Navy SEAL to Die For (3 page)

“No, sir.” Becca stood, too wound up to sit, and ready to get the heck out of the building and on her way to DC. “I’m Becca Smith, and I was in Cancun looking for the assassin who killed my father, a respected member of the CIA. I believe the assassin who targeted Sawyer was the same mercenary who killed my father. Unfortunately, he died before we could find out who hired him to do the job. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I want to get back to DC and see if I can pick up the trail from a different direction.”

Commander Jacobs held up his hand. “Hold your horses, young lady. Like I said before, nobody is going anywhere. You do realize you’ll all be questioned in regard to the airplane you were flying in. And, by the way, you haven’t gotten to letting me know how you managed to be returning to the States in a private jet.”

Becca held up her hand. “I can explain that one. My boss offered to fly us back after all that happened in Cancun.”

“Who the hell do you work for? The president?” the CO asked.

“No, sir,” Becca said. “But my boss has connections in the government. I’m not at liberty to share his identity or the organization for which I work. I’d have to get permission from my boss.”

Commander Jacobs crossed the room and stood toe-to-toe with her.

Becca lifted her chin and stared straight into his eyes, refusing to back down or be cowed by the man who towered over her.

“Well, I sure as hell don’t have the answers to the questions the FAA will have about that aircraft. I suggest you get your boss on the line, ASAP.”

“Do you have a phone I can borrow?” She fished hers out of her pocket. “Mine went for a swim with me.”

Quentin chuckled, the sound sending warmth through Becca’s chest.

“Chief Petty Officer Quentin, do you find something funny about this situation?” Commander Jacobs glared at him. “Because I sure as hell don’t.”

“No, sir.” Quentin wiped the smirk off his face and stood at attention.

“Then show this woman to a telephone so that she can call home,” Commander Jacobs snapped.

“On it.” Quentin held out his hand.

Becca took his hand and let him lead her out of the room. Once in the hallway, she asked, “Is he always that cranky?”

“Only when he doesn’t know what’s going on. We should have reported in sooner.”

Quentin led her into an office with a telephone. “Dial 9 to get an outside line. I’ll leave you to it.” He stepped into the hallway and pulled the door closed behind him.

Alone at last, still damp with swamp water in her hair and clothes, Becca lifted the telephone and dialed 9 and Royce’s cell phone number.

He answered on the first ring. “Yeah.”

“It’s Smith,” she said.

“Smith, what’s going on? The tracking device on the plane blinked out before you were due to land in Mississippi. Is everything all right?”

“No, sir. We think the plane was shot down.” She explained what happened and their subsequent attack by the helicopter. “You might want to be here to explain the private plane and who it belongs to. The FAA and the Department of Homeland Security will be all over what happened.”

“I’m on my way. I should be there early in the morning, if you can hold off the wolves until then.”

“I’ll do the best I can,” Becca said. “When the FAA and DHS are done with us, I’d like to get back to DC and see if I can drum up another lead to follow. Whoever is behind my father’s death could possibly be after me now.”

“You’re probably right. In which case, I need to assign an agent to protect you.”

“I don’t need anyone to protect me.”

“Yes, you do,” a voice said behind her.

Becca spun toward the door.

Quentin stood in the half-opened doorway. “Sorry to eavesdrop, but the CO is getting restless.”

“Becca, is that one of the navy SEALs?” Royce asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Let me talk to him.”

“Sir—” Becca hesitated.

“Hand him the phone, Smith,” Royce commanded.

Becca held out the receiver. “My boss wants to talk to you.”

Quentin entered the room, closed the door and raised the receiver to his ear. “Yes, sir.”

Becca strained to hear what her boss was saying to Quentin.

“Chief Petty Officer Quentin Lovett, sir.” He listened for a moment and then smiled. “I’d be happy to. No sir, I’m still on leave for a couple days, if my commander doesn’t cancel it.” He nodded. “I will, sir. No. Thank you.” He handed the receiver to Becca.

She frowned, not liking that Royce hadn’t told her what he wanted to talk to Quentin about. “Sir, I need to get back to the debriefing.”

“Smith, Lovett has offered to be your bodyguard. I want you to stick to him like flypaper.”

“But, sir.”

“No buts. All other agents are assigned at this time.”

“What about Natalie Layne? She could be my bodyguard.”

“She’s not officially on board. I have to bring her back on the payroll before I can assign her.”

“Quentin isn’t on your payroll,” she pointed out.

“No, but he offered to spend his leave taking care of you. Let him.”

“But—”

“I’m on my way. See you in the morning.” A loud click indicated the end of the call. Becca stared at the receiver a moment before replacing it in the cradle.

