A Question of Honor Page 9

  Gripping her elbow, Noah guided her to the chair. He’d never seen Kit react so strongly. Wanting to put a hand on her shoulder but not daring to because of the situation, he soothed her with his voice, instead. “Take it easy. If Davis is one of Garcia’s hired guns this could mean Garcia’s closer to making a move to sell off his latest crop of marijuana.”

  Turning his attention back to the bridge, Noah ordered Edwards to prepare the boarding party. The Sea Devil had lowered its sail and was now heaving to as the ensign had ordered. Within minutes, the Osprey would dwarf the yacht as it settled alongside it. Lines would be thrown across the Sea Devil, mooring it to the port side of the Coast Guard vessel. Once secured, the boarding party would leap to the other deck.

  Trying to think clearly, Kit watched the unfolding drama. “You’re not going on board, are you?” she asked, her voice strained.

  “No, it’s Joe’s turn.”

  “Thank God…” Kit whispered, and averted her eyes from Noah’s sharp glance in her direction. Twice Noah had boarded boats with his team, and twice Kit had died an agonizing death, afraid that one of the smugglers might shoot instead of surrendering. No matter how many times he tried to persuade her that ninety percent of the boardings were safe, she was still left shaky in the wake of one.

  “Relax,” Noah urged her, taking up the portable radio. He instructed the helmsman to stop all engines, watching as the Osprey was brought alongside the Sea Devil. “Stay in here out of sight until after we’ve secured the situation.”

  Kit nodded, trying to get a grip on her rioting fears.

  “Joe,” Noah called on the portable radio, “keep an eye on the bearded man in the cockpit. His name is Davis, and he’s one of Garcia’s contract killers.”

  “Roger, Skipper. We’ll be real careful.”

  Hands knotted, Kit watched from her vantage point on the bridge. Noah had moved out to the deck rail for a closer view, staying in touch with Edwards by radio. She saw Davis’s square features screw up in fury as Joe cautiously approached the man, the M-16 in his hands ready to be fired.

  Without realizing it, Kit got to her feet and moved quickly outside. Noah had his back to her, unaware that she was near the railing, all his attention on Davis. “Be careful, Joe…” she whispered under her breath. Davis was an angry man, yelling curses at Edwards, backing up and out of the cockpit. He refused to raise his hands above his head.

  The hair on the back of Kit’s neck stood on end. She turned to warn Noah that Davis wasn’t going to give up without a fight. The words never left her mouth. Davis screamed a curse and pulled out a .350 Magnum from his belt, firing off a series of wild shots. The bullets whined past the bridge, burying themselves deep within the skin of the Osprey.

  Noah lunged forward, jerking Kit to the deck to keep her from getting hit. He saw Edwards drop to the deck and fire off several more shots. In seconds the showdown was over. Davis lay on the deck, unmoving.

  “Joe, get the corpsman!” he shouted over the radio. Dammit! Worriedly Noah turned his attention to Kit. She was slowly getting to her knees.

  “Stay down!” he commanded harshly. Turning, he ordered several more crewmen to force all five Sea Devil sailors to lie on the deck, hands behind their necks. This was an armed lot, and Noah didn’t want to take any more chances that they’d draw against his men.

  Kit remained on the deck, breathing in gulps of warm, humid air. Her stomach turned violently, and she felt like vomiting. Had Davis killed anyone? She heard Noah’s voice, crisp with authority over the radio, and she closed her eyes. Noah could have been killed—any of them could have. Shivering with apprehension, Kit lay there until Noah told her it was safe to get up.

  “You okay?” Noah asked, dividing his attention between the action on the Sea Devil and Kit.

  “Y-yes. Fine, just fine.”

  “I told you to stay on the bridge, dammit. Go below deck, Kit. I don’t want you anywhere near the action.” He glanced down at her. Her eyes were huge with horror. “Go on,” he said less harshly. “We’ll get this situation secured and then head back to port.”

  Numbly Kit nodded. “Home sounds awfully good right now,” she admitted, her voice unsteady.

  Kit clasped and unclasped her sweaty hands on the drive home. She was painfully aware of Noah’s gaze occasionally settling on her as they drove from the pier to his house in silence. Her uniform was drenched with sweat, and she longed for a long, hot bath to unknot the kinks in her neck and shoulders.

