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Heath reached back through the open front door and grabbed a two-liter bottle of Mountain Dew.
Tracie realized she’d been outmaneuvered. She tried one last protest. “Neither of us will get any sleep tonight if we drink that.”
Turning the bottle so she could clearly see the label, Heath corrected her. “It’s caffeine-free.” He gave her another one of his bothersome grins that told her he knew he’d won. “Where can I put this?”
With a sigh, Tracie led the way to her kitchen.
THREE
Heath wished he knew how to set Tracie at ease. She ushered him through the house like a museum tour guide who hadn’t learned her lines yet.
“This is my living room. Sorry about the mess.”
“You weren’t expecting me,” Heath assured her, taking in a room that wasn’t so much messy as cluttered, with built-in oak cabinetry halfway installed along the outside wall, piles of books awaiting the finished shelves and a solid-looking window bench stained but not varnished between the ceiling-high bookshelves. “Besides, it looks like the mess belongs to your handyman, not to you.”
Tracie looked up at him and blushed. “I’m the handyman.”
Glancing back over the cabinetry, Heath took in the solid craftsmanship. “I’m impressed. It looks like you know what you’re doing.”
“I don’t, really.” Tracie tucked a few tools discretely on a shelf.
Heath noticed the brand name of the drill just before she set it aside. Gerlach Tools—his family’s business. Fighting back the urge to look closer and see what line the drill came from, he continued on as Tracie led him through the room to her kitchen. No, it wouldn’t do at all to give away that much of his identity. If she knew who he really was, she might ask how he got into the military, and he didn’t feel at all confident that he could maintain his cover story if she began to ask him personal questions. Too much of his real-life history didn’t match up with his cover story. The last thing he needed was to blow his cover.
Heath learned all manner of interesting tidbits from Tracie about life in the Coast Guard. He found out what to do when the copier jammed up, whom to call when a toilet backed up and how best to lie low when Jake got fired up. But he couldn’t seem to steer their conversation toward anything personal, not without Tracie heading him off, going silent or even leaving the room to check the porch light or investigate imaginary noises in the basement.
He ran into a little more success when he brought the conversation around to the topic of the diamond smugglers. It seemed she was as intrigued as anyone about how they’d run their operation under everyone’s noses for so long.
“None of the men we’ve captured will tell us anything—where the diamonds are coming from, or how they’ve been transporting them. The boats we captured contained a small number of stones—a few handfuls. Nothing like the reports we’ve heard from gemologists. They claim these fake rocks have taken over a major niche in the market. People have been paying top dollar for them for years, thinking they were getting real diamonds of superior color and clarity.” She tossed a pizza crust to Gunnar before helping herself to another piece.
Heath smiled, glad to see her enjoying the food he’d brought. Tracie looked like she’d skipped too many meals. He tried to keep his tone casual, to keep her talking about the smugglers without getting suspicious of his curiosity and clamming up. But as he’d suspected, the woman who’d worked so hard to keep him at a distance had a flood of thoughts and theories pent up inside her. As she began to trust him, her dam began to crack.
“What I don’t understand,” she continued after she’d washed down a bite of pizza with a swig of soda, “is why no one figured out something was wrong a long time ago. I mean, we no sooner discover these smugglers than multiple gemologists come forward and announce these fakes have been out there for over a decade. Granted, the diamonds were excellent imitations—chemically and optically identical to real diamonds. But how could synthetics sneak by so long on the national market? And why can’t the Feds figure out where they got them from? You don’t just buy diamonds out of thin air. Somebody had to sell them. Can’t they follow the trail?”
“I believe the FBI is on the case now,” Heath said, trying to distance himself from the very organization he worked for. “I should hope we’d have answers soon.”
Tracie let out a snort. “Not soon enough for Tim,” she said, winging a pizza crust through the air and watching Gunnar leap artfully to catch it. Her scowl faded and she grinned at the dog, but when she glanced over at Heath, she immediately blushed. “I probably shouldn’t give him people food, but when he gives me his sad-eyed begging look, I can’t very well turn him away. He’s my very best friend in the world. I don’t know what I’d do without him.” She clamped her mouth shut after that profession, which was the closest thing to personal information he’d learned all evening. She sat silently fiddling with her napkin while Heath finished the last piece of pizza.
When the two-liter was empty, the pizza box contained only crumbs and Tracie had carried their glasses to the sink, Heath realized he was going to have to pull out all the stops in order to keep from being evicted.
“Could you do me a favor?”
“What?” Tracie looked back at him from the sink, her tone unabashedly suspicious, and he could almost see the wheels turning in her head as she tried to invent a reason to make him leave.
Heath looked pointedly at his injured arm. “Could you take a look at my arm? The wound is on the back, on the underside, and I can’t see it very well myself.”
Concern crossed her features, but she chased the look away with one of distrust. “Why?”
“To see if it’s getting infected.”
“Can’t you go to the doctor for that?”
“I could, if I wanted to waste half a day driving to Ashland and sitting in a waiting room.” He approached her slowly until he stood beside her at the sink.
“You’re supposed to be on medical leave anyway.”
