At the Edge (8 page)

He knew all about the investigation, which involved a whole host of government agencies—FBI, CIA, NTSB. He also knew there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell he was going to discuss it with her in any meaningful way.

She arched her eyebrows at him. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Did you know they're doing an investigation?” she asked.

“Of course they are. They investigate everything. Gives them a reason to hold news conferences.”

“Okay, well, are you aware that the crash investigators' preliminary findings were just released to the committee?”

“We can't talk about our missions.”

Her mouth dropped open. “I was
there
, Ryan.”

He didn't say anything.

She folded her arms over her breasts. “Did you know their preliminary findings are that the crash was caused by pilot error?”

Ryan didn't say anything. He wasn't surprised.

Her eyes widened. “Doesn't that bother you?”

He didn't respond, and she stepped closer.

“Walter McInerny was an exemplary pilot.” Her voice quivered with emotion. “He was a decorated Marine with a long and distinguished career, and now his reputation's being unfairly tarnished.” She paused. “That doesn't bother you at all?”

Ryan tensed. Of course it bothered him, but he couldn't talk about this with her. She stared up at him expectantly, and he didn't say a word. She stepped away and looked out at the water. The ocean breeze lifted her hair off her neck.

“It's wrong, Ryan.” Her eyes glistened, and he felt an uncomfortable pinch in his chest. “He was a good man. He deserves better than this.”

Ryan pulled her against him. Which he knew was a bad, bad idea when he caught that coconut scent he'd been trying to get out of his head for weeks. He'd been freaking dreaming about it, and now it was back again, right under his nose.

He eased her away, half expecting her to be crying by now, but she wasn't. Her chin tipped up defiantly, and she looked angry.

“You guys had debriefings, like I did,” she said. “You filed reports.”

He sighed. “Emma—”

“Someone needs to set the record straight!”

She sounded like a Girl Scout. Obviously, she knew nothing about black ops and less than nothing about Alpha Crew. Almost no one knew about it, not even the people who'd approved it. The ultraelite unit took sensitive missions that rarely saw the light of day.

So she could ask all she wanted and look at him with those pleading eyes, but he couldn't reveal details of the op.

“What was the second thing?” he asked.

Her brow furrowed.

“You said you had several things you wanted to talk about.”

Her face softened, and he waited, folding his arms over his chest so he wouldn't be tempted to reach for her again. She gazed up at him and bit her lip, and Ryan's imagination went into overdrive as he remembered the taste of her mouth. He'd been thinking about that mouth of hers for weeks.

He needed to shut this down. Pronto. Emma Wright was the last girl in the world he should be fantasizing about. They lived totally different lives. She was going to walk away, and he'd probably never see her again. Why would he?

“I wanted to thank you.” She cleared her throat. “Jake, too. And Lucas and Ethan. You put yourselves in grave danger over there, and you don't even know me, and it's very humbling.” She paused. “I'm impressed.”

A lock of hair blew against her cheek, and Ryan reached out and tucked it behind her ear. He was impressed with her, too, but he couldn't tell her that. “You don't have to thank me,” he told her. “It's my job.”

Her mouth tightened, and he knew he'd said something wrong. “Well.” She looked away. “I should go.” She moved to leave, and he caught her arm.

“Wait.”

He kissed her, dragging her against him and melding her soft body to his. She didn't move for a moment, but he coaxed her lips apart and was rewarded with that sweet taste he'd been craving. And then her fingers were in his hair and her tongue tangled with his. It was like before, and she was kissing him again like she'd never get enough, and the force of it slammed into him and damn near knocked him on his ass. He slid his fingers up to touch her perfect breast that, Jesus God, filled his whole hand.

He had to stop. But she tasted so good and felt so damn perfect, and he couldn't pull away. He just needed to touch her and taste her for a few more seconds, a few more minutes, just enough to satisfy that thirst that had been dogging him since she'd kissed him on the beach. Her kiss was hot, even hotter than he remembered, and he couldn't get enough of her warm, lush body.

Her hands slid down, and her fingertips dipped into the back of his jeans, and
holy
hell
, what was she doing? Lust shot through him. He wanted her. He wanted to pull her behind a dune and drag her down into the sand with him and hike up that tight little skirt so she could wrap her legs around him.

He rubbed his thumb over her nipple, and she made a low moan and rolled her hips against him, and before he knew what he was doing, his hands were on the buttons of her shirt, flicking them open and pushing the silk aside. He stroked his hand over the lace of her bra and felt all that soft flesh underneath while he continued to feed on her mouth.