  Noah pulled into the driveway and shut off the car engine. Then he put his arm around her shoulders, noting how damp the material of her uniform was. “How you doing?”

  “Okay.”

  He knew she was lying. Where did professional conduct begin and end? he wondered. Right now Kit needed to be held. The terror in her eyes told him everything. He sensed how close she was to exploding, five years of horror dogging her heels. Managing a slight smile for her benefit, he awkwardly patted her shoulder, then removed his arm. “Come on, let’s get inside.”

  Kit escaped to the bathroom after greeting the animals, who met them at the door. With trembling hands, she stripped out of her uniform. Blips of past scenes involving Dante and Davis flashed through her mind. Why did this have to happen? Unable to cope with her turbulent feelings, Kit turned on the bathtub faucets and settled into the filling tub of hot water. But it was Noah’s arms that she wanted around her. Kit knew that within them she would find solace. Closing her eyes, she pressed the washcloth to her face, taking in a ragged breath.

  Noah had changed into a pair of jeans and a chambray shirt and was preparing to get dinner on the table. Just the nightly routine around the house had calmed his nerves. Getting shot at wasn’t the norm, and as much as he himself had been shaken by the confrontation with the Sea Devil, he knew it had torn open a scar in Kit.

  An hour passed, and he got worried when she didn’t appear as she usually did after her bath. Normally Kit would come into the kitchen and help him by setting the table and making them a pot of fresh coffee. Noah had just finished preparing their individual salads, when Kit walked through the entrance. Despite her tension-lined face she looked beautiful in a pale pink cotton gown that brushed her bare feet. He’d come to look forward to her companionship in the evening, when she shed her masculine work clothes for the simple cotton gowns she wore so well.

  Kit avoided Noah’s searching look, going to the cabinet and pulling out the dishes to be set on the table. Her hand slipped, and one of the plates crashed to the tile floor, shattering.

  With a cry Kit pressed her hand against her mouth, staring down at the broken earthenware.

  Noah tensed, hearing the crash, and turned toward her. Kit stood with her back against the drain board. He walked over to her and pulled her into his arms. She was trembling, and he held her tightly against him. “It’s all right,” he murmured soothingly against her ear. “It’s over, Kit, and you’re safe.” He rocked her gently, whispering words meant to heal, wanting to draw from her the fear she had carried so long by herself.

  Kit collapsed against him, burying her face in the textured cotton of his shirt, longing to hide forever in his strong arms. She felt Noah’s hand begin to stroke her damp hair, and she wrapped her arms around his waist, losing herself in his gentleness.

  Noah’s heart was beating raggedly in unison with his breathing as he pressed a kiss to her fragrant hair. Right now, Noah knew he was strong and Kit was weak. “That gun battle brought back a lot of bad memories for you, didn’t it?” he asked.

  Kit nodded once, realizing that their breathing was synchronizing. His arms were supportive, holding her tightly, the cranberry fabric scratchy beneath her cheek. “Y-yes.”

  “Want to talk about it?” Noah reluctantly loosened his embrace so he could look down at Kit. He shouldn’t be holding her, because he wanted her too damn much. His body was tightening with hunger.

  Fighting her own desires, Kit moved out of his arms, backing nervously away. This
shouldn’t have happened. None of it. Touching her brow, she stammered, “Noah, I don’t feel well. I think I’ll go to bed.” And she fled the kitchen, hurrying down the hall toward her room before he could protest.

  Dammit! Noah stood in the kitchen, staring at the entrance. He was torn between going after Kit and giving her the room she needed to work through her reaction to the shooting. Frustrated, he knelt and began retrieving the broken bits of plate. The phone rang. Rising, he picked up the kitchen extension.

  “Trayhern,” he growled.

  “This is Cordeman.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Considering you nabbed one of Garcia’s men this afternoon, you’re in a foul mood, Trayhern.”

  Noah gripped the receiver. “What the hell do you want, Cordeman?”

  “DEA wanted me to call you and tell you that Davis is gonna make it. I imagine Kit’s pretty happy about getting one of Garcia’s contract gunmen.”

  Anger boiled up through Noah. “Kit’s not happy at all,” he ground out. “Seeing Davis and then getting shot at has really shattered her.”