“Looks like you and I will be together a little longer.”

Becca spun to face him.

The man leaned his back against the door, his arms crossed over his chest.

Anger rushed up Becca’s chest, filling her cheeks with heat. “Like hell we are.” She marched up to him. “Move.”

He stepped aside and opened the door. “Where are you going?”

“Anywhere but in the same room with you.”

He raised his hands. “Hey, your boss asked
me
to look out for you, not the other way around.”

She stared at him through narrowed eyes. “I don’t care what he said. I have work to do.”

“You heard the commander. No one goes anywhere until the FAA and DHS go through the motions.”

“The sooner the better. And then I’m out of here.”

“Not without me.”

“We’ll see about that.” She marched past him and down the hallway toward the war room. The man was far too infuriating for Becca. He was irritating, persistent and annoying.

In the back of her mind she heard another voice extolling his virtues of bravery, determination and concerned for the welfare of others. She might not be alive if he hadn’t jumped into the alligator-infested swamp after her, or if he hadn’t gone in again to pull their life raft to the shadows of the trees.

Well, damn. Just when she thought she’d get away from him and his band of brothers, she’d been ordered to stay put by her boss. In the morning, when Royce arrived, she’d have to get him to call off the SEAL so that she could get on with her search to find her father’s killer. She didn’t have time to get involved with a sexy SEAL. His broad shoulders and tempting smile were beginning to wear on her. She had to get away before she did something dumb like kiss him.

Chapter Three

Three hours later, after they’d answered what questions they could for the FAA, DHS, county sheriff, state police and everyone else who could possibly be involved, they were finally allowed to leave the base.

Quentin needed a shower. He smelled like swamp water and, despite his discomfort, he was hungry. He could imagine Becca felt the same. Her anger seemed to have dissipated as the day wore into evening.

“Some of us are headed to the Shoot the Bull Bar for a beer. Are you coming?” Jace asked.

Quentin shook his head. “I need a shower and a gallon of coffee, not booze.”

Becca rose from the conference table and stretched. Even in a swamp-water-dingy white blouse and wrinkled trousers, her dark hair in funky disarray, she was a beauty.

His groin tightened at the thought he would be spending the night in the same building as her, possibly the same room.

Rip entered the war room and handed Quentin a cup of coffee. “I’m headed to the bar, but I can drop you at your apartment on the way.”

“You are a lifesaver.” Quentin wrapped his hand around the cup and inhaled the fragrant scent. “And yes, I’ll take you up on that ride as soon as I convince Becca she’s coming with us.”

Rip grinned. “Did you score in Cancun?”

Quentin winced when Becca joined them at that exact moment. “No, he did not score, nor will he. If you don’t mind, could you drop me at a hotel?”

“Sure,” Rip responded.

“Then you’ll have to drop me there, too.” Quentin turned to Becca. “I’m not leaving you alone. Either you stay at my place where I have two bedrooms, or I stay with you in your room at a hotel.”

“I’m not staying in the same room as you, Loverboy,” she said.

“So you’re telling me you want to stay in my apartment?”

“No. I didn’t say that.”

He leaned close to her. “Just so you know, when I give my word, I keep it.”

“And like I told Royce, I don’t need a bodyguard. We don’t even know why they shot down the plane. It could have been someone after Sawyer, not me.”

“Or it could have been you since you’re on the trail of whoever hired the assassin who killed your father.” Quentin crossed his arms over his chest. “Your choice. Togetherness in one hotel room, or sleeping in separate rooms in my apartment.”

Becca’s lips pressed into a thin line. She waited twenty of Quentin’s heartbeats before she finally said, “Fine. Your place. But I’m not sleeping with you.”

“You hear that, Duff?” Rip grinned. “A female who isn’t falling for Loverboy’s killer charm. This has to be a first.” Rip turned to Quentin, shaking his head. “What happened in Mexico? Are you losing your touch?”

Quentin ignored Rip’s comment and raised his brows at Becca. “I didn’t ask you to sleep with me. Besides, who said I wanted to sleep with
you
?”

Rip clapped a hand on Quentin’s back. “If you two have things figured out, I’d like to leave while we can.”

“We’re ready.” Becca sailed past Quentin and Rip and marched down the hall.

Quentin stood for a moment, admiring the view of her swaying hips.

Duff clamped a hand on Quentin’s shoulder. “Forget it, she’s not that into you.”

“Oh, she is,” Quentin said. “She just doesn’t know it yet.”

“That’s right, feed the ego, Loverboy.” Duff walked with him to the exit. “If you want to win her over, my advice to you is to get a shower. The only female you’re going to attract smelling like you do is a female gator.”

