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His gaze floated all over her upper body and face. “You aren’t that type of woman.”
“How would you know? I made a promise to myself never to get trampled by a wealthy man.” The way Ruby had. She’d stick to her own class. One never could predict the future. Ruby sure hadn’t been able to. “I could be using you.”
He actually chuckled.
“You barely know me,” she said.
“I have a first impression. And I’m good at reading people. Your only hang-up is you don’t really know jack about rich people.”
Georgia had no idea why she was enjoying herself so much. He’d be insulting if he wasn’t talking in such a witty tone. But then, so would she.
“Oh, and is it your job, now, to teach me about them?”
“I think it’s going to be the first thing I’ve had the privilege to choose to do on my own since I was forced to leave the Marines.”
What did he mean by that? Before she could ask, the attendant returned for their dinner order.
“Do you mind if I choose?” he asked Georgia, showing her the menus.
She shrugged. He was playing some sort of game with her, and she discovered she didn’t mind. And he liked being able to choose on his own. He could try to prove rich people weren’t all snobs and the middle class had it all wrong. She wasn’t going to buy it. “As long as it’s not slimy or has tentacles, I’m okay with that.”
“Right in line with my taste.”
With another one of his sexy grins, he read the menu and then waited for the attendant to return. Then he ordered the filet mignon with grilled asparagus.
Georgia let him have his fun, telling herself it was harmless as long as she was immune to him. And it could be worse. She could be on his private jet.
When the attendant left, he said, “To pick up from earlier, I wasn’t speaking from experience. No one’s ever cheated on me, and I’ve never cheated on anyone. It’s up there with robbery and animal cruelty for me.”
It was so nonchalant that she had to stop and think about what he was saying. Why was it so important to him that she know he’d never been cheated on? Because of her perception of him? Maybe he didn’t want her to think that rich people didn’t have morals. It wasn’t his fault he was part of a ridiculously wealthy family.
“You feel strongly about it.”
“Yes.”
This wasn’t because of her perception of him. He really didn’t like cheaters. “You’re a real stand-up kind of guy, aren’t you?” Her surprise came out in her voice.
“Has anyone ever cheated on you?” he asked.
“No.” But that brought up thoughts she’d rather didn’t enter her conscience. She turned away from him.
He angled his head as though trying to see her face. “Something I said?”
“No.” She shook her head, shaking off the dark thoughts along with it.
He watched her a moment and then didn’t ask her any more questions. He gave her space. He’d nudged, but he knew when to back off, and she appreciated that. More than he could possibly know, and more than she’d tell him.
The champagne arrived, strawberries floating on the surface. Georgia took a glass from the attendant. The woman left and she met the play of mischief that had returned to Carson’s eyes.
“Is this what you do when you fly on your family jet?” she asked.
“No. Never.”
Never? She didn’t believe that. “This is just for me, huh? Have you ever treated a woman to champagne in a plane?”
“No. Never.”
She laughed softly. “I don’t believe you.”
“I haven’t. I’ve been in the military. If I’d have been here all this time, maybe I would have. I didn’t use the jet in the military.”
So, she was his first. She clinked her glass with his. “Here’s to trying new things.”
“To new things.”
She sipped some champagne. It was delicious. Sweet with a touch of dry.
“Is it the best you’ve ever had?” he asked.
She had to be honest. “Yes.”
“Good. I’m going to give you a lot of those.” He focused on the pages on the table before him, as though what he’d just said was an everyday thing.
“I don’t want you to spend money on me, Carson. I can pay my own way on this trip.”
“Hmm.” He nodded. “I know. But you aren’t going to.”
She twisted on the seat to face him more fully, still holding her glass. “No, Carson.”
He turned his head. “Relax, Georgia. I want to spend money on you. You need someone to spend money on you.”
Their meals arrived, and Georgia refrained from arguing with him. The dishes were gorgeous. She could forget she was on a commercial plane.
She dug in, savoring the flavor of the meat and loving that Carson had thought of this.
Carson stuck a forkful of meat in his mouth, all very not in a posh manner. He was more of a mountain man the way he ate the meat.
She laughed but had to set him straight. “I don’t need any of this. I’m happy with my humble existence. In fact, I prefer it.”
