Code Name: Bikini

by Christina Skye

  Except Trace had learned very young that luck usually took a hike when you needed it most. Any experienced soldier knew that guts, control and cold reasoning power were more powerful than luck anyway.

  And right now this woman was ripping his control and reasoning power to pieces. She was too close, too soft. Too damned distracting.

  Shaking his head, he stalked to the far side of the cabin.

  Even there he caught the faint scent of her perfume, a blend with lilac and apples that made him think of springtime back on his family’s ranch north of Santa Fe.

  His nerves hammered. Every muscle tightened. It had been years since he had thought about sharing his bed just to see a woman’s smile when she woke up beside him in the morning. Right now he couldn’t get the sleepy, tousled image of a naked, happy Gina out of his fogged brain.

  And that kind of distraction could be very dangerous.

  Gina tossed once and then muttered restlessly. The quilt fell onto the floor, exposing the pale line of her legs and a large swath of her stomach.

  After one look Trace nearly gave in to the temptation to touch, to take what her soft body promised.

  Disgusted with himself, he opened the door quietly and walked onto the small covered balcony. To the west, the moon drifted above the horizon, dusting his tiny balcony with silver light. Leaning against the cold railing, he closed his eyes, feeling the sea wind cut into his face.

  He had always loved the water. Even as a boy he’d been mesmerized by books about the sea, but growing up in New Mexico, there’d been little opportunity to see the real thing. In spite of that he’d known that one day his life would center around water.

  The desert was rugged with a clean, vast grandeur and the sunsets went on forever. The mountains rose above his ranch like a benediction. But it was the ocean that had always gripped Trace’s imagination, and he savored that cool beauty now, watching the lights of distant vessels rock through the ghostly wake that churned away from the big ship.

  For the first time in hours he relaxed slightly. He had to check in with Izzy about Gina’s condition and medicine, then request any updates on ship security.

  After that a quick run up on the jogging deck would help to dissipate some of his restless energy. Hard physical exertion always left him clearheaded and balanced. If he was lucky, the focused exertion would also help pinpoint the source of his sporadic hallucinations about Marshall. Either one of his disabled chips was malfunctioning, or the image was coming from his suppressed guilt.

  Trace stared out at the restless water, feeling the bite of the wind. The Foxfire shrinks were bound to have a better and more scientific description of the effect. Probably they’d peg it as acute post-traumatic stress disorder with complications of survivor guilt.

  Not that the names would make the experience any easier. Until Trace knew why Marshall had died, he wouldn’t be able to let her go. As he stared out into the darkness, he couldn’t shake the feeling that if he’d handled things better—if he’d stayed in touch in the last year—Marshall would still be alive.

  Maybe. Maybe not.

  His callused fingers locked around the cold teak rail. Since when do you decide who lives and dies, O’Halloran? No one made you God.

  The truth should have been simple. If anyone held blame, it was her kidnappers in Thailand, and he doubted that any of them were losing sleep over what they had done.

  But his guilt remained, like a bitter and greasy taste that wouldn’t go away.

  Wind played over his shoulders. The air seemed to carry the faint scent of lavender, tinged with the smell of the sea. Words formed out of the wind.

  Protect her.

  The lavender scent grew around him.

  It is close. When you’re not prepared, it will come.

  The words echoed hollowly, rising and fading as if caught in an invisible current.

  The hairs prickled along Trace’s neck.

  But the balcony was empty.

  GINA WAS STILL OUT COLD half an hour later. Trace had finished a quick walk on deck, checked in with Izzy and then settled for some chin-ups and running in place in his stateroom rather than leave Gina for any length of time.

  He checked her pulse and breathing, then tucked the blanket around her shoulders, careful to avoid any contact of skin to warm skin.

  He needed to work on this detachment thing. It was a skill set he’d never had to think twice about before. Meanwhile, it was time to brief Tobias on the situation.

  He had already committed the number of Hale’s secure cell phone to memory, and the security officer answered on the second ring.

  “Security, Hale.”

  “O’Halloran here. There’s a woman stretched out unconscious in my bed.”

  The security officer snorted. “You asking for advice or a medal?”

  “Neither. It’s Gina. I think something’s wrong with her.”

  “What do you mean?” Tobias growled. “Is it serious?”

  Trace relayed the night’s events, adding the details of their encounter with Blaine.

  “Figures that the witch would manage to be on the scene.”

  “My guess is that she tampered with Gina’s pills.”

  “Very serious.” Tobias murmured a rough phrase. “Jealousy can be a sickness. If anyone is capable of it, Blaine is. I’ve heard some rumors that she hounded other workers who got in her way.”

  “Are we certain it was Blaine?”

  “No. As the head of security, I’m supposed to be logical and not jump to conclusions just because someone is a royal pain in the butt and enjoys torturing her fellow staff members. So the answer is, I don’t know, but I’m working on it. Even if I’d like to haul her ass off into custody this second. But if you forget the rules and start acting like a wild gunman—hell, that’s a very slippery slope.”

