Chantal beat him to it. “We have to warn someone about that arms shipment,” she said.
He cleared his throat. “Right. If we don’t get a response from the authorities by tomorrow, I’ll have to try sending another message.”
“The same way?”
“We’ll need to reassess the situation first. See how Knox is reacting to Bamford’s disappearance.”
“Wouldn’t he be looking for him?”
“If he was any kind of commander, it should be a top priority. The best-case scenario is that with no evidence that an outside party was involved, Knox will assume Bamford fell off the cliff and drowned.”
“And the worst-case scenario would be that he organizes a search and they find this cabin.”
Yes, that was the worst one. There was no point alarming Chantal more than necessary. “They wouldn’t have enough manpower to spare to look everywhere. We’re likely out of their range.”
“Knox sounds like a brutal man. I wonder if Graham’s going to do what he wants.”
“I suspect he will. He doesn’t have many options.”
“Wouldn’t there be some kind of extra security measures when it comes to shipping weapons that are as dangerous as missiles?”
She was peeling her jeans off her legs now. He could hear the soft, sucking noise as the denim tried to cling to her skin. He curled his fingers into his palms. “Graham would be able to override them.”
“It must be why they wanted Bamford’s computer expertise. He would have to get into the Petherick Corporation mainframe to alter the delivery instructions.”
“It explains their timetable, too. It would take more time to divert missiles than numbers in a bank account.”
“Where are the missiles manufactured?” she asked.
Her voice had been muffled. Mitch pictured her pulling her sweater over her head. He rubbed his eyes in an attempt to curb his imagination. “What?”
“If we knew where they were coming from, it would give us an idea where they were headed.”
“Petherick has several plants. The main facility is in Pennsylvania. My guess would be the missiles are headed for the coast, probably to a small harbor rather than a large port with container facilities.”
“What makes you say that?”
“The port security wouldn’t be as strict. There would be less activity and fewer potential witnesses. The vessel could be something as innocuous as a small freighter or a large fishing boat. It would be the easiest method to get the shipment out of the country.”
“And to Knox’s buyer,” she added.
“Knox has a helicopter. He’s probably planning to rendezvous with the ship when it’s at sea.”
“To get his money.”
“Very likely. He’d want cash on delivery.”
“He has to be stopped.”
“One way or another, he will be.”
Her feet whispered across the floor. She spoke from just behind him. “Are you really that sure of yourself, or is this more of your efforts to keep up troop morale?”
He blinked. She had extended her arm. It was bare. Her wet clothes dangled from her hand beside him. Without looking back, he took them from her and hung them over the rope. Apart from the wet neck and cuffs, the sweater was merely damp, but the jeans were waterlogged enough to make the rope creak as their weight settled.
She’d given him only her sweater, her jeans and her socks. She’d left her bra on. He knew she wore one, because her breasts were large enough to have made it obvious if she hadn’t. He assumed she wore panties, mostly because she struck him as the type of woman who wouldn’t go without. Unless she was trying to seduce someone. Then he could all too readily picture how she might wear a blanket with nothing beneath it.
Only, that wasn’t his imagination.
That’s what she’d done seventeen years ago.
Damn. There was nothing he could do to stop the memories this time. He pivoted to face her.
She had the quilt wrapped around her shoulders. It stretched all the way to the floor. She’d pulled her arm back inside so he could see nothing except the tips of her bare toes and the hand that clutched the quilt closed at the base of her neck.
Another image superimposed itself on the present. Instead of the old quilt, he saw a white mohair blanket. Her hair had been wet then, too, because she’d been at the cemetery yet again. When she’d phoned him and begged him to come over, he’d thought she’d just wanted a shoulder to cry on. Everyone knew she hadn’t been handling her grief well. His sympathy for her had overcome his common sense, so he’d gone.
She’d met him at the door wearing nothing except that white blanket. Her face had been puffy from a crying binge. Her eyes had had a feverish gleam. She’d claimed she’d taken off her wet clothes and hadn’t had time to get dressed again.
It could have been true. She might not have intended to seduce him initially. She could have dropped that blanket in order to get his attention.
