer came over to him just as he spotted Georgia enter the building, looking chic and sexy in a white shirt, flaring beige jacket with toggled black buttons and a black circle skirt with thigh-high boots. She had been out there and Stephen might be watching. No. He was being paranoid now. Stephen was long gone. He’d delivered his warning.

  Seeing Georgia wait near the door, he answered the policeman’s questions and walked over to her.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  He told her about the boy and the message as they went outside. He searched all around for any sign of Stephen and saw none. Waving away the limo driver, he asked a valet attendant to bring him a corporate car.

  “What are we doing?” Georgia’s gaze drifted from his face on down his body. When she was looking in the vicinity of his waist, her eyes popped round and her lips parted with a soft inhalation.

  He looked down and saw his gun—a big gun. His suit jacket had blown open in the breeze to reveal it tucked into a discreet holster. One thing he’d taken home from the military was a detailed knowledge of weapons, and extensive experience in using them. This one was his favorite. The M45 MEU(SOC) was a modified Colt 1911.

  Her eyes lifted. “What are you going to do with that?”

  “Hopefully nothing,” he said.

  The valet attendant drove up with a Mercedes sedan. A little flashy but they’d blend in better than they would in a limo. Taking the keys from the attendant, he opened the passenger door for Georgia. Closing the door after she was inside, he went around to the driver’s side.

  “How long have you been carrying a gun?” She seemed to recover from seeing the weapon and realize it wasn’t all that shocking. He was trained to use this pistol.

  “Ever since someone shot at me.” He caught sight of her legs. The dress had hiked up above her knees and showed off the slender beauties.

  “North Carolina?”

  “I picked one up on my way to see my commander.” That had spared him from having to deal with security at the airport.

  After entering Stephen Chow’s address into the GPS, he started driving.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  How much should he tell her? He’d just left a SCIF where he’d learned all about his top-secret enemy.

  “My commander gave me a lead,” he finally said.

  “More secret ops details you can’t tell me about?”

  “He gave me a name.” She may as well know. “Stephen Chow.” He could tell her that much.

  She paused. “So...we’re going to go get him?”

  “We’re going to watch him. See what he’s up to, see if he’s into any terrorist activity.”

  After a while, she asked, “Isn’t that dangerous?”

  He looked over at her, sexy as hell with her beautiful, inquisitive eyes and exposed knees. “For him, yes.”

  * * *

  Georgia couldn’t stop looking at Carson across the table from her. He was in a sleek dark suit, his buzz cut giving him a clean look. James Bond, only better. More personality filling the suit. They had come to this café to watch for the man named Stephen. Surveillance. Dangerous surveillance.

  For him, yes...

  He’d said that with such powerful conviction earlier that she was wet with desire. His Special Ops expertise fascinated her. But why should seeing him armed with a gun be so erotic? It was strapped so neatly to his torso as though it belonged there and had been there many times before, as though the gun were part of him. And wasn’t it? He’d worked Special Ops in the military. He’d used weapons of many kinds and was probably good.

  Carson turned from the window and sipped his coffee. “He’s leaving.”

  “Really?” She looked out the window, only to earn a playfully reproachful look from him for being too obvious. “Oops.” She was no covert operative.

  “Let’s go.” He dropped more than enough cash for their coffee, and she followed him out the door.

  When he took her hand, she didn’t protest. He put on his sunglasses, and she knew he was looking only with his eyes for the other man. A car drove into the street. Carson let her in the passenger side of the Mercedes and got behind the wheel. She lost sight of the car that Stephen must have gotten into, but Carson hadn’t.

  He made a turn, slowed and then sped up. He was keeping careful distance. Stephen drove onto a residential street that led to some big lots. These were very nice houses on the southern edge of the city.

  Cresting a hill, Georgia saw the other car turn in to a driveway.

  Carson pulled to the side of the road. There were lots of palm trees here, but nothing blocked their view. She saw the car come to a stop in front of a stone home with panels of windows filling the front. She could see a wraparound porch and the ocean in the distance. The house wasn’t on the beach, but one would have an easy walk there.

  The man got out and looked around but not very observantly.

  “Aren’t you worried he’ll see you?” she asked.

  “He hasn’t yet, which tells me he isn’t expecting me.” He took out his gun and did something to it, readied it to fire. “Do you want to wait here?”

  He was giving her the option? Not knowing where he was or what was going on was scarier to her than going with him to face whatever peril he’d cause. Besides, she was safe with this soldier.

  “What are you going to do?”

  He typed in the address of the house into a text message and sent it to someone, his commander. Georgia could see the screen from here. Copeland, it said.

  “Ask him why he’s been shooting at me.” He was so cavalier that it eased her fear some.

  She got out of the car. He walked over to her. “I’m a little concerned over your shoes.”

  She had on some three-inch boots. “They’re fine. I can run in them if I have to.”

  Hearing a car, she turned with him to see Stephen leaving already.

  Carson slipped his arm around her waist and brought her snug against him. “Make it look good.”

  They stood in front of the neighboring house, the Mercedes parked just ahead of the driveway. That’s all she had time to notice before Carson kissed her.

  She put one hand on the back of his neck and left the other on his muscular shoulder, right on the ball of i
t. She could feel the sinew move as he ran his hand up her back. Fiery tingles attacked her abdomen and in a split second she was hurled into oblivious passion. The invitation to make it look good lowered her defenses. This was okay because it was acting. She gave her all to this kiss.

  When Carson finally lifted his head, he was breathing faster and his eyes were hooded with desire.

  “Where is he?” she asked, just as breathless.

  “I don’t know.”

  She smiled and then he released her. While he jogged around to the driver’s side, she got in. Revving the Mercedes, he raced down the street. She looked over at him as he maneuvered the car in and out of traffic, the swerves smooth and sure, his face hard with concentration, his hand on the wheel firm but not tight. His legs were slightly open. She still felt his lips on hers.

  Over the next hill, Georgia saw Stephen’s car turn for the freeway. Carson slowed the Mercedes and kept a discreet distance again.

  A few minutes later, after more glances at Carson and a body that wouldn’t cool down, she noticed the car ahead took an exit. Georgia saw a strip mall with only one shop open, the rest of the units empty. A closed restaurant. A vacant office building. Weeds grew up from the cracks in the parking lot. This was a bad part of town.

  Carson turned onto a narrow, poorly maintained street, veering around a deep pothole. She didn’t see the car ahead.

  “Where did he go?” she asked.

  “He turned in to an abandoned warehouse lot a few blocks back.”

  She twisted to see where that would be. The warehouse must be on the opposite side of the street.

  Turning around, Carson drove toward the warehouse, pulling to the side of the street a block from there. Georgia could see it now. It looked much like the strip mall and office building. Abandoned.

  Carson backed the Mercedes up and drove down an alley that ran along the edge of the warehouse parking lot. Trees and a six-foot chain-link fence divided the lot from the alley. At the end of the lot, another alley, this one gravel, ran along the back. Backyards and garages and sheds lined the opposite side. Carson pulled in front of one of the garages, backing in so they faced the warehouse.