Awaken to Danger (13 page)

into Carson last week while waiting for Gary...

"Hey, babe," Gary's greeting jolted through Nikki a second before he leaned an elbow on the bar

and kissed her neck.

She ducked to the side with the help of the spinning bar stool. "I was starting to wonder if you'd

stood me up."

"Never." He tapped her nearly empty amaretto sour. "Could I get you another drink?"

The press of bodies stifled her. She wanted space. She wanted to go home.

But first she had to tell him what little relationship they'd had was over. "Two's my limit since I'm

driving. I'll take some plain orange juice."

"You've got it." He angled over her shoulder to place the order, his chest sealing against her back

until she could feel the imprint of his favorite belt buckle against her spine
—
a cold metal buckle

shaped like an overlarge casino coin.

And the imprint of more steel, lower down.

Nikki hopped off the bar stool. "Let's find somewhere quiet to talk."

In public, but not right beside a table full of her father's fly buddies
—
Picasso, Mako and the new

guy in the squadron, Avery, who she'd also dated a couple of times.

"Sure, just what I was thinking." Gary fell in step alongside her, then stopped, skimming a touch

along her arm.

"Wait. You almost forgot your orange juice. Hold on and I'll go back and get your drink for

you..."

"Nikki?" Carson's voice sliced through her memories like the hull slicing the waves.

"Yeah, uh right. Just daydreaming." Nikki clutched the side of the sailboat as if she could hold on to the

memories already slipping away faster than the dispersing wake.

"Go right ahead." He shoved away from the side with muscle-rippling ease and a smile, closer. "This

day's all about relaxing."

Even with the warmth of the sun on her face and her thick windbreaker protecting her from the misty

spray, she rubbed her hands along her chilled arms, a deeper cold settling inside her at even the whisper

of memory that helped her with nothing, except to hint further that Gary may have drugged her. He'd

certainly had the opportunity. But hadn't she forgotten things from before he brought her drink? The

effects of Rohypnol varied from person to person, with so many other variables factored in.

She searched her mind to recapture the faces that had been in the bar around her, all people she knew

and simply accepted as part of her world. Why hadn't she paid more attention to details?

Okay, think. In addition to the crew sitting down for an after-flight meal, she'd seen Claire McDermott

subbing for the bartender with her co-owner two sisters on hand waitressing. Hadn't one of them even

dated Gary briefly? Which one?

She would call David Reis the minute she got home and tell him what little she could recall. Although he'd

most certainly already interviewed everyone there that night, which made her feel exposed all over again,

thinking of so many of her military friends knowing the details.

Damn it, she hadn't done anything wrong—that she knew of. She gave up recapturing the moment in the

churning water and shifted her focus back to Carson, his face tipped upward to... Gauge the sail? The

sun? Simply feel the wind?

She couldn't ignore the appeal of his strong features, the way his broad shoulders and lean hips turned

her on and inside out all at once. What was it about him that called to her at a time when she shouldn't

have been able to think about anything but the blind panic of clearing her name? He was good-looking,

sure, in a preppy privileged kind of way that had never snagged her interest before she'd seen him for the

first time and suddenly that had become her type for forever after, even if everyone else fell short.

As if sensing her stare, Carson looked down and over at her. His eyes narrowed. "What's with the

frown, lady? Quit thinking so hard. Get back to your daydreaming."

She pulled a breezy salute. "Aye-aye, Major. Or would that be Captain since we're on your ship?"

"Either's fine as long as you smile."

Good advice, she knew. And wouldn't it be nice to settle into the circle of his arms, her back against his

chest as they sailed the day away? Just the wind and sun and feel of his muscled chest.

Unbidden and unwelcome, a snippet from the memory flashed, of Gary's chest, that favored belt buckle

of his biting into her spine....

Her mind hitched on the notion of Gary's belt, the one he'd been wearing the night he'd died. Or had he?

She could swear there hadn't been a belt in his pants down around his ankles and she couldn't recall the

security police having found one when they looked around the room while questioning her.

Blinking out of the fractured memory and into the streaming sunlight, she couldn't remember any more

from that night. But she had one important question to answer.

Where was Gary's belt?

Where was his head?

Sure as hell not in the job.

After a boring commander's lunch, Carson tossed his leather jacket over the brass anchor peg in his

office on his last Monday as commander. The rest of the squadron was due back Friday and he could

resume his regular job as the number two dude. He would be flying more again, but Nikki would have

her dad back in town to check on her until Reis got his head out of his butt and figured out what

happened to Owens.

And what would J.T. have to say about the time Carson had been spending with Nikki?

Their day sailing together had been good. Damn good, but he wanted to make sure he was a better man

now so he didn't screw up his life again, or more importantly, didn't do anything to harm hers.

Tucking around his desk, he hooked a boot in the chair to roll it back while snagging a stack of

performance reports off the top of his file cabinet. At least her memory was starting to trickle back. A

missing belt wasn't much, yet remembering anything was a hopeful sign she might recall more. But if those

memories revealed she'd killed Owens? Carson was certain she would have only done so in self-defense,

which would put her in the clear legally.

All of which still didn't help him decide how to handle the next five days with Nikki.

He reached for the phone to check in with Reis about the security camera footage of the high school

parking lot, only to be stopped short by a tap on the open office door. He glanced over to find Captain

Nola Seabrook standing in the entryway. "What can I do for you?"

"Sir, I need to schedule a tactics class." The crisp blond officer stood at attention, even though Carson

ran a more relaxed squadron than other commanders. "Is Wednesday at fourteen-hundred okay?"