Heath could have reminded her that medical leave was voluntary, but instead checked their catty back-and-forth. “Tell you what—you take a look at it for me, and if it’s getting infected, I’ll call the doctor tomorrow.”
“I guess I can’t turn down an offer like that.”
The way she smiled at his suggestion, Heath wondered if she’d stoop to lying to him to get him to call the doctor the next day. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that. If his ruse worked, he’d distract her from wanting to get rid of him and convince her to get close to him, instead. Jonas seemed to think it was the only way for him to learn her secrets. And Jonas was the boss.
Heath hurried to peel off the long-sleeved shirt he wore before Tracie could change her mind.
Tracie nearly gasped at the sight of Heath in a snug black T-shirt, but swallowed her exclamation while struggling to keep her expression unaffected. She’d already guessed the man worked out, but his well-developed muscles still took her by surprise, especially at close range. He was a powerfully built, handsome man. She focused her attention on the injury on his arm.
White tape secured a thick gauze bandage to his right triceps muscle on the underside of his arm toward the back, a place where it would have been nearly impossible for him to examine it himself. She tentatively reached for the dressing. “Do you want me to peel this back?”
“Yeah, go ahead and take a peek.”
Stepping closer, she tugged gently on one corner of the tape. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“That tape’s nothing compared to what’s under it.”
“I suppose not,” Tracie peeled back the tape and winced at the sight of the wound underneath. “Oh.” She couldn’t suppress her reaction.
“That bad?”
“It’s like something took a bite out of your arm.”
“It did. Does it look infected?”
“Not really. It looks like it’s healing.” She peered a little closer, close enough to smell the scent of the antibiotic that covered the injury. Another smell teased at her nose—something masculine and slightly spicy. She breathed a little deeper, then realized she was probably sniffing Heath’s aftershave. Self-conscious, she took a half step back.
“I guess you don’t need a doctor after all,” she noted, smoothing her hand over the tape, barely daring to press down lest she hurt him. “There.” She slid one fingertip around the edge of the bandage to be sure it was secure. “You’re all set.”
“Thanks.” He turned slowly to face her. He stood too close, and his expression was intense, his eyes smoldering.
Tracie felt overwhelmed. It had been such a long day. Her nerves had been shot long before he’d shown up on her porch with pizza, and her mind was still muddled from dinner. Talking to him had eased a weight off her shoulders. It had made her feel closer to him, too. Now he stood mere inches from her with a look on his face she’d never seen before, yet somehow she knew exactly what it meant.
She took a deep breath and tried to clear her thoughts, but instead found herself breathing in more of the faded scent he wore. “You smell good.” The words escaped from her mouth before she even realized she’d been consciously thinking them.
“So do you.” His fingers touched her hair where it hung past her chin.
About to deny it, she realized what he was referring to. “Oh, my shampoo.”
“It smells fruity. Strawberries?” He leaned closer to her, his nose nearly brushing her temple as he inhaled her scent.
“No, passion fruit,” she blurted, and immediately blushed. There was no way she could let whatever was happening between them continue. He was getting too close. She took a step back. “Sorry. You just smell so much better than Trevor.”
“How did Trevor smell?” Heath must have sensed her discomfort, because he grabbed his other shirt and pulled it back on.
“Awful,” she said emphatically, hoping to bury whatever had just happened under a mountain of words. “He wore this ridiculous, expensive cologne. I asked him about it once because it was so strong, and he told me how much he paid for it. I don’t remember what he said it cost, but it was a lot, and he always used way too much so that it followed him in a cloud. I’ve never smelled anything like it before or since. Except—” She caught herself a moment too late and stopped.
“Except what?” Heath’s steel-blue eyes watched her as several seconds ticked by. “Don’t tell me it was nothing. You were going to say something. You’ve never smelled anything like Trevor’s cologne except what?”
“It really was nothing,” Tracie sighed.
“Then it shouldn’t be any big deal for you to tell me.”
“It’s not even worth telling.”
“Prove it. Tell me and I’ll tell you if it was worth telling or not.”
Tracie’s tired mind spun as she tried to follow Heath’s logic. She felt completely exhausted: mentally, physically, and especially emotionally. “Fine. I smelled Trevor’s cologne at his house on Saturday, just before we were shot at. But how can that mean anything? It was his house. He wore so much of that stuff it was bound to linger even though he’s been dead for over a month. The smell will probably never come out of his carpets.” She planted her hands on her hips and looked up at him. “So see? It really was nothing.”
“And that’s all?”
Tracie wanted to nod, to claim there had never been anything more to what she was thinking, but she couldn’t lie to him. “And I smelled it at Tim’s house this morning. Very faintly. I was so distracted by everything else I didn’t even think about it until just now, but I guess it makes sense. Tim was Trevor’s brother. Why wouldn’t his place carry a little bit of his smell?”
“Had you smelled it before when you’d gone over there?”
“I’d only been twice before.”
“And you smelled it there then?” Tracie hesitated.
Heath took a step closer to her, and his hand fell on her arm.
She felt the warmth of his touch run straight to her heart.
“No,” she admitted reluctantly. “Today was the first time.”