She’d succeeded. She’d aroused the undivided attention of every inch of him.
I love you, Mitchell Redinger. I have since the moment I first saw you.
The words floated from his memory, sounding as vivid as if they’d just been spoken, yet the face in front of him was the woman’s, not the girl’s. Suddenly, he wanted to know whether she’d said those words to anyone else.
Of course, she had, he thought immediately. Life hadn’t stood still for her any more than it had for him. She was an attractive, intelligent and spirited woman. Passionate, too. She’d said she wasn’t involved with anyone now, but there could have been any number of men over the years.
It was a reasonable thought.
Why did it make him want to hit something?
She’d called him her crush. Her fantasy hero. Her feelings for him hadn’t been real. They both knew it. The chemistry between them now was largely because of the circumstances. It didn’t run any deeper than other natural, physical urges, like wanting to drink when he was thirsty or eat when he was hungry.
There was no reason for him to feel possessive. No justification for wanting once again to see that look of adoration she used to have for him. He especially had no right to wish she would drop that quilt to the floor and give him a second chance.
Only, it wouldn’t be a second chance. Not really. It wasn’t the teenager he remembered that he was interested in, but the woman. It was the Chantal who’d used a flashlight and a gun butt to fight off an armed man. The Chantal who’d stirred him to the point of insanity with one kiss. If she let that blanket fall and opened her arms in invitation the way she had the last time, he wouldn’t be noble. He’d look his fill. Then he’d explore all the ripe curves and dips that he’d felt through her clothes and he’d make damn sure there was nothing to trip over on the way to the bed.
“You promised, Mitch.”
He jerked his thoughts back to reality. He had no idea what she was talking about. “What?”
She pointed her chin toward the table. She’d put a boat cushion on one of the chairs. “Sit.”
Beneath the aroma of mothballs that still clung to the quilt, he caught a whiff of roses. He inhaled slowly, indulging himself for a while longer before he finally went to the table. He sat on an empty chair, took off his boots and lifted his left leg onto the chair with the cushion. Distance was a good idea. So was resting his ankle. Too bad neither held as much appeal as thinking about Chantal naked. “How well do you know that deputy?” he asked.
Chantal slipped her arm from beneath the quilt again to drag the remaining empty chair closer to the stove. She angled it partly away from him before she sat. “Do you mean Al Hennessey?”
“Right. The one I got through to on the radio. You said he was a good man.”
She combed her fingers through her damp hair to hold the strands toward the heat. “He is. He was a cop in Atlanta before he moved to Bethel Corners.”
That was encouraging. “He sounded competent. Skeptical, though.”
“Anyone would be if they heard a story like ours. There are times I have difficulty believing it myself. Trouble like this just doesn’t happen out here.”
“One thing I’ve learned over the years is that trouble can crop up anywhere. Eagle Squadron usually shows up once it’s already happened, so I rarely see the peaceful side of places.”
“It’s too bad you couldn’t have seen the Aerie under normal circumstances. You probably would have enjoyed it.”
“Very likely. That’s one of the reasons I decided to join Graham’s party.”
“I’m sorry you didn’t get more time to talk to Al.”
“Don’t apologize again. I told you before, you did great. I had enough time to identify myself and to give him my location. Would he take the initiative to check me out?”
“Oh, I’m sure he’d do that.”
“Then you know him well?”
“He’s a friend.”
“Did you ever date him?”
She shook out her hair and pulled her arm back beneath the quilt. “What difference could that make?”
“Just wondering. There couldn’t be that many eligible bachelors around here, and you used to have a thing about men in uniform.”
“No, Mitch. I had a thing about one man in uniform. That was enough.”
“Then you didn’t date him.”
“No, his wife might have objected.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “He’s married?”
“Yes. Sharon’s my friend, too. She and the sheriff’s wife run a charter float plane service. She occasionally ferries clients out here for me. Why are you asking me this?”
“Good question.” He propped his elbow on the table beside him and leaned his chin on his hand.
“Well?”
“If I came straight out and asked you about your love life, you probably wouldn’t answer me.”