  Straight arrow, Trace thought. Just his kind of guy. “There’s another angle you need to consider. This thing suggests teamwork. I wouldn’t expect a beverage manager to have the advanced computer skills to hack in to your ship’s network. There had to be some decent security in place.”

  “You’ve got a point. Where is it leading?”

  “If Blaine’s got outside help, they could be testing other shipboard systems, as well. They may be looking for additional information, or they may be looking for specific items, things of value to them alone.” Trace considered his next words carefully. “The possibility leads beyond the safety of the ship, to a threat against the safety of the mission.”

  Silence.

  Tobias muttered a low curse. “Someone could use the situation to creep around in our network and find out everything valuable that’s aboard. That’s a very bad scenario you’re painting, O’Halloran. The good news? They’ll find no mention of my safe or my sideline work. Not anywhere.”

  “That’s good news. Meanwhile, I suggest you get tough on the Blaine front. Have her followed, discreetly of course. See who she contacts aboard and monitor her phone usage. I assume you have a way to do that.”

  “I do,” Tobias said tightly. “It’s highly unethical, but I see where you’re leading. So you think Blaine has a deeper target than Gina?” He sounded skeptical.

  Neither man mentioned the item currently hidden in Tobias’s office safe, but the message was clear.

  “It’s possible, and because the risk is there, you need to move fast and track anyone she’s dealing with. There could be variables here we haven’t even begun to consider.”

  “I’ll put someone on it. He’ll be discreet.”

  “Good. I’ve already contacted the friend I mentioned. He’s waiting for me to express him the samples tomorrow.”

  “I appreciate the help.” Tobias made a low sound of irritation. “Of course this means I owe you, and I hate owing anyone for anything.”

  Trace smiled slightly. “I’ll try not to call in the favor.”

  “Do that.” Static filled the encrypted cell phone line and the older man hesitated. “You’re sur
e Gina’s stable? Whatever she took isn’t doing more than making her sleep, is it?”

  “I’d say it was only meant to be career-threatening, not life-threatening. But I’ll keep an eye on her.”

  “Don’t even think about taking advantage of the situation,” Tobias growled. “Most men would.”

  “I’m not most men. What the hell do you think I am?”

  “A soldier who’s done some rough work recently. An open, giving woman like Gina would be a major temptation to someone in that position.”

  Fury tightened Trace’s voice. “If you think she’s in danger, get up here and take her away.”

  “Cool down, Lieutenant. I didn’t say she was in danger. If you were going to try something, you wouldn’t have called me first. But that still doesn’t mean I like knowing she’s vulnerable,” Tobias said curtly. “A lot of people here think Gina is special. We’re—hell, I don’t know. I guess you could call us some kind of family. We watch out for each other. And Gina has other issues on her plate right now. Remember that.”

  Before Trace could ask what those issues were the line went dead.

  He tried to sleep, but he never needed much. He read four pages in a mystery he’d brought with him and then gave it up to pace the silent cabin.

  He didn’t want a mystery. He didn’t want sleep. He wanted Gina.

  Scowling, he stretched out on the edge of the bed, careful to keep plenty of space between them. Ignoring the curve of her thigh inches away, he focused on the pitch of the water and the familiar drum of powerful engines as the ship cut through the sea.

  Suddenly Gina rolled over. Her hand slammed against his shoulder and Trace froze as her fingers opened. They feathered down his cheek, almost as if she’d recognized him in her sleep.

  Hell.

  He was determined to do the right thing, but she wasn’t making it easy. She sighed, and her breath was gentle against his neck as she curled her body into his. Her head sank onto his shoulder, trusting and calm.

  Trust him? A man who had killed ruthlessly and would no doubt kill again? A man who didn’t know the meaning of intimacy or permanency?

  Right or wrong, Trace couldn’t find the strength to push her away. Her body was too soft, her touch too honest. The contact shouldn’t have been as precious as it was, but Trace didn’t lie to himself.

  This moment with her head on his shoulder was more intimate than all the show-stopping sex he’d had in his life. Hell if he’d give it up. This counted.

  When her leg slid against his thigh, desire shot straight to his groin, and he turned away, fighting a blind urge to pull her down on top of him.

  But he didn’t. He would do the right thing, no matter how hard. He didn’t move, letting her leg drape over his. Her body shifted and snuggled until she found her peace and drifted back into deep sleep.

  Time was a funny thing, the SEAL thought.

  There had been missions in the jungle when time had snapped like a rubber band, jolting him through a cold tunnel that separated him from everything normal and warm. There had been other missions when he’d hunched down in cutting winds, running surveillance and waiting for a delayed incursion order. Then time had been a vast thread pulled out and then pulled out again, stretching without end while nothing happened and his nerves screamed.

  Time stretched out now, but instead of pain it brought peace. He had never felt so calm, so aware of the seconds, counted out in the skim of her pulse and the soft brush of her breath.

  He felt his focus narrow, caught at the inches where their bodies touched. Every movement she made tangled his senses. When her cotton tank top rose, revealing the curve of her full breasts, he shifted, covering her carefully, though covering up that hot, rich beauty was the last thing he wanted to do.