A honk and a squeal of tires made her jump. She cast a glance back at the highway, then looked at him, panting. He was panting, too. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips were swollen, and the look in her eyes was pure confusion.

“My bad.” He eased back.

She blinked up at him.

“I shouldn't have done that,” he added, dropping his hand from her waist.

Her shirt was open in front, and the sight of her lace bra sent a spear of disappointment through him, because that glimpse was as close as he was ever going to get to seeing her naked. She glanced down, and her cheeks flushed even deeper as she hurried to fasten the buttons. “Oh my God,” she mumbled.

Ryan glanced around. Sure enough, they were attracting stares from people walking on the beach.

He sent her a guilty look. “Sorry.”

“Forget it.”

She turned, and they started walking back toward the pub, and Ryan felt like he should say something. She picked up her pace, hugging her arms close to her chest. She seemed pissed, and he didn't blame her. He shoved his hands safely into the pockets of his jeans. What the hell was he thinking making out with her on a public beach? In front of O'Malley's, no less.

“Emma—”

“I said forget it.” She shot a look at him. It was an angry look, with maybe some hurt mixed in.

Damn it, he should have let her walk away, but instead he'd gone and messed things up. And now she was leaving. It was for the better, definitely, but still it sucked.

They didn't talk any more as they neared the noisy highway. Ryan took a big gulp of ocean air and tried to settle himself down. When they hit the sidewalk, she slipped back into her shoes.

“So.” He cleared his throat. “Are you staying at the Del?”

The Hotel del Coronado was the nicest place around, so it would be perfect for her.

“The Cambridge,” she said. “You know it?”

It was a boutique hotel only slightly less expensive. “I've heard of it.”

“The Del was booked, so I had to call around.”

They reached the parking lot, and she turned down the first row of vehicles, mostly trucks. She darted a nervous look around, and Ryan's instincts fired to life again. She felt threatened by something. But she was with him. What did she think could happen?

“What's wrong?” he asked point-blank. He wouldn't play games with her safety.

“Nothing.”

“Emma.” He stopped. “What is it?”

“Nothing.”

She turned and strode down the row a little farther, stopping at a tiny white rental car.

Which was parked right beside his Ford F-250.

Coincidence? No way. She'd found him at his favorite bar, and he had no doubt she knew his vehicle and where he lived, too. This woman was resourceful.

She gazed up at him with a challenge in her eyes, and he realized she wanted him to know that she'd tracked him down, a trained operator who was unlisted and took pains to stay off the grid as much as possible.

“You gonna tell me or make me guess?” he asked.

“Guess what?” She had that innocent look on her face.

“What's got you worried?”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Nothing, it's just late.” She shrugged. “I'm always careful in parking lots.”

“You should be.”

He studied her closely. She was a woman traveling alone, so maybe she was just being cautious. But he sensed there was more to it. He was trained in interrogation, and he could sniff out a lie in a heartbeat, even when it was delivered by a skilled manipulator—which Emma definitely was not.

And yet she stood there gazing up at him, trying to erase the tension from her face. When he'd first seen her tonight, he'd been surprised and then intrigued. But now he felt obligated, too, and he needed to figure out what had her worried.

He eased closer and felt her tension kick up, but she continued to look at him with those bottomless brown eyes. And he goddamn
knew
she was keeping secrets from him.

“Sorry to interrupt your night.” She glanced at the bar, as if he might be going back inside.

“You didn't.”

She lifted an eyebrow as she opened the door and slid inside the car. He put his hand on top of the door, suddenly grasping for a way to prolong the conversation.

“So when are you going back?” he asked.

“Back where?”

“Manila. The embassy.”

A shadow came over her face, and she looked down. “I'm not.”

“You're not?”

She met his eyes, and the truth hit him. She had no job to go back to.

Because her boss was dead.

TEN

H
ey, Hewitt needs to see you.”

Ryan hung his fins in his locker and turned to see Ethan walking over, still in his dive suit.

“When?”

“Now.” His teammate shot him a look. “And I'd double-time it, bro. He doesn't look happy.”

Ryan slung his pack over his shoulder and headed for the CO's office, still buttoning up the shirt of his BDUs as he passed a fresh crop of trainees getting hammered on the grinder. Ryan took a sort of twisted pleasure in seeing them wet and sandy and grunting through their umpteenth set of cherry pickers. They were hating it now, but Hell Week was only in its second day, and they didn't have a clue what they were in for.

Ryan found his CO in his office surrounded by stacks of files. He glanced up and motioned Ryan inside.