Outside, the parking lot was slowly clearing of the emergency and government vehicles. Rip hit the button to remotely unlock his truck. When the taillights blinked, Becca headed in that direction.

Before Quentin could open the door for her, Becca was inside, adjusting her seatbelt in the front passenger seat.

Quentin climbed into the backseat behind her.

Rip slipped behind the wheel. “So, Becca, is it?”

“Don’t feel obligated to engage in small talk,” she said. “It’s been a long day.”

“Gotcha,” Rip said, a smile spreading across his face. He shot a glance at Quentin in the rearview mirror. “She’s a real ball-buster, isn’t she?”

Quentin ignored him. It
had
been a long day and he was tired of the smell and stickiness of his clothing against his skin. The sooner he got a shower, the more human he’d feel. Then he could continue his campaign to win over the pretty secret agent.

Rip pulled up in front of his apartment building. “Got a key, or did it go down with the plane?”

Quentin nodded. “I have a spare.”

“Under the welcome mat?” Rip asked.

“Something like that,” he replied.

“In this day and age, you’re willing to risk someone finding your spare key?” Becca frowned. “Maybe the hotel is a better idea.”

“We’re here. Give my apartment a chance. If you don’t like it, I’ll drive you to the hotel myself.” Quentin got out, opened Becca’s door and held it while she climbed down. “Thanks, Rip.”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Rip said with a grin. Then his face sobered. “Hey, and if you need anything just yell. Hopefully, whoever took a shot at the team won’t try picking you off one at time.” Rip drove off, leaving Quentin with Becca. Alone.

Quentin had been thinking along the same lines. If someone was truly after Becca or the SEAL team, they’d gone to a whole lot of trouble to take them out with a fiery plane wreck and helicopter attack. After the failed attempt, wouldn’t they come after them again in a subtler attack?

Perhaps staying alone in his apartment wasn’t such a good idea after all. Granted, Montana lived in the same apartment building. Though Montana had opted to have a beer with the guys at the Shoot the Bull, he’d be back later. Since he was on the same floor of the apartment complex, he’d be within shouting distance should Quentin and Becca run into trouble.

With a sigh, Becca faced the building “Which one is yours?”

Quentin hooked her elbow. “I’ll show you.” He led her to his door and reached up to the porch light fixture and pulled the spare key from between the base plate and the wall. “See? Not under the mat.”

“I feel so much better,” Becca said, her voice dripping sarcasm.

“Great. We can get this evening off to a good start with the right attitude.”

“The only thing that will improve my attitude is a long soak in a hot shower followed by a glass of wine.”

He opened the door and reached inside to flip the light switch.

Becca entered and stared around at the small but comfortable room. “Are you sure you live here?”

“Yes, of course. Why?” He closed the door behind him and glanced around, trying to see the room through her eyes.

“It’s...too...” she waved a hand at the room “...clean.”

Quentin shrugged and stepped past her. “Not all men are slobs.”

“Yeah, but this is almost sterile. I feel like I have to take off my shoes before I step inside.” She toed the back of her shoe. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea, considering where they’ve been.” Barefoot, she walked through the living room and peered into one of the bedrooms.

“That’s mine. You can sleep there or in the other room. Your choice. There’s only one bathroom, shared between the two bedrooms.” He unbuttoned his shirt as he walked into the small kitchen. “You can have the first shower, while I open a bottle of wine.”

“Thanks. I’ll take you up on both offers.” She headed straight for the spare bedroom, entering the bathroom from there. Before she closed the door, she called out, “I’ll try to save you some hot water.” Without looking back, she closed the door.

A moment later, Quentin heard the snick of the door being closed on the other side of the Jack-and-Jill bathroom—the door leading into his bedroom. Then he heard the sound of the shower spray.

Quentin had the bottle out of the cabinet and two glasses on the counter when he realized Becca didn’t have clothes to change into.

He entered his room and riffled through his dresser for a soft T-shirt for her to sleep in. He’d offer her pajama bottoms to go with it but he didn’t own a pair. Instead, he grabbed a pair of clean running shorts with an adjustable drawstring. With the clothing in hand, he knocked on the bathroom door.

“I’m not done yet,” Becca called out.

Quentin tried the bathroom doorknob in the guest bedroom, surprised to find it unlocked. He twisted the knob and pushed it open a crack.

Becca poked her head around the shower curtain. “What are you doing?”

“I brought clothes for you, unless you prefer to sleep in the buff.”

She frowned at his offering and then nodded. “Thanks. You can leave them on the counter.” The curtain whipped back in place.

Quentin set the shirt and shorts on the counter and turned. Though he couldn’t see through the shower curtain, he could clearly see the outline of Becca’s naked body.