"Wednesday?" He flipped though his day planner. "Uh... no. I've already scheduled confession for that

time."

"Confession?"

"Flight safety meeting." He lapsed into his best Irish accent. "It's always better for the flyers to confess

than have their sins pointed out by the bishop."

Laughing, she lost the starch in her spine. "Fair enough. How about we schedule the tactics meeting to

follow when they're all softened up?"

"Roger." He nodded. "Spread the word."

Pivoting away, she ran smack into another person already waiting. Seabrook laughed. "Guess we need to

take a number to talk with the major today."

"Apparently so," answered his surprise visitor—Vic Jansen.

What was he doing here? Was it family business since his sister was married to one of the deployed

flyers? Or personal, since Vic belonged to A.A., too.

Carson nodded to Seabrook. "That'll be all, Captain. And could you let my secretary know to hold calls

for the next twenty minutes? Thanks."

Vic ducked into the room, a blond lumberjack-looking fella in flannel. The somber guy had lost his

daughter in a drowning accident years ago, but recently started with the program because he feared he

was reaching for a bottle too often.

"What brings you here?"

"Just dropping my sister off at the commissary. Since I had time to kill while she shops, I thought I would

stop by, shoot the breeze if you have a free minute."

Carson rolled his office chair back an inch from the desk. "Sure," he said, even though he really didn't

have twenty seconds to spare, much less twenty minutes. But something was obviously on Vic's mind and

part of the program involved helping each other out. "What can I do for you?"

"Actually, I was wondering if everything's okay with you?" Jansen dropped into a seat across from the

desk, blue eyes piercing.

The guy had seen him with Nikki yesterday, but that wouldn't be cause to ask if he was all right. Although

pursuing this friendship with Nikki could well be termed insanity. "Why do you ask?"

"It's been a rough couple of months around the squadron with the extra duties overseas and now

Owens's death," Jansen answered, his Dakota roots filling his rolling accent. "It's a tough time to be the

king."

Ah, now the visit made sense. And damn, but the guy had a point. There weren't many people around

this place Carson could talk to—none for that matter. But the A. A. bond of trust and confidentiality was

a cornerstone. Solid.

"I could use some advice." The words fell out of his mouth.

"Hell, Carson, are you sure you want
my
advice? My track record sucks, don'tcha know." It was no

secret that Jansen's wife had divorced him after the death of their daughter. But from what Carson could

gather it sounded as if the woman's defection had been heartless, occurring before Jansen started

drinking.

"I'll take any help I can get."

"Ah, so you want to romance Nikki Price."

"Who said we're talking about Nikki?"

"Last time I checked, they don't let morons graduate from veterinary school." The rugged large animal vet

smirked.

Searching for the right words for thoughts he didn't even understand, he scooped up a miniature porthole

clock from his desk and checked the battery, which of course was working just fine.

"Nikki and I have this—" tenacious attraction? "—bizarre friendship that seems to defy the whole twelve

year age difference. I want to understand her."

"Good-freaking luck." Snorting, Vic hooked an ankle over his knee, work boot twitching. "If you figure

women out, make sure you copyright the knowledge so you can retire a millionaire."

"I'm serious here." He thunked the tiny clock back on top of the stack of performance reports. "God,

how do I explain this?"

"You like a woman as more than a friend, and she likes you back."

Might as well quit lying to everyone including himself. "So it seems."

"But the problem is...?"

"Problems. Plural. We tried things once before and I screwed it up." He ticked reasons off a finger at a

time. "Her family would disapprove. I'm not sure I'm husband material and she definitely deserves it all."

"Whoa." Vic held up his work-scarred hands. "You're already using the M word. I thought you were

talking about liking a woman and asking her out on a date. Don't you think you're jumping ahead of

yourself?"

Didn't people date to see if something more would develop? And when a woman was obviously the

happily-ever-after sort, wasn't it leading her on to date when he knew full well it wouldn't lead anywhere

beyond a bed? Okay, so he was old-fashioned. He couldn't help it, probably went along with his tapioca

pudding mentality.

"Did you apologize for what you did before, the time you screwed it up?"

He nodded.

"Have you done something to make up for it?"

Amends. A critical part of the twelve-step program, but also keeping in mind not to press for forgiveness

if the action hurt that person worse. "I'm not sure I could make this one right."

"Did you try? Even if something can't be fixed, there's comfort in knowing the other person tried."

"I've been looking out for her, checking her security. Nikki's in a helluva vulnerable state."

"It must be tough for her to be so helpless."

"Nikki's a tough lady," Carson answered without even thinking—then stopped, the words and their truth

kicking around in his head for a second before settling.

Why hadn't he realized it before? Sure Nikki had been dealt a raw deal right now, but he needed to stop

viewing her as a victim. Had he done so as a convenient excuse to keep his distance?

He needed to quit thinking he was protecting her by ignoring the attraction, the connection. Not that he'd

been all that successful. Relationships were a lot tougher to achieve than any Ivy League diploma on his

wall.

Was he really considering asking her out on dates? Forget the age difference? Her father's objections.

His own concerns about his ability to be an equal partner. A hefty dose of cons.

And only one reason in the pro column, a reason he couldn't even quite define. Something as nebulous as

the way the wind in sails and the clouds against a windscreen soothed his soul. "You're right."

"Of course. No morons around here, remember?"

"We can only hope." He rocked back in his office chair. "Any suggestions for how I should make things