  She sprawled against him, completely open in her sleep and secure in her trust for him.

  Trust. When had a woman really trusted him? The knowledge softened old scars and opened deep, hidden parts of Trace’s battered heart.

  As dawn crept into the room, he realized that something had changed. When Gina touched him, she had inexorably drawn him across an invisible boundary. Now he wandered in trackless and unfamiliar territory. Yet a strange, reckless joy beckoned at every turn, if only he had the courage to grasp it.

  Trace had forgotten what joy felt like.

  He had forgotten the textures of hope.

  He didn’t know how to approach it, how to control it and what it would cost him to lose it. But risk or not, he couldn’t go back. He never wanted to give up feeling so alive.

  Seconds passed. For Trace each one was a lifetime of joy and quiet belonging, precious beyond imagining.

  With her hands curled against his chest and her hair spilling onto his cheek, he finally drifted down into sleep, fought briefly and let himself follow her.

  MACHINES HAMMERED.

  A clock ticked.

  Inside the basement of a facility marked on no government map, Izzy Teague hunched forward, running detailed searches of every medical database in North America. He knew most of the pharmaceuticals in public distribution and it bothered him that the name Trace had given him rang no bells.

  And for Izzy, the bigger the challenge, the harder he dug. Now he scrolled swiftly, frowning at the trade names and chemical terms flashing across his sleek, encrypted laptop.

  Suddenly the flashing stopped.

  A trademarked compound appeared beside a blinking cursor. Izzy scanned the medical condition it was designed to treat and let out a long breath.

  Not good to be taking this medicine. Not good at all.

  He scanned six medical abstracts, punched in another clarification and then sat back, steepling his hands.

  The woman was in a bad place and it was going to get worse. She didn’t deserve this. She’s had enough hard knocks in her life, according to what Izzy had found out about her. Though it wouldn’t affect the mission, Trace would have to be told about her medical condition.

  Izzy wanted all his facts straight before that.

  He noted the name of the head of the research institute in charge of the first clinical trials. Silent, he drummed his fingers on the desk and planned his next move. Once his story was complete, he pulled out his private cell phone.

  The author of the journal article answered on the second ring. His enthusiasm at hearing from Izzy was real. The two had met over a matter of some stolen documents and a possible IPO nightmare a year earlier. A friend of a friend had suggested Izzy could help out.

  Forty-eight hours later the documents were recovered and the disgruntled employee behind the theft was on his way to jail.

  It was always nice to have people owe you a favor, Izzy thought. He was going to call the favor in now.

  “Delson? It’s Teague. Yes, I’m doing fine. No, still burning the candle at both ends. No vacation time in sight, so we’ll have to wait on that fishing trip to Montana. I’m calling about one of your new products. I have a few questions.” Izzy glanced at the printout he had made earlier and mentioned the name Trace had given him. “I’d like to know the range of conditions it treats and all possible side effects.”

  As he listened, he made notes on his laptop and planned how he would deliver the news to Trace.

  Already he sensed that the SEAL’s question had been personal. Trace had a reputation for avoiding emotional entanglements and skirting any kind of relationship.

  Something told Izzy all that was about to change.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  SHE WOKE UP SLOWLY.

  The noise—or the lack of it—hit her first. Gina realized she was on a higher deck than her own, one well away from the throb of the engines.

  So she wasn’t in her own cabin. Not in her own bed.

  She opened her eyes and stared into the darkness. Her hand stretched to meet the edge of the bed.

  Queen size.

  Hers was a twin.

  This mattress was firm. Hers was soft.

  She blinked at the da
rkness. She was lying half-asleep on a strange pillow in a strange bed. A stranger had his hard fingers on her waist. She lay tense, feeling his hand rise, tracing her ribs in a way that made her pulse skitter.

  Okay, Ryan. Time to think. Time to remember every detail of the night before. She tried to inch across the bed and pain stabbed through her forehead.

  She studied the clock nearby: 5:04. A hint of gray peeked around the blue curtains across the room and felt the resistance of rising seas.

  She closed her eyes, but the images of the night before remained a blur. There had been a problem with her kitchen computer. Someone had attempted access, triggering a warning, and she remembered Tobias waiting for her in the kitchen while he checked out the system.

  Someone else had been there with her.

  Cool eyes. Hands with the steady confidence of a man who faced danger often.

  Heat washed into her face.

  How had she ended up in bed with Trace O’Halloran?

  He had followed her after she’d received the page from security. Then he had grilled Tobias like someone with extensive computer experience.

  Afterward, Trace had insisted she eat. They’d gone on deck, watched the sunset, argued a little.

  After that everything faded. Vainly Gina kept trying to string together the fragments of the evening. Had she fainted?

  She remembered taking a gel tab while they were on deck. The foggy feeling had begun shortly after.

  Her pills had never affected her this way before.

  She remembered that Andreas had found the bottle under her desk.

  Contaminated.

  Gina couldn’t believe any of her staff were responsible. It had to be Blaine.

  Blaine.

  She closed her eyes, stunned at the hatred that would cause such an attack. For long moments a sense of personal violation left her disoriented.