In the Dark Read online

  Last night she’d resembled a drowned rat in stained clothing. Luther’d held her for the better part of an hour, one part of him conscious of the fact that she felt like a hundred percent woman, even though she was filthy. She’d clutched him in a purely feminine way that had made him feel good about the mission, despite the fact that it hadn’t gone as smoothly as it could have.

  Upon their arrival at Guantanamo, he’d seen her in the glare of artificial light. He’d found her tall and lanky with matted hair and a face filthy with dirt and dried blood. She’d looked so exhausted he’d thought he would have to bathe her and tuck her into bed, only she’d shut her door politely in his face, making that unnecessary.

  Clearly she’d found the wherewithal to scrub up, and—to use an expression that made his mother wince for its grammatical inaccuracy—she cleaned up pretty damn good.

  With curiosity goading him, Luther pushed through the doors for a better look.

  Her hair, freshly washed, was cherry-red. Cut sassy-short, it left the length of her neck exposed. She turned her head in his direction, and he had to concentrate to keep from tripping over his own feet.

  Green eyes gazed out of a face that struck him as translucent, despite the dusting of freckles. She had winging eyebrows, a trim but strong nose, and a mouth that was wide and pink, even without lipstick.

  Awareness leaped out and grabbed him by the throat, followed immediately by a surge of annoyance. He didn’t want to be attracted to Hannah Geary, who was certainly the antithesis of the uncomplicated female he was looking for. But here he was, stuck with her, at least until Jaguar’s charges were dropped.

  Ever the enlisted officer, Westy surged to his feet. “Morning, sir!” he said, sounding in awfully good spirits.

  Then again, the freckles on Hannah’s nose would put any man in a positive frame of mind.

  “Good morning.” Luther’s gaze slid helplessly in her direction. “Hello.”

  “Hi.” She eyed him with open interest, as if trying to reconcile him with the camouflaged being he was last night.

  “Mind if I join you?” he asked Westy, who had yet to sit.

  “I’ll get us all drinks.” And with that, Westy was gone, leaving Luther alone at the table with a woman he’d held in his arms, having no idea how incredibly hot she was. He took the seat beside her, determined to resist her appeal.

  “So how do you feel?” he asked, spying a cut on her neck and several nicks on her bare arms.

  “I’m okay,” she said. Her voice was pleasantly husky. “My hands took the brunt of it.”

  “Let me see?”

  She held her palms up for his inspection.

  A reluctant thrill chased over him as he assessed the abrasions on her soft-looking palms and long, slender fingers. “Can you make a fist?” he asked.

  She curled her hands obediently. “I’ll be fine.” Her eyes came up, and he was struck with the feeling that she could see way down inside of him.

  His mind went blank for an awkwardly long moment. “That was a brave attempt on your part to escape,” he said. “Sorry if I sounded edgy about it.”

  “I understand,” she said with a quick smile. “You didn’t want to kill anyone.”

  Maybe she could see inside him. “It was unsettling to watch them shoot at you when I wasn’t in position to help out,” he explained.

  “I imagine it was. I’m sorry it came to that.”

  “That’s okay.” It wasn’t really. But given a choice between them dying and her dying, he’d sure as hell done the right thing.

  Westy reappeared just then to distribute three tall glasses of crimson-colored juice. “Papaya, pineapple, and orange,” he explained at Luther’s curious glance. “Did you need me for something, sir?”

  “In a minute, Chief. Sit down and enjoy your drink. We need to talk first.”

  As Westy sat, Hannah eyed Luther expectantly.

  “Miss Geary—”

  “Hannah.”

  “Hannah.” He cleared his throat. “The FBI sent us to Santiago to recover you.” He fingered the condensation on the outside of his glass. “The main reason we’re involved is that we need the information you were trying to get to us in the first place. Without it, Lieutenant Renault is in a heap of trouble.”

  Her eyebrows dipped with worry. “The last time I talked to your master chief, Lieutenant Renault was headed to a meeting with Commander Lovitt. I had a really bad feeling about it.”