“Thank you for telling me.” Heath leaned toward her and whispered the words, his eyes meeting hers, his hand still on her arm.
Tracie nearly looked away, but there was something in his expression that told her he wasn’t out to hurt her like Trevor always had been. For a moment, she allowed herself to bask in the reassuring feeling that she wasn’t alone on this case—that Heath was working on her side. Was Heath really someone she could trust? She wanted so much to believe it was true.
Gunnar’s sharp barking brought her back to reality, and she looked down to see her dog nosing Heath in the leg, obviously trying to push him away.
“Looks like we’ve got a chaperone,” Heath said softly, stepping back and pulling his hand away.
Tracie didn’t know how to respond. She knew she ought to be glad her dog had the good sense to break them apart before they got any closer, but as reality returned with its crushing weight, she almost considered offering to put the dog out in the yard. But now that they were no longer standing so close, Gunnar didn’t seem nearly as concerned. He hunkered down and put his head on her left foot, as though staking his claim.
Her silence must have concerned Heath, because he quickly apologized. “I’m sorry. I know you said you don’t fraternize with coworkers. I should respect your personal space.”
“It’s okay,” she said softly.
A relieved grin spread across Heath’s lips. “I’m glad. I think I’d like to spend more time with you.”
Though she hadn’t intended to encourage him, Tracie couldn’t help smiling back at him. She shook her head and whispered, mostly to herself, “I should know better.”
“Why? There’s no rule in the Coast Guard against the two of us spending time together outside of work.”
“Not in the Coast Guard,” she shook her head. “It’s my rule.”
“Why?”
Tracie sighed. She’d been tired before Heath had arrived. She was exhausted now. Still, it had been so long since she’d had anyone to talk to, since she’d stood so close to anyone. She didn’t want Heath to leave, so she kept talking.
“I didn’t always have this rule. Before Trevor came, I wouldn’t think twice about meeting a few guys from the team at the rec center for racquetball, or joining my coworkers and their families for a barbecue.” She paused.
“Before Trevor came?”
“He wanted more of my attention than I wanted to give him.” It took several long seconds for her to gather the courage to look Heath in the eye.
The concern on his face strengthened her, and she went on. “He thought we should hang out together. He—” she struggled to form the words she hadn’t ever admitted to anyone “—he wanted to be involved with me. He thought we should get together after hours. Not that I ever would.” She made a disgusted face. “I tried to turn him down politely. I tried to give him hints. When hints weren’t enough I had to make myself very, very clear.”
Her voice rose as the confession came spilling out, and Gunnar lifted his head from her foot and whined his concern.
Tracie lowered her voice slightly. “I told him I didn’t fraternize with coworkers. Ever. And I stuck to it. Once I thought I could get away with going to play sand volleyball with a bunch of guys from work, but he showed up. It was bad.” She pinched her eyes shut against the memories. Trevor’s anger. Trevor’s accusations.
Heath extended his good arm, gently enfolding her shoulders. She smelled the scent of his fabric softener mixed with his aftershave, and his soft cotton shirt pulsed ever so slightly with his strong heartbeat.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Heath apologized. “And I’m sorry I pushed you. I didn’t know.”
Tracie shook her head against him, startled to find herself so close to him, but immeasurably glad for his closeness anyway. “No. Don’t be sorry.” She looked up into his face. “You are nothing like him. I don’t regret letting you in tonight. I really appreciate the pizza, and the opportunity to talk.”
The grin that instantly appeared on Heath’s face told Tracie he didn’t regret it either.
A surprised laugh burst from her lips. “If Trevor was alive right now, he would be so furious to see you here when I was so insistent on not getting involved with him.”
Heath lifted her chin. “Let’s just be glad he’s dead, then.” He looked into her eyes, his expression warm.
Returning a giddy smile, Tracie let her eyes rove over his handsome face, to his lips less than a foot from hers. What would it be like to kiss him? She was chiding herself for thinking such a thing about a man she’d only just met when Gunnar’s barking protest distracted her. “Okay, Mr. Chaperone,” she relented, backing away.
“I should go,” Heath said, taking a step toward his coat.
The twinge of disappointment she felt took Tracie by surprise. She hadn’t ever intended to have Heath over in the first place; she should have felt relieved that he was leaving. “Thanks for the pizza.” She headed for the door, self-conscious about where her thoughts had roamed.
When Tracie opened the front door for Heath, Gunnar’s nostrils flared and he bounded outside, barking.
“Want me to go after him?” Heath offered.
“It’s okay, he usually goes out before bedtime.” She bit her lower lip thoughtfully. Gunnar wasn’t usually so excited about his evening ritual, but she figured Heath’s visit had thrown him off his routine. Still, he barked angrily at the thorny stand of blackberry canes that rimmed the one side of her property. Strange.
“Sounds like he’s pretty interested in those bushes,” Heath observed. “Is that normal?”
Tracie felt her pulse tick up a notch. “Not really,” she acknowledged, sliding on her oversize snow boots and tromping out at Heath’s side.
“Hey, buddy.” Heath went nose-to-nose with the canine. “What’s up? You got a rabbit pinned in there?”