  “What are you talking about?” Cordeman demanded testily. “Doesn’t she realize what this means? Garcia putting one of his lieutenants like Davis in action means he’s gonna make his move. That hired gun never leaves the Colombian fortress unless something big is in the offing. We figure Davis was going to meet up with Dante for future planning.”

  Hanging on to his temper, Noah snarled back, “I’m sure you’re all pleased as hell. Kit’s the one I’m worried about.”

  “She’ll pull through for you, Trayhern. She always has in the past.”

  “Cordeman, this phone call is boring the hell out of me. You got anything further about Davis, you contact my commanding officer. Right now, I’ve had a gutful of drug-busting activity.”

  He slammed the receiver down, realizing how perfectly childish he probably seemed to Cordeman. But no one was worried about Kit’s emotional state or frame of mind. Running his fingers through his hair, Noah returned to picking up the pieces of pottery. What should he do? Go to Kit’s room and force her to talk? Or should he remain in the shadows, allowing her to come to him?

  It was impossible to get their brief embrace out of his mind. Noah threw the pieces of plate into the trash. He wasn’t hungry, either. Shutting off the oven, which held a casserole, he went into the living room to pour himself a drink. Perhaps later, Kit would emerge from her room and they could talk. Somehow he had to get her to trust him enough to lean on him and release all those bottled-up fears that haunted her. Somehow….

  Chapter Seven

  Kit was on the bridge of the Osprey when Joe Edwards spotted a small boat with a tattered sail on the horizon.

  “Looks like a Haitian refugee boat,” he said, handing Noah the binoculars.

  Studying the boat for several minutes, Noah muttered, “Yeah, and not in very good shape. It’s sitting low. I can see people bailing water. Let’s pick them up.”

  “Yes, sir,” and Edwards pointed the Osprey in that direction.

  Noah set the binoculars down on the console, glancing over at Kit. Ever since the Davis shooting incident three weeks earlier, she had withdrawn deeply within herself. There were shadows beneath her haunted eyes. And nearly every night, he’d hear her get up before dawn, leave the bedroom and pad down the hall to the living room, unable to sleep. The ache in his heart intensified and so did the need to help her. Kit filled his waking, and now his sleeping, state.

  Tearing from his own inner turmoil, Noah explained what was going on with the boat they would intercept shortly. “The poor of Haiti will gather on an old, leaky tub and try to make it to the U.S., hoping for a new and better life for themselves.”

  Kit nodded. Through her binoculars she could see the small sixteen-foot boat loaded down with human cargo, including many nearly naked children. “What will you do?”

  He heard the worry in Kit’s husky voice. “Let them board. Chances are, they’re probably out of food, maybe even water. Depending on ocean currents and weather conditions, they may have been out to sea a good seven to ten days. Their supplies have to be running low.”

  Relief flowed through Kit. Nothing touched her heart like the destitute and elderly. “While I was undercover, I got a chance to work with a group of orphaned Colombian children for almost six months.” Kit lowered the binoculars, searching Noah’s face. He gave her strength, whether he knew it or not. “I love children. All of them.”

  The yearning in her voice didn’t go unnoticed. “You came from a large family, so you probably want a big one yourself,” he teased.

  A trace of a smile crossed Kit’s lips as she watched the Haitian boat drawing closer and closer. “At least three kids, maybe four.”

  “No basketball team?” he said, still teasing.

  Drowning in Noah’s warming gaze, Kit sobered. The need to walk into his arms once again to kiss him, was driving her to distraction. Tearing herself from her torrid thoughts, Kit murmured, “I love all kids. No matter what their color or nationality. They’re the ones who get caught in situations beyond their control.”

  Noah agreed. “Well, when we get them on board, I’m sure we’re going to need your help as an interpreter. They usually speak French and little else. Maybe some pidgin English, if we’re lucky.”

  “For once I’m looking forward to our boarding a boat,” Kit said fervently. Every boat they’d searched after the Davis gun incident had made her break into a sweat, her fear a palpable, living thing within her.

  Noah’s voice lowered with feeling. “I can tell you are.”