“Close the door, will you?”

Ryan stood at ease as Hewitt leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. He had a casual way with his men, which Ryan appreciated. At the moment, though, his frown didn't look casual.

“I signed your papers this morning. Headed to Florida?”

“Yes, sir.”

He waved away the formality and rested his elbows on his desk as he looked up at Ryan, still frowning. Hewitt was smaller than most of his men, only six feet tall. But he was a legend in the teams, and his experience gave him a commanding presence.

“You've probably got packing to do, so I'll get straight to the point,” the CO said. “We've got a problem. Emma Wright.”

Ryan practiced the SEAL art of keeping his face expressionless as his brain raced ahead.

“You care to guess what I'm going to tell you?” Hewitt asked.

“No, sir.”

He waved off the “sir” again. “Since Renee Conner's funeral, she's been poking around everywhere, asking a lot of questions. I had a call today with Sy Warner from the FBI's Los Angeles field office.”

Ryan frowned. “What have they got to do with anything?”

“Deep background. The Conners are from there, and the LA field office conducted the original background check when Richard Conner was nominated. Anyway, Emma Wright's been calling around trying to get people to talk to her about the investigation.” He smiled. “Hell, the girl's ballsy, I'll give her that. She even called Admiral Chomsky.” The smile faded. “And Chomsky in turn passed her off to me. I just got off the phone with her, as a matter of fact.”

Ryan cleared his throat. “What'd you tell her?”

“I explained that we have a process to determine what happened, and it's not over yet. Basically, the same bullshit she's been getting everywhere else. Frankly, the only reason anyone's even taking her calls is because her dad's a congressman.”

Ryan waited. It sounded like Emma was being a pain in the ass, but he didn't know what Hewitt expected him to do about it. The CO was watching him closely.

“I understand you spent the most time with her during the rescue op.”

“That's correct.”

“And what's your take?”

His CO wanted his honest assessment, not the crap Ryan had put in his report. “She held up pretty good, sir. She's stronger than she looks.”

“I read her statement. She remembered very little about the crash itself. Sounds like she might have been in shock for a lot of it. She said nothing about the plane taking a hit.”

“She was definitely in shock,” Ryan said. “That was my take when I found her, and same with Jake when he checked her over. Could be she's remembering more now than she did when they debriefed her.”

Hewitt nodded grimly. The room was silent for a moment, and then he checked his watch and stood up, grabbing a file folder off the stack.

“Things are going well for you, Owen.” He walked around the desk. “You're one of this team's top officers because you know how to focus and you think on your feet. So I know I don't have to remind you of your obligation.”

His obligation . . . To refrain from sharing classified intel? To refrain from screwing the congressman's daughter?

Probably both.

Hewitt clapped him on the shoulder. “Enjoy your leave, Lieutenant. I'll see you Friday at 0600.”

———

The streets of San Diego were slick from a recent shower as Emma wended her way back to her hotel. It had been a long, frustrating day, and she'd made little progress. Even with her shameless name-dropping, it was getting harder and harder to get people to return her calls and e-mails. The dot-gov world was tighter than most people knew, and once word got around, it hadn't taken long for Emma to ascend to the top of everyone's
Do Not Call Back
list.

She cruised along, watching the sailors making their way between bars. She tried to imagine Ryan in one of those crisp white uniforms, but she could only picture him in camo and greasepaint.

A warm shiver moved through her as she remembered him crouched in front of her by that rain-forest stream, doing his damnedest not to spook her. He must have thought she was crazy, all filthy and wild-eyed and babbling incoherently. At that moment, she
had
felt crazy. Not just crazy but scared out of her mind. And yet Ryan had talked to her like she was a perfectly rational person and calmly proceeded to pluck her off her feet and whisk her to safety.

The entire experience had changed her. Fundamentally. Since coming home, she'd felt a constant buzz of anxiety, along with a gnawing certainty that something was off-balance. Or just plain
off.
The sensation was relentless, and nothing she did would make it go away.

But seeing Ryan again—and yes, kissing him—had made her feel abundantly better, if only for that fleeting time on the beach when he'd pulled her into his arms. Everything about it had felt so good, so inevitable.

It seemed odd to have such a strong tie to a man she barely knew. But then again, maybe it wasn't. She'd been through something she never could have imagined she would experience, and Ryan had been part of it. He understood her in a way that other people didn't and couldn't. Even though she'd only known him a short time, she felt a deep connection to him, deeper than with almost anyone in her life. The question that kept nagging her was . . . did he feel it, too?