“You need to eat.”
“You know what I mean.” She spread her hand over her plate and lifted her champagne glass.
“Nobody needs it. But it sure is nice. Don’t you agree?” He waited while she debated how to answer.
She couldn’t lie. “It is nice.” But what was nice about it—first-class or him?
Chapter 4 (#ulink_869217dd-6669-5424-b7bd-e844ccbdee81)
Stepping up to the old redbrick building with rows of narrow windows and a flag waving out front, Carson entered the lobby of the Marine Corps Base Camp Lejeune and told the receptionist he was here to see Major Sergeant Copeland. He’d left Georgia at their hotel. When he finished here, she was going out with him for ice cream, and not just any ice cream.
Copeland appeared moments later, his green suit decorated with rows of badges, ribbons and medals above the left breast pocket and rank insignia on his arm. Carson walked toward him, ever aware of the limp he couldn’t hide.
“Lieutenant Adair.” Copeland shook his hand. “Good to see you up and moving. You healed well.”
“Better than expected.” Better than not walking. He had to keep telling himself that.
“Come with me.”
Copeland wasn’t a man who wasted words. Carson followed him down a hall, certain that the man would someday rise to lead MARSOC. Through a secure door and down another hall, they entered a windowless office area. A woman worked behind a desk there, her pictured badge marked with her security level in a code the military base had chosen.
Through another secure door, they entered a conference room. There was a table to seat eight, a safe, a shredder and two computers at a desk in the back. A state-of-the-art computer monitor hung from the wall and there was a phone in the middle of the table. There were some papers lying out and some high-resolution satellite images.
“We had the local police in San Diego send us over what they have on the shooting attempt,” Copeland said, reaching for the papers and handing them to Carson. “I’ve had our guys looking into it and passed the information over to our marine in South Korea.”
Carson began to skim over the first report. “Is it Morris you’ve got over there?”
“Yeah.”
Morris was one of his teammates. Only three of them had made it out alive on their botched mission.
Copeland saw the grim change in him. “They all miss you. Hell, I miss you. You were one my best soldiers, Carson.”
Unwilling to talk about it, Carson moved to the table where the photos lay. There were several of North Korean facilities that must be used for weapons research and development. The photos didn’t show much, only changes in vehicles parked there, but the same vehicles showed up, nothing new and no increase in number.
“As you can see, there’s been no sign of unusual activity there,” Copeland said. “Nothing to indicate they’ve stepped up engineering efforts. There’s been no change in government activity, either.”
That suggested the North Koreans had failed in securing the information Carson and his team had been sent to intercept. Their intel had exposed a group of terrorists who were talking to North Korea’s leader and would have accepted money in exchange for information on pressure transducer technology. That was all Carson and his team were able to glean. The terrorists in Myanmar were in contact with someone, presumably someone from the United States, who had access to technology that would help North Korea manufacture their own transducer.
Transducers were used in gas centrifuges to produce weapons-grade uranium. That had been enough to send Carson and his team in to stop the transfer. They were never able to confirm success.
They had never learned the identity of the person who was going to bring the technology, only knew through the terrorists that the meeting would take place. Somehow the terrorists discovered their presence and a gunfight had erupted. One of Carson’s teammates had gone after the man the terrorists were supposed to meet. But the man got away, and Carson’s teammate had been killed. The plan had been to capture the man and interrogate him, along with stopping him from transferring sensitive US technology to an arms-embargoed country.
“They didn’t get the technology,” Carson said.
“Right. But then why did someone go after you?”
Why would the terrorists or the mystery man try to kill him if they didn’t have the technology? “Maybe the mystery man still had it and they’re waiting to arrange a new meet.”
“So they think killing you would facilitate that?”
Copeland was right. It didn’t make sense. Killing Carson and anyone else on the team wouldn’t stop the US military from organizing a mission to stop another transfer attempt.
“They’d want me alive if they thought I had it.” But why would they think he had it? And if the mystery man had it to begin with, what had happened to cause him to lose it? “Maybe they want revenge.”
Carson may not have been the easiest target to find after leaving the military, and it would take planning to attack him in San Diego. AdAir Corp had security, and the ranch had a security system. And if they believed Carson and his team had taken the data, they would presume they had given it to the US government. Carson or his teammates wouldn’t hang on to it. The revenge motive made sense in that regard.