  Luther acknowledged her concern. “Lovitt took him out on the patrol craft, promising to return him to active duty.” Jaguar had been—and still was—on disability leave due to his PTSD. “But that was just a ploy. Obviously Jaguar saw something that Lovitt doesn’t want him to remember. Your call probably saved his life.”

  Her eyes flared. “He tried to kill him!” she exclaimed.

  “We flew out on a helo while Jaguar held three of Lovitt’s men at bay. We got there just in time, but you’re never going to believe the outcome. Lovitt convinced the NCIS that Jaguar went ballistic on him, shot him in the arm, and then went after the crew.”

  “You’re kidding!” she breathed with horror. “What about your testimony?”

  “Supposedly we made up a story to protect our platoon leader. The NCIS didn’t believe any of us.”

  “That’s outrageous!”

  “We think so,” Luther said, heartened by her support. “Now Jaguar needs all the help he can get to counter the charges he’s facing.”

  “What are the charges?”

  “Destruction of military property and two counts of murder. There were three sailors on the PC that day. Obviously, they were working for Lovitt, who says that Jaguar shot and killed them. He didn’t; we saw two injured men jump overboard to avoid being taken. Jaguar took the third man out when he tried to blow up the boat with an antitank round. The NCIS agreed that was self-defense. Hell, he saved us all.”

  “You have my testimony,” Hannah promised with poise.

  “There’s more,” Luther warned her. “Commander Lovitt isn’t just stealing weapons for his own purposes. Apparently, he works for someone called the Individual.”

  She shook her head. “Who’s that?”

  “The FBI’s not telling, though Special Agent Valentino thinks it’s someone that you know.”

  Her brow reflected puzzlement. “Why would he think that? I don’t know anyone called the Individual.”

  Luther could see she was telling the truth. “We don’t know what’s going on exactly,” he admitted. “Special Agent Valentino is pretty closemouthed about his investigation, but he did admit that the Individual influences various factions by supplying them with stolen weapons.”

  “Another Ollie North,” Westy illustrated. “His motives are obviously political.”

  “The weapons he distributes come from Lovitt, who stole them in the first place.”

  Hannah touched two fingers to her chin and frowned. “I’m confused,” she admitted. “Was it Lovitt who abducted me or the Individual?”

  “Probably the Individual,” Luther answered. “Your abductors were Misalov Obradovitch and his wife, both Serbian assassins,” he added gently. “I don’t think Lovitt has those kinds of contacts.”

  Beneath her freckles, Hannah paled. “They weren’t exactly friendly,” she agreed.

  To Luther, she seemed incredibly brave. “Valentino’s been after the Individual for years, now,” he added. “This time he wants to camouflage his investigation, which is why he sent us in to get you out.”

  Thoughts flickered in Hannah’s green-as-grass eyes. She sat forward and in a husky voice confided, “I don’t know if this means anything, but my father was in the CIA. So was I, for that matter, but that was several years ago.”

  Luther shared an astonished look with Westy. “You were CIA?”

  “I was training to be a case officer,” she explained, her eyes growing shadowed. “But then my parents died in a plane crash, and I promised my godfather I would work for the DIA for
a while. He didn’t want to lose me, too,” she added with a sad smile.

  Christ. “I’m sorry,” Luther said, sensing bottomless grief beneath her admission. “Who was your father?”

  “Alfred Geary. He was nominated to be the next director right before his plane went down. My mother was with him.”

  Luther remembered hearing of the tragedy on the news about three years back. He floundered for consoling words. “That must have been rough,” he offered lamely. “Both of them at once.”

  She glanced down at her scraped-up palms.

  “So you’re saying your father knew a lot of people,” Luther guessed. “And maybe one of them is the Individual?”

  “Maybe,” she said with a shake of her head. “But why was I abducted and shipped off to Cuba, of all places?”

  “For protection?” Luther hazarded.

  She raised her eyebrows at him. “I was starved and isolated. The general intended to rape me. I wouldn’t exactly call that safe.”