It's my job.

His words stung. Even now, days later.

His words had been harsh, but at least they'd been truthful. Locating her and rescuing her
was
his job, and he'd accomplished it successfully, end of story.

But she couldn't stop thinking about him.

She'd definitely noticed his protectiveness at O'Malley's. He hadn't wanted anyone hitting on her, least of all his teammate.

And yet he hadn't invited her back to his place or suggested they go to hers, even though he'd seemed like he wanted to. In fact, for a minute, she'd thought they might not even make it off the beach. But then he'd totally backed off and shut her down.

It was for the better. If she told herself that enough, maybe she'd believe it.

She hadn't come here for Ryan—at least not completely. She'd come here to unravel the truth about what happened up in that plane and to clear the name of an honorable man who had spent his last moments on earth trying to save the lives of his passengers.

Tears filled her eyes, but she blinked them back as she swung into the driveway of her hotel. Ahead of her was a minivan where a bedraggled mom was unloading a tote bag filled with beach towels and dolphin toys. Two little boys in Sea World caps piled out of the van, and their mother hustled them to the door as her husband lingered behind to unbuckle another car seat. He scooped a sleeping little girl onto his shoulder, and she slumped against him like a rag doll.

Emma watched the family and felt a pang of loneliness so strong it took her breath away.

“Miss? Will you be staying with us this evening?”

She blinked up at the valet. “What? Oh, yes. I'm already registered.” She grabbed her purse and got out, but suddenly she had no desire whatsoever to spend another night holed up in her hotel room, flipping channels and waiting for e-mails that never came through.

She walked across the cobblestone driveway and looked out onto a boulevard landscaped with palm trees and bougainvillea. She glanced up and down the block, and her gaze came to rest on a green neon sign: Thai Garden. She set out at a brisk pace, and with every step she grew hungrier. She hadn't eaten all day, and Thai was her go-to comfort food. Her phone chimed from her purse, and she dug it out. The caller ID said
US GOV
.

Emma's pulse picked up as she answered.

“This is Special Agent Alexa Mays returning your call.”

It wasn't a question but a statement, and it was followed by a strategic silence.

Emma smiled. She'd never met an FBI agent in a hurry to volunteer information. But she wasn't intimidated. On the contrary, the fact that this woman had called her at all was a huge victory. It meant someone in the Los Angeles field office had instructed Mays to handle her.

“I assume you got my message,” Emma said. “I'm in town only briefly, and I'd really appreciate the chance to talk to you concerning the Renee Conner investigation.”

A faint sound, maybe a sigh. “I have ten thirty tomorrow open, but then I've got a hard stop at eleven,” the agent said.

A ten-thirty meeting would mean getting up early to fight Monday-morning traffic up the coast, but Emma would take it. It would be her first face-to-face with an actual person on the multiagency task force investigating the plane crash.

“Perfect,” Emma said. “Should I call when I arrive or—”

“Check in with security. I'll meet you in the lobby.”

“Got it.”

“And I don't know if you're familiar with our procedures, but no cell phones.”

“I know.”

Emma felt a surge of happiness as she clicked off. Most of her day had been a flop, but things were improving. Her spirits were buoyed as she neared the restaurant, and the aroma of coconut curry shrimp made her mouth water.

A sharp squeal of brakes had her whirling around as a giant gray pickup truck zoomed down the street. It jumped the curb and roared straight toward her.

She leaped into a doorway, crashing to her knees. A wall of gray metal flew past, missing her by inches and making her heart nearly burst out of her chest.

Another squeal of rubber was followed by a loud
pop
like a car backfiring. Emma clutched her chest. She tried to breathe, but her lungs felt paralyzed. Another roar, another squeal. The noise faded. She leaned forward, hazarding a peek from the doorway just in time to see a pair of glowing red taillights disappearing around the corner.

She heard hysterical little hiccups and realized they were coming from her own body. She clamped her mouth shut and watched the crowd converging on the busted fire hydrant, ducking to the side to avoid the drenching spray.

Emma pulled herself up on wobbly legs and stepped from the doorway.

“Hey, lady, you okay?” A man rushed toward her.

Another engine growled nearby. Emma jumped back into the doorway as a black pickup screeched to a halt in front of her.

A black F-250. Ryan at the wheel. The passenger window was down, and he was leaning toward it, yelling at her, but she had absolutely no idea what he was saying.

He reached across and shoved open the passenger door.

“Get in!”

She stared at him, slack-jawed.

“Get
in
, Emma!”

She stumbled to the truck and jumped inside.