“I already did. I told you I’m not interested in having a serious relationship.”
“You’ve
never
had one?”
The quilt tightened around her shoulders. He could see the folds where she was holding it in her fists. She opened her mouth and closed it a few times, as if she was wavering between laughter and indignation. “Mitch, I’m thirty-five years old. You’re not seriously asking me if I’m a virgin, are you?”
Was he? That would be stupid. Unrealistic.
Possessive.
“I was curious why you never got married, that’s all,” he said. “I remember you told me how you love the Aerie and the power of the wilderness and all that, but you’re also a passionate woman. I wouldn’t have expected you to remain single.”
“I’ve been married, Mitch.”
His elbow slid off the edge of the table. He straightened. “I didn’t know. Your father never mentioned it.”
“He wouldn’t have. The whole affair was an embarrassment to him. You know how big my family was about keeping up appearances. He likes to pretend it never happened. He told everyone I was away at college during that time.”
Her hands were still hidden, but he knew she wore no rings. He would have noticed. “You’re not married now.”
“No. I’m divorced.” She curled her legs onto the seat of the chair and tucked her feet beneath the quilt. “Am I the only one who finds this conversation strange?”
His lips quirked. “I know what you mean. Two days ago I would have doubted that we could have had a civil conversation about anything other than the weather and your resort’s ‘rustic luxury.’”
She gave a quick grimace. “That would have been the über-polite mode you mentioned.”
“I’d say we’re past it.”
“Being in danger has helped to put my personal concerns into perspective.”
“That’s why troops under fire tend to bond with each other.”
“Is that what you’ve done with your men?”
“I’m fond of them, but I don’t bond with them the way they have with each other. As an officer, I can’t fraternize. I need to maintain some distance so that I can keep the mission objective my top priority.”
“It must be lonely at times.”
It was, but he rarely thought about it. “The good we do more than makes up for it. But the issue of rank doesn’t apply to you and me,” he said. “As you’ve pointed out more than once, I’m not in command here. We’re a team.”
“That’s strange, too.”
He smiled. “Who would have thought?”
Her gaze settled on his mouth. “Yes, who would have thought?”
“So, tell me, how long have you been divorced?”
“A little over fifteen years.”
“Fifteen… When were you married?”
“Three months after you left.”
Mitch’s smile dissolved. So many questions popped into his head, he didn’t know where to start. For some reason, the one that he asked was, “Who was he?”
The quilt tightened across her breasts as she lifted one shoulder. She’d probably intended for the shrug to appear casual, but she didn’t pull it off. It was too stiff. “His name was Daryl Vaillancourt. He was the son of one of my mother’s friends. You might have met him at one of her parties.”
“Was he an officer?”
“No, he had been studying English Lit at Tulane but had decided to drop out around the time of my mother’s funeral.”
“He took advantage of you.”
“We took advantage of each other. I was…needy, so I deluded myself into believing that he loved me.”
Had she offered herself to that man the way she’d offered herself to Mitch? Damn! He couldn’t let himself picture
that
. She’d been so fixated on him, he’d never considered the possibility that she’d turn to someone else. Or that the next man would be enough of a bastard not to refuse her. “You were still mourning your mother. You weren’t thinking straight.”
“That’s completely true. I was looking for an escape. I knew in my heart I didn’t really love him, but I’d thought that once we were married and went away everything would magically be okay. The void inside me would be filled.” She paused, as if deciding whether to continue. It was a while before she spoke again. “I hadn’t learned my lesson well enough. I was still looking for a knight in shining armor when I married Daryl.”
“I should have checked on you. I should have realized how vulnerable you were.”
“Why? I wasn’t your responsibility. You had your own concerns. Besides, I was so angry with you, I wouldn’t have listened to you even if you had tried to stop me. I certainly didn’t listen to my father. To him, Daryl was unacceptable because he was a free spirit and the antithesis of everything military. He was twenty-one and had just come into a trust fund that his grandmother had left him. That’s why he’d quit school. We ran off together and eloped. I’d considered it romantic. God, I was such a fool.”