His heart skipped several beats and his blood raced south, tightening his groin. Yeah, she had all the right curves in all the right places.

A sopping wet rag flew over the top of the curtain rod and smacked him in the side of his head.

“Out!” Becca demanded.

“Going.” Quentin left the bathroom and returned to the kitchen where he poured a large glass of wine and called in an order for pizza to be delivered. He had no intention of going back out and he didn’t have much in the way of food in his refrigerator, having emptied it prior to the planned two-week vacation in Mexico, which had been cut short by all that had happened.

As he drank his wine, his gaze fixed on the bathroom door, his mind conjuring the silhouette of Becca standing behind the shower curtain. He had to have her. A thousand seduction scenarios ran through his head, many of which had been successful in the past with other women. But Becca was different.

The woman wanted nothing to do with him.

She’d be a challenge, but one worthy of the effort to win.

* * *

B
ECCA
SCRUBBED
THE
swamp smell out of her hair and grabbed the soap, working up a good lather. As she smoothed it over her body, she was entirely too aware of the man on the other side of the door. As a physical specimen, he was perfect, and he wasn’t a slob like most men she knew.

If she wasn’t searching for her father’s murderer, she might be open to flirting with Quentin. Maybe even sleeping with him. At the thought of her father, her chest tightened and her hand stilled. He’d been her only family.

Becca prided herself on her independence, but she’d always had the safety net of her father. He’d said if she needed him, he’d be there for her. Well, he wasn’t anymore.

Tears welled in her eyes and she dashed them away. Agents didn’t cry.

She turned the heat down on the shower, and rinsed the soap from her hair and body, reminding herself why she was there and what she had to do.

Becca stepped out of the shower, toweled herself dry and finger-combed her hair into some semblance of order. Then she reached for the clothes Quentin had thoughtfully provided. The soft-white T-shirt smelled clean and freshly laundered, unlike the clothes she’d left piled on the floor, destined for the washer.

She pulled the T-shirt over her head and let it slide down her body, imagining how differently it would fit over Quentin’s broad, muscular chest. On her, it draped loosely over her breasts and down to mid-thigh. She could wear it as a nightgown, all by itself. But Quentin had provided shorts, as well.

She pulled them up over her hips and cinched the drawstring around her waist to keep them from falling off. Completely covered, Becca still felt somewhat exposed. She didn’t have panties or a clean bra beneath the shirt and shorts. The thought of stepping out of the bathroom into the living room where Quentin was made her nipples tighten under the soft cotton fabric.

Great. He’ll think I’m turned on by him.
She had to admit she was attracted to the man, but he didn’t need to know that. He’d probably press the advantage and sooner or later, she’d cave to his dogged determination to get her into his bed.

Becca pressed her hands over her breasts, hoping to warm them and make them quit puckering. But the more she touched them, the more she imagined Quentin’s hands there and the tighter her nipples beaded.

Giving up, she plucked the shirt away from her chest and curved her shoulders inward, hoping to hide the telltale sign of her awareness of the man. Twisting the towel around her hair, turban-style, she straightened—clean, refreshed and ready to face the world and Quentin.

She gathered her soiled clothing in one arm, sucked in a breath and opened the door. Despite her determination to face Quentin head-on, she felt more vulnerable than she had in the alligator-infested swamp as she walked barefooted through the bedroom and out into the living room.

Quentin emerged from the small kitchen, carrying two glasses of wine, one of which was halfway gone. He’d shed his shirt, displaying a wide expanse of a tanned muscular chest. “Feel better?”

“Much.” She took the goblet he proffered and focused her attention on the liquid in the glass, trying, but not succeeding in avoiding looking at Quentin’s gorgeous body. The red wine warmed her insides enough she lifted her head. “You don’t happen to have a washer and dryer in your apartment, do you?”

“I do. In the back of the kitchen. There’s detergent and fabric softener in the cabinet over the washer. Help yourself.”

“Thanks. If you throw your clothes out of the bathroom, I’ll put them in with mine.” Becca crossed to the kitchen and set her glass on the counter.

“I’ll only be a minute in the shower,” Quentin said on his way to the bathroom. He paused with his hand on the doorknob. “I called for pizza, I hope that’s okay with you. Sorry, we don’t have any other food delivery service in the backwaters of Mississippi.”

She smiled. “I love pizza as long as it has pepperoni.”

“Good, because that’s what I got.” He nodded toward the kitchen bar. “There’s money on the counter. I don’t have to tell you to look before you open the door. With all that’s happened, you can’t be too cautious.”

She nodded. “Right. I’ll pay you back when Royce gets here.”

“My treat. It’ll be our first date.”