But how had the mystery man lost the data? Carson had gone over the mission many times. He could think of no incident during the gunfight when someone could have taken the data. The mystery man had to have gotten away with it, or not had it with him at all.
“I’ve asked Morris to talk to the North Korean border guard he’s coerced to help us.”
“He’s in contact with a North Korean guard? How’d he manage that?”
“We’ll get him out of North Korea in exchange. He’s getting scared, though. Just before you called with the news that someone tried to kill you, Morris learned two North Korean engineers were executed and their families sent to prison camps. We believe this occurred after they failed to obtain the technology.”
“Isn’t it a little rash executing the brains behind his nuclear weapons program?”
“He recruited another engineer. Dual Chinese-Canadian citizen who got a green card and an education.”
“Who’s the engineer?”
Copeland gave him the name. “He isn’t the man we’re looking for.”
The engineer might be part of another mission. In fact, Carson didn’t doubt it. He felt a moment of regret that he couldn’t be part of it. But he was part of this mission.
“I’m happy to continue to be bait,” he said. “Draw the mystery man out.” If he’d shot at him once, he’d try again.
Copeland nodded. “That’s the main reason I asked you to meet me here. This all has to be kept secret. You aren’t part of the team anymore, but you’re my best chance at catching that man.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m not doing it because I feel sorry for you. Man up if you’re having a tough time dealing with that.” Copeland pointed to his lame leg.
Carson grinned. The commander had set him straight. “Yes, sir. I’ll do my best.”
“Good, because I need you. Our problem here is that if the North Koreans didn’t get the technology and we didn’t bring it home, where is it?”
The best way to find out was to expose the mystery man, whom Carson believed was the same one who shot at him, the one who would have made the transfer, but for whatever reason, hadn’t.
“What did the San Diego police have?” Carson asked.
Copeland’s face lit with the good question. “Ah. They traced the car to a rental company. Whoever rented it used false identification. A background came up with somebody who’s been dead for fifteen years. They’re looking for the car now and I’m looking into who might have traveled from Myanmar, or anywhere near there, during the time of the mission.”
Carson nodded. That sounded promising. And despite Copeland’s lack of sympathy, Carson was thrilled to be part of the team again.
* * *
Georgia’s bracelets jingled as she brushed her long hair back over her shoulder and stepped by a row of treasure-lined shelves inside a village bookstore. It was an independent bookstore and the most delightful she’d ever seen. Converted from an old house, it had nooks and cozy seating areas and walls of books. Carson had reserved rooms at an old Victorian inn a short walk from here. The inn was on a farm with white fences and cows. Very upscale and also very soothing in a country way. The village was full of boutique shops and there was even a spa. She was glad Carson wasn’t here to see her melt in pleasure.
He’d left her here and drove to Camp Lejeune to meet with his commander. A classified meeting. Carson had been part of an elite military team and his missions fought terrorism and protected national security. The notion of him in that role clashed mightily with what she expected to encounter when she and Ruby arrived in San Diego. A hero. Carson Adair. An Adair. Hero. The two bounced around in her head, and she kept pushing back the hero version. The bookstore helped. It was like therapy, being among the thing she loved most on earth—books—in a place like this with creaky old floors and the smell of candles, potpourri and ink, made it easy not to think of Carson as a big bad heroic soldier.
Georgia purchased a book amid the soft tinkle of piano music and left with a satisfied smile. Walking up the street toward the white inn, she passed a linen-table restaurant that was only open for dinner and a gift shop. As she drew closer, she saw a limo parked in front of the inn. And then she saw Carson. He stood next to the open back door, waiting for her. Standing tall and lean and handsome in dark jeans and another Henley, he looked as if he’d just stepped out of an ad for a yacht.
She saw him notice her outfit, from the silver flower earrings to the silver boots that went with her gray knitted cardigan over a white T-shirt and dark low-rise jeans.
“Hi,” she said, and then feared there was too much enthusiasm in the greeting. Big bad soldier. Hero.
“Hi.” He grinned. “Let’s go get ice cream.” He opened the door wider and stepped out of the way to allow her inside.