  That gave him pause. “Valentino says General Pinzón is a revolutionary. The Individual’s supplying him weapons for a coup.”

  “There won’t be any coup,” she said quietly. “The general’s dead. I killed him.”

  His mind stumbled over the unexpected confession. But then he recalled hearing an agitated cry last night about something being dead. “What happened?” he asked, thinking that she had nerves of steel to sit there and talk about it calmly.

  Her arms stole across her chest. “He came into my cell and all I could think about was getting through the door.” She shrugged, and for a split second he glimpsed the terror she’d been feeling. “I miscalculated my aim and force.”

  Luther glanced at Westy, who was staring at Hannah with his mouth open. “Remind me not to piss her off, sir,” he said with feeling.

  Luther could feel his neck growing stiff. “I’m sure you did what you had to do,” he comforted. Remembering the way she’d clung to him last night, he knew she wasn’t as impervious to the trauma as she appeared to be. No doubt about it, Hannah was a complex woman. “Let’s talk about the notebook,” he suggested. “Do you know what happened to it?”

  “It was hidden in my car when that couple caught up to me.”

  “Do you think it’s still in your car now?”

  “Wherever my car is.”

  “It’s at Quantico. Tanya Obradovitch used your ID and drove into the base to throw the authorities off track.”

  She threw her hands up. “How could the Individual have known where I was headed?” she wondered aloud.

  “Maybe your phone was bugged,” Luther suggested. “Maybe Lovitt alerted him. Where in your car did you hide the notebook?” he persisted.

  “In a cubby under the console. It’s not the only copy, though. There’s another available at my office.”

  Hot damn! Luther felt his tension subside. If all went well, they’d soon have the evidence they needed to shred Lovitt’s reputation to pieces.

  He smiled at her approvingly. “Now we’re getting somewhere,” he said. “Here’s the plan. Valentino’s content to let us keep you for a while, but we need to change the way you look. I know it’s a hassle, but like I said, you’re Jaguar’s best witness.”

  “It’s not a hassle,” Hannah reassured him, her green eyes narrowing. “Nothing would please me more than to send your commander to jail. He killed my colleague, remember?”

  Ernest Forrester, the first DIA officer. That was one more person close to Hannah that had died. “I remember,” he said. “You’re sure Lovitt killed him?”

  “You tell me. Going by the notebook he left behind, Ernie was one step away from exposing your commander. He died in a hit-and-run. No one ever came forward.”

  “Okay. So let’s find the notebook,” Luther said, including Westy in his remark. “You all set, Chief?”

  Westy shot to his feet. “Yes, sir.”

  “Head on over to the MAC terminal, would you? See if Valentino has cleared us to get Miss Geary on board.”

  “Done.” Westy shot him a salute and disappeared.

  Hannah’s quick smile made Luther’s innards cartwheel. She was gorgeous, brave, and brilliant in a way that rocked his equilibrium. Her courage amazed him. But Hannah was as different from the uncomplicated woman he intended to marry as the CIA was from the DIA. For that reason, he’d be stupid to let his attraction run the show. Hannah was a teammate on a common mission. Anything more was simply impractical.

  Chapter Three

  Over the Atlantic Seaboard

  14:22 EST

  Peering out of the P-3C Orion ASW patrol craft, Luther tried to pinpoint the plane’s progress by the contour of the coast. From an altitude of fourteen thousand feet, the seaboard had been sharply defined in contrast to the shimmering expanse of the Atlantic Ocean. But then they came upon a low front, and for the last hour there was nothing under them but clouds.

  Hannah had fallen asleep in the seat next to his. As the flight progressed, she listed in his direction until she fell against his shoulder. He eased both their seats back, lowering the arm between them to make her more comfortable. The woman had to be exhausted.

  She snuggled closer, pulling his arm between her warm breasts. He steeled himself against the pleasure of her touch, but it was impossible not to notice that her breasts were real, unlike Veronica’s enhanced mammaries—and her hair smelled like strawberries.