  Kit’s heart went out to the fifteen Haitians in that leaky tub they called a boat. It was a miracle they hadn’t sunk. She watched as Noah and his men transferred the five families to the Osprey. And he’d been right: the Haitians spoke little English, so she became the organizer, more or less, of getting the people comfortable.

  She saw the desperation and fear in the eyes of the women as they kept asking her if they could remain in the U.S. Kit didn’t know the answer. She stayed busy in the hold of the cutter while Noah was up on the bridge, placing the Osprey on a course for Miami. One young woman, no more than seventeen, was decidedly pregnant. Another child, Marie, hung shyly at Kit’s elbow, her brown eyes huge with fear.

  Getting them fed and providing space in the hold where they could rest or lie down on blankets was the main course of action. Kit crouched at the pregnant mother’s side when she saw Noah enter the hold.

  Noah nodded to the families, huddled in small groups. The children were far less frightened now, thanks to Kit’s obvious affection and care. He halted, watching Kit as she tended to the frightened teen. Miraculously all the tension was gone from Kit’s features, and her eyes were sparkling with life. He saw one little girl steal beneath Kit’s left arm, snuggling close to her.

  Kit looked at Noah when he knelt opposite her. His eyes were warm with pleasure. “Looks like you’ve already got a family,” he noted, motioning to the little girl in Kit’s arms.

  Embracing Marie, Kit nodded. “She sort of took to me, I guess.”

  Moved because she had shared her feelings with him, Noah realized the child was drawing Kit out of her shell. “Anyone in their right mind would,” Noah admitted, a catch in his voice. And when he saw the surprise in Kit’s eyes, he quickly changed the subject. “You can tell these people that we’ll be taking them to Miami, not back to Haiti. Immigration will see that they’re given food and shelter. There’s a good chance they’ll be staying in the U.S.”

  Tears surged into Kit’s eyes unexpectedly. Embarrassed that Noah had seen them, she wiped them away with the back of her hand. “That’s wonderful,” she whispered in a strained voice. “They were all so fearful you were going to return them to Haiti. Let me tell them.”

  Noah got to his feet, watching hope spring up to the faces of the refugees as Kit told them the happy news. It made him feel good. In his daily life he often saw only negativity
. This time there was something positive, and he relished the Haitians’ reactions to Kit’s announcement. He frowned, noticing that tears continued to stream down Kit’s face. She placed Marie beside her mother and turned to him.

  “I—I have to pull myself together, Noah. May I use your cabin for just a—”

  “Come with me,” he told her huskily, putting his hand on her elbow and leading her down the passageway. She was trembling.

  “I’ll be okay,” Kit stammered, trying to stem the flow of tears. Why was she crying like this? Why couldn’t she stop? Noah’s firm touch on her arm only made her want to cry more. Blinded by the onslaught of tears, Kit didn’t try to pull out of his grasp.

  “Hang on,” Noah said, opening the door to his cabin. He drew her inside, guiding her to the bunk, where she sat down. Picking up the phone, he called the bridge and told Edwards to take command for now. When he turned back to her, she was hunched over, hands clasped in her lap, head bowed. Removing his officer’s cap he placed it on the desk, then crouched in front of her. The instant his hands came to rest on her slumped shoulders, a sob tore from her.

  “Oh, Noah…”

  He maintained a firm grip on her arms. “It’s about time,” he said thickly.

  More sobs punished her, and Kit raised her head. Noah’s face was nothing but a blur. “Wh-what are you talking about?”

  “You’re burned out, Kit. And you’ve been holding a lot of ugly stuff inside you.” He pushed a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve been waiting and wondering when you were going to let it all go.” His voice grew dark. “Don’t fight it. I’m here, and I’ll help you.”

  She hadn’t cried in almost a year. Kit clung to his tender gaze, feeling as if she were coming apart from the inside out. Just the husky tenor of Noah’s voice dissolved the last of the barriers that held her grief and fear captive. Noah rose and sat down on the bunk beside Kit, opening his arms, drawing her to him.

  As she sank against him, Noah groaned, wrapping his arms tightly about her, rocking her gently, as if she were a hurt child. “It’s okay, Kit, let it out, let it all go….” And he shut his eyes, pressing his cheek against her hair, allowing her to weep freely. Her fingers dug deeply into his chest, and Noah rubbed her shoulders and back, willing out the horror she’d held so long in abeyance.