  Thank God Westy was soundly asleep in the seat across the aisle or he’d be snickering under his breath at Luther’s expense.

  The plane dropped without warning, and Hannah lurched awake, throwing her arms around the back of the chair in front of her. “No!”

  Her cry wakened Westy, who reached uselessly for his weapon, which was down in the belly of the plane.

  “Easy, easy,” Luther soothed, taking in Hannah’s wild-eyed disorientation. “That was just an air pocket.”

  She drew a shaky breath. “Sorry,” she apologized. Seeing her seat tipped back and the arm lowered, she cast him a suspicious glare before bringing both back into position with hands that shook. Then she sat there, head pressed against the headrest, hands clasped tightly in her lap.

  Luther returned his own seat to normal. She’d seemed fine upon boarding the plane—a little antsy, maybe, but not privately panic-stricken. And then he realized—oh, damn—she had to be thinking of her parents’ deaths. How could she not think about it every time she got on a plane?

  He knew from counseling younger SEALs that the only way around fear was to talk through it. “How old were you when they died?” he asked.

  Hannah took a deep breath. “Twenty-three,” she said tonelessly. “It happened three years ago, this fall.”

  He considered what it would be like to lose his parents. At twenty-three he’d been fresh out of college playing professional football, getting wrapped up in all the wrong vices. If not for his parents, he wouldn’t have rallied from the incident that changed his life. “Do you have any siblings?” he continued.

  “I have a little brother. He was eighteen, then.”

  Jesus. “You must have both been devastated.”

  “It changed a lot of things,” she conceded.

  He waited for her to explain.

  “I was just about to get my first assignment overseas.” She looked at him with regret in her eyes. “I wanted to be a case officer like my father—you know, travel abroad, make contacts, ferret out information that would help protect our country. But when my parents died, my godfather convinced me to switch to a less dangerous career. At least until Kevin was out of college.”

  “He’s got—what—a year to go?” Luther guessed.

  “Actually, he’s working on a dissertation for his PhD. He finished undergraduate school when he was nineteen. He’s pretty smart,” she added.

  “No kidding. That’s impressive as hell.”

  “I’m proud of him. But he’s all brain and no common sense. He forgets to eat sometimes, which is why I agreed to s
witch to the DIA, at least till Kevin completes his studies.” She gave him a sudden, startled look. “What if Kevin’s not safe? The Individual must know him, too.” Her concern was palpable.

  “We’ll ask Valentino,” Luther reassured her. “I’m sure he’s thought of that.”

  She faced forward, concerned but mollified.

  “So, do you still want to be a case officer?” he inquired. It unsettled him to think of her cavorting about in foreign countries, meeting up with strangers for the sake of national security, but she seemed to have the nerves for it.

  “Absolutely. It’s all I’ve thought of for three long years.” She clutched the arms of the chair as the plane started its descent.

  If she wanted to travel, she’d better get over her fear of flying, Luther thought. “I have sisters myself,” he volunteered, keeping her distracted. “Their names are Liberty and Justice.”

  That got her attention. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “I’m not. My parents thought Justice was going to be a boy. By the time she was born, they were so attached to the name that they kept it. My sisters are older than I am. They used to dress me up like a girl; put bows in my hair and stuff. This is purely classified information,” he added, giving her a stern look. “Don’t tell the guys.” He flicked a look at Westy, whose eyes were shut—not that that meant anything.

  Hannah gave a husky chuckle that assured him he was doing the right thing. “What about the name Luther?” she asked. “Where did that come from?”

  “That was my grandfather’s name. He died in a sub in World War Two.”

  Her smile faded. “So that’s why you joined the Navy,” she guessed with accuracy.

  “That’s why.”

  “It all comes down to family,” she reflected, glancing out the window where the familiar structures of the nation’s capital—the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial—shone white in contrast to the charcoal sky. “Wow, we’re almost home,” she said, her tone brimming with relief.

  “You live around here?”

  “Alexandria. You can probably see my town house from the other side of the plane,” she said, eyes bright with emotion as she peered across the cabin.